sixthiterationlogs | One | Altaïr Can't Swim (it's a trending tag on AO3)

Entry tags:

One | Altaïr Can't Swim (it's a trending tag on AO3)

WHO: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
WHERE: South Village fountain
WHEN: Beginning October 28
OPEN TO: Anyone who wants to find a half-drowned and confused Assassin.
WARNINGS: Arabic cursing. (Both cursing in Arabic and an Arabic man cursing.)

Water.

It would permanently be his bane.

He had expected his afterlife to be anything but that, if he was to have one at all. After all he'd seen, he'd more suspected that after death came nothing. A lack of existence. An ending, and nothing more. If he ascribed to the Christian notions, he would surely be relegated to their hell for the lives he'd taken, and for a moment, it occurred to him that this was it. A form of eternal torment by the water filling his lungs, his hands finding no purchase. Was he to spend the rest of time dying over and over again in water?

But his body had panicked for him. Fighting against the water, struggling, flailing wildly and completely without skill. He could feel his lungs burning from what he'd inhaled before he'd begun to hold his breath, the ache of a cough wanting to break free but he knew that if he opened his mouth, only more water would rush in--

He coughed. His lungs filled further, and fear took hold of his heart. No. No, he could not spend eternity this way, dying again and again with what looked like sky past the water's surface. Again, he coughed. His lungs were getting heavier, his vision dimmer. No!

And then--

And then, even in the depths, he could breathe, except it... it wasn't breathing. Water was still passing into him, but his vision began to clear and his limbs felt less sluggish and his mind slowly climbed away from the base reactions of survival toward true and rational thought.

He was breathing water. How?

His mind sought reasons, but with his calm came buoyancy. He began to rise toward the surface, a hand reaching out toward the nearest wall, touching stone, able to use it to push upward, and when he broke free and took hold of the stone with his entire arms, he bent over it. He coughed once, twice, water pouring from his mouth and nose in a painful rush, but then he was breathing air. Clear, cool air.

Willpower pulled him over the edge, onto the ground, where he laid on his stomach and relished the simple act of breathing. He'd been short of breath for years, coughing with any exertion, but never had it felt so horrible as that. "Al'ama," he groaned, head turned sideways to rest on the ground before, with excruciating slowness, he pushed himself up to sit. "'Ana kabir fi alsini lihadha."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Between the dog, the language, the accent - his first thought was of some of the men in Acre where he'd met Maria, and the moment... ached. But then she was asking and he was trying to soothe her concern with a soft, "I am recovering, Shabbah; do not worry over me."

But he wouldn't lie: it was nice to be worried over a little. Much the same way Darim had. And Tazim. Good boys, both of them.

But here, he was most sure he would need to fall into the part of the old man he was. The English were still not always friends, nor were those from the rest of Europe, no matter how he'd traveled. He had to be cautious first, even if some things couldn't be hidden. Not everyone would know what it meant for a man to be missing a finger on his left hand.

"Breathing has been.... harder of late than before, and the coughing is--" But he stopped himself as he spoke. Breathing was not so hard now, was it, now that the water was gone. His brows lowered slightly as the realisation came.

'Shabbah' Her brow furrowed at the name and Wanda logged it away for later.

The man was coughing but stringing together coherent sentences. He was probably fine but Wanda was going to stand sentry anyway. "I can't help but worry." Her lips twitched into a light smile. "It's a bad habit."

"You were in the well. It's how we're all brought here. It should get easier." Wanda removed her hand from his back and sat back, waiting for the stranger to rise on his own. Arado was being a good dog and standing back though he released a short little whine of protest at not being allowed to help.

"You're somewhere new. I don't know where it is but it's on an island."

He didn't try to stand. Not yet. It was as if time had taught him not to, with the way he looked around, and then extended a hand toward the fountain. "I knew I would be somewhere else, but I did not think I would find myself in water. I have never bothered to learn to swim; I have never needed to. And so of course the afterlife finds me on an island."

There was a little softness, kindness in his eyes, even a touch of amusement, even if his expression only hinted at a smile. But there was thought there, too. His breathing was easier. What of the rest? With the hand at the fountain's side, he took hold and started to pull until he was on his feet. His arm felt... strong. And when he looked at it and saw youth instead of the age he'd gained, that softness faded in favour of further confusion.

"Well-" Her lips curled together as he slowly rose to his feet. "You aren't dead yet."

Wanda gave him space to rise though she hoovered close in case he decided to take a sudden fall. He looked heavy but Wanda was ready to catch him anyway. She was stronger than she appeared and could at least stop him from cracking his head onto the stone pavement.

"How are you feeling?"

Probably not well but he looked worried.

"I am dead," he gently corrected, his voice kind and patient - older, it seemed, than his face. "Before I was in that fountain, I was a man of ninety-two years. My lungs and heart were weak. I knew my time was short. Hours, if not minutes. I know I am dead - but I didn't expect to find youth waiting for me again."

He clenched his hands, turned them over to see, and he very nearly laughed. Youth. Wet, nearly drowned youth - but.... life. A second try. But memories came, vague hopes that he only barely dared admit, but he had to know. "Is there a woman here - Maria? A young man named Sef? Malik? Or Abbas Sofian?"

He had outlived too many others. And with his past, he knew better than to truly hope they would be here, but he needed to ask.

Wanda shook her head. "No." She exhaled a slow breath and thought passively of Steve and how jarring it had been for him to wake up from the ice. This was more confusing than that but the sentiment felt similar.

"I am not dead, nor are the people here. There are about fifty of us, give or take." The number has been fluctuating recently. "No one of that name but if they're here then they would have passed through the inn. Most new people end up there for a time to get used to this place."

She pointed at the large inn-like building behind her.

An inn. That, at least, he was familiar with. This mode of dress, her accent, so much greenery surrounding the village - all of that was still alien. But the concept of an inn was simple. He nodded with respectful gratitude. "Thank you, Shabbah. A dry, warm place will be good following that... unfortunate beginning."

Dry. Warm. Perhaps with just a cup full of water to ease a throat raw from coughing. The thought came to him of honey, but he decided his luck had been pressed as far as it could be without becoming demanding.

Her brow furrows together and she waved a hand to release Arado from her command. "Shabbah? What does that mean?" As Wanda asked her question. The large dog walked up to the stranger and wagged his tail with a bright happy smile. "This is Arado. I didn't want him to crowd you while you were trying to breath but he likes meeting new people."

She turned towards the inn and lead him through the front door. Altair will notice that Arado continued to pad happily at his side while Wanda walked ahead. The pair had been together for a long time and Wanda didn't have to worry about the dog misbehaving.

"I can find you something to eat or drink?"

"Arado," he repeated, an effort to commit the name to memory. "I am Altaïr, son of Umar. And 'shabbah' means-- I have seldom had reason to use the English word. I only had sons. It is a respectful way to address a woman that is not a girl but still young. And I would like something for my throat, I think - but I have no means to pay or trade."

He would have to find something. Given the surroundings, he had reason to think he could hunt, or perhaps--

Perhaps he was here to teach. To teach in exchange for room and board - that, he was sure he could do.

Wanda shook her head. "There is no need. Consider it a grace period." She flashed him a brief smile before ushering him towards a seat by the fire. "We share as best we can. It's how we survive. I'll be back with some tea."

She left Arado curled up at Altair's feet as she disappeared into the kitchen. There was already warm water and she quickly tossed the mesh bag of tea in it. Wanda also grabbed a bit of dried meat and returned to the table.

"So." She began as she placed the tea and snack in front of him. "Where you're from, when does someone stop being young?" Wanda was almost thirty and while she was used to being treated as a child by Steve or Tony, she was curious. He looked to be about her age though she supposed that if he truly was ninety then his sense of age would likely be more skewed.

To share, or to barter... Yes, it made sense. It had been most of his life, so it appeared it would be again. There was much to be said about sharing the work you did and the sweat of your brow. He considered, nodding - and when she brought back the tea and-- ah, dried meat. That would be good, he thought. How long had it been since he'd eaten before...

Ah, Darim. It came like a wave, missing his son. His son whose hair had already gone pale, more white than black. If he could be here, perhaps he'd be safe - but his wife, their children, and Sef's... No, it was better this way.

"Where I am from," he said after lifting the teacup in two hands to take in the warmth and the scent, "when you reach ninety-two, everyone is young. My son was just past sixty - and to me, he was young. Malik Ibn Malik was perhaps thirty. He was very young. You are an adult, of course, but I have learned that age is about experience, perception, and how many parts of you ache when clouds are thick in the sky."

There was a gleam of humour in his eyes, a crinkle at their corners, at that last, even if it didn't quite make it to a smile.

Wanda smiled though the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. "So I see. You aren't the first person I've met who's an old soul in a young body. You should talk to Steve Rodgers. Here's here in the village too. The situation is different but it might be nice to have someone to talk too."

Arado rises and stepped over to Wanda, placing his head on her lap to receive affect. She begins to pet the dog, pausing a moment to organize her thoughts.

"Excuse me. You probably have questions." At least questions that were more important than her asking about his world and point of views. "This place has no name. It's an island and whoever brought us here seems to want to test us for some reason."

A test. That was nothing new given his life. He nodded his understanding. "I see. And the reason is as yet unknown, as is - I assume - the method of our arrival. Yet everyone works together to ensure mutual survival, it seems. A good method so long as people are cautious of greed."

But already he was considering. Judging by the air-- Hm. Could he judge as such yet? Better to ask.

"Is this spring or autumn here? The air is chilled, but I cannot tell yet if the cold is approaching or receding." That would make a difference. He could go and chop wood for warmth, but if winter was beginning, that would affect how much would be needed. They would also need preserved food. Dry rice, if it could be found, and more dried meat like this. Just the thought made him slow down before eating what had been placed before him. If this was winter approaching, how much of this would they need? The worst winters had seen their storehouses nearly emptied - that wasn't something he wanted to repeat.

"I've been here for over a year and we haven't had any trouble with that." Some people take a little more than they probably should but there has never been a shortage because of it. Mark and Kat do a decent job of making sure that things get rationed properly as well.

"They have lunch here. It's organized and most of the people in the village show up." It was free in a sense but everyone helped out.

"It's autumn but I don't know how long until winter. The seasons here are more even than what I'm used too." There was a lot of wood at the inn and the fire was generally always lit through the winter. "Don't worry about it for right now. It's better to take the time to get used to the village and then see where you can help."

Wanda pointed at a bulletin board on the inn wall. "Some of what we've experienced is posted as well as skill sets of those willing to teach. You should take a look when you feel up to it."

A glance to the board and Altaïr nodded. "Sensible. I should take the time to learn before I make an effort to teach."

And more than that, he needed to know a few things. Such as more details about this place, the dangers in the wild, and the temperament of the people. Already, he'd decided to keep the word 'assassin' from his tongue. With people here of Europe, there was a great chance that none would understand the true meaning. Or, worse, if they did, there was at least some chance they were Templars. His name alone would alert them if that were true - none had kept quiet about the new Old Man on the Mountain - but he would need to take care.

"And," he went on, pulling himself from that line of thought, "I will need to take the time to get used to the reappearance of my youth. It has been a long time since I've been able to move so freely. I have much to regain."

"Take your time. You can be here for lunch, Mark organizes that food is made and passed out among those who can't hunt or cook themselves. The board has most information you need on it but you can also ask everyone using the watch around your wrist. It works as a communication device and you can ask mass questions there, such as 'does anyone have information about x'"

Though Wanda found a lot of people asking about subjects on the bulletin board, it was a useful tool.

"Time is one thing we have a lot of."

The thing on his wrist.

He'd been used to having something there for so long, he hadn't given it a second thought until now. He looked at it and his brows drew down as he turned his wrist this way and that, attempting to figure it out. A flat bit, the part that held to his wrist-- it matched his clothing, as well. "You call this a... watch? What does it watch?"

The answer that immediately came to him was... him. Himself. Why would it not watch its wearer? He disliked the idea, but he could see - and even feel - no way to remove it. Hm. Something else to investigate.

"A watch keeps track of time." She had a feeling that she was going to have to explain a lot of technology to him. It didn't really bother her but it was likely going to be a tedious job since the inn currently had electricity.

"You can message people through it."

She held up her wrist to show him hers. "Want me to show you how to use it? It's the fastest way to contact people and will also work as a distress signal."

"Please," he agreed without hesitation, coming over to her side so he could be instructed all the more easily. This was certainly new. The idea of using such a small thing to send messages was an interesting one, rife with possibility. And to use it to signal distress and bring aid? Revolutionary.

So widespread, he hoped they were as benign as they seemed, but he knew better than to offer complete trust. He would treat it as he did the Apple: a tool, but as a knife is a tool. Without care, injury would follow.

Wanda scooted next to him and positioned her wrist so that it was resting on the table. She quickly went over the main screen of the device, using very simplistic terms. When she was sure that he understood all of the basics, she explained how to text as well as how to set conversations to private by sending him a message with the user name Scarlet Witch.

"You can also change your user name if you want but by default it's your name." She never knew if the name Wanda Maximoff would have negative repercussions, which was why she was listed as Scarlet Witch. Those who knew that name had either seen her Hydra file or were part of the Avengers and it gave her a heads up about whom she was talking to and what they knew about her. Wanda hadn't always been a good guy.

Altaïr was a ready pupil. While it took him a moment to grasp the concept, it only took that moment. As she was explaining he could change the name on the device, he was seeking out the proper script and changing it to التاير, feeling that, at least in this, he could have something that sat well and familiar with him.

"I'm very grateful for your assistance. But I am afraid there is something we have neglected," he said then, looking to her from the odd device he would, he was sure, grow more certain of. "Unless your name is 'Scarlet Witch', we have failed in proper introductions. I am Altaïr Ibn'La-Ahad, to give you my family name. Your dog, I remember, is Arado. Might I know yours?"

Wanda's mouth lifted into a warm smile. "Wanda Maximoff." She didn't use her real name on the devices because she was never sure how it would be taken. Memories change and over time enemies have turned to allies and allies to enemies.

"What does this mean?" She asked as she pointed to his user name. The script appeared to be Arabic of some kind or perhaps just middle eastern but Wanda wasn't entirely sure.

It was a name unlike any he'd heard before - all the better, because it meant he would easily remember it. The word itself sounded German - a language he'd heard and had learned a few words of, but nothing extensive. He wouldn't shame himself by pretending he knew more. What he did do was nod, offering over his own wrist so she could more easily see. "It is my name, in my own writing rather than English," he said and pointed at each section. "A-l-ta-ïr." Each letter had its own sound, though the vowels seemed to be lost, in truth represented by the diacritics around the script. "In direct translations, most would say my name means 'eagle', or 'the one who flies.'"

In this, he seemed comfortable. Showing someone a bit of knowledge, explaining it. He had a gentleness to his voice as he did, a kindness that suited his face.

Wanda's mouth curved into a smile. "I know a few languages. Is that Arabic?" Since joining the Avenger's and living with Clint, she'd learned more besides English and Russian, but it was a slow learning process. Wanda usually only learned what was relevant at the time and little else.

She liked Altair's name and it's meaning. She didn't know if her own name had a meaning but she would have liked to know what it was.

"Anything else I can help you with? I should get Arado home soon." The pup rose its head when he realized that he was being talked about.

"It is, indeed - but, please, don't let me delay you. With what you've given me, I have a good start to find my way," he said, standing and giving her a half-bow of respect and gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness and help, and hope to repay it in the future."

Not that he wanted to lose her company. He'd told her she was kind, and that was far from a lie. Her presence soothed many of his worries, even worries that were as yet unnamed. More than once, he had attempted to use his Eagle Vision, only to find that it was beyond him. Was it an exchange - his youth for that vibrant intuition? While he doubted she would shine red, he wondered now if she would have shown as white or blue. But that was a question that would have to remain unanswered.

(no subject)

minus1twin - 2018-11-14 02:38 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only