As he expected, the water below was cold, dark, and painful. His tail shredded through what used to be his pants like they were made from nothing more than tissue or something equally as damn breakable. But hey, at least he could swim a bit faster now.
He darted away from the spot where the others last saw him, the others being the surprisingly english speaking assassin that was tailing him and the shouty guards on patrol. Yeah that bunch could go fuck themselves for all he cared.
Damn, the farther he swam down, the colder it got. But the farther he swam down the less people could see the damn fish tail. This was a problem he was going to have to get used to.
Meanwhile, in the depths of time, stood a grown, white clad assassin. Of course now you, the reader, is wondering /which/ particular grown, white clad assassin I could be describing. And to that, I will assure you that with whichever one is picked, there will be both in this clusterfuck of a story.
Altair Ibn-La'Ahad stood in the Master's study, looking rather skeptically at the spherical object in a box. A /gold/ spherical object to be exact.
The apple has had him puzzled for weeks now. What was he supposed to do with it? Protect it? Hide it? Others have previously told him not to use it, but he barely even knew /how/ to use it, let alone release it's /powers/. Whatever the fuck those powers were supposed to be anyway.
He let out a frustrated sigh and took it in his hands. It whirred and glowed in a way…. it has not done before. Progress! Or, maybe progress? Altair wasn't exactly looking for a happy little desk pet to whir and glow to his command. He just wanted to know. Know what it did, know what it could do, hell, know ANYTHING about this piece of TEMPLAR TRAS- oh wait its floating.
Or was he floating?
In a mere second, the composed, stern assassin was neither composed nor stern. In fact he was quite confused and to be honest losing his vision.
The other grown, white clad assassin was currently sitting boredly on a rooftop. Well, not currently. More so around the 1480's, which is much farther in time than we were previously in, but relative to /your/ time, it should be way back when… should be.
Ezio watched the mass amount of venetians scuttle around in one of the more popular areas, nobody even bothering to look up to see his hooded figure leaning lazily against one of the church towers.
What a bunch of suckers.
Or at least that's what he thought before a large cloud of off-blue, moving squares (they're pixels okay its damn pixels but he can't word them because they weren't a thing back then) just sort of /formed/ out of nowhere, promptly dropping a white robed, human shaped, flailing figure onto the nearby roof.
This had Ezio in his mildly-confused-but-making-up-for-it-in-heightened-skill mode. Or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. He flipped into eagle vision as he scaled the nearby building, making sure to stay out of the persons line of sight as the said person got up, holding their head in what looked to be pain.
The person got up quickly, surprisingly stiff, looking around defensively like a caged animal. But something about it looked trained, graceful even.
Ezio would be lying if he didn't get the smallest bit impressed when the person, or man as Ezio now saw, stopped looking around and locked his eyes on where Ezio was hiding.
No use in hiding now, you've been spotted, Ezio.
He stepped out of his makeshift hiding area, fully into the light, showing off his more decorated robes.
Now this scenario isn't perfect without one thing.
"Did it hurt?"
Altair narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the strange tongue the man was speaking with, but the words began to piece together in a foggy clump of blue squares (pixels dammit) in his mind. They translated roughly into arabic for him and he narrowed his gold eyes even more.
The voice Altair responded with was definitely his own, but he spoke with a heavily accented version of whatever the other man was .
"What?"
Ezio chuckled a bit over the others obvious confusion. He was bored, no missions to take care of, the brotherhood could do fine on it's own for a bit. That left him time to mess around with this strange foreigner.
"When you fell from heaven, of course"
Altair took a couple seconds for the nifty little built in translator to do it's job, and responded with a slightly offended huff. Was this strange man trying to court him? He reached for his dagger in a flash, launching forward to pin him, down.
It seemed that the other was much more skilled than he appeared to be, dodging Altairs attack with a mere inch to spare.
Altair whipped his head around, catching the other by his ankle, and pulled it towards him. This left Ezio to, rather smoothly I must say, catch himself on the stone roof with a grunt and twist his foot out of the Altairs grasp.
It wasn't until both were at each others necks with hidden blades that both stopped and realized that they were fighting one of their own.
Altairs fingerless hand pressed his hidden blade dangerously close to Ezio's neck, Ezio's position just about the same. They were equally matched in power it seemed, and neither of them liked that fact.
Altair was first to speak, his sharp, low voice weirdly winding around the new Italian words like a snake.
"Explain."
It was short and to the point, just like everything Altair did. Just to prove he meant business Altair pressed closer, fighting his dominance over the other.
Two alpha's never really did mix.
Ezio growled, words just dripping with venom. He didn't like this stranger as much as he thought he might. Looks like this eye candy had an attitude. He also didn't like that he was the smaller one in this situation.
"Assassin, I'm not your enemy. Which brotherhood are you from."
It wasn't really a question, though. It was a command, the words twisting and lifting at points, all the more accenting his damn pissed off brown eyes. Ezio was not having a good time.
Both let go of each other, settling instead to glare at a distance, tense as ever.
Altair decided now was a fair time to answer, not even bothering to lower his blade as he stood tall.
"I hail from Masyaf. I am the current Master, and I outrank you, peacock."
That rustled Ezio's feathers, annoyance evident in his eyes. Could this guy seriously just pop up in his territory and tell the master that he outranked him? Who did he think he was? Masyaf hasn't even been occupied since fucking Altair mastered the place. Templars took that place right as the legend died. As if to word his thoughts, Ezio spat, "Masyaf? Are you joking? The assassins have not occupied the Masyaf castle since Altair was around. Don't try to fool me."
The larger of the two bristled at his name. Since Altair was around? Has the apple… brought him to the future? Apparently the second of confusion was enough for Ezio to catch.
"What is your name, brother"
Altair took a moment to look back into the others eyes, his own gold one swirling with age and knowledge. He was not that old at all, but he has definitely seen some shit in his time.
"My name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, of Masyaf."
And it was like the confusion was some contagious infection, spreading to the smaller assassin.
What the fuck?
this chapter was too long so imma have to cut it off here. maybe ill post another today who knows
