A/N: Another day another chapter. As always I thank all my reviewers, and look forward to hearing my readers input. –Rei
What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.- Aristotle
When-You're-Evil- Oh yeah I can just imagine it. But I'm going to do you one better in this chapter. You ask for hilarious awkwardness, ye shall receive.
Luna Tigra- Desmond has always struck me as normal guy stuck in fucked up situations. It's too bad that the games don't focus more on him, seeing as he is a great character in terms of dimensions.
Musical Inspiration for this chapter: Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson, I walk alone by Saliva, and Are you That Somebody by Aaliyah.
The sun had barely risen in the land of Bree when a seamstress by the name of Sadaana was roused from her bed by the only friends she had in the whole of Eriador. Pervinca Greenthumb was a hobbit lass, born and raised in village of Straddle, just outside the Bree village proper. Unlike most her kin the pale haired hobbit was outgoing, and out-spoken. She was friendly with everyone unless they gave her cause to be otherwise. More often than not Pervinca earned looks of disapproval from her fellow hobbits, because she made friends amongst the big-folk who passed through the Prancing Pony. This was how Sadaana came to live there, and work for another hobbit, whom Pervinca introduced her to.
Ennaido, Sadaana's other friend was the wife of a stable-hand, and a laundress herself in the same shop Sadaana worked at. She and her husband Rorin were blessed with three sons, only one of whom had seen past his first year. Because they could not afford a nursemaid while they worked to feed and clothe themselves and their children, Ennaido often left the children with Sadaana on her days off. And though the heavy set woman wasn't much older than former wanderer in appearance, Ennaido still thought of the fairly naïve woman as the daughter she never had.
It was also for this reason that Ennaido was determined to make a proper wife out of the fair-skinned Gondorian. Pervinca was an enthusiastic supporter of Ennaido's attempts to get men of Bree to regard the beautiful but proud woman as marriageable. The lack of propriety on Pervinca's part had left the poor lass with few suitors amongst her own people, who could appreciate her boldness. Sadaana knew that both of her friends merely wanted for not to die an old maid, and thus didn't put up too much a fuss when they decided to bring up the topic of her bachelorette status. But looking down from her window Sadaana couldn't help but think that this was getting out of hand.
Pervinca stood upon Ennaido's shoulders, her hands cupped around her mouth to project her voice as loud as she dare. Both had maniacal grins plastered to their faces that Sadaana was long familiar with. "Are you daft? Not even the light of Ainur has kissed the ground yet, and you're at my door." She hissed down at them. In the halls of Minis Tirith the day rarely began early for ladies, and those in their service. And though she herself had gotten used to rising with the sun, that did not mean she liked it. The human and hobbit grinned toothily up at her, beckoning for Sadaana to leave to comfort of her tiny room in the inn to go to the hovel that was Ennaido's home.
"Don't be like that Sadaana, didn't you hear? According to Grace Mr. Butterbur has received a guest in the night, a mighty handsome and well off guest at that. We have to get you ready before the vultures' descend." Sadaana valiantly fought the urge to throw something out her window at the all too perky Pervinca. Had she been awake enough to do so, the gray eyed seamstress would have laughed. Though Bree didn't host a large quantity of pretty unattached women, there were still a number of shrewd and attractive local merchant daughters, who looked to marry older men whom did well for themselves, in the hopes of becoming rich widows.
They looked down upon those of the working class as little more than ignorant fodder that they could order around and belittle as they please. Sadaana rolled her eyes. The sycophants that were her "competition" couldn't hold a candle to the political animals that occupied the white tower. Either way Sadaana had no inclination to play their petty games. "Come back at a reasonable hour, and I might consider it." Getting up the tall woman closed her shutters, and dropped her dressing gown to the floor, determinedly ignoring the rocks being thrown at the only window in her small room.
Carefully navigating the now dark space, Sadaana easily found the solidly built dresser taking up most of the space in her room. On the dark lacquered surface there was soap, towel-let, and a bowl of water which the seamstress used to wash away the small amount of grime from her body. The lady within her cringed at using soiled water now, but Pervinca wouldn't care if she were still in her pajamas. The hobbit lass would drag her out by her hair if it meant "helping Sadaana" get a husband. The tall woman quickly discarded her nightgown and used the water to bathe herself. She was more than a little aware of the current lack of rocks hitting her window.
Taking off her sleeping cap, Sadaana threw it on her small bed, which was shoved against the wall opposite of both the dresser, and door. She then quickly retrieved her linen chemise and spring gown, studiously ignoring the sudden and obnoxious knocks upon her door. Sadaana dressed quickly, and efficiently. The Gondorian didn't even bother to let down her hair which was coiled atop her head in a single thick braid. She just opened her door, and allowed herself to be whisked away by her insistent friends.
Desmond stretched out. The kinks that developed in his back from sleeping on a bed filled with straw caused his joints to make sounds akin to machine guns going off in a Los Angeles shootout. Still he relished the slow ache that settled over the burn of his tired muscles. Ezio's descendent hadn't felt this alive since he had run away from The Farm in his youth. Though he still wore the necklace that Vesta had given him, the blank stare of his savoir/jailer laden with expectation was gone. And Desmond now only felt the rush of the moment, relearning how to survive outside the scope of anything resembling society.
Vesta had told him settlement of Bree when he finally convinced the A.I. to allow him out of the Abies. But once he found some form of freedom, the 24 year old was in no hurry to leave it. So he remained in the wild, on the fringes of the Brandywine for a little over 2 weeks. In that time Desmond lived off the land, eating berries Vesta identified as non-poisonous and catching fish from the river. At first, the dark eyed assassin thought he was once again in the grip of the bleeding effect, the stress of being so far away from anything vaguely familiar causing the memories to manifest suddenly and forcefully. It had taken Desmond days to notice in all the memories that there was the coldly familiar weight of a gun pressing tightly against his thigh.
It had taken him a week to notice the memories of his childhood mingling, and overlapping with Altair's recollections of his own upbringing. It was disturbingly similar up until Desmond tenth birthday. That was when Desmond decided to abandon the path that he was born into; it was also at that age that Altair decided to stay. And when he wasn't curled into a ball desperately trying to will away the intrusive thoughts and feelings Desmond was never more grateful to have ran. Shuddering, the travel-beaten man levered himself out of bed, and onto his boot-clad feet. Unthinkingly, the American shouldered on the white tunic he had worn the night before, and settling the hooded quilted jerkin over that.
From under his pillow, Desmond retrieved the only weapon he forced himself to carry. 10 inches of Anorian steel caught a sliver of light escaping the cracks of the shutters in the window. It was thin, only a half inch thick and un-adorned making it a perfect weapon for an assassin. Easily stowing away the stiletto in a bracer hidden under his voluminous left sleeve, Desmond began to make his way downstairs. He had find work. The few gold coins he had brought with him wouldn't support him for very long.
"Hold still child!" Ennaido scolded Sadaana as she attempted to weave tiny white flowers into her now loosed hair. Ignoring the mothering peasant, Sadaana glared balefully at Pervinca who snickered quietly as the hobbit put the finishing touches on her beaded shoes. The two intervening busy-bodies had dragged her to Ennaido's home, and presented her with the gown she was now wearing. Sadaana contemplatively fingered the simple geometric brown damask of her trailing sleeves.
"I still think this too fine a work to waste on me," she said ignoring the scoff that answered her. Sadaana could tell by the quality of the stitching the Bree woman head spent weeks making this surprise which was presented to her as a means to attract a handsome stranger, rather than a birthday celebration like it was intended. "You should have made it for yourself," Sadaana persisted, "to wear for Rorin for the next market festival." The former Gondorian's mind supplied endless recollections of finer dresses, and even more extravagant parties. But to her the honest jubilation of the home she found far exceeded the dangerous frailty of the courts in Minis Tirith.
Sadaana had seen the rise and fall of both men and women within the span of a few sentences. She herself had been a pawn the political intrigue, and felt sick on herself with just thinking about it. The seamstress wondered what her father would think of her now, if he were to have seen her. For all the man's love of her, could he have understood his middle child's distaste for the world that she equally served, and loathed? Could forgive her for running when he already lost so many loved ones already? Sadaana didn't think so.
"I'd only be a waste if you didn't use that charm I know you have girl." Ennaido drew Sadaana away from her deep thoughts with a grimace. The laundress finished with doing the gray eyed woman's hair, moved to stand in front of the stool Sadaana sat on. The shapely woman clucked her tongue at the ugly look on the seamstress's face. "Now none of that, you're fit to be a right lady today. You'll turn that mysterious guest's head for sure. And Eru willing, love, marriage, and healthy children will soon follow." Ennaido's words sounded just as prophetic as they were damning to Sadaana's ears.
Desmond eyed his prospective employer with mild discomfort. Barliman Butterbur was by no means intimidating. But the mousy looking man was nosey to the tenth power. The assassin supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Bree wasn't a city, and not being densely populated it was infinitely easier to keep track of people. Towns like this were bound to be tight-knit, or at least more closely linked. And being the new person in a rural town meant that wary curiosity was inevitable. Knowing this however did not settle the unease rolling in Desmond's gut. As a bartender, Desmond more often than not just became part of the scenery, and thus only afforded the cursory glance at best.
He had thought being behind a bar top again would ease the awkwardness that had Desmond almost always reaching for his blade. But alas Butterbur, while seemingly absentminded still asked questions that the assassin wanted left alone. It didn't help that the dining room of the inn was curiously filled with spying eyes and ears so early in the morning. "Ye ain't no ranger Desmond, if ye don't mind me saying so. Ye don't strike me as non them shady types, so why does a well to do man like you need work here for?"
The only surviving human of the Earth before Arda felt an almost overwhelming urge to kill the man. Shaking his head, Desmond pathetically attempted to conjure up a small smile. "I'm just trying to set down roots is all Mr. Butterbur. I've lived out there," The assassin made a deliberately vague gesture towards the general direction of outside. "So long, that I think it's time to join civilization again," he continued. It was complete and utter bullshit, but it was the only elaboration he was willing to give.
"Ahh, the maidens of Bree will be glad to hear it. A handsome lad like you would make a fine groom for any one of them." Desmond definitely didn't like the sly tone in the inn owner's voice, nor did he even remotely care for the casual flick of the man's grubby hands toward a giggling group of brightly clothed females. They took the innkeeper's gestured as an invitation and joined them, giggling all the while. Upon closer inspection Desmond automatically rated them at (IP) on his internal screw-o-meter for illegal punany. None of those girls were anywhere close to 18, but to a man who hasn't had any form of sex in over 3 million year anything with two legs and curious lack of diseases looked appealing.
Sadaana walked into the Prancing Pony as if she were going to her own execution, with her head held high, and her stomach taking residence in her feet. The ebony haired lady had stalled as best she could hoping that the two interloping partners in crime would give up. Instead Pervinca gave a sweet grin that had not an ounce of innocence in it. "It's getting to be about breakfast time then. Why don't you head back to the Pony, and get yourself some biscuits and broth?" Sadaana's answering glare should've sent the little female running. But the loud groans of hunger pain her stomach were making took away any credibility to Sadaana's stare. So the irritated and hungry seamstress returned to the inn, she could still go unnoticed if she acted naturally.
Now looking at what the fuss was about, Sadaana had to admit, Bree's newest arrival was a pretty thing to look at. The pale eyed woman could see at a distance that the man was as tall as her average countrymen, but that was where the similarities ended. This Desmond of the wilds obviously hadn't seen the sun in a long time. His skin was almost insipid in its depth, and his frame garbed as it was in high quality apparel was still noticeably boney from a lack of nutrition. The tangled mess of dark brown hair hung around his gaunt face, too wild to tame with a brush, and too short to tie away from his face. A face she found no less handsome for the scar upon his lip, or the exhaustion that darkened his already near pitch black eyes.
Pity caused Sadaana to move without thinking. She could see that Bree newest mystery bachelor was surrounded by "the vultures" and quite uncomfortable by the amount of regard he was party to. The brightly dressed ladies paid no heed to the obviously hunted look on the haggard man's face, too busy trying to capture his admiration. They chattered incessantly around him asking the poor man all sorts of questions, and rarely allowing him to answer. And worst of all, she could see bumbling Barliman Butterbur encouraging this behavior.
Sadaana's unintended steps led her to the table where they sat, ignoring the sneers that twisted pretty faces whilst she called attention to herself. "Good morn Mr. Butterbur is breakfast ready yet." Deliberately Sadaana arched a thin brow in a calculated expression, as if the Bree-lander had forgotten that he had other guest to attend entirely. The burley proprietor sputtered, pushing his seat backwards in a hasty move, apologizing as he quickly retreated to the kitchen. Sadaana quickly took the vacated seat, smiling at the nervous man beside her. The gray eyed lady might not have any inclination to press a suit, but she would help keep the vultures at bay.