I can't be seen. I can't be seen with him!
Here Fiora was, sitting in a chair located in a small room with her feet propped on a stool, a masked dottore poking and prodding. The room was dodgy and reeked of unnatural aromas, easily giving her a dull headache. Ever since Fiora was a child, the masked dottori of Italia struck in her a deep uneasiness. It wasn't the men who administered to the afflicted she felt strange about; it was the very idea of a dottore. Why do societies need men of medicine? Because there was sickness, because there were random accidents that just happened. This was what Fiora feared: the natural afflictions that the common man has learned to expect. She feared dying of a sickness or a random horse kicking in her head. Her idea of death was to die for something, not because something happened.
"Careful!" she hissed, withdrawing a foot quickly, "You are suppose to heal pain, not cause it."
The dottore simply stared, as a parent would with a fit-throwing child and then resumed his attention to her feet.
"Forgive her, signore. She tends to shun help. Pay no mind."
And there was him.
Fiora turned a frosty glare at the assassin who sat on chair against the wall, watching the scene of a bloody ex-courtesan and a beaked dottore. A panic had settled within her the moment the assassin made his grand entrance with the slaying of Il Carnefice's guard. Then the other, now deceased guard saw her with the assassin. There were going to be questions, there were going to be suspicions. Fiora closed her eyes at the thought and the dread that spread through her.
Cesare is going to kill me.
"You know, people usually try to avoid getting into dangerous situations. Not run to them."
Again, Fiora sent a brilliantly annoyed glare his way. He had a lovely talent of disturbing her inner thoughts.
"Are you saying I'm sick in the head?" she said smoothly, followed with another hiss at the doctor who applied a pasty substance to her soles.
"Perhaps… There is obviously some perversion of perception."
The assassin gave a simple wave of his hand as he spoke, obviously completely comfortable with his surroundings and small smirk settled upon his scarred lips. A stark difference from Fiora, who was so tightly wound, ready to snap with a prompt frown on her face.
"Are you this annoying all the time?"
A smirk.
"Yes, I am this charming all the time."
An eye roll.
Fiora avoided any conversation as the dottore wrapped her feet in thick bandages and tied it tightly around her ankles. As the dottore, finished the last knot, a finger skimmed an old scar on her shinbone, his eyes meeting hers in a brief understanding. He remembered her, he had treated her before.
"This is all that I can do, signora. You must do the rest by remaining off your feet for several days to let them heal," said the dottore, walking over to basin to clean his hands of Fiora's blood.
"Then how am I to leave this place?" Fiora growled, widely waving her hand and scrunching her nose at the smells wafted towards her in result of her movement.
"Perhaps the same way you arrived? This young man seems to be more than willing to assist you," suggested the dottore to which Ezio let out a laugh.
"Indeed, signore. I am more than willing to assist," the assassin hummed, giving Fiora a teasing look.
The assassin then stood and walked to her holding out a pale yellow dress, a courtesan dress to her. She looked at the dress and then looked at him, raising a brow.
"You don't want to walk around in that bloody thing do you? People would treat you like a walking plague."
The assassin pointed to her attire and she couldn't help but agree. Ripped, slashed, bloodied, soiled; from the drastic chase to the guard's death, the dress was beyond saving. Pity, this one was one of my favorites…
"However, you could just go without clothes…"
Fiora quickly snatched the dress before she allowed the assassin to further his fantasy.
"How did you acquire this? Did you seduce a poor girl right out of it?" she questioned, holding the clothing out to take a better look.
That smirk. Fiora was itching to smack it off his face.
"Will you be needing assistance, Madonna?" the assassin asked, holding out his hand in offering.
Fiora simply looked at him and he chuckled, backing away and then turned to the dottore.
"Shall we discuss payment outside, signore?"
"Indeed, we shall."
As soon as the door closed behind the two men, Fiora was instantly in action. Gingerly, she rose to her feet, hissing at the acute pain that shot up her legs. But she didn't have to think about her feet; she needed to get away from the assassin. With skill that came only from her trade, Fiora was undressed and dressed in less than minutes. She limped to the door and held an ear to it. A lower tone, the assassin, and a higher tone, the dottore, were still conversing. Good, let that assassin pay for her treatment, he was the one that got her into this mess to begin with. Glancing down, Fiora noticed a pair of boots, probably for use when the dottore wasn't dressed in his uniform. Grabbing more bandages, Fiora stuffed them at the bottom of the boots and slipped her legs into them. They were comically large, bulging far from her calves but they would do. Plodding over to the only way of escape, a window on the opposite wall of the door, Fiora carefully slipped her fingers beneath the frame and lifted the window as quietly as possible. Once safely on the other side of the window, she treaded to the corner of the building and peeked around. The dottore and assassin were nowhere to be seen. Taking no time to celebrate her success, the ex-courtesan quickly slipped into the evening crowd and became one of the masses.
After many looks over her shoulder and quick short cuts, Fiora made it undetected and tail free to her home. Usually, she would simply climb through her window but her poor feet stopped any thought of that. Walking to the back of the building, she reached into the unlit torch next the back door and let herself in. Limping up the stairs and to her room, she collapsed heavily onto her couch and let out a great sigh. As she lay, Fiora easily concluded that she hadn't had a day quite as horrible as today in a long time. Threatened, almost molested, caught with an assassin, killing a guard, wounded, a doctor's visit, a quick escape; a most dreadful day indeed. Shaking the boots of her feet, Fiora sat up to peer down at her wounds. Unfortunately, the bandages had soaked through but only a little, not as awful as she had imagined they would be. Walking delicately over to an adjacent room that was her washroom, Fiora filled her tub with hot water and nearly ripped the courtesan dress off of her in her haste. Careful to keep her bandaged feet above the water, she descended into the steaming water and sighed with relief.
Fiora could have easily spent all night in the tub but alas, the water didn't have the same intention as it soon became cold, offering no comfort. Awkwardly pulling herself out of the tub, still desperate to keep her feet dry, she toweled herself and pulled on a silk robe, exiting the washroom.
"You really thought you could escape me again, Madonna?"
Forgive me! It has been waaaaaaaaay to long since I last updated. This chapter is short due to the excellent cliff hanger that I just couldn't resist giving you ;) Don't worry, I'm already working on the next chapter and it won't be as long as a wait as it has been.
Please Review! I do read them!
xXspidercatXx: Me too honestly lol. I'm still trying to figure out a good way to break the news :)
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C.V.D.