Songfic Meme: Assassin's Creed
Meme Rules:
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
Sometimes when Desmond moved around the hideout, he caught glimpses of things Altair had seen or done. It was unnervingly easy to achieve synchronisation in the Animus: sometimes, he found himself struggling to figure out which side of his mind was real and which was fake. Sometimes he found himself wondering if it would ever end. If he’d ever be able to distinguish between Altair’s feelings for Malik and his own feelings. But then when he looked at Shaun, it was just that little bit easier.
When Altair walked the streets of Masyaf, he would clench his fists in anger at the injustice he would see. A woman would be treated as the property of her husband: a boy would be beaten for a crime he did not commit. It was times like these, he forced himself to repeat the mantra of the Creed: that nothing is true, and everything is permitted. And if this was true, then why couldn’t he dream of a free world?
No matter what he may think of its people, Altair had to admit Jerusalem was a beautiful city. Despite the sorrows he saw there every day, he could not help but love the city’s deep sandstone buildings; the startlingly high towers; the glistening golden dome of Solomon’s Temple. What he loved most, however, was the quiet of the Bureau in Jerusalem. Even more than the building itself, he loved the man who lived there. Despite the sorrow he faced every time he saw Malik, he could not help but love his deep brown eyes and his startlingly sharp tongue.
Vultures. That’s what they were. Vultures, clawing at the corpse of his sanity. He could see. The red ones, they kept coming for him. Strapping him into the strange machine, searching through his mind, his poor broken mind. But they would learn. The red ones would pay. They would share the hell he faced. They would share the corpses and the blood and the betrayal of lifetimes ago.
Desmond stood tall and proud as the Templars prepared the Apple. Their plan was clear. They had allowed him here to see the world fall. Panoramic view of humanity’s last hours of freedom. He smirked slightly, and stepped off the top of the tall building.
“Your work is most impressive, Maestro da Vinci.”
“Grazie, your Majesty, though perhaps I should say merci?” Leonardo replied, eyeing the French monarch carefully. King Francis professed to be his friend, but Leonardo had never really trusted people in power. He had seen too many great families and friends fall to the machinations of politics. The King laughed, but Leonardo had fixed his attention elsewhere. A bird had just alighted on a nearby snow-covered branch, and the artist was quite transfixed. Francis followed his gaze, smiling indulgently at Leonardo.
“You do have quite a fascination with birds, don’t you?” he commented absently, but Leonardo was not truly paying attention. He was thinking back, back to a better time when life had been better. He thought of long summer days spent watching his lover race over the rooftops, and rather longingly thought of the time he, too, would rest like Ezio.
More than once, Desmond found himself laughing at something Shaun had done as though it was familiar. It was ridiculous, of course. He’d barely known the man a week, and he was acting like he’d known the man his entire life. But sometimes, it was downright scary how much like them he could act. He caught himself antagonising the man, just to here him reprimand him just the same way Malik had. He would laugh when Shaun got that manic glint in his eye that meant he’d discovered something knew, so similar to the childish attitude Leonardo had always had. So somehow, despite the fact that he could never have them, Desmond knew he’d been lucky in finding Shaun.
Once, just once, Leonardo had asked him if he regretted any of it. Almost to his surprise, Ezio had answered “no” without hesitation. The men he killed deserved to die, there was no question about that. They manipulated the people to get what they wanted. They slaughtered innocents without hesitation, without motivation. Their fanatical views were dangerous: they would happily decimate the world in their quest for power. If that were not enough, they would be more than willing to slaughter Ezio in return for what he had done. They would claim he was the monster, that he was the shadow and the lie. For all the good it did him, Ezio knew they were wrong. They were the ones who had killed his family. They were the ones who had killed his father, even as he protested his innocence; killed Federico, too brave to show his fear to the crowd; killed Petruccio, despite the fact he was little more than a child. They were the ones who had brought this twisted world about. And in the end, they would be the ones who would suffer most. But when he closed his eyes, Ezio could see the truth. He may not regret killing them, but he could not deny that he regretted it was necessary.
The first time he’d met Leonardo, Ezio had been surprised. The passion with which the man spoke of his work, of changing the world, was frankly terrifying. Having spent his life focussing only on his next conquest, it was strange to find a man so pure in his desire to help. Afterwards, once he had become an assassin, it was worse. His obsession with Leonardo grew. It seemed strange that a killer could be so impassioned by such an innocent, but from the moment he had first kissed Leonardo, there was no going back. He was like a drug. And despite the fact that it gave him a measurable weakness, Ezio didn’t care one bit.
The Apple was dangerous. Every time Altair looked into it, he lost a little piece of himself. He saw the world burn, the moon fall, the stars explode. How could anyone remain untouched by that? The screams of a people that were not his filled the air, their silhouettes flickering in the strange artificial lights. But then there would come a soft whisper in his ear, a gentle tug on his arm, and he would be back in Masyaf. He could hear the sound of Malik breathing, even as he sobbed into the one-armed man’s chest. They would leave the Apple for a time, and he would live. But then the morning would come, and it would begin again.
A/N
So I did this to try to revitalise my muse, and it turns out my iPod ships Altair/Malik. I knew there was a reason I liked that thing. Some of these will be terrible, since half the songs I didn’t know existed, let alone on my iPod O_O So I may have had to Google the lyrics for half of them. Well, three-quarters of them. It also turns out my iPod’s angstier than my usual muse. Let me know if you liked any? Which ones you thought were good, okay, absolutely terrible?