-lol sorry for the wait, its been awhile, bros-
What in the hell was going on.
Connor had been slick as butter trying to talk to this strange, presumably assassin, frenchman and Desmond had to go muck it up with his god-awful, british accent. Seriously he was pretty sure it sounded even more posh and stuck up than his father, and that was saying something. And even then he didn't even follow through with it because the guy said something that visibly made his little travel companion freeze in his bare footed tracks.
The only thing that could make this more uncomfortable would be… actually, no, this was about as uncomfortable as it got. And he couldn't even leave because this place was completely foreign and confusing to his more earthy taste. Not to mention really, really loud.
Desmond furrowed his eyebrows and latched onto Connor's forearm like his life depended on it. Jeez, for a little guy, he sure held on tight.
"H-hi… Have I, uh… seen ya before? I don't think so actually, I think I'd remember" the shortest assassin blurted out awkwardly, stepping closer to Conner's large frame.
The strange man tilted his head up, and looked a bit tense when he answered with "You're the thief, no?"
Connor found himself sizing up this guy real quick when Desmond let off his helpless vibe. Maybe it was because this younger assassin was literally the only person he knew in this place that the necklace had zapped him to, or because the guy looked like he would rather be buried alive than continue this conversation. Either or, he now felt somewhat tied to the little guy. As such, that was enough reason to tell this french guy to fuck off.
"We just arrived this evening by ship, I don't think we've encountered you before" Connor said, fixing his posture so the shadow he cast over the smaller frenchman was even more engulfing and intimidating.
Okay, so yeah, things could get a little more tense.
Before Connor could blink, the french guy had reached forward to grab Desmond's arm. Desmond, the teen he was, yelped like an injured mutt. And that's when everything went to shit.
Connor had kneed Arno in the stomach which made the blue-clad assassin retract his hand and duck before the native's fist could reach the side of his face. Like the runner that he was, Desmond took this chance to get the fuck out of there as fast as humanly (or, in his case, half humanly) possible.
He was a fair distance away, feet burning with overuse, when he looked back to see his good, American buddy tackling his pursuer before he could even get within a few feet towards the fleeing teen.
Hell yeah, escape artist Desmond Miles is at it again, sprinting through the streets of Paris like the skinny rat he was. That last encounter with the scary fast, french assassin was nothing compared to this, he could practically feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins like he was on a Monster drink overdose.
But now that left him with the real questions.
Where to hide?
Well, the back of his head was screaming to get in the water like his life depended on it. The logical, more rational side was slightly hesitant because of the whole… fish problem. But hey, at least he was safe there.
He was almost to the roads that lead to the coast of the river when something important pinged in his head.
If he shifted right now there was the whole 'losing the clothes that you worked so hard to get' issue, which made him take a sharp turn down an alley so he could rethink some things.
For some reason, he knew where the water was at all times. He could feel it in his being and hear it in the back of his head like a dull rush of water. It was similar to holding a shell up to your ear to hear the waves. But, instead of hearing the magnified sound of blood rushing through your ears, he could hear the waves lapping at the shore and the fish swimming underneath.
Currently, the river was straight to his left, a fair distance away. So… logically, if he spent some time up here and went down to the shore when night fell he should be able to slip off the slightly large clothing and stash them somewhere before getting in the water.
He didn't wanna jack some poor soul's clothing all over again, it was still biting at his conscious.
And so, he didn't hesitate to start scaling the side of a building. Jeez, when Altair did this, he looked like a warrior. When Ezio did this, he looked graceful. When fucking Desmond decided to scurry up the side of a wall, he looks like a little delinquent child halfway through a dare that his friends gave him on the playground. His feet were rubbed way too raw to get a good foothold and all in all he was just a little on the weak side because the last moments of his life was wasted lying in an electro-bed reliving the lives of guys who could actually do this shit.
His inner monologue was definitely readable on his furrowed expression as he grunted to pull himself onto the last ledge, his head just peeking up to the top.
He squinted at the sunlight and was about to lose his balance and fly backwards off of the building when something probably sent from god above stepped in front of the sunlight that was blinding his eyes.
Oh thank the lord above, he could see.
The slightly tanned teen blinked a few times, clinging onto the ledge, and focused on just what was sending him in the shade.
Or… who.
Ah shit.
