On the Trail
Dec. 14th, 2023 02:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerWelcome to autobotscoutriella!
Main Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond follows the Morninglight and tests out a few new powers (not entirely intentionally).
Word Count: 1241
Rating: Teen
The second they start moving like they’ve finished up their creepy personality test-pamphlet routine for the evening, Desmond’s eyes spring open. Maybe he’s giving something away by the ease he starts following them, but it’s not until he’s finally started doing something again that he realizes that yeah, he was getting bored. Maybe he should’ve figured that out already, although in his defense he hadn’t really thought about the fact that when most people say they’re ready to start climbing walls, they don’t mean it literally.
It looks like a change of the guard, actually, one set of Morninglight people swapping out for another, because London doesn’t seem to sleep any more than New York. This area of London, anyway. That’s honestly the trickiest part. The other Morninglight don’t seem like they expect to be followed, so they’re not even looking for it.
Hilariously, since Desmond has Eagle Vision, he can feel his own followers cautiously starting to pick up a few things. Honestly, it’s a pretty good teaching technique, and it’ll probably serve them well, later.
They don’t take him anywhere interesting, just one of the ‘flats’ in Ealdwic. It’s not even that far, which is a bit of a letdown. He’d say it’s weird, but he’s one to talk. Sure, they’d had a little more space in the Grand Temple, but before that there hadn’t been much space to spread out unnoticed, so occasionally Rebecca’s snores or Shaun grabbing a new cup of tea or coffee would wake him up. (She’d sometimes fall asleep on the Animus, which she’d made as comfortable as she could, but still.)
Desmond’s just trying to decide where he wants to go for food when an eagle screeches, again, and he throws himself to the side just in time. But there’s a cry behind him, and damn, the Templars following him! One of them must have been in the line of fire. He starts sprinting in the direction of the red figure peeking around the corner of the building, but it disappears in blinding gold, which means Agartha, if he’s not mistaken. Which probably means one of the other factions. Maybe even the Illuminati, given their threat. But also, Geary didn’t think that would be permanent, so...what did they even hope to get from this? Maybe, maybe it’s the Dragon, trying to see what he’d do, but—
No time for that, so he turns right back around and sprints back, right to where the woman’s lying on the street. She’s young. Not as young as the woman in the park, but still. Young. Sure, he’s giving away that he’s known about them, but he’s not going to let a woman bleed out—
would the Templar do this to one of their own just to make him give himself away—? And there’s that Council, and Orochi, he barely knows anything about them, it’s probably not Morninglight; he’s pretty sure they didn’t have the time to call out a hit—
A man, red but it’s wavering, “You knew—”
Desmond interrupts him. “I mean, I’d follow me, too, but please. Let me help.”
“She’s Bee-touched,” he retorts, venom losing its bite, and Desmond meets his eyes, fierce and defiant.
“Yeah, so that means we should just ignore her pain and suffering?” Even if she’ll come back from this, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. Nobody else has any objections.
He operates more on autopilot than anything, after he’s asked her whether she wants him to end her suffering or try to take the bullet out. Well. He only gets out the first half before she’s shaking her head frantically, so he supposes that solves that. He’s pretty sure that if he does nothing, they’re not about to “waste” money sending her to the hospital when she could just temporarily die and get it over with, and he gets that, but when she doesn’t want that to happen, he’s going to do his best to help. He’s vaguely aware someone else is talking to the police, and he’ll probably owe them for that, because no one tries to interfere.
One of the other trainees, apparently, is a master of healing magic, and he wasn’t going to step in. Desmond would say this world is really messed up, but no, he’d experienced something similar on the Farm. Anything that didn’t kill you—or at least, didn’t kill you permanently, he supposes—was to be ignored as long as it didn’t interfere with duties. Sheepishly, and a little incredulously, he’s walked through it, too—apparently that’s something every recruit’s supposed to get, a quick introduction to all of the powers. He’s pretty sure he’s not doing it correctly, but he still has absolutely no idea how this blood magic thing works, or how his arm is doing the thing (it’s glowing, he can actually feel it a little, but his sleeve is down far enough, they’re not paying attention, or they’re just not calling attention the fact they’ve noticed).
What it actually feels like is like he’s messing around with the Calculations, again, somehow, except he absolutely shouldn’t have access to those anymore so, like, what the hell, restoring her to a previous state. Still, whatever he’s doing is working, and he can actually feel himself get more tired, but seriously, they’re not on the battlefield, this kind of thing doesn’t happen that often in this area of London, why the hell wouldn’t they just use a little energy for this? He’s probably not feeling his left hand until tomorrow, but it’s fine. She thanks him when he’s done in a quiet voice. She hadn’t been screaming, just clinging with a death grip, but pain has a way of stealing your energy. He makes sure to get her name—Chelsea. The now light red guy glares, but he explains he’ll probably want to check in with her later, make sure she’s okay, or at least hear that from someone.
Well. He’d gone looking for excitement. He’d found it. He’s ready to collapse into one of those booths in the Horned God, though.
Main Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond follows the Morninglight and tests out a few new powers (not entirely intentionally).
Word Count: 1241
Rating: Teen
Desmond pretends he’s fallen asleep, sitting there on the stage on the opposite side of ‘Camelot’. Honestly, he’s pretty much just sitting there meditating, focusing on his senses. It hurts a little, so he’s grateful for having his eyes closed so it’s not worse. If he was doing this from high up, maybe it wouldn’t feel like he was pushing his brain like this, but he doesn’t want to worry the Templars now. He still feels the Morninglight there, in the direction he’s facing, and the Fallen King to his left, though oddly enough while the Fallen King is now white, his puppet is a dull gold, but it also feels like it’s saying ‘not for you’, which is doubly weird because Eagle Vision is, as far as Desmond knows, pretty personal and therefore any information he’s given should be relevant to him and only him. Maybe it’s for later, maybe it’s just saying that this guy is important, but, like Shaun was saying, it mostly just affects Templars and he was caught up in it for some reason. Blending into the crowd are the Templar agents watching him, the usual assortment of color. There’s only one who’s red, probably, like Machiavelli, explicitly put there as the skeptic who’d end Desmond if necessary. Behind him, the wannabe knight and the girl are, refreshingly, a bright blue.
The second they start moving like they’ve finished up their creepy personality test-pamphlet routine for the evening, Desmond’s eyes spring open. Maybe he’s giving something away by the ease he starts following them, but it’s not until he’s finally started doing something again that he realizes that yeah, he was getting bored. Maybe he should’ve figured that out already, although in his defense he hadn’t really thought about the fact that when most people say they’re ready to start climbing walls, they don’t mean it literally.
It looks like a change of the guard, actually, one set of Morninglight people swapping out for another, because London doesn’t seem to sleep any more than New York. This area of London, anyway. That’s honestly the trickiest part. The other Morninglight don’t seem like they expect to be followed, so they’re not even looking for it.
Hilariously, since Desmond has Eagle Vision, he can feel his own followers cautiously starting to pick up a few things. Honestly, it’s a pretty good teaching technique, and it’ll probably serve them well, later.
They don’t take him anywhere interesting, just one of the ‘flats’ in Ealdwic. It’s not even that far, which is a bit of a letdown. He’d say it’s weird, but he’s one to talk. Sure, they’d had a little more space in the Grand Temple, but before that there hadn’t been much space to spread out unnoticed, so occasionally Rebecca’s snores or Shaun grabbing a new cup of tea or coffee would wake him up. (She’d sometimes fall asleep on the Animus, which she’d made as comfortable as she could, but still.)
Desmond’s just trying to decide where he wants to go for food when an eagle screeches, again, and he throws himself to the side just in time. But there’s a cry behind him, and damn, the Templars following him! One of them must have been in the line of fire. He starts sprinting in the direction of the red figure peeking around the corner of the building, but it disappears in blinding gold, which means Agartha, if he’s not mistaken. Which probably means one of the other factions. Maybe even the Illuminati, given their threat. But also, Geary didn’t think that would be permanent, so...what did they even hope to get from this? Maybe, maybe it’s the Dragon, trying to see what he’d do, but—
No time for that, so he turns right back around and sprints back, right to where the woman’s lying on the street. She’s young. Not as young as the woman in the park, but still. Young. Sure, he’s giving away that he’s known about them, but he’s not going to let a woman bleed out—
would the Templar do this to one of their own just to make him give himself away—? And there’s that Council, and Orochi, he barely knows anything about them, it’s probably not Morninglight; he’s pretty sure they didn’t have the time to call out a hit—
A man, red but it’s wavering, “You knew—”
Desmond interrupts him. “I mean, I’d follow me, too, but please. Let me help.”
“She’s Bee-touched,” he retorts, venom losing its bite, and Desmond meets his eyes, fierce and defiant.
“Yeah, so that means we should just ignore her pain and suffering?” Even if she’ll come back from this, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. Nobody else has any objections.
He operates more on autopilot than anything, after he’s asked her whether she wants him to end her suffering or try to take the bullet out. Well. He only gets out the first half before she’s shaking her head frantically, so he supposes that solves that. He’s pretty sure that if he does nothing, they’re not about to “waste” money sending her to the hospital when she could just temporarily die and get it over with, and he gets that, but when she doesn’t want that to happen, he’s going to do his best to help. He’s vaguely aware someone else is talking to the police, and he’ll probably owe them for that, because no one tries to interfere.
One of the other trainees, apparently, is a master of healing magic, and he wasn’t going to step in. Desmond would say this world is really messed up, but no, he’d experienced something similar on the Farm. Anything that didn’t kill you—or at least, didn’t kill you permanently, he supposes—was to be ignored as long as it didn’t interfere with duties. Sheepishly, and a little incredulously, he’s walked through it, too—apparently that’s something every recruit’s supposed to get, a quick introduction to all of the powers. He’s pretty sure he’s not doing it correctly, but he still has absolutely no idea how this blood magic thing works, or how his arm is doing the thing (it’s glowing, he can actually feel it a little, but his sleeve is down far enough, they’re not paying attention, or they’re just not calling attention the fact they’ve noticed).
What it actually feels like is like he’s messing around with the Calculations, again, somehow, except he absolutely shouldn’t have access to those anymore so, like, what the hell, restoring her to a previous state. Still, whatever he’s doing is working, and he can actually feel himself get more tired, but seriously, they’re not on the battlefield, this kind of thing doesn’t happen that often in this area of London, why the hell wouldn’t they just use a little energy for this? He’s probably not feeling his left hand until tomorrow, but it’s fine. She thanks him when he’s done in a quiet voice. She hadn’t been screaming, just clinging with a death grip, but pain has a way of stealing your energy. He makes sure to get her name—Chelsea. The now light red guy glares, but he explains he’ll probably want to check in with her later, make sure she’s okay, or at least hear that from someone.
Well. He’d gone looking for excitement. He’d found it. He’s ready to collapse into one of those booths in the Horned God, though.
