Who: Altaïr (
excarnates) & Desmond (
mnemotechnics).
When: Not long after Desmond arrives.
Where: Some random rooftop, idfk.
Format: Paragraph, present tense. PAST TENSE. Present tense. YEAH, WE'RE GOING THERE.
What: Secret assassin things. No beggars allowed. :|
Warnings: Probably some minor violence. Language? Likely TL;DR. Other than that, it'll be pretty tame!
(
No party crashing Templar allowed, either! )
Comments 11
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Nothing's telling him to run, surprisingly. That's all he was thinking about, before Altaïr actually got here, before his goddamn nine-hundred-years-dead ancestor decided to not-so-subtly threaten him, but his instincts are telling him to stay still and it's only now he realizes that he completely fucking agrees, because, well. With all the crap he's been through, one thing he's learned is that no matter how fast how far he runs he's going to get caught, and trying to run would just. Waste energy. You want to make a stand you make a stand now, the moment you turn around and try to get away you're fucked.
Oh my god, Desmond. Think, think, there's gotta be a -- there's no easy away out of this shit. He's going to goddamn maim you. Pause focus focus focus breathe focus breathe, what the fuck, it feels like he's going to jump off a goddamn building or ( ... )
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Another person to interrogate, more excuses, there's always excuses to be heard because people who are eaten by fear can do nothing but provide excuses in hopes that their lives might be spared in return. But, to Altaïr, there's a simple answer for everything; either this man is a threat, or he's not, but he's a nuisance regardless, poking his nose into matters that he has no business even speaking of.
Altaïr keeps the events of his own history close to heart, carefully guarded, and the fact that this Desmond has even the nerve to suggest something so ridiculously ludicrous is more than a little offensive. He doesn't particularly enjoy being toyed with or being led astray, so he'll get the truth from him, one way or another, even if he has to pry it from his closed lips. It's what he does. It's all he really knows how to do ( ... )
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-- Or, you know. That's what you would think. And that's how it works out, for the most part, his breath gets caught in his throat somewhere and an almost nerve-wracking panic runs through all his muscles for a split second, but then it's gone. Completely. It's not exactly comfortable, sure, but he's not so much nervous as cautious, and that's fucking retarded, that's not normal, but, hey, Desmond, you aren't normal anymore. You never were, really.
His fingers twitch, just slightly, over the trigger to the blade, and his breathing is calm, steady, he takes a steady step backwards, not because he's afraid, not because he's intimidated ( there's a bit of a lack of fear which might bug Desmond a bit more, if he was at all thinking about it ), but because he's not a goddamn idiot and his reflexes are nowhere near as honed as Altaïr's are, he needs the time to react if anything happens ( ... )
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Given that he isn't purposefully trying to provoke him in any significant way. it's probable that he has no real intention of physically attacking him. He seems interested in something else, has information he absolutely shouldn't with no real obvious ways of retrieving it short of actually being psychic, and then ( ... )
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