"Leonardo!"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
No answer. "LEONARDO!"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Inpatience prickling like needles in his skin, Machiavelli then swung the door open. "Leonardo! What's-?" He stopped midsentence. Seeing the disaster zone that had become the workshop. No one was there. But it couldn't be even more obvious what had happened. "Leonardo? Are you here?"
There wasn't a reply. So he stepped down the steps and looked at the over turned furnature and obvious signs of a struggle. Behind him, Bartolomeo was standing in the doorway in shock, jaw slag and looking at every last detail of the carnage.
"What happened?"
Machiavelli didn't have an answer, he wasn't so sure himself. "The Borgia bastardos probably took them."
Bartolomeo then stepped in, walking over to a wall where there was a Volpe size hole in the wall, cracks spider webbing around it. "They clearly didn't seem to care about hurting them."
"But why?"
Machiavelli asked half to himself. Then his eyes caught sight of white on the floor. He stepped in closer. Then sputtered in shock, "Bartolomeo? Could you come over here?"
The mercenary captain stood next to him, staring down at the clear writing on the floor.
"AIUTO! CATTURATO! CESARE!"
Machiavelli found himself murmering those last two words. "Captured. Cesare." He then felt the heat of anger pooling up inside him, he crushed his hands into fists and growed vemonously, "The Borgia bastardo did take them!"
Pain.
Everything throbbed with ache, his face smushed up to the cold stone floor. It almost seemed to sooth his pounding headache, almost. It hurt to breathe, and that was the give away that he must have broken at least a couple ribs. He couldn't open one eye at all, it was purple and swollen shut. And his arm. It was useless, he couldn't move it and it hurt as all hell to try moving his shoulder.
But this was probably one of the least of La Volpe's worses.
They had taken Ezio. That was all he remembered prior to waking up, that and something cracking. He couldn't recall what.
"La Volpe? Are you alright?"
The thief's voice was a husky drawl, "Si. I'm fine." He tried to sit up using his better arm, but found himself biting back curses and groaned of agony. "What happened?"
Leonardo sighed in the darkness, "They grabbed Ezio and you lost it." He could hear the rustle of fabric, then felt a warm touch to his shoulder, "The guards, they practically tore you to ribbons." He then heard the artist gasp, "Your arm!"
Well you know that arm he couldn't move? Yeah, it was only being held onto his body by muscle, tendons, and veins. No bone.
"Here, let me try and relocate that." Leonardo told him as he pushed on the upper point of his arm. He couldn't hold back a cry of pure and complete agony, he found himself pushing towards the dislocated arm, trying to speed up the process. Then a pop. He moved the still pain stricken limb a little, now knowing it was in place again.
"Gazie, Leonardo."
The artist was in better shape, although it was impossible to cover the harsh bruises and cuts on the man's face. "It was nothing. Maybe you should rest a little."
"No. No. I'm alright." La Volpe disagreed. "Besides, what if-"
They both looked up as they saw the two guards drag a limp Ezio back and throw her into the cell. Her brown hair messed up and the red fabric barely knotted to the tips of her hair. Her lip split. On top of that, her clothes were in ruins. Pretty much desimated.
"Ezio?"
The woman groaned eavily, curling in on herself as if to protect her chest and midsection. What caused this was beyond him.