♟ the martyr.

“I run into them way too often. I wouldn’t really mind, but my brother’s the sheriff, so it’s kind of awkward when he has Betty bail me out. Or when he gives me three hour long lectures about how embarrassing I am in front of his colleagues.” He says, looking up to the other with curiosity.

“Oh, yeah -- that probably would be awkward.” Despite the guy’s brother being the sheriff, it didn’t seem to stop him from spray painting and definitely explained why he booked it the moment he had noticed someone else. “At least it’s just lectures, they’re pretty harmless.” Desmond won’t volunteer information or swap stories about his strict dad and the sorts of training he had to endure as a kid, that was the past.

Ｔｏ  Ｔｈｅ  Ａｒｋ ✘ “Guh —— ” The blunt impact catching him equally off guard and                                        leaving him struggling to regain balance. He wasn’t sure what                                        made him stay, his feet suddenly glued to the ground, staring up      YOU ARE NOT         mouth agape; maybe this was FEAR? Despite being a delayed           AFRAID               recovery, forsaking any initial plans of keeping his mask clean                                       [ better than giving this guy any further details for a POLICE                                       REPORT ] a hand roughly jerked it back down. He’d been good so                                       far; getting caught hadn’t been in the plan.

Thoughts raced through his head, all sending different signals past just the usual fight or flight impulse -- the mask, the pipe, the bloodstains -- it all pointed to the stranger having just beaten someone’s face in. But the question of why also rose up at such an inopportune moment, eliminating the possibility of self-defense. Was it a gang initiation, or was he just some stray psycho? Either way, the answers all pointed to not-fucking-good.

@abiitmanes continued from x

                         SLOWLY AND ALMOST reluctantly Clarke holsters his weapon from under the counter, despite his rigid stance he doubts anything violent will be coming of his. At least from Desmond. Both hands now resting atop of the counter he eyes the young Assassin, unsure if his reaction is a typical one amongst Assassins ( it’s not like he’s personally met many or anything. )

Maybe later he’d think back upon this instance and laugh about it -- it was funny, two guys who were basically out of their organizations and in hiding, pretending everything was normal when they were facing off what should’ve been some serious enemy. But life was funny like that, and he found that rolling with the punches sometimes didn’t go half as bad as he expected. It didn’t mean that he’d lower his guard around the other still, even as the man finally took a sip from his drink. Desmond was just a little too cynical for that, aware that even though they silently agreed not to duke it out, their hackles were probably still raised at one another.