Read

He stared at the text that was scrawled across the page, leaning back in the seat he was currently sitting in. Cold hues darted from side to side as he read what was before him, the book being held within one hand the other moving to run his fingertips over the paper.

The whole thing consisted of a language he struggled with.

Not that he didn't understand it, he just could not speak it well. Unless someone could stand the language being broken in bits and pieces.

Like amico he knew was comrade, or friend, depending on whom he was speaking to. Then there was the common amore, which translated to love. Parting his scarred lips to breathe out slowly.

As far as he could tell this book was basically centered around the history of the Italian race, how it came to be.

"Surly they know this without needing to read it," he mumbled in Arabic, shifting his legs position, setting the leg that had been resting on the other's thigh down then raising said limb to set it over the previous one. "This is ludicrous."

"Most of us do not bother to remember such history, amico mio."

Air brushed along the back of his ear, causing the man's left arm to flex and twisting in his seat, about to kill the person who dare to sneak up on him. Instinct really. Though his arm was blocked from doing so by a gloved hand.

"Calm yourself, il mio assassino sfacciato," the figure laughed, receiving a glare once the other male recognized his voice. "Did you miss me?"

Turning his head away the tanned man returned his attention to the book. "...not at all."

Disturbia

Ezio stared at the device before him, eyes wide with amazement and intrigue. "What did you say this was again, Desmond?"

"A stereo."

"And what is this?" He made a motion to the air while also indicating to the speakers. "This...suono strano..."

"Disturbia."

"Che cosa?"

The descendent slapped a hand over his face in defeat.

Altaïr had grasped this a whole lot faster than the Italian.

Cortigiane

"They are much more than they seem, Altaïr."

"I doubt that."

"Cazzo! I will show you!"

Altaïr simply stared at him with a blank expression, he had seen what courtesans do - firsthand. Not only did they suck the blood out of someone, money wise, but they also swung their bodies about suggestively as they pranced about around the person who spent one hundred and fifty florines to have them follow.

Was he the only one who saw no point in this?

His grey-blue eyes followed Ezio's movement and watched him pay the courtesans, to then see them move about Ezio.

The Italian didn't stand a chance.

A few hours later, his back pressed to the wall and arms crossed, Altaïr caught sight of someone heading his way within the darkness of the area he decided to lounge in. There the 'triumphant hero' stood, covered in red lip prints, clothes disheveled and looking completely worn out.

"Is this what they are 'much more than,' Ezio?" he prodded, lips tugging back into a smirk once said Auditore pulled back his hood to look at him with a defeated expression.

"No... Avevi ragione, amico mio, avevi ragione."

Ah, the sweet taste of victory.