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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Shockingly, all of this wasn't quite as bad the second time around.

It was still there, the pressure upon his chest, the desperate need to breathe, to do anything to find air, to get it into his lungs before he sunk like a stone. Breaking through the surface was a blissful relief, chilled air hitting his wet skin and burning his throat as he took in those first few gasping breathes.

Bright eyes glanced around, taking in the surrounding area, half expecting to see Lucy standing there as she had been the first time.

But instead of finding her, he found another, a mass of red hair floating in the water instead of blond.

Struggling was the only word that could be used for what she was currently doing. The water was icy cold, chilling his body rapidly and all he wanted was to swim to the edge and haul himself over. But at the rate she was going she was still going to be there come spring.

It's gentle, the way he moves towards her, movements slow and expertly executed, as if he's been swimming his entire life. The way he reaches for her, wrapping his hand around her upper arm, guiding her towards the outer ledge carefully.

"It's alright. I've got you."

Just when she’d felt like she was sinking further and further, no hopes of reaching the top, a firm grip had caught around her outstretched arm. She found herself pulled up, breaking the surface, coughing on the water she’d swallowed. With the help of the unknown, Sofia reached with her free hand until she felt the rough side of the stone edge. Rather than be a distressed woman in need of help, Sofia was shoving her heavy hair out of her face and swearing in a way no lady should, the string of Italian steady while sputtered.

Wanting to get out of the water she began to pull away from her saviour, shakily pushing herself up over the short ledge, teeth chattering while she continued to spout off expletives and grouse about the unfortunate and uncomfortable situations she was finding herself in. Somewhere in all of that, a name slipped out, and she was then cursing that person unknowing that that same man was the one who’d pulled her over.

Dear god girl are you even gonna pause and take a breath? Seriously, you're starting to turn blue.

There's a certain amount of relief that comes from finally hauling himself out of the water, from tumbling onto the hard ground and coughing up what had made it's way into his lungs. But whatever joy comes from the moment is quickly cut short by the fact that he's completely certain she's just used every single combination of swear word under the sun and she seems to still be going.

Wait.

Wait.

Did she just?

At first he's certain he's hearing things, that there's just water in his ear and he even goes so far as to try and drain it. But the name she's cursing is more definitely his and there's no way even his imagination could come up with that amount of creativity.

"A simple thank you would have worked."

Let’s see, she’d almost drowned, she’d been hung from a tree, and she’s Italian—she has very good reason to swearing up a storm without pausing to take a breath.

The water had been freezing and now laying on the snow, it felt much colder, white sticking in thick patches to the soaked fabric of the weird clothing she wore—trousers!. She’d rolled onto her side, her back to him, and then flopped onto her back to stare up at the sky. The shirt she wore stuck to her chest, rising and falling with heavy breaths. She barely felt the cold. All she could feel was the reminder of the rope at her throat.

“A—thank you?” she panted, finally then looking over at him. Sofia jolted up sharply on an elbow then, mouth falling open. “Ezio?” No, that... This couldn’t be

Kalen is also loitering there, so he notices someone else doing the same. Sofia is doing better than he was, though, and managing not to be underfoot.

He has figured out how to layer clothes at least. He is still wearing the magenta scrubs but now had the thicker tight fitting (long underwear) things on under that. He had a coat on over all of it but kept his hands pushed deep into the pockets. Coming from a temperate climate he really was not a fan of their idea of winter here.

"So is this idea of metalworking new to you too or are you just being nosy?"

All things considered, he's handling almost drowning quite a bit better this time around. Then again, he hadn't been endlessly falling just moments before being tugged from his own world and into this world. Perhaps the lack of trauma in the moments before had something to do with it.

He had already managed to push himself upwards out of the snow, attempting in vain to brush the excess from the thin fabric he wore. But it clung to the material and turned to crystals of ice, which only made the cold in his fingers worse with each pass.

The swearing shockingly stopped - or more like it paused, because he was certain it was going to start up again at any moment - and his name slipped from her lips, clear as day now that he was actually paying attention.

"I take it we have met. And that it did not go well."

Part of Anne's daily routine had her researching how to better survive and - perhaps just as importantly - thrive in such a limited environment when compared to the technologically advanced world she'd come from.

Two months in and she's pretty proud of how she's adapted, but there are still things she misses, and wonders how feasible it would be to try and bring them about here.

Today, her goal in the library is researching coffee plants; what do they look like? What do they need to grow? How can you get the best beans for roasting? She's plucking out applicable books on coffee plants specifically and agriculture in general, and it's when she plucks out a book on coffee varietals that she notices a face on the other side of the shelf, and no one she's familiar with.

"Oh! Hello, I thought I was the only one in here. Hope I didn't startle you?"

“It did not go well? Oh, no, it went plenty well.” Sofia began to push up, brushing herself off, hands trying to make the loose red hair presentable by smoothing the strands back. They were beginning to stiffen in the cold. Ah, the cold, they would need to get out of it. Soon.

She huffed out a breath, bit down to stop her teeth from chattering for a brief moment. “You... clearly don’t recognize me...?” Well—ouch. She stared at him, looked him over—really looked at him. He was...

He wasn’t as gray-haired as she knew him to be. White and gray wasn’t as streaked through his dark hair. Unconsciously she touched her fingers to her throat, to where the patchy line of darkening bruises of purple and red sat harshly on her skin.

“We should get out of this cold, messere, before we catch our deaths.”

It went plenty well.

She doesn't have to spell it out for him to know exactly what that means. To know that apparently, she had - or, more like, was going to be one of his conquests.

Which, honestly, did a pretty good job of explaining why she had instantly begun cursing his name. Not that it stopped him from wondering exactly what he had done to her to get such a reaction.

"Mi dispiace, but I do not."

Eyes followed the path of her hand as it traveled to her throat, taking in the sight of those bruises that were blossoming over it.

He also didn't need it spelled out for him to know that, somehow, he had likely been the cause of those as well.

Pushing himself upwards, he scanned the area surrounding the fountain, sighting the nearest empty house. It would likely be best to take her back to the house he had shared with Lucy, but the trip there had been nearly unbearable the first time. He really didn't feel like making it again.

Moving to offer her his hand, he nodded in the direction of the house as he spoke. "There is a house nearby. It should serve our purpose."

Sofia looked at his hand, a hand she knew all too well, and then looked at him. He didn’t know her, he didn’t recognize her. Well then, wasn’t this going to be interesting. “Then we shall go to that house. And let us hope there is a fireplace where we can dry our clothes and warm up.”

Was she going to take his hand? No. She could manage just fine on her own. Plus it didn’t seem right; she knew him and he had no idea she’d existed, back home. Quite troubling.

Off she want, moving past him, arms crossed in a fruitless attempt to ward off the cold.

Already it was so very apparent why he would have been interested in her, just by the way she had looked at him, by the way she had refused his help. Strong, independent women had always been his weakness, and it seemed as though she was no different.

"I have found that many of them have sources of heat. As well as blankets." Her backpack still floated on the surface of the water, and he paused for the barest of moments to scoop it up, knowing that it would contain dry clothing before catching up to her.

"You will need this. There should be dry things for you inside."

She wasn’t pausing or even stopping when he caught up and mentioned the bag, reaching to take it off his hands. “Grazie.”

Sofia quickened her steps; getting out of the wind was all she wanted at this point. How and why was it so cold here? Never before had she suffered through such temperatures. It would make it easier to talk to him on top of everything, getting out of the cold and out of the wet clothing.

“This must not be your first time here,” she noted out loud, coming up to the house.

To make them suffer. There was literally no other reason for any place on earth to be this cold and snowy. What purpose did any of it even serve? It wasn't as if there was some sort of magical berries that only grew in the snow.

"It is not." The journey from the fountain to the house they had chosen was much shorter than the one he had originally taken with Lucy. Of course, all of his dry things were currently located there, which meant he was going to have to make the trek much sooner rather than later.

But he had the distinct feeling this conversation wasn't going to be finished for quite a while. And honestly, he was growing more and more interested in the details by the minute.

Moving in front of her to take the steps up onto the porch, he motioned for her to wait for just a moment, slipping inside by himself, moving from room to room, making sure it was truly empty before coming back to signal for her to join him.

"You should change. I will find us some blankets."

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?

"You mean the blacksmith?" She smiles and moves closer to him, away from the noise and the heat.

Sofia's been grateful for the help from Ezio in how to layer up and where to go to get said extra layers. She of course misses her dresses and her corsets, but she's not going to complain when she's warm and not freezing to death.

"I suppose you could say I'm curious. More so on if it is the same here as it is back home, and it is."

Sofia leans in to peer through the new space made in the shelf. She had in fact been startled but that was more than all right. She smiles at the other woman. "I thought my heart was going to leap through my chest," she breathlessly laughs, and then a hand waves. "It's alright. I thought the same as you, that I was the only one here."

Unlike Anne, Sofia wasn't looking for much in particular. She was simply admiring the spines of the books and pulling random ones from the shelves to skim the pages curiously.

"Perhaps then it is just the two of us."

"It can get pretty quiet in here." Anne moves around the shelf so she can meet the other woman face to face for a proper introduction. She shifts her armful of books to hold a hand out in greeting.

"I'm Anne. Are you new to the village?"

She looks down at the hand extended to her for a moment, hesitating. It isn’t because she means to be rude, shaking hands as a form of greeting in her time between women isn’t quite heard of yet. “Sofia,” she then answers, hands clasped in front of her as she bows her head. Curtsying would just be odd in pants, to her. “Si, I am. Mi dispiace—this is all very new to me.”

Sofia even goes as far as to look down at the pants she’s wearing, plucking at them.

"It's nice to meet you, Sofia." When it becomes obvious to Anne that Sofia isn't exactly used to the Art Of The Handshake, Anne returns her hold to her books.

"This place is kind of lacking in any sort of decent fashion supplier." Anne could empasize, though probably not at all for the same reasons. "This place is a lost relic compared to the time I'm from, but I've been here two, three months? If you've got any questions I'd be happy to answer them. Do you want to come back to my place? I can get a fire going, and you can meet my cat."

"I see."

Kalen is trying his best not to be rude but he is very bad at small talk. It has been a long time since he tried to recall what the proper etiquette is for things. It's awkward and unusual for him and he would not be trying so hard if he was not in a completely different place.

"Were you also a metalworker?"

Desmond might be spending a lot of time in the north village inn these days, working on the brewery, but lunch was still served in the south and that was going to be a priority for him when eventually he got too hungry to ignore it. He was so hungry that he was focused only on getting a sandwich and settling down to chomp it down, which he was doing, walking, when his eyes lifted and spotted a familiar face.

"Sofia?" Wow. That was. Shocking. He swallowed down what he was chewing on, impolitely, but at least he didn't choke on it. One of these days he might be surprised less to see people from his ancestors' lives. Just not yet. "Hi." Snap to it, Desmond. "Sorry. I'm ... Desmond. Um." How long had she been there? Did Ezio know she was there? He wouldn't even have recognized her, oh shit. "I'm related to Ezio."

Someone was speaking her name in such a way, as if they knew her, as if they were familiar with her. The only one she knew on that level was, in some way, Ezio. In the short time between arriving in the fountain and Ezio helping her find a home, she was still settling in and often found comfort sitting by the fire at the inn or the in library, mostly.

“Yes?” Sofia blinked out of her thoughts, attention drawn away from the fireplace over to the young man addressing her. “Have we met...?” Something about him was familiar, the way he stood, a resemblance to...

Straightening in the high-back chair she marked her page, brows raised. Oh, that was why. The man had similar colouring, and that nose— “Ezio? Relation? Truly?” A gesture to the opposite chair. “Please, join me.”

It helps that she's a patient woman. It helps even more when she can speak enough for herself and whoever is with her and doesn't do small talk very well. Sofia can pick up on the latter, kind in regards to it.

"I suppose I might have the hands for it," she replies as she lifts her hands to look at them, fingers splayed. Then she smiles his way. "I prefer more to handle maps and books. Back home, I'm more of a bookkeeper. And you?"

"And you as well, Anne." She's almost relieved that Anne doesn't insist on shaking hands or that the other woman is offended that Sofia hadn't taken her hand.

At the mention of her cat, she perks up. "You have a cat? That must be wonderful. I live alone, though it would be nice to come across one in need of a home. One day." If she's even here for that long, as long as Anne's been here. "I would like that, visiting your home, meeting your furry companion."

The funny thing was that Desmond resembled each of his ancestors just a little bit enough that it's stamped on his face. With Altair it's certain features, the same with Ezio, and Connor. It was because of their stronger blood ties that he is who he is. Sofia was a personal favorite person in Ezio's memories. He thought she was so brilliant and sassy, and it was almost a strange sort of shyness that had him sitting down with her, more aware of himself than usual. He's from her bloodline too. They were as related as he was to Ezio, and while he was used to being related to his great-grandparents (great, great, great), she's family too.

"Thank you, I will." Being so very courteous because she was always very classy and Desmond responded to that well. He looks at her with curious, focused eyes. "Yeah, I'm a distant relative, but we're very close in some ways." Like the way that you can be when you've lived through someone's life and know them better than anyone else alive. Desmond saw it all. He was still trying to adjust to friendship with Ezio, who was a little harder than the other two, but no less important to him. He paused, thoughtful. "Does he, uh, remember you?" He had no idea what year Ezio was from honestly.

"He is..." How did she explain it? Sofia looked down at the book in her lap, thumbnail following the edging of the spine. "Ezio is from a period where we've yet to officially meet. Meeting here, it's his first time. We came through the fountain together." That was how they'd first met.

She smiled then in the hopes that that would alleviate the hollow feeling she would get whenever thinking or talking about him. "You're a distant relative and yet close? How does that work?" So much about this place was... strange. Still.

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?

Desmond did know that Ezio surprisingly went home and then showed up again older. It was such a weird thing that happened in this place, so he rolled with it. He didn't know that she came with him. "Well I'm sure he's glad to meet you a second time." Anyone would want to. She was really good for him, when he finally started to slow down and smell the roses with her.

He paused because really there's no easy way to talk about it. Maybe one day he would just give the cliff notes. "It's kind of weird, but this place is weird, so it fits in. In the future, they come up with a type of technology that allows you to live through the life of your ancestor. I did that with Ezio."

"Tech...nology..." Softly, slowly, Sofia tried the word out. She lowered her eyes to her wrist where the device was at. It seemed impossible to remove no matter what she tried to get it off. "Similar to this?" Her sleeve was pushed back to show him the device.

Then she frowned at him. "You lived through Ezio's life through something this small? How is that possible?"

This little village is a collision of worlds. Anne tries to be understanding if the customs that seem second nature to her are like an alien first contact to others. Best to make the experience as non-threatening or invasive as possible.

"Well, there are some animals that can be tamed, but Lynn came from a mysterious box that was delivered to my porch." She gives her head a nod to follow as she turns to leave the library. "Are you staying at the Inn right now?"

"A deathseeker."

Which probably makes no sense and sounds worse than it is. Kalen grimaces a bit. He forgets he has to explain that first.

"A spellbinder that's also had military training. We're the ones that are sent in when the standing army won't do."

"Yeah, similar to that, only more complex. And bigger." Desmond really does try most of the time to explain it as simply as possible, because tech isn't a thing in the past, but he's really not so sure there's a reasonable explanation of how it all works. It's another language. But he knows Sofia is super smart and has a better chance than most of getting it. He admires her a lot.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure how it works. My girlfriend made it so she could probably tell you." Yep he's going to call her that no matter what she says, at least not in her range of hearing. "Basically the idea is that our DNA, what makes up our body, our blood, our physical traits that are passed down in generations, has lasting memories from the past. Which sounds insane because it is insane, but it works. I remember almost everything Ezio went through through the major parts of his life."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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Oh hey girl

come here often?

More often than he'd like honestly

weeeeeeelp

Blacksmith

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WHELP. Inn

Welp!!

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Sorry for the delay!

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