[ac ficlets]

[tanyart]

In Our Days We Will Live
(PG, Yusuf & Federico, AU: where Ezio died and Federico lived. Title from the song Resurrection Fern by Iron and Wine)

The visiting Italian Assassin had a lazy look about him that was mostly only for show. It took Yusuf an entire day of observing Federico Auditore da lalala’s easygoing smiles and drawling remarks to find the faintest hint of melancholy in his countenance, the little chip that finally convinced Yusuf that Federico was not, as the rumors put it, an idle leader.

It was sunset when Yusuf beat Federico to the top of Galata Tower, both of them panting and grinning at the cool breeze blowing in their faces. Federico was quick to learn the rudimentary maneuvers of the hookblade, though Yusuf suspected the other man had deliberately lost the challenge, slipping carelessly down a few footholds the second he had gotten ahead of Yusuf.

It was puzzling, but not enough to be called out on. Yusuf accepted the victory graciously, even if he was already growing skeptical of Federico’s fire and drive (though certainly not his dedication – it was only that Yusuf was beginning to wonder if Federico came to Konstantiniyye to retire). But he threw his arms out to show the expanse of his beloved city and, just for a moment, Federico’s expression shuttered and his smile turned solemn before he looked out into the horizon with sincere, admiring eyes.

“Race you to the bottom?”

The last thing Yusuf saw before he leapt off the ledge was Federico’s look of surprise, the haziness of his stare as if he was suddenly watching someone else dive down, because his smile was all too fond for a mere acquaintance.

Had it been anyone else, Yusuf might have been worried, but the resolve was now there, and he took heart in knowing that, this time, Federico did not hesitate to jump off right after him.


Untitled
(PG, OCs: Veli & Lukas, writing practice)

The piercing whistle was not one Lukas recognized, but the sound still stopped him in his tracks, hookblade already unsheathed from where it had been about to lock one of the bomb-crafting stations. He tried to locate the source, craning his neck upwards towards the rooftops while his free hand strayed to his pouch of throwing knives. It could be a whistle from the thieves’ guild – he had yet to memorize their sound signals, but even the thieves had more discretion than that loud call.

The whistle sounded again and after a moment, Lukas was beginning to realize that, sometimes, not everything had to do with work or factions and secret codes. Sometimes, whistles were just meant to grab someone’s attention.

Looking up once more, Lukas saw a figure wave out to him from on top of the next building, the sunlight making it difficult to see the man’s hand gestures, but Lukas knew those Assassin signals, and he flashed a sign of acknowledgement. Gritting his teeth in half-annoyance, half-ruefulness, he finished locking the bomb-crafting table and shouldered the heavy pack at his side. The bag rattled dangerously and Lukas slowed his impatient movements before grabbing on to the nearest foothold to scale up the building.

The other assassin was waiting to give him a hand up over the last ledge. Lukas hesitated at the offer, wary of the masked face that greeted him, but a careful look at the stranger’s colored robes and the way he held himself made him venture a guess.

“Veli?” Lukas hazarded, grabbing onto the man’s hand, his caution not quite matching up with the easy way he allowed himself to be pulled up.

“It is not often you come by here,” Veli said by way of answer. “What brings you this district?”

Lukas raised an eyebrow, about to pointedly indicate the heavy pack he carried, but Veli was technically his superior, though not by any direct means. “Should I give a report, or are you just curious?” he asked instead. His Turkish had never been very polished, made even rougher by living in the Constantine district, and it was a stark contrast to Veli’s clipped and precise command over the language.

Veli shrugged. “Whichever explanation is faster.”

With a huff, Lukas lowered his pack, loosening the ties and opening the flap to reveal bottles of powder and empty shells. “Restocking the stations.”

“So far from Constantine?”

“Every once in a while I like to be treated to a better view than the slums,” Lukas sniffed, closing the pack. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the bright landscape of immaculate gardens and pristine buildings, and wrinkled his nose. “It has grown quiet lately.”

Veli crossed his arms. “Which is something to be grateful for,” he said in a sharp tone that broke through his usual impassiveness.

“Hm. Thanks to that visiting Italian Assassin, no doubt,” Lukas mused, unrepentant, and crossed the length of the rooftop to the zipline pole. “To tell you the truth, I do not much care for him.”

Veli made a noncommittal noise. “Our mentor trusts him.”

“Oh, I do not doubt our mentor. And I have no reason to question Ezio Auditore’s loyalty. It’s just the man himself,” Lukas amended, somewhat hastily. He flicked his wrist and jumped, snagging onto the rope with his hookblade and sliding down. The sound of Veli’s feet hitting the rooftop’s edge told him that the other man was following, and Lukas made sure to hop out of the way when he landed on the next building.

“He is distant,” he continued, regaining his balance. “Ah, what’s the word—worldly? It makes him aloof, the way he stalks our streets. Have you seen his weapons? Clothes? He sticks out, and this is Konstantiniyye.”

Though Veli’s mask made it impossible for Lukas to see his expression, he had the distinct feeling that the other assassin was amused, judging from his relaxed posture and lolling cant of his head. “You are intimidated.”

“And who wouldn’t be!” Lukas said, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course I am. That man is not the type to share ale and rub elbows with. I have no idea how Yusuf has taken a liking to him, and – hold on, where are you going?”

Veli had started to make his way across the building, climbing onto a higher ledge to leap over to the next rooftop. Burdened by the bomb supplies, Lukas lagged behind and made no effort to make it known, cursing aloud. He was not made to haul baggage for so far a distance in so little time.

“There is no need to shout, I was listening,” Veli said, hands on his hips. He threw a look down below, nodded to himself, and then helped Lukas up.

“You are tailing someone!” Lukas gasped, slightly out of breath. Kneeling, he settled his pack on the ground and peered over the side of the building, curious. It couldn’t have been an important target, if Veli had invited him for a chat. “Who?”

Veli knelt beside him, content to watch the garden courtyard below. “You have never actually met Ezio Auditore, have you?”

Lukas frowned. “Not personally, no, but-“ and he paused, following Veli’s line of sight (or supposed line of sight, with that damn mask), and saw a very recognizable man walking in the courtyard. He stiffened, glancing at Veli for an explanation.

“Master Ezio is not infallible, and nor is he an enigma,” Veli said, which sounded less like an explanation and more like a rebuke to Lukas’ ears. “Yusuf assigned a few of us to keep watch over him. You would be surprised to see the mishaps he gets into.”

Lukas grunted, skeptical. ‘Mishaps’, he could easily believe, but not on the small, mundane scale Veli implied; a few guards there, a few Templars there – easy fend off if you were a master assassin. And while Lukas had no problem exercising his level of cynicism, Ezio Auditore was a name not taken lightly, legend or not. The man rebuilt the entirety of Rome, after all, and most assuredly had a hand in expanding both the Brotherhood in Rome and Istanbul. It was certainly nothing to dismiss so easily.

Lukas took another look down and squinted. “…Is he picking flowers?”

Even Veli seemed surprised at that, head angling just a tad. His fingers touched the edge of his mask, as if wanting to remove it, but his hand fell back to his side. “It appears so,” he said gravely.

“Well.” Lukas stood up, shaking his head. Having seen enough, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulders.

Veli chuckled. “I believe the flowers are for a lady friend.”

“Really? And here I was thinking that they were for himself, so that he may give it to the next group of Templars he fights.”

“Even the great Ezio is human,” Veli pointed out, watching as Lukas eased himself over the edge of the building. “You are disappointed?”

Lukas grinned, lifting his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, “Oh, you know I always am-” and dropped from view.

Untitled (abandoned)
(PG, modern AU: Ezio babysits Yusuf and there are supposedly cookies involved.)

Ezio made his conditions clear with his mother.  It didn’t matter if Yusuf desperately needed another outlet that didn’t involve running around the city, harassing complete strangers, or hanging around questionable people more than twice his age – Ezio was not going to take responsibility if their kitchen went up in flames while Yusuf attempted to bake chocolate chip cookies.  He even drafted a non-disclosure form he took from his father’s stationary drawer, detailing that his mother would take full damage control if something horrible with fire happened to either the kitchen or Ezio himself, so long as Yusuf was involved.

“You’re better at this than Federico,” his mother had said wryly a she perused through the fine print before signing the form with a sigh.

“Of course, mother,” Ezio scoffed. “I’m the more talented one, remember?"

“Well, certainly not the laziest,” his mother allowed.  “Maybe it’s you who should inherit your father’s bank.”

“Oh no, no, that is a bad idea,” Ezio hummed, plucking the paper from her hands to fold it and slip it into his back pocket.  “And you know what else is a bad idea, mama?”

His mother rolled her eyes.  “None of that now. I’ve already signed your silly waiver.  Yusuf is a smart boy and I’m sure everything will be-“

Something big and metal fell in the kitchen just then, followed by what sounded like a very elaborate curse in Turkish.  Ezio had to refrain from looking smug while his mother closed her eyes for all of two seconds.

“-fine. Everything will be fine,” she finished, giving Ezio’s cheek a loving pinch.  “I’ve raised all three of my children without any of them turning out too terrible, after all.  Now, I must get going.  Petruccio can’t miss his doctor’s appointment again.”

“I could take him,” Ezio offered in a half-serious, half-joking last attempt, but his mother only laughed and gave him an encouraging push forwards the kitchen door.

“It’s just cookies,” she said.  “And I’m sure you can take one afternoon off away from Cristina’s … ah, face.”

“Mother.”

Ezio stepped inside the kitchen with a grin that hardly needed to be forced.  Contrary to all his griping, Yusuf was a good kid, if not lacking in responsibility, honesty, and simple manners – at least his heart was in the right place.

He was happy to see the kitchen still intact, but Ezio wasn’t surprised to find one of the bar stools pushed up against the counter and Yusuf right on top of it, looting through the cupboards.  A mess of dishes were already on the table, including a large mixing bowl with a suspicious dent on the side.

“Need help?”

“Hey, thanks! Do you have a stand-up mixer?” Yusuf asked, ignoring Ezio’s preoffered arm to jump from the counter to the floor himself.

"Ah, I'm not sure?" Ezio said, pulling open one of the drawers.  As expected, there wasn't a mixer in there.  "I can call up Annetta.  She'd know."

Yusuf looked at him strangely.  "We can find it.  You don't have to bother her," he said in a tone that Ezio had earlier pegged as Yusuf's geez-you-rich-people voice, despite Ezio's attempts to explain that Annetta was a very well-appreciated, well-paid housemaid, and not a cliched, overworked servant like in the movies.  

"I only don't want to make more work for her-" Ezio barely paused as Yusuf flung open another cupboard and dragged a whole shelf of kitchen equipment out, "-after we're through with the baking.  She knows where everything is and I'd hate to... hm."

Yusuf had crawled halfway into the bottom pantry, its contents scattered all over the ground in order to make room.  With a little whoop of victory, he eased back with the stand-up mixer in hand.  "Found it!  Now everything will be easier."

Ezio tried not to look at the state of the kitchen.  They haven't even started yet. But Yusuf was grinning from ear to ear, and even if the younger boy was bound to go about his mission with the finesse of a whirlwind, Ezio did not doubt that they would end up with chocolate chip cookies, one way or the other.

"Of course," he said, watching with cheerful resignation as Yusuf took out a bag of flour.  "If you say so."