❝ you suffer the cost when all this is lost. ❞

[milesawayfrom]

Who: milesawayfrom & trickster_mk2
What: Desmond decides it's time to act, now that he's been informed on how to take down Gabriel. Holy Oil armed, he sneaks into the Temple of the Venetian District and intends to do whatever he has to in order to knock the angel out of power.
Where: Venetian District Temple
When: Night, 9/10
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Rating could possibly be

Comments

[trickster_mk2]

The Trickster did have a Throne, thank you very much- set up in the middle of the Temple's main hall, surrounded by tall pillars of marble and set up on a dais. Of course, he'd added some of those touches himself, but why have phenomenal cosmic powers if you couldn't use them? And he'd been out and about using them that evening- dropping a handful of stupid idiots who ventured out into the night in to one of the putrid canals. They'd probably climbed out by now, but he'd chuckled happily to himself as he watched them floundering in what, well, wasn't exactly water anymore.

There was only so much suffering he could watch for one evening though, no matter how many ideas popped into his mind, how many cruel tricks and nasty deaths he could imagine. Hel and her brother were still roaming the streets, wild and ferocious- illusions only of course, but dangerous none the less, and it wasn't difficult for The Trickster to imagine they were real. He'd been doing it for almost two weeks now, twisting reality and making it his own.

And not making himself any friends either, for that matter, but when had he ever cared much for that?

The figure on the roof wasn't visible when he returned to the Temple complex, but he didn't need to be. The Trickster could feel souls, even ones tainted and splattered with blood, and he let himself walk slowly up the old, worn steps. He could have imagined himself back in Ancient Rome, an Emperor of all he surveyed, if it wasn't for the tall sky-scrapes of the other districts which ruined the horizon.

He made no noise as he stepped into the Temple proper, or if he did, it was silenced before it could reach the ears of any of his chained prisoners or his guest, whatever their reason for being there. The Trickster was fairly certain exactly what their purpose was, of course; what other purpose would an assassin have to call in the dead of night, apart from to try his hand at reducing their oppressor to dust? Frankly he was surprised this was only the first attempt.

"Would you like me to offer you a drink?"

[milesawayfrom]

Desmond turned his head, eyes narrowing as the golden glow came around the Trickster. There was no point in trying to hide or even to pretend he was lost. Caught, but, he could roll with it. He turned his body, holding his arms open to show he wasn't a threat. Yet, anyways. It was all about biding his time and waiting for the right moment. Bad guys loved to talk and talk.

"That's pretty nice of you." He said. "I think I'll pass."

With a quick glance around, his face shrouded by his hood, he took note of what was in the room. How high things were, how fast he could jump if he needed to. The only thing he needed to know is what the Trickster could do. What he would do. That was the part of the plan of getting the guy to talk.

"We need to have a talk. Or, are you busy? I could come by later. You know. Once you've cleaned the place up... freed your prisoners. That kind of thing."

[trickster_mk2]

The Trickster shrugged, clicking his fingers and snapping all the oil lamps and fires in the room into life, the hall bathed in sudden flickering light. It didn't do much to make the scene less creepy, just added an orange-red glow to everything and made the shadows beyond the lamps dance like lost souls. Which, all things considered, they easily might have been.

"You mean empty my larder? Not going to happen. Haven't you heard, winter's coming?" The Trickster laughed, and moved forward, tucking his hands into his pockets and moving past Desmond, glancing him over.

"I have to admit, I thought you'd be here before now. And I'm surprised you're on your own. Not very smart. I mean, you've seen what I can do, haven't you? Why not just eat your heart now? It'd just save me time in the long run."

He shrugged again, snapped once more and settled down onto the couch that he'd created. "What do you want to talk about? The weather? The Seahawks game? Or is this about bringing my reign of terror to an end?" He laughed then, shook his head. "Not about to happen, kiddo. I'm only discussing peace talks with Virginia. No one else."

[milesawayfrom]

If he was surprised or startled, it didn't show. He forced himself to remain still and take in all the sudden change of scenery. This guy could control things with his mind, maybe? Telekinesis? Desmond didn't have any experiences with it, but he wasn't going to rule it out with all the crazy crap in the world he had seen. His home world, Aliunde, or Mandalus.

"You're about three months off from winter. Or did we plan to skip over fall?" Desmond stayed still, only turning when the Trickster had walked past him. He glanced up at the throne, and over it one final time. It could work - yeah. It'd be tricky.

"Figured I'd give you the chance to prove you weren't a total bastard. You proved me wrong." He also wanted to get the right in formation from the right people. Biting his time had paid off, just like Altair and Ezio had been taught. Make sure you had all the facts before you moved in. Or, at least, you had a damn good plan.

And he could create stuff out of thin air. That was just cheating.

"Not much of a Hawks fan. You got the wrong coastline." Desmond replied. "Then it looks like you better speed up the peace talks."

[trickster_mk2]

"Three months? That soon?" The Trickster said, grinning and letting the air in the room get colder, crystals of frost forming on the breeze that swept through. He was messing around, messing with Desmond, but it was too enjoyable not to. "Looks like it might be setting in earlier. Guess some people are going to freeze tonight huh?" And it really seemed like he didn't care at all. It was a great mask to wear, this heartless douche-bag act. It was an act, or at least the Trickster thought so. It all had a purpose, in the end. Aside from being a damn good way to pass the time and entertain himself. He had to get the lazy ass-hat humans off their backsides somehow, and killing a handful of them seemed to have been the perfect way of doing it.

Then the Trickster shot the assassin a look, one that clearly wasn't impressed at all, "Uh huh. The eating people and feeding them to my kids thing, that didn't give you the idea that I was a bit of a bastard before? Kiddo, your world-view is sort of screwed. Then again you kill people for money, what do I know?" He added and patted the other seat of the couch. "Why don't you just sit down and get all this off your chest, hm? Clearly there's a few issues bumping around in that head of yours."

"Not Seahawks? Well that blows our ship out the water. No more negotiations. Leave that dagger at the door as you leave. Shoo." He adds, although the grin he wears betrays the fact he isn't fussed at all. In fact, he looks like he's trying to hold back laughter.

"Seriously kid, what are you here for? As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I was always told not to play with my food."

[milesawayfrom]

Great, the cold. He hated the damn cold. He kept his mind focused. It was how his ancestors taught him, and this was a test of his skill. He had to prove it to them and himself that he really could handle it. If he was truly going to take over the Order? Calls like this were on his shoulder. Especially with Clay being in a different district and the Brotherhood spread out. He had to take the guy on.

His wrist was ready to flick and he was ready to pounce. He knew that it wouldn't work, but, maybe he'd get a good shot in long enough to try and use the Holy Oil he had stashed away inside his pockets. He didn't really give a flying fuck if the guy wasn't impressed or not. "I don't take down people for money. You might want to figure out more about me before you just start pointing the fingers. Ever heard of reading a history book?"

Desmond was a bundle of issues. He wasn't going to tell him all about that. "Let's cut to the chase. We both know why I'm here. So, you either knock it the fuck off, or we get to business. Your choice."

[trickster_mk2]

"History books? Kiddo, I avoid them like the plague. Who wants to read a history only written by the winners?" He grins, and shakes his head, hand raising. "If you really, really want to see the past... well, you might as well go and see it."

And with that, the creature clicks together his thumb and middle-finger, the snap loud and it echoes this time, instead of fading. The sound bounces off the walls, the floor, the ceiling and the pillars. It bounces and magnifies and makes the air tremble, the pressure on their ears mounting. It makes it harder to focus on anything else, on breathing or thinking or seeing, it fills everything.

But then it stops. It stops and leaves nothing in it's wake but a dull ache in the ears.

And they're no longer in the Temple. No longer in the city, in the here-and-now. The building is old, but it's not a temple. The stone walls are too thick, the windows narrow. It's a fortress, despite the bookshelves surrounding them and the hangings on the walls.

The Trickster is there, grinning away, but there are others there too, men in white robes and displeased expressions, and they don't seem to be aware of the Trickster's presence at all. They are, however, completely aware of Desmond, and all their attention is fixed on him.

"Desmond Miles. Of The Farm, South Dakota. Is that right? Did they teach you the Tenents of our Order?" The speaker steps forward, a man not in white robes, but in dark, lined with red. He could be mistaken for The Mentor, for Rashid ad-Din Sinan, but there is something in his face that is different, not exactly... right.

"Do you know what happens to those who disregard those Tenents?"

[milesawayfrom]

"Probably the winners." Desmond said flatly. Though he knew the man was right. In his world, the Templars were the ones who wrote the history books. They painted the assassins as the bad guys. Out to destroy the world order or let anarchy rule the streets. The statement made him raise an eyebrow and tense slightly. He had lived two lifetimes in the past. He was pretty good with not seeing it.

Too bad he wasn't going to really have a choice in the matter. His head turns, his hood covering his face still as he watches the area weave and change. Masyaf. Desmond knew Masyaf instantly. He had seen it through Altair's eyes and body. From the stripping of Altair's status to the death of Al Mualim, even further to when Abbas took over the Order and let it fall to ruins.... right to the death of his ancestor. Oh, yes. Desmond knew Masyaf.

He eyed the assassins warily. They couldn't be real. The Order didn't dress like these illusions did in his time, hell not even in Ezio's time. His head snaps back to the man addressing him. Son of a bitch. This guy was really grating on Desmond's nerves. He wasn't going to let him get under his skin.

Desmond didn't answer. Of course he knew what happened to those who broke the tenants in this time. They were killed if they broke all three. Yeah, maybe he had broken the tenants if you looked at them from a certain way. He put the other assassins at risk by being caught at Abstergo, but he was pretty damn sure no innocents died because of it. Everyone at Abstergo in Italy knew they were Templars. Or at least, he was pretty damn sure they knew. He was always damn good at hiding. It took them nine years to find him and the other assassins couldn't even find him. Compromising the Brotherhood, well...

His hands flexed as he took count of all those around him. He knew it wasn't right. It just felt off. These people weren't really assassins. Hell, South Dakota didn't even exist at this point in time. He wouldn't move unless they made a move.

[trickster_mk2]

All he had to do was keep the illusion going. It wasn't easy, it wasn't easy at all, not with the damn bracelets on his wrists burning against his skin but if he focused enough, it was simple to find the memories in Desmond's head, pull them out and make them solid. Simple, but it still took effort to hold it in place, to keep it going and to let himself fade into the scene while the old man talked. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be, it just needed to give the Trickster a few moments to appear silently behind Desmond.

It wasn't an angel-blade. He couldn't, and wouldn't, be doing that, not with his own death still a too-raw event in his own mind. But for a human it didn't have to be anything but sharp. Pointy also helped.

He was just a step, half a step even, from Desmond's back, the weight of the blade steady in his hand when he realised his mistake. He'd just pulled together the illusion's script from what was floating around inside the assassin's head, put it in the mouth of the old man and left him to get on with it. He didn't realise what was being said wasn't making the sense it needed to, he'd been too distracted with what he need to do to bother with that.

But he could tell now from Desmond's stance that it was wrong. But he needed that distraction to go on a moment longer, just a second or two...

The old man stepped forward, keeping Desmond's attention, or at least, so the Trickster hoped. "Breaking the three Tenants is punishable by death, Desmond Miles. That punishment will be delivered now."

[milesawayfrom]

It was like watching a replay of what happened with Altair. Even the advancement of the man who looked like Al Mualim. He glanced again at the 'assassins' around him before he froze. It felt like something had gone off in his head. A giant red warning flag - his sixth sense - telling him to move. Get out of the way. Hurry! Jump. Roll. Stab. Do something. Move your ass, Desmond Miles.

And he reacted.

When the assassins grabbed him to deliver the death blow, he moved. He twisted, his body moving as if he had been doing it his entire life. Reaching for the knowledge that he had absorbed through two lives worth of memories. His hidden blade flicked out as he twisted, stabbing one of the assassins in in the throat. The blade cut through his jugular as Desmond grabbed the arm of the other assassin, pulling him forward. He pulled the blade out and hit the assassin in front of him, going right for the side of the neck. His head snapped up in time to see the old man moving forward. While it was cruel to the fallen, and one should respect their body, Desmond shoved the body of the dead assassin in his grip forward at the old man to knock him off his footing.

Then he leaped forward with the intent to wound the old man. He had a feeling that he was the center of whatever the hell it was. If he could stop him, then he'd figure out where the Trickster went and he could end this.

[trickster_mk2]

There was a curse, vehement enough to be a curse anyway, but the words, if they were words, weren't in any language spoken by humans. The walls and bookshelves and wall-hangings around them flickered, shifted in and out of focus. It was disconcerting for a moment, the room appearing to jump several feet to the right before snapping back to where it should have been. The body that had been shoved forward, blood staining over the white robes, disappeared even as it tumbled forwards, and the others, alive or in juried or dead, they vanished too, without a word.

All but the old man. He stood fast, hadn't moved, anchoring all of it.

"That was very good" The voice wasn't the same as before, wasn't the same at all. But as soon as he'd spoken, the old man's face changed, twisted and became the grinning face of the Trickster. Maybe it would be strange enough to throw off the young assassin. Maybe it wouldn't, but the Trickster couldn't keep up the illusion any more, not without putting himself in there somewhere, and frankly, he wanted to see if the look on the boy's face did actually ever change.

"So, here we are. Are you going to stab me? You're entitled to a go, after all, I was going to stab you. Go on." He prompted, casting off the dark robes onto the stone floors, the fortress around them seemed to be settled again, but deadly silent.

[milesawayfrom]

Desmond's eyes narrowed as the face changed. Son of a bitch. This guy was really annoying. He flicked his wrist again, the blade retracting. Desmond leaped forward, grabbing the Trickster by the false robes of the olden Assassin Mentor. It was definitely new. Nothing like this had happened in Aliunde, and not even the Bleeding Effect was like this.

"Don't tempt me." Desmond growled, knowing it wouldn't do any good. He needed to trap this guy and get on with it. He was wasting too much time dancing with the guy, and frankly? He was kind of a bad dance partner to begin with. His free hand went behind him, pulling the bottle out from his back pocket. Desmond kept it hidden behind his back as he tried to figure out the best way to drop it on the ground in a circle without being caught.

Time to try the talking route again, he guessed.

"I'm guessing you found some pretty interesting stuff in my head." He said. "Did you find out what happened to the guys that gave the orders here?"

[trickster_mk2]

The Trickster just grins as he's grabbed, dragged forwards slightly. "Oh I do so love being man-handled." He breathes, settling into the hold and enjoying that irritated growl even more so. Anything to make the humans twitch was worth doing, anything to wind the spring that little tighter, to see how much more it could take before it snapped. "Come on now. You're used to stabbing things. Wouldn't it make you feel a little bit better? Maybe even a whole lot better. How many of your kind have stabbed a god, huh? You'll be assassin of the week for sure."

He shrugs, robes lifting and falling with the motion of his shoulders and that smug grin stays in place. "What happened to them? Of course I know. The Templars came along, slaughtered some local peasants and a few of these guys too. Good riddance too, the lot of you are idiots. The world is a better of place without you. Either of you. You just fuck the world up for the rest of us."

And with that he pulls away, out of Desmond's grip, the robes fading off him as the room melts back into the Temple they were occupying before, and the Trickster brushes himself down. "I didn't find much interesting other stuff though. A lot of your head is filled with crap."

[milesawayfrom]

"I'm not as used to it as you'd think." Desmond replied shortly. Yeah, living lives doesn't necessarily mean he had the full hands-on experience. There were a few incidents in Aliunde, but nothing like actually going after a target and killing him. He knew that time was coming. He was an assassin. He couldn't really get away from it. "Yeah, there's no real reward system for stabbing an asshole like you. Sorry to cut your dreams short."

"Then maybe we should go ahead and leave the world to you guys." Desmond paused. "Except then you get into power and start slaughtering, torturing, and hurting people. You know, those people we're fighting for. Check the play book again before you start going around accusing us of doing what you're doing."

Desmond slips the bottle up into his sleeve and takes a step back before beginning to circle him, like a hunter and his prey. Once he made a full circle, he popped the lid open and let the oil roll down his fingers onto the ground as he made another circle. Hopefully, this would work. He was pretty sure just stabbing a god wouldn't do it.

"I get that a lot." Desmond joked.

[trickster_mk2]

"Really? You don't have one?" The Trickster replied, making a face as he appeared to accept that. "Strange. The Templars do. Maybe they're just better at this." Not that he was expecting to goad the young man much now, but the Trickster was enjoying himself, and he was going to say whatever he damn well wanted.

Although of course the boy's next comment earned a laugh, The Trickster turning to follow his movements. "Leave the world to us? You don't have the power to do that, Desmond. It was ours before you came here, and it'll be us who put it right after you've gone. It was always ours, as much as you were always ours. Humans just don't see the universe that way." Although frankly as they were likely never going to get back to Earth, it wasn't important. The only thing that was, well, that was this group of mutton-heads pulling together, and it looked like they were doing just that.

The Trickster cocked an eyebrow, still turning slowly, making sure he kept an eye on the wannabe assassin passing around his throne-room. "Maybe you should take that constructive criticism on board one of these days, huh?"

[milesawayfrom]

Of course the Templars would celebrate death. They didn't have morals as it was. They'd lie, kill, and steal just to advance their own personal gains. Assassins did the same, but theirs was always for a greater good. Trying to balance the world; make it so that people had a choice. Freedom verses oppression. Though, he was pretty sure this Trickster didn't understand anything like that. Good thing Desmond had no interest in a history lesson whatsoever.

"'Ours', huh?" There was a tingle in his head. Something about it reminded him of The Ones Who Came Before. Except, they were all dead. Not that it stopped places like Mandalus or Aliunde from messing with the timeline. By this time, Ezio and Clay were dead, yet he walked with them like they had never died. Maybe this guy was something like The Ones Who Came Before. That thought enough was unsettling. He was very glad he didn't bring the Piece of Eden with him now.

Wannabe assassin, that hurt, Trickster.

"Given you don't know the first thing about my life? I'm gonna say no thanks." Desmond stopped when he made a full circle. Right.... hopefully this was going to work. He slid the bottle up further in his sleeve and flicked his hidden blade out. He made a quick check of the distances before moving at him, ready to strike. Hopefully this circle would mean the guy couldn't get out.