anachronismo | (no subject)

(no subject)

Even if Stephanie had access to all the paper in Rome, she didn't think she'd have enough room to write down all that sucked. Bathing sucked. The weather sucked. The clothing sucked. The Borgia family sucked. Lack of deodorant sucked. Lack of modern convenience sucked. Oh, what else? Getting a cut on your arm sucked, because then you worried about stitches and sterilization, and when you're pretty much the most medically advanced person in the history of ever (so far, and maybe that was probably an annoyed exaggeration), that meant you fixed yourself up as best you could, put your shirt back on, and went on with your day. That really sucked.

It was embarrassing, too. She was eager to help, eager to commit to Ezio and the Assassins, but not so eager to kill. The extra care it took to not spill blood (and not make it totally obvious what she was doing) cost her bumps and bruises. And this time, some skin and blood. She wasn't sure if she was more worried about the scar or Ezio noticing--if he hadn't already. She'd lost track of how many chats about killing they'd had, both in Rome and in Paradisa.

For now, she sat herself down at the desk and tried to look busy. She could work on other embarrassing things to distract herself from her "scratch"--like her understanding of local geography. Ugh. Rome was fucking confusing, even after all this time. It didn't make sense to her like Gotham had.

Maybe she'd just invent satellite imaging.

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"That's because I'm holding fuckowowow," Stephanie's grip nearly doubles in strength, or at least that's how it felt to her. Sorry, Ezio. More swears escaped under her breath, but at least she didn't yell. That would be super-duper embarrassing.

Ezio and Bianca exchanged a look, and then Bianca started to tie it off. The worst was over, then, and then it would just need bandaging.

"There," he said, putting on a more soothing voice than he'd generally take with his novices. "That was not so bad, hmm?"

She sighed in relief.

"Sure... sorry about that," she said, managing an apologetic smile for Bianca and carefully releasing Ezio's hand. "That was only a little worse than the actual wound."

"But certainly better than rot and amputation," he said, pointedly. "Thank you, Bianca. You are dismissed."

Ezio yawned.

"Thanks, Bianca," she remembered to add. She inspected her arm and seemed pleased.

"Naptime, Ezio?"

"I think so," he replied. "Otherwise I will fall asleep mid-jump tonight. Come."

Ezio led her towards the stairs to his room.

Stephanie followed, eager to rest her arm now that it felt throughly violated.

"Thanks for sticking around." Having a hand to hold helped.

"I knew you would want me there," he replied, knowingly.

She smiled. 'I did. It's like you know I can be stubborn or something."

"Ah, hard-won years of experience."

Up the stairs and through the door to Ezio's bedroom –– the best bedroom in the HQ, suited for the leader of the Brotherhood, but still not the most luxurious of quarters. The heavy drapes were drawn across the shuttered windows to block out any light, a necessity in a place where Assassins slept in both day and the night. The other bedrooms were similar, but more crowded, usually with two or three bodies to a bed, as finances had been routed towards armor and weaponry and other munitions before dressings for the home.

Ezio started undoing the buckles of his armor with a sigh of relief.

Stephanie sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off her boots. Just leaning over caused her arm to throb, but at least it was a dull pain instead of the feeling of Bianca sewing her skin together. As Ezio shed his armor she looked at her closed wound again, as if to figure out if her recovery and studies could finish at around the same time.

It gave her a timeframe, anyway. She rolled her sleeve back down and laid down on the bed in silence. Quiet time was a little easier for her these days. The need to always chatter was a habit that had been dying off in Paradisa, and was buried in Rome where her rambling confused people more than ever. With Ezio, though, it was a comfortable silence... usually.

It took Ezio longer than Stephanie to undress, which he did to his braies, as he was not about to sully his bed with pants that had been worn out and about in the city. It was very dim in the room, but there is just enough candlelight to show off the multitude of his own scars from past wounds. The only one more prominent than the bullet wound on his left shoulder is the stab wound on his abdomen, a nasty one that did not heal too evenly, leaving a streak of puckered pink skin.

One could not be an Assassin and escape scars.

He settled down in bed beside her, leaving one arm open to her should she want to cuddle, but he does not press the matter.

Stephanie found herself disappointed that she wasn't immediately cuddled. It seemed just like yesterday that he'd do so without asking, but her yesterday was his years and years ago. This was him being respectful and polite, she reminded herself.

After looking at his arm for a few quiet moments, she scooted into it, close enough to rest her cheek against his shoulder comfortably. It wasn't exactly familiar, but it wasn't foreign, either. That was a weird middle.

Her eyes settled on his body.

"Getting quite the collection, there," she said, softly. Years and years and lots of scars.

He wrapped that arm around her, careful to avoid her injury, and rested his chin against the top of her head. Her hair smelled nice, natural, unlike the flowery potions she had slathered it with back in Paradisa, but the old scent still floated in his memory strong enough to imagine it was still there.

"Mmm. I knew I wasn't a boy anymore when it took six months to recover from one wound... and now, at my age, it will take even longer for my shoulder to heal completely."

He would still take a bullet over a stab wound, though.

Stephanie would prefer he wasn't stabbed or shot, but she knew that beggars couldn't be choosers. Especially here.

After some quiet internal debate about how much touching was okay now, she reached a hand out to lightly run her fingers over the scar on his shoulder.

"You were the one all eager to not be a boy anymore," she recalled. "How did you get this one?"

Sometimes scars were just dumb mistakes, and sometimes they were incredibly personal. She knew that, but sometimes her curiosity overruled everything else.

"If it's alright to ask. I don't think you planned on show and tell right now."

Generally he would avoid talking about his scars, but Stephanie had always been a special exception, and he knew he couldn't extend the air of being a dignified, somewhat mysterious man that he showed his other novices to Stephanie. She knew all of his tricks, after all, and she had known him in his youth.

"It is alright," he said, almost dismissively. The scar was healed but still very new, a puckered little crater in his shoulder with one off-shooting tendril where they had to cut to get the bullet out. "When the Borgia laid siege to Monteriggioni, one of their marksmen shot me when I tried to get to Cesare and my uncle."

She frowned, but didn't comment. She touched the other prominent one.

"And this one?"

"A man named Checco Orsi. I had been awake for days and he was my last target... when I killed him, he stabbed me with a knife of his own. I collapsed on the outskirts of Forlì, and Caterina had to send her men to retrieve me. They did not think I would survive."

"You're one lucky guy, Ezio Auditore."

Hopefully, he wouldn't be adding to his collection of scars while she was present. Injuries in Paradisa were something to joke over. Not so much here.

She rested her hand on his chest. It felt a little weird, when she thought about the fact that she was pretty much cuddling with her boss, but he wasn't pushing her away. So, she stayed put.

"Also, old. Sooooo old."

Comfortable as ever, Ezio started running his fingers through her hair almost absently as he pressed closer to her.

"I still have youth in me yet, bambina," he murmured with a smile.

"I was just kidding. I'm sure you have enough left in you to be a big bambino when you're not being the badass Assassin."

Fingers through her much shorter hair felt just as good as fingers through her long hair.

"Perhaps, but never in front of my Brotherhood," he said, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Will you grow your hair long again?"

"Mm, I don't know. I have a surprisingly nice shaped head."

Growing her hair out meant being there long enough to do it, too.

"What happens after the Borgia are gone?"

"You are more beautiful with long hair, I think." Blunt, maybe, but true nonetheless. "And after the Borgia, hmm.."

He sighed, long and tired, but certainly not out of frustration. That was a question he asked himself frequently.

"We expand the Brotherhood beyond Roma. We do not rest until there are Assassins safeguarding every city, state or nation from Rossia to Cyprus. Maybe even beyond, to the New World, to Asia."

The comment made her smile, even if it was easy to take it the wrong way. "You say that now. Just wait until I steal all your pretty red ribbons to pull my hair back."

It was difficult for her to think very far ahead. Being benched didn't really help. She shifted against his shoulder, finding the thought of after the Borgia to be worrying. But hey, she asked.

"By we you mean...?"

Was she included in that?