Tincture is an anthology story much like Legacy. Only unlike Legacy which seeks to tell the in between scenes we don't get to see in FM for one reason or another Tincture is a distillation of 'what if'.
Nothing in Tincture is considered 'canon' by the FMverse, though there is truth in it. Time is not static and extremely small differences in the series of events can lead to an entirely different result.
Like Legacy there will be various povs not just Desmond's but since Altair is where a lot goes wrong, many of them will be about him. And none of the vignettes are connected. Each one is a separate time stream you are allowed to glimpse into but they do not touch and are completely self contained.
All chapters of Tincture will also have musical accompaniment if you wish to listen to it.
For You by Angus & Julia Stone
At some point he knew he'd find him. For a man who claimed to never stay stagnant Cain had the same habits he'd had four centuries ago. Liked apartments above bakeries and florists, but not restaurants and the place had to have as many windows as the walls were capable of holding. Altair had scouted four such apartments so far. In a bobby's uniform all sorts of doors opened and he knew how to look sympathetic. The first four had been a family of six crammed into two rooms who ran the bakery; a young composer who lived in a cupboard of an apartment; a young couple, the man who worked in the florist shop downstairs; and the last had been an old woman with six cats who's children ran the bakery and lived several blocks down and insisted Altair come in for tea. He was on apartment five now and didn't know what to expect.
The owners of the bakery had let Altair right in through the back, saying their tenant was nice, quiet, and enjoyed toast and jam for breakfast in the morning. That could have been anyone though. Altair climbed the stairs to the apartment and went into Eagle Vision, but his surroundings were nothing but washed out and grey. No lightness, no hint of color. He held his left arm back a bit, flicking the hidden blade out silently in case it was Cain, and knocked, calling, "Scotland Yard, open up under the order of her majesty Queen Victoria."
He waited, then he heard the locks coming undone. Three locks. Cain used three locks. He prepared himself. The door opened widely. The man standing in the doorway was a find Englishman with a waistcoat, finely manicured mustache, and ice blue eyes. Altair would recognize him anywhere. He didn't think and just flew at him, hidden blade ready.
Cain caught him in a great bear hug, "Hello brother," he said with all the mad joy he'd expected. "Knew you'd get my message."
Altair stabbed his flank, Cain released him and though blood flowed Cain didn't seem to notice. "I knew this day would come," Altair growled.
"Yeah, fancy that. So did I," Cain stepped deeper into his apartment, Altair followed, kicking the door closed behind him. "I mean, you told me," and he grinned.
"I should have killed you then," Altair said and lunged at him. Cain pushed him past him, smacking his back on the way into the wall.
"Trouble with that kid; we don't die, or you forget that bit?" Cain asked, his side was red with blood. "Wouldn't be surprised if you did, was always so troublesome getting any information into that thick skull of yours. Its like you like being wrong all the time—!" Cain had to jump out of the way when Altair nearly managed to get another hit on him.
"Why Cain?" Altair growled, "Why do this?"
"Bored?" Cain asked glibly. "And had to get you to pay attention to me somehow kid," and Altair missed the longing in his voice. "This proved to be one of my fruitful attempts to get you to come find me at least."
"… One of?" Altair asked.
"Oh yes. Been waiting for this year. The year I'd kill all those whores you pretended were good enough for you-
"Shut up!" Altair yelled and attacked again. Cain fended him off with his bare hands and that just infuriated him all the more.
"Been waiting so long for this year," Cain said even as he deflected each of Altair's attacks. "And I know you have been too-
"No!" Altair cried.
"Oh yes," Cain was suddenly in his face, grabbing his wrists, looming above him because despite being centuries older was over a head taller than Altair. "You've been waiting for this," he basically whispered, "because that means you were right. For once you were right." Altair tried to wrestle away from Cain's grip but his hands were like manacles. "And I've been thinking about what I was going to do today for a very long time," Cain said softly. Altair looked up at Cain with wide eyes and faster than Altair thought a human could move Cain had his hands around his neck. It was quick and Altair heard the crack of his own spine and could see the floor boards before it just all went black as he went Under the surface of death.
—
When Altair Woke the first thing he noticed was that he'd been stripped of his constable uniform, and weapons, and left in his small clothes and had been laid out on a pallet on the floor. His wrists were shackled above his head neatly to a metal beam, and his hands had been wrapped in some sort of cloth so he didn't have use of his fingers. The next thing that came to him was the smell. His mouth watered instantly at the smell of baking bread and roasted chicken with lemon and onions and garlic.
He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was in Cain's apartment above the bakery still, and it was starting to get light out. But he couldn't see Cain, or a kitchen where the smell of chicken was coming from. His stomach rumbled, he was hungry. Which he expected.
Altair shoved himself against his shackles when Cain came into the room. He was wearing a new set of clothes and had a plate in his hand. Altair just wanted to get as far from him as possible. "Oh don't be like that Abel," Cain said, walking over to him calmly.
"Fuck you," he hissed.
"No, I don't think so," he sat in front of Altair's pallet. "Now stop that you'll hurt yourself if you keep up that position."
"What do you care?" Altair spat, but his arms did sort of hurt, all twisted up behind him.
Cain frowned a little, "I care a lot about you," he said. "Though I know I'm the last person you give a shit about. I'm still here, and I know you're hungry," he looked down at the plate and Altair's eyes darted to it. It was the lemon and onion chicken with potatoes. His stomach growled again.
"I don't want it," Altair said stubbornly.
Cain gave a little huff of a sigh, "Always so stubborn. Either you can let me feed you or you leave me with two options. I force feed you, or I put you Under again and hope you're in a more agreeing mood later."
Altair eyed him suspiciously, "What is it?" he asked.
"Chicken," Cain said, "The way you like it," and Altair glared at him. "Glare at me all you want boy, I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not this time."
"I'm not a boy," Altair hissed.
Cain sighed and sat back a bit, putting the plate down and Altair's eyes went to it immediatly. "And yet you act so childish. You know Micheal could have been spared if I'd been there," Altair stiffened. "He'd have been able to grow old with his wife and son, maybe have more children."
"I did everything I could for him," Altair said. Because he had. He'd tried to save Hawk. But there was nothing he could have done. The damage had been too great.
"And you didn't have to hide from Ezio all those years," Cain said, "you could have saved his family."
"If I did the future would fall apart."
"The future you chose," Cain said, "the day you left me."
"I didn't come here to talk Cain. I came to stop you."
"Stop me? What makes you think you can do anything to me? You are a bug. Maybe if it didn't take till stepping on you to do something we wouldn't be here," and Altair hated how rational Cain sounded. "You divined me into a monster. So a monster I became," Cain said angrily, "but whatever you have going on in that pea brained head of yours. I still care about you. Now are you going to eat or will you be stubborn with me and make me feed you?"
Altair hesitated. He wanted to tell Cain to shove it and bite his own tongue, drown in his own blood. He'd done it before, once when Templars had captured him, had tried to torture him. They'd thrown him into a gutter and the next morning he'd gotten up and walked off. But he didn't. Instead he scooted forward a bit and opened his mouth.
Cain picked up the plate and fed Altair the potatoes first. "I hate you," he told Cain.
"You want to," Cain said, cutting pieces of chicken. "But you don't."
"Yes I do. You did exactly what I feared you would-
Cain slapped him so hard he tumbled over, giving more of a startled cry than anything when his arms jerked back uncomfortably. "You fucking idiot!" he cried, "Did it never cross your fool head that I did this because of what you did? You leave me after all I do for you. After I remade you into a better person and not some sad old man living in the past, who can't move on or get over his first life. You told me I would do this, and then you waited to see, to make sure I did. Well I did. I did exactly what you wanted, just like every other time. And you think you can hate me? I made you."
Altair had never been spoken to like that. "It didn't matter what I did. We'd always end up here," he said, pushing himself up awkwardly.
"Well we would be together here at least," Cain said.
Altair looked away from him, "Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"So you learn an important lesson," Cain said.
"And what's that?" he nearly whispered.
"That I will love you like those mortals can't. They die, Altair," he looked up at Cain, Cain never called him Altair except when it was important. "Your wives will die. Your children will die. Your friends will die. Everyone you think you love will die except for us. Our kind are forever. Those whores I killed? They're nothing. They're nothing," he said more firmly, "You know I don't like to kill if I don't have to. But I am very good at it," Altair nodded meekly. It was like being talked to by a titan.
"They're dust, the only reason people will give a shit about them is because I killed them. Because Jack the Ripper killed them. Not because they were good people, or because they loved their husbands or lovers or might have had fine singing voices or could fuck twenty men a night. They're nothing until I took them away, and no one will care. No one."
"I do," Altair growled.
"No you don't," Cain said. "You want to care but I know you-
"No you don't," he growled, "Not anymore."
"No, I do. And you don't care about those women. You just care I played out your future. That's all you care about, that the future comes to pass. Well it won't. Do you know why?" Altair said nothing, "Because the future is not in stone. The future the Apple showed you? Lies. All of it, lies."
"No," he said weakly.
"Yes. The Apple lies. Do you know why?" Altair said nothing. "I know you can hear it sometimes. The screaming, can't you?" and Altair's silence was enough. "It lies because it hates, because its angry, because it wants to ruin everything in this world. That is what Apples are for Altair. They are for destroying our kind. Just like you let it destroy you, and your ambition, your confidence. Now you're so worried about the future playing out the way the Apple said that you've just fucked it all up and played right into their hands. Ezio should be dead. Micheal should be dead. You destroyed them instead."
"I gave Ezio a choice. He chose this," he growled, but it was without the heat he wanted.
"You went to him when he was dying and said you could help him kill the man he'd been hunting his entire life."
"How do you know that," Altair asked, bewildered.
"I know many things. Just because I don't use the Apple doesn't mean there aren't other vessels which can be used to scry. I've watched you fuck up across centuries to reach your prophosized future and now that you're here I'm here to tell you that won't be happening anymore. Even if I have to keep you on a leash. Your future is bullshit." Altair hunched. Cain kept beating him down and beating him down and everything he said Cain had a counter. A smart one too. "Eat," and Cain fed him the chicken. It was delicious and reminded him he was hungry.
He tried not to look upset when it was gone. It tasted like a long time ago, not Cairo, but India where they'd stayed in a little town along the coast. Everyone in the town knew Cain's name there, they'd smiled and waved and greeted him wherever he'd gone. He was an important man in that little town, though Altair hadn't known the language at the time. He hadn't needed to either, the only person he cared to talk to was Cain and Cain spoke Syrian Arabic. Cain had always cooked back then, because Altair was awful at it (he still kinda was). His favorite had been chicken with onions, garlic, and herbs, roasted over several hours till the skin was crispy and flaky and crunched between his teeth and the meat inside moist and savory. That was what Cain fed him now; his favorite.
Cain got up once the plate was empty and left him there on the pallet. Altair tried to get comfortable, but with his hands behind his back it was difficult. He hissed as he rolled his shoulders forward, popping both out of their sockets and snapped them back into place by pressing against the wall so his hands were now in his lap.
Cain didn't seem surprised by this, nor did he comment about it. He was back with more food, this time some sort of dark leafy vegetable with a thick sauce. Altair recognized this too but couldn't place the names. He could place the time though; Scandenavia, during the end of the age of vikings. Altair had stood out there for his dark and exotic looks, he'd bedded so many women and probably sired a dozen children he didn't know about because their stay had been short. Cain had been more common there, though his eyes were too narrow and slanted to be one of them, his skin just a shade or two too dark, though he knew all the songs and dances and rituels and could drink anyone under the table. Altair wasn't allowed to drink though. He hadn't wanted too either.
Once that was gone Cain got up and left again. He came back with a big bowl of soup that must have cost a fortune. It was filled with rice noodles from Southeast Asia and thin slices of pork on top along with all sorts of green: sprouts, cilantro, onions, scallions, peppers both sweet and spicy, with an aftertaste he couldn't place but tasted like lemongrass. He could remember visiting villages along the river in a country that now no longer existed and eating food that tasted like this. Cain knew the names of all of the towns along the river and insisted on stopping at every water market they could. They'd fished off the end of a peer that had been old even then and caught fish as big as their arms, yelling with their new friends about the size of them while their wives rolled their eyes at them from the shore.
The next meal was beef ribs, slow cooked in the way he'd only ever had once but recognized as soon as he ate them. He couldn't remember the name of the tribe now, but they'd live along the horn of Africa and they'd shown up just in time for a wedding. Somehow Cain got them invited and they'd watched a hole dug in the ground and lined with coals. A whole cow had been slaughtered for the wedding. Neither of them knew the songs here, but it hadn't mattered. It had been fun. They'd danced and sung till they'd collapsed onto the dirt, sleeping well into the morning to celebrate again after learning the wedding night had been successful.
The last one Cain had was dessert. Steamed egg custard which he hadn't had like this since they'd been invited to a Chinese woman's home after they'd stopped to help her patch her roof since her husband was dead and her sons lived away from her. It was rich and creamy and so smooth. She'd fed them as payment for their help and they'd slept out in her garden under the stars and Cain had told him the name of every single one of them until he'd fallen asleep. He'd been so much younger than, happier, kinder, and so full of wonder.
That was when he broke.
Unbidden he just started crying, tears rolling down his face and he leaned over his lap so Cain wouldn't see, like he thought Cain didn't know. Cain just sat there as he did, trying not to shake and trying not to sob. He'd missed Cain so much and just tried to forget the time they'd spent together, where every day had been a wonder and Cain had found something interesting in everything. Even on days where they did nothing and there was nothing around. On those nights before they slept they'd get out their swords and train while their dinner cooked. They always fought hard before eating and passing out nearly on top of one another. He'd become such a bitter, angry, violent and jaded man since he'd left Cain, trying to find that happiness he'd given away. For what? For someone who wouldn't be born yet still for another hundred years at least. He'd just thrown it away because he'd been so sure he'd been right. But he was the architect of his own misery, of this entire enterprise. Cain had missed him, and if Altair hadn't been so worried about being right, afraid of being right or wrong, he would have just let him back in and this never would have happened. And now the crying was the release of all those centuries of tension and lonliness he'd felt because of Cain and Altair couldn't stop.
At some point Cain came and sat next to him. He said nothing, he just sat there and then started to rub his back soothingly like a parent comforting their child. "I won't tell you its okay," Cain said after several minutes, Altair had nearly run out of tears but he was still holding back the sobbing. "But we can fix it, if you want," and after a second Altair nodded.
Cain left him there for a moment, taking the half eaten egg custard with him but came back shortly after. He took Altair's hands and unlocked the shackles, taking them out of the bags he'd tied them in but Altair snatched his hands away, keeping them against his stomach. Cain didn't seem to care if he was being antitouch right now, like he had become, and grabbed his face in one hand and tipped his head up. He used a soft, damp, rag to wipe his face, clean him up, just like he had when he'd quite literally pulled Altair out of a gutter that first time and taken him home to bathe and sober up.
"There we go," Cain said with a warm smile. "C'mon," and he pulled Altair to his feet and then embraced him tightly. Altair grabbed onto him, pressing his face into the tall man's shoulder and the tears came again, quickly soaking his nice waist coat and shirt. Cain didn't seem to mind. "Feeling better?" he asked after they stood there for several minutes and once again Altair's tears ebbed. Altair nodded. "Fantastic, now," and he pushed Altair into his bedroom, "Find something to wear we'll be off as soon as you're ready."
"Off?" Altair asked, "Where are we going?" and it was like no time had passed. One day Cain just woke up and 'get dressed we're leaving' and they went to find some new adventure, some new wonder. Though half the time it was somewhere Altair had made a mention of wanting to visit in passing weeks or months ago.
"It matter?" Cain asked.
"Sort of," Altair said and he felt exhausted from the emotional rush he'd just had. "I'm not a kid anymore-
Cain laughed, "Oh Abel, that is where you'd be so wrong. You'll always be a kid to me. Now hurry up, places to go."
"Where though?"
"France," he said, "I figured Ezio would stay away after the whole gillotine thing," he grimaced, "but we both know he never learns." Altair didn't ask how Cain knew that, of course he did.
"So we're going to see Ezio?"
"Of course we are. You didn't think I don't get a proper introduction to the only other immortals did you?" and Altair hadn't even thought of that. "Now go on, the first ferry is in less than an hour," and he shooed Altair inside.
Altair stood there a moment after Cain had closed the door between him and the bedroom. He needed to get his bearings. He closed his eyes and just breathed a bit. Once he felt calm he opened his eyes and went to find some clothes. For some reason he wasn't surprised Cain had clothes for him, in his exact size, in the colors he liked. He dressed and selected one of the hats Cain had in his size before going back out. Cain was waiting for him with his coat on now.
"Ready?" Cain asked.
Altair felt like he was dreaming. It was like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. But nothing had. He blinked at Cain dumbly before he abruptly pulled himself together, his eyes sharpening. "Yes," he said.
"Good, lets go," and he followed Cain out of the apartment and down the stairs to the bakery and then out into the London streets.
become my patron and help me eat by going to dot com slash xazz
So is actually something that if you like me you should do. If you ever say you'd buy a book from me that's great, but I really don't wanna wait to publish a book to maybe not have to work terrible jobs. Saying you'd buy a book I wrote is a promise to support me later; but I need support now too.