sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Evie Frye

WHERE: South Village Fountain

WHEN: March 16h

OPEN TO: OTA

WARNINGS: Nothing, will update if needed.

I. The Fountain

Water filled her nostrils at sudden consciousness. The Ganges? She didn’t remember being by the river or a river. But memories didn’t matter when what she needed to do was swim up and out of the water. Sunlight was glimmering above and easy enough to kick up to. Air was taken in sharply as she broke the surface. Blinking away water she saw this wasn’t a river at all. Instead the boundaries were distinct and she found herself in a fountain. One deep enough for a person to sink in. Unusual.

Pulling herself up the side, she landed quietly as possible with the squish of her shoes against ground. Instinct had her reach for a hood that wasn’t there. Evie’s hand reached up again, feeling for the missing piece of fabric that should have been there. And it was then that she noticed the color of her sleeve. And the strange change of fabric. And the strange lack of fabric. Arms out, she looked over herself. What sort of decency would allow this? They looked nearly like undergarments, so simple and plain. She liked the color at least, a deep blue. Self inventory found that her weapons were missing. No hidden blade, no blades at all, no bombs, nothing. That nearly made her feel as naked as the strange clothes. And a strange bracelet that looked nothing like she had ever seen before.

II. Strolling through Town

She was decidedly not in India anymore. And this looked not at all like England either. Which left, well, the rest of the world really. Just not any of the parts of it she had been to. The itch to pull up her nonexistent hood was still there, however she noticed there were some other people in similar clothing. And others in different outfits entirely that bordered from familiarish to not at all.

First step. Establish surroundings. Integrate with the population. Blend. That was doable. In theory. People liked to talk and once she was familiar with the layout of wherever she was maybe this anxious buzzing in her mind would stop. If she was here for now she'd need to know where things were, where to go and where people said not to go. Structures were being noted and mapped as she walked along, faces and voices observed as well in case there seemed to be ones that popped put for interest.

There was none of that instinctive viewing of her surroundings, not as it had been. There was no glowing of targets or information. Concern buzzed in her mind again but she had plenty of skills to sort people out while seeing them as they were. Maybe they were all important. It was a possibility. At least none seemed to give off the instinctive look of enemies. Which might mean nothing at all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He'd been to the north, up to the cave he'd scouted with Tony what he now realised was months ago. A stop to the northern village and then he'd been on his way home - in time to see a woman climb from the fountain.

More than that, a woman he recognised. The question that followed was if she would recognise him.

His footsteps were still Assassin-silent as he came to the fountain's side, removing his Mentor robe as he approached. "I beg your pardon," he said, his voice still Masyaf-accented. "May I offer you my robe? This is no weather to suffer in the cold and damp."

The cowl he wore, she would likely recognise - in form if not in detail. His accent, likely less so. But his bracers were probably unmistakable.

Perhaps she had been too involved with the strange clothes to hear the approach. She should have seen from the corner of the eye even if she hadn't heard. There was disappointment in that, the instinctive need to analyze for a threat in an increasingly unknown situation.

The cold and damp had not reached the point of necessarily registering yet. It should, she was wearing fewer layers than in this situation in England. And she had been adapting to warmer climates.

And there was the hood she was missing. Or like it enough. And her fingers went to the trigger that was no longer there, for bracers of her own that were no longer there. The accent did not sound as one of her Indian brothers. Nor was his face recognizable. But he was an assassin, there was no mistaking that. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, brother." Evie didn't reach for the robe.

Without knowing, she'd answered his unspoken question - and it left him with an oddly unsettled feeling. She didn't remember him, and seemingly didn't remember the village. Would she remember Jacob? The possibility gave him a chill beyond that caused by the weather.

But he kept his voice steady as he answered, "I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, which will undoubtedly be difficult for you to believe. This place has a tendency to disorient all who arrive, but I will be glad to assist you as I can, Ukht. Sister." Then, after a lingering pause, he added, "Evie Frye."

It took everything in her power to not laugh. Not that it was funny outside of a sense of morbidity, but here she was climbing out of some strange fountain, in clothes she had never seen, and now a man was introducing himself as the great master assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. It was ridiculous, unfathomable, and then followed by the distinct chill down her spine as he knew her name. Which was rarely a comforting experience in an unknown situation with strangers.

"I see we are unevenly acquainted." Evie settled on at the introduction of this supposed grandmaster. "And me, here, unaware of where I've even arrived."

"I have met you once before," he answered, "though it seems your memory of it is missing. Beyond that, I have spoken to your brother quite often."

More than spoken, all told - but best not to tell.

"He is here as well. And in dire need of your steadying influence."

But then he was motioning to their surroundings, his left hand bearing only four fingers, the ring finger very obviously amputated at the first knuckle. "Unfortunately, there is no true name for this place. We simply call it The Village. Most arrive as you did, swimming up through the fountain in an abrupt awakening. There are people here from many times and many worlds, not only our own. And quite a few are our Bretheren."

There was certainly more information that Evie would have normally anticipated in only a few short sentences. Master Ibn-La'Ahad certainly seemed to have no tendency to hold it back, at least not in this matter.

Though perhaps he was and Evie was not sure which was more concerning.

"So it would seem." she agreed, at least taking Jacob's presence as some sort of lifeline to hold on to. "Jacob's here? In this village?"

She was not sure it should have come out as a question but that was where she found herself. She had not seen her brother in quite some time, not since her and Henry had left. But then again if he was who he said he was, then that seemed to be out of the normal order of things entirely.

"Pardon possible rudeness." she offered with the briefest of bows. "But I have only your word to go by that you are who you say you are."

After a nod to answer her question about Jacob, he offered forth his robe again. "Of course. There is a... seven hundred year span between your time and mine, am I correct? All I can offer is that I am being truthful. You may ask Malik of my identity - or read my codex at your leisure, if you can translate. My English writing and reading is still not my greatest skill.

"But if nothing else, I can guide you to the inn, where you can find warmth, clothing, and a meal. I would ask you to my own home, but the inn is better equipped for those newly arriving."

There was a ridiculousness to the situation that could only slowly wash over her. Climbing out of a fountain. Her clothes replaced. Her brothers gone from her and instead a specter from the distant past invoking another and her own twin. The polite thing would be to accept the robe on offer, the chill catching at her fingertips. But that required a measure of trust she was unsure that she could extend at this moment.

Even if there was usually instinctive trust between members of the brotherhood, the circumstances were ones unlike any that her father had prepared her for.

"An inn sounds lovely." she offered as her concession. "And somewhere that my brother is likely to arrive at all his own."

"I believe," he offered as he pulled his robe back around his shoulders, "that he tends to eat there for lunches. He's eaten at my home occasionally, and the invitation is open to you as well." Though again he was struck by her resemblance to Maria. It nearly gave him a bolt of guilt - but he took a breath and exhaled it away. He would not feel guilty about his relationship with Malik. He refused.

"It is just this way, and there are some spare pieces of clothing in one of the rooms there that will suit the temperature much more than these things we've all arrived in."

He still wore them when he wanted to do something and didn't care if his clothing got dirty - but those were the only circumstances.

An invitation to his home? It seemed almost presumptuous of her to accept, though Evie chastised herself. The brotherhood was welcoming to those within it. How many of her brothers in India or even just along the way had welcomed her and Henry into their homes. There was a trust that the brotherhood's secrecy relied on. And perhaps it had not changed much over the centuries.

"Yes it seems... an odd choice." she conceded as she looked at the clothing she found herself in. "Do people walk about so undressed? Is that common here?"

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