sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO: Sofia Sartor
WHERE: Fountain (locked), various locations (OTA)
WHEN: February 19
OPEN TO: Ezio, OTA
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)

Swimming had never been her thing. Doing anything to keep afloat, that she could do; doggy paddle, swimming like a frog, attempting a breast stroke, that had been it. But being fully submerged, several feet from the surface glistening overhead, it was a struggle. Already she’d felt like the air had been choked out of her, now this.

Through the sway of dark red hair, a hand was outstretched; if she reached as hard as she could, maybe she could grab onto something, anything. Her fingers strained, splayed, reaching and reaching and reaching. The ache in her chest was like an unbearable pressure sitting there, lingering, an uncomfortable presence. All Sofia wanted was to be able to breathe. She was unaware of the fact that she wasn’t alone in the deep body of water, too focused on kicking her legs, flailing her arms trying to get closer and closer to the surface, which was thankfully happening. It just took... time.

How did she get from being strung to a tree to nearly drowning? She’d been kidnapped the one time, what did this mean?

With her feet finally on the ground, air in her lungs, no longer a coarse noose around her neck, Sofia has time to properly go around and take in her surroundings. She had no proper hair fasteners here, all she could do with her long dark red hair was compose it into a French braid to let it hang over her chest. Her first stop would be The Inn where she can be found mostly seated alone enjoying a meal and observing others curiously or seated by the fireplace with a book in her lap, staring off while she keeps the page marked with her pinky.

If Sofia isn’t in the Inn then she’s in the library making friends with the books, either seen leaving with an armful of them or she’s walking along the shelves, fingers brushing the spines as if the touch alone can tell her their story. The Storehouse and the Butcher, Baker, and the Blacksmith, she’s curious about it all, either passing by to get a look, mentally keeping track of their locations and how far she has to travel from the house (#7) she’s taken as her own, or she’s approaching to see who might be there and in charge, knocking or calling a greeting.

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Once the signal was given she was hurrying inside, so very glad to be out of the wind. By that point she was shivering and unable to hide it, cheeks, nose and ears red. “Any room will do?” But Sofia was taking off her snow covered shoes and leaving them at the door as she went further into the house, disappearing into the nearest room. She hadn’t waited for a reply.

Inside, she was alone. Her hands were shaking so hard that she had to toss the bag onto the bed, flexing her fingers, stretching them out, shaking them for any feeling. Next came peeling off the shirt and the bra, which Sofia frowned at. She stripped down completely naked and dug through the bag, pulling out the articles of clothing that were cold but dry. This time she skipped the bra, the undershirt pulled on, underwear and underpants (long johns) next. Wool socks followed and when she held up the overalls from the pack, she only frowned harder and left them on the bed.

What was she supposed to do now, with him? They would talk, yes, of course. He would likely want to know about her and how she knew of him. He would have questions—she would have questions.

The blanket was pulled off the bed and she draped it around herself before finally, minutes later, Sofia emerged from the room and peered around.

For a long moment, Ezio does little more than watches her as she disappears, mind absolutely racing with all of the thoughts and questions that her sudden presence had brought. Finding himself back in this place after so long a time in his own life had passed was strange enough. To find someone who so obviously knew him - knew was putting it mildly, considering just how passionately she had been cursing his name, and just how cold she had acted once she realized he didn't know her.

It's only once he hears the sound of the door clicking behind her that he moves, walking deeper into the house, taking up the other bedroom, searching through the closets in hopes of finding something suitable to put on in place of his own wet and freezing clothing. And comes up with a pair of flannel pants. It isn't much, but as he peals the fabric from his body, hands shaking from the cold, he's thankful simply to be rid of it, dragging on the loose pants and tying them about his waist, before grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.

By the time she comes out there's a small fire roaring to life, putting off a small amount of heat, but it's enough to warm them, to dry their clothes, his already hanging over the back of a chair and pulled close.

The orange glow of the fire draws her to the main sitting room. She’d pushed her thoughts away, the ones that had to do with seeing him shirtless. With her she brings her wet clothing. Sofia says nothing as she enters and moves closer to the fireplace, setting her clothes up as best as she can while wanting to drop down as close as she can herself to warm up. Wet hair at the back of the neck, it’s the worst, especially when it’s cold.

“Ah, I forgot...” And she’s stepping out again and moving to the bathroom. When she returns, the blanket half hangs over her shoulder as she’s towel drying her hair, the long sleeved undershirt fitted to the curve of her waist and breast. It’s more than obvious that she’s still cold, if he so happened to look her way and notice how she wore nothing beneath the shirt and that her nipples were hard. “Much better.”

This way she could bundle up and hunker down by the fire and dry her hair.

“So then...” Sofia fixes the blanket around her shoulders then as she sits in the other chair, head tilted, hands rubbing the towel along her hair.

Her voice captures his attention, has him glancing up at her as she moves into the room and back out again. Has his eyes roaming over her the second time, stopping when they get to the curve of her breast, sliding away off to the side. He had been her before, in her time, of that he was entirely sure. But that did not mean he had permission to look upon her now, now had she given any indication that she might welcome such a thing.

So attention remained carefully trained on the yellow and orange glow of the fire, keeping a careful eye upon the embers from his place on the floor, stroking them now and then until he was satisfied.

Until she spoke again and his eyes were drawn back to her, like a moth to a flame. "It seems that you know my name, but I do not know yours. Perhaps we should start there."

“Forgive me. My manners were misplaced. We can blame that entrance from the fountain.” Her smile was a little tight, briefly showing. “Sofia. Sofia Sartor.”

She knew more than just his name, she knew which buttons to press in order for him to moan her name from deep in his throat, a memory that breaks the eye contact as she looks away from him to the fire. It’s better to pretend that she’s focusing more on drying her hair.

He knows that look.

That look that says all she can see every time their eyes meet is what once was. All she can remember is the way their bodies moved together, the way he drew all of those sweet sounds from her lips, the scenes coming back unbidden.

He knows that look, and it makes a strange sort of guilt well up within him.

"It is a pleasure, Sofia. I am only sorry our first meeting had to be so unpleasant." But, well. "Or should I say, my first time meeting you."

“It is what it is, is it not?” The towel was draped over her shoulders over top of the blanket as she tucked her hair behind her ears and let it rest over the towel. She brings herself to look at him once more. “When I first met you, Ezio, it was by chance. On the docks. I had just returned from travel.” And then there he was.

Her legs stretched out, socked feet held out to the fire. She wiggled her toes within her socks and warmed her feet for a few moments but before shifting on the chair to reach out and warm her hands, pulling herself as close as she dared to the fireplace in the attempt of easing the cold that had settled deep in her bones.

"Perhaps it was not by chance, considering they saw it fit for us to arrive here together." Some might also say that had happened by chance instead of design. But it seemed too coincidental.

"Why were you cursing my name?"

She gives a curt little sound of disagreement, lips pressing flat together. They could discuss that later.

“I suppose because it was your name that I’d spoken and cursed, you’ve a right to know.” Sofia then sighed to herself, warmed hands rubbing over the uneven material of her long johns on her thighs. “It wasn’t you at first. There was... There had been an incident. Before I found myself here. Add in nearly drowning, this weather—it all added up.”

"What kind of incident?" Considering what had happened to Cristina, to Catalina, he could only imagine what might have happened had his enemies gotten their hands on her.

She holds his gaze for another moment and then looks to the fire, watching it move over and in between the logs. Sofia barely blinks, she sits in silence, as if in a daze, and lets it drag between them with the logs crackling, her mind going back to that moment. Her breaths had gasped, her screams weak and choked. She remembers hanging suspended in mid-air, legs kicking, her hands bound. She’d had no way to reach for the noose at her throat to lessen the coarse rope cutting into her skin.

Even now sitting where she’s unharmed and in no danger, Sofia can feel the tightening pressure invisible around her throat. Her hands form fists over her thighs, knuckles slowly turning white, tighter and tighter. Her breaths come out shorter, faster, panicked.

What kind of incident? he’d asked.

One where she had no idea of the outcome.

Sofia can’t speak. All she can do is bring a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.

God, what kind of pain had he caused her?

He can see it so plainly within her eyes, within the way she moves to cover her lips, as if she can't possibly bring herself to utter the words. What had he done to her? Had his enemies found her? Had they used her, used the connection that so obviously between them?

And it had been because of him, because she had gotten too close. Everyone he loved was nothing more than a pawn that could be used against him.

"Sofia." Her name falls from his tongue like a whisper as he shifts, barely thinking his actions through as he moves towards her, as he reaches for her hand, as he takes it between his own and holds it safe. "I am sorry. Whatever was done to you was because of me. But so long as you are with me, I will not allow anymore harm to come to you."

Her name gets through to her before the touch. Slowly her hand moves off of her mouth to her lap. Sofia looks at him, eyes roaming over his face before lowering to the scar at his upper lip. “They aren’t here...” It’s more as if she needs to tell herself this, a reminder. “I’m safe. They can’t find me here...”

She wets her upper lip, letting out a slow exhale, using that to try and calm her beating heart that beat painfully in her throat.

“I was kidnapped. One of your...” Did she tell him about Yusuf? Sofia shakes her head. “There were armoured men, Ezio, and I was...” It all trails off as her breath hitches, the memories coming back, each one.

Her hand begins to pull out of his, her head shaking again.

Almost unbidden his hand follows after hers, fingers flexing, tightening once, twice, as if to silently reaffirm the comfort they were meant to give. As if to reaffirm that he was there, on his knees in front of her, ready and willing to be her sword and her shield, to keep her safe just as he had promised.

She breaks off, but he doesn't need her to finish speaking the sentence to know where she had been going. One of his assassin's. One of his brothers or sisters has been involved, and now his worry was not only for her, but also for them.

"It is alright. There are others here who can help to keep you safe." Other members of the brotherhood who would work to protect their allies. "I am here. You can trust me. Even if I am not as you remember, I am still me."

Slowly, carefully, his free fingers lifted, cupping her chin with gentle touches, tilting it upwards until their eyes could meet.

"Tell me what we are to one another, Sofia."

"More of your students?" Robed men and women, all who treated him with the utmost respect, revered him. What was going on?

Sofia went quiet, her question trailing off once he asked his. That was a loaded question; her answer would be just as loaded, which was why she wasn't so sure on how to go about answering it. She knew of her feelings for him, was absolutely sure, and he'd made his fairly clear. They'd never spoken on what they were exactly with each other other than she'd made the first step in courting him and it'd evolved from there.

"We are friends, Ezio." She held his gaze for a moment longer before looking away to the fireplace. "I took over my father's bookshop. You came to me and I helped you."

"Not exactly." What exactly had he told her about the brotherhood? Had it been the truth, or had it been a lie formulated to protect her? To keep her from knowing too much, in case his enemies should ever choose to find her?

Either way, it obviously hadn't worked.

Friends. They were friends. She had taken over her father's bookshop and he had come to her for help. Which meant that he had trusted her enough to turn her into an ally.

And Ezio knew what usually happened between him and his female allies.

"Then I suppose none of my tricks will work on you." It's said lightly as if it's an attempt to lift the heavy mood that had settled over them.

“No,” she answered evenly, looking at him once more. “The time for tricks has passed.”

It did help, in some way, but she was no longer unsteady in her chair, her voice clearer, stronger. He’d helped pull her from the edge of having a breakdown.

“I’m not sure what to think right now.” Sofia clasped her hands and wrung them, fingers twisting as she looked down. “I was taken against my will and I was... I was strung from a tree. I could not move my arms...” Shown in the rope marks left at her wrists. “And now... Now I’m here? What does it mean? Am I...?”

Her eyes sought out his, breaths quickening again.

Was she dead?

Why was she here then?

Was she?

He wants, desperately, to tell her that she isn't. That everything is fine, that she's fine. That she should trust in him that he would never let anything happen to her.

But he clearly had - just like he'd let something happen to Cristina. How could he speak those words to her when he wasn't even certain they were the truth himself.

Hands gently encircle each wrist, fingers rubbing soothing circles against the burns that had been left on her pale skin.

"I will not lie to you, Sofia. I don't know what waits for you when you return. But so long as you are here, you will be safe. I will make sure of it."

"How?" It's a blunt question. She has her doubts, for good reason. "The man you sent to keep me safe, he failed. What makes you so certain you won't?"

What was it that he thought made him better? Stronger?

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