#ofthesword

[discipleofthecreed]

ofthesword replied to your post:now this is unusual. standing before altair with...

"regardless," he faltered, but not until after he finally glanced up in futile attempt to meet with man’s gaze. "i would like to make up for all the years i have not been present."

"rather than make up the past," he starts after a tired sigh, "it would be best to simply begin anew. a few years is not so short a time to go ignored." as if finally finding his footing, his sight connects and a hand raises to clap the other's shoulder in proper greeting. "it is good to see you again, friend."

[discipleofthecreed]

now this is unusual. standing before altair with his head lowered and his eyes downcast in deliberate avoidance. there is guilt, and it is writ all over the dai's worn features. it has been far too long. "altair." the name left his lips in a soft murmur, as it was also for the words that followed, "ana asif..." i am sorry.

     the dai is not the only to have gaze cast aside, but unlike him who visibly shows his weight the assassin he apologizes to was wound up, hidden. a posture which seemed norm to others was reluctant, held back to any who are familiar with the assassin’s body language. whether the reason is simple or not, however, had yet to be discerned.     the unintentional silence was sharp to his own ears. words and tangled thoughts were heavy on his tongue; a frustration at his own inability to respond a block in his throat. he should've been prepared. a novice had told him earlier of the dai's long waited arrival, after all.          "No." after so long one would think he would have words prepared.          "An apology is unnecessary." but maybe he simply didn't need them anymore.          "Safety and Peace... Dai." he had simply accepted it. because after he stopped waiting for the other's return, all he could hope for is that he would.     it seemed that is simply where he stood.

[discipleofthecreed]

Altaïr.

black and white ripple within the melting pot of colored cushions, giving life to a previously still figure. the sound of shuffling papers disturb still air and eyelids reluctantly lift under a beaked hood as he drifts from already forgotten dreams.

   it’s night, his internal clock tells him. late.

but the man seems unfazed to realize the vibrant sun had long since blinked out from the last time his eyes were open. he’s always found better companion in the moon, after all. darkness giving a certain calm that daylight doesn’t quite provide. perhaps a contributing factor — though certainly not the only cause — for the softness in his usually hardened features as he gazes up at his sleep’s disturbance.

he knows a rebuke or criticism may follow his name, it’s not the first time he works so late that he fails to sleep in a proper bed, but scarred lips tilt into a smile anyway. 

                  “Malik.”

perhaps he had dreamt a good dream. whatever the case, he is at peace.

[discipleofthecreed]

ofthesword replied to your post

You heard nothing.

I hear everything.

[discipleofthecreed]

ofthesword said: what a novice.

by now he's come to dignify the petname with nothing more than a quiet huff.

[discipleofthecreed]

[[ quietly settles in pile of cushions ]]

[ works quietly for a couple passing secondsthen stops and collects with his hands a couple sheaves of paper, quill and ink, and a book sitting abandoned at the corner of his desk.with silent steps he makes his way over, dropping the book into he dai’s hand, dropping himself in the vacant cushions beside, and wordlessly continuing his work from there. ]