Can I like... not care about anoning anymore? Cool, thanks. --
"Remember when we went to that art museum?" he asked and Malik nodded, "You said you were just going to assume I did something shady since I didn't tell you what I did," Malik didn't but it sounded like something he would say. All he could remember about that was Altair being annoying and being a tour guide in another language with the English subtitles turned off and kissing him in the rain, and the freak out on his part after of course. He nodded anyways. "Well... you were right," he said reaching into a fold of the pants of the costume and pulled out a handgun with a silencer on it. Malik's eyes widened at seeing it. But that wasn't all, he then reached further down and seemed to grab something from around his feet. A second later he tossed a bloodied knife onto the table. Malik stared at it. "I kill people."
Malik's eyes went from the knife and gun on the table to the shirtless man sitting at his kitchen table. At the moment he didn't look capable of walking a strait line let alone killing anyone. "Very funny Altair," he said with a strained smile.
"It'd be more funny if I was joking," he croaked.
"You could have lied," he said.
"I would never lie to you," and Malik looked into those amber eyes of him and knew he was telling the truth. "Others maybe, but not you," his lips worked their way into a tired grin. Malik felt himself flush and hated himself for it. He didn’t want to feel this way, especially not… not about a fucking murderer! He immediately thought wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black since what had he used to do? He’d killed people, it had been his job and he’d been deceptively good at it till he’d lost his arm. It still didn’t make him get goosebumps any less.
"Why did you come here Altair?" he asked thinking that it now made sense that he didn't want to go to a hospital, though why him of all people? Why not his family? Anyone but him really.
"You're the only person I know who lives on this side of the river," he said, "and," he added with a groan as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the chair, "if I was going to die of a gunshot wound I'd rather see you then my pig headed cousin I was staying with.”
"Well there will be no dying on my watch got it?" Malik growled almost teasingly. Why was he doing this?
He smirked, "Yes sir Gunnery Sergeant," he chuckled and gave an imitation of a salute, his hand and arm sloppy and uncoordinated.
Malik sighed but didn't exactly find anything amusing about the situation. "Who did you kill Altair?" he asked almost afraid to ask.
"You'll probably hear about it tomorrow on the news. I can't even remember anyway. The name isn't important," he said at the end like an after thought.
"Why did you then?"
"I was told to. Just a job," he shrugged.
"So what are you? A mercenary?"
Altair snorted, "Something that- I think you'd use the term- 'bush league'? No I'm not," he blinked at Malik and with a totally serious tone and face said, "I'm an assassin."
"No way, I don't believe you."
"I'm serious," Altair said and with those words Malik knew he was telling the truth because every time he said he was serious he always was, even about that last thing he'd promised Malik all those months ago. Here he was, sure he was all fucked up as well as high, but Altair had promised he'd come back... and he had. Malik wasn't even sure how he felt about that either. "Hey Malik?" he asked when nothing had been said for a while as Malik tried to just soak in what Altair had just said.
"What?"
"Do you hate me? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
"I don't hate you, what gave you that idea?" He wanted to though, he felt like he should, but he didn’t. He should be angry at him for being the biggest flake ever but somehow after what had happened with Ezio he couldn’t muster the emotion to be angry at anyone at the moment.
"Nothing," he muttered before asking, "Can I stay here?"
Re: Altered Flight Pattern (64a/?)
--
"Remember when we went to that art museum?" he asked and Malik nodded, "You said you were just going to assume I did something shady since I didn't tell you what I did," Malik didn't but it sounded like something he would say. All he could remember about that was Altair being annoying and being a tour guide in another language with the English subtitles turned off and kissing him in the rain, and the freak out on his part after of course. He nodded anyways. "Well... you were right," he said reaching into a fold of the pants of the costume and pulled out a handgun with a silencer on it. Malik's eyes widened at seeing it. But that wasn't all, he then reached further down and seemed to grab something from around his feet. A second later he tossed a bloodied knife onto the table. Malik stared at it. "I kill people."
Malik's eyes went from the knife and gun on the table to the shirtless man sitting at his kitchen table. At the moment he didn't look capable of walking a strait line let alone killing anyone. "Very funny Altair," he said with a strained smile.
"It'd be more funny if I was joking," he croaked.
"You could have lied," he said.
"I would never lie to you," and Malik looked into those amber eyes of him and knew he was telling the truth. "Others maybe, but not you," his lips worked their way into a tired grin. Malik felt himself flush and hated himself for it. He didn’t want to feel this way, especially not… not about a fucking murderer! He immediately thought wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black since what had he used to do? He’d killed people, it had been his job and he’d been deceptively good at it till he’d lost his arm. It still didn’t make him get goosebumps any less.
"Why did you come here Altair?" he asked thinking that it now made sense that he didn't want to go to a hospital, though why him of all people? Why not his family? Anyone but him really.
"You're the only person I know who lives on this side of the river," he said, "and," he added with a groan as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the chair, "if I was going to die of a gunshot wound I'd rather see you then my pig headed cousin I was staying with.”
"Well there will be no dying on my watch got it?" Malik growled almost teasingly. Why was he doing this?
He smirked, "Yes sir Gunnery Sergeant," he chuckled and gave an imitation of a salute, his hand and arm sloppy and uncoordinated.
Malik sighed but didn't exactly find anything amusing about the situation. "Who did you kill Altair?" he asked almost afraid to ask.
"You'll probably hear about it tomorrow on the news. I can't even remember anyway. The name isn't important," he said at the end like an after thought.
"Why did you then?"
"I was told to. Just a job," he shrugged.
"So what are you? A mercenary?"
Altair snorted, "Something that- I think you'd use the term- 'bush league'? No I'm not," he blinked at Malik and with a totally serious tone and face said, "I'm an assassin."
"No way, I don't believe you."
"I'm serious," Altair said and with those words Malik knew he was telling the truth because every time he said he was serious he always was, even about that last thing he'd promised Malik all those months ago. Here he was, sure he was all fucked up as well as high, but Altair had promised he'd come back... and he had. Malik wasn't even sure how he felt about that either. "Hey Malik?" he asked when nothing had been said for a while as Malik tried to just soak in what Altair had just said.
"What?"
"Do you hate me? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
"I don't hate you, what gave you that idea?" He wanted to though, he felt like he should, but he didn’t. He should be angry at him for being the biggest flake ever but somehow after what had happened with Ezio he couldn’t muster the emotion to be angry at anyone at the moment.
"Nothing," he muttered before asking, "Can I stay here?"