Mementos of a Time
A/N: Second set of a collection of drabbles on a few of our favorite modern and past assassins.
11. Lost
Sometimes, it seemed like Desmond doesn't belong here.
The thought comes on and off again often. Perhaps it was in the way their novice assassin would drift off sometimes, encompassed by a silence that often unnerved them. Even though the modern assassins were always together, there would be handful of moments where sometimes-just sometimes-Desmond would seem so far away.
'Or not even there at all.' Shaun sighs when he sees Desmond look at them with no recognition whatsoever after waking from the Animus' 2.0 induced coma. There's a semi-pained look across the former bartender's face, like he knows he knows them but struggling to place names to their faces. Shaun can even imagine it; the compartmentalizing of one, two, three lives down under to allow room for all that is Desmond to the surface. It's a sloppy process though and it shows when parts of Ezio and Connor slip out, but by now, they know not to address it when Desmond is around.
The man is lost enough as it is, both outside and inside his world. There is no need to make it more visible for Desmond's sake.
And theirs.
12. Meet
It was raucous laughter that brought Altair to the scene. He had been out to calm his stormy thoughts-something that a trek across Damascus would usually achieve-when he heard the unfortunately usual process of harassment of civilians by guards. It was a fairly common sight, regardless of economic status of the district. However, what was unusual about the scene was how the woman of such small and aged stature being harassed was fighting back.
"Unhand me this instant!" The woman yelled, yanking her arm from one man only to be pushed against another who jeered and laughed at her. "You'll regret ever messing with me!"
Something about the threat occurred to Altair as odd, and he lingered just a second longer to figure out why there was something off about the old woman's tone before shrugging it off as nothing and making his entrance to 'defuse' the situation. When all four lay dead, Altair only gave a half minded nod to the woman's thanks before preparing to leave. However, he was stopped when the woman grabbed hold of his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. There was a split second instinct that told him to yank his arm away but his respect for the elderly held him back, and he turned to acknowledge her, tipping his head questioningly.
The old woman just looked into his eyes for a second though, as if silently evaluating him for something that had Altair tensing, before she promptly grinned, showing pearly white teeth.
"We will meet again." She said, but it didn't feel like she was fully talking to him any more than she was to herself. The woman nodded resolutely, firmly dipping her gray head once, as she regarded Altair half-solemnly-half-excitedly and the assassin couldn't help the natural response of trepidation and caution at that admittance.
He could already hear Malik teasing and crowing him in his head. "Look at our great Mentor! Scared of a little old lady!" (Which, the one armed man truly did when Altair later admitted the strange occurrence when he returned to Masyaf.)
"You are over thinking it, my friend." Malik said afterwards, mindful of the worried frown on Altair's face. He rolled his eyes in faux-annoyance. "Do not let the senility of an old woman take up your mind. It was probably nothing."
Altair's frown lessened, but did not fully go away. He breathed in deeply and let out a sigh, shaking his head. He was being ridiculous for taking the old woman's cryptic message seriously.
"Yes...you are probably right."
What the next couple days showed, however, was that he really should have known better.
13. Nesting
Perfect.
This nest was perfect! Immense pride bubbled into the wren's chest as he surveyed the single bundle of twigs, feathers, and leaves tucked away in a cavity of the high perch. This was the one—THE ONE—that was sure to appease his bond mate. The slighter female winter wren had all but rejected the several others he'd made around the humans' perches. ('Villages' he'd heard some humans call them. What a weird sounding name for a community nesting.)
The wren twitched at the sound a flutter of wings and he sang a greeting when he saw it was his mate for the breeding season. Excitedly, the wren gestured at the nest and trilled happily when after a meticulous peck at the stacks of twigs, she sang her acceptance.
Finally, they could have hatchlings!
(Given, the little wren would have to forage more food for their young, but he had no real concern for that. The humans wasted a lot of food he saw-all of which were easily attained due to their carelessness and his small and inconspicuous size. Such big and stupid things they were.)
The wren was about to wiggle in next to his mate when he froze at the feeling of the area around them rumbling briefly and the baritone of human sounded near their immediate area. Likewise, the female wren tensed, her light colored feathers flatting against her body as her attention followed the sounds. The voices-two humans, he could detect- were becoming worryingly close to the hollow of where their nest resided. The wren had never seen a human come up to the vicinity of their nest before-it was the main reason that some of his brethren had chosen this part of the human city to live. Surely...
The male and female wren chirped frantically when a sudden mass pierced through the opening of their niche, clawing and widening the former narrow hole that led to their nest. It stretched towards them destroying the rejected nests in its path and just barely missing his mate. Shock melted into anger, and the male wren chattered angrily, pecking forcibly at the sensitive flesh on the top of the human's hand. The human that it belonged to squawked at that and pulled its appendage back, leaving the wrens' a path to escape.
The female wren was the first to take that opportunity, escaping in a flutter of wings as the male wren lagged behind to distract (and half out of spite,) the humans. He had been about to make eggs. How dare these big, stupid humans ruin that when he had just finished creating a nest that his female had approved of?
A hand managed to grab hold of his short tail feathers for one second before he slipped from their grasp to peck angrily at the human's face. That elicited a pained noise and the wren was about to attack the human's eyes when something smacked into his body hard, instantly sparking pain in his wing as he landed to the tiled roof. The second human's hand snatched the wren before the bird was able to collect his bearings and the next thing he knew, he was placed quickly into a small square cage.
The wren chirped angrily at the human, hopping around where he could and pecking at the bars. The cage rocked as the humans shimmied down from the roof and the jostling it caused made the wren hit the cage bars on his injured wide, drawing a distressed chirrup.
Knowing that there was little he could do in his position especially with an injured wing, the wren was resigned to his fate—which was whatever this 'Florence auction' thing the humans kept repeating, was.
14. Crown
"Tell me again why I'm doing this." Desmond groaned irritably, glaring sullenly at the items littered over the cutting board of the witch's hut.
"Because you need a job, and I'm the only one that can offer one for you!" Rebecca Crane, self-proclaimed 'sorceress extraordinaire', said blithely. As if to prove her point, she grabbed a handful of the freshly chopped wet slop of-'Why, in all that is holy, is that still squirming?!'-gray matter and tossed it into the boiling cauldron before her. It erupted into a mushroom cloud of purple, making Desmond cough and rub the irritation out of his eyes. "Now quit dawdling and dice the cow eyes for me, would ya?"
Gulping at the mention, Desmond picked up the knife and set to get to work on it.
She was right, of course. Of the six potential employers that he'd gone to all morning and afternoon, three of them had dismissed him right off the bat with no explanation, two more had rejected him out of lack of credentials, and for the final one, Desmond had made it as far as the second interview before the position was promptly filled by someone much more qualified.
Rebecca Crane was the last off his list of potential employers-and not for without reason. She was a nice person, sure-but the company she kept, wasn't. (Shaun Hastings was notorious in the small village for his biting attitude that only Rebecca could take with a smile. Truly, the man was as likely to help you as he was to gnaw heads off.) She wasn't the easiest the make an appointment with and thus, Desmond hadn't been expecting to actually get a job with her. (It was more of a last ditch effort, really.) Luckily, according to Shaun, he had caught her at a good time and she had been ready to pick up pretty much anyone off the streets.
"We never did find Mark's body."Shaun had said complacently. He didn't seem entirely bothered by the paling of his new daily companion.
But he was getting off topic. Point was, he got a job and he was happy with that. He could support himself on the mildly generous wages that Rebecca offered and considering the location and general 'down-low' of his job description, Desmond was confident that he could live relatively well. He knew that his current meager living could never compare to what he was used to, but he kind of liked it this way.
The man glanced at the talisman hanging over the door of Rebecca's hut.
And the plus was that his family would never find him now.
At present, the only thing Desmond had to worry about was just surviving the crazy errands would have him do. Easy.
Given, they seemed life threatening, morally questionable, and more or less illegal but hey, it sure beat his former princely duties.
15. Padding
If there was one thing that he hated more than being still, it would probably be silence. He was so used to the air being filled with the clacking of keyboard keys and the occasional sounds of traffic. Anything, really, was better than the emptiness of complete silence. Silence represented idleness; a reviled pause in progression. Silence reminded him of the calm before the storm and he truly hated it for just that one reason. The stretching silence made him expect the worse to come and more than once, he'd find himself holding his breath in trepidation of something; anything. Thusly, the silence haunting his cell was steadily and surely wearing his nerves thin.
At once, the man felt and fought the urge to scream in frustration and it was only the reminder of consequence that kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn't very well want to capture attention from the guards or worse-have them come and punish him for bad behavior like they'd done to the other prisoners who misbehaved. He was safe inside his cell so long as he was good.
The man breathed deeply and released the breath just as slowly-his body relaxing within the confines of the straightjacket as he did so.
A loud bang echoed from outside his cell that was accompanied by a pained yell and automatically, the ensuing silence made him tense for good reason. He had been good, hadn't he? The guards had no reason to bother him. It was probably some other unfortunate soul, he told himself. It took him a moment for his nerves to settle. He should be used to this. He was used to this.
What he was not used to though, was the sound of three sharp gunshots outside his door that elicited a startled and terrified scream from his throat. The steel door collapsed off its broken hinges in front of him, dousing the entire cell with light that burned his retinas.
It was only by the desperate call of his name that stopped him from propelling away from the light and his would-be tormentors to scurry to the far side of his cell.
"Shaun?"
Shaun swallowed thickly, squinting his un-bespectacled (they had long since taken his glasses) eyes at the owner of the feminine sounding voice whose shadow tickled his toes.
"Re...Rebecca?" Shaun rasped hesitantly, his voice scratchy. Was she really here? This wasn't some sort of hallucination from the pills was it?
The woman made a sound that was a cross between a sob and laugh before rushing forward and collapsing to her knees in front of him. Shaun felt hands on his face-shaking so hard; caressing his skin as if testing he was real-before she called for others over her shoulder. (Despite the blurriness, Shaun could make out a cheek glisten wetly in the light.)
Immediately, two other silhouettes filled the doorway, both gasping his name in barely veiled relief when they saw him.
Shaun worked his throat to obey him as Rebecca grappled with his straightjacket loose.
"Took you long enough." He managed to get it out in a pointed tone that belayed his relief. He heard Rebecca call for Lucy to hand over a pair of scissors and-'I hope those are the right size.'-shoes.
"Glad ya still have that snark on ya." Desmond replied tiredly, walking forward to slide something awkwardly around both his ears that gave Shaun back his long-missed sight. "C'mon... let's get ya out of here."
16. Alone -
Desmond is never truly alone. He takes comfort in this fact sometimes even if the consequence of it picks at his sanity. Whether it is Altair's instincts that guide him to maintain his balance, Ezio's spontaneous and trivial memories that elicits an indulging smile, or Connor's never-ending calm that bleeds through when he most needs it-despite the costs it takes on his very body and mind, Desmond is very grateful for the pieces of themselves that they left behind.
He hopes that one day, he'll finally take them all to the grave.
17. Star-
Long before they had ever gone to the Grand Temple, Rebecca, Lucy, and Desmond had begun to make stars.
Shaun found it stupid. He had nothing against origami, but by nature, Shaun was a skeptic. He didn't believe in the whole meaning behind the little origami stars, but he wasn't going to stop them. They could do whatever the hell they wanted so long as it was in their spare time and did not interfere with work.
The number of how many stars to craft was meaningful, Rebecca had told him. She had pressed a single blue star into the palm of his hand before taking another strip of paper and folding it expertly. Further away, Lucy finished a green star and flicked it at Desmond's head, making the former bartender retaliate with a red star. Shaun had rolled his eyes at the display under the dim lighting and gotten up from the ground, nearly knocking over the jar sitting in the middle of the three.
"And how many are you going to make?"
"365." Desmond piped up.
"For a year of good blessings." Lucy explained.
It seemed like such a long time ago.
When Lucy died, Desmond had made more after waking up from his comatose state. Shaun had seen him folding paper under lamplight after Animus sessions. Once, in passing, he had seen Desmond scrawl something on each piece of paper before folding it and tossing it into a steadily filling jar. Shaun didn't have the heart to break one open and find out.
Rebecca, who had joined Desmond in his folding from time to time, said that he wrote names on them.
When Desmond died, they had long run out of colored paper. Rebecca had stopped making stars due to the workload they were under now that they were down two people-three, if they counted Bill. Their days ran long as they struggled to plan where to go from here and what to do. In all truthfulness, Shaun had forgotten that the stars existed until something crunched under his shoe one day.
Call it impulsiveness or a sudden bout of nostalgia, but the next moment after that, Shaun found himself sitting in the familiar corner of the room, a strip of white paper bending diligently between his fingers. That was how Rebecca found him hours later-still folding mechanically deep in thought. By Star #327, he had resorted to old newspaper strips to fold when there was no more copy paper to use.
Rebecca hadn't said anything when she discovered him for which Shaun was immensely grateful for. He would not have had any answers for her. Instead, she settled down next to him, cutting out neat strips for him.
When all 365 starts were finished, Shaun poured the mismatched figures into a bigger jar. They went back to work, plans on infiltrating Abstergo and other such paperwork overtaking the same table that had once been used for the creating stars.
The jar sat in Shaun's van for a long time.
18. Thunder-
'Walk a 'couple' of blocks, he said. 'It's totally safe,' he said.'
Desmond flinched as a car landed on its back and bounced loudly through what was left of the street.
'Yeah, right.'
'I should have stayed at the Farm. No, I should have chosen some other city to live-no, another country. Like Canada. Nothing happens in Canada!' The former bartender yelped, ducking down behind the overturned car as a garbage can lid came flying where his head used to be. ' Abstergo would never had found me, I would have never gotten involved with stupid Assassin-Templar wars, and a freaking errand for Shaun would never have coincided with a bomb that would wipe out half of New York and result in super powered electric battles and terrorism in the middle of the street.'
Just as he thought that, the clouds above stirred and crackled, before booming down a large volt of blue thunder on a red coated, assault rifle toting gang member that he'd been warned about. Desmond just barely caught the scent of burnt flesh before promptly gagging at the wretched smell. It wasn't like the guy didn't deserve it but, dear god.
Desmond glanced over the temporarily barrier of safety, observing the gruff looking man controlling said thunder. There wasn't anyone who didn't know about the guy. He'd certainly made his debut in the city in a firestorm of electricity and sheer destruction that he dealt in his path. Desmond had heard nothing but scorn for the man in the flickering lights of TVs in derelict shop windows, yet there had also been many murmurs from civilians; praising the man for his help in ridding the more destructive 'reapers.'
Personally, Desmond was more prone to believe the other civilians than the agenda-driven media. From what he'd seen, at least the guy wasn't terrorizing citizens and blowing up buildings made to help the surviving populace-
Desmond winced at the sound of electricity crackling a tad too close for comfort.
-well, keyword being: intentionally.
Suddenly, his earpiece cackled.
"-esmond? Desmond! Are you there? Please be there!"
Desmond's hand went up to his earpiece, pressing it against his ear urgently. "Lucy? Lucy is that you?"
"Oh, thank god." Desmond could practically hear her sagging in relief.
"Great to hear a friendly voice." Desmond smiled. "Wait, the power lines are pretty much out on my end and the phone lines are busted. How are you even reaching me?"
"Turns out that wifi still works over there. Rebecca hacked into the local wifi connection and I piggybacked our signal onto it." Shaun stated matter-of-factly. "So long as electricity isn't entirely out in your area, we'll be in touch."
"You can do that?"
"I can do a lot of things." Shaun practically preened.
"Well, getting me out of here would be a great start." Desmond flinched as a car alarm went off and was quickly followed by a crunching sound. "Now, preferably."
"Oh yes, let me order you a chopper and a full security detail." Shaun huffed sarcastically.
"We're working on it, but it's hard." Lucy interrupted with a worrying tone in her voice. "The bridge is completely barricaded and we can't get through the military personnel stationed on your and our end."
"What, so you're saying I gotta wait until this whole thing blows over?" Desmond asked, frustrated. "Do you even know what's going on over here? Guys, there are crazed lunatics rampaging the city!"
"Now, that's not very nice." A voice spoke out suddenly, making Desmond jerk and finger the mechanism to activate his hidden blade in caution. However, he paused at the sight of the new character. The owner of the voice-a round man with slick black hair and an air that reminded him of an Elvis impersonator- crouched next to Desmond and peered curiously from over lowered sunglasses.
"I do hope yer not bunching Cole with those baddies. That's discriminatory, ya know!"
"Desmond? Who is that?"
The man cocked his head to the side, peering at Desmond curiously. "Actually, shouldn't ya be like the others and running for your life? The explosions-really, no matter how awesome they are- and such are a dead giveaway of life-threatening, ya know!"
"I could say the same for you." Desmond replied. A quick glance with Eagle Vision told him that the man was no threat and he relaxed slightly.
"Me? Naw, I ain't scared of this little scuffle. Cole's just out there having some fun!" The man said brightly, making Desmond blink.
'Cole? So that's his name, huh?'
"You know him?" Desmond asked cautiously.
"'Course I do! He and me-we're brothers!" The guy grinned brightly before rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, not by blood- but ya know what I mean!" A hand extended out to Desmond. "Name's Zeke by the way."
"Shaun, you're getting this right?"
"Yeah. Running background checks now."
Desmond took the hand, shaking firmly twice before letting go. "I'm Desmond."
"Well, Desmond, it's nice to meet ya! You're probably the first person I've seen brave enough to stick around in a fight rather than run away screaming-which, I gotta tell ya, is pretty funny to watch." Zeke grinned. "I should intro you to Cole."
Desmond jerked at that, expression morphing quickly to trepidation. "Uh."
Seeing Desmond's expression, Zeke frowned and crossed his arms. "Huh? Now don't tell me you believe all the crap on TV. If ya ask me, there's just making Cole the fall guy. What's happening here...it's just as much their fault if not more so."
"So, they're lying when they say he's dangerous? The lightning there isn't exactly helping his case." Desmond said, skeptically.
To that, Zeke only laughed. "Okay, sure the superpower there is potentially (key word: potentially!) destructive, but he ain't being all villain-y. Cole's only dangerous when I steal the last piece of pizza on movie night! And 'sides, Cole wouldn't hurt a fly!"
A car exploded in fiery pieces behind Zeke, which was then followed by insane cackling.
"...that didn't try to kill him, of course." Zeke reiterated cheerfully, looking entirely un-bothered.
'Oh my god, everyone here is crazy.'
"Guys...please, please, please, get my outta here."
19. Cloth
Though Desmond was loathe to admit it, the Animus was pretty cool. It was awesome to experience things from his ancestors' times and go through their lives in the safety of his own 'temporary' home. The fact that he could learn all these skills in sheer hours was amazing enough and to actually feel like he was running through the roofs of Florence or breathing the colonial air of 18th century America.. it was the most amazing thing that Desmond had ever witnessed. He felt and experienced everything.
Which again, was cool.
If only...if only there was a way to choose not to experience some certain things.
'Cause really, the problem with the Animus was just that. He could feel everything his ancestors did. That's how he knew that no matter how cool Altair's outfit was in the High Middle Ages, it was fucking hot and sweat-tastic running in that robe. Connor's clothes were itchy and Desmond could swear that he saw a tic or something on his sleeve occasionally. And Ezio's-well, actually, Ezio's clothing was actually comfortable as fuck-but that was beside the point.
Which, was the fact that personal hygiene was basically non-existent in his ancestors' eras.
Maybe he could get Rebecca to install some sort of Febreeze function to the Animus 2.0...
20. Card-
"You know, considering what could have happened, this was probably the best scenario." Shaun's musing broke the dazed silence in the room.
"Best scenario? You call an ancient spirit thing now dwelling in my mind a best case scenario?!" Desmond yelled, just a sliver away from hyperventilating. He ignored the feminine laugh ('Oh god.') that echoed in his mind and glared Shaun pointedly.
"Well, this is barring death from basically our fire-y lord, The Sun." Shaun pointed out.
"There's a crazy woman living in my head." Desmond stressed, to which Shaun merely looked unimpressed at.
"Shaun does have a point, Des." Rebecca tried. "You know that we will support you through this, right? Wherever this may go."
"But if you have an incredible urge to dress in leather, meddle with ancient artifacts, run around to discover the past, and play children's card games-then sorry, can't help you there."
Silence...before a snort.
"Oh look, you're halfway there!"
"...Oh, fuck you, Shaun."
A/N: I want to make more crossover drabbles. They are actually really fun.
Lost—I like the Bleeding Effect trope in this fandom.
Meet—Part one of a something.
Nesting—Part one of another something.
Crown—There is artwork of Desmond with a crown by doubleleaf. Frankly, I'm in love with it.
Padding—I imagine Shaun to be mildly claustrophobic. He's handling it well. I'd personally be terrified.
Alone—No comment.
Star—Origami is calming. I would recommend it if you can sit still enough to do it.
Thunder—Infamous is one of my favorite open-world games. I'm very eager to play Second Son and that game is probably going to be the only reason I'll ever buy a PS4.
Cloth – Realistically, I imagine this to be so.
Card – A Yugioh reference. I'm so amused.
Again, thank you all for taking time to read these little bits. Thank you for supporting me, letting me know that my writing is actually interesting, and just enjoying what I am able to give.
Also, if you are wondering what's happened to Binary Duality, the next chapter is halfway-done.
Until next time!
nikaris