(no subject)
Day: 73
Characters: Desmond Miles (attunes), Malik Al-Sayf (cry_in_a_corner)
Summary: An awkward meeting between kind-of-allies, for the first time face-to-face... kind of. Join the madness, guys. :D
DAY/NIGHT & Time: DAY - Dinner.
Status: OPEN; Ongoing
It was a day like every other he had spent here so far: Irritation following irritation closely, no useful information from Altaïr, no useful information from anybody for that matter, from the staff or fellow patients. He knew virtually nothing about this place, still, and while he was not normally a careless or impatient man (except that he was indeed impatient, only that he did not usually act on it), it was grating on his nerves more than he liked to admit even to himself. Cross Marian was the only one who had so far given him a rather useful hint - maps, of the place, which he would soon have to clean up and redraw. The opportunity for him to find out more about what had previous been discovered by the other patients, for himself and his so far so useless "Brother".
What made Malik even more uneasy, a thing he liked to admit even less, was the disappearance and replacement of his room mate. It was not enough to send woman to share his cell - they had abducted the first one again, and she was now facing an uncertain but doubtlessly grim future. He was not going to help her - he was more pragmatic than that, and the Creed and the Brotherhood were what mattered now. Still, it left him with an uneasy feeling of foreboding.
When he entered the Dining Hall on the guards' call, none of these concerns was visible in his expression, of course. He knew better than to be so open with his real emotions. A scowl, pensive and grim as always - nothing more. That was what he was used to express and what was safe to express.
He had left Orihime behind, trusting that she would find her way on her own - that strange, far-Eastern girl. Smart one, he had to admit, although she seemed at the same time terribly and dangerously naïve. Maybe he could have used her help to carry the rations the staff handed out, because it proved difficult with only one arm (so many daily things did), but he didn't plan on letting that deter him, or allowing for himself to depend on anybody else's help.
It was just by coincidence that just when he had put down his plate on his table and turned his head to follow a sound he thought he had heard behind him, his eyes fell briefly on the back of a figure, dark-haired, somewhat tall, and painfully familiar. He looked again, as little suspicious as he managed - and then, his hand nearly slipped from the bread he had reached for. But there was no mistake, he recognised the man, and that instantly filled him with alarm.
Swiftly, silently, and so naturally passive that it would deflect attention, he was on his feet, gliding through the few patients on their way to their seats, and stood behind the seated figure only a second or two later. Without making a noise, he put his hand on the man's shoulder and gripped it firmly, leaning forward to bring his mouth as close as possible to the man's ear, before he whispered sharply in Arabic, "Altaïr, what are you doing here?"
Characters: Desmond Miles (attunes), Malik Al-Sayf (cry_in_a_corner)
Summary: An awkward meeting between kind-of-allies, for the first time face-to-face... kind of. Join the madness, guys. :D
DAY/NIGHT & Time: DAY - Dinner.
Status: OPEN; Ongoing
It was a day like every other he had spent here so far: Irritation following irritation closely, no useful information from Altaïr, no useful information from anybody for that matter, from the staff or fellow patients. He knew virtually nothing about this place, still, and while he was not normally a careless or impatient man (except that he was indeed impatient, only that he did not usually act on it), it was grating on his nerves more than he liked to admit even to himself. Cross Marian was the only one who had so far given him a rather useful hint - maps, of the place, which he would soon have to clean up and redraw. The opportunity for him to find out more about what had previous been discovered by the other patients, for himself and his so far so useless "Brother".
What made Malik even more uneasy, a thing he liked to admit even less, was the disappearance and replacement of his room mate. It was not enough to send woman to share his cell - they had abducted the first one again, and she was now facing an uncertain but doubtlessly grim future. He was not going to help her - he was more pragmatic than that, and the Creed and the Brotherhood were what mattered now. Still, it left him with an uneasy feeling of foreboding.
When he entered the Dining Hall on the guards' call, none of these concerns was visible in his expression, of course. He knew better than to be so open with his real emotions. A scowl, pensive and grim as always - nothing more. That was what he was used to express and what was safe to express.
He had left Orihime behind, trusting that she would find her way on her own - that strange, far-Eastern girl. Smart one, he had to admit, although she seemed at the same time terribly and dangerously naïve. Maybe he could have used her help to carry the rations the staff handed out, because it proved difficult with only one arm (so many daily things did), but he didn't plan on letting that deter him, or allowing for himself to depend on anybody else's help.
It was just by coincidence that just when he had put down his plate on his table and turned his head to follow a sound he thought he had heard behind him, his eyes fell briefly on the back of a figure, dark-haired, somewhat tall, and painfully familiar. He looked again, as little suspicious as he managed - and then, his hand nearly slipped from the bread he had reached for. But there was no mistake, he recognised the man, and that instantly filled him with alarm.
Swiftly, silently, and so naturally passive that it would deflect attention, he was on his feet, gliding through the few patients on their way to their seats, and stood behind the seated figure only a second or two later. Without making a noise, he put his hand on the man's shoulder and gripped it firmly, leaning forward to bring his mouth as close as possible to the man's ear, before he whispered sharply in Arabic, "Altaïr, what are you doing here?"