Writing Meme Responses: assassin's creed
I took a few quick prompts on tumblr for a meme. :)
#1: that story where Malik teaches Altair's kid how to scale a wall with only one hand/tricks to play on Altair
Darim’s head finally pokes over the ledge and the boy shakily attempts to push himself up to clear it. Malik watches for a moment, just to see what Darim would do. For all his uncanny likeness in appearance, the boy is much more humble than his father was at that age.
“Ammu Malik?” Darim pants, clinging on to the makeshift platform with one arm. Malik can hear his feet scrambling to find purchase on the tree’s thick truck as Darim shoots him a pleading look, though he is not without his pride either; if he must ask for help, then it must be for his own benefit, not just to have an easy way out. “Ammu Malik, I can’t- I can’t get up. Is there another foothold?”
There is, but Malik reaches over to grab the boy’s arm and haul him up, ignoring Darim’s weak protests. With a disappointed noise of disgust, borne of self-imposed high expectations, Darim collapses in his lap, small body wriggling around to find more room in their little treehouse.
“You did well,” Malik assures to Darim’s unhappy expression, and nudges him over to untie his right arm from his back. “The last ledge is difficult without help.”
Darim’s face does not shift and he refuses to meet Malik’s gaze, but Malik produces a piece of candy from his pocket and manages to coax out a delighted, secret smile.
“Not a word to your father,” Malik warns.
“Never,” Darim agrees, and he settles back down in Malik’s lap.
#2: that one time two assassins fell in love and DIDN'T DIE and proceeded to instill fear into novices by having being HARDASS teachers for generations to come.
“Laps again?” Altair asked, watching as a group of novices took off running at a wave from Malik’s hand. “You’re lacking creativity.”
Malik turned around to face him, strangely dismissive to Altair’s usual taunting. “Would you rather I sit and proctor a better exercise for the students?” he suggested without a single trace of a smirk, much to Altair’s chagrin. “Then again, I could always show you how creative I can get.”
And though Malik left it up for him to answer and decide, Altair still felt like he had no say at all.
“Just this once, laps are acceptable,” he amended, and pulled on Malik’s unresisting hand towards him.
#3: That story where Desmond is seeing his ancestor's memories (via the bleeding effect) and they're actually mundanely wonderful.
One morning Desmond wakes up, the back of his neck tickling from something he knows is not there. Sitting up, he raises a hand to his head and imagines his fingers getting caught in the usual morning tangles and snarls, wincing as his imagination takes it a step too far and it hurts as he yanks at them.
He should really cut it, Desmond thinks, looking over at his nightstand for a hair tie. There isn’t one, obviously, but he pantomimes gathering up the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping the ribbon around and tying it with practiced ease. Desmond frowns.
There really is no sense in keeping it; his hair has been thinning over the years and the strands of grey aren’t all that flattering when kept long. And, anyway, he’s due for a change, so why not? He’s lived in youth for years - it’s time to give old age a try.
-
When he enters the dining room, Claudia gives him a look from across the table. “Well, well! What’s this-”
Ezio smiles, obliging his sister when she motions for him to turn in a full circle so that she may see. His hair tickles the back of his neck, but it will be something he will get used to with time. “What do you think?”
Claudia nods approvingly. “It suits you - particularly the off-centered and careless line of cut.”
Ezio laughs, unable to stop himself from running his hand through his short hair. He decides he likes the feel of it. “If you can help even it out for me…”
Claudia grins, flicking her wrist to unsheathe the hidden blade - she is, after all, not without her ridiculousness either. “Of course.”
#4: when young novice!Altair and Malik are hungry and try to steal pomegranates from a wealthy merchant.
“This is stupid-and I am not even including the fact that it was you who forgot to pack our lunches,” Malik gritted, voice straining as he tried to hold the rope steady.
Altair’s voice floated from below the rooftop opening, ignoring him completely. “All right, I am almost down, you can let go-“
Malik did, the rope hissing around his gloved hands, and he could hear Altair thump on the ground with an indignant yelp. He grinned, peering inside the cool storage building where the perishables were kept. “Well?”
In answer, a medium sized round fruit was tossed from the opening and Malik leaned back to catch it. He looked at the fruit and rolled his eyes. Honestly, if they were going to resort to stealing, they might as well steal something big.
“Altair, this is a pomegranate. I am hungry, not looking for a snack.”
There was a grunt from below and before Malik could protest, Altair had lobbed a heavy melon in his direction. Staring, Malik watched it arc in the air and debated if he should just let it fall instead trying to catch it and break his arms. In the end, hunger won out and he held out his arms, bracing them.
The melon was lighter than Malik thought, or maybe it was because he had not totally braced himself, and that when he caught the melon it pulled him down through the rooftop opening with it. Lucky for him, Altair made a good landing cushion. The melon was not so fortunate and had slipped from his grip with a wet crunch on the floor.
“And I suppose this was my fault too,” Altair wheezed, pushing Malik off him.
Malik snorted and crawled over to the broken melon. He picked the least dirty two pieces and held one out to a sulking Altair.
“Since when is it ever not?”
#1: that story where Malik teaches Altair's kid how to scale a wall with only one hand/tricks to play on Altair
Darim’s head finally pokes over the ledge and the boy shakily attempts to push himself up to clear it. Malik watches for a moment, just to see what Darim would do. For all his uncanny likeness in appearance, the boy is much more humble than his father was at that age.
“Ammu Malik?” Darim pants, clinging on to the makeshift platform with one arm. Malik can hear his feet scrambling to find purchase on the tree’s thick truck as Darim shoots him a pleading look, though he is not without his pride either; if he must ask for help, then it must be for his own benefit, not just to have an easy way out. “Ammu Malik, I can’t- I can’t get up. Is there another foothold?”
There is, but Malik reaches over to grab the boy’s arm and haul him up, ignoring Darim’s weak protests. With a disappointed noise of disgust, borne of self-imposed high expectations, Darim collapses in his lap, small body wriggling around to find more room in their little treehouse.
“You did well,” Malik assures to Darim’s unhappy expression, and nudges him over to untie his right arm from his back. “The last ledge is difficult without help.”
Darim’s face does not shift and he refuses to meet Malik’s gaze, but Malik produces a piece of candy from his pocket and manages to coax out a delighted, secret smile.
“Not a word to your father,” Malik warns.
“Never,” Darim agrees, and he settles back down in Malik’s lap.
#2: that one time two assassins fell in love and DIDN'T DIE and proceeded to instill fear into novices by having being HARDASS teachers for generations to come.
“Laps again?” Altair asked, watching as a group of novices took off running at a wave from Malik’s hand. “You’re lacking creativity.”
Malik turned around to face him, strangely dismissive to Altair’s usual taunting. “Would you rather I sit and proctor a better exercise for the students?” he suggested without a single trace of a smirk, much to Altair’s chagrin. “Then again, I could always show you how creative I can get.”
And though Malik left it up for him to answer and decide, Altair still felt like he had no say at all.
“Just this once, laps are acceptable,” he amended, and pulled on Malik’s unresisting hand towards him.
#3: That story where Desmond is seeing his ancestor's memories (via the bleeding effect) and they're actually mundanely wonderful.
One morning Desmond wakes up, the back of his neck tickling from something he knows is not there. Sitting up, he raises a hand to his head and imagines his fingers getting caught in the usual morning tangles and snarls, wincing as his imagination takes it a step too far and it hurts as he yanks at them.
He should really cut it, Desmond thinks, looking over at his nightstand for a hair tie. There isn’t one, obviously, but he pantomimes gathering up the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping the ribbon around and tying it with practiced ease. Desmond frowns.
There really is no sense in keeping it; his hair has been thinning over the years and the strands of grey aren’t all that flattering when kept long. And, anyway, he’s due for a change, so why not? He’s lived in youth for years - it’s time to give old age a try.
-
When he enters the dining room, Claudia gives him a look from across the table. “Well, well! What’s this-”
Ezio smiles, obliging his sister when she motions for him to turn in a full circle so that she may see. His hair tickles the back of his neck, but it will be something he will get used to with time. “What do you think?”
Claudia nods approvingly. “It suits you - particularly the off-centered and careless line of cut.”
Ezio laughs, unable to stop himself from running his hand through his short hair. He decides he likes the feel of it. “If you can help even it out for me…”
Claudia grins, flicking her wrist to unsheathe the hidden blade - she is, after all, not without her ridiculousness either. “Of course.”
#4: when young novice!Altair and Malik are hungry and try to steal pomegranates from a wealthy merchant.
“This is stupid-and I am not even including the fact that it was you who forgot to pack our lunches,” Malik gritted, voice straining as he tried to hold the rope steady.
Altair’s voice floated from below the rooftop opening, ignoring him completely. “All right, I am almost down, you can let go-“
Malik did, the rope hissing around his gloved hands, and he could hear Altair thump on the ground with an indignant yelp. He grinned, peering inside the cool storage building where the perishables were kept. “Well?”
In answer, a medium sized round fruit was tossed from the opening and Malik leaned back to catch it. He looked at the fruit and rolled his eyes. Honestly, if they were going to resort to stealing, they might as well steal something big.
“Altair, this is a pomegranate. I am hungry, not looking for a snack.”
There was a grunt from below and before Malik could protest, Altair had lobbed a heavy melon in his direction. Staring, Malik watched it arc in the air and debated if he should just let it fall instead trying to catch it and break his arms. In the end, hunger won out and he held out his arms, bracing them.
The melon was lighter than Malik thought, or maybe it was because he had not totally braced himself, and that when he caught the melon it pulled him down through the rooftop opening with it. Lucky for him, Altair made a good landing cushion. The melon was not so fortunate and had slipped from his grip with a wet crunch on the floor.
“And I suppose this was my fault too,” Altair wheezed, pushing Malik off him.
Malik snorted and crawled over to the broken melon. He picked the least dirty two pieces and held one out to a sulking Altair.
“Since when is it ever not?”