The old wound was like a damned magnet for his eyes. Something about the way it stretched, twitched and distorted with each word spoken, with every emotion wrought, made him itch to touch it. Did Desmond feel it at all? Perhaps not, it looked like an old wound, not as fresh as it had been on Ezio after the scuffle on the Ponte Vecchio and it was not as prominent as it had been on Altaïr, white against bronze skin. Still, it was there and it was vexing. Shaun actually found himself being civil to Desmond, because he was fascinated with how the scar moved around certain vowels. He was a historian, for heaven’s sake, not a linguist!
When he had nothing better to do, he actually found himself paging through countless results on the internet for scars of all things. And he could do it for hours, if there wasn’t such a lack of privacy in the Sanctuary. Rebecca, that old computer freak, had found it hilarious when she had gone through his search history. What on Earth had compelled her to do that was a mystery to him, but he had chewed off her ear for being so rude - after all, nobody went off reading their e-mails either! They had private mailboxes for a reason!
Still, one day, he found himself bursting with curiosity and just asked. Desmond was a rather open man, he’d surely indulge him. Oddly enough, he hadn’t. The American had actually grumbled something beneath his breath and waved him off without a further word - not even a sad excuse! Now that was unusual. And it didn’t help Shaun’s obsession in the least. It turned the scar into a mystery and if there was one thing Shaun hated, then it was unsolved mysteries. That was why he was a historian - to get behind those foolish conspiracy theories. Not that being with the Assassin’s was helping.
In any case, his posed question to the source of Desmond’s scar had actually awoken the girls curiosity as well and he grinned in satisfaction. Thank goodness for the cavalry! Strangely though, the scarred Assassin was quite unwilling to relinquish his secret to them, Rebecca trying to be funny (and failing as usual) and Lucy attempting to charm the answer out of him. Desmond remained resolutely tight-lipped, scar tilting when he pursed his lips in annoyance. Shaun tested the tactic of giving Desmond the feeling that he could trust them - they were in this together, had to rely on each other, keeping secrets ruined their bond, bla bla bla. No success whatsoever. Now Shaun was about ready to smash his keyboard on Desmond’s head.
“What, for God’s sake, makes that scar so special, Desmond, that you don’t want to tell us?!” Well, Shaun was aware that he was not known for being subtle. Or very emphatic.
“Oh fuck off, tea-bag, it’s none of your business! Now just let me into the Animus so we can get this shit over with!” Desmond’s voice resounded from the stone statues, magnified by the presence of his ancestors and striking the other three speechless. That was unexpected.
The Assassin used their stunned silence to slip into the Animus and drift off into his genetic memory, leaving all of them quite unsatisfied with his answer. Rebecca leaned back in her chair, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “Touchy~”
“Indeed. You might actually think it’s something scandalous,” Shaun added, though he doubted that it was. Desmond was just being a prick.
“Ooh~ or something forbidden,” the technician added gleefully. “He was a bartender wasn’t he? Maybe he got into a bar fight?”
“Yes, of course, a bar fight, Rebecca. You’d think he’d tell us in that case, since Ezio’s scar pretty much resulted from the same thing. I don’t think so,” he retorted dryly. “It must be something embarrassing.”
“Or something perverse-”
“Too much information, Rebecca, thank you very much,” Shaun quickly intervened. Those were some images he did not need; though he had to admit (only silently to himself of course), that thought actually had some merit.
Rule 34 (Part 1/2)
When he had nothing better to do, he actually found himself paging through countless results on the internet for scars of all things. And he could do it for hours, if there wasn’t such a lack of privacy in the Sanctuary. Rebecca, that old computer freak, had found it hilarious when she had gone through his search history. What on Earth had compelled her to do that was a mystery to him, but he had chewed off her ear for being so rude - after all, nobody went off reading their e-mails either! They had private mailboxes for a reason!
Still, one day, he found himself bursting with curiosity and just asked. Desmond was a rather open man, he’d surely indulge him. Oddly enough, he hadn’t. The American had actually grumbled something beneath his breath and waved him off without a further word - not even a sad excuse! Now that was unusual. And it didn’t help Shaun’s obsession in the least. It turned the scar into a mystery and if there was one thing Shaun hated, then it was unsolved mysteries. That was why he was a historian - to get behind those foolish conspiracy theories. Not that being with the Assassin’s was helping.
In any case, his posed question to the source of Desmond’s scar had actually awoken the girls curiosity as well and he grinned in satisfaction. Thank goodness for the cavalry! Strangely though, the scarred Assassin was quite unwilling to relinquish his secret to them, Rebecca trying to be funny (and failing as usual) and Lucy attempting to charm the answer out of him. Desmond remained resolutely tight-lipped, scar tilting when he pursed his lips in annoyance. Shaun tested the tactic of giving Desmond the feeling that he could trust them - they were in this together, had to rely on each other, keeping secrets ruined their bond, bla bla bla. No success whatsoever. Now Shaun was about ready to smash his keyboard on Desmond’s head.
“What, for God’s sake, makes that scar so special, Desmond, that you don’t want to tell us?!” Well, Shaun was aware that he was not known for being subtle. Or very emphatic.
“Oh fuck off, tea-bag, it’s none of your business! Now just let me into the Animus so we can get this shit over with!” Desmond’s voice resounded from the stone statues, magnified by the presence of his ancestors and striking the other three speechless. That was unexpected.
The Assassin used their stunned silence to slip into the Animus and drift off into his genetic memory, leaving all of them quite unsatisfied with his answer. Rebecca leaned back in her chair, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. “Touchy~”
“Indeed. You might actually think it’s something scandalous,” Shaun added, though he doubted that it was. Desmond was just being a prick.
“Ooh~ or something forbidden,” the technician added gleefully. “He was a bartender wasn’t he? Maybe he got into a bar fight?”
“Yes, of course, a bar fight, Rebecca. You’d think he’d tell us in that case, since Ezio’s scar pretty much resulted from the same thing. I don’t think so,” he retorted dryly. “It must be something embarrassing.”
“Or something perverse-”
“Too much information, Rebecca, thank you very much,” Shaun quickly intervened. Those were some images he did not need; though he had to admit (only silently to himself of course), that thought actually had some merit.