Sore the following morning, he rolled out of bed. Shoes hitting the floor, Arno looked down.That would have been queer had he not had blood on his shirt. In a panic, Arno removed the garment and threw it aside. Inspecting himself and finding no wounds, Arno dressed and examined the bloodied shirt and dirty pants. Taking off the clothes, he laid them on the bed. No cuts. Just blood where his chest and stomach would’ve been, and mud at his knees to ankles. What the hell had he done last night? Throwing the clothes in a bucket of hot water, Arno cleaned them and set them out to dry. Burning them was always an option, but he didn’t want to yet.
This was getting out of hand. Impossible! There had to be a reasonable explaination. Tears welled in his eyes, and Arno fell against the wall. There was no way. There had to be a reasonable explaination. Tears fell hot on his skin, and he wiped his face.
An Assassin-like killing. Cuts of blue cloth left behind. Blood. Arno losing track of himself. The impossible was growing seemingly more probable.
Ducking into his hands, Arno shook his head. “I’m not a killer.” He spoke aloud, willing the words into existence. “I’m not a killer.” Glasses of water by the door were unspilled, the stacks of books and wood placed around the room meant to trip him were untouched. And here he was without injury.
The sleep walking had started months ago. Having never done it before, Arno would not have believed he rolled out of bed one night and walked out the door had he not woken up wearing his shoes. The blood didn’t show up until a few weeks after. If he’d had blood on him before, he’d never woken up with it. It was growing worse. Waking in strange places was the most difficult part, so he was content every time he awoke in bed.
Staying up until the dead of night usually did the trick, so that’s how he slept. It had been two weeks since he’d seen the Frenchmen, and he was due for a call. Breakfast at the bridge would do nicely. After sending a letter to his friends, Arno awaited the day with dread. There had been no murders.
The night before his meeting, Arno set his obstacles down and went to bed.
That following morning, Arno awoke with an aching head. Pressing his hand against it, he met with a wet sleeve. Why was that? A shriek awoke him fully, and he opened his eyes to find the sun blinding him. How did that get into his bedroom? How did that woman? And those clamoring people?
Rolling out of bed, Arno landed on the ground. Dirt grit in his teeth and a bucket crashed beside him, drowning him in ice cold water. Waking fully, Arno leapt to his feet and wiped mud from his face. The sight should’ve gain attention, a seemingly drunk man clattering awake, but people were in disarray over the news.
Bringing his sleeve to his face to wipe it, Arno found it covered in blood. Pain shot through his arm at the movement, and Arno doubled over. Clutching his forearm to his chest, Arno waited for the stares. The attention the people would give a seemingly drunk man stirring from his sleep couldn’t be shared by what they were staring at in the center.
Dashing in between houses, Arno ran through the crowd unnoticed, the whispers already reaching his ears.
There had been another murder.
Lounging around the bridge, the men were awaiting. Demetri saw him first, and dropped his smile when Arno rushed past him, tears in his frantic eyes, pale, clutching his arm awkwardly against his chest, a dirty jacket over it. “Is it broken?” Demetri took hold of his good arm, and checked under the jacket.
Gerard and Phillip bound down the bridge, and Arno leaned against Phillip. “What the hell? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Phillip shouldered him and Gerard checked down the bridge.
“Followed?”
“Non, non.” Arno shook his head.
Phillip hissed and secured the jacket. “Get him to the clocktower.”
“Is it broken?” Gerard asked, trying to take a peek but Phillip pushed him away and shook his head.
“Not here! Clocktower! Now!” Taking Arno’s arm around him, he beckoned Demetri and Gerard ahead of them. “How are you feeling?”
But Arno kept repeating, “Non, non, non.” Gaze far away like he couldn’t believe it. Phillip nodded, knowing his patient’s state of mind, and helped him to the base.
The space was meant purely to visit, not live in, so they made do with two cots, a large table, and some provisions. In his former life, Phillip was a doctor. Well, he would have been had the revolution not halted his studies. In any case, experience replaced schooling, and he would return when he had time. Clearing the table with a push, Demetri set some utensils on the side and awaited orders. Gerard ran outside to ensure they weren’t followed.
Taking a seat at the table, Arno allowed Phillip to remove the coat. A hiss went around the room as his team took him in. Before he could even attempt to read their faces, Phillip had him laying on his back. Phillip ordered Gerard to gather supplies as he lit a candle and moved mirrors to increase the light until Arno was blindly looking up at shadows working on his arm. His mind felt dull and the voices far away.
“Thank God, it’s not broken.” Phillip muttered, cutting away at Arno’s sleeve and pressing against the wound. Arno winced. “Je suis desole, mon ami. I’m sorry, but this will hurt for a little. There’s a huge gash running the length of your forearm, almost clear to the bone. Must have been a knife or a sword. How did you recieve a blow like this?”
“I-I don’t remember.” Arno breathed, and Gerard took his forearm steadily. A needle reflected the light. Arno held his breath. “I remember going to sleep and then, nothing.”
The group was quiet at Phillip worked on his wounds. He was so close, Arno would feel the gentle inhale and exhale of his breath across his skin. “What do you remember last?” Phillip’s attempts to question him while seeming nonchalant were weak, but Arno didn’t care anymore. Now, he was frightened. Fully frightened.
“Uh, going to sleep last night. Tuesday.” Arno mumbled, the need to rub his eyes strong. The light was irritating him as much as the question was. He hadn’t an answer for it. None that would satisfy either of them. The group went silent.
“Tuesday?” Phillip asked mindlessly. “Are you sure, Arno?”
“Yes, Phillip, Tuesday! I know what the days of the week are! It was the same day I wrote you the letter!” Arno growled. Gerard tightened his hold on his arm and Arno began to curse. Phillip poured a liquid that burned over his wound and had begun probing.
“I’m sorry, Arno! Just disinfecting, looking for clues. Demetri, grab the beaker on the left.” There was a scuffle and Demetri returned. “We got you, mon ami.” Phillip placed the beaker at his lips. The smell burned his nose and the taste made him want to spit, but Arno gulped down until the beaker was pulled away.
“I trust you. You’ll fix my arm.” Arno’s lids felt heavy just as his stomach felt warm. His head was lowered softly on the table. Someone had taken off his hood and placed it as a cushion.
“Arno, it’s...” Phillip took a deep breath. “We’re going to find out what’s been going on with you, promise.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Arno’s head turned to the side and he spied his friends. His smile slid from his face as he took in their worried looks. “When was Tuesday?”
“Two days ago.” Phillip responded gently. And Arno was out.
Seven stitches later, Arno was motionless on the table save for the rising and falling of his chest, Phillip cleared his arms and changed his clothes. No one spoke. The killing in Paris were increasing in number and ferocity. When whispers that Arno had been responsible rose within the Brotherhood, the Frenchmen squashed those rumors easily; but now? Arno had written to them days ago and they’d shown up at the bridge as intended. What had he been doing in that time? There had been a murder, but surely....Phillip shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to even think that thought.
“What are we going to do?” Demetri asked, rolling his sleeves and cleaning the surgery. “What? We’re all thinking it. Arno has been losing time, we’ve been having murders, it’s easy enough to put together.”
“I thought you were opposed to the idea.” Gerard grunted, remembering that day on the bridge.
“And you said someone had to be framing him.”
“But who?” Phillip asked, silencing them with a look. “That’s our job while he,” He gestured vaguely to Arno. “Besides, he should be out for some time, seeing how much he drank.”
“How was I to know he’d guzzle it down?” Demetri rose a brow. “In any case, maybe this is better.”
"Gives us time to figure out what caused this.” Producing from a cloth a piece of shard, Phillip took tweezers and inspected it in the sunlight. “Dagger, old but firm. Probably a guard. Demetri, I take it you’re still friends with the locksmith over on by the river? Good. See what you guys see.”
“Who put you in charge?” Demetri smirked, gathering up his things.
“My surgery, my rules.” Phillip winked and then grew grave. “Besides, I need to keep an eye on our patient. Oh, and we have to be back at the Bureau by nightfall.”
Demetri groaned, Pierre would want to know where they’ve been. Since the death of his father, the wayward son returned home and picked him up mantle within the French Brotherhood. He was charming, fun to be around, a good Assassin, and a great leader; but Demetri didn’t like him. Pierre was trying to become a Frenchmen. Not that Demetri didn’t get it, they were a cool lot to work with, but it felt wrong filling Arno’s spot. Arno wasn’t coming back, they all knew it and they did need the help, but Demetri hated endings.
Gerard twirled his axe in his hands before setting it across his back. “I suppose you’d like wine and cheese upon our return?” His tone was heavy with sarcasm and Phillip grinned.
“If you’re offering.” With a groan, Gerard tossed a towel at him and headed for the window. Performing a leap of faith, he was gone. “We have stairs, you know!” Phillip called after him, and Demetri threw on his hood.
“Why? This is the best part of being an Assassin.” With the soft thud of hay indicating they were fine, Phillip set up beside Arno and waited. Now came the hard part.
Demetri’s girl told him of a brawl a few days ago at the palace, so they headed that way. Once there, Demetri took the key he’d “borrowed” from the darling, and in they slipped. The palace was teeming with guards, extra bodies, and since they’d come in through the front door, they provided little issue.
“I feel naked like this, Greencoat.” Gerard growled, his voice low and his body tense. Demetri, on the other side, strode with ease and comfort.
“Naked is a great feeling.” Was his response, and he grew serious. “Try not to look like you’re trouble, and I find that trouble will not find you. Besides, if we wanted trouble, why did we come in through the front?” He tapped a finger at his temple. “Splitting up, we could gather more information. There was a fight here a few days ago, that would be Wednesday morning.”
“When Arno first forgets.”
“Correct. Guards are such gossip, I’m sure we’ll find something from them. But, then again, maids often see more than people think...”
“Because I want to leave in a timely manner and not get chased out by a husband you’ve offended,” Gerard chuckled, “I’ll take the maids and you take the guards. Hm?” Demetri pouted at they bound up the steps and Gerard slipped into the shadows on the right. “Change would do you good, Greencoat.” Demetri growled, but Gerard was gone and didn’t receive it. Rolling his head, he headed for the guards chambers.
Now, you might be asking yourself how it was that they knew the locations of these establishments. The answer, very simply, was that the Frenchmen Four got into trouble a lot. One such incident was the night of de la Serre’s murder. The night Arno’s life changed. And the fact that Demetri had friends here wasn’t without benefit.
Tucking into the north side of the palace, Demetri found a room where the guards congregated, relieved the clothes of a guard who left his clothes out for just anyone to take, changed, and imbedded himself into the conversation.
“Like a madman.” One guard was saying, and Demetri gravitated towards that conversation. “Just shows up in the middle of the night like a demon out of hell, cutting a few of our guys before leaping off the roof.”
“You’re lying!” Another whispered, “Is that why the curfew was enacted? Why we’ve our routes have changed? I thought that was because of the murders.”
“Bet that’s the same guy.”
“One man can’t. It’s impossible. Besides, he leapt from the roof. That maniac is long dead.” The guards moved away, and Demetri remained in hopes there might yet be more information.
Gerard had to hand it to him, maids were mousey, and how Demetri managed to get them to talk was beside him. Keeping to the shadows, unsure how to approach, Gerard was content to eavesdrop to the gossip.
Surprise, surprise. The cook was sleeping with the matron, the lady of the house was unhappy in her marriage and sleeping with the head guard. The man of the house was too. All these Gerard listened to as a man strode into the room and the maids were silent. He reprimanded them for their idle working and set the other women out save for one. When they were alone, the man lowered his voice to a whisper. “Have you thought of what we talked about?”
“You talked.” The woman took her basket and preceded to the door. The man sidestepped her and she frowned. “You’re not funny. Move. I have work to do.”
The man pushed her back. “Do you know how many times I’ve covered for your laziness? For your mindless chatter? I gave you this postion. I can take it away.” With that, he dropped the basket from her hands and grabbed her forearms. Rolling his eyes, Gerard emerged from the shadows and the man placed the woman between them and gulped, “What- how? How did you-?”
“Is this man bothering you, Madame?” He kept his eyes on the woman,shock in her eyes at the turn of events. Gerard waited.
“All is well here, more along before I get the guards.” The man scoffed, and eyed Gerard.
“I was speaking to the lady.” Gerard growled and turned his attention to the man who cowered behind the woman. Gently now, he asked her again. “Are you ok? Would you like me to take care of him for you?” She nodded, and the man yelled for guards. Before he could repeat the cry, Gerard grabbed him by the scuff of the neck and dragged him to a wall. Pinning him until the tips of his toes hovered over the ground was simply, and Gerard made sure the man looked at him. Every time he looked past him, Gerard moved his head in view. “Hey, I’m talking to you now. Got it? You touch my friend, yell at her, upset her again? I’ll find out. Got it? And your little guards won’t save you then. Do you understand me? I hear you’re disrespecting women again, then no one will save you from me.” The man’s eyes widened and Gerard dropped him.
Bending low, Gerard retrieved the basket and handed it back to her. The woman curtsied. “Merci, Mon-” Gerard put up a hand, and smiled.
“I was never here, mon ami.”
“How can I thank you?”
Gerard thought, “Information. A few nights ago there was an incident here. I’d like to know what happened.”
“The crazed man?” The man on the floor choked. Gerard looked over his shoulder, and the man dropped his attitude.
“There was a commotion a few days ago, a man wandered into the palace and when the guards conforted him went into such a rage.” The woman shrugged, “They chased him until he leapt from the roof, that’s all I know.”
“He was looking for something.” The man behind them spat. “Muttering something about watch. Watch what? He didn’t do anything special.”
“Merci, Madame.” Gerard bowed and the doors to the room opened. In strode a guard, and the man fell to his feet.
“Thank God! Arrest this man! For threatening and attacking a humble servant of the castle.” The guard drew back his other foot and kicked the man in the face, making him senseless. Removing his hat, Demetri leaned against the wall.
“We have got to work on your people skills, Axeman. Oh! Marie! How are you darling?”
“We don’t have time for this.” Gerard growled and grabbed Demetri by the scruff, Marie waving them goodbye and heading to her work. “Tell me you found something. All I found is that Arno was probably here. Doesn’t sound like the guards could touch him. Leapt from the roof.”
“Sounds like what I heard.” Demetri frowned, “They didn’t think he survived the fall and we know he did.”
“Let’s check out that site.” The side of the wall they’d found Arno had leapt off of lead into a stack of hay bales made for the horses of the palace. There they found a young boy tending the horses and Demetri gave him a coin to tell them what he saw that evening.
“Monsieur had his eyes closed I thought he was dead!” The boy began, Gerard laughed. He reminded him of his own kids.
“Then what happened?” Gerard ushered him back on track.
“Oui, I believe he headed towards to center of town.”
“Did he open his eyes?” He asked again and the boy shook his head. “Thank you, back to work.”
“How the hell is Arno killing people in his sleep?” Demetri thought aloud more than to himself than to Gerard. “Axeman, we’re missing something. Arno would never-”
“I know.” Gerard responded, “This doesn’t sit right with me either.” On they walked until night fell and they returned to Phillip.
I really want to make (or have someone wear) a cosplay of:
- Haytham Kenway with a huge taco instead of hat,
- Edward Kenway with bananas instead of pistols(in holsters),
- Arno with dark material, fake eyes and mouth on the face under the hood,
- Altair with inflatable lifebuoy or duck,
- Cesare Borgia with salad leafs glued to his uniform,
- old Ezio with a typical 4 legged walker for old people,
- Ezio/Bartolomeo d’Alviano with a broom,
- Ezio again with a pizza box,
- LaHache (axeman from Unity’s trailer) with a baguette instead of his axe (I’ve already done that, but I’m still improving cosplay itself)
- Connor Kenway with thanksgiving turkey (or holding any other turkey really)
- Mario Auditore with Mario (Mario bros) hat,
- random Assassin’s asking random people “how to hide a body”
- Shay with a penguin mask. Or wearing make up (AC “Rouge“)
The sword hung heavily to her side, and her muscles burned. As did her cheeks. It was hard enough failing in front of Arno, but did his friends really insist on watching? Clustered together at the end of the lot, they kept their hoods on, but she could see the laughter at her failures, the way they turned to one another and spoke in low voices. She had no proof they were speaking about her, and she had no proof they weren’t. Even level headed Arno was beginning to get frayed, and she frowned at how upset her failures were making him.
“Again. Come on.” Arno wiped his brow and readied his sword. Her hand cramped not matter how many times she flexed it, her forearms burned. The tip of his sword held in the air, his form tight, his aim true. Even tired, his form was perfect. “And, remember to be silent.” He gave her a small smile. “Again, mademoiselle.”
“I don’t say anything?” Assuming his posture as a poor duplicate, her swordpoint quivered in the air.
Arno laughed, “Assassins are silent. You don’t want them to know you’re there.” Taking a step forward, he gave her the fight, opening his chest for a perfect hit. Aiming for his chest, Arno twitched his blade up and her sword fell.
“That just seems rude to me.” She hoped her jokes distracted from her panting. The Frenchmen were laughing again, but she felt that had more to do with her performance.
“(Y/N).” Arno cautioned, and she readied herself again. Once again he kept his chest open, and waited for her to attack. She waited too, but her sword clattered to the ground. Clutching her hand to her chest, she flexed her fingers to ease the cramps. The sound of leather as Arno jogged over to her. Hot tears ran down her face. Of defeat. Of pain. Of embarrassment.
“I’m going to remain a Novice forever.” She sobbed into her chest, not wanting to embarrass Arno in front of the Assassins. Arno’s hands rested on her shoulders, but she knew he wanted to do more.
“No you’re not. The adjustment period is different for everyone.” She wouldn’t look at him, and he tipped her chin up so he could look at her. Brushing off the tears, he continued. “You’ve never been pushed physically like this before, never wielded a weapon, and you’ve been training all day. Get some rest and we’ll try again later.”
“But I want to try now.” In frustration, she threw one the dull throwing knives he’d given her that hung on a leather belt at her hip. It smacked dully, and she whipped around, throwing them with each frustration to emphasize her point. It felt good hitting something. “I want this to work!” Thud. “I want to be taken seriously!” Thud. “I want to be an Assassin!” Thud.
A heavy silence hung, and she sighed. “I’m- I’m so sorry for embarrassing you in front of your colleages, Arno- I mean, Mentor. Maybe food and rest will do me well.” Much too embarassed to face them, she turned to walk out the field, her back to the others, and Arno at her side. Before she could take a step, a hand rested on her shoulder. This time accompanied with a reassuring squeeze.
“My word.” Arno breathed, his words purring with pride. “What have we got here?” (Y/N) looked over her shoulder and found the others stared at the wall covered in targets. The wall she’d thrown her knives. The knives that had hit all their marks. LaHache looked at her with respect in his eyes, and he jut his thumb to her work.
“What the devil, couldn’t bring her aboard sooner, Arno?”
“Can you teach me how to do that?” Phillip jogged over to her. Once beside her, he mimicked her stance and eyed the wall where Demetri had begun relieveing the daggers from the wood. His hands flicked like hers did, but he held no daggers. He looked down at her, and she realized he was waiting on instruction.
Demetri smirked his signature smirk and (Y/N) watched him produce from his green coat his knives. “Bet you can’t do that again.”
The guys surrounded her, and she resumed her stance and flicked her wrist. The first dagger landed cleaner than the first, and her crowd murmured approval.
Arno, having been ushed to the back of the group, cleared his throat. “Um guys?” But the men were taken by the new Assassin, and had begun to lift her spirits. Then he stopped. She’d smiled for the first time that day, and he was going to let her have that. She would fit in wonderfully with people that believed in her.
Warning: I'm shoving "Something Blue Something Borrowed" in everyone’s face because I’m very proud of it.
And because I wanted to make a cute, angsty story with Arno featuring The Baguette Boyband as main characters because I just like the group dynamic and they’re fun. Also, they deserve their own stories and I’m gonna work on that.
So there are epic, badass Axeman arts and screens like
and there’s me
WITH A BAGUETTE
Excuse me I made my stripey pants entirely from second-hand-shop DRAPES for like 2 dollars cause I couldn’t find anything else for HALF A YEAR. They are super uncomfortable, I will try to find sth else.
STILL BAGUETTE WON MY HEART.
“Looking for Hamza” by Photographer Fred Lahache A new series by Paris-based photographer Fred Lahache (previously featured here). Shot in Morocco and dedicated to Lahache’s childhood friend, see more images from “Looking for Hamza” below.
