Sir Jacob Frye (brassknuckles) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-08-17 15:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | assassin's creed: jacob frye, wicked saints: serefin meleski |
Mostly, Jacob chose this room because it had signs of him everywhere, from pieces of his equipment to discarded clothes to a painting of a London sunset he’d found in a hole in the wall boutique. The more of him there was here, the less this could feel like his father’s training methods. Not that he was anything like dear old dad anyway.
“Stop twitching, will you?” he murmured, tightening the knot on the blindfold around Serefin’s head. “I know making you stand up straight for more than three seconds is asking a lot, but I believe in you.” Taunt delivered, Jacob squeezed the back of Serefin’s neck and came around to stand in front of him. “How’s it fit?”
Serefin did not, in fact, stop twitching. There was a restless energy building up inside of him. He had agreed to do this because Jacob's offer was promising, the thought of not secretly being frustrated by his own incompetence appealed to him. It was the plunging the last of his remaining sight into darkness that gave him pause. He also had been curious about Jacob's office when he first was allowed in, with all the unconventionally soft and lived-in items cluttering the space.
But being nosy wasn't why he was here. Serefin had allowed himself to be blindfolded for the sake of not being completely hopeless around people who were professionals at defending themselves without magic.
"Some of us never got to slouch when they were younger. I am attempting to fill a quota that I missed out on," Serefin said, but was immediately quieted by the squeeze to the back of his neck, unexpected. Already, his senses felt dulled and disconnected, and instinctively he reached for the blindfold around his eyes, but stopped short from tugging it off.
Jacob's voice coming from in front of him made Serefin drop his hands to brace himself against—well, nothing. He was extending a hand into an empty space.
"It's fine, I'm only dubious. You said you did this before, right?"
Jacob watched Serefin adjust to his circumstances, one eyebrow raised and a smirk playing at his mouth. He took pity on him at least and caught Serefin’s reaching hand by grasping the inside of his forearm. It was entirely possible this had been a bad idea. But what was life without a few bad ideas? Besides - God help him - he actually enjoyed spending time with the cheeky little prick.
He didn’t mind looking at him either.
“Look, after the shite you told me about your family, I can only imagine how hard it is to give this a go at all. But I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?” He squeezed Serefin’s arm. He had bare arms himself for once. His normal gauntlets were left sitting on the desk with only a little more care than the rest of his belongings laying around the room. “Do you trust me?”
Somehow, even with the blindfold on, Serefin managed to look expressive. There was a curious tilt to his head when Jacob grabbed his arm. And Serefin, out of instinct or sheer need, held tightly back. His grip belied that deep internal uncertainty of the situation, despite the slow spreading smile on his face. He was very good at handling shit that terrified him. Maybe that was the issue—Serefin's coping mechanisms were to ignore it or make a joke about it. He wasn't ever really handling it.
And the fact that Jacob was able to tell that it was difficult for him because of previous familial experiences only proved that other people were more intune with psyche than he was. Serefin spent his time mentally fighting off an old god. So, he was justified in not understanding himself. Kind of.
"I trust you," Serefin said, surprised at how easy it was to say to Jacob. That felt distantly problematic, but he didn't have time to contemplate it. "What I don't trust is this environment. There are a lot of things in here that could be used to throw at me. Like those clothes." It was clear, when Serefin pointed to an empty spot on the floor, that he had no idea where the clothes were. But he gestured to the wrong wall with conviction. "And that painting."
Serefin straightened up. "Just tell me what to do. I promise I'll listen this time, and this time only."
Jacob smiled, even though Serefin couldn’t get the rare benefit of it being soft around the edges. He didn’t have a long list of people who trusted him. Being snarky and deadly had that effect. But it pleased him. And it doubled his desire to get this right.
“There’s nothing on the floor there, you knob,” he chirped, smacking Serefin’s outstretched hand with his free one before he let go of him completely. “And I paid real money for that painting. You think I’m going to break it on your thick skull? Just stand there and shut your gob for a second. Listen.” Quietly, he toed off his boots and kicked them to the side. He was nearly silent in them but this way he didn’t have to think about it.
“What else do you remember in this room besides the painting?”
It was difficult for Serefin to be quiet, admittedly. He liked to fill silence with his voice because the absence of noise unnerved him. But he had promised to listen to Jacob, and he had promised to give this a chance. And so Serefin made a big production of sighing, and exaggerated closing his mouth. That was when he started to notice it, the feeling that his other senses were attempting to compensate for the lack of sight.
He knew Jacob was in the room still—did he, though? Without holding Serefin's arm, there was no real way to know, and he supposed that was the point. Serefin was supposed to listen for other signs, be aware of what was around him. Oh, he was going to do terribly at this, especially because he startled just the smallest amount at hearing Jacob ask him a question from a different point in the room.
At least he was still here.
"Your gauntlets," Serefin said, flexing his hands, remembering the bare skin of Jacob's arm under his fingertips. He had thought that strange when he first arrived, and now it was a test. "They were on your desk." Serefin tilted his face into the vague direction of where Jacob's voice came from. "How was that? Do I get rewards for correct answers?"
“That was a good start. Try not to pat your own bloody back so fast,” Jacob laughed. It did count for something extra though, that Serefin had noticed his armor. Most people didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. He walked a slow circle around Serefin until he was on the opposite side of him.
“Maybe if you feel like this wasn’t a waste of time when we’re done, we can talk about that reward.” To be fair, Jacob didn’t mean for it to sound suggestive, it was just the way words tending to roll across his tongue. Particularly at such a late hour with dim lights. He cleared his throat.
“How about the furniture? Can you tell me where the big pieces are?” he asked.
How was he doing that? Serefin, try as he might, could not keep track of where Jacob was moving around the room. It was only when he spoke again, his smooth accented words coming from a different direction, that Serefin knew he even changed spots. Serefin was half-expecting his voice to come from above him next, or below him. Or worse behind him again.
He tipped his head and turned in the vague direction of where he thought Jacob was. "How could this be a waste of time? What else would I be doing at this hour besides drinking? Or sleeping. Or drinking to sleep, it all sort of meshes together. Here, I have company, even if I can't see you." Serefin said. He took an unconscious step toward Jacob but stopped.
Right, training. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the room instead of focusing on things that were not furniture.
"You had a long chair, or was it two chairs together? Something to lay down on, against the right wall. Are you laying down on it now?" Serefin asked, smiling wickedly at the thought. "Is this how it went for you, someone blindfolding you and asking where the desk was?"
Jacob noted Serefin’s step and the tilt of his head. His guess was a little off, but only just. It softened Jacob’s watchful gaze. “That came out a little sad, mate. You can bother me anytime you’re having a rough night, you know. I bet Diego feels the same. Even if he’ll deny it like a big cranky baby.”
Was it fair talking smack about his favourite knife-wielding pain in the arse when he wasn’t around to defend himself? No. But he’d sleep just fine anyway.
“It's a chaise. And, no, this is decidedly not how it went for me. My father’s way of testing my memory of my surroundings was pointing me towards a set of stairs,” Jacob said, feigning boredom. He was close to reach out and pat Serefin’s cheek. “Aren’t you glad I’m nothing like my father?”
He was losing his touch. If Jacob thought his loneliness sounded sad, that meant it actually was, and Serefin didn't want to face the reality he had pretended didn't exist. "I dare you to tell Diego he is a big cranky baby. I want to see what he does," Serefin said with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, half obscured behind the blindfold. There, he felt better.
When Jacob patted his cheek, Serefin's hand snapped up and caught him around the wrist. He wasn't wholly useless with his instincts, only most of the time. And this was just proving to Jacob he was paying attention.
"Good thing I remembered there weren't any stairs in this room. Unless...," Serefin trailed off, and dragged his foot in a half-circular motion against the floor. Nothing sounded hollow, or loose, or otherwise hiding a secret compartment with stairs. He had uncovered dozens of them during the invasions of Kalyazi monasteries; Serefin thought he was rather good about sussing trap doors.
He let go of Jacob and stepped back. "Isn't the question aren't you? No one voluntarily wants to be like the man who made his children do this."
“Oh look at you. Well done” Jacob grinned and twisted his hand in Serefin’s hold so he could clasp onto his wrist. His grip was deceptively loose. Ignorable, if Serefin weren’t paying close attention. The reason for the contact didn’t immediately present itself.
“I promise you I’m very glad I’m not like my father. I made an active choice on that matter, thank you very much. I imagine you aren’t very different in that regard.” With only that quiet commiseration for a warning, Jacob tightened his grip and pulled Serefin four quick steps across the room and spun him several revolutions. Eventually he halted the movement with a hand on each of Serefin’s biceps.
“Sorry, had to be done. Now!” Jacob said cheerily. “If you can point to where the chaise is, I’ll tell Diego he’s a big cranky baby, in the ring, with you nearby.”
Oh, Serefin was going to strangle him. It would be a kindness, really. He had been too caught up in the idea of not being like Izak Meleski that he lost focus, and was completely thrown by the waltz across the room. Disorienting was an understatement. Moreso without being able to see.
"You sound far too happy for someone whose footwork is lacking. We were just at a ball, did you not get enough dancing in there?" Serefin said, without any heat. Just words to fill a space, while he tried to shake off the momentary dizziness. He thought about ripping the blindfold away, or cheating—how, that would be determined—but he truly wanted to see Jacob hassle Diego in the ring for the sheer entertainment value.
He was quiet again, taking one deep breath. Then another. And then that's when it hit him: Serefin was turned around, thrown sideways in the room, but Jacob wasn't. And by the sound of his voice and his hands on his arms, Jacob was in front of him, which meant nothing actually changed.
Serefin lifted his hand and pointed to the chaise over Jacob's shoulder with the most confident, smartass grin he could muster. "Can I use my device to record a video of it?"
Watching the frustration flicker across Serefin’s face was a delight. Even the flat insult didn’t ruin it. He was possibly enjoying being the one at the reins a little too much, but then it was bloody rare, to be fair. Still, he had patience, when he felt like it. He waited quietly for Serefin to orientate himself.
Well, he waited for Serefin to think he had orientated himself anyway.
With a speed so slow it bordered on obnoxious, Jacob pushed Serefin’s pointing hand until it was actually aiming at the chaise. “Maybe next time,” he teased warmly. Selfishly, he was glad Serefin hadn’t gotten it right on the first go. They’d have to cut this short.
“This isn’t just about picturing the room in your mind and keeping track of changes. It’s about feeling where things are in relation to your body. I change the airflow of the room, but so does the desk. I make sound, but so does the desk.” He sat on the edge of the desk and rapped his knuckles against the wood. “You might only have the one eye, but you can sense these things other ways.”
The disappointment of getting it wrong flitted quickly across Serefin's face. It wasn't that he wanted to only be right, but he wanted to prove that he was listening. Now it seemed like neither and Serefin, with a small huff, rolled his shoulders back and shrugged it off. Even as he listened to Jacob moving away and tapping on the desk, he could at least be pleased that the lesson wasn't over. Jacob hadn't given up on him.
Serefin opened his mouth, ready to correct Jacob—technically he had two. Both worked to varying degrees. But there was that familiar low grumble from Velyos as the mention of one eye. It felt like a siren call, waking the sleeping beast. Serefin hastily, mentally shoved the old god back down. It was safer this way. He redirected his comments instead.
"So what? I listen to how sound bounces off things?" Serefin asked. He started to take a step around the room, but not toward Jacob. Just around—to sense things. Serefin put a hand out, and his fingers grazed back of a chair. "How long did it take you to get good at this?"
“That’s some of it, yeah. Feeling how the...what’s it--” Jacob gestured at a vent in the wall.. “--The air conditioning shifts depending on where you are. Being aware of things that are moving. Like the ceiling fan above your head. If you get right under it, you know you’re in the center of the room. Then you can use other pieces to paint the rest of the picture.” He leaned back on one hand, kicking his booted heel against the desk. “Well, enough of the picture to know where the obstacles are anyway.”
Talking about his training wasn’t a joyful pastime unless it was to brag about his exploits or his weapons, but it felt wrong to deny Serefin information when he was a little bloody vulnerable like this. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I was easily distracted so Evie picked this up faster. She was always the more focused student, as father so liked to point out.” He paused and looked at Serefin. “Don’t tell her I talked about this.”
The air conditioner. The fan. Jacob's voice. Right, right. He concentrated, Serefin felt balanced, which wasn't the case before. He took a few steps, until he was under the fan. The buffeted air sounded different here. It was starting to make sense, but that didn't mean Serefin would perfect it any time soon. If he was instantly good at something, that meant he didn't need training. And all of this would be over far too quickly; a disappointment if there ever was one.
"The blindfolding, or how distracted you were in your youth, or the father thing?" Serefin asked, turning to face Jacob as if he wasn't blindfolded at all. "Even if I don't say anything, your sister is perceptive. She is hard to shake and will undoubtedly know we talked about something."
Serefin kept moving around the room, slow and cautious. There was a little table that he very nearly knocked into, though he was aiming for his furniture nemesis. He tripped, gracefully, onto the chaise. "But I promise because you asked." His hands ran along the fabric of the plush seat. "But you can't tell her how terrible I was at this."
Jacob rolled his eyes and flipped his legs over the desk in a quick move that left him an easy two steps away from the chaise as Serefin slowly made his way there. Unlike Ethan Frye, Jacob didn’t try to trip him up. As tempting as it was to reach out and snag him somehow. Just to see what he’d do.
Half of the trouble Jacob Frye got into was simply curiosity about what someone would do.
“My sister could very well be lurking in a vent somewhere nearby. That doesn’t mean you have to tell her a damned thing. I’ve seen you dodge questions like it was your job. I know you’re capable.” When Serefin sprawled out on the chaise - as clearly part accidental as it was - Jacob grinned. “Anyway I don’t know what you’re on about. You just dodged a table beautifully.” With that and no other warning, he hopped off the desk and sat on Serefin’s legs.
"Oh, now you tell me," Serefin said, with a wave of his hand vaguely in the direction of the air vent. "I thought the whole reason behind our late night rendezvous would be to buy some time against your sister. We are a lost cause already."
The surprising thing about all of this was that Serefin did learn something. He recognized when Jacob was moving across the desk, or hitting the ground, or walking toward him. But Serefin wasn't quick enough to figure out what he had planned, and made a dramatic punched-out noise when Jacob sat on his legs. He didn't make any move to wrestle him off—that was a battle Serefin would easily lose. Assassins.
He lifted the edge of the blindfold, his one clear blue eye shining brightly at Jacob to match his own shit-eating grin. "It was beautifully, wasn't it? Does this mean we're done, or is this some new part of the training? I admit, the lounging aspect to this is might be nicer than bumbling around your office."
Draping one arm across the upper curve of the chaise back, Jacob examined his other hand with manufactured indifference. It was strange not wearing his gauntlets. Not because he never went without, but because this was training - even if it wasn’t his - and it felt like training naked.
“Look, you’re done whenever you want to be done, mate. This isn’t mandatory.” He snuck a sideways glance at Serefin before staring off at one of the vents. She wouldn’t really be lurking; he knew that. But for some reason he could still feel Evie’s presence, taunting him for his inability to keep things professional. “I’m not in any rush to go anywhere though. Just for the record. The longer we stay at this, the longer I can procrastinate doing inventory on the bar,” he admitted with a roguish smile.
"It may not be mandatory, but it feels very official. I was unaware we were making up our own rules about participation," Serefin said, pulling the blindfold all the way off. As much as he wanted to continue, and would have benefited from a longer session, there was a sense of relief to see again. Serefin clearly needed to work up to lengthier stretches of time where he was comfortable sans eyesight. With only one voluntarily usable eye, it was an unexpected hangup.
"Is there any chance I could convince you that your inventory should suddenly be short a bottle of red wine?" He leaned back against the chaise, tossing the strip of fabric at Jacob's hand as he did so, and folding his hands over his chest. There was no mistaking that he had no intention of getting up. "It would be one less thing to count, so really, I am saving you time."
Serefin did one of his little half-shrug things, because really, who could fight with that logic? "I do remember something about being promised a reward, and wine would suffice."
Jacob wasn’t oblivious to the relief in Serefin’s body language. He stored that information away. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, he could just tell him to close his eyes. Even the potential for cheating was better than knowing he was digging into some sort of bruise by blinding him completely. To distract from that thought, he made a show of climbing to his feet that involved shoving Serefin’s head against the cushion behind his head. His other hand pressed down on Serefin’s knee. He didn’t feel like taking one to the ribs, thank you very much.
“Since you didn’t break anything - including yourself - I suppose I can rustle something up.” He moved towards the door, smirking over his shoulder. “Something cheap, anyway.”