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ezio auditore da firenze

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[Ezio is about to bust out the most intense filter work of his life. He has never done a complicated filter before, and he needs to do this right.]

----- Inventors, technology experts, mechanics, but barring those who seek power -----

[he clears his throat, then in that thick Italian accent:]

Hello... my name is Ezio Auditore, and I seek an inventor or mechanic or... esperto of some kind. I have obtained an object of great importance, but I do not know what it does, or what it is capable of.

But I need someone I can trust, someone with the right... sensitivities for this object.

-----Historians and Religious people, barring Lucrezia Borgia -----

[Still more thick Italian accent:]

I seek information about Pope Alexander VI.

-----

[And, with that done, you can find him in the kitchen, contemplating the microwave.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Is that a less-than-subtle hint for a certain priest to, perhaps, cough up certain dates...?

Yes.

But where is the magic word, my fine friend?!

Please, per favore, or in whatever language pleases you.

There is no language finer than that of humility, dear Mr. Auditore. [or he's just trolling you, whatever.]

In that case, I suppose I can part with the details. But... under one condition, okay?

[Biting back a grumble.]

What is the condition?

I would really hate for this to be a shadow over you. One way, or another. I'm not the kind of man who could sleep well at night doing that kind of thing to someone else, you know? It's clearly important to you... but remember that nothing is set in stone.

Long as you can keep that in mind and take this with a grain of salt, then... I won't have a problem obliging. Okay?

[He's tempted to point out that it has been a shadow over him for ten years, that it's only agony as long as it's dangled in front of his face, that it's pointless to say it's not set in stone when it's HISTORY, but...

Calmly:]

I accept those terms.

[anyone else would probably doubt him with such a candid response.

Abel, however, takes him in total faith (like an idiot?? you decide)]

...Then! I'm shaking the journal right now. Like a handshake, mm? So--

[...]

So, ah. Um.

[......................................

no he didn't forget... what are you talking about... this awkward silence does NOT imply that at all don't misjudge the situation...!!!]

[a touch impatient]

... the date is?

H-haha. The... the funny thing is, I-- ah.

[he is contemplating escape. SHUT THE JOURNAL??]

I might've... uh... Y-you know, the thing is-- those tricky... those... dates, you know...

--Um.

[...]

... Do you mean to say you do not know?

...That is one deduction...

[He misses his old church.]

I believe we are done here.

--Wait! Wait, okay? Just wait one minute!

My wife might know better than me, al... alright?! Give me two minutes! Two! One, two-- and I'll be right back. I promise!

...Don't hang up! [or shut the journal, whatever.]

You have five minutes.

[there is the scrape of a chair against floorboards, and footsteps; a faint "LILITH" oh dear god in the distance.

some muffled talking...

...footsteps approaching again, that voice a little bit distant as he replies.]

--1503! S-see? [and now he's back properly, taking his chair.] You owe Lilith for that one, Mr. Auditore!

[Something in his mind tells him that the polite thing to do now would be to thank Abel and his wife -- and maybe be surprised that a priest is still married at all -- but he's too distracted by the year. His heart sinks again, worse than it did when it was suggested that anyone but an unknown Assassin had killed him. 1503? That's so far away. That's fifteen whole years away.

So he's silent for a moment, utterly floored. He comes within a few inches of pounding his fist on his desk out of frustration, and he's sorely tempted to curse just to vent but he makes do with quiet theatrics on his side of the journal.]

[hm... he wonders if this silence is a good thing. honestly, he doesn't expect that it is ;(]

...Mr. Auditore?

[Ezio pays attention, when Abel prompts him, and he lets out a sigh, already weary under this new burden. He shouldn't have asked, he thinks. He should have just trusted that personal conviction that Borgia would be dead and buried within a year or two at most. But fifteen? Fifteen whole years? It seems like an eternity.

In a different space, he would just flip anyone who told him "how things were" the finger and lunge out to change history, but here, divorced entirely from his homeland and far out of reach, it feels exhausting.

He knows he sounds just as resigned as he feels.]

Thank you, and please pass my thanks on to your wife.

[that... does not sound. good. ;(

there's a pause on this end... b-bro damnit, you promised him you wouldn't-- ahh. perhaps he should've held his tongue, after all...]

...Is this news that disheartening to you?

[Forcing himself to sound a bit more mature about it.]

No, Father. It's just not the answer I was looking for. I am sincerely thankful, though.

It's nothing. If you might not have much faith in the clergy in your world, at least I can leave you with a slightly better impression with the ones, here.

[and he can hope that if he and Ezio are from the same 'earth,' that it means he didn't do something rash and try to end the Pope's life himself. he sounds... well, motivated... even if such an idea would probably be suicide.]

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