Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I do not make claims to owning it. I'm just borrowing the characters, please do not sue!
Author Notes: Well this 'episode' two. Those of you who reviewed really made my day with your support and positive feedback, thank you so much. I hope I don't disappoint you people. As with the last chapter there will be a longer note at the end addressing issues and possible questions raised by both this chapter and reviews. I think its best I do have a nice long footnote for this stuff, as one person suggested I do. Call it 'Director Commentary' henceforth too. Well enjoy your chapter.
Chapter II: Tricks of the Trade
They cut through the alleys, keeping off the main streets where the guards could spot them again. Sandy was quick to realize that old Jerusalem was a variable labyrinth; there was no semblance of sense or order in the alleys and the streets. There was no planning system in place, nothing like the neat grid patterns of her time. Furthermore every alley and every passage looked, felt, and often smelt absolutely the same as the last one. In places the cream walls were covered in illegible graffiti scrawled on, or scratched into the plaster, and if one didn't watch out the odds of getting hit by falling water dumped carelessly out the window was high.
After the third darkened alley they passed through, she gave up on trying to figure out where they were heading. Everything was simply too dizzying to remember, and yet her companion seemingly knew exactly where he was going. Which was explainable, this was his city; he knew it, probably the same way she knew every back alley of Vancouver.
"We're going up on the roofs now," he suddenly spoke as he stopped by a ladder leaning on the side of yet another bland building.
She nodded and watched as he scaled up the ladder with speed that would've made Spiderman envious. She followed uncertainly, clambering up the rungs slowly as the ladder shook and wobbled under her. On the final rung she paused before she could figure out how to get on the roof itself, but she managed, it being not as hard as it looked.
He was scanning across the rooftops, and in the sun's glare everything swam to her eyes. Groping for her bag she opened the flap and unzipped it. The sound of the metal zipper sliding caused him to turn and look at her.
"Just getting my sunglasses," she explained, reaching into the bag she pulled out her case. As soon as the glasses were on, she was glad for the polarization on the lenses. They were mostly transparent and mirrored, meant to protect her eyes from UV and glare without altering her vision too much. "Too bright," she felt the need to add, to explain probably another strange future thing if he was interested. There was no change in his expression to indicate either way, and she could not see his eyes due to the hood. She returned the now empty glasses case inside and closed the bag.
"Don't wear that where people will see it," he spoke suddenly as he began to walk across the roof.
"Oh, I know I shouldn't. But right now it's okay, you know the big secret." She followed him calmly, watching her footing carefully. She couldn't help but feel more and more like a thief by the second; it just didn't feel right being up here. Rather quickly she began to feel like she was boiling in her skin. Her jacket, just right for the early summer evenings of Vancouver was far too hot for the early summer of Jerusalem. She wondered if he was hot as well, but seeing as he wore all white, she thought he probably wasn't.
They came to the side of a roof where the narrow side street between two buildings was bridged by three wooden planks of wood. He crossed it with no effort or break in his step, but she hesitated, poking the planks with her toe to check how safe they really were. They looked pretty rickety to her and looking down it was a sufficiently high drop unto bare hard ground.
He did not wait, but kept walking, a silent message if any.
Not one to be left behind she crossed the planks, using her arms spread wide for balance. The planks were sturdy enough, but they still bent and sagged ever so slightly under her weight. She rushed across them, fearing that any second now they would snap in the middle and send her falling to the hard ground. Once across and safe on the solid surface of the other building's roof she followed him as quickly as she could, stopping only when they came to a building with a small walled side yard, complete with a latticework roof, which had a sizable gap.
"Stay up here for now," he commanded.
She nodded and watched as he simply jumped down into the gap. Surprised she peered down, seeing him unhurt and unbothered by the drop. She whistled, "Well color me impressed."
He sent her a cold, almost warning look and walked across the yard and vanished through an open door.
Altair strolled through the door of the assassin bureau, already knowing what was coming a split second before he was even noticed.
"Back so soon?" Malik asked, looking up from his records, his tone hinting at an omitted part that probably contained an insult in there somewhere.
"Something came up," Altair replied coolly.
"I'm not hearing bells, there are no guards trampling all over, so it must not be something you messed up utterly. I'm almost impressed." Malik replied.
Altair opened his mouth to retort, but just then his acute hearing picked up a barely audible sound of something hitting the ground, a louder thud followed, and then a loud curse, then silence. One look told him enough, Malik was instantly on alert. Knowing time was scant, Altair charged for the door, beating the bureau keeper by a hair. Outside he was not surprised to see the woman sitting on the floor of the yard, rubbing her left ankle arduously.
"I take it all back, Altair. Alarm bells, trampling guards, and the regular uproar would be nothing compared to this." Malik spoke.
"I'm sorry," the woman apologized instantly. "But there was a man on the rooftop some distance over, and-"
"The archer guard," Altair cut her off, choosing to ignore Malik's comments; at this moment he had to keep bureau keeper from wasting his earlier efforts of keeping this odd woman alive.
She nodded, but the dumbfounded look on her face did not vanish. The child-like quality of the look was almost comical.
"Explain now," Malik demanded.
Sandy stared first the more familiar killer -now she knew his name- and then her eyes wandered to the mystery man beside him. Instead of sitting there, getting the full of two cold glares she got to her feet and tried to contain the wince. When she had tried to jump down, she had landed wrong on the small fountain set into the wall, and her left ankle had turned a funny angle. The pain was beginning to numb, but the joint was somewhat tender now.
"Let her explain," Altair replied to the other man.
Taking it as a cue she approached slowly, raising her sunglasses and pushing them back to rest over the top of her head. "Hello, I'm Sandy. Well it's kind of a long story-" she stopped, but got no response from the other man. Looking up at him she couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the dark haired man and his dark brown eyes which were focused on her in a calculating glare. It was hard to miss that he wore a similar white outfit to Altair, except on top of it all he wore a black robe. What came belatedly was the realization that his left sleeve was sewn up for a reason; he was also missing most of his left arm. She hazarded a guess that it had something to do with an occupation or a guild, a dangerous one at that. Given that Altair seemed to know a number of gruesome ways to end someone's life prematurely and was not afraid to do it, she had a feeling she knew what that occupation was, and where she was. It made here fidget even more.
"Don't kill her, Malik. She is probably not lying," Altair stated before he vanished back through the door, leaving her with this man.
"Well let's hear it," Malik prompted.
"I already explained it to him," she paused to gather her thoughts, "and well, this will sound utterly preposterous- I'm not from around here, I'm not even from around now. It seems like I traveled eight hundred eighteen years into my past, I'm from the year two thousand and nine."
"That is preposterous," Malik stated, he wasn't impressed in the least bit.
"Show him that… thing you showed me." Altair re-appeared, carrying a wineskin bottle in his hands that he uncorked and proceeded to drink from.
"This," Sandy pulled out her cell phone and offered it to Malik. "If you look at the screen, the clock is still keeping future time and date."
"If that's not odd enough, look at her hair, I have only seen that color on the odd templar."
"And she could be one of them, or a spy." Malik replied.
"Unlikely. Though her intent to skewer the guards in that alley had been real enough, her fear of me was even more genuine."
"A, I was not intending to skewer them, I was merely defending myself, and B, well excuse me mister master assassin, but you just killed two men in front of my eyes. Was I supposed to drop on my knees and worship?" her tone rose a notch with the veiled accusation, and she noted just a faint twitch in the set of his mouth that seemed to hint at amusement. Unperturbed now, she went on after gathering a breath, "As for being a Templar, if I got my history right, most of the Templars with king Richard should have just begun the siege of Acre. There shouldn't be any here in Jerusalem." Not yet anyways, she wanted to add, but stopped upon realizing what she was talking about and how much of a problem it could be for time. She wasn't stupid; she had read and watched enough science fiction to know that messing with the past was bad news all around; you could never fully predict all the variables in judging how the future may alter.
The silence lingered for a long, laden moment. She did not miss the sudden interest in the eyes of the establishment keeper, even as Altair did not seem bothered, opting to take another long drink for the wineskin.
"Well let's use this to test you, will the siege succeed?" Malik asked.
Sandy sighed and nodded, "Unfortunately yes, but it won't come for another month." She replied. "I will not say how they do it, because honestly I do not know. Furthermore, what I already said could probably do enough damage as is. I will not reveal any more knowledge. It's best I don't." Sandy realizing that if she was to prove to them that she wasn't lying, it was best she offered some knowledge, but not too much, only the things that could not be controlled or altered easily. Even if they knew of the conquest of Acre, there was little they could do in such a short time.
"We'll see in a month then- whether she's a liar or not," Malik concluded. He did not sound pleased, and Sandy did not blame him. Malik handed her the cell phone back, and Sandy instantly slipped it back into her pocket as she took a couple steps back and tried to melt into the scenery.
Altair corked off the wineskin and set it down by the pillows strewn at the side of the yard. Wordlessly he approached the wall under the gap in the latticework through which they had entered and effortlessly got back up unto the roof.
"Where are we going now?" Sandy asked, looking up.
"You are going nowhere." He replied, crouching at the edge, peering down at her. For a brief moment she could see those cold, almost glowing eyes. "I have something to do which you interrupted."
"Well excuse me" she bit out, voice laced with righteous indignation as her hands rose to her hips.
"If you try anything-" he left the threat open.
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I think I pulled my ankle coming down."
"Good." With that said he vanished like a ghost.
"Arrogant ass," Sandy muttered, unsure whether he said 'good' to her not going anywhere, her pulling her ankle, or both. "Who does he think he is?"
"The fool has an ignorant notion that he is the best," Malik replied, clearly amused.
Sandy whirled around to face him. She had utterly forgotten about the other man and for a moment she had to reprimand herself. "Me being a woman probably doesn't help," she muttered.
Malik silently returned to his work inside the house, making no comment on her statement.
Sandy stood there for a long moment, contemplating what to do next. She was stuck here, and in more ways than one. Being here, wherever here was, it was like being trapped in a cell within a cell. She didn't know anything about life in the past, or what was going on. All she knew was that here it was dangerous, more so than Vancouver on the bad days. What more, she'd have to rely on one very arrogant killer-for-hire, and whatever associates and comrades he had. She had never felt this vulnerable and helpless before, and she hated it.
The pain in her ankle still throbbed, so she sat down among the pillows strewn on the ground, the carpet underneath them was surprisingly soft. She slipped off her leather jacket and tossed it among the pillows, the red tee shirt underneath was almost fully sodden with sweat so she laid back and slipped the sunglasses back over her eyes. There was little of anything to do other than cool off and try to figure out how in the name of all that was holy she ended up here.
She could remember the shock from the table, and the feelings of her cell phone vibrating as in response in her jacket pocket, then the all encompassing numbness, a sensation of floating, and the darkness. She grabbed the jacket and pulled the device out to inspect it. Nothing changed other than the time display, was it showing the proper time? If it were that would mean she had been out for a number of hours after being transported here. Did anyone even notice her missing yet? Would anyone honestly care?
She tossed the device up and watched it flip once before she caught it. It was then, staring at the screen that she first noticed the oddest thing, the power indicator was pulsing. She had missed that previously since it was so tiny up there in the corner of the screen. Normally it only blinked when it was charging, going solid when it was full. The meter was showing a full battery but it was still blinking. Whether it was damage of some kind, she didn't know, but there had to be. She knew she had limited power, once the battery ran flat, that's that. "Might as well make the best of it, huh?" she murmured to the device. Reaching into her bag she rummaged about until she found her headphones. She plugged them into the cell phone and brought up the MP3 player. With the headphones now in her ears she set the volume to half of maximum and hit shuffle, placing the device unto her stomach as she crossed her arms behind her head and relaxed.
She was jolted awake some time later by a thud as something impacted the floor, realizing all too quickly that she had somehow managed to fall asleep. She opened her eyes and discovered that it was not something, but only Altair coming back. It was close to sunset now; the yard was no longer filled with sunlight, and somehow it made his presence even more menacing.
She yanked out one of her headphones. "Welcome back," she murmured with a small grin, pulling her sunglasses off. Altair did not acknowledge her as he breezed past and vanished through the door. She sighed and shut off music, coiled the headphones around her cell phone and pushed the button for the thing to turn off. Might as well conserve whatever power she had left. "Thank you, Sandy," She grumbled bitterly. "Oh you're welcome." Her stomach echoed the sentiment by letting out a loud grumble.
Sandy could hear the talk inside now, just the barest snippets carried on the hot air, nothing too understandable, but the mention of a merchant target told her enough to know that she did not want to know any more. She stretched out on the pillows, pulling all her stiffened muscles into a long languid stretch, curling her toes like a cat. When a bread bun hit her stomach; she almost stretched too far and hurt herself.
"Eat," Altair commanded.
"Thanks," she picked up the bread, and watched him as he sat across the yard, there were more pillows there now, some that she had not seen the last time. "Don't I get water?" she asked.
He ripped into his bread and pointed to her left, she glanced at the wineskin he left before.
Sandy sighed and scrambled over to grab it, when she moved back to her seating spot among the pillows she could feel that gaze again, despite being utterly unable to see it, and now in the gloom of evening the shadow concealing most of his face seemed even more fathomless.
"What?" she asked.
"You have a tattoo?" he asked.
It took sandy a long moment grasp what he meant and she slapped a hand unto her right upper arm. "Yes," she replied. "It's something all my friends and I have." She glanced down at the tattoo, it was peeping from underneath the hem of her tee shirt's sleeve, only the ankh and the talon of a bird was visible. She hiked up her sleeve and revealed the tribal bird clutching the ankh in its right talon, its wings were drawn as if flaming, and its beak was thrown back into a shriek, in its left talon it carried a stiletto knife. "The ankh symbolizes our group, we go by 'immortals', and the bird symbolizes my identity within them, it's a phoenix, the bird that does not fear flames, but is instead reborn in their fury."
In the uncomfortable silence that passed after she finished her explanation she was suddenly very self-conscious, she uncorked the wineskin and raised it until some of the water poured into her mouth, it was almost as warm as the air around her, the dark wineskin having laid in the sun for a couple hours, hence it did not do anything for her parched throat.
"So-" she began, corking the wineskin and setting it aside, unsure how to breach the topic. "What do you plan to have me do now?"
"Nothing," he replied.
"I can't be cooped up here every day while you're off gallivanting, causing mayhem-"
The cold stare was back, and once again her skin was crawling under its intensity.
Sandy rushed in to explain herself, "I don't want to be stuck here every day. Frankly that's like keeping me in a prison cell, and I'm pretty sure I'll go insane. I'm like a wandering cat, I normally go where the mood strikes me, so this is not something I enjoy. I could help, at least- well you saved me twice, and I want to return the favor."
"And how do you propose to help?" he wondered.
"I don't intend to be anywhere near the scene when you do what you do best. I'm not even sure if I approve of that part, though I realize my view is based on the difference between now, and when I come from, I'm not about to bring up my time's morals into this. Still- I owe you my life twice over, and I'm willing to help in my own way. I said it before; I'm an arson specialist. I heard parts of your talk with Malik, something about a merchant doing no good. I imagine he'd have a guard, you really don't need-"
"What I don't need is your gratitude wasting my saving your life," he cut in. "Arson will get you executed faster than assassinations."
"If they catch me," Sandy argued.
She could feel that stare intensify, and although he didn't say anything, she knew the words hung in the air unspoken, he was dubious if she could keep herself from being caught, and rightly so she realized he had a reason to be. He knew the dangers of this time more than she did, and she realized that maybe he was right, maybe it was a stupid idea, but she'd be dead before she admitted that to his face, it was a matter of principle. Taking back her offer now would probably be worse than being caught. She grumbled something inarticulate and began to eat. The meal was uncomfortable in its silence as the sunlight continued to fade.
Before long Malik appeared with a lit oil lamp he set down on the ground before vanishing inside, he re-appeared a split second later with a basket of fruit and cheese and eased himself into a sitting position on a large pillow. His food was on top of the basket and he retrieved it before pushing the basket closer towards her as he joined the silent meal.
"Thank you," Sandy bowed her head as she picked one of the apples before she returned to her seat. Things only seemed to become even more awkward after that. As she continued to eat in silence she found her eyes straying to the oil lamp, starring at the small but surprisingly powerful flame as it danced and swayed to and fro.
For almost ten years now she had thing for fire, doctors called it unhealthy, but to her fire was something that was beautiful in its primal nature. Something that should be respected and used wisely, something she held sacred in a way. Fire was both the keeper of life, and the taker of life. Handled right it could warm the dreariest of rooms, and if mishandled it could destroy everything it touched.
"I'm interested in the differences between our times," Malik spoke up after a seemingly eternal silence. "Precisely, this difference in morals you speak of."
"Well-" Sandy paused, tearing her eyes from the light of the lamp, chewing thoughtfully. "I guess I could say it is more peaceful in a way. Sure scuffles and petty crime happen, but it's not so dangerous on the streets now. Our police -city guards in a way- they don't prosecute people for looking weird or out of place."
"I see," Malik stated calmly as he contemplated the revelation.
"But it is worse too, the pace of life is so hectic with everyone rushing about their business. Technology has progressed so far that- say you wanted to go to Europe from here, not a problem. What was it now? Five hours by flying craft to Paris?" she continued, scratching at the back of her head absentmindedly. "I really shouldn't be talking about technology though. Though we don't normally travel through time, our scholars say altering the past in any way could unpredictably alter the future, they call it the Chaos Theory."
"Education has progressed far as well, it would seem," Malik remarked.
"Everyone is taught some basics, but higher education is still highway robbery. They charge insane amounts of money for that."
"Is that how you learned your, craft?" Altair wondered.
Sandy's eyes narrowed, she could feel a second meaning in his words, but in the interest of not antagonizing her lifelines she grinned and chose her words carefully. "Oh no, that's entirely something I taught myself. Since we're already on the topic, I might as well tell you about the Immortals, since you seem so interested." She pronounced the word like a grave insult, at which point the tip in his lips changed, he understood the meaning all to well.
Sandy smiled, hoping her smile conveyed that she wanted nothing more than give him a piece of her mind. "We protect those whom the police can do little for because of shortcomings in the law. To join, a trial is involved, a display of skill. I showed mine by burning an eatery to the ground. The owner had rats the size of- well this big," she raised her hands about seven inches apart. "And people were getting sick because the rats got into the food. The restaurant was reported to the authorities a number of times, but the person who came to inspect it was the owner's brother-in-law. He pretended he did not see the rats."
"I find it hard to believe you were not caught," Malik stated.
"Me too, I was pretty sure I screwed something up. I planned for it, I got an idea when I found out the place was heavily insured. That is, if it were somehow destroyed in a genuine accident, the owner would get a lot of money. But in the event that he himself set it on fire- Arson added to attempted insurance fraud and the health code violations that would invariably come up… It wouldn't be a short sentence. I made it look like he did just that." She stopped there, deciding that she had said enough. She wasn't trying to sound impressive or anything, just answering a question that she felt was asked of her.
"And you're not going to tell us in detail how you did it?" Altair asked.
Sandy bristled at his tone; out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Malik had become aware of the thinly veiled animosity between them. She grinned again and tried to sound polite, "It's my bag of tricks and I don't reveal it. Besides, I don't want to come off too arrogant by bragging." She had tried to sling back an insult, but his lack of response defeated it. Deciding not to antagonize him further, she drank more of the wineskin, but the water inside was still simply too warm, and seemed to make her all the thirstier. "Thank you for the food and water," she smiled appreciatively at Malik.
"You are welcome," he replied.
The silence once again lapsed and she still couldn't get over how uncomfortable she felt in their presence. It was like every alarm bell in her body was shooting off a warning to watch out. What for, she did not honestly know. She heard a scraping sound and instantly snapped her eyes to the source of it. Altair had removed his sword and set it aside; next to it he laid out the heavy leather belt, which was more like light armor. His short sword -harness and all- joined the pile as well before the assassin settled down among his pillows.
With a start she realized that in this time, with little to do after sunset, it was practically time for sleep. This brought on a frown; she had slept the afternoon away, what would she do through the night? Could she even sleep around a confirmed killer? She finished her bread in silence as twilight turned to evening and the last slivers of natural light vanished, the flickering oil lamp cast long shadows around the space. Ever so slowly the ambient air began to cool, and yet the very walls and floor of the house around her radiated the heat absorbed during the day. A peculiar sensation came over her, and it wasn't long before she found herself alone with Altair. Malik had drifted back inside, leaving the oil lamp at the center of floor; its small light seemingly becoming a barrier between the two of them.
Altair laid down among the few pillows set up for him, and suddenly she noticed that there were far less on his side than hers. She looked down at the rich rug on which she sat among the sea of pillows and realized with a start that this was his intended bed she was hogging. An epiphany happened, no wonder he had been crabby to say the least.
"Hey, we can trade," she offered, stumbling along, unsure if her conclusion was right. "Beds I mean, I-"
He grunted in reply but did not otherwise move. She wondered whether he was asleep already or just faking, but wasn't about to try and find out, he still had that lethal wrist blade on his person. Sandy reasoned that the best thing to do was to leave the offer open. She lay back among the pillows and grabbed one of them, putting it over her stomach.
Through the latticework she could see a sigh that astounded her, stars, thousands and thousands of them, glittering high in the night sky like jewels. It was such an amazing awe-inspiring sight that she felt her jaw loosen. It certainly wasn't something one saw every day in Vancouver, or any other large city where the light pollution blocked out all but the brightest stars. After a time Sandy decided to kick off her sneakers, using her feet she pushed them to the corner and off the carpet. With that done, she settled comfortably and pressed the pillow to her stomach like it was a teddy bear. Minutes passed like hours as she lay there staring at the stars, and it wasn't long before the silence and warm air made her nod off again.
Sandy woke again when a chill raced down her back, contrasting with her front, which was oddly warm. She found herself lying on her side, hadn't she been lying on her back? The ambient air around her was cool, signaling that it was still night or at least very early morning, the walls and floor had long since given off all the heat they had absorbed during the day. She shifted slightly, hearing a faint pop in her back, but she couldn't stretch out fully to let her spine realign as something was restraining her full movement. It was hard, like a piece of metal, and it dug uncomfortably into her side and lower ribs.
She cracked one eye open and recoiled when she could only see white. In that split second she knew why she was warm on one side. Altair was lying there on his side, facing her, with his right hand under the pillow beneath his head and his left arm slung over her waist. It was the mechanism of his wrist blade that was bruising her ribs. She was within inches of the wall, almost penned in by his frame, and he was radiating heat like a convection oven.
Fury surged like a flame inside her, instantly banishing the chill of the night. When she offered a trade; this was not what she meant! She contemplated waking him, but realized that if her movements had not woken him already, she'd have to use force, and that could result in an injury to her, seeing as he slept only slightly less armed than he usually was. The rest of his weapons were still across the yard, but he was still dangerous.
She scooted back as far as she could, pressing her back flush to the cold wall; the contact caused her to shiver and his fingers -now on her waist- to flex as if even through sleep he felt the shiver. Sandy contemplated throwing his hand off, but after a second decided against it, she did not know how the mechanism of the blade worked. The last thing she wanted was to have it accidently go off. If remaining unharmed meant he got to cop a feel, she could live with it, couldn't she? It wasn't like his hand was somewhere more compromising. It was a little like slow dancing in the club with hot guys you just met and didn't really know. There was a parallel in there she reasoned, and it did not mean he wouldn't get a complimentary earful once he was awake.
Her eyes trailed up his chest to his face and with a start she realized the hood had either slipped down some time during the night, or that he had finally shed it. Now that she could see his face, she was taken aback momentarily by how handsome he was, the faint scar at the right corner of his mouth only added a roguish accent instead of detracting. Seeing the full picture made her realize that there was more to the club parallel than even she was comfortable with. However, surprise did not last long; nothing could distract and restrain the annoyance she felt.
She glared, at him, hoping just the force of her glare could awaken him. Wasn't there an urban legend that people couldn't sleep if they had vicious glares aimed at them? If only looks could kill, he'd be grievously injured right now. Eventually her eyes began to sting due to a lack of blinking and the almost unholy glow of his white tunic in the moonlight. She blinked the sting and the spots away and snorted. "You just wait," she muttered.
His hand twitched again, almost in response.
Her eyes flew back to his face and she did not miss the tiny twitch of his lips, restraining the now almost familiar tip at the corner of his lips, it looked almost like his a suppressed smirk. Sandy raised her hand, balled her fist, and swung in a mock attack. His left hand shot up and grabbed her fist in a split second, as if he knew exactly where it was despite his closed eyes and now exposed act. His hand was much larger than hers, utterly enveloping her fist, she could feel the lack of ring finger, but the rest gripped her fist almost like a vice.
"You are awake!" Sandy cried in outrage.
"Not so loud," Altair murmured, keeping his eyes closed.
Sandy yanked her fist free from his loosened grip and lowered her arm to lie on the curve of her side. He laid his arm down between them; the metal armor lining the forearm caught the moonlight almost like a mirror, momentarily making her see spots again. Blinking them away she took a deep breath, "What's the meaning of this?" she asked. "I said trade, not share! You apparently need-"
"You were shivering. It is unusually cold tonight." He explained.
"So you-"
"Would you have preferred the alternative?" he interrupted coldly as his eyes opened.
Sandy might have swallowed her tongue for a long moment under the force of his basilisk stare. "Maybe," she choked out, having to force the air past her frozen vocal cords.
Altair closed his eyes, "While bragging makes one too arrogant, lack of gratitude does not make one humble," he murmured.
Sandy snorted again. "Oh we're bringing that up now, are we?" she asked.
"I believe we're even now," he replied, opening one eye.
Sandy sighed, "I'm sorry," she stated.
Altair's eyes flew open and for the briefest instance surprise flickered in their abyssal depths.
Sandy smiled shyly, "I overreacted, a little bit, well- alot. You meant no harm… at least you better not have-" she glared for a split second.
"You still have those toys you use." He replied.
Sandy's hand flew to the small of her back, patting the leather pouch where she kept her stilettos, both were still there. She thought she understood his subtle message, but she knew that her knives would be of little use against him; he was so much larger and probably a lot stronger than her. She smiled and whispered a faint 'thanks', keeping her eyes locked on his hand still between them, not daring to look into his face.
"Try to get back to sleep; dawn is not for another two hours." His voice was different, deeper, warmer, but still frigid.
Sandy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That's when she felt his arm move; once again he slung it over her waist and pulled her closer into his ambient halo of heat. Close enough to warm her, but far enough that they did not touch fully. With a start she realized that this was the position all along. The limited contact had another purpose that she understood quite suddenly.
"You really are just keeping that thing not pointed at me, are you?" she asked.
"If by that thing you mean my hidden blade, then yes." He replied.
Sandy smiled and shifted around, getting more comfortable, relaxing her back. She pushed his arm a little closer to her hip so that the metal mechanism would not dig into her ribs and lowered her arm between them. In the confined space her fingers just brushed his chest, and she grinned privately. Let it be then, an exercise in survival tactics if nothing more, she would be a mature woman about it. Here in this time, in this strange place she felt safe lying next to a killer who seemed to have some morals and honor. The absurdities of the situation were both laughable and tear rending, but Sandy knew she would not have liked the alternative.
The Tidbits Corner:
Siege of Acre: King Richard only arrived at Acre in June 8th, 1191, where he immediately ordered the construction of siege engines to assault the city. However it would not fall until slightly over a month later on July 12th. Little bit of a history lesson there.
Sandy's usage of 'Ass' and Malik's reply: I feel this needs explaining to be understood fully. While Sandy applies the word to him to mean someone who is intolerable and rude. That meaning is different from what Malik would understand. He would connect her usage of the word to her calling Altair a donkey. In Arabic being called that connotes stupidity almost exclusively.
Sandy's Tattoo: In those times not only did women not have them, they were not for decorations. Most tattoos were dishonorable brands. So yea, another 'time gap' conflict. But it's a rather small detail there.
Arson: In medieval times, arson was a 'worse' crime than assassinations. Simply because fire was so notoriously difficult to put out. It wasn't uncommon for it to simply burn itself out, taking a couple city blocks with it.
Director's Commentary:
Well this one won't be long, but here I want to add a few notes for this and that that don't really belong in the tidbits. Regarding the point of view choice, in case you are wondering why most of the story is strictly from Sandy's PoV, there is definitely a method to my madness. I feel that if the story were from Altair's PoV, he would lose some of the 'mystery' that hovers around him. It would be harder to portray the sheer power of presence he possesses and exercises over Sandy. Moreover, the games of word-chess wouldn't be half as fun; the drama really wouldn't be there.
In addition, one reviewer made the observation that Altair is suddenly talking more than he does in the game. There is a method in that madness too; it's my interpretation of his character. We never really see him actually interact with a woman in the game, other than Maria of course. However Sandy is obviously different, she is not seen as much of a threat, she does not wield a sword or wear armor, and furthermore her knives are in fact very feeble. Hence he talks to her a little more than anyone else, and even then he's still a jerk half the time. There is also the fact that Altair does have his eagle vision, which will be interpreted in Chaos Theory as more of an ability to see the aura. One look at Sandy's and he'd see she means him no harm.