Rats in the Tunnels, Part 2
Oct. 23rd, 2026 04:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerAt least in Secret World Legends, the tunnel entrance is usually at the base of the city. Just like the entrance to the tomb. This seems a little too obvious and the first place anyone would think to look, so I have decided to move them.
One of Desmond’s new recruits is a Lamassu, a Mesopotamian protector.
Life debts do potentially occasionally exist (and I really shouldn’t have been researching both of these plus the repurposed sewage system thing for examples for Shaun’s discovery when I was already behind in putting out a chapter but such is the life of a writer) in historical contexts (specifically in Ireland and Rome) but they’re far more common in fiction than reality. That being said, just because it’s not formalized does not mean the sentiment might not be there anyway.
The Jamal bit was a meta joke, as you might expect; I was staring at Behind the Name and went waaaait that name sounds familiar. So yeah, Khalil was almost ‘son of Jamal’. But as many references as I like to make, I can’t keep adding references. Some things need to be random or it doesn’t give the references meaning.
Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Preparations continue for the Siege of Al-Merayah.
Word Count: 3688
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond
Desmond bothers to change, once he’s out of sight of the teahouse. Mostly it’s so that he doesn’t get attacked by the Marya. Blending in with the local population or even maybe a new Atenist that hasn’t lost it and started painting symbols on his clothes might not be a bad idea for later, like if he goes back and tries to infiltrate the inside of the date factory later, but he absolutely doesn’t want friendly fire right now. The walk back is kind of eerie, and it takes him a little while to realize why. It’s quiet, the hush before a storm. A few stragglers still rush the Marya barricades, but it’s a tiny fraction of the already limited if precisely timed attacks.
It’s only to lull them into a false sense of security, keep anyone from realizing anything’s wrong, maybe even cheer them up into thinking that the Atenist numbers were running thin and this will be over soon. Maybe if the Marya weren’t already warned, it’d work. As it is, Desmond can see the defenders shifting uneasily. And then, just like that, the attacks stop altogether, which can only mean one thing. Zhara’s worries had been right. Willingly or not, somebody in the village must be serving as a spy, just like Miriam had been serving as a counter-spy. Desmond can just hope they don’t know that the Marya, Council, and Assassins know about the tunnels, too.
And people are off the streets. Al-Merayah’s never been the bustling place while Desmond has been here, with people largely worried they’re going to get snatched off the streets, though from all the abandoned stalls in the marketplace it had been once. There would always be the occasional person hurrying on an errand, a Marya patrol, people listening to the Marya recruiter on the stage next to the Café Giza, or the one guy consistently working on his motorcycle because it’s the only outlet he has for his worries and fears. None of them are out now. Even without a spy the fact that the villagers actually know something is going on would be pretty obvious.
Most of the Marya and the Assassins have dispersed. Desmond still spots a few Assassins hanging around concealed on roofs around the barricades and walls and the actual Council delegation itself. It’s smart positioning. The Atenists can storm in, thinking they have the upper hand, and not know what hit them. If they’re anything like his mom they’re armed with throwing knives, which are perfect for perches like that.
And then Desmond hears two sounds that make him smile and pick up his pace. The first smacks into his shoulder with a little more emphasis than normal; he’s actually kind of guessing that Rukh misjudged his strength a little, but Desmond was able to brace enough that that wasn’t an issue. The second, well.
“Rebecca, no.” Shaun’s having some kind of argument with Rebecca again. It’s more of a tennis match than an actual fight; he’s seen them give each other dark looks or the occasional protest when either of them goes too far, but it’s not something either of them appears to actually hold grudges over. Despite their tones sometimes.
“But just think about this, Shaun: Rebecca, yes.” There’s laughter in her voice, but Desmond’s not going to make the mistake of thinking she hadn’t at least floated the idea, whatever it is, seriously. She’s capable of both at once. Desmond’s best guess is some kind of stunt to flush them out, and if she thinks she’s doing that alone, she’s going to be surprised.
She’s also, interestingly, standing next to some non-human he’s only seen in the fight club in Darkside before. The woman had had a less human form before, with a lion’s body and wings, but appears to have taken a human form here to blend in. He wouldn’t even know that if she didn’t have that appearance overlaid in Eagle Vision when he looks at her, thankfully in a shimmering blue. It’s disconcerting and he quickly stops as she glances at him with an amused smile like she knows exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t recognize the species from the pamphlet Shaun made.
Shaun being Shaun, he doesn’t immediately concede, still lecturing from the call even as Rebecca starts turning the phone toward Desmond. “I did think about it. That’s precisely why I’m saying—ah, here comes the man of the hour. Desmond, hello, nice of you to join us. Could you please tell Rebecca you don’t need a bodyguard?”
Desmond’s mind goes blank. He just kind of reacts. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
In unison, everyone else says, “Yes, you do.” Well, not Osorio, who’s looking a little confused. Even Lydia and Chelsea say it as they return and settle up on one of the Council crates and the warehouse wall respectively, even if they don’t have the whole picture yet. Rukh doesn’t say it, even if he probably could, but he does poke Desmond with a talon as if for emphasis.
Rebecca continues smoothly. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I figure you’ll have a better incentive if there’s someone else right there whose job it is to do that. Because you wouldn’t want to inconvenience them, right?”
It’s not to spy on him. Well, okay, it’s not like Desmond knows that for sure. This is coming after Desmond figured out a way to avoid her phone surveillance. But she’d also agreed with Lucy about the curfew in Monteriggioni, and even though she’s here now, she’s slightly retired from the field due to an injury, so she can’t necessarily watch his back herself. And also based on her attempting to get Desmond or Shaun to confess to each other, she’s not above a little manipulation. Sure, she’s actually saying it straight out this time, but it’s not as if that makes it any less effective. Her main point is to have a constant reminder that other people care when Shaun and Rebecca aren’t there in person. And she’d been smart enough not to put it in a way that would insult Lydia, Chelsea, or Rukh, even though she wouldn’t be doing this if she thought they’d been effective in discouraging him from putting himself in harm’s way.
It’s not honestly the worst idea. It’s annoying to be treated like a kid, but recruitment is part of playing Mentor, and if there’s anything like Loki here in Egypt, another pair of hands could be really useful. And it’s not like she’s acting like he’s incapable. Besides, neither of them are expecting him to say yes, so if he does, it could be kind of funny.
He looks back at the woman, who didn’t bother to look away like he did. She’s also not blinking, he notices. He files specifics about that and the way she moves away for later. If he’s better about spotting non-humans in the future, maybe he won’t get blindsided by beings like Loki again. “I know you agreed to it, but how do you feel about this?”
She shrugs. “Curious. Returning to old ways. And I have a debt to pay, though I suspect Rebecca was not meant to share her winnings with me on my victories.”
That’s one of the most Rebecca stories he’s ever heard. He turns that over in his head. It wouldn’t hurt to know more about his potential future bodyguard. “Old ways? So you’ve done the bodyguard thing before. It’s not just the fight club in Darkside.”
“More protection,” she clarifies, as if that actually makes anything clearer at all. Or, well, it wouldn’t, normally, but thanks to Alice Desmond’s getting better at speaking cryptic. It’s not being vague, he gets the feeling. She’s being really precise, and it just sounds vague if you don’t know that she’s not human and that’s, like, her domain or whatever. She also doesn’t feel like an Isu or Loki, but she’s also stronger than your average zombie. If he had to guess she’s somewhere around the Bogeyman or maybe a Jinn in terms of power.
“Does that include protection from the Filth?” He just might understand that curiosity thing.
“My powers are limited.” Which translates to, yes, to a point, but more as a last resort, which is pretty much the conclusion Desmond’s coming to for this, too.
Shaun’s frowning at him now. And yeah, okay, so sometimes Desmond can be a little reckless, but even if he’s better off when dealing with that stuff than, like, ninety percent of the beings in this world, it’s nasty enough he’s not going to just go poking it with a stick, either. “So are mine,” he agrees, and while it doesn’t go away entirely Shaun’s frown does lighten a little, which is nice. Not that he’s not hot when he’s scowling, or put ideas into Desmond’s head that really are better left for private time later, but the guy already worries about too much. It’s nice that Shaun cares, but he really needs to relax more.
A little of that detachment fades from the woman’s eyes as she leans forward, suddenly intense and focused, which does confirm that she, at least, had been interested in his powers and finding out how they work, maybe. Desmond’s not sure how likely that is, how much the Calculations have a counterpart in this world, or how easy it would be for someone to figure that out. “My name in the arena is Nin. You may call me that, too.”
“Or ‘queen’ in Sumerian…” Shaun mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Her smile growing says she heard, but definitely isn’t acknowledging it.
“So, Desmond, about the city…” Lydia starts, and gets interrupted.
Desmond had thought, at first, that the man waiting with the Council was a local recruited to the Marya, between the robe and turban. From the speech he launches into, though, that’s apparently not true. “I realize you may not even recognize me. From what I am told, you have saved many from Al-Merayah, and to a hero such as yourself the dealings of the people, especially those as lowly as I, may seem mundane and far away. But you saved me from a horrible fate at the hands of the ghouls, especially when many would leave one such as I to my fate, and I would like to repay your kindness. I wondered what I could do to help you against the Atenists that plague this village, and realized I am not useless. I am a pickpocket and used to going unseen. I could potentially retrieve or overhear conversations that might help.”
Like Desmond would leave him to die just because he’s a thief. No Assassin could judge that, anyway. He might judge if the guy was a cultist spy, but based on Eagle Vision that’s not the case. Rukh’s also staring at him, evaluating, and based on the way the raven stops staring and starts looking around at the rest of the village instead, he’d passed that test too. “Anybody who would value property over life isn’t someone worth knowing.” And actually, on that note… “But we’re just about to end the siege of the Atenists, one way or another. You, uh…”
“Khalil Magdi Shakil al-Masri,” the man supplies hopefully. Desmond’s mind stalls briefly before realizing that people probably just got tired of actually listing out the whole ‘son of’ part and just dropped it leaving the names behind. Right, gotcha, not lineages he recognizes immediately. He doesn’t know why, but he’d been half-expecting a ‘Jamal’ or something. Maybe it’s just that his brain is on high alert looking for ominous things right now.
“Are you okay if I just call you Khalil, or…” It’s important to get that figured out, if they’re going to be working together.
“Given your status, I don’t think I deserve a ‘mister’,” Khalil admits, with a self-depreciating smile.
So far, he’s cool. And if he’s any good, he can help demonstrate some of the techniques to the others, because Desmond probably needs to start teaching them more so they’re ready for the next time. “Fair enough. Khalil, can you fight? If not, you should probably stay here with the Council for now.”
“I have had to defend myself with my blade, but I won’t say I am a master.” He takes out a dagger as if in demonstration. The grip isn’t bad and his stance is mostly good, but he’s just a little too tense and could probably get knocked over if he’s not careful. It’s easy enough to correct that, though.
Desmond considers. He can definitely work with that; Khalil’s definitely not the first thief the Assassins have recruited, and training the different skills with a foundation to work off is doable. “You can come with us and just stay in the middle, or you can wait. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
Khalil hesitates and then walks over to the group, swallowing any nervousness. He’s not fully confident, but he’s not worried enough that he’d rather wait. It could be an ego thing, but Desmond was careful not to have any judgment in his tone either way because there’s no shame in admitting a need to learn, especially when somebody else can cover it, so if he’d felt any of that it was all in his own head. Desmond resolves to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s fine. Thankfully the others he’s recruited will watch out for him, too, so it’s not like they’re throwing him into the deep end.
“Did I miss something? Were we all supposed to have our resumes? I didn’t prep mine, and the last time we were anywhere near a printer was in London.” Lydia hadn’t been taking the interruptions well, obviously, and had been just waiting for her chance to do the same thing. She just smirks when he shakes his head at her, though.
“Nah. You’d probably have a pretty big experience section over a skill section anyway.” They all stare at him for a moment, even Rebecca. “What? No, technically I never had to write one, but I did get to hear the occasional patron bitching about parts of the job hunt. From what they said that makes me really lucky.”
It’s a nice feeling, having Shaun hang onto his words the way he hangs onto Shaun’s. Having Shaun tuck away little details like that like they’re special. Like Desmond’s special. Which, yeah, okay, if you count all the Isu genetic engineering and the Calculations and having saved the world, sure, but Shaun crucially doesn’t know any of that and still thinks Desmond’s special for some reason, which makes him feel much more like they’re on equal footing. Shaun obviously has more interesting knowledge to talk about, but it’s still nice that he cares about even the boring stuff.
That amuses her. “Well, you’d be right about the experience. Worst news first, the well’s out. I don’t know how much Filth they poured in there this morning, but when your source of water starts sprouting tentacles you’re in trouble. We’re going to have to ship in water, or something, with those dry streambeds out there, and it’s not pretty. We could maybe try to get in contact with the druids to call down rain, because let’s face it, this place needs it.”
“If they haven’t escalated their attack on the food supplies yet, they will,” Desmond warns Osorio, and she makes a note and hands it off to one of the Assassins that swings down over the rooftop to sprint off to a Marya patrol.
Lydia nods. “And it’s all hands on deck. We’ve been using your mom’s, uh—Eagle Vision, did you call it—to pick out people we can trust.”
He was hoping she hadn’t caught that, but then, he was training Assassins who cared and actually want to know more about him and, being Assassins, are just generally nosy, too. It’d been a vain hope and he’d kind of known that at the time, but also, if he doesn’t have hope, what does he have?
She continues without actually acknowledging his reaction, but that doesn’t mean that she didn’t catch it. Unfortunately. “We dealt with a couple undercover Atenists along the way, got a couple sign-ups, and, unfortunately, found one guy that got one of those tainted boxes of dates. Maybe you could’ve healed him, but he’d been there a while, and while he realized the problem with the dates it was too late to do anything but deal with himself before the Filth really took root.”
Desmond reflexively winces. “That must have sucked.”
Chelsea takes up the story with enthusiasm. She’s actually getting into the ‘working with Lydia’ thing now which is good. “We could describe that as an understatement, but at least his family knows what happened to him, now. You’ve actually met the woman—Yousra, the one with the bomb under her sink. She was focused but I don’t think she really had time to let it sink in. She was too busy trying to fit as many people as she could into her house—safety in numbers, she told us, as long as there weren’t bombs. Which she had us check for three times. Miriam ensured none of them meant harm and they have Marya stationed for protection. It’s not all of them, of course—some of them declined to go, but it’s a good number of the remaining villagers. Miriam then went to go scout under the cliffs, though that’s probably too obvious.”
“Aha!” Shaun exclaims, serving as yet another interruption. Lydia doesn’t start pouting, though, maybe because they’d finally gotten out their story, even if Desmond hadn’t responded yet. “I didn’t call for a lark, or to scold Rebecca for another of her harebrained schemes. Those were, I suppose, just perks. I did so because I was very near to actually pinpointing the tunnels. I didn’t expect to find anything on the history of the area, and I was right on that front; the official story is that the cult of the Aten disbanded entirely after Akhenaten was no longer on the throne, and any conspiracies about their surviving into the present day can be traced to Illuminati misinformation sources that, as you would presume, are far from reliable. Going back briefly to an earlier anecdote—his son was likely Tutankhaten, who later changed his name to Tutankhamun to follow the suggestions of his advisors and further erase the Aten. The boy pharaoh, most famous pharaoh of them all, et cetera.”
“Woah. Okay, yeah, you’re right, even I know that one.” It’s not like he doesn’t know history is more than just words on a page, it’s just...he doesn’t know a lot about Egypt.
Shaun smirks a little. Gloating about being right and being able to share with Desmond, probably. “However, I was able to track down a more modern thread, unrelated to all of the information about the Aten. Looking into Al-Merayah was the key. A company was called in recently to update irrigation canals in the area and add pumps and plumbing for Daoud’s farm. The sort of trivial detail I first didn’t think led anywhere. But there was also a note about a charitable gift to the town as well—again, at first, I thought that was merely his attempt to pass on Filth water. It kept bothering me, though, so I finally went back and looked through and wouldn’t you know it, that company did actually apply for permits specifically to update ancient sewage tunnels in the city.”
That’s...actually kind of cool. Other than the fact that if Desmond has to swim through ancient sewers again, he’ll be very not happy about it. Rukh’s lucky that he can fly. “So do you think they know about, you know, all the Filth stuff?”
Shaun’s fingers are flying over the keys as he responds. “Given the rest of their portfolio, unlikely. This is their first encounter with the so-called secret world. I’d guess they also haven’t made it out to the site to begin construction yet, or if they did, well, the Atenists made the mistake of snatching them and scrambling their brains before they’d completed the work. It’s not like it’s an unheard of request, either. Unusual, certainly. But, in fact, the same sort of retrofitting work has been done in Pompeii. Most things did not survive the volcano, but the drainage system was still intact, and the Romans were, in general, very clever about their architecture. Reusing old systems in working order with a few more modernizations is smart and, more importantly in this capitalist day and age, saves money. Another incredible thing about this kind of paperwork—in order to get approvals and permits, companies need to actually be very detailed and give things like precise layouts. Getting my hands on a copy of the paperwork was the only actually difficult part once I’d found that mention on the company website and newspaper announcement. One of the main entrances is a maintenance door near the entrance to the farm, actually. I’m sending the map and coordinates to your phone.”
This is a good group of people Desmond has here, and he’s proud of all of them. “Good work, everybody. Let’s go kick some cultist ass.”
Shaun quickly hides the smile and actual adorable giggle behind his cup of tea, and it does absolutely nothing to erase the evidence of either of them. “You are, somehow, stranger than your average American and there’s probably something wrong with me to find that attractive.”
“Hey, I’m just happy you do.” It’s not—Desmond’s been active, he knows that he’s physically good-looking for a bunch of people, but there’s something special in the way that Shaun cares about more than just his looks. Shaun looks a little softer in the sweater vest. Wistful, like when he’d been thinking about holding Desmond’s hand.
“Stay safe.” That’s as good a sendoff as any, and they really shouldn’t delay at this point, either.
One of Desmond’s new recruits is a Lamassu, a Mesopotamian protector.
Life debts do potentially occasionally exist (and I really shouldn’t have been researching both of these plus the repurposed sewage system thing for examples for Shaun’s discovery when I was already behind in putting out a chapter but such is the life of a writer) in historical contexts (specifically in Ireland and Rome) but they’re far more common in fiction than reality. That being said, just because it’s not formalized does not mean the sentiment might not be there anyway.
The Jamal bit was a meta joke, as you might expect; I was staring at Behind the Name and went waaaait that name sounds familiar. So yeah, Khalil was almost ‘son of Jamal’. But as many references as I like to make, I can’t keep adding references. Some things need to be random or it doesn’t give the references meaning.
Main Points: Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Preparations continue for the Siege of Al-Merayah.
Word Count: 3688
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Shaun/Desmond
Desmond bothers to change, once he’s out of sight of the teahouse. Mostly it’s so that he doesn’t get attacked by the Marya. Blending in with the local population or even maybe a new Atenist that hasn’t lost it and started painting symbols on his clothes might not be a bad idea for later, like if he goes back and tries to infiltrate the inside of the date factory later, but he absolutely doesn’t want friendly fire right now. The walk back is kind of eerie, and it takes him a little while to realize why. It’s quiet, the hush before a storm. A few stragglers still rush the Marya barricades, but it’s a tiny fraction of the already limited if precisely timed attacks.
It’s only to lull them into a false sense of security, keep anyone from realizing anything’s wrong, maybe even cheer them up into thinking that the Atenist numbers were running thin and this will be over soon. Maybe if the Marya weren’t already warned, it’d work. As it is, Desmond can see the defenders shifting uneasily. And then, just like that, the attacks stop altogether, which can only mean one thing. Zhara’s worries had been right. Willingly or not, somebody in the village must be serving as a spy, just like Miriam had been serving as a counter-spy. Desmond can just hope they don’t know that the Marya, Council, and Assassins know about the tunnels, too.
And people are off the streets. Al-Merayah’s never been the bustling place while Desmond has been here, with people largely worried they’re going to get snatched off the streets, though from all the abandoned stalls in the marketplace it had been once. There would always be the occasional person hurrying on an errand, a Marya patrol, people listening to the Marya recruiter on the stage next to the Café Giza, or the one guy consistently working on his motorcycle because it’s the only outlet he has for his worries and fears. None of them are out now. Even without a spy the fact that the villagers actually know something is going on would be pretty obvious.
Most of the Marya and the Assassins have dispersed. Desmond still spots a few Assassins hanging around concealed on roofs around the barricades and walls and the actual Council delegation itself. It’s smart positioning. The Atenists can storm in, thinking they have the upper hand, and not know what hit them. If they’re anything like his mom they’re armed with throwing knives, which are perfect for perches like that.
And then Desmond hears two sounds that make him smile and pick up his pace. The first smacks into his shoulder with a little more emphasis than normal; he’s actually kind of guessing that Rukh misjudged his strength a little, but Desmond was able to brace enough that that wasn’t an issue. The second, well.
“Rebecca, no.” Shaun’s having some kind of argument with Rebecca again. It’s more of a tennis match than an actual fight; he’s seen them give each other dark looks or the occasional protest when either of them goes too far, but it’s not something either of them appears to actually hold grudges over. Despite their tones sometimes.
“But just think about this, Shaun: Rebecca, yes.” There’s laughter in her voice, but Desmond’s not going to make the mistake of thinking she hadn’t at least floated the idea, whatever it is, seriously. She’s capable of both at once. Desmond’s best guess is some kind of stunt to flush them out, and if she thinks she’s doing that alone, she’s going to be surprised.
She’s also, interestingly, standing next to some non-human he’s only seen in the fight club in Darkside before. The woman had had a less human form before, with a lion’s body and wings, but appears to have taken a human form here to blend in. He wouldn’t even know that if she didn’t have that appearance overlaid in Eagle Vision when he looks at her, thankfully in a shimmering blue. It’s disconcerting and he quickly stops as she glances at him with an amused smile like she knows exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t recognize the species from the pamphlet Shaun made.
Shaun being Shaun, he doesn’t immediately concede, still lecturing from the call even as Rebecca starts turning the phone toward Desmond. “I did think about it. That’s precisely why I’m saying—ah, here comes the man of the hour. Desmond, hello, nice of you to join us. Could you please tell Rebecca you don’t need a bodyguard?”
Desmond’s mind goes blank. He just kind of reacts. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
In unison, everyone else says, “Yes, you do.” Well, not Osorio, who’s looking a little confused. Even Lydia and Chelsea say it as they return and settle up on one of the Council crates and the warehouse wall respectively, even if they don’t have the whole picture yet. Rukh doesn’t say it, even if he probably could, but he does poke Desmond with a talon as if for emphasis.
Rebecca continues smoothly. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I figure you’ll have a better incentive if there’s someone else right there whose job it is to do that. Because you wouldn’t want to inconvenience them, right?”
It’s not to spy on him. Well, okay, it’s not like Desmond knows that for sure. This is coming after Desmond figured out a way to avoid her phone surveillance. But she’d also agreed with Lucy about the curfew in Monteriggioni, and even though she’s here now, she’s slightly retired from the field due to an injury, so she can’t necessarily watch his back herself. And also based on her attempting to get Desmond or Shaun to confess to each other, she’s not above a little manipulation. Sure, she’s actually saying it straight out this time, but it’s not as if that makes it any less effective. Her main point is to have a constant reminder that other people care when Shaun and Rebecca aren’t there in person. And she’d been smart enough not to put it in a way that would insult Lydia, Chelsea, or Rukh, even though she wouldn’t be doing this if she thought they’d been effective in discouraging him from putting himself in harm’s way.
It’s not honestly the worst idea. It’s annoying to be treated like a kid, but recruitment is part of playing Mentor, and if there’s anything like Loki here in Egypt, another pair of hands could be really useful. And it’s not like she’s acting like he’s incapable. Besides, neither of them are expecting him to say yes, so if he does, it could be kind of funny.
He looks back at the woman, who didn’t bother to look away like he did. She’s also not blinking, he notices. He files specifics about that and the way she moves away for later. If he’s better about spotting non-humans in the future, maybe he won’t get blindsided by beings like Loki again. “I know you agreed to it, but how do you feel about this?”
She shrugs. “Curious. Returning to old ways. And I have a debt to pay, though I suspect Rebecca was not meant to share her winnings with me on my victories.”
That’s one of the most Rebecca stories he’s ever heard. He turns that over in his head. It wouldn’t hurt to know more about his potential future bodyguard. “Old ways? So you’ve done the bodyguard thing before. It’s not just the fight club in Darkside.”
“More protection,” she clarifies, as if that actually makes anything clearer at all. Or, well, it wouldn’t, normally, but thanks to Alice Desmond’s getting better at speaking cryptic. It’s not being vague, he gets the feeling. She’s being really precise, and it just sounds vague if you don’t know that she’s not human and that’s, like, her domain or whatever. She also doesn’t feel like an Isu or Loki, but she’s also stronger than your average zombie. If he had to guess she’s somewhere around the Bogeyman or maybe a Jinn in terms of power.
“Does that include protection from the Filth?” He just might understand that curiosity thing.
“My powers are limited.” Which translates to, yes, to a point, but more as a last resort, which is pretty much the conclusion Desmond’s coming to for this, too.
Shaun’s frowning at him now. And yeah, okay, so sometimes Desmond can be a little reckless, but even if he’s better off when dealing with that stuff than, like, ninety percent of the beings in this world, it’s nasty enough he’s not going to just go poking it with a stick, either. “So are mine,” he agrees, and while it doesn’t go away entirely Shaun’s frown does lighten a little, which is nice. Not that he’s not hot when he’s scowling, or put ideas into Desmond’s head that really are better left for private time later, but the guy already worries about too much. It’s nice that Shaun cares, but he really needs to relax more.
A little of that detachment fades from the woman’s eyes as she leans forward, suddenly intense and focused, which does confirm that she, at least, had been interested in his powers and finding out how they work, maybe. Desmond’s not sure how likely that is, how much the Calculations have a counterpart in this world, or how easy it would be for someone to figure that out. “My name in the arena is Nin. You may call me that, too.”
“Or ‘queen’ in Sumerian…” Shaun mutters, more to himself than anyone else. Her smile growing says she heard, but definitely isn’t acknowledging it.
“So, Desmond, about the city…” Lydia starts, and gets interrupted.
Desmond had thought, at first, that the man waiting with the Council was a local recruited to the Marya, between the robe and turban. From the speech he launches into, though, that’s apparently not true. “I realize you may not even recognize me. From what I am told, you have saved many from Al-Merayah, and to a hero such as yourself the dealings of the people, especially those as lowly as I, may seem mundane and far away. But you saved me from a horrible fate at the hands of the ghouls, especially when many would leave one such as I to my fate, and I would like to repay your kindness. I wondered what I could do to help you against the Atenists that plague this village, and realized I am not useless. I am a pickpocket and used to going unseen. I could potentially retrieve or overhear conversations that might help.”
Like Desmond would leave him to die just because he’s a thief. No Assassin could judge that, anyway. He might judge if the guy was a cultist spy, but based on Eagle Vision that’s not the case. Rukh’s also staring at him, evaluating, and based on the way the raven stops staring and starts looking around at the rest of the village instead, he’d passed that test too. “Anybody who would value property over life isn’t someone worth knowing.” And actually, on that note… “But we’re just about to end the siege of the Atenists, one way or another. You, uh…”
“Khalil Magdi Shakil al-Masri,” the man supplies hopefully. Desmond’s mind stalls briefly before realizing that people probably just got tired of actually listing out the whole ‘son of’ part and just dropped it leaving the names behind. Right, gotcha, not lineages he recognizes immediately. He doesn’t know why, but he’d been half-expecting a ‘Jamal’ or something. Maybe it’s just that his brain is on high alert looking for ominous things right now.
“Are you okay if I just call you Khalil, or…” It’s important to get that figured out, if they’re going to be working together.
“Given your status, I don’t think I deserve a ‘mister’,” Khalil admits, with a self-depreciating smile.
So far, he’s cool. And if he’s any good, he can help demonstrate some of the techniques to the others, because Desmond probably needs to start teaching them more so they’re ready for the next time. “Fair enough. Khalil, can you fight? If not, you should probably stay here with the Council for now.”
“I have had to defend myself with my blade, but I won’t say I am a master.” He takes out a dagger as if in demonstration. The grip isn’t bad and his stance is mostly good, but he’s just a little too tense and could probably get knocked over if he’s not careful. It’s easy enough to correct that, though.
Desmond considers. He can definitely work with that; Khalil’s definitely not the first thief the Assassins have recruited, and training the different skills with a foundation to work off is doable. “You can come with us and just stay in the middle, or you can wait. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
Khalil hesitates and then walks over to the group, swallowing any nervousness. He’s not fully confident, but he’s not worried enough that he’d rather wait. It could be an ego thing, but Desmond was careful not to have any judgment in his tone either way because there’s no shame in admitting a need to learn, especially when somebody else can cover it, so if he’d felt any of that it was all in his own head. Desmond resolves to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s fine. Thankfully the others he’s recruited will watch out for him, too, so it’s not like they’re throwing him into the deep end.
“Did I miss something? Were we all supposed to have our resumes? I didn’t prep mine, and the last time we were anywhere near a printer was in London.” Lydia hadn’t been taking the interruptions well, obviously, and had been just waiting for her chance to do the same thing. She just smirks when he shakes his head at her, though.
“Nah. You’d probably have a pretty big experience section over a skill section anyway.” They all stare at him for a moment, even Rebecca. “What? No, technically I never had to write one, but I did get to hear the occasional patron bitching about parts of the job hunt. From what they said that makes me really lucky.”
It’s a nice feeling, having Shaun hang onto his words the way he hangs onto Shaun’s. Having Shaun tuck away little details like that like they’re special. Like Desmond’s special. Which, yeah, okay, if you count all the Isu genetic engineering and the Calculations and having saved the world, sure, but Shaun crucially doesn’t know any of that and still thinks Desmond’s special for some reason, which makes him feel much more like they’re on equal footing. Shaun obviously has more interesting knowledge to talk about, but it’s still nice that he cares about even the boring stuff.
That amuses her. “Well, you’d be right about the experience. Worst news first, the well’s out. I don’t know how much Filth they poured in there this morning, but when your source of water starts sprouting tentacles you’re in trouble. We’re going to have to ship in water, or something, with those dry streambeds out there, and it’s not pretty. We could maybe try to get in contact with the druids to call down rain, because let’s face it, this place needs it.”
“If they haven’t escalated their attack on the food supplies yet, they will,” Desmond warns Osorio, and she makes a note and hands it off to one of the Assassins that swings down over the rooftop to sprint off to a Marya patrol.
Lydia nods. “And it’s all hands on deck. We’ve been using your mom’s, uh—Eagle Vision, did you call it—to pick out people we can trust.”
He was hoping she hadn’t caught that, but then, he was training Assassins who cared and actually want to know more about him and, being Assassins, are just generally nosy, too. It’d been a vain hope and he’d kind of known that at the time, but also, if he doesn’t have hope, what does he have?
She continues without actually acknowledging his reaction, but that doesn’t mean that she didn’t catch it. Unfortunately. “We dealt with a couple undercover Atenists along the way, got a couple sign-ups, and, unfortunately, found one guy that got one of those tainted boxes of dates. Maybe you could’ve healed him, but he’d been there a while, and while he realized the problem with the dates it was too late to do anything but deal with himself before the Filth really took root.”
Desmond reflexively winces. “That must have sucked.”
Chelsea takes up the story with enthusiasm. She’s actually getting into the ‘working with Lydia’ thing now which is good. “We could describe that as an understatement, but at least his family knows what happened to him, now. You’ve actually met the woman—Yousra, the one with the bomb under her sink. She was focused but I don’t think she really had time to let it sink in. She was too busy trying to fit as many people as she could into her house—safety in numbers, she told us, as long as there weren’t bombs. Which she had us check for three times. Miriam ensured none of them meant harm and they have Marya stationed for protection. It’s not all of them, of course—some of them declined to go, but it’s a good number of the remaining villagers. Miriam then went to go scout under the cliffs, though that’s probably too obvious.”
“Aha!” Shaun exclaims, serving as yet another interruption. Lydia doesn’t start pouting, though, maybe because they’d finally gotten out their story, even if Desmond hadn’t responded yet. “I didn’t call for a lark, or to scold Rebecca for another of her harebrained schemes. Those were, I suppose, just perks. I did so because I was very near to actually pinpointing the tunnels. I didn’t expect to find anything on the history of the area, and I was right on that front; the official story is that the cult of the Aten disbanded entirely after Akhenaten was no longer on the throne, and any conspiracies about their surviving into the present day can be traced to Illuminati misinformation sources that, as you would presume, are far from reliable. Going back briefly to an earlier anecdote—his son was likely Tutankhaten, who later changed his name to Tutankhamun to follow the suggestions of his advisors and further erase the Aten. The boy pharaoh, most famous pharaoh of them all, et cetera.”
“Woah. Okay, yeah, you’re right, even I know that one.” It’s not like he doesn’t know history is more than just words on a page, it’s just...he doesn’t know a lot about Egypt.
Shaun smirks a little. Gloating about being right and being able to share with Desmond, probably. “However, I was able to track down a more modern thread, unrelated to all of the information about the Aten. Looking into Al-Merayah was the key. A company was called in recently to update irrigation canals in the area and add pumps and plumbing for Daoud’s farm. The sort of trivial detail I first didn’t think led anywhere. But there was also a note about a charitable gift to the town as well—again, at first, I thought that was merely his attempt to pass on Filth water. It kept bothering me, though, so I finally went back and looked through and wouldn’t you know it, that company did actually apply for permits specifically to update ancient sewage tunnels in the city.”
That’s...actually kind of cool. Other than the fact that if Desmond has to swim through ancient sewers again, he’ll be very not happy about it. Rukh’s lucky that he can fly. “So do you think they know about, you know, all the Filth stuff?”
Shaun’s fingers are flying over the keys as he responds. “Given the rest of their portfolio, unlikely. This is their first encounter with the so-called secret world. I’d guess they also haven’t made it out to the site to begin construction yet, or if they did, well, the Atenists made the mistake of snatching them and scrambling their brains before they’d completed the work. It’s not like it’s an unheard of request, either. Unusual, certainly. But, in fact, the same sort of retrofitting work has been done in Pompeii. Most things did not survive the volcano, but the drainage system was still intact, and the Romans were, in general, very clever about their architecture. Reusing old systems in working order with a few more modernizations is smart and, more importantly in this capitalist day and age, saves money. Another incredible thing about this kind of paperwork—in order to get approvals and permits, companies need to actually be very detailed and give things like precise layouts. Getting my hands on a copy of the paperwork was the only actually difficult part once I’d found that mention on the company website and newspaper announcement. One of the main entrances is a maintenance door near the entrance to the farm, actually. I’m sending the map and coordinates to your phone.”
This is a good group of people Desmond has here, and he’s proud of all of them. “Good work, everybody. Let’s go kick some cultist ass.”
Shaun quickly hides the smile and actual adorable giggle behind his cup of tea, and it does absolutely nothing to erase the evidence of either of them. “You are, somehow, stranger than your average American and there’s probably something wrong with me to find that attractive.”
“Hey, I’m just happy you do.” It’s not—Desmond’s been active, he knows that he’s physically good-looking for a bunch of people, but there’s something special in the way that Shaun cares about more than just his looks. Shaun looks a little softer in the sweater vest. Wistful, like when he’d been thinking about holding Desmond’s hand.
“Stay safe.” That’s as good a sendoff as any, and they really shouldn’t delay at this point, either.
