“I’ll have you know, these are the robes of one of our most illustrious assassins. Evie’s a fan.”
WHAT: Snooping around during the ball, drinking stolen wine, and judging each other's formal attire WHERE: Castle of Lions WHEN: August 1 (backdated) WARNINGS: Light mentions of bad families STATUS:Complete!
Jacob didn’t mind dancing now and again but proper balls weren’t really his style. The only ones he’d ever attended had been to infiltrate templar ranks and assassinate someone. He’d spent a majority of the last one running around on the rooftop of Buckingham Palace rescuing palace guards while Evie danced with their worst enemy, for Christ’s sake. It wasn't that he couldn’t clean up well! He’d had Ezio’s assassin robes cleaned especially for the occasion and he looked rather sharp in all that white and red, in his humble opinion. But he still had next to no interest in mingling and dancing somewhere so posh.
So the question remained: Why was he at this particular ball? Curiosity mostly. The Castle of Lions wasn’t somewhere he could normally wander about, with all the fancy security he was still halfway clueless about. But with a party going on, he could get a good look around without anyone being the wiser.
At least, that was the idea until he got distracted by a room with deadly looking sparring robots in it and ran smack into Serefin as he turned a corner.
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled as he gave his friend a shove. “I could’ve murdered you.” While true, it wasn’t exactly likely either. He was just embarrassed he hadn’t bothered to check his eagle vision to see if anyone was coming down the next hallway before he turned.
Proper balls were something Serefin considered intensely boring. Not because he didn't like dancing or socializing or being fed indulgently rich foods and buzzingly alcoholic drinks, but there was nothing new to balls, at the heart of it. His curiosity had been piqued to come because Serefin was uniquely suited for hobnobbing in new places, it was in his blood. But the amount he was forced to attend from a young age only wore down the luster of their appeal.
After only a few minutes standing around in the castle, listening to unfamiliar music and watching acquaintances' faces blur into familiar-looking people, Serefin decided he was not nearly drunk enough to deal with a ball. He wasn't really sober at any of the ones in Tranavia either. Maybe wine would help. And if he got lost somewhere in the Castle of Lion's halls poking around in places he didn't belong, drinking pilfered alcohol, that was simply on par for Serefin.
He didn't make it very far before running into Jacob in—oh what was he wearing?
"I've heard that one before, but look, you didn't," Serefin hummed with smug satisfaction, as he was shoved away. Too many assassination attempts made Serefin numb to most murderous language directed at him. "I suppose the waltz wasn't up to your standards, either?"
He hefted a corked bottle from inside of his own inappropriately long cloak. Tranavian formal wear was ill-suited for summer weather but Serefin wore it anyway. He shook the bottle back and forth, a suggestion and a tease, grinning. "I stole wine."
Jacob appreciated that Serefin always seemed unflappable. It made conversation easy, not worrying something he said would ruffle feathers and whatnot. Not that Jacob generally worried about that. But he might have. For a friend.
“I’m more of a two-step bloke,” he deadpanned. The bottle drew his gaze, but so did the cloak it had been pulled out from under. With one eyebrow raised, he darted a hand out to grab the wine. He didn’t steal it, but he did give it a tug to see if Serefin would give it up willingly. “Pilfered liquor does taste better. I might need a healthy dose of it just looking at you.” It sounded more like a bewildered compliment than a taunt. He’d have to work on that. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”
Serefin arched a brow, followed by an absolutely wicked smile. He let go of the wine, he could share. Besides if Serefin didn't give it up now, there was a good chance he wouldn't later, and chug the whole thing in an attempt to keep Velyos quiet. Maybe the old god despised balls, and that was why he had been noticeably absent this evening. Serefin wanted to keep it that way.
"Oh no, no, nonono," Serefin said, half-laughing, half-believing that Jacob was bullshitting him. Serefin was of the opinion that absolutely nothing was wrong with his outfit. "You cannot ask what I'm wearing, as if it offends you, when you—" Serefin gestured, in a way that seemed to say have you looked at yourself?
He squinted his one good eye at Jacob, giving him an unnecessarily long once-over. "This is your formal wear?" Serefin asked, batting at one of Jacob's sleeves. "Are you hiding weapons underneath all of that? Are they your formal knives?"
And then, as if it suddenly occurred to him, Serefin asked, "Oh, you weren't planning on sneaking around in your very white military monk robes were you?"
“Excuse you,” Jacob said loftily, his amusement in the curl of his mouth as he uncorked the bottle and took a swig. “I’ll have you know, these are the robes of one of our most illustrious assassins. Evie’s a fan.” His gaze turned mischievous and he pressed the bottle back into Serefin’s chest. “So you can just imagine how she feels about me wearing them.”
It was possible too many of his decisions revolved around whether something would irritate Evie. That’s what happened when there weren’t any Templars to hunt, he supposed.
“Besides, I think I wear them rather well.” He nodded his chin towards Serefin’s costume. “Tell me your excuse and maybe I’ll let you see what weapons I’m carrying.”
"Murderous. Jealous. Confused why you are wearing them when it should clearly be her if you're trying to mimic an assassin. Am I close?" Serefin asked, before making a grab for the wine and taking a long pull, then another. He was a bit graceless and a bit desperate. Drinking the alcohol faster was not going to change how quickly he felt its effects.
As he pulled the bottle award from his mouth, Serefin frowned, then looked down at his clothing. "This is formal wear." He swept a hand down his body, from sternum to waist. "It's fancy and it's inherently uncomfortable. I think that makes it appropriate for this sort of thing." Serefin, for emphasis, made a slow turn, arms out, cloak swooshing in the spin. Royalty was a sham, but Serefin knew how to play up being a high prince when needed to.
"Of course it's missing a crown, but who bothers with those things anymore? No one cares." Serefin said, twirling his index finger in the air, and drinking again. This was good wine. "Your turn. Embrace the assassin you've dressed up as, and use the hidden weapons for some entertainment or whatever it was you were trying to do before I found you."
“It’s heartwarming how well you understand us,” Jacob smirked. “What’s not as heartwarming is how hard you seem to be trying to drink your consciousness away. Give it here, prat.” He reclaimed the bottle and took a drink as he gave Serefin a slower once over. It was easy to forget he was some kind of royal. Jacob couldn’t even remember what he’d said about that, just vaguely that it was a thing. A thing he was mostly going to keep ignoring, thank you very much. Except for this outfit, of course.
“Don’t get me wrong. It certainly makes a statement.” He reached for the cloak. At the last second, he let one of his wrist blades extend from under his sleeve and he used the point to lift the fabric instead of his hand. He then carefully scratched at the scruff along his jaw with the point of the blade. “But I’m not going to entertain you no matter how blue your blood might be. You’re welcome to be a nosy arsehole with me though.”
"Your sister is easy to irritate. If I were in your shoes I would have done the same thing—" Serefin said, as the bottle was yanked away. He did not make a disappointed noise, but his expression seemed to be the embodiment of it.
Serefin allowed himself to be inspected, even if there was a knife involved. "You can burn it in a fireplace after I've worn it, but don't damage it before the night is over," Serefin mumbled out, before he yanked his cloak back. "And I assure you, my blood is red like the rest of you, which makes me excellent at doing things I shouldn't. I just know how to talk my way out of it better than most if we're caught."
He waved a hand and started walking down the hallway away from the party like he originally intended, expecting Jacob to follow—that was blue blood talking, the hypocrite . "You can tell me about how you came across your attire. Did you assassinate the assassin?" Serefin sounded impressed.
Jacob frowned, though it mostly ended up aimed at Serefin’s retreating back. “Oi, I’m not going to burn your clothes, now or ever. You just look very…” Above my station was the ridiculous thought that came to mind first, but he was quick enough to change directions mid-sentence. “…Posh.” He handed the bottle back over as he caught up. It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was something. “Excuse me for being a little thrown off.”
He turned his gaze down the hall. The thought of him assassinating one of the most influential leaders of the Brotherhood made him snort. “Would’ve been difficult to kill someone who lived and died more than three hundred years before me.” He smoothed a hand over his chest and left his hand resting on the signature Assassin’s belt. “It was just left at the club, wrapped up all nice,” he shrugged. “Didn’t feel like shopping for something presentable enough for a ball so here we are.”
"Was that a compliment?" Serefin squinted at Jacob again as he took the bottle back to drink from. He regretted not pilfering two, or at least something stronger that burned as it went down. "I think it was." He sounded inordinately pleased, mostly because he was not used to throwing people off. It was usually the other way around.
Like now, he was distracted by Jacob's reverence to his own outfit. Serefin offered the bottle back. "You could have lied. Said you fought him in an epic duel that lasted weeks, survival of the fittest and such, and you came out on top, his cloak a trophy of his defeat, you're Head Assassin or whatever it is. I would have believed you," Serefin said.
He did appreciate that Jacob didn't lie, though. He was used to having so many people lie to him—his father, his half-brother, the religious zealot he just happened to accidentally associate with. Honesty from other people was usually from the only two people in Serefin's life who weren't here.
Serefin added, "You're posh too in your robes. You should wear nicer things more often. Or does that defeat the purpose? We're supposed to be surprised by you cleaning up?"
Whether Jacob’s eyeroll was about the compliment bollocks or Serefin’s suggestion that he could’ve lied was anybody’s guess. His words suggested it was the latter, but the smirk left some doubt. “Why would I try to impress you with false deeds? You’re not even impressed by my actual skills.”
He looked cavalier as he quickly checked his eagle vision and confirmed the room they were passing was empty. A poke of his head inside found it was just a bare bedroom though. Disappointing. He moved onto the next door, a number of yards down the futuristic hallway, but he stopped halfway to laugh and lean into Serefin’s space. “Maybe I like keeping people's expectations low." He was still unbearably sober but sneaking around someone else’s property was intoxicating all on its own. "Besides," he murmured thoughtfully. "If I told you to do something more often, would you do it or would you do the opposite?"
He let Jacob do the snooping, leaving the ultimate decision of what room to waste time in on him. Not because Serefin was lazy, but for someone running around in assassin's garb and hiding weapons, it was probably the safest option. And he maybe—maybe—trusted Jacob to not find something fundamentally boring.
"We can't both keep people's expectations of us low, one of us will have to do something impressive from time to time." Serefin waved his hand, dismissive as if to say not now though, another day. Getting dressed up tonight was the most effort he was willing to expend for a stranger.
When Jacob leaned into his space, Serefin only stopped walking but did not lean back. He raised his one brow. "And it depends on what you told me to do. I'm more amenable to requests that I wouldn't say no to already." He placed his fingers high on Jacob's chest, then pushed gently, all very deliberate. A nudge to keep going down the hallway.
"And I might do something more for you than, say, whoever lives in that bedroom back there. Except saving lives. It's less impressive when I do it a lot."
Jacob lifted his hands in apologetic surrender and turned to give Serefin more space. Maybe he had drank a little more than he remembered. It was fine. He wasn’t stumbling, so he could rein himself in.
“Well in that case, you’re decidedly more amenable to being bossed around than I am. But good to know I might rate higher than a hypothetical stranger.” A set of double doors ahead looked interesting so he stepped over to them. They whooshed open automatically to reveal a meeting room with a big screen and table with chairs. Where were all the bloody valuables in this big shiny building? He sighed and gave Serefin a curious glance. “Do you have any siblings?”
"I was bossed around my whole life. Go here, do this, be nice to that one's daughter, we have to arrange a political marriage—" Serefin made a disgusted face that the thought that was instantly wiped away upon entering the new room. He didn't know what Jacob was looking for, but there were chairs and a table and Serefin immediately felt like sitting down. He slid past Jacob into the room, flopping gracelessly into a chair that started spinning.
He barked out a quick, harsh laugh. "Do I have—you're kidding right?" A beat, another pull from the bottle, and then, "You're not kidding. Oh, hmm, well. How do I explain this? Yes and no." Serefin went a little quiet, contemplative over his next words or if the alcohol was finally hitting him. Difficult to tell. His familial relationships were nothing like the one Jacob had with Evie.
"I have a half-brother, Malachiasz. He's absolutely insane, blood magic will do it to you with all his fanatical acolytes backing him. Plotted with my father to have me killed, or well, did kill. But as you can see it didn't stick, so you can understand why we don't talk anymore."
Serefin drew up one foot, then the other, on to the table. He attempted to segue into something that would stop his loose tongue from betraying him. "What do you suppose this screen thing does?"
Jacob was half a second from harassing Serefin for being a lazy arse and sitting down in this boring room but the truth bomb made him swallow the words back down again. “Jesus Christ, mate,” he mumbled, wiping a hand over his mouth. He didn’t bite at Serefin’s attempt to redirect.
There’d been a rough patch with Evie at home but even then, he’d have stepped in front of a bullet to protect her. The thought of actively trying to kill her was abhorrent.
“That’s the worst shite I’ve ever heard.” He turned to sit against the edge of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was your father mad too or just a murderous bastard?”
Serefin took a deep breath. It was strange, and he hated to admit it, that someone found the events of his life the worst shit. Not that any of this was normal, being sacrificed by your father because your half-brother told him to because they both wanted that heretical godliness was so far from normal. But weren't there worse things? When Serefin looked up to Jacob next to him and saw the expression on his face, he supposed no, there wasn't.
"Both, perhaps. Can't really ask him now given that I'm here and he's dead," Serefin said, trying for casual and failing miserably. He went for the bottle again, because near-sobriety felt like too much given the conversation. "That was my Malachiasz's fault, too. Needed blood of his blood for the ritual, and since I didn't do the trick... the whole thing was very messy."
And now he had Velyos kicking around inside his head instead. Serefin rubbed absently at his eyepatch. Consolation prizes for living needed to be reevaluated.
"You cannot tell me you haven't had someone backstab you. Doesn't that sort of come with your line of work? Someone's bound to not like the rules and start a coup."
“Your brother sacrificed your father for magic…” Jacob’s eyes widened for a long moment as he stared off at nothing in particular. Eventually he blinked. His father had taught him and Evie the dangers of poisoned tea by serving them some and he still couldn’t imagine killing the self-centered prick. “My family has its issues, but that certainly takes the cake.”
“You’re not wrong though. Our line of work inspires some...bitterness.” He leaned back on the table, propped up by one arm. “I got locked in a burning building by a madman I’m fairly certain wanted in my trousers until I refused to kill children for him. And yet...you still win shittiest backstab. So…congrats,” Jacob grinned.
A noise down the hall caught his attention and he froze with his eyes on the door. The shape in his eagle vision surprised him, but before he could open his mouth to warn Serefin, Keith’s space wolf Kosmo teleported into the room and landed right on the table.
"For more magic," Serefin idly corrected. Not like it mattered, Malachiasz was already on the verge of insane fanaticism by aligning with the Vultures. Someone was going to die in that throne room, Serefin never expected it was him first.
Serefin's brow raised at the word bitterness, and he leaned in with chin in hand, elbows on the table, thoroughly interested. "I may have won the shittiest backstab, but a murderer tried to court you by locking you in a burning building. You certainly know how to pick them. Tell me, do you always go for the most dangerous... option—" Serefin stood immediately at the noise. The intent was to get caught eventually, but the seriousness of whatever was out there confused Serefin's wine-addled mind.
He nearly threw himself back into the chair when the—dog? Wolf? What was this?—animal landed on the table. He stared Serefin down, and Serefin stared him down, and finally, the wolf grabbed for Serefin's cloak with its maw and started to drag him out of the room and toward the direction they had just come from.
"A little help?"
Jacob didn’t particularly want to admit his interest in people seemed to partially correlate to whether or not they were capable of besting him in a fight, so really he was grateful for the distraction. He had experience with Kosmo from Keith working at the club, anyway. He wasn’t too worried about those teeth being put to work. In his experience, Kosmo was fiercely protective of Keith and generally amiable otherwise.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend like he was worried.
“I’ll rescue you, not to worry. Just. Hold. Very. Still,” he said in a mock serious tone. “He can smell fear.”
Kosmo continued to drag Serefin out the door with a cheerfully wagging tail. Jacob laughed and hopped off the table to heroically follow. He’d catch up and find something to bribe the wolf with soon enough.