Soon all your eyes will be opened to the truth.
Its that time of year again, my friends! Desmond's birthday!
As always, I own nothing but my own ideas
Desmond stood in his ancestors shoes, wondering when the man would shut up, and move to a... Less public area, so he could interrogate him.
It was very smart of the man, probably, to keep his complaints in a public area. Less chance of something happening to him.
"We stand upon the threshold
between this world and the new one!"
It would probably be a lot easier to wait him out, if his speech wasn't so repetitive.
How was Altaïr staying so patient?
"A better place, where all might live as equals! "
From what Desmond had seen so far, he was arrogant. It wasn't without cause, he had to admit. Reluctantly. He had skill, stealth, and fitness in spades.
Desmond would have thought Altaïr would have "gently" pushed him into a deserted ally, by now or something.
"But men, like Al Mualim would see this dream destroyed! "
At this rate, Desmond would have this speech engraved into his brain. He was going to hear it in his dreams from now on.
"I see the way you look at me. Hear the things you say!"
His ancestor wasn't looking at the man. He had turned around, and activated eagle vision. But Altaïr wasn't looking at anyone. Indeed, it seemed somehow, he was looking straight at Desmond.
"A traitor! I'm not a traitor! Its Al Mualim who's betrayed us! "
A chill went through his spine. His ancestor seemed... Displeased.
It was like there was the strangest sense of disconnect, and Desmond was moving. He tried to turn around, but... It wasn't working!
Why wasn't it working?!
"You'll see"
He was standing a few feet behind the speaker, when suddenly he could turn again.
"Tuesdays attack was but a first, and more will follow, unless you repent!"
What had happened. He should be glad, that something a bit different was being shouted, but he could barely hear him over his heart pounding in his ears.
What was that!
"Give up your wicked ways"
Memories of fights filled his head. He moved a little, flexing, thinking about where to punch, and would the surroundings be useful. He smiled in anticipation.
He was more skilled than he was strong after all. While that suited swords wonderfully, it was not always an advantage in martial combat.
"Rise up against the madman of Massif. See through his lies. "
The man was finally moving, but Desmond wasn't focusing on that.
What had happened there! That wasn't him. Was it? Already, he can't remember.
Desmond sa- Altaïr sat?
Shit. The last thing he needed was an identity crisis.
He was frowning. It wasn't him, not really, but Desmond felt the distinct sense that he should move. Now.
"Work first, breakdown later" he told himself.
"What is happening!" The part of him that very much wants to have a breakdown, demands.
Something must be up with the Animus. That has to be what is happening.
He doesn't know if he can handle any other possible explanations for this.
I imagine Desmond can now recite that speech in his sleep, much to his dismay.