Just kidding, I'll take under a week to redo this chapter instead of next day (fuckthat.jpg). OTL sorry it's late ;; Next part should be up soon. (lol here's hoping)... ----------
Even assassins, he noted, had their weak moments.
The idea to put the false noose around this... so called “Grand Master” guy’s neck had just been a random idea that his partner, Michaello, had thought up on a whim. At the time, of course, it had sounded so incredibly stupid, but when they saw him tense, heard the subtly intake of air, they knew it struck deep.
That, really, was all he needed. Still, they didn’t understand why that odd man, some Borgia messenger, had been sent to them. Hell if they cared – getting paid a pretty penny for a job like this wasn’t something he was going to complain about.
Glancing outside, Nichols stood up from the card game Michaello, Luccio, and he had been playing. He walked (read: stalked) into the room where the “Grand Master” was sitting, tied up.
Stepping behind him, he grabbed the noose and tugged it, bringing forth a cracked and tired scream. With a smirk, he walked over to a table, picking up the small dagger, running his finger over it observantly.
“How do you fair, assassino?” He asked, taunting and conversational. “Are you willing to answer my question now?”
I will die first. Ezio hissed in his head.
Nichols smirked, walking around him in a predatory circle. He thought of where to cut: perhaps his collar bone? Or his back? Of course it wouldn’t be a deep cut – just something to send a point. When he finally decided to make two small incisions over his collar bones, he stood off to Ezio’s right. He took one step, when he heard something slam from outside.
There were a couple of gasps, which were quickly followed by a different kind of gasp. Not one of surprise, or disgust; no, they were gasps for air. He stared at the door, till all went quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man's head tilt to the side...
He heard something. The door slammed opened with a force Nichols couldn’t fathom. His hands became shaky, and he took a step back, staring ahead, utterly horrified.
Two assassins stood there in the grey robes of novices, but blood was splattered across each of their chests. Their cuffs, too, were stained with fresh blood.
“Get. Away. From him. Now.” One spoke, breathing heavily with obvious rage and exertion.
Both of the hooded figures lifted their heads to allow Nichols a look to what was underneath; all he could see was rage. Pure, unpolluted, unadulterated rage.
He didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before a throwing knife dug itself into his throat. With him gone, the novices hurried to Ezio’s side.
“It’s alright, maestro...” Luciano said softly, untying the blindfold and throwing it to the ground. “We’re here – we will take you home.”
Cirino began cutting the ropes around Ezio’s wrists and ankles. Luciano quickly removed the noose, and, to Ezio’s surprise, he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in.
His cracked his eyes open, slowly, letting them get used to the light and re-focus. After a minute or two, he was greeted by the relieved, but heavily concerned, faces of his eldest novices. Ezio was too relieved and too tired to care about the pain in his back and legs when they lifted him from the chair. Each put an arm around their shoulder, and carefully walked him outside.
The chilly night air stung at the cuts on the assassin’s back, making him hiss. He did his best to hide the pain in his face by biting his lip. One of them, he wasn’t sure, quickly yanked a blanket out from the saddle bag of one of the horses, wrapping it around Ezio.
Getting him onto the horse was a feat. One of them knelt down, offering his hand and knee for Ezio to use as a step up. The other aided him in the same way, swinging his leg over the saddle. Again, the assassin hissed, biting his lip. His legs – hell, his entire body was sore from lack of use. The muscles on his back cried in agony when he moved, and the blanket they brought had bits of rough fabric fluff that rubbed against them painfully.
Recruits to the Rescue [1a/?]
----------
Even assassins, he noted, had their weak moments.
The idea to put the false noose around this... so called “Grand Master” guy’s neck had just been a random idea that his partner, Michaello, had thought up on a whim. At the time, of course, it had sounded so incredibly stupid, but when they saw him tense, heard the subtly intake of air, they knew it struck deep.
That, really, was all he needed. Still, they didn’t understand why that odd man, some Borgia messenger, had been sent to them. Hell if they cared – getting paid a pretty penny for a job like this wasn’t something he was going to complain about.
Glancing outside, Nichols stood up from the card game Michaello, Luccio, and he had been playing. He walked (read: stalked) into the room where the “Grand Master” was sitting, tied up.
Stepping behind him, he grabbed the noose and tugged it, bringing forth a cracked and tired scream. With a smirk, he walked over to a table, picking up the small dagger, running his finger over it observantly.
“How do you fair, assassino?” He asked, taunting and conversational. “Are you willing to answer my question now?”
I will die first. Ezio hissed in his head.
Nichols smirked, walking around him in a predatory circle. He thought of where to cut: perhaps his collar bone? Or his back? Of course it wouldn’t be a deep cut – just something to send a point. When he finally decided to make two small incisions over his collar bones, he stood off to Ezio’s right. He took one step, when he heard something slam from outside.
There were a couple of gasps, which were quickly followed by a different kind of gasp. Not one of surprise, or disgust; no, they were gasps for air. He stared at the door, till all went quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man's head tilt to the side...
He heard something.
The door slammed opened with a force Nichols couldn’t fathom. His hands became shaky, and he took a step back, staring ahead, utterly horrified.
Two assassins stood there in the grey robes of novices, but blood was splattered across each of their chests. Their cuffs, too, were stained with fresh blood.
“Get. Away. From him. Now.” One spoke, breathing heavily with obvious rage and exertion.
Both of the hooded figures lifted their heads to allow Nichols a look to what was underneath; all he could see was rage. Pure, unpolluted, unadulterated rage.
He didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before a throwing knife dug itself into his throat. With him gone, the novices hurried to Ezio’s side.
“It’s alright, maestro...” Luciano said softly, untying the blindfold and throwing it to the ground. “We’re here – we will take you home.”
Cirino began cutting the ropes around Ezio’s wrists and ankles. Luciano quickly removed the noose, and, to Ezio’s surprise, he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding in.
His cracked his eyes open, slowly, letting them get used to the light and re-focus. After a minute or two, he was greeted by the relieved, but heavily concerned, faces of his eldest novices. Ezio was too relieved and too tired to care about the pain in his back and legs when they lifted him from the chair. Each put an arm around their shoulder, and carefully walked him outside.
The chilly night air stung at the cuts on the assassin’s back, making him hiss. He did his best to hide the pain in his face by biting his lip. One of them, he wasn’t sure, quickly yanked a blanket out from the saddle bag of one of the horses, wrapping it around Ezio.
Getting him onto the horse was a feat. One of them knelt down, offering his hand and knee for Ezio to use as a step up. The other aided him in the same way, swinging his leg over the saddle. Again, the assassin hissed, biting his lip. His legs – hell, his entire body was sore from lack of use. The muscles on his back cried in agony when he moved, and the blanket they brought had bits of rough fabric fluff that rubbed against them painfully.
(Gonna kill this character limit i swear)