Sir Jacob Frye (brassknuckles) wrote in valloic, @ 2020-11-16 19:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, assassin's creed: evie frye, assassin's creed: jacob frye |
There had been conversation here and there, Evie’s true crime novel sparking some random tidbit of facts that Jacob might appreciate, a few words from his end, ribbing on both sides and very sibling-like on the whole.
But the peace didn’t last, as Evie heard a shattering of glass from directly behind her and Jacob’s swearing hit her ears at the same time as she turned around. “Jacob.” She couldn’t help the censure in her voice, it was second-nature. “What’s given you slippery fingers?”
He’d never admit it out loud, but Jacob appreciated the times when he and Evie could simply share a space, at ease and familiar. It was good, annoyingly. It restored balance. He was a little short on balance, with everything Serefin keeping him on his toes. Not that he was complaining.
Jacob spent a good hour just cleaning his weapons and fussing with his grappling hook while they traded witty remarks back and forth. Then he childishly snagged one of her books and moved to the liquor cabinet with it held open in his hand. He knew she was unlikely to give him much grief for reading anyway, but he enjoyed it more when it was pilfered goods.
What he didn’t enjoy as much was spotting a familiar reflection in the liquor cabinet just as he was taking a quick swing of brandy. The bottle shattered when it slipped from his grasp and he uttered a sharp blasphemous curse. He turned around fast. Ethan Frye lurked in their cabin doorway.
Jacob’s heart beat rapid-fire in his chest and he glanced entreatingly at Evie. “I don’t suppose you poisoned my brandy.”
“It would serve you well if she had,” Ethan said drily, moving deeper into the cabin. He eyed Jacob’s chaotic mess with distaste. “You barely even sniffed that bottle before taking a drink.”
Evie grabbed a nearby broom off of it’s hanging place on the wall, with another odd glance in Jacob’s direction, eyes narrowing at him. It would have been on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he was going to take his time with that drink, but it was all over and done before she really had a chance to react, and now there was just clean-up.
“Of course not. Serefin comes by too often.” She started sweeping up the glass, separating it from the spilled liquid as delicately as possible. Evie sighed deeply, but shrugged in the end, refusing to cry over spilled brandy. “At least it wasn’t the expensive bottle. Why are you just standing there as if you’ve seen a ghost? Fetch a towel, please.” If he wasn’t staring into his dead father’s face, Jacob would have enjoyed Serefin’s preferential treatment over his own.
“Well that figures.The one who actually listens can’t even hear me,” Ethan sighed.
Jacob finally closed his mouth and swallowed, watching Evie more closely. She showed no signs of seeing the apparition or whatever he was standing near their desk. He was inspecting the books stacked on it and the room at large, like an investigator. No, meaner than an investigator; he kept scowling, like he was grading Jacob harshly in his head. Freddy Abberline never looked at Jacob like the assassin in front of him.
“So it seems fate is rather cruel, dear sister,” Jacob muttered, even as he collected the towel she requested. “Father’s here, but apparently only for me.” He picked up the broken neck of the bottle and sniffed it. “Really, I rather be poisoned.”
That stopped Evie in her tracks. She’d heard about the ghosts, how could she not? But to have Jacob state it, so frankly, right next to her-- Her brain faltered, and Evie hated when that happened.
“Don’t joke.” Her voice might have come out a little strangled, but she didn’t mean it. She knew that there were a great many things Jacob would joke about but seeing the ghostly apparition of their father was not one of them. It had been well established most of their lives of just where both of them stood with their father - and that pang of guilt that hit Evie for being hopeful over talking to him washed aside.
It wasn’t her fault that Ethan Frye had played favorites, but Evie had done everything in her power to be that favorite, allowing herself to be pitted against her brother at every corner, instead of opting for a more united front in rebellion as she could have. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask and none of them made it past her lips. Instead, she opted for something easy. Or so she hoped. “Has he said anything?”
Jacob rolled his eyes and sopped up brandy with his towel. He didn’t want to stay crouched for long. It itched to be a lowly height while his father prowled the room. He’d almost forgotten this feeling. Apparently he owed Evie an apology; even when she judged him, it didn’t have half the weight as their father’s watchful stare.
“He said your book collection is shameful,” Jacob said.
“I said no such--”
Talking over Ethan, Jacob cleaned up the last of the broken glass and brandy and carried it all over to a rubbish bin in the corner. “He also says he’s very sorry he didn’t hug us more.”
Ethan rolled his eyes, an exact replica of Jacob’s posture and annoyance.
Despite knowing it could come with a censure, Evie let herself sag against the arm of her nearby chair. The saving grace was she couldn’t hear her father’s disappointed tsk at the move, because it never would have been allowed when they were training.
Evie didn’t break rules when they had been training. Not that Ethan knew of, anyway. There were always the little rebellions that didn’t catch his attention and he never knew about. They had been more common than the very few times she had let Jacob talk her into getting into trouble (and she always regretted it).
Where she wanted to quip something about hugging, she couldn’t bring herself to the verbal admission of it where even a ghostly version of Ethan Frye could hear it. “If he actually wants to relay any important messages, he’ll likely have to go through me. I hope he realizes that.”
Ethan did look like wanted to comment on his daughter’s posture but he must’ve realized Jacob would make him regret it, because he only sighed. “Could you at least tell her I would speak to her if I could?”
There had never been any doubt who Ethan’s favorite child was, at least not in Jacob’s eyes. And he supposed he hadn’t given Ethan much of a reason to change his mind once it was clear. Some days, he wished Evie had joined him on this side of the line, but he didn’t really blame her.
“He says he would if he could,” Jacob grumbled. Dumping all the glass into the trash - including the washcloth he’d have to dig out later - he collapsed down onto the sofa and put up his feet. “Do you want to say anything else to him whilst you have the chance? I won’t promise I’ll give you his entire response verbatim but you’ll get the gist.”
Oh did she. A million things. The good work of the Assassins, what they had done following his death. Jacob’s contributions. Their being knighted by the Queen and involvement here. It was all there, but felt too much like bragging for a job they had been raised to do.
Evie wasn’t sure she wanted them to deal with any measure of disappointment from Ethan Frye after his death. She was half tempted to write him a letter, leave it for his eyes to peruse and at least know, but that would take a little time, and thought.
“Just--” She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “That we’re proud of our accomplishments in London, with the help of Mr. Green. And that the Shroud is safe from Templar hands.” Her eyes shot up, past where she assumed her father’s figure was and towards Jacob, glinting with mischief. “Oh and that Ezio Auditore is romantically linked with Maestro da Vinci.”
Jacob wasn’t at all surprised by Evie offering up their success in a matter of fact and humble way. He was surprised by the cheeky little addition though. Their father’s face shifted from vaguely proud to shocked to suspicious in a quick transition and Jacob threw back his head and laughed.
“You’ve stunned him stupid, Evie. Well done.”
“You’re a bad influence on her, but--”
“If only that were true!” Jacob interrupted.
“But I’m relieved to know you two are...aiding the Brotherhood successfully where I cannot,” Ethan finished awkwardly. He’d never been very good at giving out praise. But he was dead and Jacob suddenly felt exhausted by a lifetime of wishing his father loved him more. He blew out a breath and looked at Evie.
“He says he’s glad. For the Brotherhood business anyway. No comment on the secret love life of a mentor and a world renowned genius,” he added with a smirk.
She immediately felt a little bad, playing to something she knew was going to ruffle some feathers. But that was short-lived and Evie followed it up with a quiet smugness that was a distinctly Frye trait.
Praise from their father always made her feel validated, which was an issue in itself and not one that had reared its ugly head in a long time. It was a messy world, being a woman in their society, but Assassins had always been equal opportunity with those that mattered. She’d always suspected that part of their father’s disappointment had been that his son was the rebellious one.
“If you venture out, he can possibly see them for himself.” And a whole host of other things. Another pang of disappointment that this wasn’t a shared experience hit her, and Evie stood to try and shrug it off. “I’ll make a categorized list of bullet pointed topics for him to update himself on.” It was smooth, but distant. A little cold. “I’d promised to pick up some patrol time today, though, so I can leave you two to catch up.”
“Ugh. Evie,” Jacob whined. The only thing worse than being stuck with his father’s ghost was being stuck with his father’s ghost alone. Jacob frowned at her and then at Ethan, and then pushed to his feet to take a second crack at the liquor cabinet. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was giving his father a sober tour of Vallo.
He took a long pull from a whisky bottle with the impossibly heavy weight of a ghost’s stare rested on his profile.
“Please don’t leave me alone with this all day.” Please was not often in his vocabulary with his sister. He was glad his back was turned. “I’ll just go back to bed and shove my head under a pillow.”
The please made her feel a little guilt, but Evie wasn’t sure how much of a one-sided conversation with their dead father she could take. That sent another pang of guilt, and she’d have to apologize to Jacob later.
But for now she held firm, and grabbed her cane sword, sparing only a few-second glance in the direction of a ghost she couldn’t see. “You’re expected at the Underground later, but I think you could be afforded a few hours of shoving your head under a pillow.”
She was halfway out the door when she glanced back towards Jacob, and past him to the empty space. “I’ll see you later.” Sorry was left unsaid, floating between them.
“Oh, fine. Fine,” Jacob shouted after her. It was childish but he didn’t care. Betrayal deserved a little petulance! He took his bottle of whisky and headed towards his bedroom. Ethan shadowed him but he was very clearly just looking to snoop. The bed creaked as Jacob collapsed down onto it, face first.
“Go on then,” he said into his pillow, muffled and indignant, “Start collecting things to judge me for when I wake up. See if I care.”