A/U: Blah, okay, this chapter was supposed to be WAY longer considering it was supposed to be the last one, but I decided to split this into two chapters since, if I didn't it would be like twice the length of the previous chapter xD;
Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews! I really thought this fanfic was going to be a complete flop, but considering I haven't done an AC fic, 7 reviews is a lot more than I expected! And a special thanks to Alba G. de Luca for constructive criticism! I think your input is the first one I've ever gotten out of all the fanfics I've written, so it really means a lot. x3
On a side note, none of the Great Sins are mentioned in this chapter, though they will reappear in the next one.
It also doesn't seem as though anyone was able to guess what the symbols are, so I'll just tell everyone what they are, and you guys can guess what they symbolize. xD;
-Apples. (This one is too obvious, so I wouldn't say this counts for guessing…)
-Lucrezia's hairpin.
-Lucrezia's kirtle/what she wears in general later.
-Ezio himself. (Represents two things, but one of them will be explained at the end of the next chapter. You can still guess, though x3)
If anyone would like to see a picture of my OC, a friend of mine took the time to draw her in her dress (Before her family was killed). The picture is on my account on DeviantArt, Hiyume-chan (I would post the link but is being weird.)
(Lawl, her boobs aren't supposed to be that big, but my friend has a not-able-to-draw-flatter-chest handicap xD)
Anyway, I'll stop yapping. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed 1 or 2. Ubisoft does. Though I AM proud of being a Canadian and living about an hour's drive from one of their production offices.
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I awoke suddenly, hearing nothing and seeing nothing. I panicked for a moment, thinking my ears and eyes had failed me, before realizing that I was in a room, the candles blown out. I sighed, stretching happily at the feeling of a soft bed beneath me, not caring where this was or why I was there. I snuggled back into the mattress. My eyes shut. I just wanted a few more minutes of this paradise--no working, no apples, no stealing… no weird men in hoods…
… My eyes snapped open.
Oh. Wait.
I groaned groggily as I stood in the extra room at the back of the abandoned library. All memory of the day before came rushing back, and as it did, the urge to leave grew. I opened the door to the hallway. The candles were still lit in the corridor, the fire's glow somewhat illuminating the room I'd been in. I looked around and realized… my basket of apples wasn't there. Which meant…
I turned to look at the door across from where I stood, and scowled faintly. They were still in his room. Remembering what he told me before, I reluctantly knocked a few times. No answer. I knocked harder, wondering if he was asleep and hoping my knocks would wake him. Again, no answer. I waited a moment, and, taking in a breath, creaked his door open.
He was gone. I opened the door fully and looked about the room. It looked as though no life had entered the room for months, even though, I knew, I'd been in there just yesterday. The quilt was gone, at least, from what I could see, and layers of dust had replaced those of which were disturbed by my intrusion. I looked to my right to see that my basket of apples still sat on the desk I'd left it on. Looking at the floor, I spotted the apple he and I had bitten into, maggots taking it upon themselves to finish the rest. My mouth twitched slightly at the sight. Instinctively, I picked the rotten apple up by the stem, carrying my basket in my other hand, and walked outside. I threw the apple into the alleyway, where few people walked. It seemed like a waste, but at least something was enjoying it.
I looked back at the abandoned library. It was no longer lived in, so others took shelter. I pondered for a moment. Maybe… Maybe I could come back, if only for one more night…
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The day was short, and yet long. I'd woken up later than usual—noon, many hours later than what I was used to—and so had less time to go about my daily business. I had very few coins left in the pouch that hung from my belt, and therefore needed to find work. I went through stall after stall in whatever district I'd managed to end up in, but no one seemed to need help, nor had the money to hire. This, combined with the desire to sleep in a bed once more, made the day drag on for eternity.
Finally, after all the apples from my basket were gone, still no work to be found, dusk came upon the grand floating city. The streets slowly became deserted, the soft glow of candles materializing as the twilit sky engulfed the streets and walkways. Lanterns illuminated the fronts of gondolas as boatmen carried on with their business through the canals. This time in the city was soothing, almost like a lullaby for the eyes.
I became tired almost suddenly, as the distant orange hue of the sky slowly settled into the horizon and left an indigo night in its passing. The world was going to sleep, as was my mind. I let my body move of its own accord, though I knew where I was going. My feet dragged tiredly against the brick alleys. I don't remember how long I walked, nor how I returned to the abandoned library. It was all a haze, and before I could comprehend my surroundings, I was lying in the bed I'd woken up in just that morning.
The soft sheets slowly lulled my lazy body into an abyss of sweet unconsciousness, one that seemed almost surreal—My physical being was rendered useless, as my muscles refused to move, but my mind was on the very line between aware and asleep. Just at this moment, my ears heard the very faint creak of a door. It did not alarm me in anyway. It was almost… relaxing…
Familiar, heavy footsteps sounded through the corridor, and then into the room. They stopped just beside me. My mind, slowly slipping away from reality, did not take the presence as one of harm. All was silent. Suddenly, something gently touched my forehead, and I welcomed it. I felt my hair being pushed back behind my ear…
And, as if this motion was the very key to nothingness, my mind fell into the loving embrace of slumber.
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It almost seemed as though this was becoming a routine.
I woke again, in the same place as the day before, struggling to remember what happened just before sleep overcame my senses. It was almost like déjà vu. Everything was hazy for a moment, and then… I froze. I recalled footsteps, though in my memory, they were faint… my forehead suddenly tingled, and with an impulsive urge I moved my hair behind my ear. Yes… I remembered someone… Ah, what was I thinking? It was likely a dream, one of no importan…
I stopped. I was sitting now, after waving the thoughts off as my imagination, and saw a quilt. The quilt. The one I'd seen from two evenings before. I stared at it for a moment before realizing that I could see. The room was not dark, which meant a candle was lit. I looked over at the desk near the door, and, sure enough, one sat on its surface. Something on the desk itself caught my eye. I stood, instinctively, to get a better look at it. It took me a moment to comprehend what it was, as I was still dazed from sleep.
Money, and a large sum of it. A full 100 ducats lay haphazardly across the wooden desk. Taking a closer look, I noticed that many had a different insignia than those made in Venice. Some were florins.
I pursed my lips and slid the coins from the desk and into my hands, which I put in a second pouch I saved for apples. I blew the candle out, as the wax was beginning to fill the plate it had been placed on, and would overflow if the candle were still aflame for what I would guess to be a few minutes. I sighed and walked out from the room, but again, I stopped.
The dust on the ground had been disturbed. Faded footprints lead into the room across from where I'd stayed, and looking at the door itself, I saw that the knob was clean. I took in a sharp breath. It was likely that he came back.
Doing instinctively what I did last morning, I knocked.
A groan was heard. I waited, listening as muffled sounds of shuffling and clinking noises came through the door. I pondered for a moment from what he was doing, and, firstly, why he kept me waiting for so long.
"Come in." I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, but entered the room. He stood at a desk, his back to mine, and, I noted, his hood was over his head. I sighed quietly, knowing that I'd woken him up and he'd just put it on. He turned after a moment of silence, and smirked. "Buongiorno. You're up early."
"Really? Yesterday I woke at noon." I replied calmly, though I seethed with hatred from the sight of him. He gave a simple nod of recognition and looked back at the desk, signaling for me to come in. I sat on a stool quietly, but no words were spoken. He didn't seem to mind, and… neither did I. It was a comfortable silence, as if we'd known each other for ages. "I thought you left." I said finally. He didn't reply for a moment, unrolling some sort of scroll and inspecting it before answering.
"No. I just… travel most of the day. And night."
"But surely you have the money to pay for a proper lodging, seeing as you give it away freely." I shuffled the coins in my purse for accent.
"I would, but I have to be discreet."
"Discreet? Is someone trying to find you?" He chuckled lightly, as if I'd said a joke.
"You could say that." He grinned under his hood, putting the scroll back in some pouch under his cape. I furrowed my brow. His tone was nonchalant, and yet there was a hint of something like graveness behind his words. We were silent again as he shuffled through some other things on the desk, his back breaking my view from what he was doing.
"I don't need your money." I blurted, sitting stalk-still at my words. He stopped, turned for a moment, and turned back. He showed no sign of replying. I continued, "I never use the money rightfully earned by others for my own needs." I heard him scoff quietly, but… his shoulders drooped, as if what I'd said made him depressed. He shook his head slightly and began fiddling with a piece of his white coat. Curious, I leaned over a bit on my chair to see what he was doing. He was pursing his lips and staring at a discoloration in the cloth.
"What's wrong?" I inquired innocently. He let out a sigh of frustration.
"It's these damn Venetian tailors! Can't even manage to get out a simple stain…" He grumbled. I scowled slightly at this statement, getting up to have a better look at the blot. It was faint, but still visible from a considerable distance. It was a pinkish color, which meant it was red before.
"What is that? Wine?"
"…Y-Yes. Hit a glass off a table." He stuttered. I gave him a doubtful look before swiping his hand from the cloth and feeling the material with my fingers.
"Sounds like you party more than travel. Anyways, whatever tailor you went to seemed to care much more about your money than good service. Wait here. I'll be a bit." I let go of the cloth and quickly ran out of the room and back into the streets from the abandoned library, promptly making my way to the market. Using the money he'd given me, I bought a bucket of fresh water, along with various soaps and other ingredients used to clean out wine spots, such as beech-ash lye and white wine. I made my way back with my hands full. It had only taken me a few minutes, as I knew my way around the market from yesterday's work hunt.
"It looks like you stalked up." He grinned from under his hood, "Are you expecting this to happen often?"
"It's a habit, I suppose. A curse for having the name of Sarta." I mumbled half-heartedly as I dropped everything but the lye and wine. Taking a cloth in my hand, I sprinkled some of the ash onto the stain and poured a bit of the wine, afterwards using a scrubber to meld the two together into the cloth. As I scrubbed, I felt his hand touch my hair. I swiped it away, stopped scrubbing, and looked up with an annoyed expression. He raised his hands in the air.
"Sorry. It's tempting." He pouted, putting his hands back down, "It's just a wonder how you see what you're doing without a clip to hold your hair back." I stopped momentarily, a pang of guilt running through my veins.
"I'm used to it." I grumbled, using a rag to soak up some of the wine, which had by now absorbed most of the stain. I wiped my hands, explaining that the material would have to be soaked in water in the evening. "So," I continued, putting everything away as he inspected the almost invisible stain, "You know my name. I would assume it's common courtesy that I know yours." He stopped suddenly, and he frowned.
"I can't tell you that, nor show you my face." I blinked, slightly confused.
"Why?" I asked dumbly. He sighed and waved for me to leave.
"I have my reasons." I left, confused and slightly angry for not knowing, but went on with my day. I looked for work, bought apples and gave them away, and generally did what I did every day. As evening settled onto the docks of Venice once more, I realized that I would have to return to the library to help rid the stain from the hooded man's coat, so I began my route back, surprisingly not as tired as the day before.
Though, something stopped me on the way. I stared forward, standing in the alleyway that led to the library, to see the man himself, staring back at me. "Okay," He grinned, "What do I do now?"
I slapped my hand against my face. He was soaking wet, presumably from the Venetian canals, and he stood there, completely oblivious to my frustration.
"Idiot."
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He sat by candlelight that evening to dry off, as he did many evenings after. Somehow, even after just two nights of staying at that abandoned library… I was used to coming back. He never welcomed me, but at the same time, he never told me to leave when I came back. Well, I wouldn't see why he would care, really, since I often kept to my own room.
Sometimes I would wake to find ducats sitting on the table, despite my protests from before, though he gave me less.
Weeks passed. Rarely was it that I saw him when I left the room, if at all. I don't know when it happened, but I began a routine check of knocking on his door in the morning, often finding that he wasn't there. I supposed that he had a busy life, one of which I was not permitted to know.
Though, when I happened to hear that groan of his from being woken up rudely by my knock, I felt a kind of pang of relief, as if reassured that he hadn't left and I wasn't alone in this home.
Home… when did I start calling it that? I guess… I needed to call something a home after using the brick streets as my bed for so long. Home. It was comforting just to know I had somewhere to go.
Anyway, when he was in his room, which again is rare, he would allow me in, always having his hood over his head. I took my usual spot on the stool by the desk and waited for him to speak, but he was never the one to start, so I did. I remember some conversations, where I began explaining more of my life to him. I never spoke of my family, though. I mostly explained what I used the apples for and, if I had nothing else to say, I would sometimes mumble about nonsense; things like the poor people I meet, designs for dresses that I would never make…
And why was it that I even talked to this man that I hated so much? Maybe in the hopes that by telling him my thoughts, he would say something about himself. Something, anything, that would hint to something good—Because, for some strange reason, my unconscious mind kept telling me that I didn't want to hate him. He was tolerant of my presence, and I had stayed in that library for longer than I had ever held a job. It was the simple need for human interaction that kept me from leaving and kept my hatred bottled up.
For the sixth time I sat on that stool, silence settling on the both of us. I could not think of anything to say, and he would not speak until I did. The only sound in the room was the shuffling of papers and other objects as he stood by a counter on the other side of the room. It was evening, an unusual time for me to be in this room, but I'd come back from my daily routine to find that he was home earlier than usual, so I knocked and he let me in.
My head rested against the wall, letting my eyes close to muster up something to say. As I thought, I heard the faint sound of carnival music in the distance, despite the heavy walls of the library. My eyelids shot open, and I let the word escape from my mouth. "Carnevale…"
"Oh, is that tonight?" he mumbled absently, "Well, I'm sure as a former tailor you've been to it." I cringed slightly at his words.
"N-No." He turned suddenly at this. His hood, as usual, concealed most of his face, and I couldn't tell for a moment whether he was surprised or trying to glare.
"You haven't? You told me before that you worked by the Dorsoduro district." I was momentarily baffled at his memory of this conversation. I myself couldn't recall it. Just the fact that he listened to my nonsense startled me.
"A-And? That does not mean I was obliged to go." I snapped back, "I think of it as a stupid event for the snobs of society. They have so much money and yet they spend it on useless things like Carnevale. I wasn't a tailor because I wanted be. I was because I had to be." I stopped then, seeing him smirk at my outburst. "What? Have you been to it? Do you think differently?"
"No, I haven't. I've been too… busy." He'd turned back to his papers and things, his words muffled by his hood. "But," He continued, "I've never thought of going to it." His shoulders suddenly drooped, and his hands rested against the table, the shuffle of papers no longer heard. The carnival music's echo could now be distinctly perceived. "It's been a long time," He sighed in what sounded to me like a very tired tone. He sounded… older than before. "A long time since I could just… be myself. Live freely." I saw him raise his gloved hand and, ever so gently, stroke his thumb again the scar running vertically on his lip.
I didn't realize it, but I was almost gawking. Never had I seen him so… vulnerable. Never was there the slightest hint of who he was or what his past was like. But now… at this moment… I almost felt… empathy for him.
But as soon as it came it was gone, and his sudden outburst caught me by surprise. "Well," He smirked, "I've decided." He stopped again, his smirk dropping and being replaced with an expression of curiosity. Slowly, almost dramatically, he turned on the balls of his feet, turning about a quarter of a circle, to look through his hood and directly at me. The grin slowly grew again. I was scared.
"W-What?" I said after an awkward moment. He saw my nervousness and snickered. He walked forward, not towards me, but towards the door.
"Stay here." He ordered in a strangely amused tone, and left my sight, leaving me in his room. Alone.
I hadn't been alone in that room since the first time I stepped foot into the library. It was uncomforting… otherworldly, almost, to be in this room alone. I had become so used to our routine during the passed few weeks of my stay that it felt as though I were disobeying the very structure of society by being here.
But, at the same time, I felt like a child rebelling against parental rules, the rush of curiousity coursing through my veins. I stood from my stool slowly, as if causing any kind of stir would bring him back in a puff of smoke. The floorboards creaked gently as my feet pressed against them, my eyes inspecting the room for signs of disturbance. I felt as though something wasn't right about the room. Something foreign was still in its midst, indefinitely his.
Something flashed suddenly in the corner of my eye, and I looked to see what it was. My eyebrows furrowed in confused wonderment. Something metal, just barely visible, as it was covered by an old woolen cloth covered in dust. The shine that the candle caused against it was like looking into a moon; it was surreal and easy to spot in a room so dull, like the giant planet that floated clearly above the sky, obscuring some of the stars. I approached, cautiously, and reached out towards it. I held the edge of the cloth in my fingertips, and, gently enough not to disturb the dust, looked under too see what the object was. I held in a gasp.
It was a sword, long and thin, along with other smaller blades scattered on the ground beside it. I wondered, for a moment, if these were old weapons, belonging to the old library owner, but, taking a closer look, I noticed that the blade did not show any sign of dulling, and no rust twisted its beautiful surface. I was confused for a moment…
My thoughts were cut short as I heard the back door open. I turned my head in breakneck speed, and quickly made my way back to my stool, adjusting myself to seem as though I hadn't moved. I let out a small breath I'd been holding as he walked in, still carrying a slight smirk. But then… something vibrant in his hands caught my eye.
I immediately held my breath again.
"You didn't…" I gawked as he stood there almost proudly, the fabric in his hands. The fabric, in fact, was a dress. The material itself was of silken cloth, a vibrant but dark shade of red. The same red, in fact, that my scarlet kirtle used to be(Which was now a rusty-looking white) . The sleeves were short and the neckline was civil, and the gown was long enough to cover the kirtle along with my feet.
"So," He said, snapping me from my reverie, "Would you like to accompany me?" I was a bit dazed and forgot what we'd talked about earlier.
"What? Where?" I asked dumbly. He chuckled.
"To the Carnevale." He reminded, and I felt a pang of hatred.
"No. Absolutely not. You know I hate the Carnevale, and yet you invite me?"
"You can't hate something until you've experienced it." He shot back, and with a sly turn of his lips, I understood the innuendo behind his words. I was disgusted, and got up from my chair to walk to the other side of the room.
He sighed in frustration, but my ears picked up a hint of amusement behind his breath. "Sorry, that came out wrong… But it seems a bit selfish for you to assume something about the rich so quickly." His words struck me heavily, and I couldn't help but turn and gawk. He didn't know what I'd gone through, so what right did he have of telling me what to think?
Almost as if he'd read my mind, he grinned and bowed lightly, holding out the arm that the dress was draped over. "Will you join me, bella?" he inquired in a sarcastic tone. I scowled and walked swiftly towards him, snatching the dress and walking out of the room as I did so.
I slipped the atrocity over my kirtle, determined to prove this fool wrong. I accepted his challenge.
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A/U: GAH, Mary-Sue alert D:
Okay, so the ending sounds a bit MarySue-ish, I know, but trust me when I say it's not how you think it's going to be! Something happens that's very important to the plot, and I wish I could use something besides the Carnival to work out what I have planned, but I don't know how else to play it out. (Plus the dress is symbolic)
So, hopefully this chapter didn't make you spit and turn in disgust. The first chapter, really, was also a prologue, considering it was just introducing my OC.
And ew, I hope Ezio's not WAY OOC in this chapter. I wanted to add some humor to lighten up the story, but I feel like I overdid it. (Example, that random innuendo was not planned at all. I wrote that line, read it again, laughed and decided to keep it).
So, if his character is off or if you find that something else is bothering you while you read the fanfic, please don't hesitate to tell me! I'll be sure to make notes to improve for the next chapter. Reviews and CC are always appreciated!
Happy Belated Holidays!
