Their conversation this time is civil if nothing else; Altair doesn't test Malik's patience, and Malik doesn't pounce upon every opportunity to cast blame down upon the man's head. Malik has heard about his next target, yes-- Majd Addin has been making a nuisance of himself about the city, according to his informants, who've been scurrying about like mice, trying to keep their heads down.
Malik chews the inside of his cheek as Altair leaves for the locations he's recommended. At least there'd been no inkpots wasted today--Altair had been brash, but not... intolerable. He'd even asked for his advice, an interesting development that he'd not been expecting.
He catches himself woolgathering a second later, and shakes himself with a snarl; now is not (and never will be!) the time to speculate upon the exasperating Ibn-La'Ahad--if he does his job as any other Assassin would, then fantastic! Nothing more nor less was expected of him.
VIV.
Altair had intended to return to the Bureau with nothing more than the information that he'd gained to give to Malik, but as he threads through the masses in the marketplace, the fragrant scent of dates arrests him, draws him back to a bustling fruit stall.
He contemplates the fruit for a moment before giving in and buying a small bag, popping a few into his mouth before he even reaches a clear-enough alley to climb to the roofs; sweetness and juice fill his mouth, and he eats another three before he drops into the Bureau.
"Safety and peace, brother."
"Were it that the city were possessed of either. What news then, novice?" Then Malik pauses, eyes narrowing at the bag in Altair's hand.
Altair swallows hastily, protesting: "I am not a novice!" and the look that Malik shoots back at him is as dry as the desert and just as merciless.
Altair refuses to back down in acknowledgement of the point that's been scored, instead approaching the counter. Malik pulls out a ledger in response, careful to not smudge the lines of the map he'd been drawing before Altair's arrival, and writes within as he reports what information Altair tells him, the bag of dates relocated out of the way of both of them on the counter.
"Do not allow your impulsiveness to cloud your judgement in this mission; a brother's life hangs in the balance. Al Mualim wishes for him to be saved, and saved he will be if my men have anything to say about it--just do not allow him to be killed!"
Altair resists the urge to scoff, instead replying, "He will not; I will not give Majd the chance to steal his life."
"One hopes so," Malik answers, voice dry once again. "Here. Take your feather and begone."
Altair nods, then tilts his head toward the bag of dates, already stepping out of reach. "Eat those. It's been too long since your last meal, I can smell it, and they'll go to waste if you don't--I can hardly snack while on a mission, no?" He grins and deftly sidesteps the throwing knife that flies at him, scampering out and through the lattice before Malik has the chance to throw another; he stands behind the counter and fumes silently for a moment before stalking out to retrieve his blade, mentally cursing Altair. Thrice damned nosy alphas and their instinctive desire to care for his sex! The stupid man should tend to his own business first before meddling in his.
He still manages to eat half the bag as he finishes his map before his mind catches up to his actions; he nearly throws what's left of the fruit at the next Assassin to come in, telling her to dispose of it in whatever manner she sees fit, before taking a break to prepare his own midday meal.
our lives together are a work in progress [3/?]
----
VIII.
Their conversation this time is civil if nothing else; Altair doesn't test Malik's patience, and Malik doesn't pounce upon every opportunity to cast blame down upon the man's head. Malik has heard about his next target, yes-- Majd Addin has been making a nuisance of himself about the city, according to his informants, who've been scurrying about like mice, trying to keep their heads down.
Malik chews the inside of his cheek as Altair leaves for the locations he's recommended. At least there'd been no inkpots wasted today--Altair had been brash, but not... intolerable. He'd even asked for his advice, an interesting development that he'd not been expecting.
He catches himself woolgathering a second later, and shakes himself with a snarl; now is not (and never will be!) the time to speculate upon the exasperating Ibn-La'Ahad--if he does his job as any other Assassin would, then fantastic! Nothing more nor less was expected of him.
VIV.
Altair had intended to return to the Bureau with nothing more than the information that he'd gained to give to Malik, but as he threads through the masses in the marketplace, the fragrant scent of dates arrests him, draws him back to a bustling fruit stall.
He contemplates the fruit for a moment before giving in and buying a small bag, popping a few into his mouth before he even reaches a clear-enough alley to climb to the roofs; sweetness and juice fill his mouth, and he eats another three before he drops into the Bureau.
"Safety and peace, brother."
"Were it that the city were possessed of either. What news then, novice?" Then Malik pauses, eyes narrowing at the bag in Altair's hand.
Altair swallows hastily, protesting: "I am not a novice!" and the look that Malik shoots back at him is as dry as the desert and just as merciless.
Altair refuses to back down in acknowledgement of the point that's been scored, instead approaching the counter. Malik pulls out a ledger in response, careful to not smudge the lines of the map he'd been drawing before Altair's arrival, and writes within as he reports what information Altair tells him, the bag of dates relocated out of the way of both of them on the counter.
"Do not allow your impulsiveness to cloud your judgement in this mission; a brother's life hangs in the balance. Al Mualim wishes for him to be saved, and saved he will be if my men have anything to say about it--just do not allow him to be killed!"
Altair resists the urge to scoff, instead replying, "He will not; I will not give Majd the chance to steal his life."
"One hopes so," Malik answers, voice dry once again. "Here. Take your feather and begone."
Altair nods, then tilts his head toward the bag of dates, already stepping out of reach. "Eat those. It's been too long since your last meal, I can smell it, and they'll go to waste if you don't--I can hardly snack while on a mission, no?" He grins and deftly sidesteps the throwing knife that flies at him, scampering out and through the lattice before Malik has the chance to throw another; he stands behind the counter and fumes silently for a moment before stalking out to retrieve his blade, mentally cursing Altair. Thrice damned nosy alphas and their instinctive desire to care for his sex! The stupid man should tend to his own business first before meddling in his.
He still manages to eat half the bag as he finishes his map before his mind catches up to his actions; he nearly throws what's left of the fruit at the next Assassin to come in, telling her to dispose of it in whatever manner she sees fit, before taking a break to prepare his own midday meal.