01 - [Assassin's Creed] a brother to dragons.
Rating: eh. gen.
Characters: Altair, Mukuro, mentions of others
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn + Assassin's Creed
Summary: Even shadows can be generous, sometimes.
Notes: idek.
Altair remembers things in the dust like this: a man's shadow slithers across the desert sands in silent treachery. The shadow stops at the edge of his ribs, bone-white and finally clean of its dirt, and silently caresses the bone. This all happens nine hundred years after Altair has been laid to rest, a quiet and simple ceremony as far as he remembers (even the dead can remember. Take the soil that hugs the frame of his weary body, for instance). The wind whispers something to his skull that he misses. In the sand, Altair answers like this: I do not know you. Why have you come? There is nothing here for you but the heat.
Because the shadow is prone to casting itself into something that will make it nostalgic for the ugliest of forms, because its soul has always been made of fire and grease, the shadow transforms itself into a man, and Altair knows that his eyes are burning red and cold, dead blue. The man sits at the edge of his grave and laughs. He replies: the desert is endless, and infinite, and that is exactly as I have wished it. He adds: I am bored. I want to go travelling. I can take you for a walk, if you want. I can take you to the edge of the desert where the sand meets the seafoam and you can live there.
This is all said in a cheery tone while the man waves his hand towards the sands beyond where Altair knows that once upon a time, his brothers and sisters walked the land, loved, lived, and died by the blade. And Altair remembers because he is dead, and Altair understands because he is dead and he is not constrained by his worn cage of skin and oiled blades. And so Altair says: why not. And so Altair says: I will go with you. You may leave me at the edge. I will watch the waves as they billow white and black.
And that is how, Altair, now dead and bone-white, made friends with the slithering shadow who extended his hand to pluck a rib from his body and they walked through the desert, his feet whispering through sands like a song. Had Malik heard the melody, he would call it 'culling' and scream for a death. But Malik is long asleep within the sands like the rest of his family and all they are waiting is for the right time to be summoned once again. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and all the dead that lay scattered and hidden within the sands waited, waited patiently, for that second moment.
†
They travelled far. The shadow slithered through Jerusalem's walls like an old, familiar friend, and it unnerved Altair when he realized how very much they belong among the ranks of the old and the crumbling artifacts who stare forlornly at their footsteps, erased as the wind howls through and keeps their secrets. And Altair says: they keep an eye on us. If he was careful he can make out a paw among the crumbling mausoleums. The shadow looks at him in amusement, a dry bone in his ever-shifting hand that glints brightly in the sun. And the shadow says: they are envious, perhaps. Not many of the dead can travel, after all, being dead. If Altair had his head, he would shake it in disagreement, and say: they can travel. They wait for the right time. When the gates are opened the dead walk among the living and they are no worse for being mistaken as the real thing.
(somewhere in Italy a man named Ezio Auditore opens his mouth in his sleep and whispers the names of his ancestors in the old, forbidden language, and when he wakes up, he feels like he has eaten bones and ashes for dinner the night before, and finds that he doesn't mind it quite as much anymore.)
†
The man slithers on the top of a majestic cliff, beyond Jerusalem, beyond the little towns that Altair passed a long time ago when he thought he still had miles before he sleeps, and he looks down at the sea, a rampaging mistress, treacherous in its beauty. And the man says: this is your stop, I suppose. Unless you want to go into the water? There is still sand in there. And Altair replies: no. I am content to perch on the edge.
So the man lays him down peacefully on the jagged edges of the cliff and Altair perched mightily on the cracks and looks at his kingdom with a keen eye. The man says: I will see you again some other time. Altair asks: where will you go? And the shadow says: I will return and descend. And return, and descend again. And return and descend. The shadow is quiet and the odd-colored eyes burn their hues in the light of the day. Had Altair still have eyes, he would shield them in their brightness as the man turns and descends and becomes a shadow again. The shadow says: one day I will wake up and I will not be here and I will be someone else. I will tell them that all this time, it took me so long to come back, because I was in a place that was like hell; that's certainly a tale to tell over dinner or so. Altair understands. Not everybody is lucky enough to have one name that they can cling on to for the rest of their lives. Even he had to trade his title before he truly earned his name again, and in the process it had cost him an old man's life and a brother's arm. So he says: good luck. Because always and forever he knows that nothing is true, and everything else is permitted, and the shadow knows this, too.
The shadow takes a bow, descends, disappears, slithers away on its belly out of the sands and into nothingness. And Altair sits mightily on his perch and draws a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sea and the wind, and he says: I am here. I wait.
†
At 7:35, Desmond Miles mouths the names of his ancestors out in the dark, and then opens his eyes.
Characters: Altair, Mukuro, mentions of others
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn + Assassin's Creed
Summary: Even shadows can be generous, sometimes.
Notes: idek.
Altair remembers things in the dust like this: a man's shadow slithers across the desert sands in silent treachery. The shadow stops at the edge of his ribs, bone-white and finally clean of its dirt, and silently caresses the bone. This all happens nine hundred years after Altair has been laid to rest, a quiet and simple ceremony as far as he remembers (even the dead can remember. Take the soil that hugs the frame of his weary body, for instance). The wind whispers something to his skull that he misses. In the sand, Altair answers like this: I do not know you. Why have you come? There is nothing here for you but the heat.
Because the shadow is prone to casting itself into something that will make it nostalgic for the ugliest of forms, because its soul has always been made of fire and grease, the shadow transforms itself into a man, and Altair knows that his eyes are burning red and cold, dead blue. The man sits at the edge of his grave and laughs. He replies: the desert is endless, and infinite, and that is exactly as I have wished it. He adds: I am bored. I want to go travelling. I can take you for a walk, if you want. I can take you to the edge of the desert where the sand meets the seafoam and you can live there.
This is all said in a cheery tone while the man waves his hand towards the sands beyond where Altair knows that once upon a time, his brothers and sisters walked the land, loved, lived, and died by the blade. And Altair remembers because he is dead, and Altair understands because he is dead and he is not constrained by his worn cage of skin and oiled blades. And so Altair says: why not. And so Altair says: I will go with you. You may leave me at the edge. I will watch the waves as they billow white and black.
And that is how, Altair, now dead and bone-white, made friends with the slithering shadow who extended his hand to pluck a rib from his body and they walked through the desert, his feet whispering through sands like a song. Had Malik heard the melody, he would call it 'culling' and scream for a death. But Malik is long asleep within the sands like the rest of his family and all they are waiting is for the right time to be summoned once again. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and all the dead that lay scattered and hidden within the sands waited, waited patiently, for that second moment.
†
They travelled far. The shadow slithered through Jerusalem's walls like an old, familiar friend, and it unnerved Altair when he realized how very much they belong among the ranks of the old and the crumbling artifacts who stare forlornly at their footsteps, erased as the wind howls through and keeps their secrets. And Altair says: they keep an eye on us. If he was careful he can make out a paw among the crumbling mausoleums. The shadow looks at him in amusement, a dry bone in his ever-shifting hand that glints brightly in the sun. And the shadow says: they are envious, perhaps. Not many of the dead can travel, after all, being dead. If Altair had his head, he would shake it in disagreement, and say: they can travel. They wait for the right time. When the gates are opened the dead walk among the living and they are no worse for being mistaken as the real thing.
(somewhere in Italy a man named Ezio Auditore opens his mouth in his sleep and whispers the names of his ancestors in the old, forbidden language, and when he wakes up, he feels like he has eaten bones and ashes for dinner the night before, and finds that he doesn't mind it quite as much anymore.)
†
The man slithers on the top of a majestic cliff, beyond Jerusalem, beyond the little towns that Altair passed a long time ago when he thought he still had miles before he sleeps, and he looks down at the sea, a rampaging mistress, treacherous in its beauty. And the man says: this is your stop, I suppose. Unless you want to go into the water? There is still sand in there. And Altair replies: no. I am content to perch on the edge.
So the man lays him down peacefully on the jagged edges of the cliff and Altair perched mightily on the cracks and looks at his kingdom with a keen eye. The man says: I will see you again some other time. Altair asks: where will you go? And the shadow says: I will return and descend. And return, and descend again. And return and descend. The shadow is quiet and the odd-colored eyes burn their hues in the light of the day. Had Altair still have eyes, he would shield them in their brightness as the man turns and descends and becomes a shadow again. The shadow says: one day I will wake up and I will not be here and I will be someone else. I will tell them that all this time, it took me so long to come back, because I was in a place that was like hell; that's certainly a tale to tell over dinner or so. Altair understands. Not everybody is lucky enough to have one name that they can cling on to for the rest of their lives. Even he had to trade his title before he truly earned his name again, and in the process it had cost him an old man's life and a brother's arm. So he says: good luck. Because always and forever he knows that nothing is true, and everything else is permitted, and the shadow knows this, too.
The shadow takes a bow, descends, disappears, slithers away on its belly out of the sands and into nothingness. And Altair sits mightily on his perch and draws a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sea and the wind, and he says: I am here. I wait.
†
At 7:35, Desmond Miles mouths the names of his ancestors out in the dark, and then opens his eyes.