writer!anon was bored/really didn't want to write a paper, so they wrote some drabbles. Sorry if they're not very good/long/funny. =P
Prove it
"Impossible!"
"It's true! Admit it!"
"Map-making and working in this bureau has not made me soft!"
"I highly doubt that, brother," the assassin almost sounded as if he were spitting the word, "You have not been on a mission in months, nor have you had anyone to train with. How can you possibly maintain your strength, this way?"
The Dai of Jerusalem rubbed one of his temples irritably. There was no talking to a fool. The two assassins were in Jerusalem's bureau, during one of Altair's redemptive missions. He supposedly wanted his rank back as soon as possible, and yet the arrogant man still managed to find time to bother the one-armed Dai with his antics. They had been speaking for all for three minutes, and he could feel a headache coming on, already.
"I have plenty of strength left in me, though why a fool like you should care is beyond me," he said through gritted teeth.
The demoted master assassin crossed his arms stubbornly, "I don't believe you."
"'You don't'...!"
Malik was about to give Altair one of his patented death stares, the kind that sent actual novices running and screaming for mercy, when an idea came to him. Slowly, his stormy frown morphed into a serene smile.
"How about I prove it to you, then?" he suggested, motioning for Altair to come closer to the counter.
"How?"
As he cautiously took a step towards Malik, Altair raised an eyebrow, but uselessly, since it was hidden by his deep hood. The corners of his scarred mouth turned down when he saw Malik extend his hand to him.
"I'll arm-wrestle you," Malik said, an unfriendly smile on his lips, "I bet I could push your arm flat onto this counter in less than 30 seconds."
"Please," Altair rolled his eyes, but again, Malik couldn't see it. The younger man extended his own arm over the counter, "I'll give you a full minute, and you still won't be able to do it."
"We shall see," Malik shrugged, gripping the fist that Altair made, ready to teach the idiot a lesson, "Three...two...one...now!"
Altair flexed his arm, just as Malik began pushing down on it. He suppressed a grunt at the unexpected effort he needed to use; the Dai had not been lying when he said he still had a little strength left. Malik looked to be concentrating hard, all his attention on trying to force Altair's hand to the wooden counter. But, although his arm was shaking a little, Altair noted with some satisfaction that his hand was not even an inch nearer to the surface than it had been in the beginning. He allowed himself a smirk; the fool was going to lo-
THWACK!
Suddenly, Altair flat on his back, stars floating around in his vision and nose stinging. What the hell...?
At the sound of Malik's laughter, the assassin leapt to his feet with a snarl, unconsciously bringing out his hidden blade.
"You bastard! You let go of my arm!"
"You clumsy oaf!" Malik cackled, before calming himself and giving Altair a condescending smile, "Why did you punch yourself in the face, novice?"
Punch in the Face [1/3]
Prove it
"Impossible!"
"It's true! Admit it!"
"Map-making and working in this bureau has not made me soft!"
"I highly doubt that, brother," the assassin almost sounded as if he were spitting the word, "You have not been on a mission in months, nor have you had anyone to train with. How can you possibly maintain your strength, this way?"
The Dai of Jerusalem rubbed one of his temples irritably. There was no talking to a fool. The two assassins were in Jerusalem's bureau, during one of Altair's redemptive missions. He supposedly wanted his rank back as soon as possible, and yet the arrogant man still managed to find time to bother the one-armed Dai with his antics. They had been speaking for all for three minutes, and he could feel a headache coming on, already.
"I have plenty of strength left in me, though why a fool like you should care is beyond me," he said through gritted teeth.
The demoted master assassin crossed his arms stubbornly, "I don't believe you."
"'You don't'...!"
Malik was about to give Altair one of his patented death stares, the kind that sent actual novices running and screaming for mercy, when an idea came to him. Slowly, his stormy frown morphed into a serene smile.
"How about I prove it to you, then?" he suggested, motioning for Altair to come closer to the counter.
"How?"
As he cautiously took a step towards Malik, Altair raised an eyebrow, but uselessly, since it was hidden by his deep hood. The corners of his scarred mouth turned down when he saw Malik extend his hand to him.
"I'll arm-wrestle you," Malik said, an unfriendly smile on his lips, "I bet I could push your arm flat onto this counter in less than 30 seconds."
"Please," Altair rolled his eyes, but again, Malik couldn't see it. The younger man extended his own arm over the counter, "I'll give you a full minute, and you still won't be able to do it."
"We shall see," Malik shrugged, gripping the fist that Altair made, ready to teach the idiot a lesson, "Three...two...one...now!"
Altair flexed his arm, just as Malik began pushing down on it. He suppressed a grunt at the unexpected effort he needed to use; the Dai had not been lying when he said he still had a little strength left. Malik looked to be concentrating hard, all his attention on trying to force Altair's hand to the wooden counter. But, although his arm was shaking a little, Altair noted with some satisfaction that his hand was not even an inch nearer to the surface than it had been in the beginning. He allowed himself a smirk; the fool was going to lo-
THWACK!
Suddenly, Altair flat on his back, stars floating around in his vision and nose stinging. What the hell...?
At the sound of Malik's laughter, the assassin leapt to his feet with a snarl, unconsciously bringing out his hidden blade.
"You bastard! You let go of my arm!"
"You clumsy oaf!" Malik cackled, before calming himself and giving Altair a condescending smile, "Why did you punch yourself in the face, novice?"