Hold onto your butts, because this is going to be a wild ride. ;D
And to my collegiate readers who may or may not be tackling finals: I believe in you!
-TK
~*XV*~
The Kids Aren't Alright
"How is our mutual colleague doing?"
Tristan— who may or may not have been dozing again—was surprised that she didn't launch herself off the bench as she whipped her head around. The patron she had simply glazed over before as he sat down was now comfortably lounging. He had one leg thrown over the other and an arm outstretched alongside the bench's backside as if he owned the damn thing. With the tipped, and dare she say ridiculous, feathered cap and overly thick cloak, she admitted it was quite the disguise, but the more she observed, the more she saw the familiar features and the high cheekbones. Plus, that scarred nose of his was near impossible to hide, and harder still was the awful bruising that decorated his face like smudged warpaint.
"Ah, I see you have slipped onto my bench again." She shook her head. "I thought you said you weren't coming outside because it was too cold out."
"With all due respect, I do not see your name on this one." Federico playfully sniffed before raising his voice, loud enough for anyone close by to hear his indignant response: "Also, I believe you have me mistaken for someone else. I don't even know who this 'Pietro' is, madam."
Shut up before you blow my cover, the action said, and she stifled a smile.
Tristan dipped her chin in understanding, waving her hand about. "Ah, my apologies then." She closed her eyes and leaned against the bench's back with a tired sigh. All of this limping from one place to another made her somewhat exhausted. Alas, it was a fact that if she so much as tried to sleep again, it would be for naught. Still, too much to do and, ironically, so very little time to do so. "Well, you were right. He is a quick study and a massive pain in my ass," she breathed. In the pause that followed, there was a note of affirmation from the man, or maybe it was amused pride before she continued: "But he is doing quite well with all things considering. You just missed him, I'm afraid. Currently, he is with Paola and some of the other girls in another part of the district."
She subtly turned his way. "And you?"
He hummed briefly in deliberation before replying, "On my way to pursue a possible development, actually. I am not quite sure on the validity of their claim yet, but I'll keep you informed once I know more." He appeared to want to say more, but a sudden tension rippled in the air between them, making Tristan squint one eye open in confusion. She was surprised that Federico had lost his loose stature and was staring daggers. "He is a bold man for walking out in the open," he ground out in a barely constrained snarl.
Confused at the sudden mood change, she followed his line of sight to the other side of the marketplace. By this point, the crowds had trickled out, leaving only a handful of patrons to peruse the wares that had arrived just this morning. So, it was rather unusual to see a small crowd beginning to conglomerate around a handful of people as they traversed from one end of the market to the other. At the head of the bizarre parade was a broad-shouldered man wearing a thick black and white doublet and armed to the teeth. It was hard to see from this far away, but she could make out a sewn emblem on his accompanying cloak with what looked to be twin dolphins facing away from each other. A willowy woman wearing an auburn gown was on his arm— no doubt his wife. Surprisingly, walking astride a younger woman who bore a resemblance to their mother and wearing a pale dress, there was that Draco-esque character from the bridge, still scowling at everyone and everything in his way as he cosplayed as a raccoon with the enormous black eye. She blinked a couple of times, completely baffled as to why Federico would have such a visceral reaction to a random group of people. When it dawned on her.
"I'm guessing that's our formerly imprisoned Francesco." She wondered where the man had gotten the pair of balls to pull that stunt off so soon. Hmm, well, maybe not balls per se as she eyed the heavily armed soldiers flanking him; just a lot of men and seemingly bottomless purses to keep them nice and happy. She needed no confirmation from her companion when Federico's back remained ramrod straight and he growled something incoherent under his breath, his murderous gaze never wavering. Worry and dread began to trickle down her neck and she found herself prepared to— what? Talk him down? Tackle him? Yeah, she eyed his frame frowning—that was not happening in her current state.
"Federico..." she began to say, but his head snapped her way with blaring golden eyes. Even though she wasn't the target of such an ardent stare, it still had her unconsciously shrinking. This was unlike the blithe man she had come to know these past few days. No longer was there laughter or even mischief in his features. Rather, there was pure wrath. She reflected on something he said the day prior: You've seen his eyes. The rage. He will not be swayed by this. Had he been talking about Ezio, or had that been about himself? He blinked a couple of times and then she watched as he closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath before his shoulders loosened. When he opened them again, they were thankfully his normal color as he pasted on the fakest attempt at a reassuring smile.
"I'm alright; I promise, I am not planning on doing anything." He sent one last reproachful look back just as the Pazzi and their entourage left the piazza. She sensed that there was a Yet in there. And maybe not today or even for a long while, Tristan knew without a doubt that the two would meet again and there would be Hell to pay.
"Anyway..." he adjusted his cap. "I do have that prior engagement to make, and I shall not keep you further then; especially on a beautiful day such as this." She felt him lean closer, dropping his voice into a murmur. "Before I forget, best be on your guard, Trish. Our 'friend' is not taking any chances it seems, as he has doubled the watch around the city. There are even men in plain clothes putting up notices and searching about. In fact," he nodded in a particular direction. "There are two of them on the corner just left of us."
She kneaded her eyebrows together pretending to stretch in an effort to spy a glance. Two men were milling about, lazily chatting to one another; but nothing really stood out about them, save for maybe the occasional cursory glance over the crowds. "How did you—" but when Tristan looked over to her bench mate, he was already gone with the wind."—know?"
Alas, she was not one to take chances; so, when she departed from the bench about a half-hour later to rendezvous with Ezio and Paola, she gave that corner an extensive berth.
Two hours later (or was it three?) Tristan wanted to kick herself as she dipped around a merchant's stand, throwing a glance behind her. Which given the circumstances would be a notable accomplishment as one of her legs was quite incapacitated. For starters, she knew she shouldn't be walking; at all. Rather she knew she should be staying off her leg, giving it time to rest. Secondly, what an absolutely genius idea to let Ezio come steal from her, a crippled woman, as she limps about just for him to prove himself.
Not.
How else am I gonna know he's ready? Her pride, fueled by stubborn idiocy and no caffeine, protested.
Oh, I don't know dumbass, letting Paola be the judge of that? She's the one spearheading this. Another part, perhaps that of her humility fueled by frustration, agony, and a bit of irritation, snapped. Honestly, why Paola even signed off on this, she had no bloody idea.
Tristan pushed those thoughts aside just as she stopped amidst a sizable group to smooth the front of her shirt and did her best in adopting a different gait as she matched theirs. She dared not remove her cap even though it got itchy. Who would have thought she would regret redoing her red streaks before going out that eventful night? Last thing she needed right now was more attention.
The group barely noticed her presence as they opted to start walking again; two of them were in the throes of some kind of debate regarding the most current accounts while the other three— a wife and probably her two daughters looked on rather annoyed. The older woman looked to interrupt her husband's tirade about the current rate of interest when Tristan's attention was drawn away by a flicker that tickled the back of her mind.
Her head swiveled to the left where the sensation was the strongest. There. It lasted only a microsecond, but Tristan swore she had spotted a flash of white amongst the others. It became so strong, she abandoned her current hiding spot and suddenly turned around and took a hard left. A breeze of air brushed against her side, and she glanced backwards to see a peaked hood disappearing into the same group she had just left. An indication she must have had narrowly avoided getting caught from her young pupil. Tristan even swore she heard a quiet curse too as she hurried down a side alley, tucking herself neatly into another group comprised of mainly women. One of them, a younger brunette, giggled behind a hand as Tristan accidentally bumped into her. She merely winked and saluted before walking past, keeping her head low and gently passing others.
"Where are you?" she murmured with a frown, only stopping briefly to look around at chance of catching sight of her pursuer. It worried her slightly that she had not sensed her shadow for some time.
It felt like she had walked forever until she came to a stop, ducking behind a stack of crates to rest and immediately take weight off her bad leg. Why did something feel off in the movement exactly? It felt... lighter, somehow. Suddenly suspicious, she patted her right side, once, twice. Then the other just in case she had forgotten where she had tied off the dummy bag.
She let out a curse when she realized that it wasn't there either. Which meant that it was gone.
"Looking for this?"
She whirled around and there was Ezio, the pouch bouncing between his hands, a smirk he was failing miserably at hiding. She played back the most recent events, mulling, and attempting to pinpoint where she had gone wrong. When had he— Oh she supposed it didn't matter now. She mock sighed before beckoning him to drop it, easily catching it in her hand. Secretly, she was trying not to smile triumphantly as she retied it to her side. "Good job, padawan. I think we're done here."
"Pardon?" The baffled way he said it made her pause mid-step. "What is a—" His face scrunched up. "A 'padawan'?"
"Oh, sorry, just an uh..." Her mental gears whirred in panic. Of all the times her inner nerd had to appear, why now? "Old English witticism."
Smooth.
The day dragged on longer than she expected and before long Tristan was practically hauling herself up the stairs' banister. The afternoon went by far too fast between the intermittent lessons that by the time her dinner of soup and bread had finished, she wanted nothing more than to find the quarters she had been given and go right to sleep— sounds of the night in a brothel be damned. Except there was one problem with that.
The stairs.
Oh sure, coming down this morning had been fine. Tristan barely had a limp as she came off the last step, ready for the day of helping Paola and the others. But now after all damn day of waltzing around, the day's events caught up with her, and her leg was pounding with a Terminator-level vengeance.
About halfway up, the pain became too much, and she awkwardly leaned against the wall, letting her leg rest. "Comemierda." She rumbled rubbing at it, being mindful of the hidden black and blue bruise that made up most of her thigh. She went too hard today Tristan acknowledged. She could even hear her twin's chastising: "You are an idiot. Remember what I told you about RICE, Trish?"
With a rueful smile, she mouthed the response to the memory: "Yeah, yeah 'Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation.' I got it, Mom."
It hurt far too much to not hear the huffy, "That's Doctor Mom to you" in response.
There was a shuffle of cloth and Tristan paused in her care to glance downstairs, surprised to find that Claudia was starting to come up behind her, eyes downcast. Tristan made sure to press herself closer to the wall to allow her to pass. Truth be told, since their arrival here, Tristan hadn't talked much with her outside of semi-cordial greetings. Besides not knowing what to talk about, she got the strong impression that she wasn't exactly well-liked by Claudia. The younger woman got within three steps before she braked, eyes blinking, as if she had come out of a trance. But then her surprise dissolved, only to be replaced with something Tristan couldn't quite place. Suspicion? Animosity? Aloofness? She had the mind to ask how Petruccio was doing, but one look at her sullen appearance and her half-hearted attempt of keeping her hair up told her that was a horrible idea. "Claudia," she greeted with instead, dipping her head respectfully as she continued to clasp at her leg as another wave hit.
She received a polite "Tristan" in return and that was that. Or no, much to Tristan's surprise, Claudia didn't just pass her on the way up. Instead, she cocked her head slightly, not-so-silently observing her.
"Are you well?" She finally spoke after a long while, lips puckered as if she had bitten into something sour, but her inflection remained the same. "Do you need assistance?" Not unlike her father, the inquiry stemmed of forced courtesy, the words hollow and devoid of meaning; yet expected to be said. The hell do you expect? She found herself chastised. She just lost her father. It was also abundantly clear she didn't want to be here. Not just here as in front of Tristan, but here in this brothel. Even now the strong scents of incense and perfume did little to mask the true intentions of this place.
"I—" Tristan eyed the rest of the way, wincing. Oh, come on, it wasn't that far. She had done it before just today! The words, nah, I should be good dissolved as another pang struck her and the distance extended to a more tortuous distance. Unlike earlier, she had clearly pushed herself too hard and was paying the price for it now. Thus, a frustrated sound escaping her, and she hung her head. "—thank you. I actually would be most grateful. Just up until the top. I should be fine after that."
Claudia said nothing but her face became slightly pinched as she stepped up to her level and offered a hand. It was stiff when Tristan took it and if she wasn't acutely aware of the warmth and the person the hand was attached to, she would have sworn she was clutching onto a statue.
"I'm deeply sorry for the... inconvenience of it all," she said sheepishly, afterwards muttering: "I just never realized how hard the stairs were."
When the teen turned her head to raise a slim eyebrow, Tristan scrunched her face at realizing that had been said out loud. "When I was younger, about your age, if not younger, my mother was the victim of a terrible altercation. It was a miracle she ever got to walk again, and before she could do so, she often had a bad limp. Even had a cane for a while. Of course, being a kid and all... I just... always got super frustrated when it took her a long time to get up the stairs." She blinked rapidly, clutching tighter at her pant leg as she began to ramble. "Looking back, it was so silly to be upset over, you know? I... I guess now I know she felt. And I guess I owe her a massive apology for it. I just hope I get the opportunity."
"You must miss her terribly with being away from England and all." Claudia said quietly.
A bitter laugh threatened to slip out as she shook her head. That was putting it lightly. Even now, she could smell the sage that always seemed to cling to her mom's clothes. It had been strong the day she had hugged her one last time before boarding the Canada-bound plane the next day. "All I want for my children is for them to find happiness. But it's up to you to find out which road will lead to it. Regardless of what you choose, just know that I will always love you, mija."
"Spain actually." The lie flowed off her tongue. In a sense, it wasn't entirely wrong, just by a different younger name. On Dad's suggestion, Mom had moved to the family ranch to help with Tristan's grandmother. She could see the gently rolling hills and vast fields of gold and green with the low far-off sounds of chittering quail in the distance. Tristan pressed a palm to a traitorous eye, sucking in a shaky breath. While the physical pain affected her harshly, it was the homesickness that grasped her tightly and made it hard to breathe, but she managed to force out: "She is from there and Father believed it best for her to return there. I just can't believe it's been over a year since I've spoken to her last."
Claudia pursed her lips, but Tristan saw understanding, sympathy even. Her attention flicked briefly downstairs to where they could hear Maria murmuring to what sounded like Annetta. The stony stature seemed to have a crack in it as she spoke next: "Perhaps you could write to her."
Tristan opened her mouth to say that wasn't quite possible given the current circumstances, but then her mind flashed back to the notebook cozily tucked into her bag.
"Perhaps, I should," she tactfully responded just as they arrived on the second floor. Tristan quietly orated her thanks even though she barely had the mental willpower to do so. Claudia inclined her head as she walked off to the office that had been loaned to her and Maria, already looking glassy eyed as her teeth began to worry her lip. She took that as her cue to also depart for her room, but her feet refused to move.
"Hey." Claudia stopped, turning to face her with an uneasiness she slipped back behind a stoic mask. God, she really was a kid. Barely sixteen if Tristan had to guess. Her mouth ran off from underneath her as she tried to paste her best reassuring tone: "I know we barely know each other, but if you need anything, you can talk to me if you want. I... I know what's it like. My door is always open."
The teen's stiff stance and sudden baleful glare said everything before she haughtily entered her room and slammed the door.
Do you really know what this is like?
"Great job, Trish," she bitterly drawled under her breath, pinching at her nose as she turned around. She found a muted sense of peace knowing she had at least tried, though so that was something at least. Candlelight flickered at the corner of her eye, and she was surprised to find that the door to Federico's room was ajar. Stranger still, she could see Federico and he was stooped over something.
Go to bed, Trish. You're tired. Not your business.
But she didn't, (or was it that she couldn't and was on a roll?), and instead knocked on the door. "Planning on going somewhere?" She resisted the urge to frown as she took in the bundles on his bed. One in particular looked to have a silver glint to it— a weapon? Her stomach dropped. Where did he get all of these things? "At this hour?"
If Federico had been surprised at her arrival, he didn't show it. He merely glanced over his shoulder, looking sheepish. "Ah no..." He straightened and brushed the front of his borrowed attire as he turned. "Just turning in for the night. Although, before that, Paola has informed me that Ezio is about as ready as he can be." He said this with a warm grateful smile as he nodded. "Some of that thanks has to go your way."
She shrugged, appearing nonchalant despite the internal victory fist pump. Hell, yeah it did. "I don't know what you're talking about, I merely showed him the error of his ways and how to do it right. I just hope to God I didn't introduce another you into the population." She indicated behind him. "May I ask what all this is for?"
He shook his head laughing, but it was short-lived as he turned serious once more. "My... prior engagement you can say, paid off in more than just information. I learned that there will be a vernissage tomorrow for Verrocchio's latest work at Santa Croce. All of Florence will be there and it would be sacrilege for the Gonfalonier as not to attend—even if an attending Lord Lorenzo himself is none too pleased to see him there. The plan is for Ezio to meld into the crowd and get inside." Something flashed in his eyes. "I intend to be there as well."
Tristan shuffled from foot to foot, stifling a frown as she realized what he was entailing. "A noble thought, but do you think that's a good idea given your current predicament?" she hesitantly said.
He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "Does not matter what I think. It has to be done. Uberto Alberti will be well-protected and—"
"No."
Federico having not expected that, gaped. Even Tristan was caught off-guard by the sudden outburst and she internally groaned. Why couldn't she leave well enough alone. Eventually his eyebrows kneaded together as he considered her, carefully forming his words. "What do you mean 'no'? He's my brother, Tristan. I cannot just let him do this on his own."
Tristan crossed her arms, ignoring the budding headache that was starting to flick the front of her skull. This wasn't how she envisioned her night going. She just wanted to hit the sack already and pretend she would fall asleep tonight. "I know and I'm sorry, but it is exactly what I said: no. As in, you're not going along with him tomorrow. You said it yourself— he's more than ready for this task. You should step back and let him handle this, not bulldoze it for him."
She watched as Federico's jaw clenched, and his eyes narrow. There was the impression of a great violent storm beginning to roil from him, yet she stood her ground merely resisting the urge to step back. Instead, she cut him off his interjection with an upraised hand.
"I am telling you that this is a horrible idea. You're not in the best of shape, right now. Can barely walk without wincing, cursing, or grabbing at your side. Hell—all three at once." She put a finger up when he tried to protest again. "Don't even think about denying it; I've seen you do it. What makes you think you're going to be able to keep pace with Ezio or God forbid if shit goes south, fight?"
"I respect the concern that you have, but I am fine. I have already considered the risks at hand—" he began to say, his voice clipped, but Tristan beat him to the punch.
"Have you?" she quietly said, mind flicking back to Claudia and Maria. "Or are you just too stubborn to admit what this is really about?" When he sharply averted his gaze, Tristan reined in her rising snark and instead softened her tone: "Please don't do this. Risking your health and life is not going to bring your father back and it won't make Petruccio suddenly better."
His head snapped her way, a cold gaze lasering in on her as one of his hands tightened into a fist. She winced. That was too far, Trish. "Get out, Tristan." It slipped from his clamped jaw like low thunder.
She defiantly lifted her chin to stare him down despite her chest constricting and heart thumping to the beat of What have I done. "Or what?" Tristan bared her teeth, daring him to finish that thought process as her hands balled into fists. When he said nothing, brilliant eyes smoldering with anger, she jerked a thumb at herself, repeating herself, "Or what, Federico. Because idle threats will not make me move. I didn't risk my life and well-being for you to stupidly throw it away to prove something—"
"And I didn't ask for you to save me!" he snarled.
It was then, her brittle hold on the rage just below the surface snapped. She took a step forward and shoved Federico with both hands. Hard. Then once more until he hit the wall with a surprised whoosh of air. But she didn't stop there as she grabbed the front of his shirt and pinned him to it; a finger soon stabbing in his face as she ground out. "I fucking know you didn't ask, dipshit. I am well-aware that I fucked up by just choosing you. If you hate me for that then fucking fine, I don't care. But it will not stop me from saying how much of a fucking moron you are. If not for yourself, stay out of it for his sake. Hell, do it for Claudia's because she needs her big brother far more than Ezio does. Otherwise go, make my efforts to keep you alive in vain; I'll just be here to pick up the pieces after your mother has to bury you too."
She shoved him again to prove her point, but not nearly as hard for her heart wasn't into it. If he said or did anything, Tristan didn't notice; didn't care. She was equally drained and incensed. It reminded her of that one time she hammered a Monster after trying to run a marathon. A constant violent vibration that had her head buzzing and her heart pounding. She avoided looking at his face as she turned on her heel and briskly walked out on shaking legs, flipping the bird over her shoulder in false bravado as she gritted out, "Either way, go to fucking Hell."
December 31st
Ezio didn't seem all that surprised when he found Tristan the following morning; already dressed, disguised, and disgruntled—impatiently waiting for him to show up at the front door. Despite her best efforts, her foot started tapping again. Another sleepless night, plagued by thoughts that swarmed like restless hungry sharks. Guilt pressed against her head like a heavy shawl, but she stood unbowed as she defiantly held his gaze, daring him to interject or protest.
But the only thing that he did, despite probably already knowing the answer, was to ask, "Does he know?"
"I'll be fine without him, thanks for asking," came the automatic snap, paired with another glare. After all, she was a grown ass woman, and neither Federico nor anyone else needed to know goddamn shit. But ah, remember it's the Renaissance ol' girl. Everybody is going to inquire and be up in your business. The thought process made her lips thin. "Can we just go, please."
If he noticed the rising ire, he said nothing. He merely shrugged and lifted his hood, an unreadable expression flashing briefly as he tugged at the heavy door. "Alright, try to keep up, then."
Tristan felt the brush of a familiar presence but refused to look back as she slammed the door shut.
She'll deal with the fallout later.
Even if Ezio took pity and kept to the streets this time (or was it because the rooftops were now crawling with far more archers?), it was still better said than done. It did not take long for Tristan to realize that perhaps she was in over her head and her stubbornness may have just petered out. While slightly shorter than his brother, Ezio still had quite the stride that made her scramble to catch up and a mission to match his pace. Usually, it was an issue she was used to— except this time her leg throbbed in protest every time she hurried along. At least the pain was at a barely tolerable 'irritating' level as opposed to earlier she conceded. She partially thanked the aspirin she had gulped before deciding on coming along on this impromptu journey.
Thanks to his pace though, it did not take long to enter the plaza directly under Santa Maria del Fiore, its big domed acting as a giant umbrella from the bright sun. And soon they began to slow. Tristan interpreted that as them nearing their destination. Except, when she went to ask, he seemed distracted. She watched as his head slowly swiveled before he finally stopped. It was an uninteresting alley, and like the ones before it, it comprised nothing more of brick and debris. But Ezio went down it all the same. It wasn't until she also entered it, did she realize what had grabbed his attention in the first place. Sprawled across the wall in big black letters, she surprisingly was able to read: "He that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow."
"I vaguely know that one," she murmured out loud, astonished that despite being clearly in Italian— or whatever the local dialect was, the words just made sense. Even though they didn't change." But having a tough time placing where it's from though."
"It's from the Book of Ecclesiastes," Ezio solemnly supplied as he touched the wall. At her blank stare, he sighed before quoting, "'And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.'"
It hit a little too close at home for Tristan's liking as she glanced sideways. She took that as ignorance is bliss and don't rip off the band-aid.
Ezio stayed there for quite some time before he softly spoke once more: "I've seen something like this once before. It... it was by one of the coops I visited. I was helping my father retrieve letters from it right before—" he faltered and reluctantly pulled his hand back to look down at it as if it had been stained. He didn't need to finish that train of thought for her to understand. Before he was murdered. His shoulders slumped and in such a defeated voice, he whispered, "This never would have happened if I hadn't given Uberto those damn papers."
"Ezio, you didn't know what he was planning."
She had to take a couple steps back as he whirled on her—not with anger she discovered, but an anguish that infected both his body and soul as he all but shouted at her: "But I did! You said something felt wrong and I brushed off my own reservations about it. You asked if I could trust him and I did, despite everything saying, screaming 'no.' I had the evidence in my hand— in my hand! And I fucking gave it to him. I sealed their fates and sentenced them to die by the noose. And now," he stumbled over his words and balled his shaking hands into fists he pressed against his head. "Now… now my father is dead, my mother and sister are staying in a brothel because we've been branded as criminals, one brother is being aloof, and the other is practically on death's door. All because I didn't listen."
Her voice hitched. "You really think Petruccio..."
He stopped and dropped his hands only to fix his eyes on her. She didn't like how fierce and sorrowful they were. He's just a kid; he shouldn't have eyes like that. "Tristan, do you truly believe that my brother will recover after this is all said and done?" And by how tortured and strained the words sounded, it was evident that he hated, hated saying those words out loud.
Tristan's knee-jerk reaction was to immediately say yes, that everything would be hunky dory, but the words lodged in her throat, leaving her with a mouth awkwardly open and full of stale air. Was that true, though? She reluctantly shut it after a long pause, leading her to bite at the corner of her bottom lip. She remembered Claudia from last night. How defeated and drawn she was. She had snuck a look into Petruccio's room this morning before leaving and the ashen waxy look of his skin... She shuddered. The ugly truth was, no, she didn't— couldn't believe such a thing. It was evident that Petruccio wasn't getting better. Even the doctor that had come again in the night appeared dubious but had lied through honeyed breath, saying that perhaps moving him to the countryside would benefit his health.
But he knew.
They all knew.
There was a possibility that Petruccio wouldn't make it out of Florence.
When it became painfully aware she had no answer for him, Ezio jerked his head looking utterly defeated. "Exactly my point." He angrily pulled at his hood and in the sunlight, his face was drawn taut and full of sorrow. And before she could protest, he turned and punched the wall, stifling a pained snarl, but he ignored it as he hit it again, blood now pooling from his split knuckles. But he didn't care as a tortured sound escaped his throat, "My brother will die because of me."
Tristan found swallowing difficult as her eyes switched between him and the bloodied wall. Her own ghosts came back as recalled the whispering thoughts that kept her awake at night. The guilt. The sorrow. It was ugly; a dripping toxic thing that spread its poison around. Hearing him saying it aloud— she thickly swallowed. Was...was this how she sounded? Shut up, she pushed back against the thoughts that were beginning to stir and vented a breath, already digging around in the pack she had 'borrowed.' Not on her watch.
"No, Ezio," Tristan took his hand, examining it as she pulled out the extra linen, glad that she had unconsciously brought it along in the first place. "Let's get one thing straight. Your father and brothers suffered at the hands of Uberto Alberti, the Gonfalonier of Florence, who abused his position and hurt good people. Not because of you. Not because of what you didn't do. You did what any rational person would have done in your shoes and thought that giving the evidence to him was the best choice. No one, and I mean no one, faults you for thinking that. Not Federico or Claudia, and especially not your mother." He wordlessly obeyed her silent commands as she began cleaning his knuckles, all the while doing a horrible job at hiding her frustration as she bitterly added: "Truth be told, even if you had not given it to him, and had just kept it to present at the trial yourself; what makes you think the man wouldn't have had you killed right on the spot once you made your presence known? Or worse, ignored it? In the end, we can't continue to dwell on the somethings that could and should have happened. We would drive ourselves insane, otherwise."
Those are bold words coming out of your mouth. Perhaps you should look deep into a mirror you goddamn hypocrite. Her lips pursed tight, mentally pushing that train of thought out of the station. instead focusing on the task at hand. It was right of course, but her priority was him right now. "Besides... your brothers are still here." She planted a hand on his chest, fixing her eyes on him. You're still here. That's what counts."
Ezio automatically shook his head, scowling. "Because of what you did, Tristan. I was a coward; I just ran—"
"—safely away with Petruccio in tow," she sternly interjected, jerking the bandage tight and making him wince. "Need I remind you, that you tried to fight them single-handedly against all odds. That you and Federico both saved your little brother's life from a rope despite the chaos. Does that sound cowardly to you?"
Silence met her and Tristan took that as a small win as she placed her hand on his and met his gaze. "Don't sell yourself short because even if it's a slim one, Petruccio has a chance to survive because of you."
She checked to make sure it was snug before gesturing at him, slightly grumbling more to herself at this point as she set her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Christ, all of this is so so fucked up, though. You're just a kid. You should be worried about wooing girls and running from their fathers. Not this." She angrily gestured around her.
A frown dragged Ezio's lips down as he rubbed at his wrapped hand, testing it out a couple of times by clenching and unclenching. "You don't agree with killing Uberto."
She glanced his way. How astute. Finally, she dipped her head bringing her arms up to cross them over her chest. "My reasoning is my own, but I wish to establish it has nothing to do with the fact this is mainly about revenge. But own reasoning or not, I realized I couldn't sit back on my ass and watch you flounder about looking like an idiot. So, I set aside my morals and reservations to ensure you were prepared, so no one else gets hurt by this asshole." Also, for your brother's sake. And that of your mother's. I'm not sure either can take the heartbreak.
"If you don't mind me asking—" Tristan quirked an eyebrow as Ezio cleared his throat. "Why are you doing all this? For us? You were just a guest."
"It's..." she began to say, but the thought shorted out. It's complicated was what she wanted to say; however, she found that wasn't quite that either. She made a great show of mulling about it before sighing. "Let's just say your father helped save my life a long time ago. Then he proceeded to go above and beyond for someone he barely knew; even giving them a place to stay despite their insistence of being a stubborn ass and not accepting help. With him gone, it's only right if I returned the favor to his family."
"Did... did you know him well?"
Tristan faltered and shuttered her eyes, but she replied honestly: "…no, but I wished I had the chance to. In the brief time I spoke with him, he seemed like a good man who loved his family." Which she found strange. Since he practically had terrified her to kingdom come and back. But, nonetheless, he had been someone looking out for her in the end.
"It sounds like we are stuck with you for some time, then." He didn't sound too distressed at such a notion. In fact, he seemed even amused at it.
"Unfortunately for you in particular, yes." She stuffed the remaining linens into the pack in the same motion as swinging it onto her shoulder. "Now c'mon. Let's go see about getting your whatever fixed before another wall gets victimized."
Ezio chose to remain silent; rather, he shot one last look at the scrawling text, rubbing his bandaged hand again. Then he turned, pulling back up his hood, and proceeded to exit the alleyway. But before she followed him out, something had her glancing back once last time to find a new line of graffiti staring back at her. She didn't quite remember them being there before— something she initially dismissed as being tired, but then she read the words in their bold, loud, and ominous ways as her eyes roved over them: "The Prophet's message holds that of our salvation, but it is the Viator who must ensure these truths to be delivered— or else face the fires of our destruction."
Then in a blink, it flicked away, leaving nothing more than a bare wall. She tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat but found it exceedingly difficult to do so. Viator. Her head was buzzing as she continued to stare at the spot where it had been. "I... I really need to get some sleep," she muttered numbly, nearly tripping over herself as she quickly left after the young man with every hair on the back of her neck on edge.
It turned out that they had not been too far from their destination after all. Ezio and Tristan had reentered the piazza and went north, kitty-cornering the church itself. From her brief time touring Florence between study sessions in undergrad, she vaguely remembered that they were heading to the small section often used by artists back in the day. Err, more like the present time, she supposed.
Ezio was making a beeline to a particular house that stood over the others with a small, attached courtyard and an ornately carved front door. As they approached, there was a sudden cacophony of chirps and flapping, and from out of the courtyard's entrance came a cloud of wings and beaks. All nearby onlookers were dumbfounded as birds of every size and color escaped before flying out of view into the early morning sky.
The hell was that about? Tristan watched as the last of the birds disappeared into the sky. She had recognized a couple of the species as songbirds, but why would a bunch of them scatter like that? She was about to turn and ask if that was a common thing around here, but her companion wasn't entirely paying attention as he proceeded to ignore the house's front door. Instead, he opted to go through the courtyard's entrance instead, and Tristan, bemused, slipped through behind him. She was surprised to find that the space inside would have been comfortable if it weren't for the dozen or so wicket cages taking residence. They stood barren now, which clearly spoke of where the birds came from. Standing in front of one of them was a young blonde-haired man adorned in paint-stained clothes and a tipped hat. She noted the tools and brushes attached to his belt as he turned, chin in hand and obviously deep in thought. She was taken aback by his bright eyes and how they widened when he saw them.
"Ezio!" he said with great familiarity and such relief as he effortlessly crossed the threshold, arms spread wide. "I heard what happened. I did not expect to see you at all and definitely not this soon—!" He cut himself off as he dragged the hapless teenager into a tight bear hug, and Tristan hid a smile behind a hand as Ezio awkwardly patted his back in return before extricating himself. She already liked this man, whoever he was.
The artist's eyes averted to her. "And who is your friend?"
"Ah, this is uh—" Tristan reflected that their relationship hadn't exactly started off on the right foot as he gesticulated her way. Although, one couldn't tell that his nose was the size and color of a tomato just three days ago. Since that eventful meeting, it hadn't exactly been the smoothest ride, either. Despite all their hissing and snapping, she would like to think they were amicable at this point. "—Tristan, a friend. She's been helping my mother and sister through this... challenging time." He stumbled on the last words but kept his cool as he turned to her.
"And this is Leonardo da Vinci. A painter friend of my mother's."
Tristan was all set out to be as polite as ever, but then his name registered, and her brain sputtered like a hand-me-down car because of it. She blinked owlishly at Ezio then at the newly named man. No— no. This… what? This is who Paola wanted Ezio to see? The Leonardo da Vinci? The man she practically wrote a hundred papers on throughout school? The man whose hometown she had practically begged to visit when they passed through Empoli? To actually meet him—! She wordlessly offered her hand, starstruck, not even caring if he shook it or kissed it. (Either way, it was a tempting thought of not ever washing it.)
"It is a pleasure to meet you. Even where I'm from, I've heard much about you under Verrocchio's tutelage." She pasted on her politest smile while her heart hammered what felt like a hundred beats an hour against her ribs. Pleasure? Honor? More like an absolute fantastical dream. Holy shit, this was insane. She supposed this was one of the perks of getting unceremoniously dumped in the Renaissance— assuming she kept her nose clean and didn't do anything too drastic or nerdy. But it made sense now as to why she had seen one of his works in the Palazzo Auditore when she had first arrived.
A sheepish but contagious smile spread across his features, one she found herself reciprocating. "The pleasure is all mine. Although, I'm afraid to say I will probably not live up to your expectations."
She stifled a smile, wholly ignoring Ezio's baffled expression as he glanced between them. I highly doubt it.
The artist blinked and then took in their surroundings, muttering to himself. "Ah, forgive my manners." The newly named Leonardo palmed the front of his head before folding his hands in front of him. "I'm sure you have quite a lot to do and are not here to listen to my prattle. How can I be of service today?"
"We need something fixed." Ezio pushed back the cape and started fumbling around in one of his pouches. It did not take too long before he pulled out a curious bundle of metal and some kind of document, offering it to the artist. "I inherited a rather... unique weapon from my father, but it was damaged recently, and I was told you had the capability of fixing it."
Tristan furrowed her brow as she subtly craned her head over Ezio's shoulder. I've seen something like that before. Something flicked at her memory as the bundle passed between the men's hands, but it frustratingly fluttered away when Tristan went to grasp it. Where, though? She rubbed her chin, eyebrows pulled low as she raked through every memory she had had growing up in a non-traditional household.
The would-be inventor's eyes lit up as he examined the curious mechanism between his hands. "Fascinating. Come, come. Let us go into my studio and get out of the cold. And..." He grimaced, looking skywards. "Please forgive the mess. My assistants are useless and are always moving things about." As he ushered them inside, Tristan and Ezio both discovered that a 'mess' was putting it lightly: papers in disarray, easels with canvases in various stages of completion, and even blueprints hastily pasted all over the walls. But to Tristan, it was an absolute goldmine. Between tinkering with the broken bracer and muttering to himself, he managed to shove aside some haphazard piles to make room on his main drafting table. The bundle consisted of a beautifully adorned bracer, a broken blade, and a curious mechanism— all wrapped in some kind of parchment. Vellum or whatever it's called, perhaps?
Wait—she started; eyes narrowed as she did a double-take. You really can be a real dunce sometimes she couldn't help but groan internally as the memory finally clicked into place. The profile of it, the fact there was a blade and a mechanism involved— how the hell do you forget what a hidden blade looks like?
However, it was apparent that Leonardo's excitement was short-lived. Only to be replaced with quietly hidden bafflement as he examined the components meticulously, occasionally picking something up for a closer inspection. And soon, that too dissolved into disappointment. He stifled a sigh as he placed the bundle down, setting his hands on either side of it.
"I'm afraid I cannot fix this. While remarkably well-maintained, it is still quite old and complex in its mechanisms. Without the original designs, it would be nigh impossible for me to replicate, let alone repair."
Ezio, understandably, became distraught. His hands shook, and Tristan knew he wanted to argue yet thought better of it as he hung his head. However, when he went to pick the bundle back up again, Leonardo leapt forward and practically pounced on the sheet of vellum that slipped out from underneath the metal pieces. "What is this?" he asked eagerly, rolling it open and peering at the neat but undecipherable scrawl. There were even diagrams, but Tristan couldn't make them out from this far.
"What, that? It came with the bracer, but it's nonsense—"
"Not nonsense, Ezio. Look!" He pointed at a particular segment of the text, his excitement gaining ground again as he looked at the both of them. "It's merely encrypted."
"What are you—" Ezio tried to interject, but he was elbowed by Tristan who jerked her chin. Whatever train of thought the artist was boarding had taken a sharp turn as he proceeded to ignore them and started pulling books and manuscripts from nearby shelves only to leaf through them carefully.
"But—!"
Leonardo waved him off with a stern but polite shush, not diverting his attention from his task as he poured and cross-referenced, soon picking up a quill and beginning to write in that unique mirror-writing style he would be later famous for. "If we transpose every third letter and proceed to-" Whatever he meant to say next became quiet mutterings
Ezio looked at the artist's back incredulously, then at Tristan before his gaze went skywards as if asking for patience. When none was found, he shuffled over to a nearby chair and collapsed onto it with a huff, crossing his arms. Without missing a beat, she pushed his boots off the table and leaned against the same spot, wholly ignoring his dirty look as Tristan watched the artisan work.
Ezio was already out to the world as the hour passed. By the second hour, his chin had slowly started to dip into his chest, and for once, he looked actually peaceful as his chest slowly rose and fell. "Yeah. I don't blame you." She lowly chuckled, sliding off her perch for her butt was starting to become numb
Tristan entertained herself with walking— or more like trying not to stumble through the studio, examining the many easels with various stages of art on them and the vast collection of sketches and blueprints plastered across the walls. In one corner, was a strange looking yet intricate knot, in another was a series of poses and anatomy sketches. Above her head, she spied with a thumping heart a familiar-looking contraption. As of now, it was just the bare-bones wooden frame, looking more akin to a bat skeleton than anything else. She had a deep-seated suspicion of what it would eventually evolve into, yet it was so steeped in shadow, that she couldn't get a proper look at it and confirm her theory.
One sketch, in particular, drew her attention. It wasn't the biggest or the most ornate. In fact, judging by the edges of the page, it looked to have been cut out from something. It merely depicted a series of of hands captured in movement; one of them clasping a leaf or a branch of something. Yet it still drew one's eyes to the fluidity and realism. She remembered reading once about a pair of missing hands from the back of one of his first commissions. Surely, this could be them, right?
"Ezio, I might need— oh, sorry."
Tristan reluctantly tore her gaze away from the source of many art historians' pains, eyebrow raised. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he indicated the mostly completed blade. "I have to make some final adjustments, and while the vice certainly works, I believe it would go by much faster if someone was wearing it. Alas." Leonardo tilted his hand towards the sleeping teen." I am loath to disturb him."
"He hasn't been sleeping very well," Tristan ruminated sadly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she turned to face the same direction. "I would not be surprised if any of us really have since the trial. So, in the meantime—" Tristan pushed up a sleeve and offered her own arm to him. "I can be his stand-in if you wish?"
He immediately brightened despite his chagrin. "I promise it won't take very long."
An actual functioning hidden blade— on my arm no less! She wasn't sure whether to be giddy or not as he strapped it on and tightened it so that hypothetically, the blade would hang down just past her fingers. It was heavier than she expected. And unlike the family heirloom in her old home with its fully enclosed leather glove and metal fittings that had probably packed a punch in its Victorian heyday, this one merely covered the majority of the forearm, leaving the hand free to move about. Still, it felt...deadly. Powerful even.
"It is a tragedy such a thing has happened," Leonardo muttered as he set out to work, a frustrated vent of breath escaping him. Whether it was the part not wishing to cooperate or the current topic, Tristan could only guess. "How is the Madonna faring? What of that of her sons?"
Tristan minutely winced but she told him the truth. Petruccio in bed and Federico angry, but very much alive. She found it odd Leonardo stalled slightly at the mention of the eldest, but it could have just been an errant spring as she continued: "With Maria, it is slow going, truth be told. Claudia believes she might have hit her head on the night of the arrest. I'm inclined to agree. She... she has her moments. Sometimes she's in the present, being able to hold a conversation and I've even seen her crack a smile recently. Other times..." She trailed off and fluttered her free hand through the air. Other times she's not even here. Leonardo must have understood for he slowly nodded. He fell into a silence as he continued working.
"Alright." After a few minutes, he stepped back and carefully peered at the page, a finger tracing alongside the design itself before tapping at a particular spot. "By the looks of it, there should be a kind of clasp or mechanism on the inside that will eject the blade from its sheath. Flexing your wrist against it should do the trick. But be careful and keep your fingers out of the way— the blade is sharp."
"Right, right, okay— here goes nothing, then?" She minded his warning and spread her fingers as far out as possible. Then with bated breath, she flicked her wrist. The blade smoothly slid out with a click, glinting dangerously in the candlelight as she pulled it up. At Leonardo's insistence, she made a couple of test swings and stabs with it. Everything appeared to be in order with no rattling at all, and as a result, she flicked her wrist again and the blade slid back in without any resistance.
They both shared grins as she slid off the bracer, handing it back to him.
"Now all that's left is to cut off the finger."
Ezio practically choked on the wine he had been given by one of Leonardo's assistants upon waking up. "What?"
The artisan sadly nodded with one of the most Oscar-worthy straight faces he could muster as he gestured. "I'm sorry, Ezio. But this has to be done. The design of the blade is to ensure the commitment of whoever uses it. Therefore, the finger must go."
Tristan buried a smile into her own cup. She hadn't realized that Leonardo da Vinci—the painter, the inventor, and the absolute legendary Renaissance Man he would one day become— was also a horrible prankster. If she had not helped him earlier, she certainly would have been convinced by his delivery.
On the other hand, the poor hapless teen looked practically horrified as he blinked at the cleaver in Leonardo's hand, at her, and then at his finger. She was shocked when it did not take too long for his face to harden and he immediately extended his ring finger on the block, being sure to turn his head so as not to see. "Okay but do it quickly."
In a whistling flurry of movement, Leonardo brought the cleaver down and Ezio, understandably, jumped nearly out of his seat as the blade bit into the wood mere inches from his finger. "Relax, I was only playing. While the blade did require a sacrifice once upon a time, it's since been modified with a couple of additions. You can keep your fingers. Although I would recommend to start wearing a thick glove."
"You bastards," Ezio hissed just as they started to laugh. He drained the rest of his glass, scowling, just as the door was pounded upon by a heavy fist.
"Open up!" The door bent inward again as another blow came upon it. "By Order of the Florentine Guard!"
"Ah great, now what?"
"Leonardo! Are you alright?"
The artist, only slightly battered, merely waved off Tristan's attempts to help as he stood brushing himself off. He merely had the appearance of being tired about the whole affair as he noisily exhaled. "I'm fine but thank you kindly for asking. Unfortunately, it's not the first time this has happened. Nor do I expect this to be the last since that damned trial." He waved it off before either of them could ask what he meant by that. "I must say, Ezio, your timing is quite impeccable. I am most glad to see that your new weapon works the way it was designed for."
"Indeed, although this wasn't exactly how I planned on using it..." Ezio rubbed at his newly acquired bracer, his eyes never leaving the guard sprawled out on the ground. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the dead man, gesturing. "What should we do about the body?"
"Ah," Leonardo turned and headed towards his house, gesturing for them to follow. "Just bring him inside and we can put him with the others."
Ezio nearly dropped the body as he stared. "Others?"
"The city gives them to me for research," Leonardo said nonchalantly as he swung open the door emitting them back inside. He gestured towards the back, where a flight of stairs Tristan hadn't seen before led downwards into darkness into what she presumed was a cellar. "Every now and then, I receive a couple of cadavers, and they keep for about a week. Enough time for me to look around and compile my notes." A couple of assistants, who had spent most of this time attempting to organize the chaos, took over from Ezio and manhandled the corpse into the dark between them.
Tristan glanced at Leonardo curiously. "Do you think anyone will come looking for him?"
"I doubt it much. But if they were to, I'll deny all knowledge of ever seeing him. I'm not without powerful allies here. All I ask is that you don't mention this incident to anyone."
"I wasn't planning to. Nor I doubt will she." Ezio nodded towards Tristan who also made a noise of affirmation. "We should probably get back to Paola and the others, then. They are probably wondering what is taking so long."
And face the music, she finished with a minute wince.
"Send Paola and your mother my regards, then. Oh! And here, before I forget," he gave Ezio the neatly rolled-up blueprint. "This is for you— just in case something were to happen again. If you were to find any more pages like this, bring them to me. Who knows what they'll contain, and if there are any more designs like this one, I'll be more than happy to upgrade your blade."
Ezio took it and then grasped his offered hand, shaking it graciously. "Thank you, Leonardo, for everything."
"Of course, my friend. It is always my pleasure." Leonardo turned to her, his eyes twinkling. "And from one artist to another, my doors are always open if you wish to come back and visit."
She started, a deep warmth permeating her cheeks. How? How did he know? Am I that obvious? She cleared her throat, suddenly at a loss of words, stammering a quiet thank you as she followed Ezio out the door. Realistically, she was stifling a colossal grin and trying not to squeal at the prospect of coming back and talking shop with one of the most influential figures in the art world ever. Keep it together for crying out loud; Tristan chided herself as she and Ezio both waved goodbye. Who's to say you'll get the chance to do so?
She chose to ignore that train of thought as she ran a hand through her hair and pulled it into a messy bun. Despite the nearly open murder that was just committed, barely anyone gave them the time of day as they quickly melded into the early afternoon traffic. Her gaze flickered to the alley where they had stopped by earlier.
"Ezio, just out of curiosity," she found herself asking out loud. "Have you ever heard of the word 'viator'?"
From the corner of her eye, she could see that he sent her a curious glance. "A few times. I do know that it's Latin," he mused. "I believe it roughly translates to 'traveler.' Why do you ask?"
She tore her gaze from the general direction of the alley, a heavy stone sinking in her stomach. "No reason."
~*End*~
BONUS SCENE
Tristan hid a snicker behind her hand as they walked, but she must have done a shit job at it for Ezio suspiciously side-eyed her before deadpanning, "What."
"Oh, nothing just—" she pasted on her best terrified Ezio face, earning a half-hearted glare from her companion.
"It wasn't that funny," he muttered with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.
She made the face again, and this time, a quiet snort escaped him, and he lightly shoved her as they headed back to the Rose. "You are incorrigible."
Annnnd, that is a wrap :D We got to meet LEO! I hope you like him or at least my take on him. 3 This chapter has several nods to the novelization of the game Assassin's Creed: Renaissance. Cookies to those who catch them! :D This chapter has several nods to the novelization of the game Assassin's Creed: Renaissance. Cookies to those who catch them! :D
TK's Unapologetically Leonardo da Vinci-themed History Fun Facts
Not The BIRDS
While not one hundred percent proven, it is heavily believed that Leonardo may have released animals—specifically songbirds sold by many vendors based in the streets of Florence. based on the presumption that humans were not necessarily superior to animals. And in a letter to his patron, Guiliano d'Medici, it is heavily insinuated that our very own Leonardo refrained from eating meat too.
Catch these (Missing) Hands
One of Leonardo da Vinci's earliest paintings, supposedly a portrait of Ginevra de'Benici, has a little bit of mystery behind it. On the reverse side of the painting, there are signs that two of the edges had been cut which have led some scholars to speculate that there could be a missing part of the painting.
The Saltarelli Trial
In April of 1476, just shy of his 24th birthday, Leonardo da Vinci and four other associates, including 17-year-old Jacopo Saltarelli, a suspected sex worker, were anonymously decried to the Office of the Night—a Renaissance-era vice squad for the alleged crime of sodomy.
The letter states:
"To the officers of the Signoria: I hereby testify that Jacopo Saltarelli, the brother of Giovanni Saltarelli, lives with him at the goldsmith's shop in Vacchereccia, directly opposite the buco; he dresses in black, and is seventeen years old or thereabouts. This Jacopo pursues many immoral activities and consents to satisfy those persons who request such sinful things from him. And in this manner he has performed many things, that is, he has provided such services to many dozens of persons of whom I have good information, and at the present time I name some of them. These men have sodomized the said Jacopo and so I will swear."
It is never said if he was imprisoned or not, but by June of the same year, the charges were dropped and he continued his stay in Florence as a free man.
Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome.
Have good one, folks.
-TK