“Peace, Altaïr, peace. I really mean you no harm. I do believe that we got off on the wrong foot.”
Altaïr wrenched his foot free at last and knocked his knee into the wall, no doubt creating a new bruise under his breeches. Malik released him completely and took a few steps backwards until he leant back on the desk, relaxed.
“I am an assassin, you needn't worry.”
Altaïr span to face him, rubbing at his wrists and stretching out his knee whilst gingerly fingering the cut made on his wrist by Malik's throwing knife. “Yet you come into my room and attack me? I have not even seen you here before.”
“I tend to stick around Jerusalem.” Malik replied shortly and crossed one leg over the other.
“You still do not answer all of my questions.” Altaïr spat, and anger was written clearly on his face again. If there was one thing he hated it was being made a fool of, and not only had Malik pinned him down more than once in their tussle but he was now twisting words to create an air of intellectual superiority.
Malik hesitated, remembering just how he had managed to find himself in a much younger Altaïr's quarters and about ten years into the past. The Apple was a godforsaken and evil tool. It was well enough that it had turned Altaïr into a stoic scholarly figure, forever chained to his desk physically whilst his psyche plundered vast fields of knowledge, but now it had brought Malik into such areas of confusion. He stared at the man before him with a frown on his face. There was such a possibility that this was all a hallucination of such realism it was painful, and yet he could not be sure. His hand tightened on the desk beneath it, feeling the roughness of the grain and the bite of the hard edges into his fingers.
“I do not suppose that you have seen a golden sphere at all, have you?” He finally asked, and he knew that it was not an answer but it was all he could say for fear of messing with what could be the past.
Altaïr scowled at him, “How mysterious of you.”
“I do not know how I got here or why, or even how I get back. I just appeared.” Malik sighed.
“And still that is not the answer I was looking for.”
“So I appeared in a place that seemed foreign at first, and I hear movement behind me. If I was captured by anyone they would need to die, no? So I struck.” The Dai explained and then brought up his hand to rub at his ear with was tender to the touch. “Of course I recognised you immediately for an assassin, and I try to make peace, but you are not so happy to back down.”
Altaïr's eyes flickered to the pile of blades he had left on the bed, his belt which held those cleaned and polished and then finally over the weapons that had left their hands not too long ago.
“I should hope you aren't planning at coming at me with a knife again. Your blade work is so messy at times it's a wonder you have not decapitated yourself.”
Eyes narrowed tightly at Malik but instead of turning back to the knives sitting on the rug they remained trained on his face, and Altaïr made no move towards the weapons, instead relaxing ever so slightly. Malik raised his eyebrows surprised.
“I had thought that your head was so big anything anyone said to you other than praise would have merely bounced off the flesh enclosing your ears.”
Determined not to cave to Malik's jibes, Altaïr clenched his jaw tight and his scowl grew heavier.
2; The wound [4/?]
Altaïr wrenched his foot free at last and knocked his knee into the wall, no doubt creating a new bruise under his breeches. Malik released him completely and took a few steps backwards until he leant back on the desk, relaxed.
“I am an assassin, you needn't worry.”
Altaïr span to face him, rubbing at his wrists and stretching out his knee whilst gingerly fingering the cut made on his wrist by Malik's throwing knife. “Yet you come into my room and attack me? I have not even seen you here before.”
“I tend to stick around Jerusalem.” Malik replied shortly and crossed one leg over the other.
“You still do not answer all of my questions.” Altaïr spat, and anger was written clearly on his face again. If there was one thing he hated it was being made a fool of, and not only had Malik pinned him down more than once in their tussle but he was now twisting words to create an air of intellectual superiority.
Malik hesitated, remembering just how he had managed to find himself in a much younger Altaïr's quarters and about ten years into the past. The Apple was a godforsaken and evil tool. It was well enough that it had turned Altaïr into a stoic scholarly figure, forever chained to his desk physically whilst his psyche plundered vast fields of knowledge, but now it had brought Malik into such areas of confusion. He stared at the man before him with a frown on his face. There was such a possibility that this was all a hallucination of such realism it was painful, and yet he could not be sure. His hand tightened on the desk beneath it, feeling the roughness of the grain and the bite of the hard edges into his fingers.
“I do not suppose that you have seen a golden sphere at all, have you?” He finally asked, and he knew that it was not an answer but it was all he could say for fear of messing with what could be the past.
Altaïr scowled at him, “How mysterious of you.”
“I do not know how I got here or why, or even how I get back. I just appeared.” Malik sighed.
“And still that is not the answer I was looking for.”
“So I appeared in a place that seemed foreign at first, and I hear movement behind me. If I was captured by anyone they would need to die, no? So I struck.” The Dai explained and then brought up his hand to rub at his ear with was tender to the touch. “Of course I recognised you immediately for an assassin, and I try to make peace, but you are not so happy to back down.”
Altaïr's eyes flickered to the pile of blades he had left on the bed, his belt which held those cleaned and polished and then finally over the weapons that had left their hands not too long ago.
“I should hope you aren't planning at coming at me with a knife again. Your blade work is so messy at times it's a wonder you have not decapitated yourself.”
Eyes narrowed tightly at Malik but instead of turning back to the knives sitting on the rug they remained trained on his face, and Altaïr made no move towards the weapons, instead relaxing ever so slightly. Malik raised his eyebrows surprised.
“I had thought that your head was so big anything anyone said to you other than praise would have merely bounced off the flesh enclosing your ears.”
Determined not to cave to Malik's jibes, Altaïr clenched his jaw tight and his scowl grew heavier.