Ghost Upon the Floor

[madimpossibledreamer]

Originally, the bird was going to be named Shabh, for 'ghost', but, uh.  On further research that has connotations I really don't want him to have, so he's a Roc instead :)

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond uncovers the truth and makes a friend.
Word Count: 1361
Rating: Teen

 

         What he finds, uncomfortably, is something pretty familiar. Larry’s not too chatty, though at least he doesn’t attack anybody in the station. He does happen to be painting a message on the wall with his own blood.
         “Jesus.” It’d been disturbing enough to see it the first time, but he didn’t actually have to watch Clay do it.
         He can pretty much guess what happens next—either Larry gets murdered or, work done, he kills himself. Either way, the old deputy comes along and cleans up the evidence, and then, for twenty-five years, the Sheriff doesn’t bother investigating, because it’s not like anyone would listen. Well. Maybe her new deputy, Norma definitely would, and her partner maybe, but it wouldn’t be enough to clear his name.
         The message is just about as clear as Clay’s early rambles, too—“The white ravens whisper/Golden Girls sorrowful/Secrets are never told.” It sounds like a song.
         “You just like pulling clues outta your hat like you’re some magician,” Bannerman mutters, impressed. “Sorry, though, it don’t sound familiar.”
         He figures maybe he’s going to have to go back into the files, or try to get into the database, or ask someone something, only he hears a commotion outside. The ravens that so far haven’t been loud, like any sort of noise is dangerous in this place, aren’t bothering to try to be quiet anymore. They sound like they’re cawing like crows, like they’re mobbing a bird. “I might have figured it out,” he tells them, because it’d be weird if he just left, and then he walks outside.
         A white raven, like the poem or whatever the hell that dying message was, is perched on the police car outside, but it soon takes off. As it flies, Desmond catches glimpses that make him pretty sure it’s a little seethrough, just like the ghost. He’s led to another raven, which takes off with the first, and another, and another, until he finds all seven sitting in a circle waiting for him, like they’re summoning something.
         He is absolutely calling it. This is some kind of Illuminati ritual.
         He walks up to one, and it whispers, “seven for a secret never to be told”. It’s weird hearing a raven talk, but he’s pretty sure they’re absolutely magic. It does mean that maybe the poem lyrics were a clue he needed. He approaches them each, until one of them whispers “six for gold”, but given that some of the others also said “one for sorrow” and “three for a girl”, he figures it’s worth trying it out.
         He tries shooing away the first one, but it just kind of sits there and eyes him, unconcerned. “What do you want from me?” Desmond asks, but the raven just clacks its beak and doesn’t move.
         He’s seen birds enjoy shiny things. It might take a bit to search through his bag, but he’s pretty sure he has a bit of change in there somewhere, from the museum, so eventually he’s holding out a penny. It twists its head to look at him, and then leans its little head into his hand before darting its head in to grab the coin from his hand and flying away.
         The rest, once he’s done, all fly off together, so he follows, since they’d led him here in the first place, and they lead him to a pumpkin patch, where he hears a voice.
         “Looking for Jack the Lad? You found him!” It looks humanoid enough, from where it rises out of the ground, some sort of orange-red plant thing with what might be a pumpkin for a head, but the biggest thing that has Desmond’s attention are the razor sharp wooden claws for hands, covered in what looks like drying blood. It takes one lurching step toward him, and Desmond is absolutely not sticking around to find out what will happen next. He’s never pulled himself to an Anima Well on his own before, but now seems to be a pretty good time to do it.
         It turns out he accidentally went to the one by the entrance to Agartha, so he’ll have a bit of a walk, but it’s fine. He wasn’t exactly paying attention which one he jumped to in his trying not to be butchered alive.
         It’s on his way back that he spots a white raven flitting between different vantage points behind him. “Can I help you?” Desmond asks, even though he knows that he’s probably not getting an answer, and for all he knows it’s just a ghost, like the runes on the chest.
         Surprisingly, it makes a low, guttural noise in response, blinks a few times, and inches closer.
         “Are you...wanting to come with me?” It’s the male lions that have manes, right? Is the same true of ravens?
         He sounds like he’s crying, hopping a little bit closer and stopping, like he’s not sure of his reception or if he trusts Desmond just yet.
         “How do you like the sound of ‘Alan’?” It wasn’t exactly difficult guitar-work, but he’d had fun figuring out how to play The Raven anyway. The raven makes a loud, aggressive noise like it’s mimicking a car alarm, jumping a bit and flapping its wings like it’s trying to intimidate him, and it makes him laugh. “Okay, fine, not Alan. Let me think.” It’s honestly reminding him a bit of Altaïr, aloof but curious...and hey, he actually remembers a few words in Arabic, and there’s one that comes to mind.  Not that he's big enough for it to actually apply, but, well, he's got the spirit to make up for the lack of size. “How about Rukh?”
         The raven clicks its beak and makes a ‘gwah’ sound, hopping closer. Guess he’s chosen his name.
         “Nice to meet you, Rukh. I don’t have any of the food I’d been collecting for the survivors on me. I’ve already given that away.” Rukh clacks his beak in disappointment. “Tell you what, why don’t we swing by the deli? We can probably find you something non-expired.”
         He’s not quite ready for the raven to just...launch straight at him, and it messes with his balance a little as he suddenly has a shoulderful of bird. The raven then turns around, croaking a little in Desmond’s ear as if asking what’s taking them so long.
         “Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he grumbles, but it’s kind of fun, too. Although lockpicking a door is slightly harder with a bird on your shoulder, particularly when he tries to steal the lockpicks. Twice.
         Rebecca’s text, this time, as he gets a picture of Rukh just going to town on a bag of peanuts, is a little more in-depth than previous occasions.

Rebecca: A raven, huh? Good going, Des; they’re really smart, even the ones that aren’t magic, so you could probably train him to help you hunt zombies or whatever.

Me: Pretty sure zombie tastes terrible, though

Me: not sure I want to subject him to the taste.

Rebecca: he could always use his talons, not his beak

Rebecca: or just mob the enemy. Fly in circles around it. They’re pretty good at maneuvering circles around anything really assuming internet videos have not lied to me

         “What do you think, buddy? Zombies not on the menu?” he asks out loud. Rukh pauses in tearing another bag open, as if considering the question, and makes the car alarm sound again, which probably means that’s a no-go. He seems pretty content with two bags of peanuts, though, climbing back up Desmond’s shoulder again, which means it’s time to fill Bannerman in.
         The Sheriff pales when he mentions ‘Jack the Lad’, though. “Just stories, sort of thing parents tell their little girls. ‘Don’t go dating strange men, or Jack the Lad’s gonna get ya.’ Never figured there was anything to it.”
         “Well, it wasn’t human, that’s for sure. You were right all along. Larry died an innocent man.” She nods and thanks him, but he gets the feeling she’d really rather deal with the news alone—well, as alone as one can get during the zombie apocalypse. So it’s time to look for clues somewhere else.