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"Leslibertes is a total sweetheart. I've been friends with them forever and a half and every muse they take has the same fire in them that burns in the mun. Niv is an excellent writer, who is elegant but not overly flashy, and has a unique finesse that is enticing and lovely. Nivvy's Arno is a true pillar to his character and an outstanding piece to the AC fandom. They should be honored to have them!"
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leslibertes
" you know, for one who finds these streets a danger, you seem to wander among them often. "
says the beast, having almost appeared from no where ( though, in all actuality, she had just been very silent in her approach ). Yet again, their paths shall cross--but this is more her doing than that of Fate, you see. Adrastia had her own reasoning for it, however, it is much simpler to say she is just CURIOUS. Ringed fingers lace together before her as she walks about him, unglamoured with a human facade despite the fact that it was still sunlight. So few wandered about willingly even now ; she needn't worry herself. Her wings stretch out before draping casually over her shoulders.
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❝Do they have anything like this in Paris?❞
Food as far as the eye can see, colorful decorations adorning the streets, and extravagant parties around every corner. Such was the splendor of Mardi Gras in Nouvelle-Orléans, though religious in origin, one didn't have to believe in order to celebrate. All were invited to partake in the festivities, that often ran for days on end with endless drinking and dancing. It was one of the few parties that Aveline actually enjoyed, but that did not excuse her from her duties to the brotherhood. A notable Templar was hosting a ball tonight, as were many of the upper class, and the large crowd of party goers provided the perfect window of opportunity for her to spy on him, and maybe even learn of his future plans. Posing as a lady at a party, working her way into the very heart of the Templar's home, it was a tactic she'd used before, with much success, but tonight she was assisted by her brother from Paris, a novice in comparison to the years she'd spent as an Assassin, but that did not dwarf the skills he possessed. A helping hand would no doubt expedite the process, and with his abilities, she had no doubt their venture would be successful, but that didn't mean that there was no room for the two to have a little fun. She doubted that there was anything like this in France, though the holiday was born from French tradition, there had to be a few twists to the celebration over time. From what she knew of him, there was no shortage of parties in Paris, and the business of mingling with the elite upper class was nothing new to him, but this was not Paris, and was far from the rigid palace soirées she'd heard so much about.
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❄《エスデス - FREEZE!》━━
He blended in.. weaving through the crowds somehow managing to avoid any stray, wandering eyes. Although he was not an EASY man to miss... for some reason not a single head turned... to watch him.
Huh..
Well Esdeath was an exception to the rule.. she HAD noticed his broad figure and was watching with great amusement. Had he just pickpocketed that man? Not that she really cared but... he had some skilled fingers, for even now.. the man still had not noticed.
━ ❝I saw that ~❞
France, 1791. Another period of social and political upheaval.
It is not the most ideal place to find oneself. She feels like a tourist meandering through the world's most elaborate historical reenactment. Men and women dressed in period costume—panniers, waistcoats, powdered coiffures, bicorns and tricorns, rapiers and muskets—a theatre production's wet dream.
All of it only serves to remind Sheila how sorely she must stand out. Denim jeans and leather boots accentuate her legs and leave little to the imagination—such a flagrant deviation from this era's decadent taste is likely considered obscene. A few centuries prior, her outlandish attire would be grounds for burning at the stake. Luckily, no extra attention is drawn to her, as if she's no more out of place than any other commoner.
Then again, her clothes are far less concerning to the mob than whatever grievances led them to assemble here in the first place.
If only she understood a lick of French (or remembered anything at all from her history class), she might understand why the crowd has gathered in front of the Notre-Dame de Paris, waving crude effigies of straw from pitchforks and setting them aflame. Clearly a mass demonstration protesting against...
Something about... cake? Let them eat cake? .... Are they rioting about cake?
(No one ever said Sheila passed her history class.)
Whatever the cause, Sheila once again finds herself forced into the role of spectator, witnessing a pivotal moment in history unfold around her.
It's boring. And she's hungry. Sheila turns to leave. Find something to eat, and then she can give a shit about history.
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Far From Home ;; Arno
A rough winter had set into the crevices of the mountains surrounding Masyaf; ice gleamed at the rugged peaks, reflecting a sun too pale to offer much heat. A brisk wind had blown in, &&. with it came the last traders to the small village. Everyting was kept in comfortable routine; a warmness spread despite the chill of the season. Things were alright, &&. would be until Spring came again.
Though anxious to be out taking care of Assassin business, the Mentor knew there was also work to be done here in the fortress. There were preperations to be made, novices to train... the everyday things a Master Assassin was expected to do. &&. much more, being Mentor now. &&. a father, of course. A husband to an opinionated, strong English woman. A woman he was terribly in love with.
Watching from the main tower of the fortress, Altair could see down to the marketplace, to the village gate, &&. the stables beyond. That's when he sees the lone rider stop at the gate, coversing with the guard stationed there. From his vantage the Mentor can distinguish the hood pulled over the traveler's head, &&. that alone is enough to tell him what to expect. He turns away, back to his desk, &&. picks up the Apple, stowing it away in a box on a bookshelf; it is always in his sights, never too far from reach.
After a pause Altair turns back to the window, his gaze first going to the training ring below, eagle eyes scanning the novices at battle there. Then he returns his focus to the travler, the unknown assassin. &&. he waits, watching, until the figure disappears into the shadow of the keep, then he just waits. Soon enough the guard mounts the stairs, bringing with him the wanderer, the unknown entity. The Assassin.
Waving the guard away without turning, the Mentor stays still a moment, listening. Then he turns partially, hands behind his back, head inclined towards the other, hood shadowing his face.
" Safety &&. peace, brother. I hope you traveled well; welcome to Masyaf. Now, what brings you here for the winter? "
leslibertes
----truly, she had not expected to find many out at such a late time. Usually these streets were EMPTY during the later hours of night ; locked away in their houses, oblivious to the woman who would only allow her true form to be revealed at nightfall when no one was around. Looking human was very tiresome for her, you know.
" ---restless ? Most are when they're out during this time. "
I SAW THAT LIKE ON MY POST. When I get back we definitely need to write. VERY SOON. Because you are definitely a gr8 spidey, ok. MUCH LOVE. <3
aw, thank you. & whaaa? i totally didn’t like that post, iunno’ what you’re talkin’ about! jk, but seriously, your compliment’s appreciated, i adore your interpretation of arno! even though i have yet to play unity, jfc steam.
