asscreedkinkmeme | Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2

Okay, so I was looking at these (”http://i51.tinypic.com/xnu336.jpg”) adorable (”http://karen.saiin.net/~mg5/r6.jpg”) fanarts (”http://i52.tinypic.com/24wshs8.jpg”) of the bureau (”http://i52.tinypic.com/1eq9o0.jpg”) leaders (”http://i51.tinypic.com/2w24r3c.jpg”) from AC1, and now I really want some fic of them being really cool bros, like helping each other out, bitching about lazy informants, or smoking and having tea together. The names of the other two dais are up to the writer, as long as they are appropriate to the setting, lol.

Bonus points if the Acre and Damascus dais briefly confront Malik about his ~~crush~~ problems with Altair, but since they are total BFFs, they back off after a few helpful suggestions. OR they help Malik adjust with having one arm.

Bonus BONUS points if the dai of Damascus constantly gives the other dais his awesome pots and Malik and the Acre guy are absolutely delighted by them every time. *v*

Omg this needs to happen. I second this so hard!

I didn't know I wanted this until I saw those pics. ADORABLE!! Thirding, whatevering. I haven't played AC1 so someone else needs to take this.

This NEEDS to happen STAT, or I will die of sad.

I WILL GIVE FIRSTBORN FOR THIS. This is so adorable, and I need some adorable-ness in my life right now.

I will also die if this is not filled :C I love the Damascus rafiq and we need moar of him :V

Did you guys know the Damascus rafiq's VA is the same one that did Leonardo's in AC2? XD I freaking adore that guy <3

Yes!! When I was at that part, I thought, "He sounds so familiar..." and then he said something about "exciting" and I cracked up, knowing it was Leonardo. "How exciting!"

Can't wait to see any potential fills that come of this!

This is awesome! May even attempt this myself... give me a bit, but I have no doubt someone more talented and efficient anons can get a better job done quickly, so this prompt is by no means wholly claimed!

Does anon mind an art fill?

dear lord, anon wasn't expecting any fills, much less an art one! That is to say-- NO, I DON'T MIND AT ALL. :D

Possible fill in a bit but don't let that stop anyone else

Oh dear, I've been waiting for this prompt for so long. So long that I didn't even know I'd been waiting untill now. FILL THIS GORGEOUS THING ANONS!

The rafiq of Damascus is visiting.

"I must say, however, that Jerusalem is a much brighter place than I last left it! I am almost jealous! Well, I mean, other than the fact that you had to deal with the terrible state of affairs at first by yourself - I mean other than that, I am very jealous!"

Altair is also visiting, looking from one rafiq to the other. The Damascus rafiq is reclining in the back, one elbow on the chessboard, fiddling with the white Queen as if it were one of his pots on the wheel, and Malik is behind the counter, bent towards the map in front of him. He is trying very hard to concentrate, but Altair has been watching, and in the past half an hour, Malik has only managed to draw one line (straight, but a little shaky near the end).

“And to be given the honor of a visit from the Grandmaster so frequently! Yes, I am envious! I should stop by more often – you two must talk about many interesting things! He doesn't come to Damascus nearly as much! Why, the last time, it was just to inquire after that order of imported inks he asked for!”

Altair's back stiffens, and Malik glances down at one of the cubbyholes near his knees, where a brand new order of Far Eastern inks had just been delivered to him last week.

The rafiq of Damascus is a good man, loyal and open, but trying on the patience sometimes. Malik sets down his writing feather and sighs. “The Grandmaster only comes here to waste time,” Malik says, even if said man is sitting on the counter right beside him, regardless (or in spite) of the admonishment Malik gave him for that. “You would be doing a favor if you just told him to visit you instead of exhausting my time here.”

“Oh, no,” says the rafiq, looking up as if startled. “I could not do that! Why, just the other day, the rafiq of Acre – a very wise man – wrote me, and he was telling me of what he noticed. He said, you see, that the Grandmaster probably enjoys enjoys Jerusalem so much because of-”

Altair slides to his feet, accompanied by the sound of sliding cloth and clinking metal. He takes only one step, and the rafiq stops in mid-sentence, mid-gesture, hand free hand still waving in the air. A second passes, and outside, an eagle caws overhead.

“The weather!” he finishes, with a grandiose arch of his hand, because the rafiq of Damascus is also a very intelligent man, more intelligent than a great many people give him credit for, behind that easygoing exterior and nonchalance. “Yes, yes, the weather here is very nice! It is much too dry in Damascus, and the air is filled with a cold dampness in Acre. When I visit him, my own lungs can hardly take it! I always come back with a cough! But Jerusalem, you see, Jerusalem is just-” He pinches his forefinger and thumb together, squints one eye, and smiles at Malik's deep-set frown from between the pads of his two fingers. “Perfect.”

“Perfect,” Malik repeats dryly, glancing at the back of Altair's head.

“It is late,” Altair says pointedly, voice edged with steel, and though Malik can't see his expression, the Damascus rafiq takes one look at it and gets to his feet, his mouth shrinking into a visual, Oh.

“Late! Oh, yes, you are right!” The rafiq gathers up his things with an articulately-planned sense of haste, dropping the chess piece back onto the table almost carelessly. His aim is off – it lands on the table, but on the opposite side of the playing area, dropping in right amidst the formation of black pawns and knights, like an Assassin dropping in for the kill, and knocks over the enemy king. He does not spare a second look towards it or an apology, however, as he heaves his satchel across his shoulder and takes up another cloth-wrapped parcel underneath the opposite arm. “Thank you for the maps, Malik!” he calls, already walking towards the exit. “Perhaps I can return the favor to you some day.”

“I was hardly aware the weather here was so captivating,” Malik says when Altair walks back into the bureau after oh-so-politely escorting the Damascus rafiq out. The Eastern inks are spread on the table, and Altair stops and tenses at the sight of them, at the sight of him, standing in front of the counter for once instead of behind it, leaning against its edge.

“It's nice,” says Altair, looking toward the lattice in the courtyard, visible through the other door.

“Is it the heat that you like, then? The rise in temperature in the afternoon? Or perhaps the desert chill at night? Maybe you like how fickle the weather is here. Or maybe the sparse rains – you never did like water.” With every word, Malik takes a step closer, but there are more words than there are steps between the two of them, and by the time he finishes, Altair is cornered - trapped between his own unflinching pride and Malik's hand, slipping into his hood and around the back of his head. He forces Altair to look at him by fisting his hand in the younger man's hair. “Is that why you came?”

“Come back to Masyaf with me, Malik,” Altair says, quietly, lifting his eyes.

Malik smiles, loosening his hold. “For what reason, Altair?”

Altair returns the smile, though his rendition is more subdued, dim but bright like candlelight at dusk, like the torch fires of Masyaf from a distance, like the stars from the garden terrace behind its castle. Altair reaches up, pulling the other man's hand down, and Malik lets him, fingers sliding through the strands. “You have been away for too long, brother – have you forgotten? The weather there is even nicer,” Altair says, turning his palm up and cupping his hand for Malik's to fall into it, and fall it does, fingers seeping through the cracks of the Grandmaster's like sand through a sieve.

“And what of Jerusalem?” Malik asks, because it is a beautiful city, has been ever since it stopped being a banishment, and in a sense, it is his, as much as Masyaf will ever be.

Altair gives this a moment of thought.

“I will appoint another rafiq.” Then, he lowers his eyes to their hands, grins a little. When he contracts his fingers, Malik squeezes back. “Or we can make the one in Damascus look after it, if he likes it so much.”

{ooc; SORRY OP the Acre rafiq couldn't make it; the ride is tough on his old man back, so in lieu of that, no tea parties were to be had, but at least I fit the goading and a mention of his pots in there?}

The Damascus rafiq has my kind of subtly! <3333

"trapped between his own unflinching pride and Malik's hand" = gorgeously written.

omg. I'm sorry that the Acre rafiq couldn't make it either, but that lovely exchange between Altair and Malik more than made up for his absence (MAYBE EVEN MORE THAN MADE UP). And the Damascus rafiq is a man after my own heart.

This is such a lovely thing to read before I tuck into bed. I promise you, writeranon, I will be grinning in my sleep. Thank you so much! ;3;

yessssssssss

the cuteness of this is almost unbearable

THE WEATHER!

I always found the rafiq of Damascus to be quite hilarious, it always seemed to me as if he was constantly insultig Altair without actually being insulting - it was lovely XD (at least that's what the dub in my language was like, don't know about the original dub). I think you captured this perfectly in the story - And I just love the part with the inks. It's incredibly adorable XD

Dawww, anon, I love you. You got the Damascus rafiq down so well his voice was playing in my head; little gossipy bitch XD

I absolutely adore the tone of your writing, especially when describing the Damascus Dai's actions. I loved the little bit where the eagle cawed during the awkward silent. Very funny! xD

Are multi-fills permitted on here?

Of course! The more, the better~ ♥

Anon note: the rafiqs are a little out of character (just watched some AC1 playthroughs and realised I am very much out of touch with it – not played it in so long!) but I’ve done them how I’ve imagined them to be when not dealing with Altair (who, certainly to begin with, they’re a little miffed with XD).
-------
Malik paused as he reached the centre of the village, his eyes flickering golden as he scanned the houses around him. One flickered yellow in his sight, and noted its location before shaking his head to clear the swirl of glowing colours, his eyes darkening to their normal hue. The house was the same as all the others, one of many in the village, hidden in plain sight. Malik snorted as he slid off his horse’s back.

Hidden in plain sight indeed, he thought bitterly, walking around the block to the back yard, as if I can ever do that anymore with robes of black and a missing arm.

The meeting of the Bureau rafiqs was a rare but regular occurrence. Most correspondence between the three major cities was done through informants and the wandering rafiqs of the Kingdom, but, every few months, the Bureau leaders would venture out of their domains to discuss anything of import in person.

It just so happened one of these meetings was scheduled mere weeks after Malik’s appointment. Like I have nothing better to do, he thought grumpily.

If Malik was honest with himself (which he wasn’t) he was nervous about this meeting. He had had few dealings with the dais of Damas or Acre since his novice days, retrieving most of his information for his Master level assignments from one of the many rafiqs in Masayf.

The door opened before he had a chance to knock. “Aha! Our king of swords arrives, Jalees.”

Malik was slightly taken aback by the Acre rafiq’s jovial proclamation. “My apologies for my tardiness, brothers,” he said as he crossed the threshold. “The Saracens have become more vigilant of late.”

“Worry not, Master Malik,” the old rafiq said. “You are, in fact, exactly on time.”

Jalees nodded in agreement. “We are here early out of habit. Your predecessor was a rather impatient sort.”

“I see,” Malik said.

“Come sit, come sit,” Jalees said with a smile, ushering Malik to their spread of cushions. “Zaki was just preparing some tea. You said the Saracens were more vigilant?”

Malik crossed his legs as he sat down and willed himself to relax. “They swarm the passes like locusts, and took issue with every form of swift movement. Even when I was merely walking past they felt the need to glare and threaten from their posts.”

The Acre rafiq, Zaki, hummed thoughtfully as he prepared the tea. “The Crusaders been particularly watchful,” he commented. “It would appear that the young Altair’s work has not gone unnoticed.”

Malik stiffened at the mention of his name but, if the others noticed it (which they will have) they said nothing. “And what work might that be?” Malik tried to sound non-committal, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

“Al Mualim has Altair running tasks for him personally,” Jalees said. “So far he has had two marks, one in Damas and the other in Acre. The targets were rather prominent figures.”

“A master’s work then,” Malik said, a tad bitterly. Jalees chuckled.

“Not quite. He has to do all the legwork himself, gather the information himself, then satisfy us before we grant permission. No more automatic feathers for this one. I daresay a pigeon will be waiting for you in Jerusalem with instructions to withhold certain details.”

“He is to come to Jerusalem next?” Malik couldn’t keep the discomfort (not fear, never fear) from his voice. Zaki nodded.

“I think it is the next logical step. Tea, Master Malik?” Zaki said, pouring the boiling water from a fair height so the tea foamed in its cups. Malik noted that each of the tumblers was hand-painted pottery, and wondered where they came from.

“I am no Master,” Malik corrected quickly, hurt lancing through him as he corrected his colleague. “Al Mualim -,”

“Bah!” Zaki said, setting down the teapot and waving his hand dismissively. “Al Mualim may be our Master, but sometimes he is a daft camel.”

“Zaki!” Jalees said, scandalised. “Do not say such things!”

“Hmph,” Zaki said. “Fine, if only to stop your whining. That doesn’t mean I don’t disagree with the Grandmaster on this point,” Zaki added, handing Malik and Jalees their respective cups. “One arm or two, Master A-Sayf is still a Master, and never more deserving of it after he succeeded in clearing up after thatahbal. Not to mention the fact that if soldiers were to find this hideout at this moment, only one of us would be able to fight out alive and it wouldn’t be you or I!”

Jalees looked suitably abashed following Zaki’s outburst, and Malik was stunned. Emotions crashed inside of him: pride, that someone as wise as the rafiq of Acre still considered him a Master, and smug satisfaction that the same wise man called Altair an idiot.

“You honour me, brother,” he said sincerely. Zaki reached over the small table and gripped Malik’s wrist.

“No, Malik,” he said. “You honour us.”

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slice-of-life dais

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driveby!anon says

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courtesy call (1/2)

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OP

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Brotherhood within a Brotherhood [1a/?]

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