@levantinementor
It was late in the day, it was the shamed assassin’s second day in Jerusalem. The sun casting a golden glow across the sun baked tops of buildings, the rooftops Altair jumped across with grace and skill. His soft footsteps and ruffle of his coat tail muffled by the activity of the streets. He moved, light foot pads beating on stone before he saw the garden lattice work on the distant roof. The Bureau. Safest place for the assassin in the city.
Altair was hurt a bit, tired and sweating in his armor. He ran to the opening, dropping down into the cool, shaded garden. The trickle of the cold fountain on the far wall. The flutter of pidgin’s wings. He flopped down in the pile of colorful pillows, grunting as he did so under his hood. With rough hands he started to remove his armor. Peeling it off to get at the cuts on his body that stained his outfit red.
Red like the bloody work he does to redeem himself.
Malik perked a bit hearing the assassins grunt, he walked from behind his desk towards the garden. He stood there a moment and stared at him, shaking his head at the red on his robes. He then knelt next to him “Stupid novice..” he muttered, taking note the assassin was having a bit of trouble. Batting Altairs’ hands away “I’ll get it..” he frowned acting like he was angry, but the assassin more than likely knew better, it was more concern and fear than anything.
