Desmond and Connor hit it off great. Well, just about as great as it could get seeing as the taller of the two poofed across the pacific ocean and ran into his ancestor. Specifics aside, you could find them walking the streets of Paris together, looking idly at the various shops and weird people walking around them.
To clear some things up, Connor had said that the artifact that he "found" had somehow brought him here. Desmond assured him that he was in the same boat, lost in Paris, but tactfully avoided the whole I'm-supposed-to-be-dead topic.
Ah yes, that'll be saved for a later date, preferably with copious amounts of alcohol and self loathing.
At some point Connor had offered to look for a place to stay the night because it was getting dark. Desmond agreed, obviously, because if anyone was gonna do it it wasn't gonna be him.
They were walking down the street as the sun was far past setting, when a rather familiar figure stepped out.
Desmond, bless his luck, recognized it instantly, and snatched a hat from a passing by citizen.
Arno sighed, today had been an interesting day to say the least.
He'd successfully lost the mystery fish-thief, and he was currently walking boredly through the street. An assassin's life was definitely exciting, but right now there was literally nothing to do. He was just left with an eerie curiosity of who that damn kid was and why he could have a tail.
Yes, interesting, to say the least.
He yawned, before something caught his eye.
Was that an assassins hood? Surely all of them were either on missions or lingering around the bureau around this time. Arno walked over, maybe they had some exciting news. Literally anything was better than this.
"Hey! Brother, how are you?"
Connor looked around slightly confused at the exclamation before his eyes focused on the approaching stranger. Oh god, was he talking to him? Connor looked to Desmond helplessly but saw that the smaller was covering his face and trying to inch away.
Oh HELL nah, Desmond had said they were in it together and you can bet Washington's Fake-ass teeth he was gonna follow through. In one swift yank, the taller assassin had pulled the smaller back beside him where he could endure just as much uncomfortable small talk with this french man as Conner.
So, back to what the said man was saying, it sounded like a… question. Yes, a question, and with all questions: they must have an answer.
This left the native assassin in a slight frown of thought. He could try to say something back but it would definitely be in english. He could nod, but that would give the idea that he knew what he was saying. And trust him, Connor did not know what the man was saying. Lastly, he could just… not answer.
As he ran through his options, Connor noticed that the man was growing curious and somewhat suspicious. It didn't help that Desmond was hiding his face like a child either. He should probably answer then.
"I am sorry, but I do not know what you mean" The native spoke in his usual monotone range, giving a slight tilt of his head to top it all off.
Desmond must have been not pleased with his answer because soon Connor felt a slight pain in his ribcage. Really? High talk coming from the one not helping.
Oh SHIT, NO. Connor, of all fucking things you just had to say that. Now the guy would try to talk or something and Desmond would have less and less of an excuse to look like an idiot in a hat.
As the less lethal of the three looked at the one that had just caused him this bloody dilemma. The best he could give was that half-assed elbow to the ribs but he would make sure to tell Connor that talking to strangers was bad and give him a firm backhand on his tree-trunk of a neck.
Seriously, this guys neck was like the size of his thigh.
ANYWAY.
Desmond could feel the nervousness in the back of his throat, like a ice cube in the back of his shirt. If this french fucker caught on to who he was, he would have to answer a lot of questions that he did not ever want to answer.
So, the young assassin did something he hoped he never had to do and mustered up the inner-Shaun deep, deep down inside of him. With a sickeningly overdone and lilting, British accent, Desmond called out to his bear-of-a-buddy, Connor that they really needed to get the fuck out of here.
"Oh dear me! It's TEA TIME already! We simply MUST leave!"
The look Connor gave him was almost enough to give the panicked teen a fit of laughter, which is saying a lot, because the situation was quite tense.
Or, was, until…. that.
Connor blinked a few times before stating something that Desmond had really not expected from a fully grown and trained assassin.
"Desmond, you're British?"
Are you FUCKING kidding me right now. Of all times, Con', really? The shortest male raised his head just to show the other his pure exasperation. Hell, it was practically dripping off of his face in gooey puddles of 'are you shitting me' onto the stone road.
Though, this action did truly get his point across to Connor, it also got something across to a certain someone who was still present though this whole nonsense parade. A certain someone who's look of bemusement was now replaced with slightly widened eyes and laser focus.
"Why, hello."
The little snippet of french had Desmond rigid as a deer in hunting season. Oh fuuuck. His deep brown eyes flicked to the now completely different situation he was caught in and he let out a small, shaky breath. He'd let his cover be blown out of stupidity and now the ball was indefinitely in the Frenchman's court.
