Dammit. Dammit! Dammit!! The rage returned, powerful and soul-sucking and everything that Desmynn had been trying to keep out of her voice. The accent, the anger, the hideous pain that had been building up in her for the past month of Clay’s absence. She straightened, her jaw set, the scar on her lip searing.       “Leonardo.” Oh, that wasn’t even remotely her voice. The Bleed had taken her full force, and she had no way to stop it at this point. She spoke with a pain centuries old. “The pain that you have caused me, and my family. It cannot be forgiven. And it will not be forgotten.”       Desmynn beat against the walls of her brain, but even this cage was too tight. Not here, not now! Not when Clay didn’t understand what was happening to her, or how he could help her away from it! Not so close to the Templars! She could only beg the hands of fate that her father understood her messages and where she was going.       “Leonardo,” that voice accused again, golden eyes glaring towards the high-rise. “You cannot hide in your tower forever, my friend.”

“No,” Desmynn breathed, though she colored it with the understanding that she knew what he meant and how it hurt her. Almost unbidden, her choked sobs resumed - for a different reason this time. A woman who finally understood her love had been taken, and how futile it was to try and get him back. More terrible things compounding upon her already ‘terrible’ day.      She gestured Clay further back into the shadows of the alley - he shouldn’t show himself now until it was absolutely necessary for him to do so. “Leon, please,” she begged, almost surprised at the realness of the lump in her throat she had to force herself to speak around. “Please. I just want to go home.”       She’d gotten him! Caught him red handed, and now she’d reel him in! The triumph burned brighter inside of her, but Desmynn kept herself as calm as she’d ever been. She could feel her heart nearly beating out of her chest - this was all she needed, all the evidence she would require to set her father upon the Templars again. They’d taken Clay - they’d made her suffer for it. She vowed to never let them do so again. 

Desmynn felt her blood run cold. She knew, of course. She had always known - or, part of her had. She’d knew for sure when he first said something, but hearing it? That stung. Deeply. She sniffled deeply, brushing her hand over her nose for effect.       “What?” she asked, croaked more like it. She put more effort into keeping the accent from her voice. If she started to bleed then Leon would know that she had come here in haste. Disbelief. She colored it into her voice as thickly as she could, feeling the breath catch in her throat the more her act vacuumed up his grains of honesty. “Leon? I don’t understand, I don’t know- Leon-” she whispered it, though the fire in her eyes was blazing brighter. She’d gotten it, her answer. They’d taken him, and Leon had at least in part been his retainer.      She turned to grin triumphant at Clay, but kept her voice so close to a whisper she could barely hear herself. “Leon- what are you saying?” 

Desmynn choked on a broken sob, teetering on the edge of hoping this would still work. She thumped back against the wall and slid down, holding the phone against her chest to muffle her tears. If she wasn’t careful it would actually turn into a panic attack, and that wouldn’t be wise while on the phone with Leon. She looked up at Clay, gestured for him to press himself against the wall, deeper in the shadows of the alley so no one would see him if they were watching.       “Y-you’re right,” she finally choked into the phone, trying her best to clear herself up. “You’re right. I’m sorry for waking you, Leon,” she apologized again, as sincere as she could make it. He sounded too awake, too calm. That was him alright going into the building. Situation at work? She glanced towards Clay again. Maybe - just maybe - he hadn’t been set out to trap her. Maybe he’d gotten himself free. But that was a hope she couldn’t hold onto, not while his memories were still so lapse.      “Thank you for answering, Leon,” she hiccuped, her sobs down to messy sniffles. “I think - I think I just needed a familiar voice. You know how scary it is out here for me.” An assassin, a woman like her. Alone. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, Leon. I think- I don’t know. I’ll find out a way to get home.” 

Desmynn knew that her foresight to destroy her phone was the right choice, then and there. The use of a payphone meant that the only person listening was Clay, beside her. “I know, I know Leon - I’m so sorry,” she wept again, taking a deep, shaky breath. “It’s just - s-someone stole my purse at the club tonight, and it had my phone and my wallet and- and everything- that makes me-” He would know what that entailed. Everything that made her an assassin, but also everything that made her a woman. A gentle tug at his sympathy.       “S-So I thought I could get to the Apple store before it closed and use online pay there to get a n-new phone and lock my old one, but-” she let out a hysterical little sob, passed her hand through her hair and tugged to keep herself in the act. “But my purse had my bus pass in it too, so I had to walk that far in heels- god, Leo, you know how hard that is for me- and I didn’t make it in time, and-” But he didn’t know how much of that was an act. She was so used to the heels at this point she could fucking free run in them. “I just-” she sniffled again, wiping her eyes. “I don’t have anyone out here, and I’m at the end of my rope, Leon.” She ended it despondent, absolutely wrecked, her shoulders slumped as she leaned against the wall.       “I’ve been awake since six in the morning-” and it was currently what, one? One thirty? “And I- I can’t even get home.” Not unless she wanted to walk back to Brooklyn on her own, and she was almost sure that Leon wouldn’t want her doing that. 

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As they made their way down, Clay continued to have a look around. Was any of this familiar? Sure, it’s…the city…but had he been here before? Again, it was hard to say. And nothing really stood out. Nothing that even triggered emotions or senses. He frowned a bit but he of course followed Desmynn’s lead and, to be fair, he liked it. Being close to her. It was nice. He felt whole.

“Shit… We must know a lot of dangerous people. What are we, like CIA?” His voice was low and he was only half-joking but at this point, who was to say. Again, he trusted her. He stayed close. He kept guard.

And all the while, the phone rang and rang, almost a bit too long. Until finally, a familiar slightly accented voice spoke from the other line. 

“How did you get this number?” Leon’s voice was low with a drip of a smile in his tone, cheerful but careful. 

Desmynn rolled her eyes at Clay’s question, but she couldn’t focus on that long, not while she was working herself up into hysterics. By the time that Leon answered the phone, she was sniffling hard, nearly sobbing with well-practiced sincerity. She hadn’t been a bratty child for no reason - she knew how to bend people well. She held up a finger for Clay to wait, and pressed herself close to the alley wall just in case anyone could see them from the building.      “Leon!” She sobbed, trying not to adopt the same accent. It took more work than the tears to not let a bleed slip. “Leon - it’s Des-Desmynn!” She fanned herself as she cried, her breath shaky and her voice cracking. “I-I’m sorry to call you so late - I’m so sorry if I woke you b-but I need- I need your help, mon ami.” Perfect. Use his own language against him.       Leon couldn’t deny a crying woman. Especially Desmynn. He had a weak spot, and she knew how to exploit it. 

“Judas Iscariot?”

Most people would be offended, taken aback. Marcus, however, just grins, obviously flattered by Leonardo’s assertion. “Judas Iscariot! Hm..you know, you surely don’t mean to compliment me, but I’m taking it that way, regardless.” In a way, Marcus feels like Judas, betraying the ones who trust him, but it’s all a part of business. So Marcus laughs, clapping his hands together, as if this whole thing has made his day.

“If you’d like, I’d be willing to actually pose for you, unless that sketch you have there is sufficient enough.”

Des followed in immediately for a hug, wrapping herself in the warmth of her friend. She’d missed this. Being her own self, but in the past. She grinned at him when she pulled away, her scar turning up with its wickedness. “I’m fine, I’m fine, but who cares about me?” She reached back into the satchel under her cloak, pulling out just the neck of a bottle for him to see. “I’ve brought you something to celebrate!” Wine, of course, because what does one get Leonardo da Vinci for his birthday that he doesn’t already have?       So what if it was stolen from the Medici cellars?

THE OTTOMAN ASSASSIN FINALLY BEGAN TO LOWER HIS KIJILL WITH much amusement and curiosity in his eyes for this fellow was definitely the most interesting guy he had ever met in his life. Odd they were, but as a man who enjoyed each color in life, Yusuf was willing to let their brush paint a unique color to the canvas of his life. Templar or not, each breathing creature had something to offer other beings; this was what he had always thought and believed from the bottom of his heart. Though, despite such a wise belief, his smile was soon narrowing into a slight frown. Their words did hold a warning, one that felt like he ought to heed, but just what was it? The informers of the Ottoman Brotherhood were quite skillful, one of a kind. Yet it seemed like they still needed a more disciplined training, which was going to be seen through once his job here was done.  

  “To the Brotherhood, why? Whose ‘ guest ’ are you?” 

Once his eyes captured the change in their body language, it didn’t take long for another grin of amusement to settle upon his lips. Just as he assumed – hoped, they were mad, weren’t they? Considering how they were with no care to the possible outcomes of their life even when alone in his presence. Mad and smart. His laughter was a hearty one nonetheless while he took a few steps towards them; slow and sneaky, quite matching the mischief in his eyes. 

  “Impressive but neither. —— Welcome to İstanbul, yabancı. There’s ALWAYS more to everything here than meets the eye.”

Desmynn leaned against the door to the workshop, lips quirked into a smile. She’d forgotten how happy she always was to see him, especially when she wasn’t living through Ezio’s memories again. Glitched in the animus like this with her own avatar, it was always a treat to interact with him. 

“Me? Forget? Honestly, Leonardo, you should know me better than that. I could never forget a pretty face.” 

“Disturb me? Please. You are Leonardo! I think it’s a compliment that you would sketch me.” Marcus says this with a grin, taking a seat next to him and crossing his legs. “Ah, but of course…Marcus Salviatici. Not Marco! So many people call me Marco…it’s annoying. But now you know of me, and now I’ll ask why you’ve chosen me in particular to draw. Are my looks simply so lovely that you were struck with muse?” He smirks, resting his chin in his hand. “Or is it something else, hm?”