Hello hello! I would have posted this earlier but, testing and stuff. Anyway, it's short just to get things going. And...well that's pretty much it.
Oh yeah! Before I forget,I'm giving you a waaaaay early notice...this fic actually got dark later on...
But don't worry. It's not yet! Cute stuff first. :D I'll put up a warning on the parts to watch out for.
----------
Well, this was semi-familiar territory. He needed to get to a big city. He needed to find someone who would know where the Apple wa--
He needed to find Haytham. Haytham would know. Of course a Templar would know. He stood on the sidewalk, blinking for a bit before he turned on his heel and ran back to the manor. Connor would know where Haytham was, and Haytham would know where the Apple was. He had a mission--he had a purpose--and he was going to get back to the twenty-first century.
Although, he mused as he ran, it was kinda nice not playing crazy sacrifice this time. He slowed to a walk, stopped, and closed his eyes as he heard the sounds of horses whinnying in the streets, people's talking slurring into a foreign language as the sun intensified on his back, the street vendors were shouting in distinct calls, and a familiar cotton of Arabic seemed to creep over his thoughts.
And if he was walking with more of a strut as he walked back to the manor, well...
No one messed with the Great Eagle of Masyaf.
Connor was heading out the door, bow and arrows in hand from having rushed out the manor. He started for the stables to grab a horse when he spotted the figure swaggering towards the manor. "Desmond?"
Desmond's lips curled upward into a smirk, and, without noticing, called out in Arabic, "Connor, I need to speak to your father."
Connor furrows his brows. What language was that? "What?" The confident, maybe arrogant and sexy, smirk sent a shiver down his spine.
His smirk quickly faded into a frown. "Your father. Where is--"
Desmond blinked, feeling himself come rushing back, as if someone physically ripped out a part of him, allowing a swift rush of memories, hot and frantic to pour into his brain as it came barreling into him. These were the things he hid from his teammates, no matter what the cost, as his breathing picked up and his arms, fingers and his lips started twitching uncontrollably, his arms slowly curling inward as his throat closed up and he started choking, pulling in desperately for air as he doubled-over, feeling a spasm rip through him.
Seizures.
Connor's eyes widen. "Desmond!" and he was at his side in seconds, trying to still his cubs movements and screamed for his mentor. He didn't know what to do. This was different from when he first saw Desmond, and he was sure that a blow to the head would only make matters worse. Achilles hobbled over as quick as the old man could. Then everything happened too fast for Connor.
"What happened?"
"I-I don't know! He was fine one moment, now it's like he was hit by lightening. Wha- why is he foaming from the mouth?"
"Don't hold him down Connor, tilt him on his side!"
"Why is this happening? What could cause this?"
"Many things Connor. Now keep him that way while I go get the doctor."
"Yes sir....."
Desmond convulsed violently, choking for breath as his muscle contracted and spasmed and fuck if it didn't hurt and oh my God how could his back bend like this and he was so overwhelmed by all of this. He let out something akin to an almost possessed garble (no wonder they used to lock up people who had seizures. He probably looked like he was possessed.), twitching, twisting, gasping violently for breath as he hoped there would be no minister here, no sentence for having a serious medical condition. He let out another noise as his entire body spasmed again, having him thrashing against the ground.
And after several minutes, his muscles began to relax, and all of the violent upheaval that had ripped through his system began to leave. His throat relaxed, and his eyes were held open wide as he felt the foam dribbling down the corner of his mouth.
"I'm not possessed. You gotta believe me. I'm sick. Not possessed," he forced himself to say. "I'm not possessed: I'm sick. I'm sick. I'm sick."
Puppy Love (Part 3/?)
Oh yeah! Before I forget,I'm giving you a waaaaay early notice...this fic actually got dark later on...
But don't worry. It's not yet! Cute stuff first. :D I'll put up a warning on the parts to watch out for.
----------
Well, this was semi-familiar territory. He needed to get to a big city. He needed to find someone who would know where the Apple wa--
He needed to find Haytham. Haytham would know. Of course a Templar would know. He stood on the sidewalk, blinking for a bit before he turned on his heel and ran back to the manor. Connor would know where Haytham was, and Haytham would know where the Apple was. He had a mission--he had a purpose--and he was going to get back to the twenty-first century.
Although, he mused as he ran, it was kinda nice not playing crazy sacrifice this time. He slowed to a walk, stopped, and closed his eyes as he heard the sounds of horses whinnying in the streets, people's talking slurring into a foreign language as the sun intensified on his back, the street vendors were shouting in distinct calls, and a familiar cotton of Arabic seemed to creep over his thoughts.
And if he was walking with more of a strut as he walked back to the manor, well...
No one messed with the Great Eagle of Masyaf.
Connor was heading out the door, bow and arrows in hand from having rushed out the manor. He started for the stables to grab a horse when he spotted the figure swaggering towards the manor. "Desmond?"
Desmond's lips curled upward into a smirk, and, without noticing, called out in Arabic, "Connor, I need to speak to your father."
Connor furrows his brows. What language was that? "What?" The confident, maybe arrogant and sexy, smirk sent a shiver down his spine.
His smirk quickly faded into a frown. "Your father. Where is--"
Desmond blinked, feeling himself come rushing back, as if someone physically ripped out a part of him, allowing a swift rush of memories, hot and frantic to pour into his brain as it came barreling into him. These were the things he hid from his teammates, no matter what the cost, as his breathing picked up and his arms, fingers and his lips started twitching uncontrollably, his arms slowly curling inward as his throat closed up and he started choking, pulling in desperately for air as he doubled-over, feeling a spasm rip through him.
Seizures.
Connor's eyes widen. "Desmond!" and he was at his side in seconds, trying to still his cubs movements and screamed for his mentor. He didn't know what to do. This was different from when he first saw Desmond, and he was sure that a blow to the head would only make matters worse. Achilles hobbled over as quick as the old man could. Then everything happened too fast for Connor.
"What happened?"
"I-I don't know! He was fine one moment, now it's like he was hit by lightening. Wha- why is he foaming from the mouth?"
"Don't hold him down Connor, tilt him on his side!"
"Why is this happening? What could cause this?"
"Many things Connor. Now keep him that way while I go get the doctor."
"Yes sir....."
Desmond convulsed violently, choking for breath as his muscle contracted and spasmed and fuck if it didn't hurt and oh my God how could his back bend like this and he was so overwhelmed by all of this. He let out something akin to an almost possessed garble (no wonder they used to lock up people who had seizures. He probably looked like he was possessed.), twitching, twisting, gasping violently for breath as he hoped there would be no minister here, no sentence for having a serious medical condition. He let out another noise as his entire body spasmed again, having him thrashing against the ground.
And after several minutes, his muscles began to relax, and all of the violent upheaval that had ripped through his system began to leave. His throat relaxed, and his eyes were held open wide as he felt the foam dribbling down the corner of his mouth.
"I'm not possessed. You gotta believe me. I'm sick. Not possessed," he forced himself to say. "I'm not possessed: I'm sick. I'm sick. I'm sick."
He passed out. This was too much to handle.