I…. have no excuses, so I'll make none. However, much has changed in the year and a half that has gone by. I've moved from the West Coast to the Midwest since I am officially a University student pursuing a Sociology Major, after having acquired two Associate's, I've fallen back in love with Mass Effect. (Screw the haters, Andromeda was freaking awesome). And well yeah… shit happened.
Right so enough about me. This chapter I realize is probably shorter than you wanted, but I struggled slightly to make this as believable as possible while also maintaining my character's…. flair, I suppose. Still don't feel like it is, but eh whatever.
Assassin's Creed and its properties do NOT belong to me. I'm just a college student who wishes she could.
Without further ado, enjoy!
-TK
~*III*~
Dazed and Confused
May 20th, 2012 Santa Barbara, California
"You know…. I think you should consider traveling more."
One of Tristan's slim eyebrows found itself in a cocked position at the random, if not odd assertion. It only rose further as her friend slash co-worker pushed one of those fancy Moleskin notebooks across the only table in the breakroom. Another gift? Okay, her birthday wasn't for another two months and four days.
"Oh…?" She drawled, sipping her afternoon caramel latte from a Lannister themed cup.
Across from her, frowning, sat Jemma Hartwell.'Jem'to her friends, Jemmy to Tristan— much to the younger woman's chagrin.
"Don't you 'Oh' me missy, you know it's true. I only see you going to three different places: here, home, and that coffee place down the street," Tristan watched in amusement as Jemma narrowed her eyes with each word, counting off the destination with her fingers.
The brunette was silent as she perused the palm-sized orange jotter. Her eyebrow again rising. This time a sly grin made a guest appearance. "Uncomfortable thought of being stalked aside, you… do realize I traveled across the entire spans of Europe before I was thirteen, right?"
Jemma scowled, rolling her brown eyes. "Yes, because of your father's occupation that you never really told me of, I know —"
"— And that I lived in Granada and Florence as a foreign exchange student for a combined six months studying for college?" Tristan's grin grew, leaning on her elbow.
"As you like to remind me often enough yes—" Jemma stopped mid-sentence to fix Tristan a dark look, stabbing a finger her way and then downwards. "Interrupt me one more time and I'll take back all my gifts, starting with that cup you seem to cherish so much. I still got the receipt for that you know, so I suggest you zip it."
Tristan clamped both her mouth and snarky comeback shut with a huff, but not without sticking her tongue out in a last bit of defiance. Whether it was an empty threat or not, she felt it was best to not tempt it.
As if reading her mind, a triumphant grin snuck its way across Jemma's face as she dropped her hand. "Good girl, now as I was saying," the woman steepled her hands together. "I know you traveled a lot as a kid—you told me repeatedly remember? That's great and all, and I'm happy for you. But that was then, what about recently?"
Tristan tried her best as not to make a face. Alright, she'd admit it, Jemma hit it on the head. It had been awhile She supposed it was one of the leading reasons as to why her and her cohorts decided to try their luck in Montreal when it came to their fledging studio, besides the friendlier environment for newcomers in the game making business. Mmm… perhaps a vacation was in order. Of course, after they finished their current project of course since they were on a rather tight schedule right now.
Wholly ignoring her friend's suddenly absent stare, Jemma continued with what sounded like a future lecture."Look, Trish, just… hear me out. You just graduated with your MBA, and now in the process of moving to Canada to pursue your dream job… Which is, don't get me wrong, awesome. But… really, all you are doing now is just what? Sticking around town? I honestly thought you were slightly more adventurous than flopping on the nearest couch to play the newest video game or to binge watch Game of Thrones and Supernatural again."
Not a bad idea considering half those trips I spoke of were not necessarily voluntary on my part. Tristan mentally rumbled, trying best as not to furrow her brow as she took a far slower drink from her coffee. Nor were they exactly 'vacation' material either.
But Jemma did not need to know either of those tidbits. Ever. For that would unload a shit storm they'd never exactly recover from. Thus, after setting her now empty mug down, she leaned back in her chair, locking her fingers together. "So, I suppose I get your point, but… what's the notebook for then?" she asked out loud, waving said writing pad through the air. What did this have to do with traveling or lack thereof?
"Besides a going away present?" Jemma shrugged, a rather nostalgic expression on her face as she cupped her chin. "Well… as silly as it would sound, my late grandpa had a way of writing down about all his adventures," the woman mused prior to locking eyes with Tristan and minutely smiling. "Give it a chance, maybe you will pick it up too."
"Yeah okay." She rolled her eyes, getting up to get more coffee.
Present Day
Tristan couldn't help but make a face, rubbing the side of her pounding head. She wasn't exactly sure as to why that conversation came to mind right now, but she couldn't help but bitterly laugh at the irony of it all. Her friend wanted her to travel more? Well shit, it was rather safe to say Jemma got her wish. Like a particular Hobbit getting thirteen dwarves at his door, she suddenly found herself getting dropped off into an unexpected adventure… Except with a modern twist that included no working phone, passport, and nary an idea as to how she got there in the first place.
Basically, she was Bilbo Baggins without a handkerchief, and the so-called dragon was nothing more than a horrible prank. She was somewhat tempted to spite the reminiscence and pull out her gifted notebook, only to jot down rather rude indications as to where Jemma, or whomever, can stick it.
The question became then, whose idea was this? For surely there was an orchestrator to this whole exploit. Was it her coworkers? Catherine? Someone else, (Jemma probably), thinking 'Trish needs a vacation guys, let's drop her off [insert place] here!'? On that note, she wouldn't put it past Cat to hire a male stripper just for shits and giggles. Tousled hair? Dark eyes? Bitch was getting back at her for the Bar Event, she just knew it.
She gritted her teeth prior to wincing again, but this time ignored the urge to rub at her throbbing head. How could money be so damn heavy and since when did coin purses come into style again? Bah, Tristan at least supposed they, whoever they were that was, dropped her off in a semi-familiar area. While Florence hadn't exactly been her first choice back in undergrad, she couldn't lie that it was not a pleasant experience overall after Vienna fell through. Walking under the shadows of such great edifices as Il Duomo and the famed Piazza del Signoria made one slightly humbler afterwards. All that history… Simply put, it was breathtaking. It was only a pity her student exchange program lasted such a short time. That, and she had always liked the fact locals could speak tolerable English for it was a Godsend whenever she had gotten lost in the labyrinthine streets of Florence. Even when the assistance was from the cute yet slightly annoying ones.
Speaking of…
Tristan pushed the cloth of the impromptu hiding place she had chosen this time aside. The cramped shed didn't conceal her quite as well as the stall she used just prior, but beggars could not be choosers for it had served its purpose nonetheless. Which was keeping out of sight from an extremely entranced teenager slash young adult. Judging by how his head went this and that way, she had to guess he was still searching for her. She temporarily felt bad when she caught a glimpse of puppy-like confusion on the young man's face.
Had it been wrong of her to ditch him when his attention was elsewhere?
Yeah.
Had it been slightly rude to disappear out of the blue even though he had been borderline creepy? Probably.
Notwithstanding, it didn't mean he was off the hook. He did follow her without prompting and all. Even if he had been trying to help.
He-er Federico, (she recalled his name), looked torn. Why was that? Did it have anything to do with that group of other teenagers-? Tristan scowled. Why was she even asking these questions? She didn't care. He was an interesting and... okay yes, an attractive stranger, and he did offer some valuable input. However, that was it. She wanted no part in his craziness, and if that required her jumping into abandoned sheds and stalls to get away, so be it.
He must have eventually made up his mind a few minutes later, because his shoulders slumped prior to running off in the direction of those earlier hooligans. A breath of relief slipped from her lips. Finally, something else finally caught his attention.
…buuuuuuuut, before extricating herself from the cramped space, she ruminated about her twin's shenanigans while they were kids. Federico running off like that- it could be a fluke. Give a person enough false security to come out of hiding, only to nab them afterwards. God, how she had hated Brent for doing that. Thus, just like her nine-year old self, she silently counted to that of ten Mississippi before deciding he was indeed gone and slid out of the shed with nary a sound. She kept low while skirting the outside edge of the structure, keeping an ear open for any shuffling feet. If anyone from afar spotted her and found the behavior odd, they didn't say anything— or at least out loud that was. Would not be the first time…
Once she cleared the shed, Tristan had to force her legs into keeping a brisk walking pace as she made her way out of the plaza, feeling vulnerable the entire way, despite the evening crowd. Yet she maintained, instead of the full out run they sorely craved to carry out. Much as she wanted to get back into the safety that was the shadows again, Tristan knew she could not draw more attention than was necessary to herself. As slow going as walking was- she knew without a doubt sprinting as if the Devil himself were after her was not the way. Regardless of how tempting it was to get the hell away from the general proximity of Tall, Dark, and Crazy as fast as freaking possible.
However, it was weird, if not disconcerting, for it seemed every other person within a stone's throw was freaking staring as she turned onto the first alleyway she encountered.
Not really out of the ordinary, the woman mused. She had purposefully dyed streaks into her hair in all those crazy college years to make a statement. But… a gut feeling told her this type of staring was not like that. And it was what unnerved her the most.
"They're acting like they've never seen a lady with red streaks before," the brunette dryly muttered under her breath as she tied her snow jacket around her waist, watching one such spectator hurry on his merry way after having been caught. Hell if she didn't know any better, it even felt like they've never seen a woman in pants before.
Probably because they hadn't. It was intended as a joke. Really. A silly little joke because the very concept of being in Renaissance Italy was silly and ridiculous. Yet she still found herself stalling in the middle of the alley frowning.
She couldn't be in Renaissance Italy since time travel was impossible. Had to be, because it was only a thing that happens in books and movies— and in real life, there was no such thing as time travel despite the many claims otherwise. The last scientist who had claimed that 'fact' had been proved to be nothing more than a doctorate on hardcore hallucinatory drugs. Then there was that scientist from Abstergo. What was his name? Hopkins? Hartman? Ah right, she remembered now. Dr. Robert Henshaw, one of Abstergo's leading researchers who had disappeared a few years back. Smart smart man, but apparently had a track record of trying to prove the impossible. There had been a big news story about it. How he was last seen walking into his secured office but supposedly never walked back out again. Sadly, after a year of searching by authorities, neither he nor his body were ever found again. Several conspiracy theorists claimed it was an attempt at teleportation that failed miserably, ending him up in some type of shadowzone doomed for all of eternity…
Tristan shook the thought away with a scowl chiding herself, "You're seriously considering the possibility? You're being ridiculous, Trish." There was no such thing as time travel. Period. This… this entire situation was nothing more than a roofie induced vacation, and would probably spell the last time she trusted any of her drinks in the presence of her coworkers. It was just a very convincing Ren Faire event. Nothing more.
The young woman almost expected a half-assed built TARDIS to be around the corner with Greg or Paul dressed as the Doctor, Tessa as a companion, and if she had to guess, Chris in a homemade Dalek outfit. She could just see it too, all of them would be exiting the blue cardboard 'Police Box', and then starting to say those ridiculous Whovian-esque witticisms while waving homemade sonic screwdrivers.
But of course, there wasn't as she turned said corner- for that would have been ridiculous too. Just as ridiculous as a trench coat clad 'Castiel' appearing unexpectedly to whisk her away on God knows what. Nope it was just another unpaved street with carts and people in it going about their day. … an odd observation even if it was a Renaissance Faire.
As she continued, it suddenly hit her why she was so antsy— it was far too quiet. It was funny how much you notice something the moment you no longer have it. She found it eerie not hearing the obnoxious sound of honking horns, the buzzing of air conditioners, the annoying catchy modern pop or Italian songs, no … well anything really. It was as if everything had been muted save for the occasional dog barking or a heated discussion slowly getting louder. It made her raise an eyebrow though when she recognized the Italian drawl that was their version of English. Wasn't often to hear her home language being spoken so readily here, because during her three months of residence she had always heard Italian being spoken more often than naught.
And by god, the smells here. The last three years had apparently changed Florence, for they were nothing like the last time. Years of living in the city, any one for that matter, had gotten Tristan used to the heavy odor of rubber on tar, the sharp scent of gas, and the choking pollution of vehicle exhaust. Instead what she got was baking bread, of someone not using deodorant times a hundred (pee-ew), and was that…? She sniffed, afterwards wrinkling her nose, yes it was the unmistakable foul stench of fresh shit.
Tristan's heart started to hammer as another corner went by with no signs of modern amenities in sight. Her pace quickened. This can be explained…
Except she was struggling to find a reasonable explanation for why there was no light posts or sidewalks. Why there were no annoying mopeds cutting off everyone, and on that note where were all the tourists? The cars? The street signs? Hell- for all the years she hated seeing litter and graffiti, she was even desperately clinging to the hope of seeing some sort of litter. An aluminum can, a discarded napkin, fuck even some asshat tossing his used disgusting wad of gum to the side.
So, she was more than surprised to find herself disheartened to find none of that as she stopped in the looming shadow of San Lorenzo- another famous monument that looked so damn new and devoid of any type of vandalism whatsoever despite being over five hundred years old. She was even looking for the eyesore of an abandoned lot that was nearby, only to find a beautiful unmarred statue in its place.
"This can be explained," she repeated, this time being vocal in the weakest of voices as she pressed her back against the building, suddenly finding herself out of breath, and thinking back to what Federico said prior to her sudden flight.
How he acted when she told him about snow.
How he dressed.
How he looked at her as if she was kind of alien, when she asked about using a phone.
How he kept staring at her damn jacket-.
The song of metal being scraped against leather sliced through her troubled thoughts.
She jerked, looking over to find a group of guards glaring daggers her direction. In other instances, she'd have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of their get up. Seriously? Who did they think they were? King John's personal guard? However, she found herself unable to do that now, not when both of their hands were wrapped around the pommels of their very real half drawn swords, their metal glinting in the light of the twilight sun.
There was a brief standoff as they regarded each other before she quickly broke eye contact and hurried away. No point in giving them an excuse to come over. Her with no passport and no inclination as to how she got here, would just be a field day for them no doubt. So right up to the point of turning the corner, she felt their eyes on the back of her head.
Even as she left their line of sights, her heart was practically trying to jump out of her chest. Too close. The remaining parts of her brain that still had some kind of rationality muttered. Way way too close. She went around another corner before finding a wide boulevard mostly devoid of people. Dammit. Tristan despaired. If they came after… She had nowhere to hide…
Those were swords and armor and-.
She was so stuck in her thoughts she would have nearly walked off into the Arno if it weren't for the loose cobblestone that she kicked up. The resulting kasploosh made her startle. Before she knew it, she was teetering on the edge, facing one long drop into water.
"What the fuck?!" She hissed, her arms flailing. When the hell was this bridge under construction?!
Tristan sucked in deep breaths as fight-or-flight took over, her arms pinwheeling to try and keep balance. After what seemed like long agonizing minutes, she managed to get herself into an upright position. A breath of relief whooshed out as she stepped back from the edge.
… or not.
She barely heard the heavy thuds of footsteps before something brushed her from behind, barreling her forward. She briefly saw red from the corner of her eye before gravity took over, and she found herself helplessly falling into open air.
Fuck my life. She silently snarled.
~*End*~
Want to thank my friend/roommate CaptainAliceHook for being so patient with me as I busted out this chapter, alongside redhairedwriter7 for letting me borrow Jemma.
Please R&R, and I'll see about hoofing out the next chapter as fast as possible.
Cheers!
-TK
