ąųdįţǫŗę (mentori) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-02-05 08:58:00 |
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It was late afternoon and Dan Smith was lurking among the hallowed halls of the university waiting for classes to finish for the day. Dan had never been to college. After he graduated high school, he’d spent half a year kind of coasting through life. “Tryin’ t’ figure stuff out,” he said to anyone who asked him what his plans were. He’d known then that the whole Rebel Without a Cause act wouldn’t last into his twenties. Boyish charm would wear thin and eventually become a curse rather than an asset. There was not enough money to send Dan to college and even if there had been, Dan was convinced it’d have been a waste. Just four more years to extend his immaturity instead of enriching his life with culture and knowledge. Dan wouldn’t have traded anything for his time at the Academy, though. His father had been a good cop and Dan had nothing but respect for him. He’d been a good cop too. Once. A long time ago. Another life. As he waited outside the classroom full of eager young minds (and some Dan suspected were not quite so eager), Dan’s mind wandered. What if he had gone to college. What would life be like for him now? Would he have been standing in that hallway, his back leaned casually against the wall, a paper bag containing a bottle of limoncello in hand waiting for the good Professor Ezio Auditore to emerge? Dan smirked slightly. Who would have wanted to live that kind of boring life? Holding a paper bag with a bottle of booze, that was certainly one way to pep up a slow day - and perhaps not unheard of on a college campus, where the alcohol flowed freely and the joints were smoked without a care. Ah, those tumultuous days of youth. Ezio remembered them fondly. And he adored his students, he really did. He taught different Art History classes, more of a beginner course, the ‘101’ for usually freshman getting their general education requirements in and also some for the major - History of Asian Art and then his favorite, Arts of Europe: Medieval and Renaissance. That particular point held a significance for him, the apex of art and culture and the whole spirit of the time period, especially after he had seen himself there. In dreams. In many dreams. It was...very odd. He tried to not be very distracted during his classes, however. After his afternoon session ended, he put away his things and slung his messenger bag across his waist, exiting the lecture hall - only to find a surprise waiting for him. “Danilo!” he grinned broadly, moving to greet him - with a hand on his shoulder, and the Italian cheek kiss. They were very exuberant about seeing friends, Ezio’s people. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” The cheek-peck hello didn’t weird Dan out. He’d known a Sicilian family as a youth. He’d gone to school with one of the numerous brothers of the household. The old man who headed the family was from the “old country” always embraced his friends, young and old, and kissed each cheek in greeting. Dan had also once worked for a Familiga. A trusted bodyguard to the boss’s eldest son, who would later become Dan’s first target. So, yes, he was used to the heartfelt Italian greeting and even then, the happy energy had been infectious. Dan couldn’t help but smile in return. “I gotcha a surprise,” he said and threw an arm around Ezio’s shoulders. He lifted the bag for Ezio to see. He gave it a light shake so that Ezio could hear the sloshing of the bottle inside. “There’re perks t’ ownin’ a bar, ya know? Found this in tha back store room. A real jewel. Sad t’ say that my normal patrons wouldn’ appreciate it. But you. You, my friend, I think will love it. Yer done fer the day, aren’tcha?” “Fantastico!” Indeed, Ezio could appreciate gift in the form of alcohol - especially when it was deemed to be the jewel of one’s collection. Now his curiosity was certainly piqued. “Si, I am finished. Come, let us go to my office - we will have privacy there.” He’d just shut the door, and they’d be left to their own devices. Ezio led them there, heading inside - they say that each college professor’s office evoked its owner, and he found that to be true. His was warm, classic, with Roman pillars here and there, books, and art. Plenty of books and art. In fact, books on shelves lined his wall, and the various colorful prints were pulled from different time periods. He’d recently put up Garden Path with Chickens, by Gustav Klimt, an Austrian symbolist painter whose work was once perceived as radical and pornographic. Of course that meant Ezio had such works in his office. “Please, sit down,” he motioned to the chairs by his desk. “Tell me of all the exciting things you have been doing.” Owning a bar was exciting all on its own! Dan had no idea about art. He could tell a surrealist from an impressionist, but as far as identifying different artists’ styles or periods, psh, he was clueless. Still, he could appreciate a beautiful or interesting piece for what it was. Ezio was the expert here and those shelves lined with books were interesting. Dan did like to read. Reading and art gazing could wait. There was a bottle that was just begging to be opened. He took one of those offered chairs and removed the bright yellow bottle of limoncello from the paper bag. He presented it to Ezio with flourish. Booze was something Dan was an expert on. This particular make of limoncello was better than good. It was excellent. The perfect mix of sweet and spicey that burned a trail down one’s throat in the most exquisite of ways. Limoncello was supposed to be a dessert liquor, but, who said you had to have dinner before having dessert? “Whaddya think?” Dan asked with a gleam in his dark eyes. “Thought I’d bring ya a little taste o’ home. No idea why the bar’s previous owner had it. The guy didn’ strike me as the type t’ enjoy this. More of a cheap booze kinda man, y’know? Sure as hell sold cheap swill in the place when he owned it. Prolly why I found this unopened an’ collectin’ dust while I was goin’ through the store room.” He let Ezio take the bottle and sat back in his chair. Kicking one foot up onto his knee he made himself comfortable with a grin. “Nothin’ as excitin’ as gettin’ sucked down a blowhole. Butcha know, work keeps me busy.” Not that he could really get into a lot of details. Shame in that, really. “How ‘bout you, Ezio? How’re ya likin’ this gig?” “Cheap swill,” this college professor scoffed teasingly. “That is much disappointment, mio amico. I am glad that you have better taste and a better palette.” Why, yes, he did have a corkscrew in his office, thank you for asking - which meant that Ezio popped the cork from the bottle and gazed upon it with a reverential look in toffee-colored eyes. “Grazie, grazie,” he sighed happily. “This is wonderful.” Danilo deserved a big hug for this - but Ezio would figure out a way to repay him for such kindness. Sharing food, his favorite recipes, was always a good way (plus, he always liked to make sure his friends were eating, and not processed nonsense to boot). Limoncello was delizioso; it was like a kiss from the sun, if it was made right. And if it was made right, it was pure and simple, it should taste like lemons - not sugary candy, not soda pop. But an actual lemon. Opening a cabinet door, he found plastic cups and poured some of this ambrosia into each - a nice amount, perfect for an afternoon buzz. “I do like this gig, as you say - it is my calling, teaching,” he said thoughtfully, taking a sip from the cup. Mmm. “At least, I am almost certain it is. Even if...I have been having strange thoughts lately. Strange dreams.” Ideally limoncello would be served in tiny little glasses with round bottoms, perfect for sipping from while one digested a heavy meal of pasta and rabbit and reflected on the afternoon sun. But those were just details. Plastic cups were just as good. Certainly didn’t take away from the taste. And damn this stuff was stronger than Dan remembered. Strong and good. He took his initial sip and licked his tongue over his lips with a satisfied “Ahh.” His grin then faltered slightly. It was one thing to hear this crazy talk from the faceless people on that damn forum, but to hear it from Ezio, an obviously well-educated man in complete control of his faculties (death defying hobbies aside) was another thing entirely. Dan sat a little straighter, both feet on the ground. “What kinda strange dreams? Like showin’ up t’ class naked on a talking horse strange or…” he hesitated a moment before going forward, “or painfully realistic, but of a life not yer own?” “The second,” Ezio admitted, and he really had not known what to expect or how to deal with what he was beginning to remember - and it was like he’d swear, with everything in him, that he had done this all before. But how could it be possible, living in times of the Renaissance? He was not that old. That was literally centuries ago. “Only...it does feel like my life. Because of what happened, because of what I saw. My father and my brothers, they were all killed - hanged publically.” He could recall that with astounding clarity, just as much as he recalled that other night about twelve years ago - blood on the walls, on the ceiling, splattered like paint. It was not just one person who had committed the murders - his brothers were stabbed, but his father had been strangled. Different techniques, even in the knife work. He did not want to study in too much detail. “I vowed revenge on behalf of my father, but in this, I have also uncovered much...deeper things. Darker things, the Templar Order,” he explained. “It is now, where I am left off, that I must decide what it is I am really fighting for.” The young playboy he was, the lothario with the witty mind and the heart of burnished gold - he was on a path that would bring him no peace, not for a very long time. It made him tired just to think of. Then he shrugged, and took a gulp of limoncello. “That is, if it is not just a dream. I suppose it could be.” But it was not, was it? That was the strangest dream Dan had ever heard of. It was too outrageous to be considered normal and too normal to be considered an attempt of the subconcious to sort out the day’s events, or whatever dreams were supposed to be. Dan had put absolutely no stock in the things he’d heard on the network about Dreams. He’d never gotten a straight answer about what they were supposed to be. One person he’d spoken with had made them seem very ominous and foreboding, but hadn’t answered Dan’s questions about what they were. All he’d gotten were vague promises that he’d “find out eventually”. Well, Dan hadn’t found out. In fact, the more he heard, the more it sounded like he’d stumbled upon some weird cult. Ezio was no cult member. Hearing him talk of these strange dreams, whateverthefuck they were, made a shiver run down Dan’s spine. A shiver he really didn’t like. Dark eyes narrowed darkly. “Ye’ve signed on to that Network, didn’t you?” He asked. It wasn’t a demanding question, but it wasn’t really curious. He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from the Italian’s mouth. The connection between the network and such vivid, colorful dreams - Ezio did not know that either. Apparently, there was a connection, just a frustratingly unclear one. Merda. “I have,” he nodded. “And you have too?” One eyebrow lifted curiously. If something like the internet was possible for flipping his life upside down, well, he was not even sure how to take that. It seemed so ridiculous. “It is like, now I want to know what happens,” he spoke passionately about this young man - not astoundingly younger than he was now, but still a decent amount. A young man who reminded him so much of the way he used to be, so very stuck on himself and only preoccupied with the carnal pleasures, taking enjoyment in them whenever possible. How foolish. “I cannot just see the beginning, I need to see the end and how I get there. It is madness, mio amico. Much madness.” “Yes,” Dan answered slowly. Carefully. “I have signed on. I found a piece a paper stuck to the bulletin board at my bar with only the web address on it. Thought it was some kind of deep web thing and decided to check it out. Little disappointed about what it actually turned out to be.” He took another sip of the limoncello, a little more liberal of a sip this time, and looked over the rim of his cup at Ezio. He thought very carefully about what he said next, or else he may just come across sounding as crazy as the others. “I’ve been told that those who sign on to the website get these strange Dreams. I don’t know anythin’ more’en that, unfortunately. Not fer lack of tryin’, either. No one seems willin’ t’ tell me shit about them, or what they are. But apparently, that damn site is the cause. Not that I’ve gotten any weird dreams. No more weird than usual anyway. Maybe that makes me the weird one, who knows.” He set his cup aside. The fondness of Ezio’s voice when he spoke of this person in his Dreams did not go unnoticed and it stirred something in Dan he had not felt in a long time. Revenge. It was a powerful thing. If not handled properly, it could ruin a person. And it didn’t always bring the relief it promised. Dan’s lips quirked downwards. “Ya really wanna find out what happens t’ this guy?” “Si, I do - he is me,” Ezio nodded. “Or some version of me. I do not know how to describe it, or the connection between that site and what people seem to see in their dreams - perhaps no one really knows?” If they did, they were not saying anything. They seemed content to accept that it just happened, but he could see how for some people that would not be enough to sate their need for knowledge. He smiled crookedly at Dan, both relieved and curious as to why he had not experienced any strange dreams as of late. Relieved because life seemed so much simpler without them and then also curious as to why he was not in the majority. But who knew what would happen. “Your time will come, Danilo - or is a good chance it will, I mean. If it does, I will be here.” As if he would leave a friend to deal with it on his own. Ezio was many things, but he was not a deserter. Oh, if only Ezio knew just how complicated Dan’s life actually was. Psh. Who was he kidding? The only complicated thing about being a black market Fixer or Handyman was that he had to keep that life of his under wraps. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, though, Dan had done a damn good job so far. It was kind of lonely though. Dan didn’t have many friends and the ones he did have didn’t really know him, just the version of him he wanted them to know: the loud flirtatious bartender with a penchant for enjoying his own alcohol perhaps a bit too much. There was one exception. Gamora had discovered Dan’s secret life. But then, Gamora was something of a kindred spirit, wasn’t she? Complete with plenty of secrets of her own. However, their relationship was far from the kind that either could actualy confide in the other. Dan really enjoyed her company, but they still eyed each other with caution, wondering just how much they could actually trust one another. And now here was Ezio. Dan was staring at him, hand on the limoncello bottle. He had heard it before, that it was only a matter of time before he experienced what everyone else on the network was experiencing, but Ezio was the only person who said that he would be there for him when he did. Dan hadn’t experienced that kind of loyalty in a very long time. What a weird place to find it too. After a moment he grinned back at Ezio and motioned for his cup to refill. “Glad t’ hear that,” he said. “‘Cause there’s really no one else I’d trust t’ have around.” He handed the cup back. “What did ye mean when you said that the man in yer dreams was you?” A refill was good, Ezio hadn’t realized he’d downed so much of the drink - they might even kill the bottle this afternoon, but that was alright with him. He merely had some papers to grade, essays to look over. Maybe being a little buzzed would help with it. “I mean that - “ He paused then, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek as he considered how to explain. Because he did not talk about the murder of his family - it was a sore subject, and it tapped into the anger he had bottled up and stored for a rainy day. The kind of anger that festered and ate away at him. Revenge was all that was on his mind, in his very own dreams, and he was anxious that the lines would begin to blur too much. Like talking about it would be bad luck, or he would not be able to separate those feelings. Not to mention he had only just learned of his father’s secret life as an Assassin. Being shrouded in secrecy was a part of that life. But it might help, talking about it. The life of an Assassin was a lonely one as far as he could tell - and besides, he had not dreamed of being inducted into the Order yet. “Much of the same happened to me here,” he continued. “My father and brothers in Italy were killed, it was why my mother moved me and my sister from Florence to a Tuscan villa. My father, he was a successful banker such as he was in the dreams - I did not know he was living a double life. It is possible he was here also. I want to see if when I dream, I get justice for him. I never did here.” And he felt somewhat ashamed of that. Dan’d had ever intention of killing off this bottle this afternoon. He still did, even if Ezio kept distracting him with the things he was saying. A murdered father. A double life. A quest for justice, however one defined it. It wasn’t exact, but Ezio may as well have figured out Dan’s own life. The fuck was up with that, anyway? A little too convinent, maybe. But the way Ezio spoke. No undercover cop or fed could fake that, no matter how good they were. The hitman let out a breath and shook his head. He refilled his own cup, downing a shot before refilling again. “I’m sorry t’ hear about yer da, Ezio. You an’ me have more in common than death defyin’ hobbies apparently.” This world was one fucked up place, wasn’t it? “Justice can be a fickle bitch. Jumpin’ in bed with whoever she wants.” He chuckled smoothly at the quip. That was one way to put it - and Ezio had no lost love for the Italian ‘authorities’ who had obviously bungled up the case involving the murder of his father and brothers. Even more than ten years later, there did not seem to be any solid leads or potential suspects - it really made his blood boil sometimes. So much for justice being served. “And what is it that we have in common, if not only hobbies that defy death?” he asked, sloshing the pungent liquid in his plastic cup as he leaned back in his chair. Dan swirled the limoncello in his cup thoughtfully. There was no harm in disclosing a bit of his history to the professor. Kindred spirits the two of them were. Maybe he’d even get a client out of the deal. Maybe. Dan frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure if he’d coax Ezio down the path of revenge. It could do things to you that you didn’t necessarily count on. And, let’s be honest here, how much money could a college professor really have? Ezio wouldn’t have been able to afford Dan’s services. His eyes flickered over the office a moment. Then again...maybe he could. That painting, what was it called? Garden Path with Chickens? That’d probably be worth something, right? Dan shook his head. No. No, Ezio was his friend and Dan didn’t exactly have a lot of those. What a sin it would be to separate an art teacher from his art. Dan had committed many a sin, and had Ezio been anyone else, he’d have taken it up in a heartbeat. “My father was gunned down in the line o’ duty a few years ago,” Dan explained. He took his next sip like a shot and then reached for the bottle again. “He’d been a beat cop in Detroit fer somethin’ like 30 years. Started on the beat long before I was even born. I even followed in his footsteps, if ya kin believe it. The fuckin’ S.O.B. responsible was one of those untouchable sorts.” He eyed Ezio as he poured himself another round. “Mafioso. His da ‘ad ‘is hands inta everything. Fingers wrapped tight aroun’ the Chief of D’s throat. So, as ye kin imagine, justice was impossible.” Mafioso. Ezio’s eyes widened; he of course heard this familiar song before, though he was surprised that Dan’s history had so much in common with his own. “Si, I do, I know how they work,” he replied quietly, a thoughtful tone. More limoncello in the glass, splash, and he took a drink - no sense in savoring what was left. They were close to being finished with this bottle, may as well drink it down to the very last drop. “And so you...went out on your own? To get justice, or because you were tired of the failings in the system?” he asked. To a job as a bartender? That seemed an odd switch. But Dan said he’d followed in his father’s footsteps. Obviously he was not doing that anymore. More liquor in the glass. More lubrication to his thoughts. Looser lips and lazier cadence. “Yea, I went on my own,” Dan nodded. “I couldn’ let it be, an’ the harder I pushed, the more doors were slammed in my face. My lieutenant kept warnin’ me. Kept tellin’ me t’ be careful ‘o who I pissed off. Didn’ listen. Couldn’ listen, y’know. Became the department’s pariah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Eventually they gave me ‘indefinite’ leave. I wasn’ gettin’ what I wanted, so I left an…” Dan trailed. Dark eyes, semi-drunk looked at Ezio very seriously. Watch yourself, Dannyboy, getting awful close to spilling the beans here. Don’t go getting all sloppy on limoncello, now. Have some dignity, man! “It’s a long sob story, Ezio,” he drawled and grinned. “An’ long story short: went out on my own, made my way yadda yadda yadda,” he spread his arms wide, “‘ere I am.” “Here you are,” Ezio agreed, and his curiosity was definitely piqued. But he would not press for too many details - he had a feeling that Danilo did not just readily rip the closet door away to show off all his skeletons. It had to be the right time for some things. “And I am glad you are here, mio amico. Feel free to drop by anytime, yes? I will be by your bar very soon. With a homemade meal or two also, as repayment for this bello limoncello.” He had not followed Dan home by leaping from rooftop to rooftop (something his dream self was good at, especially when it came to running errands for his father - before the debacle), so the bar would do - it was very homey in a sense anyway. He’d obviously made it his own, and seemed to care for the place. “I’ll take that as an open invitation,” Dan leaned forward to gently knock his party cup against Ezio’s. “An’ when I do come I’ll be sure to come bearing gifts ‘s well.” Gifts being in the form of various alcohol. He had eyed some wine at the liquor store the other day. Nice fine Italian stuff that he couldn’t justify buying at the time. His bar didn’t serve that kind of high class. And considering Dan survived off of eating take-out and microwave meals (such was the life of a bachelor hitman), it seemed a waste to buy it. But if Ezio planned on bringing him some good old fashioned home cook meals (and Dan certainly wasn’t going to tell him no), then they may as well have a fine red to go along with those meals. “An’ I extend the open invite t’ ye as well, my friend. ‘Specially if yer gonna be bringin’ me food.” |