With the dull scent of perfume which hit his nose, Ezio started to rouse from a another night's sleep. He couldn't help but feel strange, like something was different, but he couldn't place his finger on it. "Maybe it's just that damned dream." He grumbled to himself. His work had somehow snuck into his sleep, probing his dreams with such thoughts. This one seemed different, he had been fighting to save some courtesan along side one of his female recruits, and in the send he had been kissed by the prositute. Well he was sure of two things, he was minorly perverted, and that he needed to stop sneaking some wine before bed.
Where the scent of perfume had come from? He wasn't sure, unless the courtesan really did kiss him, and he just forgot or something. He pushed the idea that he did something last night and simply forgot aside and sat up in his bed. Feeling slightly top heavy, which was unusual. Maybe just fatigue, he concluded, pushing aside some of his bangs to clear his vision of the strans that hung over his eyes.
His room just as he left it, his armor on a rack, and hidden blade on the nightstand. On the far side, his window was covered in a thick black curtain, blocking out any light and leaving the room dark and cool. Ezio yawned with a long stretch, groaning in content when he heard his spine crackle and loosen, then sighed sleepily as he pulled from his bed. The small, clinging desire to just curl back under his covers and return to his dreams seemed to hender him of his conscious mind.
He opened the curtains, and blinked as bright morning light streamed in, brightning his room and filling every last crevas with a warm glow. Some light reflecting off his mirror or even his armor, creating white or even a color spectrum of shapes on his cream colored walls and ceiling. Once again, the dream having found way back to his thoughts. What did this have anything to do with anything? He wasn't so sure, nor did he care at the moment as he reached for his shirt and boots before tugging up his trousers-which seemed to of grown loose and hung on his hips-.
He came over to the mirror in a few sluggish paces, and didn't look into it as he started to pull the white and thin fabriced shirt on and buttoned it up. Ezio turned and took old of one of his throwing knives, planning on, yet again, trying to shave down the stubble that always sat on his jaw. A couple times before had Machiavelli walked in and nagged at him for using his equipment for such, but he usually tuned him out. If Niccolo at least had to maintain facial hair on a daily basis, then he could talk, but the man didn't have anything what so ever.
He then looked back to the mirror as he brought the knife to his face, but froze as he found himself staring at his reflection. There was no beard at all, his chin had become more softer of a curve and jaw line forming more of a heart. His nose smaller and eyes larger as well as much more angular. His shirt hung loosely over smaller shoulders, and he scrunched the back up, giving way to the traces of a curved and delicate figure. And... Oh god! Are those... breasts?
The knife slipped from his-um her hand and clatched on the floor. Her eyes as wide as dinner plates as she took a step back from the mirror with a startled yelp, noticing that her voice having grown higher in pitch! From outside the door, she heard one of her recruits knock on the door, and she forced her voice to sound deeper and as much as her old voice as she could manage, "I'm not decent!"
"Ezio? Is something wrong?" That wasn't a recruit! Shit! Shit! Why does Machiavelli choose now to walk in on her? She was quick to throw on her robes, strapping on the armor and pulling the boots, which all in all were still the same size, then opened the window. She didn't look back as Machiavelli opened the door, leaping from the windowsill as the philosopher could barely ask, "What are you doing?"
Ezio fell downwards, and landed with a splash into the Tiber below. She then surfaced, she'd have to find Leonardo, and fast!