It was no doubt that Altaïr had an appetite. Even before he began his serious training as a master assassin, Altaïr had a bad habit of snacking frequently and eating more than he should. Fortunately for him, he had a fairly high metabolism. As he trained more, he ate more; simple. He ran all around creation picking off guards and targets and escaping, so it was only natural for him to get hungry so often.
Or so he thought.
Altaïr began to love food, and picked up a fairly bad habit of snacking whenever he had the opportunity to. Discretely, he would stop by some vendors and pick up some fruit before returning to the assassin bureau. Either that, or he might grab a full on meal before returning to his duties, even if he wasn't particularly hungry.
Whenever he was doing something that didn't involve both hands, it was common to see Altaïr munching on something. It had gotten to the point where Malik would label him a glutton behind his back.
In some cases, it wasn't exactly fair, since Altaïr was very active. He felt an almost perpetual hunger in his stomach, and he sure ate like it.
Altaïr seemed oblivious to his eating habits, and did not seem to notice, or care, as they slowly got out of hand. He would waltz into Malik's bureau eating a fruit that he had purchased or perhaps a couple slices of pita bread. Altaïr would attempt to offer some to Malik, so at least he wasn't completely selfish. Malik would always decline, and instruct him not to make a mess in his bureau.
As Altaïr continued to eat absentmindedly, he failed to notice that he had started to put on some weight. Not nearly enough to hinder his work, but just enough so that his stomach had started to accumulate a soft, thin layer of pudge over his abdominal muscles. His robes covered it enough, but Malik's keen eye could see it whenever Altaïr disrobed.
Malik, at first, paid it no mind since it didn't particularly bother him. Who was he to judge what Altaïr did in his spare time?
Altaïr would sometimes even ask for some of Malik's food whenever they ate. Usually Malik was gracious enough to spare a cut of lamb or some of his bread, and Altaïr cherished whatever he could get.
Whenever Malik tried to get Altaïr to swim, Altaïr always retorted that he was simply too full, and would get cramps, having just eaten. He used this excuse so often, simply because he was almost always eating.
Malik was about ready to confront Altaïr. The more Altaïr ate, the more curious Malik got. Why was the assassin eating so much? What could he hope to gain, aside from a few pounds? Was this simply a bad habit, or something more? Malik tried to wrap his head around this sudden spike in appetite; was he eating because he was guilty? Perhaps he was overthinking it, Malik thought. Perhaps Altaïr was just hungrier than most.
And yet, something was strangely appealing about it. Watching Altaïr shove food in his mouth, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand, flicking his tongue across his lips to clean up any remains.
And one day, Malik decided he was going to try something.
Altaïr dropped down into the outer patio of assassin bureau and walked up to Malik's desk.
"Safety and peace--" Altaïr opened his mouth to greet the bureau leader, but was interrupted when he heard his stomach growl. He squinted, hoping Malik hadn't heard. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't the case. Malik turned around and raised his eyebrows, and Altaïr's hands flew to clutch his abdomen.
"Hungry already? Your day has barely begun." Malik tutted. Yet behind his cold response, Malik was secretly intrigued and in a strange way, aroused. Just how far could Altaïr take his appetite? Could he perhaps have Altaïr under his thumb, with just the simple incentive of food?
Altaïr closed his mouth and searched for the words to say. All he could do was nod, clear his throat, and await his instructions.
Malik tried to hide his smile as he placed the white feather on his desk. Altaïr grasped the feather and turned around to leave, when Malik grabbed his arm. Altaïr raised an eyebrow, and Malik placed a small fig in his hand.
"This should sustain you until later."
Altaïr eagerly accepted the fig with a simple nod of his head. Malik figured he was still embarrassed. "Later?" Altaïr questioned.
"You are coming back here, are you not?" Before waiting for an answer, Malik gestured to the exit. "Hurry up, novice."
Altaïr took a bite of the fig, and exited the bureau. Malik heard Altaïr shuffling up the wall, and he smiled to himself. He hadn't heard news of many other assassins traveling in the city, so hopefully he would get no interruptions. He wondered if Altaïr would be gone long, and knew he had to gauge his time wisely. Of course, all of his plans might be ruined if Altaïr decided to eat before returning to the bureau. Perhaps that would just enhance the fun, Malik thought deviously.
Re: Altaïr is a glutton and anon is trash. Fill 1/?
Or so he thought.
Altaïr began to love food, and picked up a fairly bad habit of snacking whenever he had the opportunity to. Discretely, he would stop by some vendors and pick up some fruit before returning to the assassin bureau. Either that, or he might grab a full on meal before returning to his duties, even if he wasn't particularly hungry.
Whenever he was doing something that didn't involve both hands, it was common to see Altaïr munching on something. It had gotten to the point where Malik would label him a glutton behind his back.
In some cases, it wasn't exactly fair, since Altaïr was very active. He felt an almost perpetual hunger in his stomach, and he sure ate like it.
Altaïr seemed oblivious to his eating habits, and did not seem to notice, or care, as they slowly got out of hand. He would waltz into Malik's bureau eating a fruit that he had purchased or perhaps a couple slices of pita bread. Altaïr would attempt to offer some to Malik, so at least he wasn't completely selfish. Malik would always decline, and instruct him not to make a mess in his bureau.
As Altaïr continued to eat absentmindedly, he failed to notice that he had started to put on some weight. Not nearly enough to hinder his work, but just enough so that his stomach had started to accumulate a soft, thin layer of pudge over his abdominal muscles. His robes covered it enough, but Malik's keen eye could see it whenever Altaïr disrobed.
Malik, at first, paid it no mind since it didn't particularly bother him. Who was he to judge what Altaïr did in his spare time?
Altaïr would sometimes even ask for some of Malik's food whenever they ate. Usually Malik was gracious enough to spare a cut of lamb or some of his bread, and Altaïr cherished whatever he could get.
Whenever Malik tried to get Altaïr to swim, Altaïr always retorted that he was simply too full, and would get cramps, having just eaten. He used this excuse so often, simply because he was almost always eating.
Malik was about ready to confront Altaïr. The more Altaïr ate, the more curious Malik got. Why was the assassin eating so much? What could he hope to gain, aside from a few pounds? Was this simply a bad habit, or something more? Malik tried to wrap his head around this sudden spike in appetite; was he eating because he was guilty? Perhaps he was overthinking it, Malik thought. Perhaps Altaïr was just hungrier than most.
And yet, something was strangely appealing about it. Watching Altaïr shove food in his mouth, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand, flicking his tongue across his lips to clean up any remains.
And one day, Malik decided he was going to try something.
Altaïr dropped down into the outer patio of assassin bureau and walked up to Malik's desk.
"Safety and peace--" Altaïr opened his mouth to greet the bureau leader, but was interrupted when he heard his stomach growl. He squinted, hoping Malik hadn't heard. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't the case. Malik turned around and raised his eyebrows, and Altaïr's hands flew to clutch his abdomen.
"Hungry already? Your day has barely begun." Malik tutted. Yet behind his cold response, Malik was secretly intrigued and in a strange way, aroused. Just how far could Altaïr take his appetite? Could he perhaps have Altaïr under his thumb, with just the simple incentive of food?
Altaïr closed his mouth and searched for the words to say. All he could do was nod, clear his throat, and await his instructions.
Malik tried to hide his smile as he placed the white feather on his desk. Altaïr grasped the feather and turned around to leave, when Malik grabbed his arm. Altaïr raised an eyebrow, and Malik placed a small fig in his hand.
"This should sustain you until later."
Altaïr eagerly accepted the fig with a simple nod of his head. Malik figured he was still embarrassed. "Later?" Altaïr questioned.
"You are coming back here, are you not?" Before waiting for an answer, Malik gestured to the exit. "Hurry up, novice."
Altaïr took a bite of the fig, and exited the bureau. Malik heard Altaïr shuffling up the wall, and he smiled to himself. He hadn't heard news of many other assassins traveling in the city, so hopefully he would get no interruptions. He wondered if Altaïr would be gone long, and knew he had to gauge his time wisely. Of course, all of his plans might be ruined if Altaïr decided to eat before returning to the bureau. Perhaps that would just enhance the fun, Malik thought deviously.