Yesss!! Another double-post!!
Disclamer: Videogames are fun, assassins are hot. It's Christmastime, and Altair is MINE!! -not-
I stopped laughing when I went back inside, and pulled back the curtains I had haphazardly covered the window with last night. The shower was running, I know, but all sounds were blocked out and replaced with a mute silence that screamed in my face.
The park, once lively and beautiful, was ripped of its perfection and replaced with horror. All the trees were uprooted and scattered around the streets, like Polyphemus, the Cyclops from the Odyssey, had raged through. The grass was all dead and yellowed with water damage. In the center, a giant hole about fifteen feet deep stared out at me like a corpse's eye. I took a shuddering breath in and tried to remember what it had looked like. But all I could picture were the paths that bled mud and dirt, the trees that wept to me, crying "Lacrima! Save us!"
I closed the curtains, devastated at the sight. The room was colder now, and I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I would've, had it not been for the fact that I had a supposed assassin in my bathroom. Maybe I could leave him here to drink his toilet water, and die…Lacrima! Why are you thinking these things? I cast a look at the door to the bathroom. Steam was seeping out of the crack at the bottom. I had forgotten to open the window. Was that a good thing?
I walked back into the kitchen steadily, and picked up Altaïr's soiled clothes. I would have to wait until I could go down to the Laundromat to get these cleaned. But…they looked odd, and I didn't want to ruin them with chemicals like bleach. I instead set to work in my sink, using the sponge and cold water to wash out the blood and mud. When I had finished with the robe, I heard the shower turn off. Good, he remembered that.
"Err…Lacrima?" his voice called from the other side of the door.
"Yes? Do you need anything?" her voice was on the other side of the door suddenly. I looked down at the towel around my waist.
"Can I have my robes back?" I heard her walk toward the room where she had given me the bandage and the foul-smelling liquid (disaffect tent?) and walk back.
"Altaïr, they're really, really dirty, uh—oh! Hold on a sec." I was forced to wait patiently on the other side of the door. I gazed over at my breeches on the "sink", as she had called it. My boots were still on the floor, but I suspect that even in this day and age, walking around shirtless was not particularly acceptable. She returned, and knocked on the door. "Altaïr?" I opened the door and peeked my head around the corner, like she had not two hours before. She thrust a pile of fabric into my hands, and they weren't my robes.
"What is this?" I asked. There was a tunic with shorter sleeves, and it was heavier than that of my own. It had a strange picture of an eagle, and the words 'The Eagles' across the top. Huh. You'd think she knew something.
"The one you're holding is a shirt and that goes on like your tunic. These," she held up a pair of red pants, but they had been hacked off so only about a foot was left. At my horrified expression, she continued. "Are called boxers, and they're meant to go on under your pants, as to prevent…irritation." At this, we both blushed and looked away from the other. "These are socks, and these are shoes that my old…beau left behind. Your feet are enormous, so…" she continued to explain how laces worked ("I know how to tie a knot. I'm not that primitive." I had interjected.) "These are jeans," she took the large pile of blue out of my hands. I see what she had meant by "irritation". The fabric was rough, but flexible. I wondered how fast I could run in them…she interrupted me out of my thoughts. "And you put them on like your normal pants, and—oh sure, just put them on now." I had begun to put on the "boxers" under the towel. I kept a face of ignorance, knowing it was making her squirm. I slid the shirt on—it was quite soft, and lightweight. It was a great exchange for all of the heavy swords and knives that I carried around. I felt so…exposed. I lifted the jeans from out of her hands. I put them on, and right then, my moment of jousting ended. There was a dangerous-looking metal contraption too close to where I didn't want it to be, and I heard Lacrima laugh triumphantly.
I laughed loudly. He was staring at the button and zipper like it was going to attack him. Teasingly, I walked slowly toward him. I took the zipper tab in my fingers, and asked him (I was dangerously close to his face by now) "Need help, my little assassin?" I whispered seductively. He visibly flinched and bit his lip so hard it turned purple. I still held his gaze, daring him to break my stare. I was totally just teasing him, but it was sort of hard to keep the hitch out of my voice from how close our bodies were. The heat from the shower was radiating off of him like a Thanksgiving turkey. I continued with my wordplay, egging him on. "I didn't know something so small," I gave a tug on the zipper for emphasis. "Could be such a big problem." He had his eyes closed painfully. It was taking him all he could not to lose his control. He opened his warm brown eyes, and they weren't filled with that murderous stare this time, they were filled with want. I smirked into his face, and quickly zipped the zipper up and buttoned the button. I slipped away from him before he could react. "I'll be downstairs…" I teased. "Sucker." I whispered. I walked away, through the kitchen, and down the fire escape, so I could bake my new cake.
That woman was going to be the death of me, I swear. First, the knife, and then this? I almost stabbed myself with the nearest object so I didn't lose what dignity I had left. I didn't understand this world; didn't she know that? Seduction like this was for married persons, and whores. Lacrima, I could tell, was neither. I used the sink to splash cold water over my face, calming my nerves and sharpening my senses. I used the towel I had unknowingly dropped to the floor to dry off my head. The "shampoo" that Lacrima had let me use made it smell very odd and…flowery. Now I smelled like her. I growled at the thought. I smelled like a woman.
I put the "socks" and shoes on, lacing the strings together. They fit alright, but they weren't as gripping against the floor, or as comfortable, as my boots. But the boots were in need of a wash, like everything else of mine. This future was still so modern to me, all shapes and angles, and absolutely everything was clean. I tried walking around the apartment, until I knew all the corners and components. Nothing was jumping out at me. I suddenly panicked. Where was Lacrima? She had said "downstairs" and I had no idea where that was. I checked the doors and walls again, trying to seek out a set of secret stairs I might have missed. I had no idea we were even on a second level! I paced the room with the curtains over the window. This was ridiculous. I wouldn't do this to someone who transported into my world. Well…maybe I would…but that was beside the point! What a cruel, cruel woman.
Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me and I threw open the curtains. I was shocked at the sight in front of me. Apparently, the weather was just as bad as it was in my time. A single reminder of what I had. Even my clothes had disappeared. I stared at the horrifying sight in front of me. The trees looked like they had been slaughtered. There were these odd, colorful things on the sides of the streets, and they were overturned. They looked like carts with covers on them, but there were no horses in sight. Maybe they had all died in the storm—hurricane. I decided not to dwell on it any longer, so I returned to my searching. I dared not go back into the room with the toilet, as I might vomit at my actions.
I instead retreated to the remaining room. There was a door that I hadn't opened. I tried the handle, but it took awhile to figure out that it turned the other way. I finally opened the door, letting the dull sunshine stream in.
I finally realized how big the world was. My eyes were so wide it hurt. All around me, buildings were towering over, and I almost thought they would fall on me. They were all a dark gray, and all of their windows (they were floor-to-ceiling) gleamed, so unlike the ones in Jerusalem, or even Masyaf. There were no ledges to grab holds onto, so there was no hope of ever climbing them. I wanted to know how they were built, but I was still looking for Lacrima.
To my right, there was a set of stairs that led down to a lower landing. They were made of metal, and they were very slippery. I managed to get down the first flight without slipping, and down the next one as well, but the accursed shoes on my feet made me slip on the fifth from the ground. . All the way down, until my ass hit the cold, wet…ground. It felt like a giant stone, and it was cut in squares all along the alley. I got up and dusted my hands off on the shirt, daring anyone around me (there was no one) to laugh or even acknowledge my presence.
Now I was really lost. I had no idea where Lacrima was, as she was nowhere in sight. I tried the door on the left of me. Where had she gone? The door opened into a white room, and I was momentarily blinded. I shielded my eyes from the gleam of everything.
There were tables with silver tops everywhere, and there were so many things I didn't know what to call. My eyesight finally adjusted and I saw Lacrima about ten feet from where I stood. I focused on my scowl, and stalked over to her. She had her hands wrist-deep in some sort of sand-colored mixture. "Took you long enough." She mumbled. "What happened, Altaïr? Get a little…" Her gaze shifted down my body, quickly turning my ears red. "…preoccupied?"
"No." I stated a little too quickly. "You had left me there alone, with no idea of where you were. So yes, I was preoccupied, but not in the perverse ways you imply." I said smugly. I leaned back on one of the tables slowly, jumping slightly at the cool surface. I rested my palms on the edge uncertainly, figuring out in seconds that the table was covered in steel. "What are you…uh, doing?" I tried. It looked like she was just mixing her hands around in the blue bowl.
"Making a cake. What did you think I was doing, riding a bicycle?" a what? She blushed when she saw my dubious face. "Sorry, it's a future thing."
"Why are you making a cake? Surely you're not married?" I bit my lip at this. Why was I all of a sudden asking these questions? Maybe it was my sense of curiosity mixed with my lack of the ability to stay anonymous. It was probably a normal thing to talk about things like marriage and…well, other things.
"Married? Wha—why would you think I was married?" she spat the word like a curse.
"I've never seen a woman more vicious than those that are married." I mused.
"Remember what I told you. Women are held at a higher standard. Remember that, boy." I felt something rise up in me. No one but Al Mualim called me boy like that.
"And hopefully their manners match it." I growled. She froze at my voice. I could see her shoulders tense, and her body shook with tremors. Was she that afraid of me?
"Leave." She said in a quiet voice. I made a face at her back and went back out the door I had come in. If I could remember where this place was, maybe, I could explore…
After the door had swung shut on my left, I finally moved from my spot in the kitchen. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and touched the scar on the inside of my wrist. Scar, not scars. It was long and white, and really, really ugly. It had hurt a lot when it was being stitched up, and remembrance of that day rushed through me, but not before I had pushed them down, like I had done so many times before. I unclenched my jaw. Never again.
I continued making the cake, that feeling of loneliness washing over me yet again. Where had Altaïr gone? Had he gone back upstairs? I couldn't hear any footsteps, but then again, I didn't hear him creep up on me this morning, either.
Oh, God, help me. I began to cry into the bowl of cake batter and rum.
Poor Altair...he's so manipulative...
Review! It's sort of hard to post without reviews...
BTW, a great song to listen to while reading this is Tie Your Mother Down by Queen
Love,
Bailey
