Okay... probably not what was expected by the OP, but I was severely disappointed by the lack of Salai in the games, so it'll feature him. That kid makes a fun plot point. I tried to be as accurate as possible to reality. So, Salai's about 23. XDDD
Salai hated leather. He hated leather with more passion than Leonardo had for all his work. He hated the smell, the look, the feel: everything about leather. Whenever Leonardo would pick it up, he almost—almost—told him that leather was made from cattle—so why was he indulging in it?
Actually, he thought viciously, he hated it because Ezio liked it.
And he hated what Ezio liked because he hated Ezio: the charming, smooth-talking assassin that so clearly had his master “wrapped around his finger.” He got Leonardo to do anything he wanted, and he treated his master like a dog. He hated Ezio, and he wondered what it would take to get Ezio out of their lives so he could have his maestro all to himself.
So, he resorted to crime, usually stealing. There were certain things he wouldn’t steal—like what was rightfully Leonardo’s. He would steal money, burn clothing, mess up commissions, be ridiculously lazy, but only if Ezio was involved somehow. He once tried to steal the purse of a footman who had undressed to try on a jousting outfit Leonardo made (he had overheard the man to secretly be a spy for the thieves, and thieves equaled Ezio, right?). He knew it was petty: he knew it was ridiculous, but he just couldn’t help himself. He wanted to save Leonardo from heartache. He could be a better lover for him than that stupid assassin, and he was determined to drive the him out without stirring Leonardo’s suspicions.
Ezio knew: the looks he gave him when Leonardo told him Salai had burned his only change of clothes there, the growls Ezio would give when he found he had pick pocketed him (and this, he thought with pride, he had done several times), and the overall hateful and spiteful attitude he gave off. Ezio was a womanizer: Ezio was a flirt: Ezio was a heartbreaker.
Which brought his thoughts back to here, to Leonardo’s studio, where “That Dumb Slut” had just given Leonardo a beautiful piece of Turkish hide (which, he noted, as Leonardo babbled about making it into boots, would “fetch a pretty penny” at the market—anise candy, he here comes.). Leonardo was taken with it—it was a beautiful piece of hide. The firelight threw shadows over everything (Leonardo had specifically spoken against drawing by firelight once), and he watched the assassin and his master conversing quietly on the other side of the studio. Ezio seemed royally pleased with himself for his gift, and Leonardo looked happy, too remarkably happy. He stepped from the shadows to make his presence known.
Dead Cows... Oh Really, Leonardo?
Salai hated leather. He hated leather with more passion than Leonardo had for all his work. He hated the smell, the look, the feel: everything about leather. Whenever Leonardo would pick it up, he almost—almost—told him that leather was made from cattle—so why was he indulging in it?
Actually, he thought viciously, he hated it because Ezio liked it.
And he hated what Ezio liked because he hated Ezio: the charming, smooth-talking assassin that so clearly had his master “wrapped around his finger.” He got Leonardo to do anything he wanted, and he treated his master like a dog. He hated Ezio, and he wondered what it would take to get Ezio out of their lives so he could have his maestro all to himself.
So, he resorted to crime, usually stealing. There were certain things he wouldn’t steal—like what was rightfully Leonardo’s. He would steal money, burn clothing, mess up commissions, be ridiculously lazy, but only if Ezio was involved somehow. He once tried to steal the purse of a footman who had undressed to try on a jousting outfit Leonardo made (he had overheard the man to secretly be a spy for the thieves, and thieves equaled Ezio, right?). He knew it was petty: he knew it was ridiculous, but he just couldn’t help himself. He wanted to save Leonardo from heartache. He could be a better lover for him than that stupid assassin, and he was determined to drive the him out without stirring Leonardo’s suspicions.
Ezio knew: the looks he gave him when Leonardo told him Salai had burned his only change of clothes there, the growls Ezio would give when he found he had pick pocketed him (and this, he thought with pride, he had done several times), and the overall hateful and spiteful attitude he gave off. Ezio was a womanizer: Ezio was a flirt: Ezio was a heartbreaker.
Which brought his thoughts back to here, to Leonardo’s studio, where “That Dumb Slut” had just given Leonardo a beautiful piece of Turkish hide (which, he noted, as Leonardo babbled about making it into boots, would “fetch a pretty penny” at the market—anise candy, he here comes.). Leonardo was taken with it—it was a beautiful piece of hide. The firelight threw shadows over everything (Leonardo had specifically spoken against drawing by firelight once), and he watched the assassin and his master conversing quietly on the other side of the studio. Ezio seemed royally pleased with himself for his gift, and Leonardo looked happy, too remarkably happy. He stepped from the shadows to make his presence known.