Haha, hell to the yes! Thanks for commenting, I'll post some right now!
Fabiola scolded him, protesting that he would hurt himself in the action and spurred a verbal spat. The other novices watched as the two traded barbs, unaware when Ezio himself came in through the door, a man in his arms. "What are you all doing here? Did I not assign you all to take your missions from Machiavelli?" He growled, annoyance laced in his tone.
The novices stared in horror at the newly returned maestro, scattering in all directions when noticing his glare. Ezio sighed, refraining from rolling his eyes at their childish behavior and proceeding to walk through the hideout and approach an empty room: the unknown man's for now. Pushing the door open with an elbow, he approached the bed and carefully laid the male down. A whine sounded in the room with the man's face contorting in pain, and the assassin raised an eyebrow.
He gingerly placed a hand on the male's forehead, feeling the fever burn through the flesh and into his palm. This was bad. The assassin reached for the burlap sack that held the vials of medicine and rolls upon rolls of bandage and an assortment of jars of antibiotics to place in the wounds. His fingers felt the cool slim surface of a vial, and pulled it out of the bag.
There, labelled neatly in ink on a paper note attached to the cork, it read in bold letters: Medicine for patient: One dose. Ezio casually popped off the lid with his thumb, and held the vial to the the man's lips. Squeezing both sides of his mouth to part the flesh, the assassin drained the vial's liquid into his mouth.
The unconscious male twitched in his sleep while Ezio held his head up, coaxing him to swallow the foul-smelling liquid. The man coughed and gagged, swallowing the liquid with difficulty and shuddering in recoil. Ezio held his right hand above the other male's forehead, once again touching the blazing skin with the pads of his fingers. His fingers lingered for several seconds, his mind forcing itself blank.
It had only been several a day since he met the unknown male, and he could foreshadow a troubling future. Ezio withdrew his fingers from the person. A low growl vibrated in the air as eyes snapped open, bloodshot and glazed with a fever. Even though they hidden under a hood and shaggy brown locks, the Grand Master could see that this man's eyes were steely blue.
The man blinked several times as Ezio attempted to speak to him. Upon noticing the assassin, his growl changed and his lips curled into a snarl. He snapped at his savior, gnashing his sharpened teeth to intentionally miss the hand, purposely forcing the threat to flinch backwards. Backing up into the headboard, he attempted to make himself larger than the man near him and used his sluggish eyes to dart around the room for an escape.
"Signore, calm yourself or I will be forced to. You are in a serious medical condition, and I-" Ezio tried reasoning, Il Lupo could sense his pitiful emotions, regarded as weakness in his eyes. There is no place for weakness. He interrupted the assassin with another snarl ripping from his raw throat, glaring ferociously to assert his dominance and control.
"Signore," Ezio challenged with a stern voice while narrowing his eyes. "I am not your-" He began once again, too late to notice Lupo lunging for his throat with his teeth until he managed to catch the attacker's wrists and fall to the floor, flipping himself on top of the writhing animal. The male's eyes were wild, the amount of energy he possessed was far more than a normal healthy man to own.
The squirming man's fingers tensed and released repeatedly under Ezio's palms before he raised his head and slammed it into the opponent's, hard. With the sudden falter of the grip on his wrists, Il Lupo lunged at Ezio rabidly as a whirlwind of teeth and thrifty hands. He continued to attack Ezio, sitting on his haunches and throwing himself at the man to attach himself to his throat and keep him in a death grip.
The master assassin had fended the man off up until now, for it was a matter of one or both of them becoming injured along with the potential threat posed to his other assassins. Whether or not he was injured or ill, the threat must be contained and eliminated.
As A Dog Should 1.5/?
Fabiola scolded him, protesting that he would hurt himself in the action and spurred a verbal spat. The other novices watched as the two traded barbs, unaware when Ezio himself came in through the door, a man in his arms. "What are you all doing here? Did I not assign you all to take your missions from Machiavelli?" He growled, annoyance laced in his tone.
The novices stared in horror at the newly returned maestro, scattering in all directions when noticing his glare. Ezio sighed, refraining from rolling his eyes at their childish behavior and proceeding to walk through the hideout and approach an empty room: the unknown man's for now. Pushing the door open with an elbow, he approached the bed and carefully laid the male down. A whine sounded in the room with the man's face contorting in pain, and the assassin raised an eyebrow.
He gingerly placed a hand on the male's forehead, feeling the fever burn through the flesh and into his palm. This was bad. The assassin reached for the burlap sack that held the vials of medicine and rolls upon rolls of bandage and an assortment of jars of antibiotics to place in the wounds. His fingers felt the cool slim surface of a vial, and pulled it out of the bag.
There, labelled neatly in ink on a paper note attached to the cork, it read in bold letters: Medicine for patient: One dose. Ezio casually popped off the lid with his thumb, and held the vial to the the man's lips. Squeezing both sides of his mouth to part the flesh, the assassin drained the vial's liquid into his mouth.
The unconscious male twitched in his sleep while Ezio held his head up, coaxing him to swallow the foul-smelling liquid. The man coughed and gagged, swallowing the liquid with difficulty and shuddering in recoil. Ezio held his right hand above the other male's forehead, once again touching the blazing skin with the pads of his fingers. His fingers lingered for several seconds, his mind forcing itself blank.
It had only been several a day since he met the unknown male, and he could foreshadow a troubling future. Ezio withdrew his fingers from the person. A low growl vibrated in the air as eyes snapped open, bloodshot and glazed with a fever. Even though they hidden under a hood and shaggy brown locks, the Grand Master could see that this man's eyes were steely blue.
The man blinked several times as Ezio attempted to speak to him. Upon noticing the assassin, his growl changed and his lips curled into a snarl. He snapped at his savior, gnashing his sharpened teeth to intentionally miss the hand, purposely forcing the threat to flinch backwards. Backing up into the headboard, he attempted to make himself larger than the man near him and used his sluggish eyes to dart around the room for an escape.
"Signore, calm yourself or I will be forced to. You are in a serious medical condition, and I-" Ezio tried reasoning, Il Lupo could sense his pitiful emotions, regarded as weakness in his eyes. There is no place for weakness. He interrupted the assassin with another snarl ripping from his raw throat, glaring ferociously to assert his dominance and control.
"Signore," Ezio challenged with a stern voice while narrowing his eyes. "I am not your-" He began once again, too late to notice Lupo lunging for his throat with his teeth until he managed to catch the attacker's wrists and fall to the floor, flipping himself on top of the writhing animal. The male's eyes were wild, the amount of energy he possessed was far more than a normal healthy man to own.
The squirming man's fingers tensed and released repeatedly under Ezio's palms before he raised his head and slammed it into the opponent's, hard. With the sudden falter of the grip on his wrists, Il Lupo lunged at Ezio rabidly as a whirlwind of teeth and thrifty hands. He continued to attack Ezio, sitting on his haunches and throwing himself at the man to attach himself to his throat and keep him in a death grip.
The master assassin had fended the man off up until now, for it was a matter of one or both of them becoming injured along with the potential threat posed to his other assassins. Whether or not he was injured or ill, the threat must be contained and eliminated.