35 Pages, 35 Inches of Pain - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 6

Hoo boy. 35 pages of pure cringe, Mary Sue shenanigans, and cuckery of our one and only French Assassin. Leave it to a Latinx to achieve such a feat - I sure as Hell couldn't. And what a holiday treat. I'm sure the New Year's chapter will be quite the hoot, but for now - on to the shitfest.

 A soft fog slept on the glass windows, dimly lighting the quarters with a gray ambiance. The only lit source was the imported candleholder near the main door, coruscating an orange beacon in the entire darkness and reflecting on any gold sheen of frames or rims.

Remember what I said about using language that sounds pretty but is beyond your skill to use? I think this is going to be a constant theme in this fic, if it wasn't established already. First, how is there a 'gray ambiance' in darkness? How is a single candleholder near the door showing such powerful light? When you can't use literary language properly, you create mental scenarios that don't make sense. The Devil is in the details, and you're conjuring Satan here.

“Keep it together…” It sounded from outside.

I exhaled, hearing the contemplating footsteps in the hallway. I paused, enclosing my flaming curls within the scarf around my head. The not-so-quiet person continuously treaded outside my door, then last second decided to wait for me downstairs. I downed whatever cold coffee I had retrieved last night before exiting my bedroom. Again, the shuffle of impatient feet; Arno had already been awake for a while.
Talking to himself to face this new ordeal, “Everything will be….fine. Introduce yourself. Yes, I should do that….” 

Instead of Bellec - excuse me, Black - mentoring Arno, the Great Satan will. And how will she do that? Act like she's better than everyone else, and that includes knocking down the main character a peg. Arno wasn't this shy in game; he's deliberately made shy so he can kiss the boots of Elysia. What does she have to bring to the Brotherhood? Because she's a magical Gypsy, dammit!

It almost made me wonder what he thought of, the political mayhem of it all. An elementary brain like his would be able to come up with some opinion about this whole damn mess.

But, we had other matters to attend to. 

Not only are you supplanting his character, you are insulting his intelligence. The Great Satan is without reproach; her intelligence is 200 IQ and then some. Arno has no idea what's going on in Paris because he's just a dim-witted servant. It's not as if Parisians were high in literacy and it would have been impossible for Arno to know what was going on, right? Let alone his experience in the Bastille?

But let's forget about that. We have other matters to attend to.

“How long as this been here, then? Hard to believe, this method of secrecy,” he refused the logic of it, gesturing his arm out in question despite him not being able to see it, “I mean, I’m still skeptical about everything…”

Of course you were.

“From what I’ve been told, it’s been around for the past six hundred years,” I decided to provide.
“That’s….long.” 

 Unlike the game, where Arno finds the Sanctuary himself after the key Bellec gave him, Elysia is the one to guide him to the Brotherhood. Why? Because it's just such a waste of her time and who is he, this pleb, to ask questions?

“If I were, you would’ve been in the room with the rats,” I eyed him, knowing he couldn’t see me staring, “Dead.”

“Ahh. Noted.”

Wow, what a badass. You sure you're not on Reddit?

 Arno’s grip on my arm loosened until he finally let go, able to walk on his own without having to trip every two minutes. The walkways provided many turns and loops, yet I remained on course to the true trail to arrive at a locked gate. A circular cut-out was stationed at where a keyhole would be. 

He has Eagle Vision, so like Great Satan, he should be able to see in the dark. He's only holding on to her arm because he's a big baby and he's beginning his turn into the Great Cuck.

“Master Elysia, who is it that you present?” Mirabeau declared, silencing the entire hold of hooded assassins as he lifted a hand to do so, varying colors and shapes directing their pointed fronts to signal Arno out from the aerial view.
Bellac’s teeth gritted as I met his gaze and spoke, “I have brought Arno Dorian to the Parisian Brotherhood.” The whispers rose again, this time far and few in-between as to not draw Mirabeau’s eye their way.

So, it's been established Arno has no self-sufficiency or drive of his own. Instead of him solving the puzzle and approaching the Assassins, who were waiting for him, Elysia has to parade him around as if he was a Florida panther. And, true to form, all the Mentors just love Elysia and consider her one of their own, despite her having no backstory there and jutting herself in there like the malaria.

Black deserves to grit his teeth. He was the one who recruited Arno, not you, Elysia. You're stealing the show for all the wrong reasons.

“I gave you that medallion to find me, pisspot,” Bellac started, the chain at his breast pocket snapping from how hard he had leaned, gripping the chair’s head. “Instead, I find you alongside her. Care to explain?”

“See, about that-“ Arno lifted a finger.

“I’m listening, intently,” Bellac reinforced, making a solid frown.

“I would say finding an assassin is much better than cracking a code, don’t you think??” Arno remained solid in his tone, one thick brow raised.
“Clearly a deranged idea,” the elder thumbed at me as I stared at his finger, unphased.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Arno rebutted, and the look of exasperation on Bellac’s face was quite priceless. “Getting here wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, either.” 

See, I agree with Black here. Bellec gave Arno that medallion personally after he trained him. Elysia had nothing to do with this. Of course, in this story she owns the Cafe, not Arno, so she is the one who has to drag Arno around by the ear. Instead of being sassy and skeptical of the whole affair, Arno turns to Elysia for validation and acceptance, as if she were Queen Victoria.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bellac curled his gloved, right hand up, debated whether to punch the bookshelf right in front of him, but refused a second later. Arno and I merely watched to see him pacing, muttering a few curses beneath his teeth.

“You’re asking for too much, Bellac,” I reaffirmed, and his displeasure furthered when he saw the glimmer of amusement in my tone, “You have your work cut out for you.”

“You had him…this whole fucking time,” he huffed out, taking a stand in front of me, “You didn’t bother to say anything??”

“You didn’t ask,” I smiled.

He chuckled agitatedly, shaking his dark mane in disbelief all the while Arno exchanged his eyes between us, “Fucking unbelievable. You fucking hellcat.” 

Poor Black. Elysia doesn't have to ask you, a Master Assassin, for help. She can do whatever she likes, without anyone's approval, and if you dare question her you need to check your privilege. No doubt Arno under this witch will be de-balled, de-sacked and thrown to the side of the road - along with the dick sucking he'll undertake once this 'original male character' enters the fray. Arno is entering twink status and we're only at the sixth chapter.

“In fact, you should be thanking me for even bringing him,” I replied next, earning a harsh stare from the boorish man. “Who knows what might’ve happened to him.”

“Over my dead body,” Bellac positioned himself in front of me, crossing his arms defensively.
“That can be arranged,” I defied back, not looking away.

I would pay big bucks for Black to shank this bitch. Not only is she completely unrelatable, but she positions herself as superior when she has not earned it. Black, a Master Assassin, should have had the say in regards to Arno because he was the one who trained him. In the previous chapter, Elysia was fine letting Arno to rot because she viewed him as a simpering idiot. It was a 'waste of her time' to bother to save him. She's only using this ace up her sleeve as a veiled threat; she doesn't actually care about Arno. She only sees him as a tool, and Arno, completely cucked, can't see what's happening.

“Are you mocking me, boy?” Bellac eyed him sideways, menacingly I should say.

“No, no, mere observation,” Arno leaned his head back, lifting his hand to deflect the accusation. “That’s all.”

He's not wrong. Black has every reason to distrust and hate this bitch, and yet he's seen as the villain. To me, he's goddamn right. In every story that tries to paint him as the villain, they inadvertently show him being right - every goddamn time. 

“I mean…you still have the option to decline him,” I offered to Bellac, resting a hand on my hip. Arno darted an offended pout my way. I ignored him, naturally.

This seemed to diffuse Bellac’s anger, and he rested himself back to standing up properly, his crossed limbs somewhat relaxed this time, “I didn’t spend countless hours wasted just so you can benefit from this, Elysia.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to benefit?”

Oh, the sassy 'hand on my hip' gesture. You're not going to benefit at all, Elysia, no more than anyone is going to benefit from this. Elysia, the perfect being, should just be given the Brotherhood so she can purge the Templar Rite once and for all. She doesn't like Arno, so why is she even bothering to train him? According to the summary, she's going to be the one to 'guide' him and 'fix' him, despite her clear distaste and hatred for him. In fact, she hates everyone. She thinks she's SHODAN but SHODAN actually was a compelling villain.

Elysia? She's supposed to be the 'hero'.

Mirabeau wasn’t one to allow spectacles, but even he knew it was near impossible; Arno Dorian was finally in the Brotherhood, a name thrown around consistently for the past week, and no doubt being Bellac’s intention. He wanted this, he wanted everyone to know Arno was going to be his next apprentice.

So much for being historically accurate and getting the 'Lore Down Pat'. Mirabeau actually was a man of spectacle; not only was he a prominent politician among the Third Estate, he was everything from an excellent orator to a pornographer. He had multiple scandals which nearly ruined his reputation, including being in the pay of the Austrians. He was such a man of spectacle Robespierre suspected it wouldn't benefit him in the end in his letters. He was right; Mirabeau died a few years later. But the point remains that Mirabeau not being a man of spectacle when historically he was and you write the initiation being a spectacle is a pretty damning contradiction.

Three authors. Three. 

What a damn fool.

He was too invested, this Arno. He was fresh, eager without any restrictions or boundaries for his consequences. He would be his undoing…and I wondered if Bellac already knew this.
And dared to anyways.

That's pretty fucking funny coming from you, Elysia. You have no restrictions or boundaries for your consequences. You weren't even willing to take him seriously. You have zero room to talk. You're condemning Arno for the same mistakes you make, albeit he's willing to be proactive with his and seek redemption. You? I don't know what you're seeking. Power? You've got the Brotherhood throwing cash at your historic e-girl status. You own the Cafe and presumably other social clubs. You have no issue stripping away the autonomy of the main character because you dislike him. 

Arno dares to be himself, whereas you dare to be an invasive, destructive force, like Asian carp in American rivers.  

Nevertheless he replied, "I….did not wholly believe in this 'Creed', I won’t lie to you. That everything Bellac had confine to me in our time in the Bastille could have been real. I…had my doubts, and I needed my proof. After our separation, I ran into her, Elysia.” Arno’s eyes drifted across the room to land on me. We didn’t part.

“Go on…” Mirabeau persuaded.

Arno chose his next words carefully before looking away, “What doubts I might have had against the Brotherhood were swept under by her words, and so I’ve come to ask for your aid.”

Since Arno didn't use his own abilities to seek out the Brotherhood, his autonomy comes second to Elysia's. He is, in effect, her dog. Convenient he runs into Elysia who trashes his existence and questions his abilities and in turn applauds her for it. If anything, that would turn off any rational person; or, if they were truly sarcastic, would tell the bitch to go choke on a dick. I certainly would. 

Elysia did nothing to convince Arno he was fit for the Brotherhood. She openly told him it was a fool's errand and there was 'no way' he'd fit in. Why Arno is not praising her words and very existence is unknown - but the author (s) are intent on making sure this Strong Woman has the last word.

“The boy seeks redemption,” Bellac cut in, and I could see the blaze igniting in Sophie’s irises. But what Arno answered next even halted Bellac’s words, and the newfound annoyance blossomed once more in his dark eyes. 

Why is Sophie Trenet getting angry at Black here? He's being honest. Or is Black supposed to be the heavy handed villain again?

Ugh….what the fuck. Again? 

You're telling me, Miss Border Hopper. You're telling me.

“…He shows dedication,” Quemar relented suddenly, fiddling with the curbed handle of his custom cane, his thumb stroking the metal hook at the end. “It is something to admire; six months in prison would have deterred any other man.”

Both Arno and Black were in the Bastille. Was Black deterred? No. Arno has more grit than this, but the author (s) are intent on making him a bitch. Pretty sure if you were thrown in prison, Les, you'd be throwing an Alexandria-Ocasio Cortez and demand that ICE give you free SUVs and green cards.

“A personal matter,” Sophie was none too shy to admit, and again gained a veiled glare from Bellac. “Vendettas can deceit the mind.”

“Goals can be altered for the greater cause,” Bellac stepped in. This time they held their testing gaze…and something melancholy deepened Sophie’s shadows. As if she suddenly grew tired, or remembered something they had secretly shared. She said nothing more, perhaps knowing that reasoning with Bellac would be a day chore. 

Again, Black is a Master Assassin. He has respect among the Brotherhood, unlike the Great Satan. They are only being bitchy with him for plot's sake, even though it makes no logical sense. Black is a lot more reasonable than he appears to be; he was aware the Brotherhood was incompetent and needed a purge. So, 'Lore Down Pat' involves making him act irrational and idiotic - as compared to Elysia, who can do no wrong.

"I cannot keep running from the mistakes I had made for myself. If I hadn't been so careless none of this would had happened." Arno stressed, forcing his hand into a club, "Neither my Father or de la Serre would have perished and the world would have been all the better for it." 

You say this but ran into the arms of Elysia, who despises your existence and wishes you were dead. She took away your livelihood and your entire character arc, but you aren't aware of that yet. Poor lad. I might as well dig your grave.

Beylier nodded his head up toward Arno to make us follow. “Arno Dorian, do you have any knowledge of the murder?”

Arno recollected his memory, his eyes leniently searching the air as if he were reliving it again, “I saw two men, running from the scene as I approached de le Serre.” His body tensed, and I could make out the strain along the edges of his eyes, “One had been injured, calling for the other to follow. I…didn’t get a good look of their faces, I was too focused on de la Serre.”  

It should be noted only Mirabeau was willing to continue the truce. Black was vehemently against it, and the other members were cool towards the idea. Only Mirabeau was willing to listen to Elise, remember. The rest wondered why Arno brought her to the Sanctuary. Lore Down Pat indeed. 

Why are they asking this during his initiation? Such an interrogation should happen after the fact, no?

I blinked slowly, “If that is what the council deems right.”

“Do you have objections?” Mirabeau pursued, and this made Bellac question me with a look.
I didn’t meet it, knowing fully well he knew what my answer would be, “No.”

You call yourself a Master but you haven't earned that title. No doubt you forced yourself to heap the rewards on your shoulders. Second, absolutely you object to this. You hated Arno when he approached you for help, and you couldn't stand his presence and his naivety. If the author can't decide on what to have Great Satan decide, maybe it's best to stick to drawing neon tumblr art on Twitter.

“Nothing is true, everything is permitted,” I discontinued from the orientation, and the sentence itself brought a stillness in the air. Arno caught my gaze with a clenched jaw, and before Mirabeau could question my sudden interference, I clutched my fingers into my grasp, ignoring the mark that threatened to seal any feeling further, “Break the tenants at your peril, boy.” 

Of course you have to echo the threat, bitch. 

Instead of Arno drinking the hallucination and confronting his innate fears and doubts, he has...a Maury Povich talk. Pretty sure Altair didn't get such a comfy awakening; even the Frye twins were bred for their heritage since birth. Arno? Gets a talking to and he's good to go. Jesus. 

“What, boy?” I ordered, wishing to continue my haste.

He smiled gently, and bowed his head once, “Thank you, for bringing me to the Brotherhood.” I narrowed my eyes, seeing his smile falter a tad, but not enough to truly disappear.

Protip, Latinx: if you want your Great Satan to be seen as a great mentor, she needs to inspire more than fear and hatred in her underlings. She needs to make them feel as if they're part of a unit. I'd suggest taking the example of Heinz Guderian or Erwin Rommel - but those were racist, disgusting Nazis and we can't have those. But Elysia sure is sounding like one, isn't she? All she's missing is the Totenkopf ring.

No, Arno, Elysia didn't bring you to the Brotherhood. You are worth nothing to her. Don't waste your thanks on such a vile creature. I'd suggest looking inward, but we can't have that.

“Pisspot,” Bellac strode himself over.

“And….the name calling begins,” Arno rolled his eyes at this. We both turned, Bellac positioning himself before us, though lectured Arno first, “Mirabeau wishes to talk to you.”

Black called Arno's father Pisspot. He called Arno Pisspot in the Bastille. This should not be new to him. "Lore Down Pat."

He pressed his lips together, and his fingers latched onto the fabric of his pants, “Tell Charlotte thank you, for everything.” 

Because you don't own the Cafe, you'll probably never see her again, boyo. Sucks to be stripped of your own heritage, but the author's ethnic background and politics explains it well enough.

Stephen, on the other hand, rested his upper arm against the wall beside, his head leaning as if the door to the Grand Hall were still open, "Soooo....the kid got initiated huh?"

"You were watching," I confirmed. “I saw you up at the balcony.”
Stephen gave a toothy grin, "We wanted to know when we’re gonna get to babysit again, Auntie Elysia."

So, from this exchange, Elysia can switch from being Le Epic Bitch to the sweet, endearing Auntie to the pets she likes the most. That's not consistent character development. This occurred constantly in 'Run, Fox, Run', where Les could not decide on how she wanted her own Mary Sue act. This complete 180 switcharoo isn't normal. In fact, it's usually a sign of Bipolar Disorder. 

"Ah, so Bellac is being the asshole uncle no one likes. Shall we stage a kidnapping?” the straight-haired brunette gave a coy smile, trickling his fingers on his chin as if he were already concocting a plan.

Black's not really an asshole. You just hate him because he calls out the Great Satan. It says a lot when someone who sees someone for who they are is called the villain, whereas the person in question who supposedly has no flaws is seen as angelic.

“I don’t think that’ll be...needed, Stephen.” James cleared his throat, and met my way, “Looks like our mentor has changed her mind.”

I said nothing, but my movement forward initiated them to accept my silence as agreement, “We have matters to attend to. Let us head to the café, to discuss what Mirabeau expects of us.” 

It should be Arno's Cafe, but since you stripped him of that arc, it's all yours. Let me guess: you'll be going after the Nostradamus keys too, eh?

"Was the kid suppose to join us?" Clement inquired, slouching his shoulders and hardly keeping his eyes open.

"Not quite...I believe it's more complicated than that." James followed my stroll, waving for the other two to catch up. "Are...you feeling all right, mentor?" he wasn’t simpleminded.

"Fine," was the swift response. I hastened my pace. 

No, Arno wasn't supposed to join the Assassins because he's an NPC. He has no mind of his own, no drive, no character or personality aside from what Elysia decides for him. He is an earthworm being tugged around on a string.

Ah, there's the 180 mood swing. Too bad I can't tell you to stop at the pharmacy to get some tampons and Midol, Elysia. That'd be too 'sexist'.

I exhaled firmly, already preparing for the response, "He’s not coming back."

A blank smile rested on her face.....before it turned pink, and her chest bellowed, "WHAT DID YOU DO."

The Great Satan removed the main character from his own story in order to 'fix the plot', that's what. Also, Lore Down Pat, Charlotte doesn't act like an Adderall-addicted Effie Trinket. She's pretty mellow and laid back.

I remained still, leering down at her as she stood in front of me, slapping her hands on her hips, demanding.

"He left voluntarily."

"SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU, ELYSIA."

I rolled my eyes, and the beast huffed against my gritting teeth, "Of. Course. You. Should. Because. That's. What. Happened."

"I find it hard to!” she nearly screamed. 

Here's what happened: Elysia viewed Arno as an intruder in her life, and so expelled him. As owner of the Cafe, she is fit to do whatever she pleases. Stripped of this arc, Arno has nothing left to do but be Black's apprentice which irks Elysia for some reason. No one should believe Elysia or whatever she does, because she's dishonest, cheating, and overall, a snake. She makes Loki look like a happy-go-lucky guy selling unicorn cookies on a New York corner. Whenever she doesn't get what she wants, she snaps and takes it out on others. Sounds like a classic gaslighting narcissist to me.

"THE BOY IS GONE TO BE AN ASSASSIN UNDER BELLAC.”

"WE'RE ALL THAT HE HAS," she insisted, the rest of the men merely glancing, Clement battling on staying awake with his face slumped in his palm. Stephen merely snacked on some cookies that had been set at the table while James rubbed his face.

"CHARLOTTE."

“Ohhhh, our poor Arno, lost!” Charlotte snatched her hands on my shoulders, and she sobbed into my chest, swaying my balance to and fro. I exhaled heavily; I couldn’t be mad at her, even if I tried.

Charlotte is nowhere near this dramatic in game. She's only meant to be this way to 'calm' Elysia down, because this bitch can only be understood and soothed by her. In short, Charlotte has to be emotional in order to distract Elysia from her own mistakes and her own megalomaniacal attitude. Lore Down Pat. Lore Down Pat. If the authors say it enough, it'll make it true.

"We can stage a kidnapping, Charlotte. I already offered that to Elysia." Stephen piped up, leaning over the table. He put a hand up to the side of his mouth, away from my view, despite Charlotte still clinging to me while she resorted to her soft sniffles, "I think she's just afraid the kid would pick Uncle Bellac instead of her. I'm of the opinion that Elysia would win hands down."

Yes, because your natural charisma can't win people over. You need to force them to obey. And no, were this canon Bellec, he would throw this bitch over a bridge with a rope around her neck. I would happily share a beer with him if he did so.

"He's an elf," Stephen actually whispered, and something snapped in my head.

“I propose we-“ Charlotte didn’t even get a chance to propose-

SLAM!

The table jerked, my fist digging into the wood, alerting the entire squad and making Charlotte perk her face up to me, blinking innocently at my looming, darkened expression.

“End of discussion, and if I hear one more lick of this conversation, or even the mention of the boy’s name, gods help me from scorching this very goddamn planet with my very own two fucking hands,” I glowered, the edge of my mouth twitching.

This Baguette Boy Band speaks as if they're 2019 cafe baristas rather than men in 18th century France. I don't think any of the authors even know how French people speak, let alone what idioms and terms they used back then. They sure didn't act like BTS fans or RPers from a bad Tindr date. They're the 'squad' alright, and like the real life 'Squad' in the American Congress, they're good at flapping their mouths and sounding important but they don't get anything done (in tune with the A/Ns on how they wanted this fic to be related to modern day events). As a matter of fact, it'd make more sense if they were all clones of Emmanuel Macron: at least they'd actually be French.

So, Elysia, after having her mental respite on how she can't be mad at Charlotte or why she should care and whether she'll benefit from Arno's tutelage, turns right around and announces she'll go Dresden on the planet because they dared ask her questions. Damn, girl! With a fiery attitude like that, you should've been sent on the front lines! France wouldn't have to suffer a single invader or surrender if you were holding the gun!

“……..HMPH!” Charlotte spun in place, her dress swaying aggressively as her feather hat slapped against my face, her heels clicking loudly along the wooden, varnished floor. “I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR COFFEE. AND YOU’RE PAYING FOR ANOTHER TABLE.” She shut the door closed, the doorknob rattling before coming to a stop. 

I'm with you there, Charlotte, even if you are over-the-top emotional to the point you're yelling like it's an ANTIFA protest. I, too, would love it for Elysia to choke on her coffee. But she won't pay for another table, because she doesn't have to pay a single sous, remember?

"No...it's...hmm..." James traced the subdivisions, drumming his fingers in counts of three, "I...know a few men that represent the Assembly here. Key figures in fact. I....just find it strange is all that Mirabeau would ask us to keep an eye here, unless someone was possibly endangering their lives." 

Lore Down Pat. Mirabeau was a member of the Assembly. He represented the Third Estate. Why is any Assassin acting shocked at this? How is it that the formation of the National Assembly, which overthrew the French monarchy, is treated like it's a carnival ride?

Did any of you actually do your research?

"Well, that's being presumptuous of me if I did." Yet James tented his fingers at this, a frown displaying, "It….strikes me as odd. I can assume most men that are in leagues of the National Constituent Assembly come from all sorts of backgrounds. I would think most come from common birth, not of conspiracies of Templars and Assassins likes. If they were, then why haven't we've seen their names or heard of their mal-intentions." 

Lore Down Pat. There is no 'assuming': the National Constituent Assembly was primarily composed of members of the Third Estate, who made up the bulk of the population. Representatives were elected by head and by vote in order to make sure the peasantry - and the bulk of the taxpayers - had a say in the governing of their country. As it so happens, the National Assembly was led by Mirabeau. You would know this from Googling the Tennis Court Oath. There is absolutely no excuse for this awful history; it's clear your historical research amounted to your saying so.

Here we go again.

"But that is...very above our level is what I'm trying to say, Stephen. It's a matter of this country's very system...of what it wants to become and who is trying to shape and mold it. That's...beyond even what the Assassins should be of influence of.”

As a Latinx, you should try saying that to a native French person. They'd probably poo-pah you, or, if you really pissed them off, call you an unworthy bitch. Elysia represents the author's Latin heritage: she doesn't actually care about the land she's living in or the people. She does, however, love its milk and honey and squeezing its native citizens for every drop. Since Elysia doesn't care for the future of the French people, she has no room to speak as an Assassin or even an observer of the Revolution as a whole. She's candid letting these people die; she's fine letting them rot away.

Under any other person, we'd call that a dictatorship-colonialist mindset. You don't have an army, Elysia, but you still treat the people as resources you can exploit. Ironically, Elysia has mental thoughts about Arno having a 'dangerous mindset', when Elysia has the Roman attitude towards the Gauls: kill every last one of them, and see if they'll obey in a depopulated region.

Stephen lifted his cup, muttering the rest of his sentence against the rim, "But if he's letting Bellac get away with whatever the fuck he wants, it is probably the worst case…."

Lore Down Pat also involves treating Black like shit, so...whatever, I guess.

“You are all still under scrutiny among the Creed, may I remind you,” I pointed out gently, but with enough edge to the sentence. “We do as Mirabeau orders, whether we want to or not.”

Stephen drank some more of his coffee, muttering again, “Mirabeau can go suck a toad.”

Yes, the leader of the National Assembly should go suck a toad. He's doing far more than the Baguette Boy Band is, and since they're all questioning the Creed and orders (whereas Arno gets shit when he does the same), every last one of them can count as a traitor and a deserter. Hang all of them.

"He's not my real dad, he can't tell me what to do..." Stephen was growing increasingly untamed in his words. "Y'know, we're both Masters, right Elysia? Why do they gotta treat us like inductees? We earned this title, damnit." 

No, you are not Master Assassins. You're 'The Squad' let by a Mary Sue who despises the French people and would rather see them die. She manages to be crueler than George Soros - or, ICE separating Hispanic families, if I'll stick to Les' Hispanic heritage.

"Listen, Stephen.” The flames poured out of my mouth, and this dark cloud loomed over my eyes as I stood up, clutching the table with my digits, “It's been years you've been singing the same tune, but the fact is, a Master is not a Master in this century. I gave you the option to leave or to stay. That being said-" I exhaled, my eyes narrowed to gold speckles, "Do not be the next Dorian boy; frankly I've run out of patience today for that. Don't. Test. Me. Today." 

See what I mean about treating your underlings? You can't decide whether you want to be a leader or a dictator. Bashar al-Assad manages to inspire more patriotism and loyalty than you. Think about that for a second. You trash Arno for questioning the Creed and being skeptical, and here you are doing the same to people you allegedly care for. That kind of attitude gets you skullfucked in your sleep. Maybe you should watch your tone, Elysia.

"It's….not our place to decide what's best for France or not, Stephen." James admitted tentatively, trying his best to not stare at me the whole time, "This is not our country...we're only mere observers." 

Leave, then. And Elysia can fuck off back to Zelda. She should take her own advice.

Stephen sighed, putting his forehead on the table. His voice was muffled when he spoke, “Ten more years.... it's times like this that I miss my boyfriend...." 

Lore Down Pat. Just because homosexuality was decriminalized in France in 1791, it was for personal affairs only. You could not be an open homosexual. The French attitude has always been if you want to do that shit, you do it behind closed doors. That is why there was never a militant homosexual movement in France as there was in the US and England. Despite said decriminalization, you could still be arrested and condemned, especially if you were caught sodomizing underage boys ( a fact people like Les vehemently deny). Making such a candid admission smacks of Current Year thinking. Even if you wanted to craft a three-dimensional gay character, having them openly admit they were gay is, frankly, suicide. Muh homophobia and all that.

The Women’s March proved successful, but it was obvious; the results were not fast enough, and this further angered the enslaved French. 

You don't care about the French. Stop thinking you do.

I inspected around closely to stray away the onlookers who saw Jacques stash his currency in his pouch, “How do you know that?” It was a nicer area, sure, but even the wealthy didn’t know when to limit their statuses when they already had….everything else. 

How nice you're friendly to a kid who worships you (but you also inwardly hate). Yes, the nobles at this time hoarded their wealth and often refused to support changes to help the peasantry. In modern times, you support AOC for her crusade, but you support changes for your people, not (white) Americans. You'll condemn the rich, but will remain silent when they use cheap labour to flood the market. Selective rage says a lot about you.

“Alright, fine. I’m immortal,” I replied, slowing my walk when his did.

His mouth opened, for a good few seconds, before his eyes narrowed questionably, “……No you’re noooooooooooot. You’re not old.”

“Oh yeah, I’m super old.” 

Immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings yeah no, you're not Galadriel.

“I have an undying and unquenchable rage inside my body,” I answered.

Unlike Sutur, you're not dedicated to bringing about the end of the world so the world can begin anew after Ragnarok. You're just a rage filled, hateful being whose favourite colour is not Prussian Blue.

“They’re special deliveries,” Jaq answered, giving a small, understanding smile. “Sometimes they like to give bread for free, especially to people who really need it.”

What the hell was up with this man.

Yes because being an ethnicity who supports free shit for your own people while taking it from others and acting shocked that French peasants at this time were not only illiterate, but living on different stages of subsistence is just so fucking wrong and weird, right? Lore Down Pat and totally historical. Man, you're fixing Unity big time.

I was right in front of him, the pistol clutched in my hand. He stumbled, and instead moved to elbow me-

“Dumbass.” With a duck and a swipe, my free hand clutched the side of his neck, and down he went, the side of his head smacking straight into the ground where he was instantly out. 

Down with what? A Judo move? Or did you just use your inhuman strength to Randy Savage the guy? Fight scenes need a level of choreography, you know.

“And you don’t know who you’re dealing with,” I replied.

Oh-ho-ho, I'm horribly frightened.

“This is IMPROVEMENT,” the shop owner plopped himself on a free chair, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare, red cloth. “Elysia you’re the answer to my prayers.” 

She hasn't done anything to help you, and she doesn't give a damn about your suffering. She's only acting nice because the kid 'softens her up' or some shit.

It was Pierre that broke the silence, his voice cracking, "God where have you been all my life??" 

At the mercy of the Latinx who doesn't like laws and borders and shit.

Yet, that wouldn’t explain the massive intake of darkness his body was spewing that was so apparent each time. 

This is appearing less and less like an Assassin's Creed story and more like a weird Zelda/Harry Potter crossover. Now Orfeo is leaking dark vibes as if he's a demon from Japanese mythology. I'm shaking in my boots - and not from fear. Impatience.

"Of course it isn't. So he tried slandering me, but I've played this game better than him and got proof of 'where' he's getting his grains from.” He grew a tad comfortable, and slanted his hip enough that he put all his weight on one leg. “Turns out he bribed guards and some local governance with 'quality' bread if he got his grains personally delivered. People don't like hearing things like that nowadays....his windows were busted for weeks in protests.”

“I’m…sure he didn’t like that,” I added. 

Hey, Lore Down Pat. Food riots were common in Paris and other towns like Arras at this time, and people often got shanked. It's clear Mary Sue and Marty Stu don't give a damn, and neither do the authors - because hoarding bread, or suspected of hoarding grain, earned you a visit from angry peasants and later, the Revolutionary Tribunal.

 "What I don't find natural is your involvement in all this."

I shrugged mildly, sighing with a small roll of my eyes, “A lot of things in the world are unnatural, Orfeo. I think I’m the least of your worries, unless you haven’t gotten over our last encounter.” He scoffed loudly, unimpressed. 

Leave it to a character to say what I've been thinking the whole time: what, exactly, is Elysia's role here? She doesn't care about France, or her people, and she certainly doesn't care about the Brotherhood. What, is she defending it from Templars? The Twilight? Or strange Zelda bosses which belong in Zelda and not Assassin's Creed? Who knows. But six chapters and this word count has not even established an actual plot yet - and that is not a good sign.

“I can assure you that I’m tied to nothing of the past,” my answer was sound and resolute, earning a perplexing tilt from Orfeo. “You honestly need to let that go.”

"And you need to shut your mouth over business that you don't understand." Seriously?

“Clearly, that’s not happening because I’m involved either way.” I leaned at this, “Get. Over. It.” 

Pot calling the kettle black. Elysia, you're incapable of letting anything go - you always take out your rage on those you know cannot stand against you. You're a weak, angry character who should be geared more towards a tragic/villainous route than a heroic one. There are no traits that make you redeemable. So, with every character - original or otherwise - who tells you how selfish and arrogant you are, I am going to applaud them. They are all right - and Elysia just doesn't like that.

"You're fucking out of your god damn mind." Orfeo hissed, and met my step, leering down at me intently. "Get the hell out. We're done here." 

Damn, boy. I think we might have a new friendship forming.

“....No, he didn’t, but his tongue matches it just fine.” I replied gently, and merely moved Pierre aside easily with one arm. “He’ll make my treats tomorrow. He’s a...good boy.” 

He's calling you out for interfering with his business, and you don't like it. Your solution is to threaten a guy keeping some Parisians fed. Fine, Elysia: you house and feed all those refugees like you want modern day Americans to pay for illegal immigrants. They're your people - you care for them.

So, in this 50,000 work so far, what plots have we established? Well...none! Aside from Elysia being a bitch. 50,000 is enough for a short story, and it's more than enough to approach a first arc. If you are writing word content that objectively does not enrich the story, lore, or characters, you are writing bullshit for the sake of bullshit. The counter-plot between Elysia and Orfeo manages to be half as interesting as the Assassin's plot - which isn't interesting at all. Arno will have no autonomy or growth aside from him getting with another man and having his sphincter blown out - because that's real character development, don't you know.

The so-called Lore Down Pat and historical references have not come to fruition, more so since Les and her co-writers seem unaware that Mirabeau was one of the top heads of the National Convention and was a major force in French politics until his death in 1791. The fact none of them knew this tells me everything: whenever someone says they're going to be historically accurate, yet aren't even aware of basic facts, that tells me everything I need to know. You cannot be Lore Down Pat either when you treat all canon characters as NPCs compared to your Goddess. It shows your fundamental disrespect, as well as your lackadaisical attitude.

You spend more time bitching about the US border, Les. So why not channel that energy into actually creating a good story? You won't, even with two other authors helping you. Idiocracy and mediocrity indeed.