-NAME PENDING- For Maus || Private ||

[isanovice]

[ When Altaïr had set out, the sun had been high above him, beating down on his back and shoulders and causing a sheen of sweat to form across his brow as he picked his way over Jerusalem's rooftops. Silent as the dead, he struck down a rooftop archer without hesitation, drawing ever closer to his mark. His breathing slowed instinctively; leveled,

Comments

[crippleassassin]

[He tried to give him credit, but it was difficult to hold back his feelings concerning the assassin. Mixed feelings, yet they easily diluted his words a lot of the time. Not quite so much as before... but enough.]

Foolish enough or not, this is my bureau, I am suppose to make sure it stays safe. [As the feather is offered to him, he stares at it a moment, wondering how much of the blood is Altair's marring the white. Taking the feather, he tucked it into his coat, before his eyes fell on all the blood staining Altair's robes.]

A deed done, but you are in no condition to return to our master for your next task. [At this rate, if he tried to ride out to Masyaf with the blood he'd already lost he'd bleed out and die on the way there. He would be of little use to anyone in that state. Sighing, Malik turned to head back into the other room, to gather what he needed to patch the assassin up. He could rest for a while here as well, before heading out. Though he'd rather he didn't right away. As much as he still harbored hate for him... Altair had been a friend... could... be one again, perhaps. It was hard to not worry for him, even with every thing that had happened. The conflicting feelings were a pain, he hated it.]

I cannot mend your wounds through the wall, Altair, come take a seat. [Malik sounded irritated, perhaps a bit snappy. His way of being worried... or trying to hide that fact.]

[isanovice]

[ Altaïr pursed his lips as Malik showed him his back, mixed feelings plaguing the once master assassin. Things with Malik were always tense while he was in Jerusalem- and had been since Solomon's Temple. To ask the other for help seemed to be an insult to the man who he had once considered a close friend. But how could he blame him? He did not deserve kindness, or understanding from a man who he had so deeply wronged.

Yet still, Altaïr had not offered an apology. As to why this was- the explanation was easy. Altaïr still possessed much of the pride and arrogance that had cost them so grievously. ]

They are nothing. There is no need to be concerned.

[ He hesitated in making his way into the bureau, pausing for a moment to collect himself once more, before grunting as he moved from where he'd begun to sag against the wall once more. Even despite his protest about the other tending to him he moved to follow after the other, favoring his side. For another moment he paused, trying vainly to try and reach the arrow that stuck out of his shoulder. Failing this, a soft, irritated noise escaped him. ]

I can tend to my side. [ But he did require the other's help with the arrow, and so this was his way of asking for help without openly admitting it. ]

[crippleassassin]

Do not assume I am concerned.

[He said flatly as he stood with his arm full of medical supplies. Bandages and the like. It's as he rounds his desk that he notes the arrow embedded in Altair's shoulder and he feels his own ache. He hoped his arm fell off, but then berated himself for such a thought. Malik did that a lot recently, concerning the "novice". All but dropping what Altair needed to tend stubbornly to himself in the assassin's lap, Malik moved to stand behind him, inspecting the wounded shoulder.

Muttering something along the lines of 'damn fool' under his breath, fingers pluck away torn robes to see how deep the arrow went in. Deep enough that this will hurt a lot coming out. He knew that much. Leaning down to press his bad shoulder against Altair's back for a bit of leverage, his hand curled tightly around the arrow, fingers brushing against bloody skin. He has to do this slowly or he'll do more damage to the assassin's shoulder... a shame that would be, he thinks, hatred flaring a moment at his own loss. So with little warning he starts to pull the arrow out. It takes him some minutes, being careful and all, but eventually he's freed it and tosses it to the floor, the sound echoing in the bureau.]

Were you being kind to let the archer hit you, Altair?

[He huffed, sitting behind him now, legs crossed as he reached around the other to grab for a cloth to press to clean up the wound, before using it as a press to staunch the blood. He leans close again, chest barely touching Altair as he asked him to give him some of the bandages, he'd have to give them give them to him, since his only had was currently busy trying to keep the idiot from bleeding out from his shoulder.]

[isanovice]

[ His jaw set in a firm frown at the other's sharp reprimand, and he barely managed to repress a sigh. ]

Of course not. [ Once again it was not an apology, but it was at least some acknowledgement. It was murmured below his breath; almost inaudible. But Altaïr knew that it would be loud enough for the fellow assassin to pick up on.

Other than the other's sharp muttering, silence lapsed between them. Examining all that had been deposited into his lap, Altaïr stilled when Malik's hand went to grip the arrow. The muscles in his back grew tight, and tense, and it took much effort from the once-master assassin to relax once more. Still, when the other began to pull Altaïr was not entirely prepared, and a low hiss escaped between his teeth before he managed to cut the noise off. He was as still as he could manage to be as the arrow was drawn free, but once it clattered to the floor an involuntary shudder ran through him.

His shoulder continued to throb dully, and it took Altaïr a moment to realize that Malik had spoken to him at all. With a grunt he shifted, making no verbal reply to the other's goading and instead merely passing the other the bandages that he had been asking for. Before he could bind the injury however, Altair shifted away, undoing buckles and belts of equipment and allowing things to rest upon the floor. If he was going to tend to his stomach, he would have to do so without the layers of heavy fabric in his way.

He stripped until he was down to his breeches and boots alone. For a brief moment in pulling his tunic over his head he had wavered; Malik had probably seen the slight tremor run through his muscles as a wave of dizziness overtook him. Once his clothes had been removed, he settled again, back straightening as he made to examine the wound at his side, and allow Malik to resume tending to his shoulder. ]

[crippleassassin]

[As Altair suddenly moved away from him, Malik made a face, sitting back as the assassin removed everything but his pants and boots. Well there went trying to keep him from bleeding everywhere. All the movement had made it much worse, so as soon as he can he's back and pressing a rolled up wad of bandage against the wound in his shoulder. It was hardly an easy task wrapping said wound when he only had one hand, mind you, but he managed, even if it took a bit longer.

The wound on his side however, had the dai frowning deeply.]

I will have to stitch that.

[Malik is quick to say, tone giving the hint that it wasn't something Altair could say yes or no to. He had no choice. It was getting stitched up. Whether he liked it or not. Malik was already getting needle and thread ready, and expecting Altair to have cleaned the wound for him.]