Not an April's Fool joke I promise. This is a real post.

There's actually a very subtle Easter Egg in this chapter. Cookies if you catch it ;D Also I would have knocked out this chapter sooner if I hadn't gotten my hands on Mass Effect: The Legendary Edition

So uh... oops?

I hope you enjoy the madness!

~*XIV*~

Angel of Small Theft and the Aspirin Scene

"We're going to teach you how to survive."

While the "we" threw Tristan off, it was the last word that captivated her attention the most: survive. That was a loaded word— a connotation she was all too familiar with. Time would tell if Paola's definition would match her own teen days. At first, it merely had been an hour or two, but as she grew older, that hour became five, five became a day, and then the day became three. She remembered "find me" often being her coin phrase as the car or train pulled away. And each and every time, she would find herself alone on some empty street or semi-crowded subway with nothing but the clothes on her back. Didn't matter if it was a village or a bustling city; she was always expected to find a way.

To—as their dear host put it— survive.

On the other hand, Ezio was understandably confused by it all and looked to implore more on the subject as his lips pursed. He glanced at his brother, but Federico's attention had been taken up by an exciting spot on the wall. "'We'…?"

But Paola clapped her hands together. From the shadows, several courtesans seemingly breezed in. "Take our guest to the courtyard and keep him comfortable. I'll be sure shortly." They immediately fell upon a confused but equally pleased Ezio, cooing and gushing with roaming hands. Some of the comments had Tristan rolling her eyes as she glanced sideways. Disappointingly enough, she found that Federico's attention had not left the wall since the last she looked to take in his dumbass brother. Not even to glance appraisingly either as one of the prettier girls with big doe eyes stopped next to him. He didn't even budge as the courtesans escorted Ezio to wherever. Curious at what could possibly be so fascinating, Tristan followed his line of sight but was disappointed when she saw nothing of high interest save for maybe one of the promiscuous paintings— which she doubted was the source of his fixation.

Eventually, Paola pivoted to fixate a rather frigid look. "He does not know the significance of the robes he wears, does he?" It was an innocent enough question, but her taut tone spoke otherwise.

It was not befitting the situation, but Tristan found herself dryly chortling as she ran a hand through her tangled, damp hair. Why was she not surprised at such a revelation? But then her hand paused. Wait. If she knew about the robes, then that must mean Paola was affiliated with the Assassins too—and she strongly suspected she was one herself. And… to discover that Ezio had no idea was a little surprising.

Tristan opened her mouth but promptly shut it again amidst a sudden hailstorm of chastising. She reminded herself it wasn't her place to be here, let alone ask about affairs that did not concern her. Because, oh right, that would go over swimmingly.

And so, she crossed her arms and stayed quiet, merely observing.

The only sign Federico heard Paola's inquiry was his stance stiffening. She noted that his hands, once lax, were now tightened into shaking fists. They relaxed, and a long, drawn-out sigh filled the room as he sunk or, more like collapsed on the closest couch, rubbing his face with both hands. "No—" he replied, his voice muffled. One of his hands eventually ran a path through his hair before palming the back of his neck. "But you already knew that, of course. Father had not deemed him ready yet. And when he finally did—" it came out so soft, Tristan had to strain her ears to catch all of it as his voice cracked and his eyes fell to the floor. "—well, I believe you also know how that tale ended."

"...I do." The lines in Paola's face softened, and she sat next to him, taking up his hand to gently squeeze it. "I know the words are hollow ones, but I am truly sorry for your and your family's loss. He will be greatly missed in the days to come."

He squeezed her hand back with little reaction save for a sharp dip of his chin. But the solace was brief as the corners of his lips turned downwards. He lifted his head and studied Paola's face for an uncomfortable amount of time before cocking it. Tristan certainly did not like how amber his eyes began to turn as they slowly narrowed. "There is something else, isn't there?" The way he said it was a quiet, unassuming one, and yet the sudden tension in the air only served to bring attention akin to a horn in the fog.

Paola's features immediately turned dark as she averted her gaze, which could only mean bad news, bears. Tristan even wondered if she would say anything before she spoke again with a frustrated vent:"Shortly before you and your current company arrived, my girls heard word that Francesco de'Pazzi has been released from the Signoria per the Gonfalonier's orders." While she had supplied all of this in a clipped voice, Tristan admired that she refused to mince her words.

The air in the room seemed to drop ten or-so degrees before he yanked his hand away and stood up, still staring at her. "What," he icily ground out the word in such a manner that Tristan was sure it rivaled the snowstorm still howling outside.

But unperturbed by his sudden mood change, Paola coolly met his gaze folding her hands in her lap. "Your father was the one who held the proof, no? As I remember, Uberto held Francesco on his and Lorenzo's request before the trial. With Giovanni now gone, so too are the documents necessary to hold Francesco on his murder charge. Coincidentally, new evidence was supplied, and he was acquitted and released as an innocent man."

That hit like a mule kick to the chest. "That must have been the sheaf of papers Ezio gave to Uberto last night," Tristan murmured, suddenly nauseous as she gripped the nearest chair in an effort to stabilize herself. It must have been far louder than she intended, for both pairs of eyes sharply turned on her, pinning her to the wall like a butterfly on display.

Not that she noticed, for the night's events played on loop in her head. Despite the tell-tale burning sensation that started to form behind her eyes, she shook her head. I knew something was wrong, and— dammit, why didn't I listen to myself? I should have pushed harder.

Federico cut off the offending thoughts with a vicious growl, and she internally recoiled, expecting the worst. But to her surprise, his anger was not directed at her as he began to pace the room. "He will pay for this."

Despite not wanting to, she gained the courage to speak as something flicked the back of her head. "I don't think he was alone in this endeavor, though. I saw another man there." And an ethereal lady with a severe hate-boner, Tristan couldn't help but add. "He was standing behind Uberto in a big black hood at the trial. I... never got the opportunity to see his face, but it was pretty clear that they were working together. He gave the go-ahead after all. Unless I am mistaken, and there is someone that outranks Uberto's position in the city?"

"...yes, you are right." He murmured, rubbing his chin. "There was another man. And no, Uberto's role as Gonfalonier of Justice is unsurpassed. Unless..." He trailed off. "My father clearly knew him, but—" he stopped, his eyebrows drawn low as he turned towards them. "It must mean this other man was a Templar. The question is, who?" His eyes switched to Paola, a hopeful gleam in them.

Unfortunately, Paola was already shaking her head reproachfully. "I am sorry, Federico, but I do not know whose table Uberto dined from. But this man must have been someone of high office if he entered the city without much fanfare."

"Hmm," he clearly did not want to hear that. "Well, if that is the case, I suppose we can do nothing at the moment but speculate about his identity." He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in such a fashion that made it fluff up as he stood, his mind clearly switching gears: "If it is alright with you, Paola, I would like to speak to your girls at first chance. I'm afraid my sources believe me dead, and I wish as not to bring unnecessary attention to them, or myself for that matter. However, the faster we can find where Uberto hid, the faster we can rid the city of a rat. And perhaps identify this mysterious menace."

Paola didn't give it much thought before she dipped her head, "Granted. My girls will be more than welcome to assist you and your family on whatever you need. And, "she surprisingly gestured at Tristan, "your English friend here as well. However," she paused, her mouth twitched. "I kindly ask that you do be gentle with them. They are some of my best, and I would hate to have to replace them."

Federico cracked a grin. "Would I even be an Auditore if otherwise?"

Paola tsked while flicking a manicured hand, turning gracefully. "Let us hope that belief also holds true with your brother. If you'll excuse me then, I shall set out and prepare our newest member for his tribulations. Time is of the essence, and I'm afraid that we do not have much of it."

Before she left, Federico clasped his hands around her own, squeezing them." Thank you, Paola. We are eternally in your debt."

The Madame jerked her head and promptly left— well, more like glided out of the room. Tristan was suddenly struck with an icy wave of cold that washed over her, and it threatened to choke her as she braced herself against the closest furniture. She shifted slightly afterwards, and an unfortunately familiar lump made its presence known against her leg as it bumped the chair. Her hand pulled it out unconsciously, and she looked down at the golden annoyance that was the source of all her current problems.

Her hand began to shake the longer she looked at the Clock. The longer she memorized every blemish and every mark on its surface. She was vaguely aware of Federico inquiring what she was doing with that slight tint of fear. But words were impossible. She didn't even know if they could be formed in the chaotic wilds that was her mind as colors and lights and emotions bombarded her.

An alien sound soon escaped her, and she saw blood red. She abruptly pulled it back over her shoulder and pivoted. She had every intention to slam the cursed damn thing headlong at the nearest wall. But sadly, she was robbed; her mind braked as Federico quickly caught her wrist. Numbly and shaking, she risked a look to find him fixating on her with dark irises. It unnerved her to see them carrying such a sense of knowing.

"You are angry," was all he said after a long pause. Calm. Collected.

Everything, unfortunately, she currently was not. Which made her anger flare just a little brighter. Worse even, had that been pity she had heard? Was that worry she spied in his eyes before they flicked disapprovingly to the Clock in her hand?

She expected him to say something. Anything. Chastise her. Tell her that her actions— no, that she was stupid. But, of course, he did none of these things and merely retained eye contact, his hand neither tightening nor loosening around her wrist.

Say something, please. A part of her pleaded. To break the silence that seemed to be pressing against the walls. Against the doors. Smothering and choking her, leaving too much fuel for the intrusive thoughts to begin whispering in her ears. And yet, not a single sound escaped him save his measured breaths. Tristan gritted her teeth, finding herself more perturbed at being called out than feeling any sense of shame. It felt tempting to snap at him. Hell, to resist or fight. But in the end, she yielded, loosening her muscles. Immediately, he let her go, and she dropped her wrist, unceremoniously clunking the offensive Clock on the table as she turned on him, glaring.

"He doesn't know,"

she finally seethed through her teeth, empty hands now clenching as whatever rage or terror whirled inside her.

Federico's expression did not change as he tilted his head, but she could see something in his eyes as he subtly dropped them. "No."

"And yet you're encouraging him. Without giving him a choice in the manner. Without so much as telling him this isn't a one-time thing."

"Tristan—" he began to say, already sounding exasperated at the brewing argument, but she cut him off by bringing her fist down on the table.

"Don't you dare 'Tristan' me." As she pulled the now bruised appendage away, a tiny part of her was unsure as to whom she was furious at. Or if she was even angry to begin with as whatever caged beast roiled and rioted behind her chest. She didn't want to be here. She just wanted this to be over. Better yet, to wake up and let all of this be a nightmare.

And yet her mouth continued to speak, refusing to acknowledge the command to shut up as she brought her face closer to his. "It's not enough that Giovanni died today? Or that a child— Federico, your own brother, nearly followed suit? Now you and Paola both wish to rile up Ezio who isn't even thinking straight to kill the man responsible who just happens to be the most influential figure at this very moment? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Do you think so little of us?" He rubbed at his forehead, stifling a vent, but he kept his cool as he softly continued. "Do you truly believe I am satisfied with any of this? Because I am not. Nor will I ever be. With that said, what would you have us do? Would you rather have him go in unprepared and get killed? Ezio is set on this path; you and I both know this. We have seen it firsthand, no? That look in his eyes? The rage. The helplessness. I know that you're not naive enough to believe he will be swayed from this. No matter what we— I will say, he will ensure blood is repaid. So is it not best to give him the tools and set him straight? Don't you agree that it would be best for him to be prepared for what could come so he can come back home?"

"Well yeah, sure," she drawled. "If someone told him why this even happened in the first place."

He grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I assure you— he will be told. Eventually. But until then— I swear to you on whatever belief you have that he will not be alone in this endeavor. He will have help every step of the way."

"Oh really?" She viciously scoffed. "Could have fooled me given I've only seen you and one other Assassin helping."

That got to him, and it killed her a little inside to see Federico recoil. He schooled his expression, despite his tone betraying him as he rumbled, "I do not know what it is like in your future—"

"Don't bring that into this." She quietly growled, fists clenched.

He ignored her. "— but in this time and place, we are not the powerful Order we once were. Ever since Masyaf has fallen, we have been scattered to the four winds. We take what we can get with the help that is available to us, and unfortunately— it is just us."

It's worse where I am from, actually. She dryly snorted as one of her hands twitched. "That still doesn't just—."

But he cut her off with a raised hand. "Tell me, what are our tenets?"

'Our'? An eyebrow threatened to disappear into her hairline. First 'we,' then 'us,' now this? She didn't realize she was in on this hot mess. Nor did it seem an appropriate time to start discussing philosophical rules to a secular cult— but alright, she'd bite. Tristan crossed her arms with a stern brow. "Alright," she drawled. "Do you want the layman's terms for those? Or the original translation? Just forewarning— my Arabic is ass."

Federico was not amused as he leveled a look. "Humor me," he paused, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it further into a bird's nest as he added a muttered but borderline desperate "please."

She didn't know whether it was the defeated look in his pleading eyes or the way he spoke, but her volcanic temper cooled significantly. Tristan awkwardly rubbed at an arm as she cleared her throat. "...Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent," she mumbled, the words begrudgingly coming to her after so long being locked up in the deepest, darkest, cobweb-filled hole in her head. "Hide in plain sight and never compromise the Brotherhood."

"That is good; you do remember." He sat down on the couch, a half-laugh, half-groan escaping him as he rubbed his face, "Did you know that there's an unofficial fourth one? Father told me about it once after returning from one of Lorenzo's dealings in Siena. Would you like to take a guess?

She shook her head.

"Never get involved with politics."

This time the snort was not so quiet, and it earned her a creased brow. No fucking shit. That was the basic foundation of every Thanksgiving dinner if you knew what was smart. Out loud, however, she dipped her chin forward in a clipped, "Smart man, your father."

"He most certainly was. And yet..." Federico crossed his arms, and she noted his gaze drifted in the direction where everyone had left. A sound, she wasn't sure if it was a sigh or a snort, escaped him again. "I am no fool, Tristan. And I would be lying if I said my father was a popular man after his actions. He knew exactly what would happen the day he swore fealty to Lorenzo de'Medici. Paola was one of the few that stayed behind to aid him, but the rest..." He trailed off. "I suppose I don't blame them."

She must have made a face because he looked equal parts baffled and annoyed as he turned. "What?"

"I can't believe it—" she shook her head venomously. "You're defending them. Even after what happened?" She swung her hand around and stabbed a finger outside, her mouth twisting. "Need I remind you in their lack of action, they left three innocents to die. They were so caught up in their own pissing contest with your father, they left a child to hang on the gallows. Fuck them, I say. Fuck all of them. The writing is on the wall. If I had not acted—or more like if the stupid Clock hadn't activated and stopped everything in its tracks, or God forbid, if I so much as missed—you would not be here."

She regretted the words as soon as she said them. She slapped a hand to her mouth, but it was already too late. What was spilled out could not be put back into the cup— no matter how much she tried.

Guilt hit her like a truck as she took in Federico's stunned expression. You fucking idiot, she mentally groaned as she collapsed onto the couch to him, pressing her knuckles against her eyes.

"...what happened?" He quietly said after a long, painful minute, and Tristan, shuttering her eyes, wished upon all the stars above she had just kept her stupid mouth shut.

When she said nothing, Federico pressed on, his voice becoming softer as he repeated her name. She almost broke down when one of his hands landed on her shoulder. "Please... I must know. What did she say to you? Or at least... why was the Piece of Eden used?"

It felt hard to breathe as she gripped the table with white knuckles. Soon she became hyper-aware that her heartbeat was thudding in tandem with the words, 'You cannot save them.' Tristan shuttered her burning eyes again, inhaling through her nose. Weak.

"I had to make a choice." Fuck, the words were right there on the very tip of her tongue. It was as easy as opening her mouth and saying them.

But she didn't. Couldn't? Or was it wouldn't?

The words began to turn sour now, burning the inside of her mouth as she stared into nothing."I had to make a choice because I ran out of time." A cynical part of her dryly laughed, causing her to hook her nails into her palms as they began to shake again: God, you really are weak.

"I'm sorry, Federico. I had to choose someone." She wanted to choke out. But she still couldn't because, realistically, she was absolutely terrified of the consequences.

"... I can't," she eventually forced out, stiffly removing her hands to run them through her hair. They ended up grasping either side of her head as she bowed it, harshly whispering, "I just can't. Not right now. I honestly don't know what or why it happened. But," a hysterical laugh escaped her. "I suppose it didn't matter because I couldn't do enough."

Only silence met her answer.

The goddamn smothering silence.

Eventually, he emitted a sigh, "It's alright. I understand. I shouldn't have pushed."

How disappointed he sounded. He hated her, didn't he? She was not surprised at such an idea. Hell, she had half-expected it the very moment the blade left her hand, but nonetheless, it hurt all the same and spying his face only seemed to twist that knife harder. But God did it hurt when he pulled his hand away.

"...we should," she hoarsely began to say after what felt like forever, rubbing the back of her hand against her face. It sounded so pitiful in the deafening silence. "We should probably go see what Ezio and them are up to, then."

Federico abruptly put his hand up, causing her to clamp up in terror. "In a moment— Ezio is in good hands. I just have one last question. You...don't have to answer it if you do not wish to."

When she blinked owlishly at him, he uncharacteristically became flustered as he added, "Since when are you from England?"

"W-what. Why?" She resisted staring, for the pure randomness of the question caught her off guard. Of course, she wondered if that had been his intent. If so, it was indeed working. Already she felt the tendrils that had grasped her shoulders loosen a little as she looked at him bewildered. "Do I have an accent or something?"

"No, no, of course not," Federico hurriedly said, putting his hands up in surrender. He shortly paused and proceeded to scrunch up his face looking a bit sheepish as he mulled on it."Well... I suppose that would be a lie; your accent is definitely a strange one. However, that's not the reason I ask. I... I just noticed that Paola called you 'English.'" He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was merely curious about it, is all."

Tristan blinked once more, eyes gliding over to the direction that Paola had left through as she scratched the back of her head in thought. On the literal scale, Tristan knew that there was a ton of European in her family's heritage. English definitely comprised one branch, but French was supposedly a big one on her paternal grandmother's side too, and rumor even had it there was even a little Filipino and Yaran on her mother's side. Short of taking an actual Ancestry DNA test, though, it was only a guessing game.

"Uh," she twiddled her fingers. "I would guess Annetta told her that. We… kind of had to pull something out of our asses to explain where I came from, ya know?" Upon prompting from Federico, she told him the rest of what happened last night and afterwards rubbed the side of her head."Granted, it's...it's not quite a lie? I'm honestly more of a mutt, but my great-grandfather did emigrate from London" A thought occurred to her, and a secretive but amused smile twitched at her lips as she finally faced him. "S'pose it works out for me, though. Can't exactly say I'm from the far-off country of Oohsa, now can I?"

It was his turn to be caught off-guard before a wheezing bark of laughter escaped causing him to keel over slightly. He shortly winced afterwards, bringing a hand to his side."Alright, that is fair. But please, I beg of you—don't make me laugh. It hurts to do that."

It was then she realized she was finally able to see the full extent of damage that Federico had suffered. His face was a motley color of blues, crimsons, and blacks. His left eye and nose were swollen exponentially. His lip busted. It was hard to tell if this was from the soldiers from last night or the overenthusiastic jailers dragging him to the gallows. But the worst of them all, the one that made Tristan's breath catch in her throat, was the angry red mark that marred his neck.

And to think... that was just the wounds she saw. She couldn't imagine the marks and bruises his shirt covered. She had noted the position his hand had landed on, and she heavily suspected a rib injury."Jesus, you look like ass—do you need to see a doctor?" She asked softly, even though she questioned the sanctity of this period's medical science.

Federico frowned but immediately shook his head. I'm afraid the one that was here has already left, and I don't know if it'll be safe to go looking for him or another at this moment. Not with so many guards out there."

Fair. She couldn't argue with that, but she puffed out her cheeks. "I think you should still get yourself cleaned up. Or... at least a change of clothes." She ignored the potential protesting at such a statement as her eyes landed on a particular spot, this time on the side of his head. There was a nasty blemish there, and it was alarming to see that this one was very fresh and already starting to scab.

"Your head..." Tristan scooted closer, a hand placed on his cheek to gently turn it. "Did that happen in the fight?" It took her far too long to realize that she was actively touching him. As a result, she pulled her hand back, pretending to brush imaginary debris out of his hair, looking flustered because of it, but he appeared or at least pretended not to notice as he shrugged.

"It's alright," he tried not to flinch when he ghosted his own fingers over it. "And... no, I just..." He grew flustered again, and Tristan found the action rather endearing as he started rubbing the back of his head only to mutter, "Uh, bumped it against the ground when the rope was cut."

"When the rop—" She froze as it dawned on her, and she proceeded to stammer, "Oh-oh, God. 'Rico! I'm so so sorry— I didn't mean to—"

He cut her off with waving hands, trying not to laugh, but failing horribly at it. "Don't be. I'm alive, aren't I? You saw to that." A hand reached over and squeezed her own. A corner of his lip quirked."Just consider us even now."

Tristan opened her mouth but then shut it as her eyes narrowed. She had the mind to chastise him that hitting his head on a cobblestone street was a much different experience before a calloused hand interrupted that train of thought by gently cupping her chin. Well, she startled owlishly; safe to say she hadn't seen that coming. Now it was her turn to be the patient as his eyes looked her over. "Although, I am afraid that you haven't fared much better either. That is a ghastly bruise if I ever saw one," he murmured, turning her head slightly.

Tristan didn't need to ask for confirmation as to which one he was referring to, for she winced when the skin was pulled tight around her cheek in the action. She noted he appeared melancholic as he dropped his hand."May I ask as to how you got it?"

She fidgeted, suddenly finding everything else in the room more interesting than him and his dumb and unexpectedly handsome face. Wait— she chastised herself— he absolutely was not handsome. Or at least not in that way.

She twisted her ring."I... may have run into one of the soldiers after everything sped up and went shit side up."

"Tristan."

"Okay, fine," she became even more flushed as her oath of silence dissolved."He may have punched me in the process out of pure terror."

"Better." Another chuckle escaped him as he leaned back, but not before lightly bumping her shoulder with a crooked grin."Judging by those knuckles, would I be assuming wrong by saying you returned the favor?"

"No," Tristan bumped him back, the last of the tension in her shoulders gone. She realized what he had done, and she found herself thankful for it. Clever bastard changing the subject like that. There was a slight smile teasing the corner of her lips as her mind went back to earlier. When she had proceeded to crack the said soldier over the head with his own polearm."You wouldn't be wrong."

She found herself taking his hand into her own and squeezing it back. Thank you.

"Jesus Christ, that is disgusting."

Tristan resisted the urge to facepalm. Or to laugh. Both were equally tempting, but she settled on exasperatedly sighing. "Rico," she said as she capped off the painkillers and slipped them back into her bag. "I told you as not to chew them when I gave them to you."

"I didn't, though—" she heard him mutter between his moments of gagging. "I did as you said."

"Uh-huh."

Note to self: she mused, kicking the bag under the bed. Next time, get some water or something the next time I decide to dole out modern medicine.

Tristan rolled her eyes at his back and ignored his subsequent whining and quiet sounds of repugnance as she tipped her own head back and proceeded to dry-swallow the two pills she had taken out for herself. Hopefully, this would alleviate the pain and swelling. Just walking up the stairs had been brutal torture. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for him.

"C'mon," she clapped his shoulder. Let's get see what Paola's version of 'survival' entails. My bet there's a dress involved."

Federico's face was priceless before she turned, stifling a giggle under her breath.

Much to Tristan's utter and great disappointment, Ezio had not been placed in a dress in the period they had been separated. But he had shed out of the robes and neatly set them aside on a nearby table. An action she was secretly thankful for since she hadn't quite shaken the sensation of her skin crawling seeing the familiar white-beaked hood peer at her from across the room.

They had been escorted to the back of the brothel by none other than Cecilia. If the courtesan had noted the sudden redness to Tristan's cheeks as she passed her, she didn't bat an eye. But she did notice that the courtesan cocked a hip and sent an appreciative smile towards Federico. Because why not.

She didn't need to know if he ignored her or not as she turned.

Tristan was pleasantly surprised to find that as soon as the door was open, she was met with a well-protected courtyard that the snow and ice managed as not to permeate, thanks to the thick vine-covered latticework that ran overhead. In the corners were dry fountains surrounded by large flowering bushes—no doubt a sight to behold when spring came around. Besides the entrance into the brothel, three other arches lead out into the street, but for the moment, gates were shut and secured.

As she followed the brown vines that still stubbornly clung to the walls and latticework surrounding them, she speculated that while it was easy for anyone in the courtyard to look out, it was nigh impossible for any outsiders to look in.

There were about a dozen people in the courtyard besides Paola, Ezio, Federico, and herself. Most of them were courtesans, but a couple of servants were all milling about and probably what she would speculate to be male prostitutes."How is he doing" Federico took up residence to the right of Paola, neatly folding his hands behind his back as he observed, although he did send a charming smile to a nearby pair of girls who tittered.

"He is doing quite well; better than I expected, in fact," the Madame mused as Ezio slipped in and out of sight amongst the brightly colored dressed and ribbons. "I suspect you had a hand in that."

Federico put on the most innocent face he could muster. "Someone had to; I was becoming tired of sweet-talking the men that Vespucci sent after him."

Tristan coughed behind a hand, stifling a smile as Ezio reappeared again on the far side of the courtyard. Paola beamed as she clapped her hands together. "Excellent, now that you've learned how to blend. We'll show you how to use it other than moving around. I'm going to teach you how to steal."

That perked Tristan up.

Hours had crept by since Paola had switched gears, and God, Tristan hated to say it; this was torture.

She focused back on Ezio again just in time for him to be detected in the middle of a feigned scream by one of the girls."Is that supposed to be pickpocketing? Because man, he's doing it wrong," she couldn't help but mutter under her breath."A blind man can see where he's going" Another yelp, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, "or more like hear where he's going."

"He is... definitely not faring well," Federico hummed in agreement scratching at his chin. He looked much better, washed up and in a borrowed change of clothes. Although, now that the filth was gone, the injuries that had been done to his face stood out far more in their purple and black glory. But thankfully, the swelling looked to be going down, and he appeared coherent as he turned his head. Hell, Tristan believed that even his black eye was looking better off. "Madonna, I do not wish to intrude, but it seems my brother is having a harder time than most. Is it possible we can provide him with a demonstration?"

Tristan's head snapped in his direction then Paola's. She suddenly did not like where this was going. Especially when he sent her a rather suspicious-looking grin.

"Perhaps," the Madame hummed. "Who do you have in mind for such a task?"

Tristan chose to ignore that question in favor of fixing a look— one she often saved for Greg or another one of her work cohorts when they were being difficult.

"Uhm, excuse me, but he's your brother." But of course, Federico was no Greg, and despite the easy smile, he matched her look with cool eyes. It didn't stop her, of course, as she crossed her arms.

"And remember all of this was your idea. Surely you should be the one to show him how to better pickpocket. Besides," she gesticulated as she scowled. "It has been made painfully apparent he hates me."

"Oh, he does not," he softly scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "And I'm merely decent— a novice if you will. However," he trailed off, turning to Paola while gesturing. "Believe me when I tell you, Tristan is clearly more of the expert here than I."

"Don't think buttering me up is going to change my mind, 'Rico. And anyway, you stole a coin purse and threw it into a back alley with no one seeing you," she pointed out flatly but with enough decency to whisper for the others not to overhear."That is not exactly 'novice' level stuff."

Paola's lips twitched."Is that so?"

"All lies. I am still merely practicing what you have taught me long ago, Paola," he said dismissively. "Nothing more. And Tristan, you're certainly too kind, but," he tutted and lifted a finger, waggling it. "Technically, not stealing if I gave it back."

"Semantics," Tristan threw her hands in a helpless manner, but he didn't back down.

In fact, it was safe to say he doubled down as he tutted again."Not to mention," he hummed in not-so-subtle amusement as he indicated Ezio weaving his way through the gathered crowd. They all watched him reach towards a courtesan's waist, hopefully for the purse hanging there."I am not the one getting frustrated every time he gets caught" As if on cue, there was another cry, and Federico's amusement turned into that of a triumphant smirk as Tristan's hand twitched. Even Paola was having difficulty keeping her expression in check.

Bastard. She shot a dirty look."...Fine, fine. You got me." She huffed, caving in as she pushed herself off the wall that she had been leaning against. But not without lightly shoving Federico for good measure. "I'll do it this once, but not for you. Only because I don't want him to stupidly get killed over his own two left feet." As Federico further stifled a laugh behind a hand, she turned to Paola and bowed. "Of course, only if you don't mind. I don't wish to step on your toes because of this braggart checking off his daily 'Must annoy someone' list."

Tristan found amusement in the fact they both ignored the subsequent and indignant"hey!" that escaped him as Paola dipped her head in approval. "You have quite the friend here, Federico," she hummed, playfully poking him in the chest. "One I look forward to talking more with. Be sure you keep this one. She will do you good."

Tristan didn't dwell on what that meant as she hurriedly waved, trying to catch her apparent new pupil's attention. "Ezio, wait a sec."

He turned, his cheeks flushed red in frustration. "What do you want?"

She scratched the back of her head, but it was Paola who piped up before she could even speak up. "She has volunteered to assist me in this matter. It appears that she has valuable experience in this field."

"No offense, but what would she know?" He frowned, taken back when he only met disappointment as Federico harrumphed.

"Believe me, far, far more than you do. So, I highly suggest you mind your tone, brother," he hummed, studying his nails. "Else, Tristan here may change her mind."

"Anyway," Tristan interjected. "I think you have promise, but right now, you are stumbling about like a drunken idiot. Your way of going at it is... atrocious, to say the least." She made a face when it seemed most of her words were going over his head, so she brought her hands up, stifling a sigh. "Okay, okay—I think I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's step back and start at square one. It's all about the hands, love."

At his deepening confusion, she put them up, wriggling her fingers at him. "Look, the basic thing is: you cannot go around groping about like you're in the dark. Rather, you have to be gentle, soft. Like you're caressing a lover." She jerked her head towards the gathered helpers, some of whom giggled and waved, making Ezio flush a deep crimson color. "Not manhandling them into submission. You're more likely to get caught in that manner."

She watched as Ezio adopted a look between incredulous and insulted, switching his gaze between her, his brother failing to hide a grin, and Paola staying impassive. Eventually, he must have decided, for he pivoted on the ball of his foot. "Fine. I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Let's try it your way then," he threw over his shoulder. She tried her best as not to take that as an insult.

"I'm already regretting this," she muttered under her breath.

But Federico merely waved it off as he clasped a hand to her shoulder to give it a squeeze. "I promise it'll be fine. Sure, he can be an insufferable prick at times, but he's a fast learner and has a good heart. I only implore that you try not to murder him while I'm gone. I'll sorely miss him."

She knitted her brows. "Gone? And where exactly are you going?"

He nonchalantly shrugged as he passed, "Nowhere outside, I assure you; it's too damn cold for that. But I will not be of much help here either. So I plan on making myself useful elsewhere." The humor dissolved in a flash, being replaced with something that had the hairs on the back of her neck rising. "And that is to find out what hole Uberto has crawled into."

That is not a good look on him, she promptly decided as she pulled her hair up and out of her face. "Okay. However, just... take it easy." Please. She proceeded to stab a finger at him. "And go see the damn doctor if you get a minute."

"Why? When it seems I have a much prettier caretaker in front of me." He chuckled with a wink before turning on a heel and disappearing into the brothel, no doubt to find those 'girls' he and Paola had discussed earlier. Whereas her cheeks were beginning to grow warm. As she turned, she was met with curious glances by some of the closest girls, but she brushed them off by turning her attention to Ezio, who was beginning to impatiently shift from one foot to the other.

Tristan ignored him and took up a stance at the far end of the room, crossing her arms. "Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Get going!"

It did not take long for him to trip up. Tristan found herself setting her hands on her hips when he was shortly caught again. He came thundering back, looking pissed. "If that's what you consider soft, I feel bad for your girlfriend," she dryly observed.

Ezio's face turned a bright color as the surrounding helpers subtly giggled into their hands. She inhaled through her nose as he looked ready to snap before she put her hands out in a placating gesture, "Just... watch."

A ghost of a conversation whispered in her mind as she breezed past him.

"Sorry, Dad—"

"Don't be sorry, the memory snapped back. "Be better. Now go back through and try again. And remember to pick up your feet. Silence is your friend."

She shook her head to dispel the voices, hissing under her breath, "Focus, Trish."

She lightly stepped into the crowd, fingers lazily at her side as she prowled about. Soon she found her first prize and, with little fanfare, slipped in and out, palming a few coins before she twirled away onto the next target. It certainly felt it was a solitary dance, and she even found herself humming Jump in the Line as she snagged another bag and hid it under her shirt. It did not take her long to return and dump a sizeable haul into a bewildered Ezio's hands. "Told you," she found herself grinning as she took the bags back and gave them to the closest servant to distribute amongst her cohorts. "It's all about the fingers." She lightly palmed his head. "And patience."

A spark flashed in his eyes as he followed the bags, and when he looked back at her, his jaw was stubbornly set. Good. Tristan nodded, gesturing, "Again, then."

December 30, The Next Morning

"Okay, we're here," Tristan pointed as they came to a stop just shy of a nameless plaza. She had asked one of the girls, Dorothea, she believed, earlier to scout it out for her. It wasn't too far from the brothel and bordered a small marketplace that was already buzzing with activity despite how early and cold the morning was. The bright colors and fancy layers spoke of a fair amount of wealth that traded hands here. Any money lost here probably would not make a dent in their coffers. Signs of the storm's wrath were already melting away, leaving brown puddles and a faint wet smell that permeated everything. Satisfied with the hunting ground she had chosen for them, she turned on her heel.

"I want to see how far you've come. And what better way to do that than here in the open. My task for you is to steal enough to fill..." She mulled before randomly choosing a reasonable amount. Because, surely, coin purses in this period could only carry so much, right? "... half of a bag."

"Federico is right. You really are not from around here." One of Ezio's brows arched from under his hood as she snorted. More than you know. "A bag of what? Soldi? Florins?"

She could only stare blankly, the words flying over her head. There's a difference? Well yeah, she mulled on the different types of coins the States had in circulation, and she supposed it only made sense that Florence would too.

"... use your best judgment." She finally conceded, stifling the urge to rub at her flushed face. "Because remember: always take advantage of your surrounding environments. That includes currency and what you feel is the easiest to get away with." She stabbed a finger at him. "Most important of all, do not get greedy. The idea is to get in and get out. The longer you're in an area, the more likely you'll get caught. So run away as soon as the coins touch your fingers."

Oof, that first one sounded so dangerously close to the second tenant of the Creed. If Tristan wasn't careful, she'd catch a case of "Assassinitus" and grow a brooding disposition and a sudden craving to wear a hood too.

Ezio pursed his lips into a suspicious-looking pout, deep in thought. "Alright, I suppose that makes sense— but only half a bag, though? Do you really not have that much faith in me?"

"It's not about how good I think you are. It's about simplicity and performing within your means. However, if you think yourself that good..." She folded her arms, eying him. Finally, after much deliberation, she nodded. "You know, you're right. I shouldn't handle this with kid gloves. I should put you to the test since this is the big leagues. Bring me a full bag then, hell maybe even two—without being detected, of course. And don't you dare come back if you get caught by guards, either. If you're seen, you know the drill—"

"Run, hope to lose them, and come find you later. Or, as you politely put it, 'don't show up at all and stay in exile, you moron,'" he interjected, a ghost of a smile on his lips when she whirled to playfully glare at him. Smartass. But a smartass who paid attention, she secretly conceded. He had already turned away, seemingly already relishing in the challenge, for his gaze was already scoping out the area.

He refocused on her, eyebrows furrowed. "And where will you be while I'm doing all of the hard work?"

"Oh, that's easy," Tristan pointed at a random unoccupied bench under the branches of some barren citrus tree." Remember, I'm injured, so I'll be resting my feet and looking pretty while at it." She proceeded to shoo him, ignoring his snort and subsequent eye roll. "Get going, my pretty little thief-in-training. A bag of money or nothing but a walk of shame back home."

By the time she planted her butt on the bench, Ezio had already disappeared. He had gotten scarily good at that, she observed. Just another body in the crowd, another face in the plaza. Paola (and Federico) taught him well.

But... it was too soon to tell how well she taught him. Tristan chewed on a thumbnail as she waited for him to return or, worse, hear a tell-tale squeal of "thief!"

How long she sat there, Tristan was not sure. But apparently, it was enough for she hadn't realized she had dozed off until she was startled awake when white entered her vision. Soon something was dropped to the side of her. Or more like a bunch of somethings as they tilted over, showing the dull gleam of coins.

"Three full bags," Ezio smugly proclaimed before she even had the chance to comment, looking every bit a preening peacock as he crossed his arms. "I even managed to find some ducats."

Tristan had no clue what that meant, but it did not stop her from pursing her lips in a piss-poor attempt to hide her smile. Ezio didn't need an excuse to continue being a cocky shithead. She would have been lying if she said she didn't have a small wedge of pride swelling behind her chest as she thumbed through the coins, taking his word. "We'll make a thief out of you yet."

~*End*~

This chapter probably gave me the most issues. But it's okay because we settled our differences with the gentlemanly art of brawling in the mud and I'm very happy with the end result.

In all seriousness, I fudged some things in this chapter to match with my headcanon and timeline. A part of me even wishes to theorize that Francesco's mystery murder charge in the game was attached to the Duke's assassination but it dawned on me that the Duke died only a day; maybe even two days prior to the game's events. I dunno. Take that as you will.

I always speculated that Giovanni had a very small list of allies due to alienating a lot of them by hitching his wagon to the wrong horse.

And finally, my last point: Ubisoft, you mean to tell me that Ezio, son, grandson, and brother to Assassins, didn't learn the basics of blending from a young age? Pshaw, let us fix that. Besides the idea of a fed-up Federico teaching his brother to fend for himself and how to disappear from his girlfriend's family guards makes me cackle.

Can I just say— after 100k words I can't believe I wrote so much self-indulgent TOUCHING?! They are not kidding when they say slow burns are HARD.

Well anyway— if you are well-versed on stuff, the next chapter is going to be a blast. As in, meeting a very fun particular character kind of blast ;D

TK's History Fun Facts

That's quite an accent ya got there: It's theorized that some regional American dialects more closely resemble older English accents than modern ones. Definitely not Tristan's of course since the West Coast is more or less a late bloomer when it comes it dialects. (In fact during the 1940s, many linguists believed that there was nothing special or unique west of Texas.) But as a Californian, I can confirm we do have weird vowels.

Do you have change for that: A case of Ubisoft strikes again, folks. ARGH. Originally wrote the training scene a different way, until reading another fic made me remember an itsy bitsy teeny tiny fact. As we all know, Florins was the currency used in the Ezio Trilogy. Well, turns out, using just florins was the equivalent of paying for a candy bar with a 100 dollar bill. The buying power was so significant, many countries adopted their own version of the florin. In reality however, the more common currency used by lower and middle classes in Renaissance-era Florence was the silver soldi. A single florin equals roughly 120 soldi and in today's buying power, could range anywhere from $120 to $1400 in US currency. (No wonder using money as a distraction worked so well.)

Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome. If you wish for a more prompt response or just want to chat you can hit me up on my Discord! (The username is in my profile.)

Thank you always for reading 3br /

-TK