Summary: This is a crappy story, written by a complete arse. That's your summary.

Pairing: Me and Rebecca? No? Okay, never mind :(

Warning: Nothing at all, this is a wonderous tale of love and friendship with absolutely no death or violence in at all -_-

Disclaimer: I own Ass Creed and all of it's characters, even the goats in AC3 (not!)

Shaun: So, the author's actually taking a shit right now, a massive shit, one so big it's ripping her anal passage open so she won't be writing today.

Me: Fuck you Shaun! I'm just ill, not ill enough to stop you from escaping but ill enough to be completely unable to write :( I guess you'll have to write this chapter.

Shaun: Me? What do I know about writing stories, I just write databases and, entertaining as they are, I wouldn't exactly call myself an amazing author...well maybe I would but that's beside the point. I don't want to write your shitty story :(

Me: Pleeeeease? *coughs*

Shaun: No

Me: I'll let you go

Shaun: Really?

Me: Mmhmm

Shaun: Okay, so um Desmond followed the scary murdery guy to the castle and then Rebecca showed up and she said "Wow, I wish Shaun was here to hold me and comfort me in this scary place and to protect me from the war with his incredibly hot body and incredible mind and-

Me: STOP! God, you're awful at this! I'll just write it myself *grumbles*

Shaun: But you're still letting me go right?

Me: I was never actually going to let you go, you ass-tard.

Shaun: *cries in the corner*


Wow, okay so sorry for the long intro there lol and for Shaun's arsey-ness. I guess I'll just get straight to the story to make up for lost time,

Enjoy! :3


Once back at the castle, Desmond continued to follow Altair as he climbed the tower to where they had stared out at the valley the day before. They each took up a beam and sat in silence for a moment before Altair spoke.

"How long has it been?" he asked, apprehension evident in his tone.

Desmond licked his lips, unsure how the elder assassin was going to take the following news, "Eight-hundred and twenty years..." he replied quietly, "give or take"

He looked over when silence followed to see the master assassin looking away, shoulders shaking lightly. He decided that Altair needed some privacy and excused himself to go sort through the supplies he'd bought. The older man said nothing as he left.

After re-organising all of his equipment and supplies for what must have been the hundredth time, Desmond decided to go see if Altair was ready to continue their conversation, God knows he needed some answers right now.

He peeked his head up through the entrance in the floor to see the man staring vacantly off into the distance as he has yesterday. Shuffling over to the master assassin, he placed a hand on his shoulder, surprised when the man didn't even react or try to throw him off, if there was one thing he knew, Altair hated intimate contact and would only allow under very specific circumstances with those that he trusted and Desmond doubted that he had gained the man's trust just yet.

"Altair?" he questioned, receiving a questioning murmur, "I have some questions"

"As do I" sighed the man infront of him.

"Well lets take it in turns then, you can go first" he offered.

The elder assassin smiled slightly at this and thought about what to ask first.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of silence, he asked "What does 'tarajue' mean?"

Desmond had to fight hard not to laugh and bit down on his tongue to control his reaction. It didn't work as he doubled over and let out a snort.

"Really? That's your question?" he asked incredulously, "You've just been thrown 800 years into the future and met a man who looks just like you, sleeping in your bed, and you want to know what 'tarajue' means?"

Alatir raised an eyebrow at the younger man's reaction which Desmond just laughed at.

"Okay fine, I'll tell you" he relented, pausing to think of how best to explain the meaning of 'fuck off' to a 12th century master assassin.

He explained how the phrase meant "go away" and how it was related to the word "alllaena" which meant "fuck".

Altair just looked at him, confused. Desmond struggled to think of a better explanation when a thought struck him, "Um, Altair...you do know what a swear word is, don't you?"

The man shook his head and Desmond groaned, this could take a while. He explained how some words were bad and deemed rude and innapropriate and went on to count of the names of such words on his fingers, further confusing Altair at the mention of phrases like "cocksucker" and "motherfucker" before his head perked up at the word "cunt".

"Ah, I know that one" he declared, seeming proud of himself. Desmond chuckled and asked if he knew what it meant. The older man blushed at this, and remained silent.

Desmond laughed, "I'll take that as a yes then".

He went on naming all the swear words he could think of until he began to get to the stranger ones that he'd never actually heard aloud before, including, "Assbadger", "Twatwaffle", "Douche Canoe", "fucknugget", "Jizz-inhaling gerbilfucker" and "Cumguzzling Thundercunt"

He took a moment to catch his breath once he'd finished before panting out, "and now...you know...what 'tarajue' means...fuck"

He glanced over at Altair who was trying to process everything that he'd just heard before seemingly giving up and saying "Fair enough, you may ask your question now"

Desmond grinned and asked who the older assassin shared a room with. To which he simply replied with, "I have no idea what you are talking about"

"Oh, cut the crap, there are two beds in your room, surely their not both for you?" he questioned.

The older assassin cleared his throat and murmured something.

"What was that" pressed Desmond.

"I said I'd rather not say" replied Altair before shoving off Desmond's hand from his shoulder as if he'd only just noticed it was there.

"Well that's not fair, I answered your pointless question" pointed out the young novice.

Altair growled. "These questions are quickly becoming tiresome, we ought to focus on the problem at hand, I have not consumed any food or drink since I arrived here yesterday and am still lacking the majority of my clothing"

Desmond sighed, "Fine, we'll get something to eat and drink and I'll kit you out in some proper clothes and then we'll continue this conversation"

The older assassin looked annoyed but agreed regardless, glad that he was getting a meal.

They made their way back to the bedroom and sat down on their respective sides, Desmond on Altair's bed and Altair on the mystery pile of cushions.

Desmond went through his bag, reaching for the clothing he'd purchased for Altair and passing it to him. He turned back to the bag as the man changed and pulled out some weird Syrian food he'd bought. He passed a container to the older assassin before looking down at his own.

It looked like a plain yoghurt on top of some bread with salad. He took a bite. It was yoghurt, bread and salad! 'Who the hell would eat this crap?' he thought, glancing over at Altair to see him sniffing at his own container and scrunching his face up in disgust.

"What is this piece of hamara?" he asked, trying to make use of one of the swear words he'd learned earlier.

Desmond chuckled, "It's called a fatteh, I think and it's pronounced 'hamaqa' (crap), not 'hamara'."

"Well then what is a hamara?" questioned the older man.

"A hamara is an ass", replied Desmond, patiently. God knows how difficult it was going to be to explain every little detail to the man, especially when he had to explain everything in Arabic.

"Hey Altair?" he asked.

"What is it?" replied the older man, still glaring suspiciously at his fatteh container.

"Can you speak English?" he hadn't realised at first how much he was hoping for a 'yes' but as he waited for Altair to take a bite of his food, scrunch up his face in disgust, force himself to swallow it, stick out his tongue and spit out the taste, the tension mounted and Desmond became increasingly impatient.

Finally, Altair put down the bowl and turned to face him, "What is 'Inglish'?".

Desmond groaned.

"It's the language I speak" he explained.

The older man just stared at him, confused. "What are you talking about? You speak Arabic like me"

"Well, yeah, but Arabic isn't my first language, I live in America where they speak English, I only know Arabic because of the animus"

"What's an animus?" asked the man.

Desmond realised that Altair still didn't really know anything about him at all. He sighed, "Better get settled, this is a long story, full of crazy and weird"

Altair frowned but shifted around, making himself comfortable.

The younger man smiled, this should be fun...


Okay, so that's chapter 7, officially the longest fic I've ever written so go me!

I'm really tired right now btw but serves me right for trying to update twice in one day (shame).

Sorry for any inconsistencies, mistakes, etc. I've not spellchecked because I'm going to bed but if its really that bad then just stop reading and read it tomorrow instead, I'll check through it and have it updated by noon.

Leave a review to let me know what you think, I dont bite (unless you're cute and totally into it :3 )

Vale,

Vitacazzo