Before the week is over Altair is already off the Vicodin and instead eats ibuprofen or Tylenol like it’s going out of style. Malik had to take away the stronger drug because of what it did to him. By then he'd decided he didn't like a high Altair either despite the fact that all he did was sit on the couch, sleep, watch TV and sometimes say he was hungry or cold. Malik didn't like it though because Altair was too still. Sure he'd seen Altair stand statue still before but this was different. It was like he didn't even have the energy to move and from what Malik remembered of him that was totally opposite of his normal mentality of staying still when he needed to but looked like he could jump up at any second and do a backflip or something like that.
The dirty costume had vanished one day while he'd been at work and he'd found ashes in the trash can later that night and he had no idea what had happened to the gun or knife. All he knew was that they weren't on Altair's person and that was good enough for him since he really didn't want some stoned assassin waving either of them around.
That was another thing Malik was coming to terms with. He knew Altair had told him the truth but it was still pretty unbelievable, Altair was an assassin. Just saying it sounded ridiculous. People didn't just go around saying they were assassins! Not only that but the idea was a bit preposterous, assassins were mainly people you read about in stories from before the twentieth century or played as in video games. He'd asked Altair after he'd stopped taking the prescription meds and was lucid and he'd given the same answer. It freaked him out a bit actually.
And of course like Altair had said news came out about the death of a local politician who'd been killed during a fundraiser for a project that wasn't all that's popular anyways. The police had no leads except for a five bullets they'd found on the crime scene that belonged to some unknown gunman. They were handmade bullets too and thus lacked a serial number which they could track. There were no prints, no hairs, no evidence of any kind save that a man in white with a hood had appeared from the crowd and cut the man's throat before anyone knew what had really happened. The news was freaking out about it and going on about how dangerous this man was and everyone should be careful.
Meanwhile Altair was asleep on his couch as he watched this news looking as innocent as a child. It was like he honestly didn’t care about what he had done. At first Malik had thought him heartless but then couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t ever felt bad when he’d shot someone, or killed someone. Still, that had been from a distance and— no, he was just trying to make himself into the better man. Really he wasn’t, they were both guilty of murderers and if Malik didn’t feel bad for who he killed then Altair deserved to not feel bad about his either.
On the Friday of the week Malik came home to an empty apartment. He knew Kadar had class but where the hell was Altair? Maybe he’d left since he was feeling better? Only that was a giant lie. The wound was still a bit inflamed and still full of stitches, it wouldn’t be fully healed for a few more weeks. It was so not a good idea for him to leave. Not to mention the police were technically looking for him even though they had no idea who he was. He had to remind himself not to worry and that it wasn’t his business before he started to panic. Altair could take care of himself besides and didn’t need someone like Malik to protect him. That thought might have stopped the panic but definitely not the worrying.
Relief flashed through him when Altair finally came back, opening the door without knocking, an hour or so later. Malik didn’t want to think about how he was able to do that since he didn’t have a key. He was carrying a duffle bag and looked freezing, shivering in a long sleeved shirt Malik had let him borrow for inside purposes. “Don’t you have a coat?” he demanded once he noticed.
Re: Altered Flight Pattern (67/?)
Before the week is over Altair is already off the Vicodin and instead eats ibuprofen or Tylenol like it’s going out of style. Malik had to take away the stronger drug because of what it did to him. By then he'd decided he didn't like a high Altair either despite the fact that all he did was sit on the couch, sleep, watch TV and sometimes say he was hungry or cold. Malik didn't like it though because Altair was too still. Sure he'd seen Altair stand statue still before but this was different. It was like he didn't even have the energy to move and from what Malik remembered of him that was totally opposite of his normal mentality of staying still when he needed to but looked like he could jump up at any second and do a backflip or something like that.
The dirty costume had vanished one day while he'd been at work and he'd found ashes in the trash can later that night and he had no idea what had happened to the gun or knife. All he knew was that they weren't on Altair's person and that was good enough for him since he really didn't want some stoned assassin waving either of them around.
That was another thing Malik was coming to terms with. He knew Altair had told him the truth but it was still pretty unbelievable, Altair was an assassin. Just saying it sounded ridiculous. People didn't just go around saying they were assassins! Not only that but the idea was a bit preposterous, assassins were mainly people you read about in stories from before the twentieth century or played as in video games. He'd asked Altair after he'd stopped taking the prescription meds and was lucid and he'd given the same answer. It freaked him out a bit actually.
And of course like Altair had said news came out about the death of a local politician who'd been killed during a fundraiser for a project that wasn't all that's popular anyways. The police had no leads except for a five bullets they'd found on the crime scene that belonged to some unknown gunman. They were handmade bullets too and thus lacked a serial number which they could track. There were no prints, no hairs, no evidence of any kind save that a man in white with a hood had appeared from the crowd and cut the man's throat before anyone knew what had really happened. The news was freaking out about it and going on about how dangerous this man was and everyone should be careful.
Meanwhile Altair was asleep on his couch as he watched this news looking as innocent as a child. It was like he honestly didn’t care about what he had done. At first Malik had thought him heartless but then couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t ever felt bad when he’d shot someone, or killed someone. Still, that had been from a distance and— no, he was just trying to make himself into the better man. Really he wasn’t, they were both guilty of murderers and if Malik didn’t feel bad for who he killed then Altair deserved to not feel bad about his either.
On the Friday of the week Malik came home to an empty apartment. He knew Kadar had class but where the hell was Altair? Maybe he’d left since he was feeling better? Only that was a giant lie. The wound was still a bit inflamed and still full of stitches, it wouldn’t be fully healed for a few more weeks. It was so not a good idea for him to leave. Not to mention the police were technically looking for him even though they had no idea who he was. He had to remind himself not to worry and that it wasn’t his business before he started to panic. Altair could take care of himself besides and didn’t need someone like Malik to protect him. That thought might have stopped the panic but definitely not the worrying.
Relief flashed through him when Altair finally came back, opening the door without knocking, an hour or so later. Malik didn’t want to think about how he was able to do that since he didn’t have a key. He was carrying a duffle bag and looked freezing, shivering in a long sleeved shirt Malik had let him borrow for inside purposes. “Don’t you have a coat?” he demanded once he noticed.
“N-no,” Altair’s teeth actually chattered.