#casper writes

“Ava, can you step a bit to the left of the statue so I can screenshot the detail on the back. You never know where some symbol or maker’s mark might be hiding, and understanding the provenance of-”

Her voice, so captiving when it’s Ava’s body and its particular habits of response doing the listening, falls flat against her ears. She is too used to the silly Italian-accented English that the animus feeds her through its filter. Beatrice’s accent, which ordinarily strikes her as charming, can only be jarring when it finds her in this broad-shouldered body.

Still, she steps obediently aside in Ezio’s body, cloak caught in one hand to stop it from brushing the stone. Almost speaks just to hear the low hum of his voice, its mechanism of sound in her throat. She has been reading a little about what makes this body different from her own and this particular thing is thicker vocal cords. It feels like speaking through honey, bright-dashed on her tongue.

Not that Ava dislikes her own voice, but there is something intoxicating about inhabiting this body. Its sweat and sweetness.

Beatrice asked how much of a filter she wanted on the language right in the beginning, when Lilith still glowered and Ava’s body felt strong in its own right. Abstergo’s strings unraveled fast. By the second day her steps across the room were shaky. By the end of the third she couldn’t walk. Beatrice and Lilith had finished arguing, the latter running Abstergo’s memory core through the strange red-upholstered animus, the HALO, as Lilith called it.

“Like the video game?”

A black look not at all offset by the clearly thrifted shirt that hung off Lilith’s frame and bared collarbone. Beatrice was out doing laundry and making tentative enquiries into how one might hack Abstergo’s subscription-based leg implants so Ava could walk again.

“Not remotely like the video game.”

Beatrice helped Ava into the animus and approached the issue of translation with an embarrassed frown.

“So, ah, have you read any Chaucer?”

“Is that the guy from A Knight’s Tale? the blonde one?”

Beatrice's expression of blank incomprehension and Lilith’s death-rattle of a laugh in the background. Lilith who is biting and unfriendly at every opportunity and also very gentle with Ava when she pulls her from the animus late at night while the others are sleeping. “Here, let me put some gauze on the insertion point. and this gel,” cool on the inside of her wrist which is raw and constantly bloody from the USB-like cable they use to keep her sedated and also hooked-up to the animus and, in turn, the memories in her blood.

“Why does ours work like this, and not the one in Abstergo?”

“The difference… is about 5 billion US dollars. give or take a nonetheless functionally inconceivable amount of money.” Lilith with her strange tempers, her eyes on Ava’s wrist and her legs spread in concentration, "I wasn't lying when I said Abstergo had deeper pockets than us.”

“just understating.” Ava, tired, didn’t try to keep the mingled pain and longing out of her voice. Not with Lilith to whom there seems no point in lying.

Ava doesn’t care if this particular girl judges her.

dark eyes flicking up, granted a strange flat effect by the monitors still gleaming like belligerent lighthouses in what Ava can only describe as a loft room turned… something else. “Beatrice described the bleeding effect to you.” It's a statement. It is also a question.

“Are you trying to ask if I'm hallucinating?”

“They're not hallucinations, really. More like echoes.”

It doesn't feel like a comforting distinction to Ava, but she looks around the dark space obediently.

just beatrice snoring lightly on her little floor-pallet made of blankets and cardboard and scattered books. No shadows, no play of light between real and not-real.

A slow shake of her head and Lilith’s blunt sound of acknowledgment. A long pause between them.

“Since you won’t ask, yes, I do hate it when you pull me out.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Lilith is calm about terrible things. Not so much as an intake of breath at the sight of the scars on Ava’s legs the first time she was the only one around when Ava needed to pee. A strange thing to do with someone she essentially dislikes and also wants to taste in a very vague way that feels distinct from the more honest crush she has on Beatrice.

Ava scoffs. “Does it disappoint you, at least?”

“Do you want it to?”

Lilith finishes applying the weird, ice-cold gel that discourages scar tissue but seals blood in the cut. lets Ava’s silence wash over them both before looking up, darkly serious in her coldly beautiful way. Ava braces for a lecture, but Lilith just takes her in for a long moment.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Lilith stands, offers her hands as she always does before she carries Ava anywhere. Like there’s a choice in the matter. She speaks only when Ava is pressed flush against her, the tensile strength of Lilith’s arms evident in every step they take together toward the double bed, “Just be careful.”

Ava thinks of how often she’s exploded into pain and pixels, slipping off rooftops in Ezio’s body. Of the guard who opened her up from neck to navel with a huge axe. Of leaps of faith slightly misjudged.

At his grandmother's house, there had been an old, out of tune piano in the corner. Nobody used it. And yet, it had stayed anyway. Daniil thinks his grandmother couldn't bear to let it go. She'd always looked at it with sadness in her eyes.

It remained in something of a limbo up until little six year old Daniil went there for the first time, and he spent almost all of his time there just looking at it. He still remembers it vividly. Black painted wood peeling away at the edges, a scratch from the cat on the left wheel, the chip on the highest key. The brass pedals were dull, and ill-taken care of.

He remembers grabbing a tiny paper towel, and trying to rub the dust and oxide away. It didn't work, but they almost looked happy, as much as a piece of metal could look happy. He pat it once, twice, with a smile on his face, and moved on to the keys. His parents had to practically tear him away from the instrument when it was time to go home.

Afterwards, he remembers innocently asking: "Can I have one too?" Although he doesn't remember their response, he does remember getting a little toy piano for Christmas the next month, and piano lessons the month after.

His dad puts him on tennis around the same time, and he meets Andrey there, and also Karen eventually. Andrey is loudspoken and extroverted and everything Daniil isn't. Daniil is the one who never seems to know what to say, the one who trails after the same person over and over and is always in a corner. A bit like a stray cat, he muses. For better or worse.

He continues with his piano classes until he's fifteen, and he has to give it up for tennis. He spends almost all of his free time on the practice courts, and whatever time he has left he uses to keep what he knows polished, sharp; ready. For what, Daniil doesn't know. A performance that will never come, perhaps. Maybe just because. All he knows is that he doesn't want to forget.

He has to say goodbye to his teacher, an old lady with a love for Greek statues and the best strawberry shortcake recipe he's ever had in his life. She looks at him with tears in her eyes, and says: "I know you will not stop playing simply because you have no time to sit in front of a piano, or because you no longer have a teacher. You will find a way, somehow, to keep that godawful Bach solo in your fingers and keep your rhythm separate between your hands."

She smiles. "But promise me this. Never stop playing. You might not be the most technically gifted, but you have passion many, many performers envy." It's high praise, especially since she once was a pianist for the Russian National Orchestra, and he has to blink a few tears away before he hugs her goodbye.

And she's right. Daniil does find ways to keep his muscle memory. If he closes his eyes, he can still see sheet music flitting left and right, flats and sharps dancing around tempo markings. He also never stops. Many, many times he's told off for playing on tables, and even more times he's replaying concertos he knows by heart by now, recognising familiar melodies in whispers of songs he overhears.

"Why do you keep doing that, anyway?" Andrey once asks him when he's sixteen, and they're having ice cream after practice. "I mean, we keep telling you off because it's kinda annoying, but at the same time nothing changes, so..."

He stops mid-arpeggio. "I'm playing piano. Liszt."

Andrey raises his eyebrows. "You play piano? Huh." He stays silent for a moment. "I didn't know."

Daniil blinks at him. "What? I never told you?" Surely, he must've mentioned it offhandedly sometime.

"Nope," Andrey says.

"How could you not know? I had classes every single week for years." Daniil squashes down the wistfulness threatening to rise up in his chest. "But I stopped."

Andrey takes a fucking bite out of his ice cream, which, ew, and then asks: "Why?" And oh, that little word reopens a wound he thought was long closed, scarred over and unfeeling.

"Tennis. You and I both know we could go professional. Plus, if I want to have classes, I need to practice. A lot. And that costs time I could also use for tennis." He tries to sound as objective as possible, to ignore the hurt he feels whenever he talks about this. He's not sure if he succeeds. If he could, he would have both tennis and music, but as it is, he only has so much time. If only he had more if it, if only—

"But you still haven't quit," Andrey says, breaking him out of his thoughts. Of course he noticed. He's always been very observant, maybe a little too observant, when it comes to Daniil.

"No." He looks away. "No, I haven't."

The conversation doesn't continue after that.

When it's time for the both of them to go home, Andrey hops off the fence they were sitting on and demands: "You better show me what you can do on a piano. I don't care when, but I want to know."

Daniil huffs out a laugh. "Okay. As long as you keep telling me about whatever's going on with Karen and Aslan."

“It’s been like… Ten minutes, Ro,” Virgil said, finally making an appearance at the top of the stairs, rolling his eyes with a fond smile directed towards the pouting drama king.

“That is still way too long to get dressed, UV Light of my life.”

Well that was an interesting one. Janus gave Roman props for creativity instead of falling back on Black Knight again.

“Did you just call me a UV Light?” Virgil asked, grabbing a plaid button up from a doorknob and shaking it out as he began to descend the stairs.

Roman and Virgil continued to bicker, but as soon as Virgil reached the halfway point, Janus’ eyes zeroed in on his shoulder and it took him two seconds to recognize the flowers layered vibrantly under his skin.

“Love bite, what’s that?” Janus asked, speaking up to interrupt Roman’s next quip and draw everyone’s attention to Virgil’s left shoulder where a poppy and a magnolia resided.

“Vee!” Roman gasped, though instead of putting his hand to his chest in mock offense like Janus had expected, he took a step up.

“Roman I swear to God if my railing breaks-” Virgil started, though he was laughing as Roman attempted to manhandle him closer to get a closer look at the tattooed flowers.

“This is not my work! Where did you get these done, Cauldron of love? Is this why you haven’t been changing your shirts in front of us the last month?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at Roman, and Janus cleared his throat in an attempt to cover up a laugh.

“Roman, sweetheart, did you just admit to wanting to see my abs?” Virgil teased, his laughter flaring up again when Roman froze and then promptly let go of him to get his feet properly on the ground, instead of slotted between the railing to stand on one of the steps.

“I can’t help that your night hobby makes you eye candy, Virge,” Roman mumbled.

Janus cleared his throat again, then pulled himself off of Virgil’s couch so he could wrap his arms around Roman’s waist and place his chin on his shoulder, guiding the shorter man until they were able to face Virgil while he was on the first floor of the house with them.

“Roman is right, Love bite. You are very-” he punctuated the word with a quick once over of his boyfriend and a smirk, “pleasing to the eye.”

With Virgil’s face now red, the man huffed and turned away while he returned to putting on his usual purple plaid button up.

To avoid looking at them while he calmed down his own flusteredness no doubt.

“Okay, water bottles are in the fridge, you assholes, I’m not dealing with your thirstiness today,” Virgil said, swinging the shirt around his shoulders so he could slip his arms through the sleeve.

Janus and Roman watched him for a moment, watching the way the fabric hid well toned arms and the new tattoo of the flowers.

“Darling of the knight, did you pick those flowers for the colors or the meanings?” Roman asked, leaning back against Janus, who tightened his grip on the shorter man’s waist.

Virgil hummed, flipping the collar to lay flat and starting to roll up his sleeves while he thought, glancing at the two of them after a moment.

“More colors than meanings honestly, didn’t really feel like digging through flower meaning websites for something decent and no way was I gonna ask Janus when it was supposed to be a surprise.”

Janus couldn’t help the smile that spread along his face. He didn’t necessarily need to know flower meanings to own his flower shop. Flower arranging was more what looked pretty and worked well together, but he tended to familiarize himself anyway.

“Ah, and that’s why you risked another artist’s work. I suppose I can forgive you then, and you got lucky in this sense anyway, they’re very well done- wait.”

Virgil froze, looking at Roman who was scrutinizing him.

Janus wondered if their prince noticed the smile Virgil was fighting back or not.

“You did not!” Roman protested, pulling at Janus’ arms to try and get out of his grasp.

There was a pause, Virgil’s grin broke free in a silent admission of the “treachery” that was going to Remus’ own tattoo parlor, and Janus held tighter for just a moment.

“I suggest running love, I don’t think he’ll stop until he “punishes” you with kisses,” he warned, earning a blown kiss from Virgil before he bolted towards the front door and Roman finally got free.

Janus sighed, feeling his heart swell as he thought back on how when they’d met Virgil the man was facepainting a small child and make jokes to keep her smiling while he wouldn’t give them the time of day.

“Patton I get you’re excited about me finally agreeing to meet your friends but if you pull any harder on my arm you’re going to dislocate my shoulder,” Virgil said, clearly amused by his friend’s enthusiasm.

Slowing to a stop, Patton looked back at Virgil with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry kiddo! Remus and Roman just get impatient sometimes and they tend to destroy whatever area they’re in when that happens and since they’re in Dee’s house this time I’d really like you to meet them before they die.”

Virgil let out a snort at that, glancing at the houses lining the street then at the pale yellow one Patton had been clearly dragging him towards.

“I can get that, Pat, but I’d really like to keep my shoulder in its socket,” he says, trying not to laugh as they start walking, slower this time and with Virgil’s wrist freed from Patton’s grip.

“Gosh I can’t wait for you to meet the twins! Dee isn’t there right now, they’re at work, but they promised to bring food when they get off, so you should definitely stick around to meet them!”

Virgil nodded at Patton’s rambling, stepping inside the house when he opened the door and pausing to see two very obvious twins standing in front of the tv.

One had a mustache and a strip of white in his hair, and he’d just turned to the twin with swept back hair and wearing a red and white varsity jacket with a grin and a bounce as he laughed.

And Virgil had to stop in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes and a red face because that was the cutest fucking bounce he’d ever seen and he was decked out in green and black and was very attractive wearing it.

Virgil didn’t believe in love at first sight but fuck man he wouldn’t mind love at first kiss maybe? He’d really like to kiss that cute smile like right fucking now.

“Kiddo?” Patton called, halfway to where the twins were and thus drawing everyone’s attention to Virgil who was still hovering in the doorway.

Oh God, the cute one was staring at him now. How does function? Fuck. Virgil’s heart seemed to stop in his chest and his face was growing redder, oh shit, was this what gay panic felt like? Probably.

“Uh…” Virgil said, very eloquently, as he moved his eyes to Patton who was wearing a very smug grin as he seemed to realize what was going on.

“Is he broken already?” Cute Twin asked, clearly amused by Virgil’s frozen state.

Patton crossed his arms, his grin growing wide as he watched Virgil.

Oh God, Patton don’t.

“He’s just going through some very intense gay panic right now, Remus. I wonder which twin it’s over?”

Virgil is going to murder a man today.

Varsity twin’s (who Virgil was pretty sure was Roman, if Cute Twin is Remus) smirk grew as Virgil finally took a few steps forward to close the door behind him, though he was still very much gay panicking over Cute Twin.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s me, I’ve yet to meet a cute guy who hasn’t swooned over my good looks,” he said, striding forward.

When Roman reached forward to grab Virgil’s hand, Virgil sidestepped and moved his hand very clearly away from him.

Confused, Roman looked at Virgil’s face.

“Don’t touch me? Like who just goes to touch a stranger without asking?” Virgil asked, briefly snapped out of his gay panic because seriously rude much?

Remus barked out a laugh, Virgil’s eyes snapping back to him as he bounced again, clapping his hands together in his amusement.

Oh fuck he’s so cute.

Roman blinked, looking at Virgil and then at Remus before finally settling on Patton, who was barely holding together his own laughter.

“He’s gay panicking over Remus?”

Patton started cackling then, bending over as he clutched his stomach.

Meanwhile Remus had startled out of his laughter, staring at Virgil mystified.

“Me? Literally it’s always Roman, what?”

Roman seemed to agree with Remus’ confusion, crossing his arms over his chest in a pout.

“I know! What on Earth do you see in him, Virgil? Look at him! He’s a trash rat.”

Remus snorted at Roman’s description as Virgil tried to figure out how to respond through his gay.

“Uh… he’s cute? Like the… the bouncy laugh. It was… adorable?” he tried, his face growing hotter as he spoke.

Roman paused at Virgil’s answer, giving him a weird look.

“I have literally never heard anyone describe my brother as cute before, but okay?”

Virgil shrugged, looking at Roman for a second before his eyes went back to Remus.

Remus’ face was red, and his eyes were wide as he stared at Virgil.

“I’m keeping him,” he said after a moment, nodding to himself as Patton let out a snort from the floor where he had collapsed a few moments earlier.

“I don’t think that’s how you ask someone out, Remus, but okay.”

Remus shrugged, beckoning for Virgil to enter the living room with a wide grin.

“Come here Gay Panic at the Disco, let me get a good look at your cute face,” he said, Virgil squeaking a little at the cute comment.

“Patton, you’re a dead man, but I will let you live until your other friend gets here,” Virgil said, finally moving away from the door, Roman moving behind him and sitting on the couch as he continued to pout.

“Aw, kiddo! I’d like to see you try,” was Patton’s response, earning a sharp glare from Virgil.

“I’m smaller than you, and quieter. And I have access to poisons.”

“Oh my God, you’re perfect,” Remus breathed, grin wide as Virgil looked at him with his blush renewed.

“What?”

“I am going to woo the fuck out of you.”

Virgil made a flustered sound of confusion, wondering what the hell he said to gain Remus’ interest.