Happy belated Thanksgiving/Halloween/etc.! (I meant to post on each of those days but boy howdy, did this chapter get out from underneath me.)
This is a looooooong one, so strap in, get some popcorn, and enjoy the show! It's VERY self-indulgent.
-TK
~*XIX*~
Alone Together
January 1, 1477
Tristan found herself drawing.
Nothing particular of course; just doodles and sketches— hands and eyes here, an attempt at a certain Mass Effect character there—all an effort in warming up long-lost muscle memory she had thought long-abandoned.
It hadn't really hit her until she pulled her hand away to see the pencil smudges on the underside, but it had been a while since she had drawn anything recreational or fun; let alone on paper of all things. All of the concepts and projects in the last two years or so had been for work and the years before that had been mainly for school. For a long time, the idea of so much as looking at her tablet at home gave her the heebie-jeebies. Which evolved to any downtime at home being dedicated to gaming and being a couch potato in front of Netflix. Given how neither of those was an option now, nor she was still weirded out by the idea of being able to read the local language through strange MacGuffinesque means, she turned to that old coping mechanism.
Perhaps, she grimly mused to herself, it was her one New Years' Resolution that may come into fruition. And truth be told? She blamed Leonardo for it. Meeting him, let alone standing in the middle of his actual workshop and seeing the sketches and blueprints in person sparked that old flame again. The same smoldering passion started all those years ago when she had been a kid sneaking inside all those local art museums.
Tristan paused mid-stroke, ears perked and already frayed nerves on edge. One of the floorboards in the hall had creaked slightly, and the near-undetectable movement of soft feet only spoke of one person. She immediately relaxed and didn't bother to look up as she absentmindedly waved, pencil still in hand. "Morning, Frederico."
While the movement stopped, there was a long, dare she say painful, pause, and she looked up owlishly to find Federico staring at her in muted disbelief. "What did you call me?" he rumbled in groggy bemusement, rubbing at his eyes.
"Fred- oh, my bad. Another brain fart."
He at least had the good humor to chuckle as she rested the pad against her knees, stifling a half-groan, half-laugh as she pressed a hand to her eyes. "Couldn't sleep." Again, Tristan added bitterly. Despite being raised in the foothills of California, she had gotten too used to the sounds of wheels and honking of the city life to realize just how unnerving the quiet could be.
"That seems to be going around." She wordlessly scooted just in time for him to sink into the couch massaging his temples. He looked as exhausted as she felt: dark circles under his eyes, rumpled clothes, and unkempt hair.
Alas, they were both here, begrudgingly ready for another grueling day. For there was far too much to do and too little to do it with.
She stifled another sigh and drew her hand away. Only to blink owlishly when she found Federico looking at her expectantly, with an upright brow. Had he said something? "Er, what was that?"
He hid a smile as he tilted his head towards the pad. "You are an artist."
"Oh." Tristan palmed her neck, eyes averting back to what she had been working on: hands, her nemesis. "Uh, y-yeah. Or at least I like to pretend I am at least." He looked interested, so she hesitantly flipped a few pages back, and proceeded to show him the less scarring drawings of what she had been working on. Now and then, she turned the page when prompted. Even the embarrassing attempts at trying to replicate some of Leonardo's human body studies that she had spied in his workshop. Notably, it was this his gaze lingered on the most, and he looked up with an amused twitch of the lips. "Is this why you insisted on going along with Ezio yesterday morning? To meet with Paola's mysterious artist friend?"
"Nah." She lifted a shoulder in an abashed shrug but was honest in her answer: "I was a pissed-off bundle of nerves and needed the fresh air." A tittering laugh soon followed with warmth creeping across her cheeks. "Believe me when I say I had no idea who or what kind of artist was involved in the repairs or else I would have practically broken down the door before anyone— " Tristan instantly clammed up, one hand frozen amidst turning a page as she bore holes into the wall. Oh right. He's considered talented but not like... famous now. "Well, I'm not going to say now since clearly you did not hear that," she hurriedly added with burning cheeks. I'm really beginning to hate Time travel.
Federico on the other hand poorly hid his amusement in the form of a soft snort and a surprisingly fond smile. "I am not surprised to hear that to tell you the truth. For only a fool would think Leonardo would be anything but a Master one day given his extraordinary talents." He turned his attention back to the featured page, eyes narrowing in deep concentration as he tapped at a particular drawing. "Although, if memory serves right, the angle here and here is a little skewed and I'm not sure the perspective is quite right either."
If he had other observations, they flew over Tristan's head as she blinked first at him and then at the page. All right, color her surprised. He certainly didn't look the artist type. She shrugged and immediately got to work fixing the notable mistakes. Who knew? But wait— her pencil nearly scratched to a stop. Blame it on the lack of sleep, but another rabbit hole of a thought began to form as she resumed her task, and the more she dwelled on it, a bigger picture began to form.
"You know..." Tristan hummed, pencil still scribbling in the suggested alterations, her eyes flicking up as she tried her best at being impassive. "I never said it was Leonardo we were visiting."
Silence met her and she risked a look, finding Federico with indignant brows. "What? Are you that surprised I would recognize the style of the painter whose works are on my family's walls?"
A sentiment that Tristan found herself doubting since a common onlooker wouldn't have such attention to detail, let alone know the dichotomy she was intimate with after years of University-level education. Both of which made her pause, scrunching her brows deep in thought. "I suppose that's fair," she mused absently.
And yet like a tunneling gopher, the thought that plagued her wriggled deeper. If there is one thing she knew, there would not be fondness unless there was something much more. Not to mention, how he worded his observation spoke of first-hand experience as if he had been there when the original design was first crafted. Perhaps he had been. Hell, perhaps he had even been a model-
A lightbulb lit up over her head right around the same time the record screeched to a stop in her head.
She closed her pad, staring off into space as she blinked once. Twice, before glancing at him, cocking her head. Could it be..? "… You two were close," she worded carefully, wondering if she was reading too much into this. "And not in a casual way, I take it."
The reaction was immediate for his head snapped in her direction; eyes narrowed. There was a sudden wariness about and she cursed her stupidity for it. Tristan may not have had the fancy history degree her father had, but it was common enough knowledge in her cultural circles that in these parts, even a whiff of homosexuality was a jailable offense. If not, something worst. And, like an idiot, she just threw a rather loaded accusation at him like a live hand grenade.
"I—" He stopped, frowning before a long-suffering sigh slipped from between his lips as he pressed both hands to his face, muffling him as he spoke. "Is this the part where I say you don't know what you're talking about and feign ignorance at what you are conveying?"
Tristan quietly hummed in what she hoped was an innocent manner as she pushed back her hair. "If it makes you feel better, I suppose. But I think we both know otherwise." She sent a sympathetic glance. "I know that look. That feeling deep in your chest that makes you feel lighter than air. The way your voice lilts when you speak or think. From... one different individual to another, I get it. I've been in your shoes, and I've been one for a very long time. And—" her voice dropped to a whisper. "Despite what a bunch of other people may say, there's nothing wrong with what you are. Nor is it some kind of sin or temptation."
Federico's head jerked eyes wide. "You...?" He paused to find the proper words, his gaze flicking back and forth, before understanding, trepidation, and what looked to be liberation dawned on him as he slowly nodded. "...I see. It… makes sense, now." He tilted his head towards the front lobby. "I am assuming it's a particular lady of the night then."
Tristan shifted just in time to mask the accompanying flinch as a fuzzy leg needing to be moved and not because of the long-buried memories of equal parts laughs and screaming matches that decided to resurface as Cecilia's face came to mind.
"Remind me to never play against you," she lamented before sobering up. "It's... Well, yes. She is quite attractive, I'll admit. But it's more like she reminds me of someone I once knew. Someone, I thought I had a future with." Tristan shrugged nonchalantly, drawing her knees to her chest, despite the dagger in her chest twisting deeper. It's been three years and fuck, it still hurt.
"Until she wasn't. Ran off with some traveling musician named Clyde or Klaus or something." The smile she sent his way was more self-deprecating than anything else as she shrugged again. "Young dumb love, am I right? You're stupidly blind for so long, that when reality strikes, you fall flat on your face."
Tristan paused, absently twirling her pencil in an attempt to ignore the commiseration she felt stemming from Federico. "Am I that much of an open book?" She poorly joked.
If he caught on her attempt to pivot, he didn't show or comment on it as he simultaneously raised a brow and a corner of his lip. "Well, yesterday you weren't exactly being subtle with all of your talk about begging for Cecilia to come home, you know."
All color drained from her face as she recognized the lyrics from Simon & Garfunkel. When had he— Oh. Oh shit. Tristan vaguely remembered the tune from yesterday. Had her singing been that loud? Or did he just have insane hearing? Either way, fuck; now she wanted nothing more than to find the nearest hole to crawl into and stay there. She hadn't even realized— "I have no idea what you're talking about," she attempted not to squeak resisting the urge to bring up the drawing pad to cover her no doubt reddening face. What sounded like a muffled laugh escaped him and she shot a half-assed glare.
"So, anyway." This time, she threw all pretense out the window in her effort to change the subject. Of course, she could not stop herself from waggling her eyebrows as she bumped a shoulder into his. "You and Leonardo? I won't lie, I'm just a wee bit envious that you got to spend that much time in his studio. Like? You got to see his drawing process firsthand. You got to meet and talk to him. You have no idea what he meant to me as a kid."
Federico's lips quirked slyly as if there was some kind of inside joke she had been missing as he scratched at his chin, oddly throwing a look at her pad. "You... could say that. Although you would be disappointed in knowing that it was a brief affair; snuffed before it became anything else." Tristan could see the tension slowly unwinding from his shoulders as he sank into the couch, shutting his eyes as his head rested against the back. "When word of a trial began to spread, and his involvement was brought into question. He practically insisted on not wanting to potentially spread the scandal to me or my family. So we mutually agreed to end it. And that was that."
"Does—"
But Federico cut her to the punch with a weary yet stern side-eye.
"No, my family has never known. And I say this with the utmost great respect: I plan on keeping it that way. While I am not ashamed of who I am, they do not need to know. We are already amidst dire circumstances; I refuse to be the source of another upon their heads."
"Cross my heart." Tristan traced an X across her chest. "I wouldn't even dream of it. Not with everything else going on. Especially when leaving the city is on the table."
Federico visibly relaxed at that, nodding slowly.
"Speaking of which, I was wondering..." He leaned forward a little palming his neck, eyes averted to the floor. "Would you be willing to come with me—"
Despite not wanting it to, Tristan's hope flared up. Was this him asking for her to come with them to wherever? It was a silly thing to consider, she knew because like, why would he? But still... the idea of being in Florence on her own. Was it doable? Yes. But it would be quieter in the absence of the company she had kept these past few days.
"—on some errands? It would go by quicker with someone else to assist me."
She tried not to be disappointed. Her fingers fidgeted with the material of her pants as she pursed her lips. "...sure? Although wouldn't this be better with your brother along?"
Federico schooled his expression a little too well before replying: "I would ask him, but he was gone this morning. Saying his goodbyes no doubt. Not that I blame him." He and Cristina have been steady for quite some time. "
She arched a brow at that. It was evident that there was more going on than that but said nothing. Whatever had happened was between him and his brother. "Then, in that case, I'll gladly help. It may just take a bit since my leg and all." She scooted herself off the couch, tucking the pad under her armpit as she gathered any other loose things and stood up, already making a beeline for the stairs. "Just give me a few, and I'll meet you by the front door, okay?"
"Tristan...?"
"Hmm?" She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "When you said you saw a future with her..." Federico trailed off, looking about as hopeful as she had been. Oh, to be young(-er) again. She had been about his age when she found herself comfortable with the idea of settling down with the person, she had thought was the "One."
"Yeah, suppose I did, huh?" Tristan could only smile, bitterly clutching at her pad, threatening to bend it. She recalled she had been looking at rings when the news hit. Not the diamonds; Lauren had despised diamonds.
"I admit it's not perfect where I'm from, but I had planned on it."
Of course, a fat lot of good it did for her. But that was years gone, and she swore she wouldn't let it bring her down. Tristan released her grip on the drawing pad, breathing through her nose. Lauren was gone, and so too were any feelings she once had towards her. Anything else was just a ghost.
"I'll see you by the front door."
Tristan slid her hand off the creaking door just as it came to a sudden stop against something. She poked her head around and found it had been one of the large bookshelves that had decorated Giovanni's office. It laid on the floor now, broken and spilling its guts in the form of thick tomes. Not a single speck of dust on them, she noted. Giovanni had taken great pains in ensuring they were immaculate. Similar detritus were scattered around the room indicating someone— or someones— had raided in the absence of the owners. Torn papers and broken chairs were tossed clear across the room. In fact, in the day's light, the room looked as if a god's hand had rummaged around looking for spare change. She hardly recognized the same office she had everything dumped on her in just three days ago.
And away from the street and ruckus of the city, it was… quiet. To the point where her breathing sounded like a firecracker going off.
Federico had been tight-lipped the entire way over, having said little except that their first stop was his home. He appeared to be in his own little world, escaping just enough to cryptically supply there were personal items he wished to grab for his mother and sister. But no matter how much she pressed, he would not further divulge his intentions. He did let one thing slip, though. His father's desk had something of great value to them: an emergency stash of funds. Although, he was not sure as to where; it was this task he had asked Tristan to look into as he ventured upstairs.
And so, Tristan threaded her way carefully, as if she was trespassing on hallowed ground. She wondered if all of this was a fool's errand. Was the stash still here amidst all this destruction? Even the paintings that had hung over the heads of many visitors— including the one she both admired and loathed— were not spared. Knives in the hands of cruel men had found their marks and ripped clear through Alamut, making the castle and the mountainside it sat upon sink into pathetic sad smiles. Even more tragically, the painting of Masyaf's wooden frame was in the corner having splintered into a thousand tiny pieces across the floor.
Despite the chaos the invaders had inflicted, Giovanni's grand desk still stood in its place, having moved only by a hair. Probably because it weighed a ton to even be lifted, let alone tossed if she had to guess. Its surface, however, was spared no such luck, judging by the amount of papers and broken baubles strewn about. As she came around to the other side, she hoped with a thick swallow that the dark stains that dotted across the top were from the tipped-over inkwell.
"Focus, Trish," she chided as she opened the very bottom drawer. Surprisingly, its items were intact. No cash, of course, just lots of paperwork peppered in Giovanni's scrawl. If she was a burglar, she wouldn't be exactly interested in that type of stuff either. The same could be said for the other one she pulled open, and the next one, and the next. She closed the very last drawer with disgust and an unnecessary shove. Dammit, they weren't here. He must have moved it, or worse—someone must have gotten to it first.
After unsuccessfully exploring the underside, Tristan eyed the fireplace. It was an absolute long shot, but maybe Giovanni stowed somewhere in there before everything went to shit? Worth a shot.
Tristan's shin barked against the bottom drawer and she jolted. "Comemierda," she seethed between clenched teeth. Why. Why did it have to be that leg? She rubbed at the spot, cursing at the cruel irony of it all. Her scowl disappeared though when she looked at the innocent drawer just sitting there. Funny, an eyebrow rose. I don't remember it being that deep. Pain now long forgotten, she tentatively took her hand and placed it inside. Sure enough, her palm was about halfway out as her fingers brushed against the bottom. "Clever man."
She took both hands and shoveled aside what were probably years of notes and papers meticulously organized. She felt around the inside until she found a small indentation just under the lip of the drawer, and upon pressing it, the false bottom popped open, revealing its secrets.
You certainly loved your hidden compartments; she mused sadly as she ruffled through her prizes. There were letters, she noted. Lots of letters that she respectfully set to the side. One decided to slip out of her hand anyway, opening just enough to reveal a name, Kassandra before she hurriedly closed it again and placed it on top of the neat pile. Even in death, a man was still afforded his privacy, and his Assassin affairs were not any of her business, either. There were even a few bound books as well, but they looked so ancient, so fragile, she was afraid of even looking, let alone opening them. There was a name on one of them, but it was so faded, all she got out of it was an E and an A. Maybe two Ms as well. She gently shifted those aside to pull out the three bags filled with coins of gold and silver.
A scraping sound had Tristan snapping her head towards the fireplace like a deer in headlights. Shit, shit, shit, it was opening. Why was it opening? Even with the sunlight still filtering through the windows, she could only make out a shadow as it exited through the fireplace, wearing some kind of thick cloak or something. She ducked behind the desk before it straightened, her hand immediately jumping to her dagger.
Shit, this was not good at all. Here she was, stuck in a small room with an intruder, and Federico is of course upstairs. That's fine. She's fine. Tristan took a calming breath before stealing a peek. The figure still had its back to her, fiddling with something in the corner. Good enough reason to try and get out. The door was right there. Slip out, rush upstairs, and grab Federico. Great plan, she jerked her head in affirmation, hand still on the hilt, not drawing it yet. She hoped she didn't need to.
And yet, as soon as she had stepped out, the figure suddenly stiffened, and before Tristan could slip back under cover, they whirled around, crouching low in a defensive position, their left hand forward as if wanting to strike something. In the closed space, the accompanying scraping snk was deafening as a familiar-looking blade shot out of their arm. But as soon as it had occurred, they froze, staring at her underneath a beaked hood.
"Woman," the stranger vented in exasperation and Tristan numbly recognized the voice coming from under the hood as her companion's. He stood up and dropped his hand, the blade disappearing into its bracer before he yanked back his hood. He looked equally unimpressed and miffed as he stiffly resumed his chastising. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Federico—?" Her terror dissolved only to be replaced with bewilderment and indignance as she set hands on her hips, ignoring the hilt pressing against her side. "Where did you— How? What?" She proceeded to scowl, jabbing a finger at him. "Hang on, why are you getting upset? You snuck up on me! I thought you were a burglar!" Tristan shoved the drawer with her foot as she leaned to see around him, squinting at the fireplace's secret entrance, huffing. "How did you even get back there anyway? I thought you were upstairs?"
"I was upstairs." He rubbed the back of his head, now sheepish as he turned, gesticulating towards the fireplace. "My father had the Palazzo built with many escape routes at his disposal. Many of them lead into there. "I—" he paused shooting an apologetic glance "—realize now I should have warned you. I'm sorry, Trish."
She couldn't help but throw a dirty look as she crossed her arms; the unspoken "you think" floating between them. But before she could remark anything else, his eyes landed on the dagger still in her hand and he snapped his fingers, cutting her off. "Right! That reminds me..." He turned on a dime and disappeared back inside, but not until he poked his head out again. "Are you coming or not?"
Tristan pursed her lips but eventually followed. Her curiosity outpaced that of her annoyance and indignation. Besides, it was not every day one got the opportunity to explore an actual hidden space in its prime. Her first impression was that it was remarkably bigger on the inside than she anticipated as she ducked through. Even Federico was able to stand to his full height as he led them deeper inside, opening into a small lit room that looked less Italian Renaissance-y and more… ancient Tristan supposed as she glanced around. While small, the cylindrical design of the hidden chamber cleverly gave the impression of depth despite only being four walls and an intricately decorated ceiling. Huge bookshelves took up the right-hand wall, stacked to the brim with scrolls, tomes, and other ancient texts that would have made modern-day historians like her father practically salivate. On the left, shelves and pegs had been hammered in, showcasing dusty armor and swords that had seen better days. Directly across from them was a noticeably majestic chest, with its lid flung open, no doubt having housed Giovanni's robes and personal effects. To the left and right of it, alcoves had been built, housing a variety of supplies that a Master Assassin could ever need or want.
Federico was at one of these, his back to her as he quietly spoke to himself, hands moving about. At his feet, were a couple of sacks, filled with various items for his family, if she had to guess.
Tristan left him to his own devices though, not quite done with her exploring, as she turned in place. She wondered just how old this tiny hideout was, given the faded nature of the carved moldings. But her gaze was drawn to the top of the wall, close to where they entered. There were noticeably small gratings, a clever way to get air inside. A sudden realization dawned upon her as she pivoted, eyes flicking easily to Federico's back. "So this was where you were eavesdropping from."
A cheeky but apologetic grin thrown over his shoulder was her reward. "Maybe?" He drawled, tugging at the collar of his— Wait. Tristan did a double take as she took in his wardrobe change. How did she not notice what he was wearing earlier?
The first thing that she noticed was that unlike Ezio's— or more like their father's— robes, these were not as grand and had no cape secured on the shoulder. Nor were they white. Rather, they were the culmination of dove-grey, dark brown, and off-white, with shorter cloth in the front, thickly belted at the waist with leather, and a red sash tied at the side. Although, she did not give the color much credence, for even Tristan knew that only Masters were given the privilege of wearing such a pristine status. Since as the stories went, only the best and deadliest of the Assassins, could wear them and be but a blade in the crowd. It wasn't... really a thing in modern times, anymore, but ceremonial robes were still used depending on the branch.
But what Federico lacked in status, he more than made up in the weapons department as he was the embodiment of a "One Man Army." On his left arm was secured a hidden blade, and Tristan could not think of anyone else more worthy of such a sacred responsibility. She also lost count of the many knife handles that jutted from the belt. Most noticeable of them all however was the sword strapped to his hip, where Federico's left hand easily rested on its black and silver pommel as he turned.
Tristan gave a low whistle and twirled her finger, stifling a smile. "Well, alright fancy pants. Let's see it."
He spread his arms wide, and did so, obviously soaking in the attention as he fought a grin when he stopped again. "What do you think?"
"It suits you." She took a step forward, and tugged at one of his sleeves, smoothing out some of the wrinkles. They were starchy—clearly brand new and had been carefully crafted by great hands to fit him. She even noticed the small attention to detail in ensuring the collar was loose, just like his usual clothes. Giovanni had known him very well. Her hands dropped to his bracer, lifting it to see in the light. Not as adorned or weathered as his father's, but it was still beautiful in its workmanship and the smell of new leather was quite prominent as her fingers ghosted it. "You look like him you know."
Federico smiled but it didn't reach his eyes as his hand traced it. "It... feels strange. I dreamt of the day donning my own cowl. But now that it's here..." He dropped his hand, sighing. "It doesn't feel real."
"Does this mean I can't call you errand boy, anymore?"
Federico snorted. "If you want, since officially it's only a set of new robes and nothing more."
Tristan stopped him from turning back around, moving her hand from one shoulder to the other as if she was in the process of knighting him. "In the powers given to me as an ex-Assassin, I hereby grant you the rank of 'Hoodie Boy.' Be welcomed into the Brotherhood and know our words: 'Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.'" She playfully pulled his hood down. "Now go forth and serve the light from the dark or something."
He loudly snorted again, but from underneath the hood, she spied a bemused yet beholden smile. "As always, poignant and straight to the point." He tugged his hood down again, and proceeded to back up, an arm reaching behind him. "And as a token of gratitude, I have something I think will serve you well. You always said you had at least two. So—" He finally found what he was looking for, and handed her a small bundle that surprisingly clinked when she grasped it.
Upon taking it, did she realize why. It was a belt similar to his and Ezio's, but without the fancy "A" symbol of the Assassins, and neatly tucked into the leather were a dozen or so thinly crafted but still deadly throwing knives. She pulled one out, and easily flipped it amongst her fingers, pleasantly surprised with how it felt. How balanced it was. Quality stuff, these were.
"Y-you shouldn't have. This is more than two—" she began to protest. Back home, complete sets like this would often cost a pretty penny. Hell, she had to save up for months between her two jobs to snag a professional set herself— a purchase she seriously regretted leaving at home. For him to just give it away...? But one look at Federico's face made her realize that it was a fight she was destined to lose. So she wrapped it back up and from the bottom of her heart, expressed her thanks. "Thank you, then. I am honored. Truly."
He had the decency not to be smug about his little victory, instead inclining his head. "There's also a sheath for the dagger as well. I noticed while you were pulling it out earlier."
She easily slipped the dagger into its new sheath. "Well, don't you know how to win a girl's heart." She started to tease, slipping the belt on and tightening it. But she was distracted as cold air wafted across her face. Turning, she studied the rather sizeable bookcase pressed against the wall, but it was not the great tomes that piqued her interest. It was rather easy to he ran her hands over the shelves, and when she found the hidden switch that slid the bookcase back and the side, revealing a passage that dipped into the dark.
She turned to Federico who was poorly hiding the fact he was impressed, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "Where does this lead?"
He walked over and poked his head inside. "Besides the passages that lead inside the house, it connects to a network of tunnels some Assassins built during my great-grandfather's time. Some have collapsed over the years, but my father was in the process of repairing them. His hope was to one day, have a system in place across all of Florence for Assassins and allies to use."
"Tunnels? Hm..."
He glanced between her and it, a brow raising. "What are you thinking exactly?"
Tristan pursed her lips. Truth be told it was a scattering of thoughts jerry-rigged into a cohesive idea. "Well not to put my nose into anyone's business since I know you and Paola already have your plans, but wouldn't it make more sense to sneak about this way?"
"There are one or two passages that lead outside the walls, yes. But wouldn't you be suspicious of an entire group of people entering a house and not coming back out?"
"I mean... sure?" She shrugged. "But if it lessens the chance of getting captured at the front entrance, I say it's worth the risk."
Federico scratched at his chin, humming out loud. He now appeared very interested in the passage for his eyes never left it. "It does have merit, and I will certainly consider this development." He slipped the switch, and the bookshelf settled back into place. "Until then, I think we're done here."
With their prizes in tow, they carefully made their way back to the office, snuffing each sconce as they went. They gathered the rest of their supplies in silence.
With one last look, Federico shut the door behind him.
It was at the Palazzo's gate though where Federico paused. He reached out and placed his hand on the wall. He looked up seemingly taking in the intricate details, the carved statues taking guard in the alcove, all the while his thumb absently rubbing at the rough-hewn stone as he took it in.
"Take your time," Tristan softly said, having recognized that look. It never got easy moving from one place to another.
"Why?" He croaked out a dry bitter laugh, not looking at her. "This Palazzo is barely a year old—" he started to say before faltering, a shaky yet worn edge to his voice, his hand tightening into a fist. "It's just a building."
She slipped her hand onto his shoulder, squeezing it. "But it was still your home. Memories were made here. Does not matter how little or much time you spend somewhere, you are still allowed to feel pain at losing something so precious as that. So say your goodbyes because you don't know if you'll ever get the opportunity again."
There was no answer, but she could see him shaking as Federico stood there, his knuckles white and head bowed. He eventually stilled, placing his forehead against the cool wall, and murmuring something under his breath before stepping back, and shouldering one of the sacks.
"Let's go," was all he said in a voice akin to coarse sand, never once looking back.
"How do you do that?" She asked after a long time of them walking in silence. It had been the third time Federico directed them past another undercover patrol. She barely registered that something was off with the last group, and that was only because they were stiffly staring at every other patron that walked past. Their eyes barely grazed them, before Federico took one look and tugged her sideways into a side street.
"Do what?" She noticed he was paying half attention, too busy scanning the crowds with those eerie golden eyes of his in case they had been followed.
She tugged at his arm. "Don't play innocent. That thing," she wriggled a finger at him, "that you do that makes your eyes change colors. They become gold or something."
Federico braked so hard; she practically ran into his back. He turned to stare at her as if three heads had sprouted out of her neck. "You can see that?"
"Of course, I can, why wouldn't I?" She set her hands on her hips. "And since we're on the subject, I also remember you said something along the lines of me being 'blue,' too. Care to elaborate?"
His features went slack before he brought a hand up to rub at his brow." ...Oh. I suppose I did. I wasn't sure if you were trustworthy or not when we first met. So I... I made sure. I can see things, in a sense. Importance, loyalties, where members of my family are. Things of that nature. When I use the Sight, it takes the form of different colors." He crossed his arms. "And by the way, not many people can see the eye change."
Unfortunately, that only leads to a sleuth of other questions. "You... saw? That... I was... blue?"
The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Blue usually means an ally or a friend. Red, not so much. White are neutral parties, and finally, those with gold are usually people or items of interest. And well, it's more than just seeing, of course. The best way I could describe it is it's this awareness, but stronger. It's—" Federico glanced upwards, seemingly asking for guidance. He must not have found it nor the right words, for his shoulders slackened and a laugh escaped him. "Shit, I wish Ezio was here. He understands this better than I do—" his eyes flicked her way. "Not that I will ever admit it.
"I'm sorry if this isn't making any sense."
But Tristan was nodding fervently along. "On the contrary, I think I get it now. All my life, I had something similar. Not like... whatever weird shit yours is, but like having an extra pair of eyes on the back of my head. Brent liked calling it the 'Spidey Sense'"— she put a hand up to stop him, seeing him looking to ask "—for modern reasons we don't have the time to go over right now. But it's this intuition, a perception; like being able to grasp what someone's true intentions are. Whether they're good, bad, or otherwise. It... usually comes across as thoughts or sensations. You, of course, were easy. Like a fire on a cold winter night. With Uberto though—"
His brows immediately furrowed. "Tristan."
She waved his warning off. This wasn't some long con to blame herself, she promised. They were over this. "—It was like something rotten inside."
Something else she had noticed recently was that ever since she had been stuck here, it had gotten stronger. As if the fewer distractions she had at her disposal, the more focused it's become. The absence of technology probably was a contributing factor. Watching Netflix, scrolling social media, burying oneself in work... All of it must have contributed to a type of numbing factor that affected the brain. It was a little wonder her sense had massively declined in the last five or so years.
"By your wording, I am guessing not many have these… 'gifts.'"
"Besides yourself, I only know of my brother and I. So, no. And the lucky bastard is exceptionally gifted at it." He found a particularly sunny patch provided by the morning sun and leaned against the wall rubbing his hands together as he pieced his words carefully. "I can only use mine in selective moments, and that is only after intense concentration. Even then, it is within short bursts. Otherwise, I tend to suffer some of the worst headaches imaginable as a result.
"On the other hand, Ezio," he proceeded to snap his fingers, "can do it whenever. For a longer period, I should... add..." Federico trailed off, eyes narrowing as he pivoted some. "Hmm, well those are new."
She turned to see what had gained his attention and discovered a dozen or so posters that had been thrown haphazardly inside the alley. Some were already peeling or had peeled, now part of the common detritus that littered the ground. But the ones that stayed glued to the wall she could see. Their likenesses were blurry, but it was easy to understand whom they were trying to identify: Ezio, for starters. And Federico, and... her heart went up her throat as a couple of posters had very feminine-looking characters on them. The closest one she snatched and stared at the number of zeroes under the Wanted: Alive heading.
"They are willing to pay how much?" She whispered, unsure if she should be horrified or flattered at such a notion.
Federico leaned in close and squinted. "I think you're safe." He took his finger and traced the outline of what was supposed to be her face. He softly snorted after a long pause. "It looks nothing like you at all. Your ears are huge in this one. And the brow is too high. Not nearly as pretty either."
She raised her head slightly, shooting him a small appreciative smile before her eyes were drawn to another poster, and she winced. "Oof, you want to talk about bad takes, look at Ezio's. His face looks awful."
"Oh no, that very much looks like him. Look at the way the eyes are too close together—"
"Federico?" she innocently said. "That one is yours."
He mock-scowled and ripped it off, easily balling it and tossing it over his shoulder in one smooth motion as she stifled a quiet laugh behind a hand. "I don't know what you're talking about."
They soon fell into senseless teasing as they walked and ripped each poster down, finding something new to mock or poke fun at. An enlarged nose here. Too skinny of a face there. They even began to boast as to who had the higher bounty on their head. (Ezio, surprisingly enough, won that round.) Some gave way easily while others took a quick tug or three. It took about ten minutes, but they managed to clear the walls of posters. "There." Federico dusted his hands looking satisfied before resting them on his hips. "Even if the likenesses were awful, that should help some of the commoners forget. A shame since some of yours was not too bad looking." He shot a wink, grinning.
She shot a rather unimpressed brow his way as she began walking. "Look here you little— fuck."
In a strange sense of deja-vu, a five-man patrol leisurely turned the corner and headed straight for them with three of them brandishing wicked polearms. Luckily for them, they hadn't spotted them yet given how bored their demeanor was. Still, there was no other path for them to go, meaning they were on a direct collision course if she and Federico didn't vacate immediately. Tristan turned on a dime and shoved Federico back the way they had come. "Not that way. Back onto the main road."
But he was solid, standing firm as a statue despite her best efforts. "Tristan..." Federico interjected, jerking his head towards the plain-clothes men from earlier also making their way toward them. From the corner of her eye, she could see Federico's hand inching towards the gilded hilt on his hip. Fighting would be a fool's errand, however. There were far too many at hand, and there was no way for them to hide or get out. They were going to be sandwiched between two patrols who were going to see one man and one barely concealed woman, both wanted, and-
And—
And...
Tristan pursed her lips as she glanced sideways at her companion, a light flicking on. It was a stupid one, of course. Questionably morally wrong to boot. Just overall probably one of the dumbest ill-conceived notions she ever had recently. Yet, they didn't have much of a choice though, given how close trouble was. So bring in the dumbest ideas, she conceded. If there was one thing that Tristan had learned in her youth— sometimes, the best part of dumb ideas was that no one was going to expect it let alone question it.
Besides—her eyes narrowed further as she spied Federico's thumb pushing up the hilt, revealing steel— it was either this or, again, fight. And she didn't like their odds. Between her leg and his ribs, they were about as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.
Can't believe I'm considering this. Tristan shoved Federico again, aiming for the nearby wall, earning herself a grunt of surprise when he stumbled into it. She yanked his hood down before he could say anything and did her best in ruffling his hair into the most convincing disheveled mess. (She noted it was surprisingly really soft.) Ignoring his look of muted indignance, her hands landed on his collar and when she started fumbling with it, that earned her a concerned "What are you doing—?" as he clasped at her wrist.
She met his eyes, wincing. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course I do," he said without an ounce of hesitation, despite the confusion tinting at his words. "But—"
"Then follow my lead—" she paused, stepping back to let him finish what she started— "And try to make it look convincing."
As she ran a hand through her hair to make it evenly unkempt, Federico's fingers stalled as it dawned on him. "Oh."
The clanking was becoming even louder. Fuck, it sounded like they were nearly on top of them, as her eyes went heavenwards. "Yeah." She proceeded to grip at his lapels, dragging him down — because damn, was he tall— and planted her lips onto his into the most convincing kiss she could manage. She disregarded how tense he was against her as she attempted to keep up appearances, her fingers grazing the nape of his neck.
Just two lovers having a rendezvous in an alley. She saw movement in the corner of her eye. C'mon just ignore us, you walking trashcans. Assuming her 'partner' would cooperate and do his part, she silently grumbled, opening her eyes just enough for a warning glare.
But then a warm hand was on her cheek, and as he used it to tilt her head slightly, it moved up into her hair, bunching it up in a manner that neither tugged nor harmed. The other arm snaked around her waist, gripping her by the belt to pull her tighter against him.
"I have an idea, but I need you to lift your leg," he muttered, lips barely moving against hers as his eyes flicked upwards. Despite the danger close by, he sounded rather calm about it all. Cheeky even. He was enjoying this. In the back of her head, Tristan realized she was never going to hear the end of this one. "The bad one, I mean. And..." He chose then to separate, slyly smiling. "I promise I won't drop you."
She couldn't exactly question where he was going with this, and a part of her didn't want to as she wordlessly did, stifling a wince. His hand trailed the outside of her leg before gripping it under the knee—gently of course, and with a quick spin and a brief sense of vertigo, she found herself dipped, his warm lips on hers once more, muffling the startled yelp.
Tristan was numbly aware of the round of wolf-whistles as she wrapped her arms around his neck, half playing the part, half gripping for dear life, despite knowing he would never drop her. His arm around her back was far too strong for that. Whether it was the blood rushing to her head or the action itself, it was hard to think, and it was a conscious action to even breathe. It's fake, Trish. Remember that. Sure, she giddily mused as she 'played' with his hair, but damn she asked him to be convincing and he did his homework with extra credit to boot.
She heard a shuffling sound and what sounded like someone shoving another amidst a curse. "Quit gawking, Otto. You're going to catch flies that way." One of them gruffly said. Another man seemed to grumble about "the lovestruck idiots" getting a "fucking room." Both of which were followed by the sounds of their armor disappearing down the alley.
Holy shit, their ruse worked.
They kept at their act for a short moment longer before Federico stopped. He briefly grinned down at her, pulling her back to her feet as he stepped sideways to glance around the corner. It didn't take long for the all-clear.
Tristan blew a breath through her nose, covering her face to stifle the groan. Or was it to hide her already reddening cheeks? Or that of her tingling lips?
"Let me just start off by saying I am so very sorry," she blurted. "It was the only thing I can think of that didn't involve some kind of combat," Her face was far too warm now as she peeked through her fingers as further rambled: "I really should have warned you first."
He grinned crookedly and she hated the fact that butterflies fluttered in her stomach because of it. This was stupid. She was a woman who had flirted half-way across the bars of the country, and yet here she was, acting as if she was at her Prom. "Pray tell, why are you sorry? I have to admire the quick thinking and look—" he wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a side hug, indicating with the other towards where the guards disappeared- "it worked splendidly; they didn't expect a thing! Although," he smirked, eyebrows waggling suggestively. "My dear Tristan, you could have just asked. I would have been more than happy to demonstrate. Especially after knowing that you are quite talented. If that was mere pretense..."
I could say the same for you. She palmed his face away, squirming just out of his hug, with a mock scowl. "Maybe I should have just let them fight us instead if it meant you get knocked down a peg or three."
Federico clutched at his chest in a fit of dramatics. "You hurt me with your cruel words!" But there was still a sparkle of mischief still dancing in his brown eyes as he began buttoning up his collar once more. "Also, what's the fun in that?" he hummed, taking his sweet, sweet time redoing the clasps, Tristan noticed. "The alternative would have been far less pleasant for the both of us, I assure you."
Tristan ignored her flushing cheeks as she rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, quickly throwing it into a messy bun. "Let's just get out of here before they come back, okay? I don't think they'll fall for it a second time." She paused briefly, shooting her own smile and a pair of finger guns. "Nice dip at the end, by the way. Really sold them."
"Why, thank you milady." He bowed exaggeratedly, beaming ear-to-ear before pivoting and resuming their trek to what Tristan presumed was the northern section of the city. The main boulevard they had kitty-cornered was beginning to pick up traffic. Stalls selling everything from jewelry to dried herbs had been set up and were already being browsed by shoppers. She was unable to even spot the plain clothes anymore. Perfect for them to slip into and away from prying eyes, then.
Tristan scratched the side of her head when he sent more than his fair share of charming smiles and appreciative glances as they made their way through. "You know the more I get to know you, the more I can't understand you."
Federico's smile immediately dissolved as he turned his head, frowning. "How so?"
"Why do you do such spontaneous things like pickpocket when you clearly are a—? Uh." She made a face. "Don't take this to your head; I'm merely stating the obvious. Something is working out for you between the looks and charms." And the Champion Level Kissing. She secretly added with a grimace, fingers ghosting her lips. Focus Trish. Christ on a bicycle.
Surprisingly, he merely smiled at that. Or was that a poorly hidden wince? "I ... suppose boredom, mostly," he softly said, bringing a hand up to smooth his hair over. But despite his efforts, it still stood up like a cowlick and she resisted the urge to tamp it down. "Which isn't the best answer I realize, but it is hard to explain. It boils down to when you go through the motions with what feels like every day, the mundane of it all grows tiring after a while. Stale, even. One day it appeared to me. It was just something... different to do." He sent a small smile. "If it's any consolation, I have no desire to make it a habit."
Tristan hummed while adjusting a pinching cloth. Briefly, she wondered if he had some kind of neurodivergence. It would explain his impulsivity and fidgeting. Then a thought came to her, and she looked up. "Is that why you aren't a banker anymore?"
He winked, easily side-stepping a group of monks. "Bold of you to assume I was ever one at all. But... yes. It was one of many. Even as a boy, I never liked the idea of sitting behind a desk talking about accounts and interest..." He made a face and exaggeratedly shuddered before tamping down a chuckle. "That and I am sure my former employers didn't appreciate me leaving several sacks of their clients' money on the roof."
Tristan's face scrunched to prevent the surprised laugh from slipping out. "You are a menace, Federico."
"And yet," he slowed his pace just to lean in close, dropping his voice to an offensively pleasant purr. "I have a distinct impression that you enjoy it, else you wouldn't be here, throwing yourself at me in stop me from harm."
She softly thwapped his shoulder with an accompanying harrumph. "How about next time, I'll just run for the hills and leave you to the wolves so you can dirty up that pretty sword of yours?"
He laughed as he straightened, but not before she stopped him to fix the lost cause that was his hair.
Men.
Satisfied, she playfully shoved him. "With that out of your system, now. What's the next step in this grand plan of yours that you haven't exactly been open about? What are you planning on doing with the money?"
His good humor disappeared as a mask slipped into place. "Supplies, mainly. Information, food, but most importantly, horses. A carriage would be preferable, and safer out on the road for Mother and Claudia, but it would draw far too much attention and would pose too much of a tempting target."
"Okay, so sounds like we should split then. If you get the supplies, I'll see about the horses. My grandparents had a ranch and would often use me and the cousins to help over the summer. So I know a thing or two."
He sent a grateful look for that as they came to a stopping point. They passed a gate that opened into a quaint enclosed courtyard where a lone scrawny tree stared on from the corner, overshadowing a lone bench. Federico pulled the bags and began divvying up the money, occasionally muttering to himself before giving her a healthy proportion of the funds. "This should be enough, then. Ask for Mercutio— he's a money-grubbing weasel with gambling debts but one who owes me a favor." He gave directions before he faltered, peering at her. "No offense. I have all the faith in you, but I am assuming you also know how to haggle, yes?"
Tristan squinted one of her eyes as she leveled out her hand and teetered it back and forth. "So and so?" She failed to mention that the last time she had tried to haggle in Tijuana, it hadn't gone so well with someone's Abuela none-too-pleased.
He must have caught her apprehension though for another few coins— florins if she remembered correctly— were thrown in for good measure. "Just in case, then. And when you are finished with that, meet me by the church of Santa Maria Novella. I should have everything else secured."
For once, she knew exactly where that church was. It had been a five-minute walk from the train station during her time.
"You know—" Tristan couldn't help but muse as she secured the rather sizeable haul— "you're ensuring a lot of faith in someone you've known for less than a week. What if I suddenly just disappeared and you find yourself SOL with only half of the funds?"
He sent an unimpressed look her way. "Well, we both know you won't for you are far too honorable for that. However, since we are merely speaking 'hypothetical' here." His amusement took on a more wicked manner as his hand absently rubbed at his bracer. "I'm afraid you won't get very far. Florence is smaller than one would think and there are far fewer places that I won't be able to find you in it."
Tristan tilted her head, lips pursed. It was, yes, a joke, but there was a razor edge of danger woven through his words. No longer was he just a kid, she realized, but a dangerous finely sharpened blade, clothed in off-white robes.
"...You were never just a novice or errand boy, huh?" She asked in a rather sorry way of apologizing.
Federico simply smiled, a hand tugging at his hood before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
The smell of horsehair and saddle leather still lingered in her nostrils by the time Tristan rolled into the meeting place. Her purse was a few ounces lighter as it bounced on her hip. The facade of Santa Maria Novella's Basilica caught the light of the late morning sun. It was surreal to see the paint so recent and brightly colored as opposed to what she was used to. Popular too, given the number of black robes that milled about. She shielded her eyes and was surprised to find Federico in the middle of the plaza looking angry. No, Tristan took that back with a head shake. He was angry. Livid, with steam practically fuming from his ears, even. It was a rare and strange sight to behold, and yet as Tristan lived and breathed, here he was, arms crossed, lips drawn in a tight line, and practically melting the person in front of him with how intense his stare was.
It would have been a terrifying sight if she hadn't spotted the target of such disdain so soon. She nearly laughed out loud in bafflement. It was a young boy who barely reached Federico's elbow with dark neatly cut hair, and was dressed surprisingly immaculately for his age, and despite the grown man, was coolly staring up at him. They seemed to be in the middle of a rather heated discussion. Eventually, it teetered off, and the boy put out his hand expectantly. A bag of coins landed— more like was thrown— into it, and before long he was gone. She spotted him shortly thereafter, hand in hand with a woman, who must have been some kind of nanny given how she tutted over him.
"Tristan," Federico coolly greeted, not breaking his contact with the boy as she stopped next to him, folding her arms.
"Was that your information broker?"
"Unfortunately." He heaved a sigh. "He says his father sends his regards."
The laugh bubbled out of her, half bafflement, half amusement. Ah, an Assassin's kid starting their training with gathering and doling out information. She remembered her own days of it. He was a little young for her liking but then again, Assassins were a different type of people and this was an alien time for her." But why the animosity? He's..." she gesticulated, "a kid. What is he? Eight?"
Federico's eyes flicked her way unamused as he deadpanned: "Seven as he likes to remind me enough. Soon to follow his father's footsteps from the sounds of it." He bit the words out like venom. "And sure, you laugh now, but you have never had to deal with Machiavelli as I have."
"Ha! You're saying—" But Tristan's retort died on her lips as the words clicked. She stared first at him, and then in the general direction of where the kid and his governess had disappeared. Surely, that couldn't be the same Machiavelli...
The long silence must have tipped Federico off for he half-turned, brow arched. "What—" He stopped, scowling even deeper before throwing his hands. "No. Never mind. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."
"If it helps, I never read his books?" She sheepishly supplied, earning her a half-pleading, half-offended look. "And the musical was something to be desired last I heard—"
As he pinched at the bridge of his nose, a muffled pained sound was her answer. "Noted."
Honestly, fair. The next Lin Manuel-Miranda project set in the American Revolution had far greater potential. Who even tries to rhyme Machiavelli with 'spaghetti'?
"Sorry. "Tristan winced, deciding to quickly tap dance over to another subject before things got too hectic. "I'm guessing he had some not-so-great news for you."
He dropped his hand, solemnly nodding. "Unfortunately, yes. The city guard's increased presence at all gates makes leaving extremely difficult. Your idea of going through the tunnels instead is growing more and more tempting, but—" he cupped his chin, deep in worrying thought.
"—But it has a risk of gaining the wrong eyes, which is as equally troublesome. Especially in such tight spaces with possibly a big group."
He made a sound of agreement.
"If anything, you could always split it?" She suggested, bringing both hands up. "One party," she gesticulated with her left, "goes through the tunnels. The other..." She twisted her right around, making a walking motion with her fingers. "Would go through the closest gate and meet them on the other side with the horses. Hell, if you time it right, both groups could be halfway to wherever before anyone grew the wiser."
He was silent for a while, eventually breaking the silence with a hum. "I admit, it... would be easier for one or two people to slip through as opposed to a small group. And I do know the tunnels fairly well enough to navigate them. It would not be too difficult." He dropped his hand and threw his hand dismissively. "But enough of that, I take it that you have also succeeded. I hope Mercutio didn't give you too much trouble?"
"Pft, I was expecting a challenge, dear 'Rico. The bastard caved the moment I so much as mentioned your name. I managed to get horses—three in fact, and enough money left over for splurging purposes." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I even paid off a dude down the block exaggerating our so-called 'crimes.'" Tristan neglected to mention that one of the words casually thrown about was 'sodomy.' She nipped that one in the bud, real quick.
"Federico was nodding, obviously pleased to hear all of this. "Three horses, you say? That should be plenty enough for five people."
Five? But Annetta said she... was... staying— Oh.
Oh.
"Are…" She couldn't help pressing her brows together, despite her heart thumping against her chest. "Are you asking me to come with you?"
"Well, I—" One hand tweaked the brand-new ring that glinted on his left hand. "Only if you wish to."
Tristan blinked. "I... didn't really think about it?" And it was the honest truth. With everything going on, Tristan had kept pushing the thought further and further away, until eventually, it had been nothing but a simmering pot of anxiety of the unknown permanently affixed to the back burner. Her main priority was finding the way home, but the answer on how to do that kept retreating into a thick choking fog.
"It's just that…" He looked ready to pace as he fidgeted, bouncing on his feet and noticeably not quite looking at her. "I know you are a fully capable woman, Tristan; but I cannot in good faith leave you behind in a city that is both familiar and not. Not when you're just as wanted because of your association with us..." It had the grace and poise of a rehearsed speech as if he had stayed up all night, perfecting every word.
"... Besides, my father gave his word to help you get back home, and now, with him gone, that duty falls upon me, and I—I cannot do that when you're here and I am not. I wish for you to come with us." He stopped, sighing softly. "But again, it is only if you want to."
Tristan wasn't looking at him now as she set her hands on her hips, brows pulled low. Despite... earlier, she found herself surprised at this development. He actually wanted her to come with them. Was this even smart to begin with? Spreading more chaos across the Italian countryside? Regardless, if he was giving her a way out of Florence, she would take it with no question. She eventually lifted her head, a playful quirk teasing at her lips. "...You're just saying this because I kissed you, huh. If you're thinking it's going to happen a second time when I come with you guys, think again buster."
"No—" Federico cracked a weary smile "—but it was a nice and pleasant surprise all the same." The man was silent for a few long moments before he rapidly blinked as the rest of what she said dawned on him. And he looked so relieved, so happy, yet he could not resist being coy as he hummed with hooded eyes: "I take it you're not staying, then."
"Of course not," she scoffed turning on her heel. "I bought the horses, and you still haven't given my scarf back, hoodie boy."
~*End*~
... I did say that this was self-indulgent nonsense. ;D
1. But nonsense, aside. It was a lot of fun playing around with the notoriety and eagle vision gameplay here. It's been established that there are quite a few diverse types of Eagle Vision, and by extension, Eagle Sense throughout the games; so I opted to develop a version of it for Federico (and Tristan) and have it established that Ezio knows more than he does.
2. While I figured he was Bisexual early on. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize Federico has a borderline diagnosis of ADD like myself.
3. I changed the layout of Giovanni's hidden chamber to reflect the style of Monteriggioni's Sanctuary, and for personal/plot reasons to boot. Doesn't help a part of me headcanons that the Palazzo Auditore was built on top of the foundation of an old Florentine Assassin Safehouse that Giovanni and La Volpe discovered as teenagers. And that's why it was chosen as a location.
4. Cookies if you spotted the Easter Eggs.
5. No there's not a musical as much as I wish it was. It's merely a dumb joke I share with friends.
6. Also, still a slow burn. So don't get your hopes up :P
TK's History Fun Facts
My Ring-a-Ling
I've been forgetting to mention this for a few chapters now and figured I'd make up for the lost time. Oops! Anyway, even though they have been used as early as 3500 BC, Signet rings were considered sacred possessions often being used to stamp official documents. Every ring was uniquely designed, usually including the family crest. Of course, this level of detail got awfully expensive and exceedingly difficult to copy, so only the most influential and wealthy could have one. Sadly, not many have survived to this day due to being destroyed upon their owners' death.
Santa Mara Novella
Chronologically speaking, this church is the first great basilica of Florence and is the city's principal Dominican church. Originally started in 1279, it was built on top of the 9th-century oratory of Santa Maria delle Vigne. It took 80 years to be built and was finally consecrated in 1420. Its most well-known feature is it inlaid green and white façade (1456–1470)
Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527)
Yep, this little kid we just met happens to become one of the most prominent political philosophers of the Italian Renaissance. He was also a diplomat, a statesman, an author, and eventually became a secretary of the Florentine republic. His most widely known work is The Prince, a short but powerful political treatise acting as a guide for new princes and royalty, and is often considered one of the first works of modern philosophy.
Thoughts? Theories? Random bouts of screaming? Lemme know! Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome.
Have a good one, folks, and arrivederci!
-TK