Altaïr ibn La-Ahad (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theflyingone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-10-14 05:36 pm
theflyingone) wrote in deercountry2022-10-14 05:36 pm
Entry tags:
Wheremst?
Who: Altaïr ibn La-Aggravated and Maria Thorpe
What: Altaïr's missing roommate returns from the upsidedown
When: early October
Where: their hovel
Content Warnings: He's an Assassin! Years ago, he had a finger removed. Please see his permissions post for possible CWs that might come up.
Also, there are spoilers here.
Maria has been in the September event prompt which includes parallel worlds, violence, possible death, religious cults
She left no explanation. Altaïr tried different ways of contacting her, from known to new, and--nothing. He felt the same way he did in when he came back to the safe-house to find it aflame and not knowing if Maria was still trapped inside, escaped, or captured and taken somewhere else. This building surge of worry isn't how a stoic Assassin should be, but that was Al Mualim's teaching. Altaïr is adrift on new waters now.
As the days passed and the month changed over, the last sense taken from him returned. With it came a new irritability. He hardly notices, given he is already upset. He enjoys Maria's company. He had so few friends at home, and none besides her here. It's awkward suddenly navigating close quarters with just one other person instead a fortress full of Assassins, but they were cooperative enough to make a good team.
Altaïr returns after another bout of searching, tired and demoralized again. He silently slips into the (no longer) shared place he chooses to lay his head, the holes in the roof playing light across his robes. In a bittersweet way, he thinks of how they had been talking about relocating to one that would better stand up to cold weather--
"Maria?"
What: Altaïr's missing roommate returns from the upsidedown
When: early October
Where: their hovel
Content Warnings: He's an Assassin! Years ago, he had a finger removed. Please see his permissions post for possible CWs that might come up.
Also, there are spoilers here.
Maria has been in the September event prompt which includes parallel worlds, violence, possible death, religious cults
She left no explanation. Altaïr tried different ways of contacting her, from known to new, and--nothing. He felt the same way he did in when he came back to the safe-house to find it aflame and not knowing if Maria was still trapped inside, escaped, or captured and taken somewhere else. This building surge of worry isn't how a stoic Assassin should be, but that was Al Mualim's teaching. Altaïr is adrift on new waters now.
As the days passed and the month changed over, the last sense taken from him returned. With it came a new irritability. He hardly notices, given he is already upset. He enjoys Maria's company. He had so few friends at home, and none besides her here. It's awkward suddenly navigating close quarters with just one other person instead a fortress full of Assassins, but they were cooperative enough to make a good team.
Altaïr returns after another bout of searching, tired and demoralized again. He silently slips into the (no longer) shared place he chooses to lay his head, the holes in the roof playing light across his robes. In a bittersweet way, he thinks of how they had been talking about relocating to one that would better stand up to cold weather--
"Maria?"
no subject
She makes her way — trudges, really — to the latest bolthole she and Altaïr have set up in. On the way, it's just as chilly as she remembers, maybe more, and she makes a mental note to follow up on their discussion about finding a new place with zero holes in the roof. The current one has fewer holes, but winter is coming.
That'll have to happen later, though. He's not there when she arrives. Exhaustion and lingering aches from the blows she took in the other Trench compel her to sit down, just for a few minutes, then she'll go find him. (It doesn't occur to her to make contact through her Omni; she understands what the thing does now, she just hasn't internalized it as a perpetual means of connection.) At least, that's the intention. Instead she slumps over, lying half on her side with her legs twisted slightly to the right. It's clearly not an intentional nap, but deep all the same. This is how he finds her when he comes home, her rest undisturbed by the arrival of company — until the cry of her name.
"Wha—" She bolts upright at the sound, disoriented and still half-clinging to sleep. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, but then her bleary eyes settle on Altaïr, who looks more surprised than she can remember ever seeing, and it clicks into place. She wipes at her mouth as she pushes herself into a more comfortable sitting position. "Oh, there you are."
no subject
"You were gone for weeks. Where were you? We are both free to come and go as we please, but--you--you missed so many shifts," he finishes pathetically, knowing that sleeping without someone keeping watch is not the true reason he is upset.
no subject
"I'm sorry," she says. "I've only just made it back. I didn't mean to go in the first place." How does she explain it, when she isn't sure herself how it had happened? "It was like I'd suddenly fallen into another version of Trench. Similar to the one we know, but—different. Twisted somehow. The locals were not so welcoming."
The healing bruises on her face and elsewhere, now several days old, are proof of that. She'd done her best to give as good as she got, before freeing herself from the cultists.
"There was no way to send word. I came back here as soon as I returned, but you weren't here. I must have fallen asleep before I could go look for you." She pushes herself to her feet, the meaning behind his words finally registering. "You were worried?"
no subject
"Just as well to stay in one place where I might be found rather than scour an entire city. No, sit... You need water, food, something for your face."
Taking care of another... They'd shared house duties out of necessity here, but this is different. Well, Altaïr knows the mechanics of it. He is needed. He does not admit to being worried, though it is written on his face already. He shoves all these emotions down and finds his canteen to hand over to her.
"I know you did not mean to stay away with no word," he says more quietly, trying to keep his voice at a normal pace. His face is more still, if a bit brittle. "You were not... poisoned or anything?"
He means to say drugged, for some see a different version of familiar surroundings when taking certain substances. He doubts it, since Maria strikes him as being very self-aware, but he wants to rule it out.
no subject
Does she look that bad? She hadn't realized the marks on her face might still be vivid, and if she had, she wouldn't have expected them to concern him so. As an Assassin, no doubt he's seen worse injuries, and been the cause of many. His reaction is understated, but still surprising to her.
Something inside her warms, though. It's been a very long time since anyone actually worried about her.
"No, nothing like that," she says, accepting the canteen. A moment passes before she takes a sip, recent memories flooding back to her. The violence hadn't been as bad as the sheer disorientation. "It was truly another place. I wasn't the only Sleeper there, either. I don't think any of us traveled there on purpose."
She'd looked for him, been dismayed when she concluded he was not in that Trench. They haven't known each other all that long, really, but she's grown accustomed to having him watch her back, and to watching his in return. It had felt strange not to have that anymore.
no subject
He ducks away to retrieve ointment from their stores. Doing something with his hands helps the incessant foggy buzz that refuses to leave his head. If he were more in the habit of apologizing, he would say he is sorry for his outburst, but human interaction beyond the scope of his work is not his strong suit.
"Here. Put it where it hurts. I'll cover the rest." He unscrews the little jar filled with ointment from a local apothecary that he has found to be as satisfactory as what he carries from home. Its herbal smell is strong, but not unpleasant. He pauses, fingers just a breath away from her forehead.
"Was anyone the cause of this... displacement?" he asks darkly.
no subject
But she's trying to think of the last time anyone looked after her this way and is coming up short. No one has, for years and years.
"No," she says after a moment. "Not as far as I could tell. The cultists who wished everyone to do and believe as they did were merely seizing the opportunity to convert us, and became violent when we refused."
Maria dabs the ointment on the spots that still hurt. She's a little surprised that the pain from the beating she took persists; not because she heals quickly, but because she's so accustomed to being strong and bearing up, and now she doesn't have to. She can let him take care of her.
"There was a ritual," she adds quickly. "I don't know who was the first to discover it or how, but it worked. It brought us back. If there was a reason why any Sleepers were taken in the first place, I don't know it."
no subject
"It is not as though there are many opportunities for a proper investigation when taken without one's leave."
Maria is going to feel even worse tomorrow, he guesses. Given the chance to rest, the body stops just trying to survive and renews its sense of all its aches and pains. It takes one thing at a time. If only Altaïr could take things one at a time. A million thoughts crowd his head: her bruises, the draftiness of this place, what will they eat, and does he have enough medicine? He realizes he's been dabbing ointment on her temple overlong and moves to her cheekbone.
"I looked everywhere I could think of, and some places I didn't think of. I am very good at finding people, but..."
no subject
For some reason she feels a pang of disappointment when he withdraws his hand from her temple, until it moves to her cheekbone. She pushes the thought away.
"I know you are," she says quietly. "I knew you'd wonder. But I didn't think...I didn't realize my absence would be such a concern to you. I'm sorry."
It's foolish to apologize when she's done nothing wrong. They both know that traveling to a perverse version of Trench filled with hostile residents would not have been her first, second or third choice, but still. Now that she's aware of the impact her disappearance had on him, she can't help but regret it.
no subject
"You have nothing to apologize for," he says immediately. "And I do not know why I am so... I will be calm in a bit, I just..."
He remembers one of the Bureau leaders telling him not to fear his feelings. Easier said than done.
"You are my friend."
It seems so pathetic, saying it in a small voice. He drops his eyes.
"I will get you more water, here..."
no subject
But even though it's obvious, it feels like something of a revelation to her. There had been no place for friends while she served in the Crusader army, not when few tolerated her presence and even fewer truly accepted it. It had been enough, to chase a kind of glory and forgo emotional connections; or so she'd believed at the time.
She catches his hand before he can move away, releasing it after a moment.
"It's been a long time since anyone's said that to me. I can't even remember when it happened last." Before she'd disguised herself and run away from her homeland, for sure. Back in another life. "It means something to me to hear it, I can't—you are mine as well," she says, feeling awkward enough but unable to be anything but honest. "Thank you."
no subject
When she takes his hand, Altaïr halts as if Maria trapped him in a joint lock. He remains still even after she lets go, eyes on the floor, the imprint of her fingers like a ghosting touch.
Sometimes when asked something difficult, he answers with silence, but here it is not a deliberate rudeness, just a failing on his part. He does manage to look at her again. He gives an emphatic nod with seriousness reflected in his eyes like two polished stones before he goes to fetch her water.