A/N: Oh my GOD thank you so much every one for your wonderful feedback, I feel so blessed! :) I am so happy you are all enjoying this, and so thrilled that I am not the only freak that has played every single asscreed game, including the facebook one, and who understands the ERUDITO references. As for posting this elsewhere, when I have more of it done and cleaned up (it's pretty raw as I am posting, I keep going back and cringing at misspellings, i.e. son instead of sun in the prologue. I will for sure put a link to this story when I have it up elsewhere :)
“He that will not work shall not eat.” – Captain John Smith
~ ~ ~
It is early evening when the Clan Mother summons them. She holds a wooden box in front of her, which Desmond knows contains an apple. Ezio appears to recognize the box as well, as his eyes widen just a fracture before he manages to school them into neutrality.
Three young women carry various food items and water jugs. Desmond can smell the stew from where he sits, and while he had never been a fan of game meat – he likes his burgers and fries, thank you very much – his mouth is already salivating. According to Ezio, he hasn't eaten for three days, and while he did not wake up hungry, the presence of the food has reminded his stomach that meal time is long past due.
“Sit. Eat. And then we will speak,” the Clan Mother speaks in heavily accented English. Desmond can get down with that, and by the rumble coming from Ezio's stomach, he is pretty sure that his companion agrees with this plan.
One of the women hands him a cup of water and a wooden bowl filled with stew. He places them down in front of him, accepts the wooden spoon and flatbread that is handed to him next, and without preamble, digs right in. The stew is thick with what seems to be pieces of venison, some root vegetables, and bits of squash. It is a little gamey, but warm and thick and filling. He dips the flatbread in the stew, and that is like the best thing ever.
Ezio makes no qualms about showing his appreciation for the meal either, as the Italian smacks his lips loudly with every bite, and proceeds to lick any dribbles off of his fingers. Desmond can only watch him eat for a moment, before his cheeks burn and he turns away. It shouldn't be erotic – he should most definitely not be having erotic thoughts about his own ancestor, so he tells his brain that he is just not having them. Period.
He lowers his head for good measure, and starts shoveling the stew in his mouth rapidly, just to be done with it. Ezio notices this and quirks an eyebrow at him, until he has Desmond's attention again. Then he smirks, and smacks his lips even louder, kissing the tips of his fingers and letting out an audible hum of appreciation.
“Delicious,” he says, and that's it, Desmond is going straight to hell and can't look back at the man for the rest of the meal.
Eventually, he is saved from his self-imposed pit of embarrassment and isolation by the Clan Mother clearing her throat. She opens the box, and the apple flickers very brightly for one brief moment before waning into a steady glow. Desmond tries to school his face into an expression of curiosity, but he is the only one who manages to do so. Ezio's eyes are cold and hard and completely focused on the apple.
“We have used this tool for many generations to speak with those who have lived on this land before. But their voices have gone quiet.”
She lifts the apple out of the box and holds it in front of Desmond.
“For generations, it has been our duty to protect the secrets of the cave of the ancestors. The cave is no more, but the cave has given us you. It seems to be the will of the spirits, then, that we offer our protection to you. There is power in this tool, for those who are able to wield it. Our Ratonhnhaké:ton was gifted with such an ability, but the spirits have already sent him on his journey. So perhaps this tool is meant for one of you.”
Desmond carefully takes the apple from her hand. The apple glows briefly, yet bright enough to make the early evening appear as if it were the middle of the day again, before fading entirely. Desmond nods, and hands the apple to Ezio, where it reacts similarly before winking out once again.
The Clan Mother nods in satisfaction, and motions for them to keep it.
“There is not much power left in this apple,” Ezio comments as he hands the apple back to Desmond. Desmond carefully tucks the apple in his hoodie pocket with the iphone, and zips it closed. The noise of the zipper generates some interest from Ezio, and Desmond makes a mental note to show him all his fun and futuristic gizmos when he gets an opportunity.
“You must use it wisely, and only at great need,” Ezio continues. “Perhaps we won't need to use it at all. That would be best.”
Considering how much trouble precursor technology has already landed them in, Desmond can only agree.
~ ~ ~
In the morning, after a breakfast of eggs and cornbread – Kana'tarokhón:we, according to Desmond's young friend – they are given some basic provisions by the Clan Mother and sent on their way. Knowing that they seek an audience with Ratonhnhaké:ton, she points them in the direction of the Davenport homestead, and instructs them to seek out the old man who shares their symbol. It will be a good two days journey by foot, she says.
They thank her, Desmond taking an extra moment to ruffle the hair of his young friend, and then the two of them are off. It is a beautiful country, one of which Ezio is most eager to explore, but they aren't out of the village for an hour before Desmond complains loudly about the state of his body and his clothing. Ezio cocks his head to the side; although sleeping in his clothes for three days has rumpled the cloth some, the strange jacket his companion is wearing is the whitest fabric Ezio has ever seen; it is certainly does not warrant a cleaning at this time. Nor does Desmond exude a particular strong odor, and he tells him so.
“You complain much my friend, but smell like roses. We have bigger concerns.”
This works well enough; the younger man lets out an odd sound, changes color again – he seems to do that a lot when Ezio speaks to him – then continues on foot, head down. Ezio smirks and follows, alert to the dangers of the forest.
When he hears a noise from the brush, a low growl, he grabs Desmond's arm and presses his finger against his lips when the man turns, the question on his lips immediately muted. The other assassin is instantly alert, and releases his hidden blade just moments before the strange cat is upon them. Desmond is quick to bury his hidden blade into its heart as it pounces, killing it instantly.
“Yuck,” Desmond says as he pushes the dead cat off of his blade. “Bobcat blood.” He carefully cleans his blade off in the grass the best he can before retracting it back into his sleeve.
Ezio pulls a dagger from his pouch and starts skinning the cat, much to the disgust of Desmond.
“Dude – what are you doing? We don't have to do that.”
“It can be traded for currency in this time, no? At least, that is what I gathered from the memories I received from you. I don't know how many opportunities we are going to have to rob any of the locals, I am fairly sure that my florins are not going to purchase either good wine or good women, and any currency you have on you is useless.”
“Whatever. I am not skinning cats, just saying. I am sure there is a patrol or two we can gank between here and Davenport. They have to have a few pounds on them, plus maybe some, I dunno, less conspicuous clothing?”
Ezio regards Desmond with a critical eye.
“Your manner of speech is crude and confusing, but you raise a good point. I imagine we must look very out of place to the people of this time. We shall have to remedy that before we make ourselves known to the assassin.”
“Yeah, about that, now that you mention it,” Desmond interjects, as Ezio carefully rolls the skin and ties it with some bits of twine given to them by the Clan Mother. “I'm not sure it's in our best interest to just approach him directly. I mean, c'mon, what are we gonna say? Hello, we're your relatives from the future and the past, and where here to make sure you make nice with your daddy, so we can save the future world from burning from massive space rays? I think we'd both end up with an arrow in our chest before we could shake his hand.”
Ezio nods thoughtfully.
“I have been giving that some consideration myself,” he says, securing the rolled up bobcat skin to his belt. He debates taking some of the meat to cook up later, but although he has lived off of the land before, he has never eaten any sort of cat and doesn't find it even remotely appetizing, especially when the land seems to be rife with plenty of deer and birds of prey. He decides to leave it.
“This Connor, he is creating a village, no?”
“Yeah... the Davenport homestead. He's pretty proud of it, actually.”
“And that is how we will present ourselves, then. We are two travelers seeking a place to call home. I am a minstrel by trade, but alas we were set upon by thieves, and my lute has gone missing. If he would but obtain another one for me, I would be most grateful, and provide my musical services to the people of Davenport.”
Desmond looks thoughtful for a moment.
“That... actually might work.”
Ezio grins brilliantly, claps his hand on Desmond's shoulder.
“See, my friend? No worries, as you say.”
They continue on for a few more moments until Desmond turns to Ezio again, a question in his eyes.
“What am I going to do in Davenport?”
Ezio grins, showing way too many teeth, and can see the wariness in Desmond's eyes as he backs away, frowning.
“Isn't it obvious? You will be my young, completely infatuated lover.”
Desmond chokes, pulls away, mumbles something about 'tending bar at the inn instead', and Ezio laughs heartily, feeling free and himself for the first time since landing in this strange and new country.
Fill: Every hour God sends, the REAL part 3 :)
“He that will not work shall not eat.” – Captain John Smith
~ ~ ~
It is early evening when the Clan Mother summons them. She holds a wooden box in front of her, which Desmond knows contains an apple. Ezio appears to recognize the box as well, as his eyes widen just a fracture before he manages to school them into neutrality.
Three young women carry various food items and water jugs. Desmond can smell the stew from where he sits, and while he had never been a fan of game meat – he likes his burgers and fries, thank you very much – his mouth is already salivating. According to Ezio, he hasn't eaten for three days, and while he did not wake up hungry, the presence of the food has reminded his stomach that meal time is long past due.
“Sit. Eat. And then we will speak,” the Clan Mother speaks in heavily accented English. Desmond can get down with that, and by the rumble coming from Ezio's stomach, he is pretty sure that his companion agrees with this plan.
One of the women hands him a cup of water and a wooden bowl filled with stew. He places them down in front of him, accepts the wooden spoon and flatbread that is handed to him next, and without preamble, digs right in. The stew is thick with what seems to be pieces of venison, some root vegetables, and bits of squash. It is a little gamey, but warm and thick and filling. He dips the flatbread in the stew, and that is like the best thing ever.
Ezio makes no qualms about showing his appreciation for the meal either, as the Italian smacks his lips loudly with every bite, and proceeds to lick any dribbles off of his fingers. Desmond can only watch him eat for a moment, before his cheeks burn and he turns away. It shouldn't be erotic – he should most definitely not be having erotic thoughts about his own ancestor, so he tells his brain that he is just not having them. Period.
He lowers his head for good measure, and starts shoveling the stew in his mouth rapidly, just to be done with it. Ezio notices this and quirks an eyebrow at him, until he has Desmond's attention again. Then he smirks, and smacks his lips even louder, kissing the tips of his fingers and letting out an audible hum of appreciation.
“Delicious,” he says, and that's it, Desmond is going straight to hell and can't look back at the man for the rest of the meal.
Eventually, he is saved from his self-imposed pit of embarrassment and isolation by the Clan Mother clearing her throat. She opens the box, and the apple flickers very brightly for one brief moment before waning into a steady glow. Desmond tries to school his face into an expression of curiosity, but he is the only one who manages to do so. Ezio's eyes are cold and hard and completely focused on the apple.
“We have used this tool for many generations to speak with those who have lived on this land before. But their voices have gone quiet.”
She lifts the apple out of the box and holds it in front of Desmond.
“For generations, it has been our duty to protect the secrets of the cave of the ancestors. The cave is no more, but the cave has given us you. It seems to be the will of the spirits, then, that we offer our protection to you. There is power in this tool, for those who are able to wield it. Our Ratonhnhaké:ton was gifted with such an ability, but the spirits have already sent him on his journey. So perhaps this tool is meant for one of you.”
Desmond carefully takes the apple from her hand. The apple glows briefly, yet bright enough to make the early evening appear as if it were the middle of the day again, before fading entirely. Desmond nods, and hands the apple to Ezio, where it reacts similarly before winking out once again.
The Clan Mother nods in satisfaction, and motions for them to keep it.
“There is not much power left in this apple,” Ezio comments as he hands the apple back to Desmond. Desmond carefully tucks the apple in his hoodie pocket with the iphone, and zips it closed. The noise of the zipper generates some interest from Ezio, and Desmond makes a mental note to show him all his fun and futuristic gizmos when he gets an opportunity.
“You must use it wisely, and only at great need,” Ezio continues. “Perhaps we won't need to use it at all. That would be best.”
Considering how much trouble precursor technology has already landed them in, Desmond can only agree.
~ ~ ~
In the morning, after a breakfast of eggs and cornbread – Kana'tarokhón:we, according to Desmond's young friend – they are given some basic provisions by the Clan Mother and sent on their way. Knowing that they seek an audience with Ratonhnhaké:ton, she points them in the direction of the Davenport homestead, and instructs them to seek out the old man who shares their symbol. It will be a good two days journey by foot, she says.
They thank her, Desmond taking an extra moment to ruffle the hair of his young friend, and then the two of them are off. It is a beautiful country, one of which Ezio is most eager to explore, but they aren't out of the village for an hour before Desmond complains loudly about the state of his body and his clothing. Ezio cocks his head to the side; although sleeping in his clothes for three days has rumpled the cloth some, the strange jacket his companion is wearing is the whitest fabric Ezio has ever seen; it is certainly does not warrant a cleaning at this time. Nor does Desmond exude a particular strong odor, and he tells him so.
“You complain much my friend, but smell like roses. We have bigger concerns.”
This works well enough; the younger man lets out an odd sound, changes color again – he seems to do that a lot when Ezio speaks to him – then continues on foot, head down. Ezio smirks and follows, alert to the dangers of the forest.
When he hears a noise from the brush, a low growl, he grabs Desmond's arm and presses his finger against his lips when the man turns, the question on his lips immediately muted. The other assassin is instantly alert, and releases his hidden blade just moments before the strange cat is upon them. Desmond is quick to bury his hidden blade into its heart as it pounces, killing it instantly.
“Yuck,” Desmond says as he pushes the dead cat off of his blade. “Bobcat blood.” He carefully cleans his blade off in the grass the best he can before retracting it back into his sleeve.
Ezio pulls a dagger from his pouch and starts skinning the cat, much to the disgust of Desmond.
“Dude – what are you doing? We don't have to do that.”
“It can be traded for currency in this time, no? At least, that is what I gathered from the memories I received from you. I don't know how many opportunities we are going to have to rob any of the locals, I am fairly sure that my florins are not going to purchase either good wine or good women, and any currency you have on you is useless.”
“Whatever. I am not skinning cats, just saying. I am sure there is a patrol or two we can gank between here and Davenport. They have to have a few pounds on them, plus maybe some, I dunno, less conspicuous clothing?”
Ezio regards Desmond with a critical eye.
“Your manner of speech is crude and confusing, but you raise a good point. I imagine we must look very out of place to the people of this time. We shall have to remedy that before we make ourselves known to the assassin.”
“Yeah, about that, now that you mention it,” Desmond interjects, as Ezio carefully rolls the skin and ties it with some bits of twine given to them by the Clan Mother. “I'm not sure it's in our best interest to just approach him directly. I mean, c'mon, what are we gonna say? Hello, we're your relatives from the future and the past, and where here to make sure you make nice with your daddy, so we can save the future world from burning from massive space rays? I think we'd both end up with an arrow in our chest before we could shake his hand.”
Ezio nods thoughtfully.
“I have been giving that some consideration myself,” he says, securing the rolled up bobcat skin to his belt. He debates taking some of the meat to cook up later, but although he has lived off of the land before, he has never eaten any sort of cat and doesn't find it even remotely appetizing, especially when the land seems to be rife with plenty of deer and birds of prey. He decides to leave it.
“This Connor, he is creating a village, no?”
“Yeah... the Davenport homestead. He's pretty proud of it, actually.”
“And that is how we will present ourselves, then. We are two travelers seeking a place to call home. I am a minstrel by trade, but alas we were set upon by thieves, and my lute has gone missing. If he would but obtain another one for me, I would be most grateful, and provide my musical services to the people of Davenport.”
Desmond looks thoughtful for a moment.
“That... actually might work.”
Ezio grins brilliantly, claps his hand on Desmond's shoulder.
“See, my friend? No worries, as you say.”
They continue on for a few more moments until Desmond turns to Ezio again, a question in his eyes.
“What am I going to do in Davenport?”
Ezio grins, showing way too many teeth, and can see the wariness in Desmond's eyes as he backs away, frowning.
“Isn't it obvious? You will be my young, completely infatuated lover.”
Desmond chokes, pulls away, mumbles something about 'tending bar at the inn instead', and Ezio laughs heartily, feeling free and himself for the first time since landing in this strange and new country.