Post by Seek on Apr 24, 2013 18:43:02 GMT 10
Title: Parley
Rating: PG
Word Count: 512 words
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: Assassin’s Creed AU. George goes to parley.
Warnings: None.
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“Ain’t right, you talking to him,” Thrice said.
The bracer went on last. George strapped it on, then flicked his wrist, testing the mechanism. “I won’t trust him further than I can throw him, Thrice.” The hidden blade slipped forward, smoothly. He stared down at it for a moment, and then retracted the blade. Flicked it out again, stared at his reflection in the shine of the blade. He was going to have to do something about that, dull the gleam. Wouldn’t do to warn his quarry before it was time. His quarry. The Conte Duke. He was going to have words with the Conte Duke.
“An’ what of Claw?”
“Th’ Conte Duke said truce,” George said.
“S’only one response a Templar deserves, Master,” Thrice said, and he was addressing him not as the Mentor of the Tortallan Brotherhood of Assassins, but as George Cooper, Master Assassin on a mission. “This.” His hidden blade shot out with a flick of his wrist.
George gazed at him as he tested the hidden blade strapped to his other arm. Both of them worked. He slipped the knives into the concealed boot scabbards, and one went down his back. Thrice was already waiting with the sword; George winced. He’d never favoured the weapon and it was clear that the Conte Duke was all too skilled with the sword. Still, he accepted the weapon, and strapped it on, next to a wider parrying dagger and the crossbow went into its shoulder rig. At this point, George thought, he was a walking armoury. Still, the message that the Conte Duke had sent said nothing about being unarmed.
Only that they shared a common enemy, with the vaguest hints of a veiled threat towards Alanna. Alanna, George thought, with regret. She’d wound up pulled into this world he’d tried to keep her out of, this long ongoing skirmish between Templars and Assassins.
Myles sent no word of Alanna’s whereabouts, except confirming that she’d gone missing. And George knew Roger enough to suspect the man wouldn’t have lied about holding Alanna’s life in his hands. He’d have cursed little to bargain with, otherwise, much less negotiating a truce.
Just the two of us, he’d said. No Templars. No Assassins.
Just the two of them.
“I’ll signal the others,” Thrice said.
George took a deep breath as he pulled on his Assassin robes. He’d not worn them often; they were rather distinctive. Now, he took in the bright scarlet lines, against the starched white cloth. Elegant like a noble’s tunic, but comfortable and permitting far more movement than even a shirt and breeches. “No,” he said, at last.
“Y’ trust th’ Templar Duke t’ keep his word?”
“No,” George said. “But I’m not goin’ to give him a reason to break his.”
Roger, still blazing bright gold. He’d grown too reliant on his Sight, George thought. And now he would have to make a deal with Roger. He would have to see what the Conte Duke wanted.
And he would have to hope that the price wouldn’t be too great.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 512 words
Pairing: George/Roger
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: Assassin’s Creed AU. George goes to parley.
Warnings: None.
-
“Ain’t right, you talking to him,” Thrice said.
The bracer went on last. George strapped it on, then flicked his wrist, testing the mechanism. “I won’t trust him further than I can throw him, Thrice.” The hidden blade slipped forward, smoothly. He stared down at it for a moment, and then retracted the blade. Flicked it out again, stared at his reflection in the shine of the blade. He was going to have to do something about that, dull the gleam. Wouldn’t do to warn his quarry before it was time. His quarry. The Conte Duke. He was going to have words with the Conte Duke.
“An’ what of Claw?”
“Th’ Conte Duke said truce,” George said.
“S’only one response a Templar deserves, Master,” Thrice said, and he was addressing him not as the Mentor of the Tortallan Brotherhood of Assassins, but as George Cooper, Master Assassin on a mission. “This.” His hidden blade shot out with a flick of his wrist.
George gazed at him as he tested the hidden blade strapped to his other arm. Both of them worked. He slipped the knives into the concealed boot scabbards, and one went down his back. Thrice was already waiting with the sword; George winced. He’d never favoured the weapon and it was clear that the Conte Duke was all too skilled with the sword. Still, he accepted the weapon, and strapped it on, next to a wider parrying dagger and the crossbow went into its shoulder rig. At this point, George thought, he was a walking armoury. Still, the message that the Conte Duke had sent said nothing about being unarmed.
Only that they shared a common enemy, with the vaguest hints of a veiled threat towards Alanna. Alanna, George thought, with regret. She’d wound up pulled into this world he’d tried to keep her out of, this long ongoing skirmish between Templars and Assassins.
Myles sent no word of Alanna’s whereabouts, except confirming that she’d gone missing. And George knew Roger enough to suspect the man wouldn’t have lied about holding Alanna’s life in his hands. He’d have cursed little to bargain with, otherwise, much less negotiating a truce.
Just the two of us, he’d said. No Templars. No Assassins.
Just the two of them.
“I’ll signal the others,” Thrice said.
George took a deep breath as he pulled on his Assassin robes. He’d not worn them often; they were rather distinctive. Now, he took in the bright scarlet lines, against the starched white cloth. Elegant like a noble’s tunic, but comfortable and permitting far more movement than even a shirt and breeches. “No,” he said, at last.
“Y’ trust th’ Templar Duke t’ keep his word?”
“No,” George said. “But I’m not goin’ to give him a reason to break his.”
Roger, still blazing bright gold. He’d grown too reliant on his Sight, George thought. And now he would have to make a deal with Roger. He would have to see what the Conte Duke wanted.
And he would have to hope that the price wouldn’t be too great.