I Do not Own Any of the Assassins Creed games or their characters!
There will be yaoi in later chapters. I don't want flames unless they are used to cook my meals.
The bar was noisy and warm as a large crowd of people danced to the latest techno on the specially lit dance floor. Desmond Miles flipped the bottle of Jack Daniels in the air deftly before catching it and pouring it into the small glass on the bar before him. The blonde woman opposite him ooh'd and aah'd as he smirked at her.
"Oh Jesse, that was fabulous! How did you learn how to do that?" she simpered, eyelashes batting at him coquettishly.
Desmond frowned mentally at the name, but outwardly he grinned at her, leaning one elbow on the bar so he could be closer. "It's a trade secret, babe."
The woman pouted prettily as she took the drink Desmond slid across the bar, her fingers trailing lightly over the back of his hand. The assassin tried to hide the shudder her touch caused but knew he wasn't entirely successful when she frowned at him.
"It's a little chilly back here with the fridge hanging open," he smirked. Smiling brightly, the blonde moved away from the lacquered bar and disappearing into the crowd. Sighing, the assassin moved to the next customer.
"Hey Jesse, your shift was over 20 minutes ago. Why aren't you gone yet?" Desmond's boss clapped a hand to the taller mans shoulder as he stepped up beside him. Thomas Biani was the owner of Ipomeai and, at 5'2", had one hell of a temper. Desmond had only been on the receiving end of the man's anger once and it was enough to scare him into being the model employee. It wasn't like he wasn't one before, seeing as how he didn't want to draw attention to himself.
The Templar's were still searching for him, even after 8 years after leaving the Farm. His skills as an Assassin were kept honed in the makeshift gym he had rigged in his flat so he had no doubts that if they found him, he could easily fight his way out of anything they could throw at him.
Desmond grinned and gestured to the blonde woman who had reappeared at the edge of the crowd. "I got a little caught up." Thomas laughed.
"Well then get out of here, Desmond. I'm not interested in paying you overtime, even if you are my best bartender."
The brunette nodded and untied his apron, draping it on a hook behind the bar. With a salute, he made his way to the coat room.
"Are you leaving already, Jesse?"
Desmond looked up and frowned slightly as he saw the blonde. This could get interesting, he thought. Pasting a fake grin on his face, he slipped his arms into his white hoodie.
"Yes I am. Turns out I was on OT and didn't realize it."
The woman nodded, smiling, as she approached him. Desmond sighed inwardly. He wasn't looking for a bed warmer and she was plainly offering if the swing to her hips were any indication.
"Sorry, love. I have to run." Backing towards the back door, he kept his eye on the predatory woman before him. His senses were screaming at him to leave. Something wasn't right.
With a low growl, the woman lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his waist as she took them both to the floor. Desmond twisted in her grasp, relying on his training to escape the inebriated woman. There was only one problem with his plan though. Her arms were like iron bands and he couldn't seem to break away.
"Oh no you don't, assassin. You are coming with me!" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a man appeared at his right, a syringe glinting on the soft light coming from the Exit sign over his head.
"What? I have no idea what you're talking about, lady. What is that?" Desmond eyed needle as the stranger pulled his sleeve up and drove it home. Desmond kicked out, his foot making contact with the man's knee. A sickening pop seemed to echo through the small hallway as the stranger collapsed with a shriek. Bringing his head up quickly, his forehead made contact with the woman's face causing her to let him go as blood began to flow from her nose.
He hated hitting women but she was almost freakishly strong and he had to get away as fast as possible. The Templar's had found him.
Desmond stood, the room spinning slightly as he braced one hand against the wall. "What the hell did you inject me with, you bastard…" Wobbling slightly, he kicked the shattered knee of the man rolling on the floor, bringing forth another cry of agony.
The assassin turned and made his way out the back door of the club, one hand pressed to his temple. He had to get away before whatever drug they had pumped him with, and he strongly suspected it was a barbiturate of some sort, took effect and left him unconscious in an alleyway.
"And now I'll have to move again." Leaning heavily against the building, the assassin made his way down the street, his feet beginning to drag along. His vision was blurring so badly now he could barely see where he was going.
After three blocks, Desmond collapsed, his head resting against a telephone station. His hand fell limp to the ground at his side. "Well," he slurred, "this sucks."
As his head fell forward, the phone began to ring. Desmond groaned as the sound aggravated his growing headache. Reaching up slowly, he snatched the handset down and placed it to his ear. "What?" he snarled.
"Desmond Miles, listen very carefully. We're coming to help you. The templar's are not far from finding you and I suggest you hide somewhere."
"Who is this?" Desmond asked, his tongue feeling a million miles wide.
"Get your ass in gear, you stupid git! When we find you, I'll explain everything. Now go!"
The click rang in his ears as he dropped the phone and managed to roll himself underneath a nearby dumpster before promptly passing out.
i Italian for Morning Glory