asscreedkinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2010-09-13 08:44 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2010-09-13 08:44 pm
Entry tags:
Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt.2
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.2
Fill Only
Fill Only
Welcome to the Brotherhood
∆ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
∆ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
∆ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
∆ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
∆ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.
∆ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.
∆ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
List of Kinks
(Livejorunal) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
Warring with Talons Part 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-06 04:52 pm (UTC)(link)“Fuck! Ah! How is this happening?” Erudito's companion sputtered.
“No... no! No, no, get him!”
Mind racing, his heart beating hard in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, he scrambled mentally to bring out his second sight – anything to light the way, if the way of coated in darkness and mystery, the sight, monikered as Eagle Vision, would guide him and at the very least, light up his being.
Choking on another scream that wished to wrench up within his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut in concentration – for a moment was weightless in his free-fall – and energy and pressure mounted behind his eyeballs, feeling like a sun was gathering strength to burst past clouds. When Desmond felt the unmistakable sense of coating, like a film embracing his scerla underneath his eyelids, did he open his eyes – it took longer, much more time than usual but Desmond was panicked – and saw himself glow a robin's egg blue.
He was also surprised (delight mixing in with his current state) to find himself falling down a tunnel that glowed a deep purple and soon enough, he was passing through sections of it that had glowing gold markings etched into it around its circumfrence.
“There he is!” a voice shouted. It was Sixteen's and sounding remarkably like the Sixteen Desmond knew. “Grab him!”
“I can't!” another voice cried, frustration in his tone. “I tried the last fucking two-”
“If you can swear and form a sentence, you're not trying hard enough!”
“Fuck you, Erudito! I'm trying here, look, there goes another checkpoint – fuck! Eeyah! Ow...”
“Give me that, you idiot. I'll do it.” Subject Sixteen – Erudito, Desmond reminded himself – sounded much calmer and more gathered together.
Desmond's breathing quickened and now his heart was beating a tempo because of excitement and anticipation – the muscles of his body coiling, shivering with it – as another golden checkpoint appeared from far below; it was quickly ascending, or rather Desmond's descent was reaching it, to swallow him.
Desmond slammed into it – and not kindly or gently either – if his body had true physicality, his bones would have been broken, possibly crushed, feet first. As it was, agony spiked up his spine and into his brain, sparking like an electric jolt from the nape, except it felt more like an icepick being hammered in. He moaned, body too heavy, and head heavier than it, to move from the crumbled position on his back.
“Shit!” Erudito cursed. “Desmond, Desmond? Desmond, you alright?”
Desmond breathed in haltingly, and managed to croak out, “Yeah... great. Like a million dollars.” He wheezed out a hoarse laugh.
Erudito chuckled raggedly. “Still have that same sense of humor, I see. Don't worry, I'm going to reroute you – it'll take some time... but... I'm going to place you somewhere with a bit more scenery, keep you occupied. It's the most I can do for now, for some reason I am not superuser on here, can't be rootuser, some fuck changed it.”
“You changed it, asshole.” Erudito's companion snapped. “With you and your mental fit – unfortunately, we can't incite another episode unless we want people dead, so fuck you and your manic code.”
“Don't test me.” Erudito warned.
“Why?” Desmond managed out.
Warring with Talons Part 3/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-06 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)Desmond laughed. “Drove me crazy.”
“According to the tiniest bits I can recognize, it was actually supposed to place you somewhere else, not in here. I'm just using some of my program's code right now, to... give you the scenery change it was supposed to hide you in.”
As shatter-proof glass was able to crack and fall in chunks, so too did the gold around him, and in a blink, he was laying on a bed.
“Rome?”
Erudito's voice came from above. “To keep you occupied while I break my own code, go ahead and explore, rest and recuperate.”
Desmond leaned his weight on his hand and hesitantly pushed up, then sprang onto his feet when he felt no pain or encumbrance. “There's no pain, thanks, Erudito.” When no reply was forthcoming, Desmond said, “Erudito, you there?” Giving the roof a thoughtful stare, Desmond shrugged and walked to the door, opening it a crack to take a peek.
There were people milling around outside, one group of common women chattering and children chasing each other; there were even people going about their business on the winding path of the district of wherever he was. Desmond in Ezio only went from whichever point he was directed to and aside from gazing in boredom at objects or pieces of history that Shaun practically gushed over – the man periodically forced him to climb and basically case the places out in order for Shaun to get every single vantage point and cranny his eyes could drink in – Desmond had no clue where he was.
Still, Desmond did as Shaun had asked, every time. It was always nice to receive friendly nags, rather than scathing remarks, after all.
Remembering Shaun was different than Rebecca, as one thought to the dark-haired woman brought the lighter-haired one into memory and Desmond was not ready for that, yet. He had done it enough in the that void and had almost gone crazy from that fuck-hole and he wasn't too keen on traveling down memory-lane of that, now that there was someplace new and refreshing to keep his mind occupied.
When one of the woman detached herself from the gathered, grabbing a hold of a small boy's hands, heading straight toward Desmond, he panicked. Swiftly closing the door, he pressed his back to it, casting glances about quickly. Well, the bed was a tight squeeze for a child to get under, and Desmond was not going to fit under there (in addition, the notion of being under the same bed as a child and mother's was creepy as fuck, even if he could fit under it – no wonder people were scared of their ankles being grabbed). There was a small table and Desmond was six feet tall and while not heavily built, was obviously not going to be inconspicuous, body scrunched in the space below.
Desmond had a brief image of himself giving them a grimacing smile, waving, table lifted a foot off the ground, being like a turtle's shell on his back, and smothered a laugh.
“Okay, Des – go crazy later,” he sung quietly to himself and his eyes landed on the lone window in the small home. He eyed the measurements of it. “I can't possibly...”
“-Momma, Momma, I still want to play!” a little boy whined from very close by.
“Fuck it, I'm going!” he hissed. He leaped toward the window, grasping the shutters and jerked them open.
Warring with Talons Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-06 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)“Well, my bambino, maybe after we break our fast,” the woman responded, more clearer, as she opened the door.
Grunting, Desmond finally collapsed onto the man's body. “Thanks, I think.” When the woman's shrill, “Why are my shutters--!” reached his ears, Desmond lunged sideways and crab-crawled back around the corner of the home and into her small garden plot, heart pounding.
The woman gasped. “Oh, oh – you again?! You pervert! Wait til my Dominico gets here!”
Desmond remarked under his breath in memory of the man, “Hope that shiner stings real good, too.” He was careful to not step on the soil of her growing garden, edging around it. When he noticed the cliff's edge was close in height, were he to use the mother's roof as a boost, he was quick to heft himself onto it.
Feeling the pain as momentum from his jump slammed his front into the rocky, jagged side of the cliff, was nowhere near as easy nor painless as Ezio's skilled jumps; fingers digging into the grass of its surface, Desmond was left breathless. “Oh, Christ-!” he hissed out between gritted teeth, gaining his wind back. “Mhm, that fucking hurts...!” Using the pain as an enforcer, he grunted as he managed to get his upper half on the grass, and finally rolled awkwardly to rest fully on it.
“This is weird... I should be able to do this no prob.”
“Such a strange sight, would you not agree, Petti?” Desmond jumped up, immediately, waving his hands and quirking a grin at the pair of men in front of him.
“Hey, hey, I do this before breakfast, just routine.” He noted there was no one else on this path of dirt and cleared his throat. “Gotta stay in shape, somehow. Don't mind me.” He jogged away, distancing himself from them – and while still being in their line of sight, hauled himself up another, thankfully smaller cliff with bushels and trees growing on it.
Desmond had little idea why he was doing this, but whatever the case, it worked. The men stopped staring, from what Desmond could see, as he turned around to give them a short wave, and waved back.
“I should start doing that for my Luciana, keep me as boisterous as that lad there!” The two chuckled together.
“Ah, the wonders of youth,” his friend said, nodding in agreement.
As Desmond pretended to jog out of their sight, but truly immersed himself into the small patch of trees to hunker down in a crouch, he listened as they passed his hiding place.
“A peculiar manner of speech and dress, however.”
“Ah, yes – maybe a foreigner? He does not look from here, to me. Explains his state of clothes, too.”
A small headache formed and Desmond sighed.
He could not change his looks, but he could at least change his clothes. He was keeping his pack though, he would put his clothes in there – not his shoes, in Ezio's body the boots of this age were uncomfortable, as Desmond felt them as a second-party – and other items.
Desmond made his way down and back on the road, wiping the bristles and jostled leaves from his frame.
He turned to look up the path of the incline, as the noise of pedestrians made their way closer to him.
“Time to pick pockets, I guess.”
Sighing again, he zipped up his sweater and adjusted the hood of it so the material hung down to cover his eyes.
“Recuperate, yeah right. This brings back memories of my own that I'd rather not remember.”
Re: Warring with Talons Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-06 05:09 pm (UTC)(link)Sorry!
Warring with Talons Part 5/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 01:22 am (UTC)(link)-_-_-_-
Later, huddled in a decrepit structure (it at one-time might have been a home – a century ago) with one wall completely disassembled, the sky overhead, Desmond crouched scowling, arms hugging his body. He kept his bottom aloft, not wishing to sit on the germ-ridden ground; ground which had once been urinated, shit on and puked over, every which way, judging by the putrid smell.
His shoes would never be the same, but Desmond resolved to find a flowing water source, like the river that separated the Vatican from its surrounding city, to cleanse his shoes.
His stomach growled loudly.
“I'm in a program, I don't get how they can see me and why I'm hungry. I'm supposed to be enjoying myself, not wondering when my next meal is going to be and where it'll be hopefully warm. Christ, I need dinar – florins, whatever. Fucker, fuck you, Erudito. I hope you can hear me. Could have given me a magically communicating item that goes into program-space – maybe where my bag communicates with the unknown and I'd have my clothes, my money and the means to survive long enough for you to get my ass out of here.”
Desmond glared at the sky. “And I need to pick-pocket, which is a terrible feeling to feel, trust me on that – but I can't, because – Eugh... God.” He glowered at the ground.
The problem with pick-pocketing was that a thief was good at blending, because they fit into their surroundings and the people.
Desmond's features were an automatic strike against him. He was a blend of his natural middle eastern heritage and his, if a brief statement by his mother in childhood could be believed, French ancestry, with a strong leaning in the former within his facial structure. However, Desmond could have been plopped into Altair's time, and still, would have stood out like a sore thumb.
Desmond did not resemble the people of Italy. He was of a paler olive-tone variety than their smooth brown features were and his eyes were larger and almond-shaped with a hint of grey in their depths had someone cared to take a deeper glance. His jaw was also less square and less broad than theirs. His nose from the tip to the bridge was very proud and strong, as Desmond liked to think it as. It was hard to blend into a crowd which refused to stop with their staring.
He wasn't a horrible looking guy, he had gotten enough catcalls and ass-slaps from customers sobered or not to tell him so. (The thing about the customers slapping his ass was that they tended to be drunk women. The drunk men were another story – they enjoyed ass-grabbing after the slap.)
The people were so hairy though, even the women, from what he could see of their forearms when the common women rolled their sleeves up for morning clothes-washing. Desmond had considered his amount of hair as normal for a man of his background, but looking at the men in this time, was blown away. Thinking back on someone like Malik, whose hairiness Desmond had not concerned himself with, so hadn't taken much note on, Desmond was still not hairy as the people had been in that time.
His clothes and speech patterns were another marked difference – the main one being the first, if Desmond kept his hood up, head ducked and shut up. People in this time were very proper and formal, Desmond would likely cause a thief from the gutters to uncomprehend what he said. Maybe. Desmond's exaggerations were not actual fact, as he hadn't bumped into anyone who was a thief to make concrete conclusions.
Warring with Talons Part 6/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 01:25 am (UTC)(link)He also would not stoop to yanking some hapless man who fit Desmond's measurements and beat him unconscious in order to steal the clothes from him -
Desmond stilled in his shivering from the cold.
He could do that. Just had to be the right target.
Once he scuttled out from the structure he had secluded himself in to sulk, it was easy to said target. He kept his hood up and walked in-between buildings, snaking into alleyways and away from the general public.
Desmond looked for three factors: One, the target had to be around his height; two, he had to be relatively clean; and three, he had to be a scumbag. The third one was the key – that and being of male gender – if they were total douches, Desmond had no problem taking the clothes from their back or the coin in their purse.
Men who were as tall as Desmond, and the type he wanted, were found as he ventured less in the rural district and more into where the areas became crowded with stone streets and buildings, rather than dirt and wooden homes. The cleaner ones, as far as he could tell by the face (he knew from Shaun that they believed that cleanliness beckoned disease, nonsense like that) were the noble kind.
They tended to be surrounded by their retinue of guards or posse of similar status. So, clearly they had the factor number three down-pat, if their harassment of people walking too close by was any indication.
He didn't want to deal with guards, having no weapon on him – the hidden blade was no longer strapped to his arm and hadn't been for as long as he had been inside the Animus – so that left his target of one being surrounded by similar, social-climbing jackasses.
It was on this note, that Desmond paused in a nearby shadowed alley to mull over how he would gain his required clothing. He had his target – a middle-aged man with a butt-chin – Desmond was not mocking the man, but it was so prominent that he stood out to Desmond's eye; the man sloped along the street with a fellow man clothed in vibrant colours, Desmond's target was dressed simply but fashionably – he guessed, but it looked stifling – as the other four men in the group of similar get-up.
Warring with Talons Part 7/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 01:41 am (UTC)(link)“If I stole clothes from a noble, they'll look for a weird guy with his clothes. I won't be able to run... far...” A shadow swooped from above to land on the man to the right of Desmond's target. Just as quickly, the white-robed person climbed the sides of the building he came from and disappeared from sight.
The people around the area were dumbstruck, until the event sunk in, and they began screaming. The noble and his remaining posse fled, crying for the guards, leaving their friend to stare up into the sky, dead.
“Wow. I didn't want a target dead. I just wanted some clothes!” Desmond commented to no one. His eyes widened as he saw that, yes, the street was bare of anyone. His gaze went from the body, the sky, to the ends of the street, and back to the dead man. “... Well, that's one way, I guess.”
Desmond jumped to grab the body and drag it into the alley, thanking his lucky stars that the assassination was in the throat. The undershirt was ruined, but the overcoat was a black material and the stain did not show up as clearly. It only looked wet, for now.
He relieved the dead man of his clothes with some difficulty and said to the near-naked man (he left the cloth wrapping around his genitals alone), “Uh... sorry, guy... Be at peace, and yeah. Sorry.” He darted away to change, grimacing as he did so in an abandoned home near the docks.
Desmond's shoulders did not fill in the broad width of the clothes's previous owner, but wrinkling his nose at the stench of the unbathed and blood, resolved to get some food first before he troubled himself with going to a tailor for a brand new set fit for him, if he had the money. The boots were larger than Desmond's size, but Desmond had a high instep that left his feet feeling squished regardless.
“These are going to be a bitch to get used to.”
He counted his stolen items. A pouch of florins – feeling mildly heavy, like a bag of medium-sized marbles – three gold rings, two of which had gems set in them. “Big fuckers. Only seen these on infomercials.”
He counted the coins, separating them into piles based on their colour. Five gold (one of which was unclipped), sixty silver (twenty were clipped) and twenty bronze (all whole).
He put them back into their pouch, including the rings, and bundled them inside his clothes, along with his shoes (soles dunked in the river), placing them securely into what Shaun called his 'man-bag'. Desmond chuckled to himself at the memory.
Lucy's sigh of exasperation ran with it and Desmond flitted to another subject: food.
Desmond had no idea of how much florins (the gold ones, anyway) equaled what quantity and quality given. He knew ten whole florins people ravaged each other over, so that left him with a vague idea of the gold ones, him having one of which in his inventory, but of the silver and bronze he had little clue.
“I could go scope out the stalls and shops to see what people are using for what.”
Desmond knew talking aloud was crazy, but the thought that maybe someone outside the Animus could hear, made him feel less alone.
-_-_-_-
And there we are! For now. Next time on Warring with Talons:
Desmond stared at the lips of the man in clothes he knew on sight.
"Where's the scar?" he asked, reeling in confusion, before the blade pressed deeper in warning. Desmond slowly rose his hands.
"Okay, okay, pal, I got it. I got it. How about we introduce ourselves, huh? Nothing like a good old-fashioned knife to the throat to gain friends. Happened to me tons."
"Clearly," the man said. Desmond wondered if the man had a grasp on sarcasm.
"Desmond Miles. I'd add, 'at your service,' but as we can both tell, I'm really at the point of your blade."
"You may call me Ezio Auditore da Firenze; friends call me Ezio, of which you are not part of." Ezio bore the entire weight of his body into the arm holding Desmond to the wall, much to Desmond's adding discomfort.
"Now, why have you been following me, Desmond Miles?"
Side notes
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 02:00 am (UTC)(link)YES. It's true, and I'm sorry. But don't let my lack of currency knowledge deter you from your enjoyment.
Desmond's, "... a target dead," comment was based on him saying he hadn't wanted anyone he chose or didn't choose to die for his clothes, but he got over it eventually. So, the man he chose as his target hadn't died, but fled with the noble man he had grouped with.
And yes, I read it over twice - TWICE - and didn't see that I hadn't put in 'find' where it should read, 'it was easy to find said target' Part 5 I believe. I think when I write, my brain automatically adds in the words as I type from what I think up - in my head - so even when I DO check it over, I knew what I wanted to be there, so my brain goes, "Oh, it's there, alright! Moving on!" and there I go. Posting it. OH WELL. When it's all done, I'll probably post a better, finished version on my lj.
Either way, enjoy, enjoy everyone!
Re: Warring with Talons Part 7/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 02:01 am (UTC)(link)Thank you! :D
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 02:14 am (UTC)(link)I'm giggling, really! Thank you!
I'm really getting into it. Brushing off my dusty shoulders with this - I haven't truly written in... awhile. RL issues, but yeah! So, I'm having super-duper fun.
I'm kinda wondering when Mods update the listings, because currently there is no Assassin symbol next to this prompt (you wouldn't believe that I LOST where I first posted my Part 1 on, I flipped through all of them, and only on my second round going through did I hit the one I needed to post my other parts. I've since then bookmarked the actual page for easy access. GOOD FOR EVERYONE! :D).
Warring of Talons Part 8/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)The meat he had purchased was long gone in his stomach – he had not known salami was horsemeat until then, but holy fuck, it tasted delicious, better than the salami he knew from his time. Probably because it was no longer made of horse, Desmond thought.
He had also made an order at the nearest tailor for new clothes that fit him – with a cape that had a hood. He dismissed having footwear made for him, as his shoes, now dry, were the best for his feet, barring anything happening to them – he resolved to wear his shoes when he had his clothes. He even bought a poignard at the blacksmith in the small square, it was simple with a sheathe of black-dyed leather, and had tucked it, temporairly, in the waistband of his soon-to-be discarded clothes.
He had even haggled, successfully. Altogether, everything cost him two clipped silver coins.
The tailor had recommended a reputable inn to relax in while his clothing was made – it would be ready for him the next afternoon. Desmond hadn't ordered anything fancy or in the latest fashion, he just wanted clothes and as comfortable as he could get. He had been firm with his decision to pay half the price upfront and the rest when he obtained his clothes. That had probably resulted in his order being backlogged, but Desmond could be overestimating the technology. Did they still handsew?
Desmond forgone following the tailor's direction to the inn, in order to sit on the steps nearest the blacksmith to engorge his stomach. Finishing his tomatoe, he flicked the stem away to grab at an apple in the knapsack, which lay on his lap.
His teeth crunched noisely into it and he hummed at the taste, chewing vigorously on his large bite of apple.
His right shoulder was bumped – bruisingly hard – by a pair of boots with metal greaves. The dick had not even side-stepped to make way for Desmond's own person as he passed him going up the steps; Desmond had specifically sat as close to the blacksmith's shop as possible to avoid the occurrence of what was happening – also, the set of steps Desmond chose had little traffic, which had given Desmond some peace, until now, unfortunately.
“Watch it, bud,” he snapped through his apple-filled mouth.
The boots halted. A heavy pressure set on Desmond, tensing his muscles and causing the hair on his nape to stand stiff.
Warring of Talons Part 9/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 08:10 pm (UTC)(link)“Oh, fuck.” There was even a crossbow on this man's back. The guy was a walking armory.
“Yes. Do not test me.” Desmond's eyes widened. Deja vu. “I am not in a good mood, young one. Salute.” Without a further sound aside from the soft, barely there scrape of his boots and the whisper of his cape and robes, the man walked away leaving Desmond gaping.
“Oh, holy shit, was that....? But – wha?” Desmond choked on his masticated apple and finally sputtered it out in chunks. It looked disturbingly similar to chunky bile on the stonework.
Desmond stood shakily, light-headed, numbingly stuffing the knapsack into his bag, because that man – that man, that armor, he was -
A sound Desmond had never made in his life raised in his chest and he captured it before it released from his mouth. He willed it away, but the emotion of euphoria and excitement was like a clap of startling lightning to his nerves. His whole body shook and his breathing hitched and stuttered, but not from fear (maybe a bit). Desmond repeated the memory of the words he heard, how they were said and the sight of the man who had just stood above him.
A one-man army wrapped in a suave package of charisma – even when being a crab-ass to people he ought to apologize to – Desmond had even wanted to apologize to the man, too, felt he had to for the encounter, in the end – it was insane! Desmond guessed that it all took into account Ezio's personality, prescence and a masterful grasp of manipulation (subtle and not). The man was just as skilled - there was nothing like being winded and in pain from body-slamming into cliff edges to realize that this man was the Terminator – further evidence, was all the accidental falls Desmond took Ezio on, what would have killed Desmond on impact, only made Ezio grunt; if he were previously injured or fell from an extreme height – for Ezio - it was a loud, teeth-gritted shout, but still: Terminator.
The only one who could have possibly caused a larger ganking of Desmond's common sense and dignity as a being of normal self-control, like Shaun would towards historical objects and figures, was Altair. Syncronization lowering because of something ridiculous as being hit? Impossible, but it was Altair, so he had made shit probable and entirely likely by lieu of being himself – Just imagining how awesome a man aged by time, like Ezio had, would be, Desmond would have probably guest-estimated wrong.
Altair wasn't here, though - Ezio was, in the flesh.
He immediately started toward where he thought the master assassin had gone, “Left or right? Up?” Desmond muttered fast, mind racing. “Mm, left; left, I think. No, I know he went that way.”
He rushed to follow Ezio.
Warring of Talons Part 10/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)Desmond didn't think too hard on how he had followed Ezio as far as he had – he probably had a weird sixth sense about the man, having occupied his body.
Desmond rolled his eyes at the noise coming from the alley. Of course, Ezio chose the one where people were going at it.
His borrowed, ill-fitting boots made a lot of clickety-clacks on the pavement. Trying to silence the sounds resulted in failure – Desmond wondered how Ezio did it, and Ezio's boots had thick steel in them - the thing about being in Ezio's body was that, when not charging too close to a memory point, he had free reign of it, so much as directing where he wanted Ezio to go, like climbing the Pantheon multiple times, for no good reason (one time had been Desmond's curiosity, but the rest were all Shaun) could be considered as being free.
Desmond had thought really hard and sometimes shouted and felt like a caged, rabid animal in a moving shell shaped as its body, before Ezio had done what Desmond wanted him to do in regards to Shaun or the girls. It had grown tougher to do as he had progressed further into Ezio's memory sequences, until eventually, in no time at all, it seemed, Desmond was as he had been with Altair in the later stages - a guy along for the ride.
Shaun had liked to bother him about his lack of brain cells, but Desmond wished he had pointed out how much effort and neurons he used just by being in the Animus. After each session, sweat had coated his body and his brain had throbbed in his temples.
He felt the wind, pain, muscle-burn and grit of teeth as much as the body he occupied had, but if Desmond concentrated too obstinately on the fact that he felt the body as if it were his own and a moving, breathing one at that, and yet he himself wasn't doing any of the voluntary or involuntary actions – Desmond was aware he would have gone straight into madness.
Living beings on principal lived on the freedom, the control of their own thoughts and actions. The Animus made him struggle with both and eventually, he had neither.
Desmond didn't have to worry about it, anymore – he had both now, as much as he could, being in the Animus still. He could interact with his surroundings and people – and that was another thing, Desmond thought, as he neared the corner of the backalley - the people were no longer copies; somehow, they all were very individualistic, it was amazing – from their movements, features and voices.
Food tasted and settled in his stomach, as it would in reality. The environment was so real, Desmond had to remind himself several times that it was all false, just programming.
It was a little too real, Desmond thought. The moaning and groaning noises raised in volume as he reached the corner. Desmond's cheeks involuntarily grew warm and he swore to not stare as he passed the fornicating couple wherever they were, close by.
Desmond turned the corner and bumped into a dead end, which weirded him out. Stumbling back, boots sliding for purchase on the wet cement, he was caught by the front of his collar. Desmond clued in. The blockade he had bumped into was a solidly built man.
Warring of Talons Part 11/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)“Ow.” Desmond said automatically, bewildered. Then, he realized who was gripping the fabric of his overcoat, the hand having moved to grip the stiff material over Desmond's clavicle. Dread set in and his stomach dropped. There was also the minor problem of the flat edge of something sharp, a dagger, maybe; the steel teased the skin of the underside of his jaw – Desmond held his head up and away as best he could, gulping. Without the sunlight to blind him and the hood shadowing all features, Desmond was given the lower half of Ezio's face to boggle at.
Which turned out not to be Ezio. The man was taller than Desmond, and having seen old recordings of Ezio bare, Desmond could pinpoint that while there were a few discrepancies in the face, they were identical in everything else, just like he and Altair.
Desmond stared at the lips of the man in clothes he knew on sight.
"Where's the scar?" he asked, reeling in confusion, before the blade pressed deeper in warning. Desmond slowly rose his hands.
"Okay, okay, pal, I got it. I got it. How about we introduce ourselves, huh? Nothing like a good old-fashioned knife to the throat to gain friends. Happened to me tons."
"Clearly," the man said. Desmond wondered if the man had a grasp on sarcasm. He was assured of Ezio's identity by the voice, at any rate. Still sounded as rumbling and rich as their last encounter and all the times before that, hearing it in Ezio's DNA sequences.
"Desmond Miles. I'd add, 'at your service,' but as we can both tell, I'm really at the point of your blade."
"You may call me Ezio Auditore da Firenze; friends call me Ezio, of which you are not part of." Ezio bore the entire weight of his body into the arm holding Desmond to the wall, much to Desmond's adding discomfort.
"Now, why have you been following me, Desmond Miles?"
Desmond would have opened his mouth, but was saved from putting his foot in it, by the long, heavy silence coming from Ezio.
“Desmond.” The dagger briefly bit into his skin, before it was removed with a sliding click – oh fuck, and thank god - it had been the hidden blade. The wet slide of a bead, thicker than sweat and stickier, ran down from the slit before he felt the weight of the bead disappear as gravity took it.
“... Yeah?” Desmond had a pretty good idea what was running through Ezio's head. The man tilted his head to the side, drawing down closer until Desmond's forehead was being caressed by the edge of Ezio's hood. Desmond naturally attempted to seek out Ezio's hidden eyes with his, following until the intensity maximized, his breath catching.
Ezio's scent was a mix of sandlewood and the natural musk of a man, along with the undertones of sweat, cured leather, steel and blood.
Ezio breathed out his name again, near-silently; Desmond wet his lips, quickly, as Ezio's breath ghosted along the pair tickling them. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. His entire face to his ears were fiercely heated – Desmond expected the reactions – he was in close quarters with a deadly man who was bizarre in his unfamiliarity. What he didn't calculate, was the curling heat in his groin, pooling there, extending to his toes. He blamed the still-fucking man and woman, he could see in his periphery and hear over the hot rush of blood in his veins.
He also hadn't expected the chop to the neck, but there went to show Desmond that life was still full of surprises.
The bastard could have been less of an asshole and pinched a nerve in Desmond's nape or something, instead.
-_-_-_-
There was an X-Men shoutout in today's post. That aside, my nerves are going completely batty on me. GUH. Steady, steady.
Side Notes
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)I almost shot myself in the foot. GOOD THING for this mind of mine! And I knew that I had to write it as it was written in the end notes of Part 7 (I basically copied and pasted the part where I placed it) and have it still mesh well with the other scenes.
That's how my mind goes. If I concentrated solely on what I had flung into the endnotes, I would be locked in a stalemate wondering just HOW I was going to bring the scene to life. I would have sat for hours, finally resulting in a headache. So, I said screw it, and wrote and wrote until I landed on an avenue where it seemed plausible.
The first draft (I say draft but I don't do drafts, I type and if I don't like I BALETE IT) actually had Desmond's journey to gather his supplies and then the tailor directed him to an inn (I labeled it The Falcon for whatever, cheap reason) and then had a long conversation with the owner about his room leading to the rooftop. Basically, I was gathering for the scene of Desmond to see an assassination by Ezio of one of the guards and Desmond following by ground, leading to the scene written in the endnotes. That's how the snippets of idea in my head went.
Then, I realized it was too tedious, too long - and WHY was there conversation with the inn owner? No need! So I deleted the pages I had and started fresh with Desmond happily eating tomatoes and started from there. The opening scene made me happy imagining the characters satiated, happy outlook now that food was in Desmond's belly, so it stuck. And I was much more pleased with it.
SIDE NOTES is me rambling away. Mostly about either what was in the posts or something like this, just you getting to know me and my thoughts.
Warring with or Warring of
(Anonymous) 2011-01-07 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)How the - oh no, I now know how it came about: usually I would REPLY from other Warring with Talon posts, so all I would have to do was delete the RE: and change the number of which part. But instead I replied using the first Side Notes post - and thoughtlessly typing it in. Well, I got the Warring and Talon words right at least... OH WELL. I don't know. Whichever sounds best, I guess. Does 'of' sound better or does 'with' jive best with the two words?
Warring with Talons <-- sounds like red and might to me.
Warring of Talons <-- a bit yellow and steel imagery in my head.
Hm, hm - Don't know.
Re: Warring of Talons Part 11/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 12:38 am (UTC)(link)I don't understand why more people are not reading this beautiful fill. I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE.
Even if I am the lone reader, please write!anon keep going.
Oh, but it appears to be true! :D
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 01:16 am (UTC)(link)YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOU SPUR ME ON, anon. XD
Hopefully the next part should be up by tomorrow.
Thanks again! :D
Re: Warring of Talons Part 11/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 02:08 am (UTC)(link)I found out about this fic TODAY /facepalm
I can't believe I missed out this fic, I mean holy mother of...
Don't worry writer-anon, I'm sure a lot of people are reading this.
I definitely know I'll be, starting RIGHT NAO /eager eyes
Don't be embarrassed, it is alright! :D
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)Overall, I write for everyone's enjoyment, but it does feel good to receive acknowledgement, as everyone else on our planet can agree.
And don't think of yourself as pathetic, no one is! And besides, you have found me and I have met you halfway as of today! :)
I'm still writing out the other parts to come, so as of right now, my clock states to be around 10:00am, Jan. 8 - so I don't expect to be done until much later. I'm hoping to post by 3pm. If not, 5pm. At the very least, I will post what I have by 9pm.
Thank you again for your lovely response! :D
Re: Warring of Talons Part 11/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 05:42 am (UTC)(link)And you have made my day
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 03:09 pm (UTC)(link)As I posted in another reply to another lovely anon, I will write again: It is now 10:09am on my clock, Jan 8 (I wrote the dates because it appears the lj is several hours ahead, just in case!) and I hope to post by 3pm, as I am still writing out the other incoming parts. If not, then by 5pm. At the very least, I shall post whatever I have by 9pm.
This is to allow me some breaks and rest between writing, should I not be finished by 3pm.
Thanks again for your comment! :D
Oh this looks like a good fic- oh shit was that my prompt?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)I really liked the way your handling this, especially with all the extensive research you seem to be doing and the effort you putting in.
I also like how Desmond how Desmond had to deal with life in Rome without all the benefits of it being a just a simulation.
So anyway keep up the fantastic work~
Oho, yes it was! XD
(Anonymous) 2011-01-08 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)I'm so happy and excited to know that you are enjoying yourself!
I'll do my very best to give you the same amount of enjoyment in the next parts.
Thank you for the prompt! It's been great fun for me, too!
Re: Warring of Talons Part 11/?
(Anonymous) 2011-01-19 06:04 am (UTC)(link)Oh Good GOD
(Anonymous) - 2011-01-26 06:29 (UTC) - Expand