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fightfair.livejournal.comIt was supposed to be simple.
The assignment had barely spanned a half a page in length, almost lost within the pile of other, more involved missions that covered the flat surface of the headquarters table back on Tiber Island. It was just a simple hand-off, a delivery of sorts, set up as a small series of pass-offs for a small, innocuous package wrapped in wax paper, with a handful of recruits stationed around Roma, as to avoid Templar detection. Basically, it was an elaborate game of pass-the-baton, and Vico was was the fourth of five assassins to receive the package.
The problem was a combination of bad luck and poor awareness by the novice before him. The man hadn't noticed a pair of Borgia guards eyeing him as he ducked into an alley to meet Vico, so rushed was he to get his part of the mission over. Awareness in the city had been raised by Cesare Borgia lately, and the guards that had tailed him had lingered long enough in the shadows to see him pass the wrapped box off before they sprung, arms already drawn.
The unanimous decision had been to split and run. Rather than dividing the enemy forces, though, it had been Vico's poor luck that all three of the guards had turned to follow his trail rather than the other assassin's. It was due to an overdue bit of good luck, then that he had managed to escape at all, hiding in the shadowed balcony of some unsuspecting Roman noble near the Northwestern district of the city - but not without being a little worse for the wear.
He slid down the wall and hissed at the pain in his side. It was a shallow cut, just above his hip - a glancing blow from the tip of a well-timed rapier, but it was messy and bleeding too much to be comfortable or inconspicuous. "Merda," he swore, clamping down a gloved hand on his side. The other was holding the package, which was still the first order of business - he would have to get that to the next assassin before seeking medical help. The wound was irritating, but not fatal, and they had wasted enough time already for the chase.
Gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath through them, Vico pushed back up to his feet and swung over the edge of the balcony, climbing to his rooftop. If he recalled correctly, the rendezvous point, where he was to meet the last assassin involved in this elaborate delivery - some man named 'Pellegrino' - wouldn't be too far.
The assignment had barely spanned a half a page in length, almost lost within the pile of other, more involved missions that covered the flat surface of the headquarters table back on Tiber Island. It was just a simple hand-off, a delivery of sorts, set up as a small series of pass-offs for a small, innocuous package wrapped in wax paper, with a handful of recruits stationed around Roma, as to avoid Templar detection. Basically, it was an elaborate game of pass-the-baton, and Vico was was the fourth of five assassins to receive the package.
The problem was a combination of bad luck and poor awareness by the novice before him. The man hadn't noticed a pair of Borgia guards eyeing him as he ducked into an alley to meet Vico, so rushed was he to get his part of the mission over. Awareness in the city had been raised by Cesare Borgia lately, and the guards that had tailed him had lingered long enough in the shadows to see him pass the wrapped box off before they sprung, arms already drawn.
The unanimous decision had been to split and run. Rather than dividing the enemy forces, though, it had been Vico's poor luck that all three of the guards had turned to follow his trail rather than the other assassin's. It was due to an overdue bit of good luck, then that he had managed to escape at all, hiding in the shadowed balcony of some unsuspecting Roman noble near the Northwestern district of the city - but not without being a little worse for the wear.
He slid down the wall and hissed at the pain in his side. It was a shallow cut, just above his hip - a glancing blow from the tip of a well-timed rapier, but it was messy and bleeding too much to be comfortable or inconspicuous. "Merda," he swore, clamping down a gloved hand on his side. The other was holding the package, which was still the first order of business - he would have to get that to the next assassin before seeking medical help. The wound was irritating, but not fatal, and they had wasted enough time already for the chase.
Gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath through them, Vico pushed back up to his feet and swung over the edge of the balcony, climbing to his rooftop. If he recalled correctly, the rendezvous point, where he was to meet the last assassin involved in this elaborate delivery - some man named 'Pellegrino' - wouldn't be too far.
