Chapter Two
Machiavelli needed a place, an outlet more so, where he could enjoy the small pleasures in life. Recruiting near the beach was a little too much for his tastes and he wasn't too partial towards the idea of living in the West coast of California; no, not after that whole fiasco near the city and being trapped on that god forsaken-…he shook his head and composed himself.
He knew that after those events, most if not all Immortals were affected by the change. They were freed. Freed from their oppressors, their masters; the Dark Elders, for good. Changed for better or for worse the Italian couldn't say himself, but one thing was certain: there was absolutely no one to direct them any longer.
He had changed.
Sure, he had always been set when it came to siding with the humans over the Dark Elders, -before he decided to even print out the spells of death for the monsters. But after, after those events on the island was when he realized how much he had overlooked the world around him… to truly appreciate how far the human race has come and after all it had offered him. Now there was not much left for him to do but to give back.
And give back he did.
Not only had he taken part in a plot that had saved millions, possibly the whole world, -his actions would be a footprint in history for the insightful Immortals and Elders. Showing them that he wasn't afraid to sacrifice himself for humanity was human in itself; something most of them had completely lost, forgotten, and tossed away. He was and still is an idol, hoping his influence on the world would convince generations to come that interference on humanity by the Dark Elders would be a spell for disaster. But the Immortal wasn't done there. After the prophecy of the Twins had been fulfilled, the world of Danu Talis destroyed, and the Dark Elders ridden from any hopes of gaining control of the world, the Italian immediately stepped down from his position as head of the French Police and prepared for years for an active role in Italy's government. He wasn't too regretful of his decision to abdicate; he still had his villa back in Paris which he could access whenever he felt like.
But looking at a bigger picture of things; his own home country, formerly declining home country he added, -was in apparent need of more experienced leaders. He wasn't looking for a position as the Vatican pope for God's sake…A position, major or minor in the country's department of commerce was good enough. He'd then work his way to the top from there. The plan was marvelous; he wouldn't have to show his face for the media even once.
Just the thought of it brings back many heartfelt memories, both good and bad from his' serving in the court of Florence centuries past.
Not pointing out the many of savagery back then; the scandals, overthrows, and assassinations from the former life, his job now would be a cakewalk.
But before he would finally depart to Italy and initiate his future plans, Machiavelli would focus on contemporary matters; spending the next few weeks in total relaxation.
He smiled, for he is now un-contactable. At peace. Isolated.
He glanced at the man sitting across from him.
Well, almost isolated.
Speaking of isolation, not only was he in the process of hiring a new servant, there was none other than that former outlaw, Billy the Kid. He gave a sigh, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; he had no choice but to bestow the young American his well-deserved apprenticeship, -not an easy thing to achieve from the immortal Italian himself at that.
Never had he taken in an apprentice of his own accord. Of course his master gave him orders here and there during his service to teach recently awakened humani, -in fact his last trainee had been Mike Wallace, broadcasting legend of America back in the 60s, -but here, having Billy as an apprentice… not only a hassle mentally and emotionally, but also a definite no-no for a man like himself who has meticulously kept his persona so mysterious, cold, and free of as many mistakes as possible.
And yet, after enrolling the (rather uneducated) boy into a proper college just 2 months ago, he still had no regrets for having taken the Kid under his wing. Famous or not, it was his true and promising character that stood out so much for Machiavelli. Billy being true to himself was what thus made him the deadly and renowned outlaw in the end.
The ice cubes tinkled and swished around in their glasses as Machiavelli walked out onto the veranda of his home. He had recently bought it specially located in Baltimore, Maryland, just a stride's ride away from its glorious bay. He admitted he was looking for a comfortable place that would provide him good inspiration in-hand with his new job- a nice place to think and relax without the region being too desolate.
He set the two glasses of lemon tea onto the table and settled down into a white wicker chair, focusing on the man in front of him rather than the nice view of the area. It was Spring. Every tree around the neighborhood was in bloom and the air crisp and nicer than he could ever experience back in Paris-
A breeze carried small petals over the porch and far off down the length of the driveway. Though this spring was rather unusual…
Because of the chill Machiavelli couldn't help but allow a bit of his aura pour some warmth through his body.
"You cold?" his guest asked, breaking the silence with chuckles; low noises that sounded like the distant roar of waves descending upon a shore.
The Italian leaned back in his chair and crossed his right leg over the other. "It's just so windy this afternoon that's all," the Italian muttered, sweeping his gaze from the man to the yard. "Is it not usually warm in America during this time of the year?"
The figure sitting across from him thought for a bit and shrugged. "It is odd for such an afternoon in March to be cold. But with global warming, what would you expect these days?"
His controlled voice reminded Machiavelli of the deep rumbles of an approaching storm, imminent and powerful.
"True" The Italian kept his eyes on the streets below.
He made a little note in the back of his mind to encourage Billy to study a bit more of modern biology. If not the Elders who would've killed them all then it shall surely be humanity itself that causes the world's demise. Nothing can be done to reverse what has already been dug up from the ground and dissolved into the air, millions of barrels in fossil fuels released without pause. It would be something miraculous if an Alchemyst of some sort happens to find a reverse process for that. Not counting the legendary Alchemyst Nicholas Flamel though; for he was dead.