Masyaf
July, 1191
July, 1191
Lex sighed as his leg was splinted and a bowl of food was set down in front of him. He swallowed it down quickly, then stood and asked where the armory was. It took him some time to reach it with his stilted walk, but once he had he outfitted himself with a pair of daggers and a staff. Using the stick as a crutch, he hopped toward the training ground the women had taken him by on the way to the infirmary.
There, Jameel was practicing his sneak attacks, parries, and evasive maneuvers. The Assassin even practiced more of the tricky techniques, dodging only to turn and block a blow from behind. He didn't want his skills to rust like an iron sword in the rain. His opponents were training dummies, as everyone else was eating or asleep. He wasn't hungry yet--that could wait until he was done.
The Novice unsheathed a dagger, watched the man, then tried to imitate his attacks against the wall. He hissed as he put some weight on his splinted leg, sheathed the blade, and sat. He rubbed his forehead, the beginnings of a headache pinching his brow, and continued observing.
Jameel was throwing daggers this time, hitting each dummy in the head so that if Lex blinked the blade would just suddenly be there instead of in his hand. He stopped to retrieve said daggers, went to the center of the ring, and repeated the killing action. The blades briefly flashed in the coming moonlight, the only warning before the kill was made. Jameel retrieved and stowed the daggers away, returning to his wrist blade.
The boy stood and went over to him. Once sure Jameel wasn't going to put the thing in him next, Lex murmured, "Hey, can I try with you?"
He stopped and retracted the weapon. Lex again. Jameel stared at him.
"Fine." The Hidden Blade reappeared and he went back to practicing. If the dummies were real people, they would've been mangled beyond recognition even by their mothers. Jameel continued the indiscriminate stabbing of the strawmen while he spoke, "What would you like to know?"
Lord, he likes staring, Lex thought. That's two things known: stabby and not much for blinking.
"If I can kick one of your asses," he answered. "How much I need to measure up." His leg screamed in protest as he leaned on it; he bit his cheek and kept a lid on the pain. Almost. "Dammit!" Jameel kept on killing the dummies.
"Not in your current state. We can't have a lame Novice. Go to sleep. That leg will take some time to heal."
He poked one of the dummies repeatedly, as if venting out his anger on it. In fact, he was, and would continue to vent the day's rage out on all of them. It was healthier, in Jameel's mind, than just running out and killing live people. He'd save that for the contracts. Besides, killing innocents was against the Creed.
"Huh?" No, his ears weren't lying. It didn't look healthy, though, to tell this guy a smart retort like, "Who're you, my mother?" Instead came, "Yeah, okay." The boy felt for pockets to put his hands in and reminded himself he didn't have any. Need some crutches. Hell, need some pocket. He looked around and, too tired to even bother asking about dorms, sat back against the wall he was using before and slept.
Jameel continued his training well into the wee hours of the morning. He finally stopped when the dawn's first glow peered over the horizon, crawling up and sleeping on one of his shredded victims. He would, an could, sleep anywhere, a habit from traveling to kill the next target that proved itself very useful. Even if he did wake up sore, he'd simply stretch out the kinks, eat, and get back to work. Until then, hanging like a boned fish over the strawman's shoulders, he provided an early morning amusement for the guard and servant passersby.
Lex stirred at the sound of...something. Something familiar. Familiar, extremely loud, and annoying. "Shut up," he droned. It continued. "Shut up!" He swatted at the air, then fell over. Broken leg, sand in his mouth, and someone was saying the Call to Prayer. Loudly. He groaned and pulled himself up on the wall. "God, I need some coffee." He let out a few more eloquent, slurred explitives as he fought the circulation back into his leg.
At the same moment that the boy toppled, Jameel started, fell off the dummy, and kissed the floor of the training yard. Ick. Ugh, the adhan... Standing, he brushed off his clothing and went inside the castle to get a full, proper sleep.
After viewing this surprising display, the Novice began the arduous journey downhill to the village below. Lex swore again as he was jostled by a man running hell for leather to the castle. He staggered down the trail, falling halfway before catching himself. He sighed and braced on the staff as a crowd ran by him, threw his gaze around from one wide-eyed face to the next before he was left to rub the grit from his eyes.
"Assassin!" English?! was the first thing that broke through the boy's fuddled brain before he took in the scarlet cross on the tunic of the man pointing at him.
"Master! Master, Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf." All right, who rouses me this time?! Jameel stalked off from his quarters, intent on mutilating whoever caused this commotion. Rather angry at being awakened twice, finding the Templars in Masyaf village was too much for this Owl. He may not have been fully awake, but being royally pissed off helped guide his blade, and there were no restraining words as there had been with the boy. He let rivelets flow from Templar necks as he fought beside his brothers, barely stepping aside to let Altair pass by and tackle a man bodily to the ground.
Desmond picked up the sword from one of the fallen guards and held it like a baseball bat, eyes on the man he'd thrown himself on to buy some distance for the injured boy standing there like a moron.
The man pressed the bartender back, sneering into his face.
"Your home's going to be mine, Assassin." Rage welled up inside him for no reason Desmond could name. He slammed their foreheads together, lifted the blade overhead, and cleaved the Templar's skull in two, all the while snarling, "Screw you, I live in Queens!"
Lex turned when Desmond flung himself on the man, jerking back as a second Templar's blade sliced down beside his face. His fist came up, grabbing the sword below the crossguard as he plunged his dagger into the man's gut. Their eyes locked as the soldier's hands grasped his throat; his blade twisted. He watched as the man gurgled blood and fell. Stood there looking at the blood covering his hands.
Jameel finished off the last Templar foolish enough to step in his path. He cleaned his blade on the dead man's clothing, sheathed it, and, taking the pair by their robes, retreated back to Masyaf castle. Maybe now he could finally get some sleep...
Swaying on their feet, the two Novices sank to the ground beside the barbican, Desmond covering his head with his hood and hiding his face in his arms. Malik was heading their way, left arm soaked in blood. The bartender knew what must have happened, what was going to happen next. Best to keep his face hidden, lest he be mistaken again for someone it would be horrible to be right then.
Lex gocked at the wound.
"Get that looked at, Malik. Y'need t'get that looked at." Blood--blood on his hands, on Malik's arm, issuing from the man's mouth--too much blood, so much of it-- Malik was saying something, to which the Novice nodded slowly before sliding up his hood and propping himself at the other time traveler's side, falling into an uneasy sleep.
