A/N: Hi there. Welcome to the beginning of a collection of drabbles based on one word prompts aimed to get my mind refreshed and rolling. I've been having a bit of writing trouble lately, so I figured this would be my breath of fresh air! Let it be known that these drabbles will be relatively unconnected unless otherwise stated/insinuated. So, without further ado, please enjoy these little tidbits of stories that come to mind!

Disclaimer: This author does not own Assassin's Creed.

Mementos of a Time

1. Wake—

Desmond knew that he should have been cautious-terrified, more like it-when he found himself waking to the both familiar and unfamiliar structure of Masyaf. His first instinct had been to find an exit and just get the fuck outta dodge before the other could respond. However, after overcoming the mortification of coming face to face with a groggy (and progressively waking Syrian master assassin) in the man's own bed, the only thing really flying through Desmond's head was the hope that whatever was poking him in the thigh was not what he thought it was.

'Oh, ok.' Desmond thought, when those amber eyes widened suddenly and the body that had been previously curled around him sprung to a more hostile stance above him with the said pointy thing moved to his throat. 'Not what I think it is.' The former bartender swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing and just grazing the dagger's pointed tip. 'I can work with that.'

2. Tied–

Vieri de' Pazzi was known throughout the country as a connoisseur of automobiles along with that of his family's vast wealth. He was famous for his large inventory of rare and antique cars-many that he zealously guarded and stowed away under lock and key. The ones that he did parade around publicly were usually of the flashy sort-models that were exotic and shipped internationally from overseas. However, the most prized of his collections was probably his pure white and very well taken care of Lamborghini Veneno.

'Leonardo always wanted to experiment with scrap art.' Ezio thought ruefully, patting the said stolen property affectionately.

Any car of Vieri's was sure to fetch a pretty penny, whole or not, and the car thief had no evidence to dissuade him from the projected profit. What he didn't expect, however, was to find a body in its trunk looking every bit as much like death warmed up and obviously ill if the boy's labored gasping around the gag and sweat sheeted skin was any indication.

'Of all the things the little stronzo could do, I would never have imagined this.' Ezio thought, quickly cutting the zip ties binding the youth's arms and legs with a box cutter while simultaneously yelling for Leonardo to get his ass out of his studio and help him. It was obvious to him that the kid had seen abuse. It wasn't hard to miss the bruising peeking out from the collar of the boy's hoodie and from the marks on his wrist, this hadn't been a first time thing. Ezio cast a helpless look to the shaking youth, feeling his hands clench in anger at the unconscious man's distress.

'Jeez, what did he do to the kid?'

3. Offline—

"Wait, you're saying that you never used the internet at the Farm." Shaun asked incredulously. "At all. Whatsoever."

"I didn't really have time for that or even the means to do so, really." Desmond said simply, finishing up his meal. "Dad pushed the other kids and I to train mostly."

"But you ran away when you were 16, right?" Rebecca asked, pointing her fork towards Desmond. "So, eventually, you started playing with it?"

Desmond rubbed the back of his head. "Actually, no. I was mostly working and trying to survive." He'd been living on the streets for some time before he actually got a place. Finding shelter was major precedence over other luxuries.

"Wait, so you've never been on the internet. At all." Lucy iterated almost in disbelief.

"Internet is expensive in New York on a bartender's salary." Desmond defended, growing more and more confused at the other modern assassins' varying states of shock. "Why are you guys so-?"

"But you had a cell phone though, right? With a data plan? 3g? 4g?" Shaun pushed.

"Er... I used prepaid phone plans." Desmond replied. Regular cell phone plans needed identification and paperwork, after all, and he hadn't been keen on releasing any details of his actions or whereabouts to anyone looking for him.

"Dear lord, he's a caveman." Shaun uttered as if Desmond had personally crawled out of Plato's cave. "Oh my god."

"Jeez, you've been missing out!" Bouncing up, Rebecca took Desmond's hand and practically dragged him out to the Hideout's main room. "C'mon Des! For your first internet experience, I think it's right show you something called Tumblr..."

4. Taste—

The modern assassins were never ones to drink frequently. Shaun was never too fond of beer and Lucy was more into wine than anything else. Even Rebecca, who, with her personality, seemed like the happily drinking type, was disinterested with the beverage. Suffice to say, there were very rarely few times that they ever ingested alcohol. However, they all agreed there was something that was mesmerizing in the way Desmond made drinks that made them make an exception.

5. Voyeur –

"Well..." Shaun said, breaking the silence that had overtaken the room-and for good reason as they all stood gawking at the screen before them. "This is...unexpected."

The term 'unexpected' was a kind description as to what the scene they were witnessing-which more or less could have been considered to something akin to holy-fucking-shit and what-the-balls to someone with more brutal tact. Either terms were good though; suitable words to describe Desmond-a-currently-not-playing-as-'Ezio' Desmond- lip locked (and quite happily so) with said Italian ancestor in the middle of Florence.

"...It's kinda hot." Rebecca murmured with just the beginning of a lecherous grin. Even Lucy was turning red.

Shaun just face-palmed.

6. Panorama—

"Tell me again exactly, why we are here-" Shaun grunted as he decapitated the animated corpse with a swing of his greatsword. "-in this god forsaken place?"

Rebecca grinned merrily. "Aw, come off it, Shaun. I find this place charming!"

"Orr? Charming?" The guardian huffed incredulously. "This place is crawling with Zaitan's forces and influence. It's sickening. I'd rather not be here longer than need be."

A second later, Rebecca's turret boomed into action, shooting a couple rockets towards a tottering undead that had veered too close to their flank. It fell with a groan and a muttered, "Zaitan..." before silencing.

Shaun spared a look of disgust towards the monstrosity before glancing upwards at the towering coral almost impatiently. "It really should not be taking Lucy and Desmond this long to climb the stupid thing." When he had first encountered the pillar, it'd taken him no longer than five minutes.

"Meh. You know how these vistas are. They're basically jumping puzzles." The engineer shrugged, kicking her legs back and forth from her place on top of her healing turret. "Remember that one on the Moorwatch Tower?"

At the name, Shaun twitched, mood souring at the mention of the affirmed location. "Oh, how could I forget soaring through the skies in a cow cannon to get up there?" ''Safe and fastest way to get there,' she says, MY ASS.'

Shaun hated vistas. Simple as that. They were complete wastes of time-time that their small guild should be spending to stop Zaitan. Really, the fact that their resident thief had a fondness for exploring all the lands and the fact that the girls had a soft spot for the man was the only reason why they bothered to come along on these frequent escapades.

And where Rebecca went, Shaun was only forced to follow-even if he absolutely despised the places they went like goddamn Orr.

So when Lucy dropped down before them, the relief that Shaun had experienced at them finally leaving was short lived when he realized that Desmond was not in tow behind her. Instead, the Mesmer beckoned them towards her portal, and it didn't take a genius to know of its destination.

Great, they were going to be in Orr longer.

But it was better up there then down here, Shaun rationalized.

And as they all joined their thief on the top of the coral structure, Shaun couldn't help but indulge in the view and admit that perhaps Orr didn't look too bad from up here. Maybe the landscape didn't quite look too much like the bottom of an ill-tended aquarium. It could be called pretty, Shaun supposed, when the sun peeked out from the horizon like that.

Without much of a reluctance that surprised the guardian, Shaun moved towards the spot reserved for him and sat down next to his guild mates, letting Rebecca lean her head on his armor and Desmond settle comfortably at his side. It couldn't be too bad staying a little longer if it made his friends happy.

He still thought the vistas in Lion's Arch were prettier though.

7. Penny–

Desmond didn't have a single penny when he left the farm.

He really didn't. He literally did not have a penny or any other form of currency on him at all, which in retrospect, probably wasn't under the best circumstance to run away under. The only thing he owned was the clothes on his back and the barest of minimum supplies that he had packed in his knapsack. The only reason why he'd been able to get as far as New York was by the kindness of strangers letting him hitch a ride with them. (Desmond figured that it was probably because he looked so young and-he winces-scrawny. He didn't-and wasn't-a shady looking or trouble-seeking kid either, which made it easier for people to want to help him.)

Desmond knew he was lucky to get this far in his journey, and especially lucky to have met people kind enough to even offer him shelter for a day or two. The old woman especially, one who gave off a very nice grandmotherly vibe, had taken a special liking to him and taken him in when she had found him hiding under the eaves of a grocery store from the rain.

(Desmond never questioned her kindness. He didn't need to ask. There were many framed photos hanging on the walls. They were all of a boy that never aged.)

Desmond repaid her kindness, of course, (she often joked that he was like her seeing-eye dog,) but Desmond disliked depending on her for his stay, especially since he could not contribute any monetary value to help. (She lived off retirement money and Desmond always felt uncomfortable having her use her money to feed two mouths.)

So, one day, Desmond decided to get a job-which was...easier said than done.

"I'm sorry." Desmond winced at the all too familiar start of rejection from the manager of the establishment. "We're only hiring people with cashier experience."

"How...how do I get experience then?" Desmond asked weakly. The manager-a bearded brown haired man by the name of Mr. Barton from the tag on his shirt- gave him an are-you-stupid look.

"You work as a cashier at a store, obviously."

"But that's what I'm literally trying to do here." Desmond stressed insistently. "Right here. Now."

Mr. Barton shrugged, waving his hand in obvious disregard. "Sorry, you just don't have enough experience for me to hire you so you can get experience."

Never before had Desmond wanted to punch someone in the face, but he reined the urge in. He glared at Mr. Barton frostily before turning around on his heel and marching out of the store, giving the same glare at the 'HELP WANTED' sign outside the window.

"Entry level job, my ass!" Desmond grumbled, kicking a stray rock on the sidewalk. He scowled darkly, unmindful of the people passing by and their curious expressions. "That doesn't even make any sense! Why would you even list something as entry level when you need experience to get it?!"

Too absorbed in his ranting, Desmond didn't notice the hushed sniggering behind him increasing as he mumbled to himself before it erupted into a sputtering of full blown laughter.

Surprised, and just a little bit offended, Desmond turned around to regard the brunet fellow laughing at him sourly. The man couldn't have been more than a few years older than him, brown tied in a short horsetail at the base of his neck that swayed at the hysteric shaking of his shoulders.

Scowling, and feeling the burn of embarrassment crawling up his face, Desmond spared the laughing man one last glare before turning tail and stiffly walking towards the direction of Mrs. Vadino's house and his temporary home, despite hearing the man calling out to him to wait. 'Yeah, like I'm going to do that.' It was already getting dark, and Desmond wasn't interested in discovering any of New York's night time antics. People were crazy in New York, after all. The man could be a perverted weirdo for all he knew.

(Which, after getting to know the man more, was eventually proven correct.)

"Please! Wait!"

Desmond's feet stopped and he sighed. After two blocks, the guy wasn't letting off. He was persistent, that was for sure. Finally turning around, Desmond barely waited for the man to catch his breath before asking, "What do you want?"

"Siento, amico." The accent caught Desmond off guard as did the easy grin that followed right after. "It's just, you see, I couldn't help but overhear your earlier conversation with Ser Barton and," His lips twitched upwards, "what followed afterwards."

"I was asking him for a job." Desmond frowned, wondering where the man was going with this.

"And he turned you down."

Wary, Desmond nodded. "That's right."

"Well, how fortunate it is then!" The man suddenly beamed, making the boy blink. "I happen to be looking for barista! I run a cafe you see, and my darling Anetta had to leave for more...grander pursuits."

"Wait, you want to hire me? Me? Someone you just met off the streets?" Was this guy stupid?

"But of course!" The Italian laughed. It was a pleasant sound that Desmond couldn't help but lean towards to. "You certainly have the looks."

"Uh...thanks?" He seemed nice, at least, and making drinks didn't seem like such a bad job.

The man grinned before he seemed to realize something and bopped himself in the head. "Ah! Where are my manners? My name is Ezio. Ezio Auditore, owner of Caffe dell'Amore, at your service." The man-Ezio-finished his introduction with a bow and smiled impishly at Desmond. "E tu?"

Desmond couldn't help but crack a grin at that. "It's Des-" He stopped, before reiterating quickly: "Nathan. Nathan Drake. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Believe me, 'Nathan.'" Ezio purred, eyes shining almost knowingly. "The pleasure is all mine.

8. World—

Desmond had never been religious. He didn't believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, or anything of that sort. It made sense of course. He'd always been a skeptic of those sort of things, and the history behind the Apples of Eden and of Those That Came Before only strengthened his resolve.

So, when he had accepted 'death' and touched the pedestal in the Temple, Desmond hadn't expected much (okay, maybe he did kind of play with the idea of that scene with Dumbledore in a white train station in Harry Potter) but he really did not expect this.

'This' being a beautiful landscape of gold, silvers, and crystalline perfection. There was nature all around him, trees of alien colors whose beauty was only rivaled by the arching buildings that seemed to have been hand sculpted by artists with the intent of complementing nature.

Nowhere could Desmond smell the familiar odor of common industrial remnants nor the pollution in the air. Everything was just beautiful-a perfection that couldn't have possibly built by human hands.

Desmond swayed uneasily, placing a hand on a nearby tree to steady himself from his shock.

...Where in the world was he?!

So focused on the matter at hand, Desmond didn't notice the soft pitter patter of footsteps until it was too late. The sound of a ceramic pot smashing to pieces on the ground followed by a startled gasp made him whip around to see a woman standing frozen behind him. She was garbed in a short, loose-fitting white simple dress, hands scrunched over her mouth with her eyes wide in...fear? Horror? She looked like she was seeing a ghost.

(Which, Desmond figured, was technically true? I mean, he was dead...right?)

"...Um..." Desmond greeted, intelligently. He smiled unsteadily, barely holding in his rising panic since it was really looking like she was going to-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Desmond winced.

-scream.

Oh, that was really going to attract some unwanted attention, which was very unwanted since Desmond could only guess that he was most possibly trespassing somewhere he shouldn't be. As if on cue, there was a bustle of color and footsteps, before Desmond suddenly saw armed guards storm out from the stone pathway and... were they wearing Roman armor?

Desmond blinked, uncomprehendingly. He was pretty sure the concept of 'heaven' did not include guards straight from 300.

Either that, or this was some movie set. The pedestal was First Civilization technology after all, and everything they had made did some pretty funky stuff. Perhaps the Ones Who Came Before made the pedestal with a sense of hum-

'Or not.' Desmond gasped when one particularly touchy guard pointed a spear at his throat-a non-prop and very very real looking spear a that. A cursory glance around confirmed that he was surrounded and with the amount of spears pointed at him, it didn't seem like they were very susceptible to talking it out. Escaping didn't seem to be ideal either if the high walls surrounding the garden (?) he was in was any indication.

In other words, he was in deep shit.

'As usual.''

Before Desmond could react though, there was a voice behind the guards, loud and authoritative that Desmond couldn't help but jerk to attention to. There was...something familiar about that voice...

The guards not directly in line of sight of Desmond instantly straightened, form poised like that of the British Royal Guard and almost mechanically, they moved back, forming a path for the owner of the voice-a tall woman dressed regally in loose robes of whites and gold. Aesthetically, she was beautiful, but that wasn't what made Desmond rear back as if burnt.

It was the fact that he knew her. She was less glow-y, less ethereal, and way less rawr-I'm-gonna-take-over-the-world looking, but that was definitely her.

In surprise, he didn't notice her name escape his lips, but he did notice the way her eyes widened in shock and-was that disbelief?-when it slipped out.

"...Juno?"

9. Ember—

It was hard to yell through the smoke when every breath he took blackened his lungs, but when strapped to a stake over a growing fire, yelling was all he could do.

"I'm telling you, I'm innocent!" Desmond chocked out, feeling his throat fail him from the smoke. "Please!" He yelled desperately, "You have to believe me!" Despite the burning of his eyes, Desmond forced himself to look out to the crowd, hoping to find any kind face, but from person to person, he saw none. They were angry.

"Lies!" A villager yelled.

They were hurt.

"We should have cut off the witch's tongue!" A woman screamed.

They wanted his blood.

"Burn the witch!" The hoard roared.

He didn't want to die! What had he done to deserve this?! All this madness just because of what he could do with his eyes?!

"Let the witch's death by a warning to all who dares go against God!" A voice called out and Desmond found the man easily-could recognize those sickeningly fake eyes anywhere as they laughed at him from behind the mob. "Any who align themselves with the devil oppose the Holy Order's will shall leave this world in flames!"

Desmond struggled wildly against his binds, screaming and begging for mercy. He didn't want to die—not like this!

'Lucy… Rebecca… Shaun…' Desmond let out a chocked sob, body slacking as he succumbed to his fate. The crowd's roars were distant sounds to the cracking and licking music of flames.

'I'm so sorry…'

The flames consumed him, burning him to become their fuel and Desmond screamed before—

"What the hell is that?!"

-it wasn't burning him anymore. Instead, he felt cool; light—held softly in someone—or something's—arms in such a way that was foreign but familiar.

And then, almost tenderly…

"So this is where you were…"

10. Grump–

Desmond inwardly made a note to apologize to Rebecca for continuing to lose sync with Altair's memories over and over again, but really, he couldn't help it! It wasn't his fault that Malik's seemingly permanent facial expression resembled grumpy cat!

A/N: I suppose here is where I should put some brief commentary of the chapter, so here we go:

Wake - I've always liked awkward introductions and I figure that (my) perception of Desmond would be pro at it.

Tied – Vieri came off as a sleeze-ball to me in AC2. In a modern setting, someone as spoiled as him could easily go to such lengths with money and power at his side. (That, and it makes for good plot.)

Offline – I remember reading that at the Farm, Desmond and the others who lived in the Farm were rarely (if not never) allowed to leave the Farm, and considering that William raised Desmond to be an assassin (and such a feat takes an enormous amount of time and precedence over everything else) something as having a computer to play on as a kid would have been very unlikely.

Taste – I like to imagine that Desmond made an amazing bartender and made a killer on tips for being a good drink mixer…and for being good looking. (Have you seen him in that white button up shirt at the end of AC3?)

Voyeur – No comment.

Panorama – I've been playing a lot of Guild Wars 2 lately as you can see. ^^ (I wonder if my readers play?)

Penny – It is really hard to get a job. And Ezio seems like the type to do that.

World – I'm surprised that I haven't seen many First Civilization fanfics.

Ember – Playing around with the idea of witchcraft is really fun.

Grump – No, seriously, have you compared the two?

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Please let me know if you enjoyed it! :D

'Till next time!

nikaris