Assassin's Creed and everything that is part of it does not belong to me.
She hung her legs over the ledge of the building. It stood pale against the Italian sun and looked bleached against the warm colored bricks. It was an outrageous act, something that not even prostitutes would do, but she did not care.
Her head tilted to look down and her grey eyes glimed almost predatorily within the harsh shadow. The sun was behind her and it made her look less of a human and more of a creature. Few sensitive people below scattered, whispering things that she didn't bother to understand. The black shade hid how her small lips curled into a smile and that was a good thing for the sensitive people.
There was a part of her that was broken and it made others uneasy. It was even more so for the sensitive. There had been too many unfortunate events when she had accidentally slipped up. She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Sun hurt her eyes and she thought she might go blind, but then she realised that the tissues were already repairing themselves. A drop of tear rolled down from her eyes and more continued to roll down until she finally closed them.
Dull grey hair fell around her. It curled and seemed to be white under the sun. It didn't gleam and it looked much like the hair of a dead. It contrasted with her youthful face and framed her as if cheap fabric bed within a casket. It only reached to her shoulders, but the color framed her entire body.
Dark cloth was scattered around her on the roof. It was old but the fabric had yet to fray. There were dark stains and anyone passing by would know that it was not just a simple spill of the wine that caused it. A rotten smell drifted across the thick fabric and she knew that others hated the smell.
The clothing she wore now was outrageous. A very short pants, perhaps a kind of underwear, covered to her thighs and exposed the rest of the legs. No cloth was around her top area save for a small cloth that wrapped around the breast once. Her torso was riddled with scars and the cloth looked as if it was covering the scars rather than her breasts. It was possibly worse than wearing nothing and she knew she looked less than a prostitute in them.
Sky seemed pale but she knew it would rain during the night. She tasted the water that crept into the air. It seemed to be getting heavier, but people below haven't noticed it yet. It wasn't a good taste. The scent of the rotting river, decayed flesh of various fish and perhaps humans, and various strong herbs created an extremely unpleasant taste. If she wasn't cursed, it may have killed her. Her thoughts lingered on the subject of her death for a while, but she abandoned it. It never worked out at the end and the conclusions only served to dilute her sanity.
"Blood for blood."
The words escaped her mouth and for a moment she wondered what she had said. A shrill laughter escaped her when she realised her words and she rolled around on her dark cloth and wrapped a sleeve around her eyes. Her lips didn't move after that single shrill laughter, but her throat moved as if it was swallowing something too large.
Sometimes she didn't know what she was doing here. She had been a figment of imagination that had come alive. It didn't please her to know that she didn't belong here and she could only wait until the ark would realize and take her someplace else. She wouldn't belong there either; but she liked changes. She had to like changes.
Asher got up and put the dark clothing around her. The outer coat was too large, but there were enough layers of other dark clothing beneath to make up and fill the excess space. It hid all of her scars and slender figure. She tied her hair and she pulled it tight against her scalp to do so. She'd need to get more dyes for it again, it always turned grey too fast.
The hood covered her face and then some more. The shade was too dark against her skin and it made her look colorless and lifeless. The leather around her wrists were tight and her hands looked too thin and long until she put on dark colored gloves. Her entire being stood out against the pale bleached surface of the roof. It looked like a black spot of something horrid on a parchment. All the subtle changes of the greys were ignored under the harsh sun and she didn't like it.
It was the third floor, but she knew she could take it. Her bones were too strong to break from such a weak height and despite the heavy metal around her, it still wasn't enough weight to shatter her legs. Sometimes Asher wished that she could be weak; just so that she wouldn't have to experience the responsibility that came with it. Sometimes, she just acted like how she was acting now and tried to forget about it altogether.
Her rib cage hurt and she was reminded of the fresh scar. It had taken three days to heal despite the organs that had threatened to spill out from it. She landed with a very faint thud. Not even her sword made any noise.
Asher looked up at the sky again. It was unfortunate that she was to have fallen in this world. Someone once told her, had he been a vampire? It had been someone immortal but not like her, that those who had power and time ought to focus on being good. The path of evil was too easy for those with too much power and time. She had felt like a piece of trash next to his nobility.
The buildings were close to each other. There was barely enough room for three people to pass through and the sun couldn't reach the half brick, half dirt pathways. People saw her land, but looked away just as quickly as they saw her. She knew she stank of rotten blood and the people around this area knew the scent of blood. It hazed around her and dulled her senses. She liked it. Her grey eyes seemed to gleam beneath the hood again before turning into a corner, then another, then another, then another, then another, until she nearly lost track of how many corners she had turned.
A solid looking oak door stood before her. She didn't know why it was oak, just that she had paid too much for the place. Her pocket lacked anything but gold and not even a single change of lire could be found. Her work wasn't cheap enough and she wasn't cheap enough to have any silver in her pocket.
It opened without a sound. The key felt heavy in her pocket again and she closed the door silently behind her. The knob needed to be held up at a certain angle as it was opened, or a horrendous creaking sound alerted everyone around the house of its activity. The house was dark, damp and cold. It was unlike the outside that was hot and bright. Asher moved by the fireplace and wondered if she wanted to enjoy a luxury of resting in front of a small fire, but decided against it. She did have a job that was to be executed in seven hours or so. It didn't have to be too precise. Despite her skill set as a silent killer, she was skilled with sword enough to keep dozens of guards at bay. Even if she hadn't, it would only cut her flesh and she would just bleed on the cold floor. Possibly they would try to saw her head off, but they wouldn't be able to cut the muscles.
It was a perk of being immortal.
The sarcastic thought lingered and she momentarily thought about professionalism. She had been lacking in the area, but she had enough skills to cover it. At least enough for now, despite her proficiency in killing, she didn't enjoy the act of dealing the final blow. The way the flesh squelched with blood and the twitching of the muscles moved up from the blade to the sensitive nerves of her hands. She felt their death possibly before they did and it was a dirty feeling.
But it paid well and despite not liking the job, it was a job. Even if she was immortal, she still felt hunger and she still liked eating. Asher could live on for centuries without eating if she had to, but that would mean that she'd feel the tinge of dissatisfaction everyday. She wasn't old enough to have the patience to stand not being shaken by that tinge, or maybe she was. She never tried it and she didn't intend to.
It put food on the table; flesh for flesh after all. Her thoughts always rampaged wild when her target was a helpless normal human being. It was a quick job that paid too much but she knew she could get the money. It just felt dirty and she didn't like it. It was all she could do though. It was the only thing she knew how to do well. Unless someone felt like paying for her lounging around in front of a fireplace all day long, which she loved to do, she'd have to work.
Asher didn't know the area and had barely known the language until two months ago. She was fluent now, but that was a perk of the curse. It didn't mean that she knew how to work as a wordsmith of any kind and she didn't know how women could be independent in this world. Prostitution was a choice, but she didn't like skin contact. None of her kind ever liked skin contact. So then, there was no choice and she was making excuses for herself but she didn't care because she liked to eat and it put food on the table.
Still, it didn't change the fact that it was an artist out of all people. She liked pictures and she liked the smell of old oil paintings and the way the marble reflected light. This person, from her research, was a genius too. He was brilliant; not too much so to be called crazy but just enough to advance the society. She liked those people and she liked seeing someone create things because she couldn't.
The name on the piece of parchment on top of the rotting table was written in scrawling delicate calligraphy that was filled with jagged emotions. It was a lot of coins for simple jealousy, but the man who hired her was a noble and as nobles did, had too much coins in his pockets. The name seemed elegant enough, or maybe impoverished compared to the extravagance of Italia. It even had the dramatic hint of an educated peasant.
The parchment read: Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci.
