It was only when he was out that Altair noticed that Malik did not supply him with the money to pay. Meaning he will have to pay for the incense himself. As he bemoaned his fate, he scanned his surroundings, carefully getting down the roof. No need getting spotted and hunted down because he simply used the roof to get to the market. Thanks Allah that he remembered where the market was. It was all too easy, no one actually caring about him – despite all that Malik seemed to think he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and to go about unnoticed in the streets. However, the stealth was not everything and when he finally got to the stall with the incense seller, his memory chose to betray him.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“Huh...” He was at a loss about what to do – he did not recall the name and thus tried to trust his nose. After a while, he thought he got it right and was glad he managed to find anyway, though when the man named his prize, he could not help but cringe. No wonder Malik was such a money pincher at times, nagging about uniforms and all. Those things were damn expensive! Slouching in discontentment at having been played, he went back to the Bureau, not even in the mood to try to listen to conversations. Not that anything was interesting to him anyway – he should be in Damascus running after Jubair but he could not help dropping in Jerusalem. And he was fairly certain that Malik knew it perfectly well. What was strange was that the dai did not even say a thing about him being here rather than in Damascus. Or maybe he sent a message to Al Mualim and he will get an earfull when coming back to Masyaf. Anything was possible where Malik was concerned after all.
Once near the Bureau, he silently climbed the ladder, letting himself fall through the opening. He had avoided all the guards and while he really wanted to rub it in, he did not say a word when approaching Malik. He was still working on a map but the light was starting to fade and Altair had to bite his tongue not to make a snide remark about rafiqs ruining their eyes for nothing. Instead, he laid on the desk his purchase,
Malik only cast him a sideway glance, nodding ever so slightly upon recognizing the sandalwood. Indeed, Altair's nose rarely fooled him. He let the assassin prepare the incense and place it carefully on the burner. Unbeknownst to him, he kept an eye on him, silently noticing the strange grace of Altair's movement as he slowly put just the right amount of incense in the cup. It should have been a surprise but Malik could not but surmise that Altair must have observed him doing this countless times by now. Actually, it had always been something he did – burning incense. It soothed him and helped him concentrate. The content varied but for the sandalwood, a scent he found to be light enough not to make him want to air out the place every hour – as frankincense would do. When the fragrances started to rise, he failed to recognize that which underlined the sandalwood, though it was far from being unpleasant. Actually, it would even raise his spirits.
As it would be inhospitable not to feed a fellow assassin – even who was not supposed to be in Jerusalem at the moment – Malik let Altair eat with him, though in silence. The night was still warm, though not as stifling as it would get in a few months. In fact, it was rather pleasant – and the smoke from the incense kept the insects at bay, something for which Altair was grateful. He abhorred mosquitoes just about as much as Templars must hate their hidden blades – sneaky, not quite silent and relentless things they were. Malik then retired to sleep, leaving Altair to make himself a nest out of the pillows sitting in the corner of the outer part of the Bureau. The moon was but a thin crescent and shed barely enough light for him to go about without falling right on his face. But the comfort of the pillows was well-worth it. After a few minutes, sleep's arms wrapped around him, making him sigh in contentment at being safe and well-fed.
Re: [FILL] Incense 2/
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“Huh...” He was at a loss about what to do – he did not recall the name and thus tried to trust his nose. After a while, he thought he got it right and was glad he managed to find anyway, though when the man named his prize, he could not help but cringe. No wonder Malik was such a money pincher at times, nagging about uniforms and all. Those things were damn expensive! Slouching in discontentment at having been played, he went back to the Bureau, not even in the mood to try to listen to conversations. Not that anything was interesting to him anyway – he should be in Damascus running after Jubair but he could not help dropping in Jerusalem. And he was fairly certain that Malik knew it perfectly well. What was strange was that the dai did not even say a thing about him being here rather than in Damascus. Or maybe he sent a message to Al Mualim and he will get an earfull when coming back to Masyaf. Anything was possible where Malik was concerned after all.
Once near the Bureau, he silently climbed the ladder, letting himself fall through the opening. He had avoided all the guards and while he really wanted to rub it in, he did not say a word when approaching Malik. He was still working on a map but the light was starting to fade and Altair had to bite his tongue not to make a snide remark about rafiqs ruining their eyes for nothing. Instead, he laid on the desk his purchase,
Malik only cast him a sideway glance, nodding ever so slightly upon recognizing the sandalwood. Indeed, Altair's nose rarely fooled him. He let the assassin prepare the incense and place it carefully on the burner. Unbeknownst to him, he kept an eye on him, silently noticing the strange grace of Altair's movement as he slowly put just the right amount of incense in the cup. It should have been a surprise but Malik could not but surmise that Altair must have observed him doing this countless times by now. Actually, it had always been something he did – burning incense. It soothed him and helped him concentrate. The content varied but for the sandalwood, a scent he found to be light enough not to make him want to air out the place every hour – as frankincense would do. When the fragrances started to rise, he failed to recognize that which underlined the sandalwood, though it was far from being unpleasant. Actually, it would even raise his spirits.
As it would be inhospitable not to feed a fellow assassin – even who was not supposed to be in Jerusalem at the moment – Malik let Altair eat with him, though in silence. The night was still warm, though not as stifling as it would get in a few months. In fact, it was rather pleasant – and the smoke from the incense kept the insects at bay, something for which Altair was grateful. He abhorred mosquitoes just about as much as Templars must hate their hidden blades – sneaky, not quite silent and relentless things they were.
Malik then retired to sleep, leaving Altair to make himself a nest out of the pillows sitting in the corner of the outer part of the Bureau. The moon was but a thin crescent and shed barely enough light for him to go about without falling right on his face. But the comfort of the pillows was well-worth it. After a few minutes, sleep's arms wrapped around him, making him sigh in contentment at being safe and well-fed.