(A/N: Yes, this placement makes no sense as I’m killing off a character that hasn’t been introduced yet. I was just so overcome with inspiration that - well, I’m rather proud of this drabble. Enjoy.)
"Is it true, what happened?"
The words registered dimly, like rays of sunshine attempting to penetrate an unwashed window. Federico looked up from his tea saucer for the first time since the meeting was called to order. His eyes were bloodshot from what seemed to be weeks of irregular grieving - each vein visible and distinct. Enormous bags clouded under his eyes as well.
Somewhere at the other end of the table, higher ranking Master Templars were engaged in deep conversation about the goings-on in Brazil, whatever they may be. The source of the voice was Maria - Master Templar of California and one of a few women seated at the table. Her words seemed genuine, which Federico appreciated.
"Yes." He said simply, as if there was not a more pleasant way to say it.
Her features melded into concern. A couple of people were beginning to notice their side conversation, but paid little heed. She crossed herself quickly - for she was a religious woman - and whispered back: “I’ll pray for Sarita.”
Federico placed his hands on the table, which rapidly curled into fists. “That doesn’t make it any more fair.”
The tone of response did not sound like Maria’s soft and soothing voice - it was gruff, like sharp rocks. The distinctive voice of:
"As sorry as I am for your loss, Father Perez, you must still keep decorum at our meetings." barked Torres.
Federico looked downward again, and tears were falling at a much faster rate. He was beginning to make a fool of himself, but he didn’t even care. Let them fall. Let them gawk.
He spoke in a hoarse voice. “As wonderful whatever land it is Portugal controls right now, we should be discussing more important matters.”
Torres made it clear that he was neither impressed nor amused by this outburst from a usually quiet Inner Sanctum member, but for once he decided to humor this other man.
"We need to talk about the Assassins."
A wave of scoffs rippled through the table.
"Oh, please." someone called. "We’ve reached all of the New World before they have. They’ll be gone in ten years."
Federico continued undaunted. “That’s not the problem. Kill one rat, but its babies return and multiply.”
The man in green had a point - the murmurs and hisses ceased, indirectly beckoning him to continue.
"All they care about is murder. To them, we are not people with families and dreams. We are only targets, only numbers."
One of the older men sitting directly across Federico was now wide awake.
"They say they spare the innocents - but that just proves how ignorant they are. My daughter - not innocent!? How dare they make that judgement - who lives and who dies! I have never heard of such carelessness, such wickedness! Estoy hasta la madre!"
With that, Federico slammed his fist downward. Saucers jumped, and lukewarm tea splattered onto the tablecloth. The Preacher was shocked. Things like this never happened; he was always in control of his emotions. He lifted his fist from the table. The impact caused by the slam caused some wood to splinter, breaking through even the tablecloth. His hand was bloody, and nursed it with his other. Everyone was now completely still.
"You said that the people who killed my daughter were Assassins." Federico stated calmly, forgetting conveniently what happened moments earlier.
One particularly audacious person spoke up here. “That - that is correct.”
"Those men must be found and killed."
There was a small murmur of agreement around the table.
"The mothers that raised them and the fathers that protected them must be destroyed. Their towns and cities must be burned down - reduced to a pile of ash."
Someone - though no one was sure who - said “Oui.”
"The ideas that sent those men on that mission must be cleansed for all but a contingent - a contingent that remains only to be mocked and spat on."
Now everyone was nodding affirmatively.
"Society is unequal, not equal. Out there is sin and wickedness. Those transgressions corrupt men and women under the banner of red and white - it influences them to kill innocents for the sake of their selfishness and blasphemies. These are the sinners."
The hardened Grand Masters were now listening very intently.
"We live in a world without grey, only black and white - sinners and the holy, the damned and the saved, Assassins and Templars. In the New World Order, the social classes should be based not on wealth or intellect, no, but on which of those two spectrums they fall into."
"We must fight - and die if it comes to - to teach the world the ignorance of the Assassins’ claims and the danger that freedom poses. That is what we Templars seek."
Silence held the large room hostage again.
"Well," Torres drawled, his coarse voice slicing through the room as a sword, "what do you have in mind, then?"
For the first time, the stoic priest was now the center of attention.
"Retribution. We must show our dominion, assert the truth behind our front. I suggest a purge…,"
