Suddenly Desmond didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't like how serious Ezio looked. He didn't like that Machiavelli hadn't already made some sort of snide remark. He didn't like that if he didn't leave this situation soon he was going to be late on his delivery.
"Hey." Desmond looked at the blond man, who blinked at him. "Just let me know what her apartment number is and I'll get out of here, alright?" Apparently it was the right move, because Desmond noticed (with great relief) both Machiavelli and Ezio relaxing. He didn't think he would have caught it if he didn't know them so well. The blond seemed pleased, too, and he gave Desmond the apartment number in a pleasant tone. Desmond nodded his thanks, but didn't say anything further as he slipped past Ezio and Machiavelli. He didn't want to be anywhere near them any longer if he could help it.
The trip through the hallway, up the stairs, and down a second hallway, and around a corner to the proper apartment (318, not 218) was a blessedly uneventful one. Mrs. Gallo, he was relieved to find out, was a pleasant woman, though she seemed lonely. He got wrapped into talking to her for nearly ten minutes, his wristwatch confirmed, and only got away from her when she suddenly remembered that she'd paid for a pizza and that she should probably get to eating it. By the time he stepped out the buildings' front door, he was ready to call it a night.
Least I got a decent tip, he mused to himself. Even though I'm used to better. Thinking about his old job brought a frown to his face -- one of puzzlement, not of anger. He knew, vaguely, the story behind what had happened the night he got fired. The Syrian La'Ahad faction and the Italian Auditore family were on good terms, and Desmond knew (as most people did not) that Giovanni and Altaïr were related -- a shared great grandfather. Yet the two families were not technically allies. The disagreements between them were peaceful, comparatively, the shifting boundaries of their territory usually coming as the result of civil disagreements.
Which was not to say that every member of each faction was peaceful. That was what had lead to the fight. One of Altaïr's youngest and newest deciding that Giovanni's second son, relaxed and slightly inebriated, was too good an opportunity to pass up. Desmond hadn't really been surprised, even if he was annoyed with himself for not catching it before the fight.
Less annoyed than he was for letting it slip earlier that night that Ezio was his cousin, though. He had thought, being 23 and well out of the influence of his parents, that he was a bit beyond getting bit in the ass for his relation to certain people. He'd gotten a rather unfortunate lesson about that, as well as about the sort of trouble his 'stupid, shithead cousin', as his ex-boss had put it, could get in to. So he'd been fired, apparently for even so much as telling Ezio where he worked. Who cared that the fight hadn't been Ezio's fault, right?
As Desmond stepped out onto the parking lot pavement his thoughts drifted from Ezio and on towards the one that had really been responsible for the fight. He really shouldn't have been so aggressive towards Ezio. It really wasn't his fault he kept running into Desmond, and he didn't deserve to be snapped at.
Desmond resolved to apologize to Ezio next time he saw him, and was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice a blond woman in a white halter top darting across the parking lot. Almost didn't notice a man tearing after her. And, when he finally looking up in time to see the two take cover across from each other and draw weapons, Desmond almost didn't throw himself to the ground in time to avoid getting riddled with bullets from the pursuer's gun.
He no longer had any doubts. The universe definitely held a grudge against him.
Re: Delivery - Part 2 (1/?)
"Hey." Desmond looked at the blond man, who blinked at him. "Just let me know what her apartment number is and I'll get out of here, alright?" Apparently it was the right move, because Desmond noticed (with great relief) both Machiavelli and Ezio relaxing. He didn't think he would have caught it if he didn't know them so well. The blond seemed pleased, too, and he gave Desmond the apartment number in a pleasant tone. Desmond nodded his thanks, but didn't say anything further as he slipped past Ezio and Machiavelli. He didn't want to be anywhere near them any longer if he could help it.
The trip through the hallway, up the stairs, and down a second hallway, and around a corner to the proper apartment (318, not 218) was a blessedly uneventful one. Mrs. Gallo, he was relieved to find out, was a pleasant woman, though she seemed lonely. He got wrapped into talking to her for nearly ten minutes, his wristwatch confirmed, and only got away from her when she suddenly remembered that she'd paid for a pizza and that she should probably get to eating it. By the time he stepped out the buildings' front door, he was ready to call it a night.
Least I got a decent tip, he mused to himself. Even though I'm used to better. Thinking about his old job brought a frown to his face -- one of puzzlement, not of anger. He knew, vaguely, the story behind what had happened the night he got fired. The Syrian La'Ahad faction and the Italian Auditore family were on good terms, and Desmond knew (as most people did not) that Giovanni and Altaïr were related -- a shared great grandfather. Yet the two families were not technically allies. The disagreements between them were peaceful, comparatively, the shifting boundaries of their territory usually coming as the result of civil disagreements.
Which was not to say that every member of each faction was peaceful. That was what had lead to the fight. One of Altaïr's youngest and newest deciding that Giovanni's second son, relaxed and slightly inebriated, was too good an opportunity to pass up. Desmond hadn't really been surprised, even if he was annoyed with himself for not catching it before the fight.
Less annoyed than he was for letting it slip earlier that night that Ezio was his cousin, though. He had thought, being 23 and well out of the influence of his parents, that he was a bit beyond getting bit in the ass for his relation to certain people. He'd gotten a rather unfortunate lesson about that, as well as about the sort of trouble his 'stupid, shithead cousin', as his ex-boss had put it, could get in to. So he'd been fired, apparently for even so much as telling Ezio where he worked. Who cared that the fight hadn't been Ezio's fault, right?
As Desmond stepped out onto the parking lot pavement his thoughts drifted from Ezio and on towards the one that had really been responsible for the fight. He really shouldn't have been so aggressive towards Ezio. It really wasn't his fault he kept running into Desmond, and he didn't deserve to be snapped at.
Desmond resolved to apologize to Ezio next time he saw him, and was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice a blond woman in a white halter top darting across the parking lot. Almost didn't notice a man tearing after her. And, when he finally looking up in time to see the two take cover across from each other and draw weapons, Desmond almost didn't throw himself to the ground in time to avoid getting riddled with bullets from the pursuer's gun.
He no longer had any doubts. The universe definitely held a grudge against him.