“He looks it,” the doctor nodded and left the window to open the door which Altair dragged the man through and put on the hard wooden gurney. “Well?” he asked.
“What should I do with him?” Altair asked keeping a firm hand on the man’s chest as he tried to get up despite his wound.
“He does not look like he’ll make it,” the doctor said pulling off his mask with a frown.
“That is unfortunate.”
“Wait, no!” the man finally spoke, able to finally twist his tongue into words that had been tied from fear. “Please, don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”
“Ah, but do you deserve to live?” the doctor asked. The statement didn’t surprise Altair, he knew doctors would let their patients die if they felt they deserved it. Not all doctors did, but some. “What was he doing?”
“He and another looked interested in my ward. He is five.”
The doctor tutted, “Definitely not than,” he said.
“You’re a doctor, you’re supposed to help people!” the man cried.
“Ha! Really? No no my friend, I help people who help me. And you are not, so-” he went over to his cabinet and pulled out a small glass jar as well as a syringe. “I’m going to give you something to make you sleep. When you wake up, you won’t remember a thing,” he said filling the syringe with clear liquid and moving back over to them.
“When?” the man seemed relieved since ‘when’ implied he wasn’t going to die.
“Yes. Say hello to God for me while you’re up there,” and he stuck the man with the needle pushing down the stopper quickly. The man stared at him before Altair watched his body shake a few times and lay still. “Rest now, this life is over,” the doctor said and closed the man’s eyes. “Thank you,” he told Altair and handed him a few coins, far fewer than he would make in selling the body to an artist, or simply using it for his own deeds.
“I won’t say it was a pleasure,” Altair ducked his head when the doctor chuckled and left the doctor’s office. He gave the coins to a street urchin without shoes and told them to buy themselves some with it and they nodded before running away. He found his way back into the walled plaza after that where Lucrezia and Giovanni where sitting on the grass under the two trees, interested in something but Altair did not worry himself over it. He sat on the other side of the tree instead, not listening to them talk, merely the sound of their voices and quickly became lost.
— A child, a different child, not Giovanni, ran up to him and quickly became lost in the long tails of his dark robes. They giggled as he tried to twist around and get ahold of them. But children were like fish and slipped right through your fingers unless you held them just so, which he could not. When he finally stood still they hugged his leg and with lightening fast movement snatched them up from the ground.
“Daddy!” Darim grinned widely at him as he held the boy, so young and fragile and beautiful in every way. Altair had never thought much about children, than he had had one and never wanted to go back.
He smiled back at the toddler, barely three now, and growing so fast, like a weed. “Darim you know you shouldn’t be in my office,” he scolded gently but truly was not mad. He could not be angry with Darim, never, he was Altair’s pride and his joy.
“Well I am,” he said firmly in a tone that Maria took with him when she was being insistent upon something. Altair laughed, “I wanted to help you work,” he added.
“It isn’t as fun as you think Darim,” Altair said gently and walked over to his desk and sat, the boy on his lap. “I’m afraid you’ll find it rather boring.”
“Mommy said daddy works too much. So I’m helping!” he cried insistently and Altair grinned.
“All right,” he said softly and pressed his lips to Darim’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re here to help me then,” and Darim beamed back at him, missing two of his bottom teeth. --
Damnit I almost cried like a little bitch writing that part with Darim. Just... I'm such a sap >___>
Re: Two Eagles (124/?)
“What should I do with him?” Altair asked keeping a firm hand on the man’s chest as he tried to get up despite his wound.
“He does not look like he’ll make it,” the doctor said pulling off his mask with a frown.
“That is unfortunate.”
“Wait, no!” the man finally spoke, able to finally twist his tongue into words that had been tied from fear. “Please, don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.”
“Ah, but do you deserve to live?” the doctor asked. The statement didn’t surprise Altair, he knew doctors would let their patients die if they felt they deserved it. Not all doctors did, but some. “What was he doing?”
“He and another looked interested in my ward. He is five.”
The doctor tutted, “Definitely not than,” he said.
“You’re a doctor, you’re supposed to help people!” the man cried.
“Ha! Really? No no my friend, I help people who help me. And you are not, so-” he went over to his cabinet and pulled out a small glass jar as well as a syringe. “I’m going to give you something to make you sleep. When you wake up, you won’t remember a thing,” he said filling the syringe with clear liquid and moving back over to them.
“When?” the man seemed relieved since ‘when’ implied he wasn’t going to die.
“Yes. Say hello to God for me while you’re up there,” and he stuck the man with the needle pushing down the stopper quickly. The man stared at him before Altair watched his body shake a few times and lay still. “Rest now, this life is over,” the doctor said and closed the man’s eyes. “Thank you,” he told Altair and handed him a few coins, far fewer than he would make in selling the body to an artist, or simply using it for his own deeds.
“I won’t say it was a pleasure,” Altair ducked his head when the doctor chuckled and left the doctor’s office. He gave the coins to a street urchin without shoes and told them to buy themselves some with it and they nodded before running away. He found his way back into the walled plaza after that where Lucrezia and Giovanni where sitting on the grass under the two trees, interested in something but Altair did not worry himself over it. He sat on the other side of the tree instead, not listening to them talk, merely the sound of their voices and quickly became lost.
—
A child, a different child, not Giovanni, ran up to him and quickly became lost in the long tails of his dark robes. They giggled as he tried to twist around and get ahold of them. But children were like fish and slipped right through your fingers unless you held them just so, which he could not. When he finally stood still they hugged his leg and with lightening fast movement snatched them up from the ground.
“Daddy!” Darim grinned widely at him as he held the boy, so young and fragile and beautiful in every way. Altair had never thought much about children, than he had had one and never wanted to go back.
He smiled back at the toddler, barely three now, and growing so fast, like a weed. “Darim you know you shouldn’t be in my office,” he scolded gently but truly was not mad. He could not be angry with Darim, never, he was Altair’s pride and his joy.
“Well I am,” he said firmly in a tone that Maria took with him when she was being insistent upon something. Altair laughed, “I wanted to help you work,” he added.
“It isn’t as fun as you think Darim,” Altair said gently and walked over to his desk and sat, the boy on his lap. “I’m afraid you’ll find it rather boring.”
“Mommy said daddy works too much. So I’m helping!” he cried insistently and Altair grinned.
“All right,” he said softly and pressed his lips to Darim’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re here to help me then,” and Darim beamed back at him, missing two of his bottom teeth.
--
Damnit I almost cried like a little bitch writing that part with Darim. Just... I'm such a sap >___>