Ginger Katt: Yeah, she's kind of annoying, but she's still one of my faves :3 Have you seen the scene from Brotherhood with her and Desmond under ze moonlight? THEY SO CUTE. -epicfangirlspazz-
xXfigxXD: Thanks! I know not a lot of people are fond of epic hardcore AC stories; I haven't seen a lot. That's why I decided to write my own :D
Someone: tbh I'm kinda surprised too. It makes me sad :( But thanks so much for your review!
And thanks to:
-xXfigxXD for the story alert
Would you guys rather fast updates and short chapters or slow updates and long chapters?
Enemy of mine
I'll fuck you like the devil
Violent inside
Beautiful and evil
-30 Seconds to Mars' Stranger in a Strange Land
They raced out of Florence, both too panicked and frightened to even be thinking about what they were supposed to be doing in that city. By unspoken agreement, Lucy had re-set the GPS to take them to Paris.
They'd heard no sirens, nor saw anyone looking at them oddly. The truck was in the countryside now, traveling through fields and farmland. Desmond stared out the window at the livestock and crops whipping by.
That homeless man hadn't been the first person he'd killed, nor the first innocent. But guilt still clawed at the Assassin's heart more than it ever had. It was because there had been no epic battle going on around them, no one had been in danger—Desmond just killed him. The hobo hadn't been caught in the crossfire; he was murdered for no reason. He'd said he had a family.
Desmond shook himself. One homeless man shouldn't get him emotional or feeling sorry. Two people he actually knew had died, and he hadn't been thoroughly emotional about those events.
And yet, there he was, feeling his heart breaking at the thought of that poor man. He almost felt himself starting to cry, but Lucy distracted him at the perfect time.
"You never told me how you broke your hand," she stated. It wasn't a question, but it was implied.
"It was Saturday night," he began slowly. "You told me to go to bed, and so I started dreaming-"
"Skip the dream." Lucy cut him off, eyes still on the road. "Get to the breaking-your-hand part."
"That is the breaking-my-hand part," Desmond retorted. "It happened in the dream."
"What?" Lucy yelled, swerving violently, but righted the truck. Recovering, she panted, "You nearly killed yourself in a dream?"
"Yes," Desmond gasped out, heart pounding. "You might finish the job though, jeez..."
"What did you think?" he asked after Lucy didn't respond. "That I'd gone outside, broken my hand, gotten a knife wound in my leg, then, what, flew back into my bed?"
"God, you're starting to sound like Shaun," Lucy muttered, then said louder, "So you can injure yourself in your dreams?"
"I didn't injure myself," Desmond put in. "The lights did it."
"Oh great, so the lights can kill us while we're sleeping!" The blonde sounded exasperated.
"No," he said. "They can't kill you since 'they don't have the tools to', and they can't kill me because I'm supposed to kill you." He shrugged. "Another scare tactic, I guess."
"We'll have to take turns sleeping," Lucy decided.
"What?" Desmond yelped, sitting up further. "I just told you-"
"They can't kill us, but they can hurt us. I'm not taking any chances with injuries; we can't afford any more."
"So, we're going to sit there and watch the other person sleep until we see blood? Yeah, sounds like a great plan," Desmond encouraged sarcastically. "It worked so well with Rebecca." He ignored Lucy's sound of pain and anger. "We couldn't get her to wake up until the lights let her wake up."
"...Right," Lucy said stiffly. "Never mind then." She curved the van onto an off-ramp. The GPS almost instantly spat out, "recalculating."
"Gah," Desmond groaned. "Is there a volume control on that thing or something?"
Without taking her eyes off the road, Lucy reached over and flicked a switch. Desmond rolled his eyes and glared out the window.
"Where are we going, anyway?" he asked when he noticed they weren't on the highway.
"Passports, remember?" Lucy looked sideways at him. "You can come in if you want, but this guy can be a bit..." She paused. "Eccentric."
Desmond gawped at her. "You know interesting people?" he gasped jokingly. Lucy laughed lightly, and the tension between them vanished instantly.
They slept. It felt strange to Desmond, being in the sun and trying to rest, but he knew he needed it, and so did Lucy. It was night by the time they set off again.
The van pulled into a driveway set in basically the middle of nowhere, and pulled up to a classic Italian-style home. Just looking at it made Desmond want to climb it, despite it being only one story.
"Let's go," he said, eager to be out of the tight, cramped, cab.
"Not so fast." Lucy grabbed his arm as he was about to open the door. "This man isn't the type to go barging in on—he's selling us fake passports, remember?"
"Oh, right." Desmond sat still, picturing the guns, dogs, bouncers, and maybe traps this guy had in his home.
"So what do we do?" he asked after ten seconds.
"Follow after me. Stay one or two steps behind, keep your head up, and for God's sake, look like you know what you're doing." Lucy pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened her door.
"I do know-" Desmond started to protest, opening his own.
"And don't say anything until I say you can!" Lucy hissed, sticking her head out from the front of the truck. Desmond glared, but shut his mouth, following the blonde hair in front of him.
When they reached the door, Lucy turned to face him. "How do I look?" In the dim light, her hair looked tousled, her makeup smudged, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Desmond wasn't sure if he was allowed to talk yet, so he pointed to her hair.
"For fuck's sake..." Lucy muttered. "You can tell me!" she exclaimed.
"Hair's messed up, makeup's smudged."
Quickly Lucy shoved her hands through her hair, then licked the tip of her finger and swiped under her eyes a few times. "Now?" she asked. There was some improvement; she at least looked decent.
"Better."
"It'll have to do. No talking now," Lucy added. She turned around and grasped the knocker, then banged four times on the dense wooden door.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing darkness inside the house.
"Entrer.(1)" A voice, thickly accented, echoed from inside. Lucy glanced back quickly at Desmond, then stepped over the threshold.
"French?" Desmond muttered to himself. They'd driven further than he thought.
Following Lucy, he felt his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He activated his Eagle Vision as the house got darker, tailing after the blue figure that was Lucy, but he was unable to see anything else.
All of a sudden, lights snapped on, nearly blinding Desmond. He hissed and quickly switched back to normal vision, slapping a hand over his eyes instinctively.
"Open your damn eyes," Lucy growled, suddenly at his ear. Desmond obeyed, standing up straighter.
They were standing in a well-lit hallway that stretched from one end of the house to the other. The floor was covered by a classical red rug with swirling yellow and orange patterns. It felt like he was standing on a volcano.
The walls were a dark brown wood, and paintings hung up and down the length of the hallway. Doors were dotted up and down the hall. One of them opened, and though no one stepped out, the same French voice projected from it.
"Qui est là?(2)"
"Lucy. Lucy Stillman." Said Assassin projected her voice down the hallway, talking clearly. With a quick glance at Desmond, she added, "Et un... ami.(3)"
Desmond gaped. Lucy spoke French?
"Lucy!" A tall man stepped from the doorway, beaming. He quickly strode forward and grasped her hand, pumping it enthusiastically. "Ma bella, ça a été beaucoup trop long! Comment avez-vous été? Regarde-moi, de poser des questions je sais que tu ne peux pas répondre. Organisation secrète et tous.(4)" He winked, then turned to Desmond. "Ah, et qui est ce? Lucy, vous ne me dites pas que vous connaissiez ces... des gens intéressants.(5)" His voice was deep and loud. He reminded Desmond of a French version of Bartolomeo.
Desmond just stood there like he was supposed to, not knowing a word of French except for "chien d'Italienne(6)", and he highly doubted that was appropriate for the situation.
"Je sais ce que vous pensez,(7)" Lucy cut in. "Mais il est ma connaissance. S'il vous plaît parlez anglais, il ne peut pas comprendre un mot que tu dis.(8)"
The man gave her a sideways look and half raised an eyebrow as his grin spread wider. "English, eh?" He turned to Desmond and held out a hand. "I am René Descartis. Pleased to meet you."
Desmond stood there awkwardly, unsure how to shake this man's hand with a sling on his right arm.
René looked down, then laughed. "Ah. Had a row with Abstergo, did you?" English clearly wasn't his first language.
Desmond shot a horrified glance at Lucy. She'd told René about Abstergo? And if he knew about Absergo, then surely he knew about the Assassins, the Templars, everything else—
René laughed loudly. "No, I did my own research. Lucy did not say anything, don't you worry."
Desmond never knew it was that easy to find information.
"Now, what did you need?" René asked, turning to Lucy.
"Passports," Lucy told him, producing a wad of euros and holding it out. "For the two of us."
The Frenchman took the money. "Follow me." He walked down the hall and stepped into the second door on the left.
Desmond felt very small and insignificant next to this large man. René's muscles bulged from under his dark blue polo shirt, and he was at least six and a half feet tall. Desmond wasn't short, but he wasn't tall - even Shaun had been taller than him - and this giant was making him feel even smaller.
Desmond was the last in the room. René had waited for him and closed the door as soon as the Assassin crossed the threshold.
"Tu lui faire confiance?(9)" he heard René ask Lucy quietly.
"Yes," the blonde retorted. "I can."
Desmond silently thanked Lucy for not making him look like a complete tool. He knew what René was doing, talking in French so the Assassin wouldn't understand him.
René shrugged. "Good enough for me," he stated, unfazed, then turned to the contents of the room.
There were several computers set up against the wall, a printer and a scanner hooked up to each. They were all monitor; Desmond couldn't see any other parts.
To his left, there was a camera on a tripod, a stool with a white sheet behind it set up where the lens was pointing.
"Would you like me to take your pictures or do you have your own you could give me?" René asked as he turned on one of the computers.
Desmond and Lucy glanced at each other. The blonde's hair was still messy, dark circles remained under her eyes, and Desmond doubted he looked any better.
"Give you them," Lucy decided, taking two out of her pocket. Desmond vowed to ask her later where she'd gotten an expressionless picture of him on a white background.
René took the pictures, then turned around to start scanning them.
"You can talk now; I think he likes you," Lucy muttered when his back was turned.
Almost immediately, Desmond released his irritation. "Should I speak Italian so he doesn't know what I'm talking about?" he hissed to her. "Or maybe Arabic? That'd be really confusing."
"Oh, stop it." Lucy looked unimpressed. "He just asked me if I trust you. He could go to jail for a long time if the wrong person finds out about this."
"French, Swiss, Austrian, Slovenian, or Italian passport?" René asked over his shoulder, sitting at the computer.
"Italian," Desmond said before Lucy could open her mouth.
"Oh?" René turned around, looking somewhat amused. "A fan of the country?"
Desmond shrugged. "You could say that. I have relatives here," he added, grinning sideways at Lucy, who was looking at him, half amused and half if-you-say-one-more-word-I'll-kill-you.
"Two Italian passports coming up." René turned back toward his computer, then abruptly spun back around. "Ah, Lucy, you never told me the name of this running fellow here."
Desmond and Lucy exchanged a look. "Running?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, mon Dieu(10)," René muttered. "I got the word wrong, didn't I? What is it...?"
"Dashing?" Desmond guessed, feeling more confident.
"That's the one!" René pointed at him. "So, what's your name?"
"De-" the Assassin started, but Lucy cut him off.
"De-Demetrio!" she said quickly. "Demetrio Milianni."
René stared at the two of them for a few seconds, then shrugged and laughed softly. "Italian, you were right." He slowly turned back to his computer.
Desmond rolled his eyes at Lucy. She glared back at him.
They went on to fill out their passports, providing middle names, birth dates, and place of birth—all of them fake for Desmond, aside from his birthday. It couldn't hurt for someone to know that.
After they printed, René retrieved the papers - that's all they were - and inserted half of them into a small machine on the table next to the computers. He retrieved them after a minute or two, bound in red leather, then inserted the other half. He rummaged through a drawer, then stamped one of the pages on the bound passport.
"Here you are, Lucy." René handed her a passport. Lucy flipped through it quickly, nodding.
After doing the same to Desmond's passport, René handed it to the Assassin. "And here you are... Demetrio." The Frenchman fixed him with a hard stare. Desmond nonchalantly took the passport and leafed through it. The picture of him was recent, and Desmond tried to memorise his fake name—Demetrio Ezio Milianni. Lucy'd thrown in the Ezio as a joke.
She was fucking hilarious.
Apparently, Demetrio was born and raised in Italy and lived his whole life in Rome. He and Lucy were going to France for some kind of touristy crap; apparently Demetrio had never left his humble little city. He just hoped no one would question his American accent. Hell, no one questioned Altaïr for his accent, and America hadn't even been thought of yet! But then again, Altaïr had been a master Assassin; people were probably too scared to question him. Screw it, Desmond would just pretend not to know what anyone who questioned him was talking about.
"Thank you so much, René," Lucy said earnestly as the large man led them back toward the front door, closing the door to the "passport room", as Desmond liked to call it.
"Thank you, bella(11)." René winked. "Yougave the money."
Desmond followed behind the two as they laughed, just wanting to get out of there.
At the door, something caught his eye. There was a tall, skinny table pushed against the wall, various newspapers scattered across it. One of them featured a blurry black-and-white picture of two people getting into a truck that looked like it had been taken by a security camera. He hadn't noticed it when they'd come in because it had been so dark, but the truck in the picture - taken from the overhang of a gas station - looked awfully familiar.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Lucy..."
"Yeah?" She looked over his shoulder, then swore loudly. "They got a picture?"
"Quoi?(12)" René asked.
The entire newspaper was in French, but Desmond knew enough to figure out that La Nation(13), the newspaper's title, meant The Nation. Which meant that the entire country of France knew a rough version of what they looked like.
"Where's this paper from?" Desmond turned to René. "Paris?"
"No, no," René laughed. "It's from Florence; I have it delivered here every day."
"Wait," Lucy broke in. "If this is a Florentine newspaper, shouldn't it be in Italian?"
"You forget, Lucy." René smiled widely. "I am a very powerful man. If I want a newspaper delivered to me, four and a half hours away, and in my language, I will get it."
Desmond shook his head at the lunacy—it must cost thousands of dollars a week just to get that newspaper.
"What does the headline say?" he asked in both of their general directions.
"Man killed at gas station, suspects still at large." Lucy tilted her head sideways to read it. "Fuck."
"Are our names mentioned anywhere?" Desmond asked nervously.
Lucy scanned the front page, then breathed out. "No. All it says is one male, brown eyes and hair, and one female, blue eyes and blonde hair."
"Well, that could be anyone."
"Yeah, but they have a pretty good picture of our truck," the blonde pointed out.
"Wait, wait, wait." René stood over them. "You killed a man?"
"It was an accident," Desmond said desperately, not wanting to anger this powerful, intimidating man.
"Mon Dieu,(10)," René whispered. "Lucy, how could you do this?"
"René-" Lucy began, a pleading look in her eyes.
He held up his hand. "I think you should leave now."
So watch my wings burn
The blonde looked up at him, eyes wide, a shocked and hurt expression on her face, then turned and opened the front door and stepped out. Desmond followed her. He could feel René's eyes boring through his back, then the door slammed shut behind him.
1 - Enter
2 - Who's there?
3 - And a... friend.
4 - My dear, it's been too long! How have you been? Look at me, asking questions I know you can't answer. Secret organization and all.
5 - Ah, and who is this? Lucy, you never told me you know such... interesting people.
6 - Italian dog
7 - I know what you're thinking.
8 - But he is my acquaintance. Please, speak English, he has no idea what you're saying.
9 - You trust him?
10 - My God
11 - dear
12 - What?
13 - The Nation
Whenever I put Desmond and Lucy together, they seem to want to fight. It's making me mad :U
Also, why is it that characters I make up automatically act all cheerful and happy? I NEED TO MAKE AN EMO CHARACTER. Oh, and remember when Desmond said that René reminded him of Bartolomeo? Well, René is French for rebirth, so... o3o