Pain and a Quarter Pounder - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 24

 I’m not going to buttress anyone with an intro. I’m just going to bring up the Author’s Note after I saw the aftermath of that Godawful sex scene:

You know when things are starting to work out for our dear Elysia here, you gotta ask yourself: what could go wrong???

I’m sure, given what happened a month ago, that everyone is going to know Elysia had her cherry popped. I don’t see how half of Paris couldn’t based on how loud she was.

As for things ‘working out’, I really have to ask: what, exactly, has been accomplished for her? She didn’t kill the twin Templars who tried to assassinate a mute ballet dancer. She was taken down with gaseous ashwood, which proves to be deadly to her Twilight abilities. She let an Assassin under her tutelage die when he was tasked with her mission, and it was discovered that she has only been in France for ten years.

The only thing that has been ‘worked out’ was her vaginal muscles.

A lot. Cause here we are with a SAUZZZZY new chapter....that took a while to edit, and write out actually because I kept changing ideas and all that sweet jazz. With my handy dandy notes, we're back on track with a new chapter, HEYO.

I wonder what these notes are, and what’s in them? Because we are already at 233, 463 words and...nothing has happened. I know I repeat myself, but this has gotten to the point where it needs to be repeated. Is anything related to an actual plot buried in the margins, or what? I don’t want to know what these ideas are, but the ones I’m seeing put on a screen are not impressive. What else to expect from a spicy Cali Latina?

L i s t e n, I love Elysia, but we're here for that tasty Character Development and I'm gonna indulge myself until the very end. So, HOW WE DO THAT. We make a chapter like t h i s.

Her characterization is as flat as her chest and yet you still insist on attaching importance to her. It’s as useless as a push-up bra.

OK, that’s done. Here we have a proper introduction:

“Haul your ass, Pierre!”

The dark-haired, older teenager fumbles, nearly hammering his unscarred face against the doorframe from how hastily he peeled the bedsheets off. An interrupted slumber as the scheduled dawn breaks the horizon. His boots are slung, and he’s carried out of the burning building he had called home for the past couple of months since joining this hooded crusade. He feels like a puppet being plucked of its strings, and none of this is real.

You know what? Had she started with this, this wouldn’t be half bad. Bellec is infinitely more interesting than Elysia and, mind you, actually witnessed what Shay was capable of. And he witnessed it all as a sixteen-year-old.

The encampment rings with warning bells—

“Move it, Pierre!” The scruff of his neck is gripped, and the burning tents and sheds add to the bleeding sky. His Mentor dodges the open space sprinkled with fallen bodies. He then shields them in the provided bushes, of whatever was left of the raided camp. In the close proximity, the teen could hear several voices struggling, but little by little they were silenced by the unknown force that had brought Hell on Earth.

The enemy was nearing from the dropping silhouettes.

We had to go through 230,000 words for this. The more I read, the more I vibe with Bellec than I do the protagonist. That’s not how you want this to work, Les.

The shove is rough, and Bellac nearly loses his footing as he makes it to the back exit of the camp. He pries open the loose, wooden plank of the fence, and forcefully merges his lanky-self through. He ignores the scratches and splinters that catch him, and readjusts his hold of what little supplies were shoved to him last second. He runs down the makeshift trail—

“ACK!”

That’s...quite the death knell. Are we in a Spongebob episode?

The prowler stops in front in front of the bush, a mere foot away from Bellac’s own boot.

Bellac holds his breath.

 

The Templar turns to look at him directly through the foliage.

 

But once you see them in real life, you never forget their face.

Ah, the classic ‘I’ll spare you as a warning to the others’ cliché, eh? Oh well. I must say, these few paragraphs have set up a better atmosphere than the 23 previous chapters. I reckon it’s one of Les’ co-authors writing this.

How sinisterly impassive his eyes were. The blood of his victims splattered across the front of his chest.

Wore it like a decoration.

A badge.

An honor.

“You’re merely a boy.”

What an honor.

I wonder how Bellec feels about Elysia letting a young man die because she didn’t warn him about Shay? How she has been with the Assassins for ten years and never learned about their history or the Colonial Brotherhood? If I were him, I’d be beyond pissed. I’d probably shank the bitch in her sleep.

Pierre Bellac has never had to think about that memory in a such a long time.

Every now and then, the cold spasm of humiliation and dread would surge itself into the present, and momentarily. Once, he was ordering some food at a nearby café down the street, and when he took the first bite of his favorite dish and stared into the red of the sunset…it was safe to say he lost his appetite for a good ten minutes. Another, it was when he was alone carrying out a mission, and had to make camp in the woods. He stared at the fire with a prominent scowl, and when he composed himself, hunted a squirrel to make his meal for the night.

I’ll reiterate my previous point: I really want to know what he thinks of Elysia collectively drawing a blank to that dark chapter in Assassin history. All of those dead recruits are her fault. She’s practically immortal and couldn’t down him, but she happily lets others die.

Bellec, honestly, should be the protagonist. I sympathize with him here.

The anxiety was fleeting. Bellac would carry on his day. Because when people die, when important people in your life succumb to death, you keep moving forward. You keep moving and never look back.

 

He couldn’t do that anymore.

Don’t see why. This is a hardened man who poisoned Mirabeau because he felt he was bringing down the Brotherhood. I don’t think you fully grasp what this man is capable of, or what that kind of experience does to a man. If he’s looking back now because Shay is a threat, does he feel the same way when Charles Dorian was murdered?

The purge of one-third of the Brotherhood stationed in Paris, France was not something to gloss over. It wasn’t reasonable to move away. A nightmare he had locked away for so long because it wasn’t deemed possible to reoccur again. It couldn’t have been possible; it shouldn’t have been.

Whose fault is that? Really, whose is it? Every last one of those recruits was massacred because their Mentors didn’t tell them the Colonial Templar was in their city. They went in blind. Elysia, a Mentor, had no idea who he was and did not bother to inform or warn those who went out in the city. Shay was there for years with his anime proteges and nothing was done. Their intelligence was catastrophically poor.

If this is meant to be a ‘rewrite’, nothing insults your attempt worse than making the Assassins worse than they are in a badly written game. That isn’t to say the Templars are in a better position: Elise is finding her position threatened by the anime dream team and Shay is in her way.

Need I remind people that Elysia was sending her squad out to churches for ‘drills’ that almost involved them getting massacred? I do.

Take Arno with you, and leave us, Pierre.

It didn’t feel real.

James is dead, he’s dead! It’s my fault, it’s all my fault!

Like he was a puppet again.

Quemar’s entire squad has been terminated.

Decimated because Quemar and the rest decided to throw untrained recruits at Shay. The fault lays on all of them. You’d think Connor would’ve taught them all a lesson, but no.

And yes, James is dead, and it was all Elysia’s fault. Her guilt is as thin as cardboard. She never actually means what she says.

Then, the reality hit when he was alone with Arno, mending his wounds. He had never seen the Dorian so utterly speechless; it was unnerving as it dragged. In all the time they spent with one another in the cell at the Bastille, the day of Arno’s initiation, and all the missions they spent with one another to hone his skills. To prepare him for any circumstance, any mistake Bellac might’ve overlooked in any given situation—

You’re merely a boy.

I’ve said this before: I have never liked the attitude of most fans towards Arno. This story in particular treats him like a dim-witted dog who’s a good-for-nothing French twink. He spent years training with Bellec and never retained a single thing; he was trained by not one, but TWO Mentors and to this day he breaks under pressure. This is all done to make the OC look better in comparison.

Can we also stop with ‘the Dorian’? Wrong patronymics anyways.

Arno’s silence was infuriating to deal with.

When Arno couldn’t even look at him, at anyone.

How pathetically useless and wide-eyed. How he hunched his head like a coward. When he flinched at every sound, every touch, every motion.

Bellac’s patience snapped—

You chased after Shay Cormac, pisspot! After all we worked for, what I taught you, you let it go to waste to chase after the man who did your father in?!

This is what I mean: Arno is routinely denigrated as a character. He has no self control or impulse; he’s just a Potemkin village ready for some magic markers. He’s fake, he’s moody, he’s shallow. He’s a poor Assassin. And this is all done on purpose.

I can understand Bellec’s anger here, but his rage should really be directed towards Elysia. She had no inkling of who he was and downplayed his threat. She flat out ignored any warnings or information. She spent all that time ‘training’ her squad to fetch flags and attend ballet classes rather than plot how to take down an aging Assassin hunter. Everyone’s priorities are FUBAR.

Also, didn’t Elysia – well first it was Bellec – refuse to tell Arno that Shay killed his father? Both of them refused to tell him as they knew he’d go after him. Bellec is doing this to be spiteful. He may be a bastard but he wouldn’t cut that deep, especially since Arno had a lead and was trying to discover who killed Germain.

Like how a young Bellac once was.

Arno ran. Bellac let him run.

He let Arno run when he himself, once upon a time, could not.

The nightmare made itself home in his mind since. A constant thought, afterthought; a lurking feeling above his head when nothing occupied it. He chased the dread away with his occupation, with missions, with sex, any kind of distraction presented to him.

So, you let that linger in your mind all these years, yet no one bothered to give you any information that Shay was in Paris for years? That seems like something impossible to get past anyone’s sight. Why didn’t Connor write to them, expressing worry that Shay left the continent? Why didn’t their moles or spies inform them what was going on? Didn’t Aveline get on a ship and head to France?

None of this makes sense. I truly do think Les has no idea what she’s writing, and forgets what she wrote with each instalment.

The meetings and passing with Quemar didn’t help.

I lost them all within the day; I’ll carry the agony for the rest of my life.

Succumbed to a mere messenger of sorts, the handicapped, laconic Assassin did his best to abide by his new role. The struggle was there, and it bothered Bellac to see his skilled colleague be reduced to this.

This is not your place.

Quemar has a heart condition. He physically cannot do all of the things required of him. What you do have is an immortal, otherworldly superhuman called Elysia who could tear through entire armies who also happens to be allergic to silver and ashwood. Who spends more time with her Japanese vampire friend – the same guy she NEVER bothered to ask about Shay’s whereabouts! - and her immortal ex-pirate boyfriend with the monster cock. Priorities. The struggle is real.

Mirabeau was becoming difficult.

He was not taking the action he needed to.

His resolved duties as Head Master of the Brotherhood were desiccating and abysmal.

Shay is a dangerous man, and I will not allow any further action until my say so.

Right, and that includes ignoring all warnings for years. Make no mistake: everyone is absolutely idiotic here. They are abysmal in their roles. And it is patently clear why this is so: to prop up Elysia. Mirabeau would be juggling with political duties every day and would find it difficult to keep the National Assembly in line. Who do you want to replace him with? The Gypsy girl you hate?

You can’t gloss over this.

None of this.

Not Shay Patrick Cormac.

Well...you did. Since the beginning.

Is that understood??

It’s unfeasible.

May I have a word with you, Elysia?

Wait for me downstairs.

Again: woman who has inhuman, almost godly like power did not know who Shay was and was knocked down by his sniper rocket launcher.

Elysia must suspect something. It was plausible, considering he saw her student, Clement, looking through records of the Brotherhood; he didn’t bother to mince his words to Bellac about his findings, and even then, he himself gave Clement a lead to follow through.

Stephen already had an impression on Bellac, that much he was certain of. There was no point in asking the young man what his tasks were when he already seemed to know what they were without looking at the mission board posted in the first floor. Planned destinations already in mind.

‘She must suspect something’ you say, while not even being bothered at her inhuman appearance and her time wasting missions that do nothing for the Brotherhood. How, and why, she became Mentor is anyone’s guess. I can’t wait to read how the author justifies it.

The fact that no Assassin recruit is open to their Mentors is a counterplot within a counterplot. How is anything getting done?

Arno made himself highly available, and the old Dorian Bellac once knew was back full force with a hint of…something else after his secluded conversation with Elysia at the de la Serre manor. A new spark, a new testament to follow through. He was looking for an answer through all the disordered austerities an unstable Paris was offering him. It wasn’t coincidence to have grieving students keep themselves occupied; Master Elysia was onto something.

Yes, because he was never filled with that drive before and had to have the PeeOhCee Mary Sue hammer it into him. As if he never did a good job before and had to have a brown woman lecture him on his white privilege.

He’s been with them two years and hadn’t learned a single thing? That honestly sounds like a ‘you’ problem.

She was onto Shay Cormac. 

She wouldn’t take James’ death so lightly; he didn’t need to know her long to deduct revenge was on the mind. He put himself in her shoes, in that mindset that you lost someone like Arno to that kind of cruelty. It was ineffable, the pain. It was the only explanation, so the most reasonable answer would be to work together….right? To stop a madman like Shay to continue scurrying like a rat in Paris. To do the one thing Mirabeau didn’t have the balls to do.

She had no idea who he was until he killed James. She had YEARS to discover who he was, yet it never even occurred to her. It’s a ‘just so’ excuse. Isn’t it cute, then, that Bellec says she has the ‘balls’ to do what Mirabeau won’t do – and by extension, what he won’t do – by putting off all confrontations of him and deciding to run after shadows?

Shay has been ‘scurrying around’ in Paris for months. No one noticed. He and his anime brigade massacred the Templars and not one peep was heard. Mirabeau is bogged down with keeping the nation together (as if that isn’t important) and simply doesn’t have time to go after him.

Everyone here acts so shocked when their own stupid decisions come back at them like spit in the wind.

To boot: Elysia didn’t ‘lose’ Arno. She openly hates him. She only started to ‘like’ him when she broke him. He got drunk after James’ death – which was not his fault – and cried about his life. She cucked him. Now, I am to believe that Bellec can put himself in her shoes when she has been in the Brotherhood for a shorter time than he has and has a higher ranking than him?

I can just smell the narcissism.

Together, they could stop Shay, and put an end to this Templar camarilla that rumbled beneath their feet. He would see her soon in the meeting this morning with Mirabeau.

Suuuuure. Same woman who goes around fighting people wearing ‘periwinkle diamonds’ who give epic monologues in a crowded opera house? That woman?

Evidently, Mirabeau’s spontaneous meetings weren’t sitting well with anyone else.

Of course not. He’s the fall guy. The token black guy doesn’t do anything and Sophie Trenet is...well, she’s the token woman. Even she is second to Elysia. Quemar is too sick to do anything. Who are they going to replace Mirabeau with?

I closed the door of the occupied Master Room, and strode down the carpeted chamber to make my awaited arrival known.

“Morning, Elysia,” Beylier chimed in, a strained smile there. His eyes shifted to the cup of tea he had for himself, blowing on it faintly to ease its heated mist.

Whenever I see them call her ‘Master’, the fact she’s only been there for ten years – less if we count the total time she’s spent in France – keeps hitting me like a Mike Tyson left hook. It reverberates.

Sophie’s eyes were glued to the table, and Quemar had his face pressed into his hand, the other balancing the top of his weaponized cane. Lastly, Bellac had….a far differing expression, distrait I should say. The tips of his fingers pressing at the corners of his mouth, eyes glistening as he looked off in Mirabeau’s general direction who took the position near the fireplace. Mirabeau was rather occupied with the documents in his hands, not bothering to even take note of my arrival.

I casually addressed my presence, “Am I late?”

Surprised they aren’t going to comment on her wailing with that monster dick in her all night. Any plot twist that’s coming will always be undermined by the fact that this spoiled bitch thinks she’s better than everyone else. 

The prolix meeting dragged for the next couple of hours, and again Mirabeau did everything in his power to keep any Shay-related topics out of bounds. Obviously, this didn’t sit well with Sophie or Beylier, but neither had the energy to combat Mirabeau so early in the morning. Everyone simply….let Mirabeau say what he wanted, and chimed in every now and then for an additional comment or agreement. Bellac was oddly silent throughout all this, scratching at the scruff of his beard while Quemar wrote notes in his hand-sized notebook.

I do not understand this argument, and never have. You have one of the worst living Assassin hunters in your area and you don’t think it’s important to talk about it? It’s akin to a doctor not wanting to talk about the severity of a disease. It’s valuable to public information and for the sake of your own underlings. Skirting around it gets them killed – and that’s already happened.

Not once has Les ever mentioned of Mirabeau’s work as a politician. The National Assembly would be in full swing, and you’d have French politicking underway. This is seldom mentioned. To date, there has been no mention of Danton, Robespierre, Laclos, or even Lafayette. The people who play a minor role in the game have no role here. What does that say about the authors? That accuracy and good storytelling aren’t on the table.

The funds for the equipoised Brotherhood were decreasing, and this didn’t suite well to make new gear, make repairs, or issue proper remunerations to what was due to Masters or Assassins alike. It was unanimously agreed to do what needed to be done to make ends meet; cut incomes where necessary, and do our best to sustain ourselves with lined up missions. However, the economy of Paris was pretty much in shambles to give us any aid.

Wow, and you waited until Chapter 24 to mention this? Perish the thought! And whose fault is that? Arno isn’t in charge of the café, and it’s entire purpose is to bring in funds. That’s not happening. Elysia is in charge, and she’s tanking its profit margins for the second time. Better yet, Elysia’s friend is an actual banker, and his funds don’t seem to be depleting. Ask him for a loan. They won’t ask questions about it.

In order to fight the Templars, you are going to cut costs for an already severely untrained and exhausted Brotherhood. Amazing. And you can’t get the Magical PeeOhCee to generate wealth.

“How long can we hold?” Beylier questioned, rubbing his temple vigorously with the upsetting news. “Day by day, the city can hardly pay for anything at all. It is only a matter of time until it reaches its boiling point; we cannot ignore the facts, Mirabeau. Something must be done.”

“We have to shift our focus, to help the citizens,” Sophie added, giving Beylier a reassuring nod. “You yourself have political ties that can sway the elites, Mirabeau; reason over greed is the only solution here, if we are to keep the Brotherhood intact.”

The elder Master simply sighed, and nodded once, “…I’ll see what I can do.”

Look, they all know even the elites are heading into debt. Figures that you can’t keep printing money and taxing an already broke population! We are two years into the Revolution and they’re asking things they know cannot be done. What have they done for the citizens beforehand? Sitting around twiddling their thumbs?

The chamber room was dismissed, though with one of Mirabeau’s fleeting looks did I wait for the other Masters to clear out. It was obvious they took note of my staying-put, but said nothing to question or comment. The double doors closed, and the fractious Mirabeau didn’t wait to express what was on his mind the second I stood from across the way.

“With the escape of Antoine Dubious, you entrusted me with the location of his assets.” The folder on the table was met with a slap of his hand, and the papers skidded when he swiped his grip away.

Yes, assets you also lost when you knew everyone was broke. You were too busy gorging yourself on cheese and dick. The absolute state of things.

Plus: it should be Dubois, NOT ‘dubious’. Fix that already.

I recognized them with my handwriting, “…And you arrived there promptly, did you not—”

He didn’t like my reaction, “There was nothing in the vault!”

I kept my posture as his echo died out, “That’s not my fault.”

Mirabeau’s face is red, and his sharp eyes lock onto me, accompanied by his pointing digit, “I entrusted you to deliver me a liable source, Master Elysia.”

What isn’t the fault of the Magic PeeOhCee? She’s been a Master for less than ten years, give or take, and she’s entrusted with all this responsibility she keeps wasting away. She’s admitting she helped her buddy escaped with the goods, goods that could’ve been used to help her people. All this to ‘own’ Mirabeau.

Mirabeau shouldn’t have entrusted anything to her. She ruins everything she touches and has no self awareness about any of it.

“Which I did,” I answered promptly.

His defense heightens, “I’m growing suspicious of your sources—”

“You’ve never questioned using them before. Until today. When it didn’t play out in your favor.” My voice is a blade, and Mirabeau halts in his words. He glares to me. The silenced room is uncomfortably tense, but I don’t give it leeway. “I suggest you think of what you’re going to say next, before you throw another slanderous accusation at me.”

Here’s the thing: it isn’t slander. You have been running missions without any approval or debriefings, and tasked your underlings to do things that would compromise the Brotherhood. As a matter of fact, you broke one of the main tenets when you killed 2/3rds of the Assassin order with your shit decisions. It is glaringly obvious you are duplicitous and in it for your own gain. Naturally, everyone else has to be dumbed down not to see it.

He doesn’t say anything, and the grinding of his teeth is camouflaged by the crackling fireplace he faces. For a second, he’s unsure, but the hesitation is long gone the next when he steadies himself with the head of the chair.

“Without this linchpin asset, the Brotherhood faces a bleak future. I am under a heavy scrutiny of stress.”

I collect my hands behind my back, and angle my head, “I’m sure you can figure something out.”

You were just told funds would have to be cut because you’re fucking up the business you inherited. YOU should figure things out, you dumb bitch. You have your Japanese vampire friend around your finger and you cannot ask him for help because that’d be a ‘violation’ of your principles.

Imagine being a Mentor and told that the future of your own Order is at stake and you keep insisting it isn’t your fault. For shame.

His acerbic words don’t waver, “You make it seem as if our solutions will rain upon us, especially in the climate we are in now.”

“There is money elsewhere, if that is what you need.”

He studies me, “In what regards.”

“…..In higher places.”

Mirabeau gives a sharp sound of an exhale, and gestures to the side like I have no idea what I’m talking about, “Weren’t you the one who just mentioned slanderous accusations?”

“It’s not an accusation if it’s true.”

Well isn’t this a case of pot calling the kettle black? ‘We don’t have the funds but I know where the funds are but I’m not going to tell you because you’re hiding something.’ Wow, what a dramatic moment. Such Breaking Bad-esque writing, I’m in such awe.

Mirabeau’s tone takes a low turn. He remains immovable.

“Let us see here…” I pace leisurely, swimming my tongue across my closed cheek, “One third of the Assassins have been eliminated, the new recruits aren’t doing as well as you had hoped, your Masters sit idly by, one practically disabled I’ll remind you, while you natter, and the rabbling citizens of Paris are practically at each other’s throats because of the increasing food shortage and political divide. They all seem connected to me, as far as I’m concerned.”

Oh my – you are a Mentor. You are responsible for this as all the rest. Take some fucking responsibility and admit that you were wrong.

You killed those recruits. YOU. All because you were too fucking lazy to read up on your own goddamn Order.

Mirabeau literally has nothing to do with foot shortages, debt, or people killing each other in Paris or the countryside. That’s how a revolution works, honey: there is no singular person involved, but a network of people. Mirabeau is one of hundreds of politicians involved in the National Assembly. Yet, you expect him to carry all the weight while you, a literal immortal and superhuman, did absolutely nothing.

Normally, you’d read this and conclude the Magic Woman of Colour also had a role to play, but since she’s a Magic Woman of Colour and can do no wrong, it’d be mighty inconvenient if she were held to some actual standards.

“And what connection might that be, Master Elysia?”

I stop in the center of the carpet, my side to him as I observe the books across from me, “You.”

“I do not take lightly to your insinuation,” his concrete words tighten.

“Beylier was adamant on halting any advance on Shay Cormac—”

He inhales.

None of you had the resources – for whatever reason – to fight him. He was in Paris for months. It’s not entirely Mirabeau’s fault if you, as a Mentor, also have the ability to direct and gather intelligence. You destroyed the café and nearly killed the man who told you you were fucking it up.

You didn’t believe the threat until he, you know, shot James in the back. Funny how that works.

“—the recruits aren’t staying because of poor payment—"

Mirabeau cuts in, “Elysia—”

“—and you’ve denied every Masters’ word to seek after Shay. My missions on the food shortages more than a year ago, led by my very dead student James, were put on hold by your command,” I glare back to him.

Because you are not paying them, lol. You can’t generate income and nearly sent your own employees to the streets. Speaking of food shortages, you stole grain with your boyfriend, remember? You had a fully year to deal with this – as Mentor. You didn’t. You just ‘gathered intelligence on a mission’. You’re pathetic.

He tries, “I know your emotions are high and fresh—”

“The folder across your feet disagrees,” I pound a fist on the table, and my eyes simmer underneath my bangs. “I suggest you consider your options, before another grave mistake is made. Before your aid falls in the wrong place, because if it does, Mirabeau, I’ll be the first to know.”

“…….What do you know,” it’s not a question.

“Enough….to paint a picture.”

"There isn't enough oil for you to see clearly then." Mirabeau huffs, and seats himself that makes the chair rattle. His stubby fingers curl tightly into his palms, "You're dismissed."

I truly wish he would just expel her. This bitch sincerely believes she has God-given powers yet doesn’t actually do anything an actual Mentor would do. She doesn’t improve morale among her people, she doesn’t try to accrue food or supplies, and remains ignorant on the political situation. She does, however, help steal food and grain for her boyfriend’s business – which is successful, by the way – over her own. The café is supposed to generate wealth and serve as a place for intelligence to be gathered. She ruined both.

Her taking out all her rage on Mirabeau is a moot point. If he was sending her on useless missions, she, as Mentor, didn’t enact any meaningful change. They all call her ‘Master’, but all she can do is brag about how special she is.

If it’s not clear by now that I hate this character, it should be.

My lips resist to make a dismissing sound, so instead I hurry my pace out of the chamber, and close the door quietly behind me. I (almost) jump at the sight of Bellac resting his back against the pillar near the door, clearly having waited for me. I ignore the iron weight steadying on my shoulders when he trails beside.

You more or less told him you knew his game and what his secrets were. You gave your hand away. When you stated that you would be ‘the first to know’, you’re telling him that he’s compromised. Of course, no one questions how this woman manages to get her intel or how she let a Templar banker get away – IF she even informed them to begin with. She is just as duplicitous as Mirabeau, but he gets shit because he’s a Fucking White Male and we need a villain. Mirabeau was scandalous enough on his own; there is no need for these elaborate, silly plot lines.

“You weren’t waiting for me to grab a cup of coffee today, were you?” I jest to lighten his mood.

Bellac didn't sugar coat it, "Mirabeau had been hounding you the whole meeting with those side glances. What edge does he have with you?"

If only you knew, I push the immediate thought away, and give him a partial truth, “Clearly, he doesn’t like being told when he’s wrong.” We cross center of the Grand Hall, but Bellac stops me before I go any further. He catches my glance, and I gesture with an opened arm, “What’s bugging you?”

That’s funny. Whenever dear Elysia is told she’s wrong, she resorts to killing, or attempting to kill, people. Who has ever told her she was wrong in the course of this? Never. She is always making the right decisions and everyone listens to her advice. Remember her little Depression Quest? Me neither. That was dropped when she got shagged by Pirate Big Dick.

Remember when Bellec called her racial slurs? Me neither. Remember when she hated him and all the other Mentors for just getting in her way? Me neither. She’s buddying up with people she previously hated with no bridges built in between those moments. I cannot believe she’d be on anyone’s good side, let alone Bellec’s, more so since she ignored Shay Cormac for so long.

Five years, fam.

“There’s something you’re not tellin’ us, Elysia,” Bellac solidifies. He encircles me, arms crossed, locking my eyes to his. He stops on my left, and arches his brows up impatiently. “Something you’re not tellin’ me.”

I bit my tongue, chewed on it for a moment, “I’m not sure what it is you think I’m hiding.” My eyes garnered to the side.

It should be so obvious this woman is a poor liar. Bellec isn’t a dumbass – regardless of how the authors want to paint him as such – and he’d know that she was plotting against Mirabeau. She’s not exactly making it secret. Either way, even if she told him, nothing is going to solve the threat. He will be killed in future chapters and his interesting backstory will be promptly written out. That is what happens when background characters are stronger than your protagonist.

“You can lie to Mirabeau, you can lie to Quemar…” he leans slightly, and I catch his whisper along my cheek. “You can lie to Beylier, you can lie to Sophie.”

I don’t lean or look away, and examine his eyes searching mine.

“But you can’t lie to me.”

This should have been brought up when Shay murdered James. He should have confronted her there and asked her what was it she could have done. He’s only confronting her now as a means of convenience; it only just occurred to the authors that he was good for something.

My mouth clicks from my tongue snapping apart from my top teeth.

“Out with it,” Bellac urged acridly. 

I was going to regret this, “….I have a source that Mirabeau might be wrapped in something compromising.”

His eyes tapered, “In what regard?”

Really not the way I wanted my morning to go, “….This stays between us.”

Let’s see:

1. Elysia steals grains from merchants and sells them to her boyfriend. Not a single Mentor wonders where this grain goes and, in fact, suffers from food scarcity.

2. Elysia has a Templar banking friend who is revealed to be the immortal, time travelling, portal hopping vampire Akinara. She never asked him for information he’d be happy to divulge and did not tell the Mentors about this anonymous source.

3. She is aware that the Brotherhood is in dire financial straits and the recruits themselves are nearing desertion. Instead of finding ways to improve morale, she decides to go after the leader of the Mentors by ensnaring him in a plot.

4. Complains about Mirabeau being a duplicitous politician, despite knowing that he was a politician for years.

It’s just in-your-face at this point. I’d rather huff glue.

We maneuvered ourselves to a secluded shadowed part of the Grand Hall. I give a good look around to secure our cover, and it’s there Bellac’s brows furrow in question. The burning letters within my pocket stung when they left my grasp, and were being passed to him. He said nothing as he skimmed; his stern and crossed expression was enough of a reaction. I tucked the letters back, almost fearing Bellac would tear it from pure, white rage when he was done.

He practically hissed under his breath, "Jesus Christ." It wasn’t enough, "Mary and Joseph— what the hell has Mirabeau been doing.” I merely waited as he wiped his jaw off, his alarmed eyes examining the Master Room, then back to his feet. "We cannot keep submitting ourselves to this broken machine. When did you get those?”

In this iteration, Bellec betrays Mirabeau and reforms the Brotherhood – or attempts to – thanks to Elysia. Yet Bellec already had suspicions if we’re going by the game, and at this point, he’d already know Mirabeau was keeping secrets.

If you are ‘submitting yourselves to this broken machine’, you made it that way, and you are looking at the woman who started it all.

“A few days,” I answer.

“Who else knows?”

I licked my teeth, “Stephen, Clement and Arno. I ordered them to be silent about it, so don’t go lecturing the Dorian. Look, I know how it looks, but this is a delicate situation that shouldn’t be hastily confronted about. Our last meeting proved the Brotherhood isn’t stable—”

And why is that? You couldn’t trust Bellec with this information, but you could trust your underlings, one of whom saw the entire Templar order wiped out by the Fate/Stay Night anime band. Interesting how Arno was never asked about that and had to go through an entire ballet recital when he could have stolen Fran’s letters. Weird how this story isn’t so much about assassinating than it is a glorified Zelda magic plot.

You are in control of the Café, the place where information is gathered and where many recruits call home. You ruined it. You refuse to relinquish control of it to someone who knows how to run it because it’d hurt your ego. It’s not so much the health and well being of the Brotherhood that matters, but reputation.

These people made it unstable, and it makes me want to eat a brick to see how they all refuse to see it. That lies entirely at the author’s feet. 

“Because of that horse shit that’s in there!” Bellac fumed lowly, his hand pointing directly toward the chamber. “You let a crack slip—and then the whole dam breaks open."

I say nothing, let Bellac mutter his frustrations out before I continue, “Don’t stoop to his level. You know better than that.”

The shaggy-haired Assassin spits at the ground, “….You’re looking for Shay, aren’t you?”

I inhale, “….I am.”

She never looked for him before. That’s the funny part. She hadn’t even known he’d existed. Hell I doubt she knows Bellec had to flee North America because of him. Weird how she never asked him about that; it’d certainly be important for a Mentor like her who’s been in the Brotherhood for five years.

As for the ‘don’t stoop to his level’, that’s some hilarious shit. Elysia is the token mouthy brown woman with low impulse control. Not a good thing when you want to prove those white cissies wrong.

“That….explains things,” he shakes his head. “You sending the Dorian out, after we explicitly agreed to give him freedom to not do stupid shit like this?”

“I have the Dorian looking for his sister; maybe she has some sort of lead of where he might be. It’s our best chance.”

Slighted Bellac didn’t even hesitate to condemn my approach, "You're willing to stoop that low to finding help with another Templar??"

He’s angry at this, but not Elysia remaining ignorant on who Shay was and having a Templar banker friend. Details are everything.

Once again: I’d appreciate it if Elise was not seen as Arno’s sister because she is not. They are not related by blood. Second, Bellec is angrier at her than he is at Shay and the minions Elysia fought, despite them being a greater threat than she is. Priorities.

‘Stupid shit’ is sending your recruits on missions where nothing is really accomplished and making one take ballet lessons to lure out an anime villain when a simple pickpocket would have sufficed.

I battle against him, “Templar or not, I’m willing to do what it takes to stop Shay. It’s already known he killed both the Assassins and the Templars trying to overthrow Élise de la Serre.”

"Elysia, are you out of your damn mind?! There is always a damn way without compromising yourself," he snarled.

“That ended the second he shot James!” I retorted, and the hushed whisper bled through my teeth. Bellac didn’t sway from his incumbent bias. “I will find Shay Cormac, one way or another; this is bigger than Assassins and Templars, Bellac, and I’m not going to stand here and argue about principles and whatever stupid Assassin code there is.”

There is your problem right there: you have a woman, a stranger and Outsider no less, who became a MENTOR while not giving a single damn about the Creed. She threatened Arno when he was inducted that if he ever broke the codes he’d be punished by death. Here, she’s doing just that but it’s fine for her because she’s a Magic Woman of Colour and going against her is racism.

What, exactly, are you doing to battle Shay? Aside from sending your recruits on useless missions and driving the rest into poverty?

"Then you're as disillusioned as he is. You’ve lost your purpose.”

“My students are my purpose,” I enunciated fiercely. “And if Arno believes finding his sister is the right step forward, then I will follow it without a shred of doubt.”

Huh. You never, ever once believed this before. There was no evidence you cared for him or respected him until he was down in the dumps. You didn’t change. You didn’t step up for him. You treated him like a baby and then you were nice when he treated you like his mommy.

When your character does the exact opposite of what you explicitly say they do, it does not help your case. And it becomes a pain when an attentive reader takes notice.

You didn’t believe Arno when he said that Shay and his anime troupe wiped out Germain. What makes you think you’ll follow him into the dark now?

"Tch, then you've lost your sense along with it. Working with the Templar, working with the enemy?! That's a just fairy tale you're letting him play at." Bellac points at my face, "Just you wait and see...that image is going to shatter right in front of him."

I narrowed my eyes, “I told you everything I know, and this is how you react? I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”

The thing is...you didn’t. You didn’t tell him your banker friend was a Templar and an immortal vampire portal hopper to boot. Elysia lies about everything. I do not blame Bellec for one second for calling her out on her shit.

Elise has posed no threat whatsoever. Bellec should be more concerned with Shay than with her, but for convenience’s sake, he’s going to riot over Arno allying himself with her. You have a bigger problem in front of you, and her name is “Gypsy bitch.”

"Fine, have it your way,” Bellac’s objurgation was finished with a dissatisfied scoff. With a turn on his heel, his cape flicked behind him. He exited the Grand Hall in haste.

“…..Bellac!” I called out, but he was already striding up the staircase, ignoring my call.

I seriously hope he gets to fight her. I really want to see her get bruised.

“Right this way, madame.”

The maid led me to the Library sector, and rested the porcelain set of tea on the roundtable. She bowed a goodbye, “Monsieur Antoine will be with you shortly.”

Ah, speaking of the immortal vampire...here he is!

I was mindlessly skimming a book of a foreign language to douse out the fresh spat with Bellac. It was my hope that whatever history Bellac had with Shay would not be powerful enough to overcome a possible truce with Élise, if she were to be found. I had not planned that far ahead, if he should fail to do so. Most importantly, I don’t know how Arno would take that news.

You have been with the Brotherhood for five years and have been granted Mentorship. You still do not know about the Colonial purges. If you had just read a single book you’d know exactly why Bellec wants nothing to do with Templars. Elysia is being woefully ignorant here. She didn’t sell Bellec on how Elise wasn’t a threat; she was too busy ignoring Shay’s threat. That’s on her. And if you think it’s going to bite her in the ass, think again.

“Good afternoon, Red.” Antoine was dressed in a nice and sleek blouse of maroon where his neck was button up midway. His lean fingers stretched out, and held onto my arms after I placed the book away. He leaned down, and kissed my cheeks in greeting.

“Is that how you’re always going to greet me, now?”

He beamed, “Of course; tradition and all.” He hooked his hold on my unattended tea, “Don’t fancy tea this morning?”

If he’s still Japanese – and I do think he is – they aren’t keen on personal contact like that. Maybe Antoine’s been in France longer than Elysia has and, unlike her, actually picked up French mannerisms.

“Not particularly, but thank you.”

He tilts his head, and takes a seat once the double doors are secured, “How did it go this morning? It looks like you received terrible news with the look on your face.”

I rolled my eyes, and took the seat in front of him, “Mirabeau wasn’t pleased; that was to be expected.” I rub my forehead at this, crossing my leg on top of the other. I push away Bellac’s agitated expression. “Who knows what other shitty thing he isn’t telling us with the way things are going now.”

It should be your job to know. You went to Bellec to show him Mirabeau’s letters. If you are withholding information or don’t have the full picture, he is under no obligation to believe you. Do your job and investigate.

“How so?”

I shrug mindlessly, “He’s not exactly in everyone’s favor, at the moment.”

Antoine hums curiously at this, “A council who opposes their leader? That is very questionable, but not surprising, considering what we’ve discovered thus far.”

I sigh heavily, “Tell me about it.”

It’s something when the author says she is going to get the history and plot right and still doesn’t know Mirabeau was a politician and was already embroiled in scandal at this time. It’s amazing when authors claim so much yet know so little.

Antoine finishes his last sip, thumbing along the edge of the porcelain cup, “I don’t mean to brush off the topic, but I have to ask—I just remembered.”

"Go on."

A sly grin complimented his glittering eyes, "How was your date?"

“……..” Of course Stephen would rat me out. Anything to get me to stop talking about Mirabeau always was better conversation. “My date went……well,” I answered, resting my head back and pushing the back of my fingers to conceal my pink-like cheek.

I’m surprised the border-hopping boyfriend wouldn’t snitch to his Japanese vampire daddy dom about how loud she was in bed. Her moans could be used as pest control.

Also, your skin is pretty damn brown. I say this because I have seen pictures of Elysia. She shouldn’t be getting pink like that. That’s for paler skin. You have watched too much anime, my dear.

Antoine smiled, “Something along those lines. The theatrical side definitely adds a flare to it.”

“It was….definitely more eventful than I thought it would be.”

I’m quite sure he knows what happened. What gets me is that he never kept communication with Elysia, telling her what he knew and how he could help. He is an ally, right?

"Did you like it, though? Your date, I mean," his grin softened to a genuine smile.

“Yes, I did, I—” I cleared my throat at that.

He leans a bit, “Oh Elysia, your blush gives you away.”

I refuse to meet his gaze, and that says enough.

Oh, how sweet. The strong, powerful feminist Woman of Colour is blushing like a cute maid. Doesn’t that show how fragile and relatable she is? Uwu

“Who’s the lucky individual?”

It wasn’t a question I dreaded, but it certainly was one I knew would come to light. It would be….unfair to lie to Antoine, and it would only be a matter of time until they crossed paths.

“…….You’re going to stare at me if….I tell you who it is.”

He blinks, taking that in, "Now, you have to tell me."

The hot wave ran along the middle of my back, “I’m….dating Alessio’s brother.”

The brother who tried bisexuality while on a boat and scared the shit out of the Royal Navy with his ghostly apparition powers? Cool shit. Alessio sounds pretty lame.

Also, no, you aren’t dating. You just fucked. There was no established relationship between you do. And I still cringe from that sex scene.

Antoine’s stare is……blank, "Wait. Alessio has a brother?"

I stared back, “…..In all the centuries that you traveled with him, he never told you??”

Antoine held his lips between his fingers, rapidly flickering his lashes, "….Huh. I guess I never asked.”

No, because the immortal Japanese vampire doesn’t bother to ask questions even for people he knows.

“Akinara, are you serious?” the name slips through me, but he merely ignores it.

“A brother? Really?" He sat back at this, squishing his lips in a way that made small popping sounds, "Well, is he handsome at the very least? With how Alessio looked, I'm sure I can imagine, but I'm hoping you have a type and not just family members."

I reckon this woman would fuck an alternate version of herself if she could. Maybe the other version would do the deed and end it all. It’d be way more interesting than this.

My stare flattened; I shoved the heated feeling in my chest aside, “I’m…..more comfortable that he’s easier to talk to, and I appreciate that.”

"That’s a nice touch. Are you going to go on more dates?"

“Um, most likely. I mean— that would be ideal, right? Actually having some sort of relationship after...everything,” I emphasized slightly. “And, I know it already paints a picture knowing I went out with Alessio before, or I was….all that, whatever it was.”

Yeah, but you never had a relationship. All you had were a few conversations and some close moments and bam, you had sex. There was no build up and you didn’t even have any personal conversations. If you want me to believe your bond is close and inseparable, work on it. Otherwise, he’s a friends-with-benefits relationship and you’re there for the dick.

“Question: does he know that already?”

I shook my head, “No—Orfeo doesn’t know that.” The last part is more hurriedly said than I wanted it to be.

Antoine raised his hands in a defensive motion, "He won't hear it from me, I promise."

Maybe this will be a conflict in the future? Orfeo figuring out Elysia fucked his brother three hundred years ago? That’d be something.

“You already have a date planned and I’m crashing it?”

“Heh….no. I haven’t seen Orfeo for a bit—” not since our shared night, ”He should be at the manor where I stay at. It’s near closing time and he takes the money for his café from there.” And with all the students out doing missions, it was opportune moment to bring him over.

“Are you telling me he’s a baker?”

“….He is.”

A baker who uses stolen grain and who magically does not have his shop raided. He must’ve added a protection spell to his business.

Your students are still doing business missions when, just a half a chapter ago, you were telling Bellec you’d be willing to follow Arno in defending Elise. What’s the point of sending your students on goose chases? Makes me think there isn’t prescient threat at all!

“You hit the jackpot then, didn’t you, Miss-I-Love-Bread?” he laughed deeply at that. I rolled my eyes, but didn’t argue nor resist the smile I had.

That’s not the only thing baking in her oven wink wink

I look to him.

“However, chaining your love doesn’t make it easier to manage it.”

I press my lips together, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Matters of the heart can’t be changed, including your own.” He reassured with a simple nod, “You know your heart better than anyone.”

Cute, but again, you didn’t actually start anything with Orfeo. You didn’t sit down with him and tell him how you felt, or pour out your heart. You just had a few erotic moments and then banged. That’s not enough to tell your audience these two are an item. You don’t have the guts to make it a friends-with-benefits relationship, because that would make you seem shallow. But going this route just shows me you don’t know what you’re doing.

I say nothing.

“And you’re allowed to make decisions that make you happy.”

“I understand.”

Ever notice how her decisions matter more than anyone else? That’s a constant theme I’ve noticed. She is the sun, and all life revolves around her. You can’t blot out the sun.

“Reminds me of Orpheus. Very particular name that derives from that.” I gave him a raised brow, and he nodded to clarify, “Orpheus pertains to this story of Greek mythology; it dates back thousands of years ago.”

“Oh, okay. I’m listening.”

Antoine lifts a finger to accentuate, “His beloved fell into a pit of vipers, and she was banished to the Underworld. Orpheus plays a melancholy melody, so powerful it was that the Greek god of the banished world takes pity on him, and allows him to retrieve his beloved back.”

“....On what condition?”

Was this the reason for naming him Orfeo? How convenient. Making it a Greek tragedy to add power and meaning! I truly wish Jordan Peterson was here to narrate. He’d give quite the breakdown of what this woman was thinking and what she’s actually doing with her work.

He wags his finger, “Heh, you’re ahead of the story. They both can live together, if he walks in front of her without looking back, and they both reach the Earth floor together.” He makes a walking motion with his fingers, climbing up his opposite arm like a flight of stairs.

“Highly specific.”

“Only then can he be together with her. So, he walks first, and her recovered remains follow, as if she never fell ill in the first place.” We turn to the bridge, and he rolls his arm in a wheel-like motion, “So they walk. And walk. And walk.”

“And?”

You are not helping with this cheap Greek myth, Les. Just stop it while you’re at it. 

“He reaches the top first, and forgets that she has to reach it too,” Antoine pauses.

“...What happened after?”

Antoine looks at me, and smiles sadly, “He looked back, and she disappears, forever.”

I pause in my stride, and Antoine chuckles of my taken aback expression, “Of course, it’s merely a story.”

Not sure why Elysia would be surprised at this at all. She’s lived for hundreds of years and has likely heard about human mythology. There is mythology and religion in the Zelda universe. Why does she continue to act as if all human knowledge is alien to her?

I scoff, “….I’ve heard of many stories; the truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.”

“You think it’s real?”

“I’ve dealt with monsters and Gods and spirits of my word. It’s possible, but Orfeo is not his real name.”

You’ve dealt with gods and monsters yet were taken down by ashwood gas by an anime villain. Who are you fooling?

“Hmm...then it makes me wonder why he picked that name in the first place,” Antoine hummed deeply.

I continue to lead the way, thoughtful.

When has this character even been thoughtful? Drop me a crumb when you find me a clue.

“Pleasure is all mine; any friend of Elysia’s is a friend of ours,” the dark-skinned swordsman beamed.

"Then please, feel free to call me Toni, as all my friends call me that," Antoine commented with a smile, bowing slightly with a hand on his chest. He was so respectful in his tone sometimes, it literally hurt me watching it.

That’s not a French name, FYI.

This entire charade is hurting me, literally.

I look past his shoulder, and indeed see a man seated with his back to us, and Charlotte coming over to give him a cup of coffee. I was surprised he even stayed this long; he should've been gone already with the cafe's currency, thinking about it now.

"Coffee just the way you like it~" Charlotte beamed to him, and she looked over to me with an energetic wave. "Elysia, Orfeo is waiting for—OHHHH?" She scurried over with her tapping boots, and gazed up to Antoine with heavy interest, "Who is thiiiis???"

Whenever I read this dialogue, I like to remind myself that Charlotte is a thirty or forty something woman who is well spoken and well mannered. This just reminds me of an ADHD anime character. It is not how she speaks and it is not how she acts. It’s trope material and a yandere simulator.

"Charlotte, this is Antoine. Antoine, this is Charlotte, who I told you about—"

"You've mentioned me already??? I'm flattered," she fluttered her lashes up to him, practically pressing her front against my side, "Very charmed. Antoine—"

Grisier nudged her a bit, and I could tell he was suppressing his envy with how happy she had gotten, "He prefers Toni, since we are friends of Elysia's."

Can’t wait to see her deflate when he tells her he’s gay.

"Ohhh ho~ Toni is it???" Her green eyes sparkled, "Honey, you can call me anything you want.”

"As you wish, mon cheri," Antoine said, grasping Charlotte's hand lightly and kissing her knuckles with a flourish.

I've never seen Charlotte fall into a fit of giggles that flooded the café, but that's exactly what happened when she pulled her hand gently back. She practically twirled in place. Grisier gave her deadpanned glance, but mustered what smile he could to gesture Antoine inside.

I repeat: Charlotte is a grown woman. She would not be acting this way. I think Les saw her characterization in the game and seriously thought, ‘You know what would fix this? Making her sound like a cosplayer with autism!’ Nice going, Les. Nice going.

I still, but recollect my thoughts, "Uh....r-right. Sorry, Antoine this is Orfeo. Antoine, a long-time friend of mine."

"Antoine?" Orfeo repeats curiously, "You wouldn't so happen to be the same Antoine sending letters off to the Americas, would you?"

….Where did this come from? Had they met before already? No, Antoine even mentioned to me he had never heard of Orfeo before. Then, did Orfeo know him already??

Finally! Will we see Connor and Aveline? It’s been since...Chapter 1!

Antoine tilted his head to the side, humming in thought, "I suppose I've sent one or two letters to the Americas for business, but I'm not sure if I'm this 'same Antoine'.."

“They were address to—”

Calling it right now. He’s been sending letters to Connor, begging him for aid.

I cut off Orfeo, "I'm....I'm positive it's the same one.” I look between the two, and there's a subtle tension to the way Orfeo's eyes study the vampire. I wasn't sure why he answered that way either....or why he would mention.....

I wonder what abilities Akinara has that allow him to endure sunlight without turning into ash, like usual vampires do. Guess it’s just one of those things.

I don’t know why I hesitate to answer, “Oh, sure.” I take the outer seat, and Orfeo….shifts. And he looks at me from the slow angle of his head. He…..really looks at me.

I don’t like how he does it.

There’s an imposter in the Café. Better find out quickly who it is, eh?

His forefinger and thumb cup his chin, and it’s cleanly shaved. He looks younger like this. I look away, and I can’t ignore the cold sweat that climbs my back. I wasn’t expecting him to act this way, so formal. Maybe he’s just being pertinent to the situation? Of meeting an old friend of mine—

Why was he still looking at me, like he’d never seen me before? Did it have to do with our shared night? I hadn’t seen him since then. Did he just happen to change his appearance a bit since?

If you are so sure of your relationship this shouldn’t be an issue. This is what happens when you attach more meaning where there is none. There was never a formal relationship here. Orfeo stood there and riled up the crowd while you were fighting the anime twins. Not once did he step in to help you. Some boyfriend.

I inspect Orfeo’s profile one last time, and my chest stills, “What have you been up to this morning?” I test.

“Had a run in with the guards at the border this morning.” Orfeo admits honestly, with a level of calmness I wasn’t expecting, “Long story short, I came running here to hide out for a bit.”

Must’ve been booking it, because the border is quite a ways away. It’s not like you’re taking a car and driving or using a highway. You’re using a horse or running on foot. I’d be impressed if he ran like the Flash.

The Darkness coils that accompanied Orfeo were absent. There’s no sense of energy coming out of him, as if he were a blank slate. His head tilts, and his much lighter hair shifts. And there, a white strand of hair seeps through.

Interesting. Is his curse broken? I bet it is. He’s going to die. I know it.

“Is there something wrong, Elysia?” he smiles innocently.

My hand lurches and they pin the man beside me. The hidden blade lunges, but he’s ready, and his cold hand snaps and locks at my right wrist with steadfast precision. Antoine freezes to inspect my sudden frenzy of a prepared attack. The hood flies off me, and my gold eyes steel. They aim on him—

“Who the fuck are you,” I command the impersonator.

What a twist! It’s something when these shape shifters are capable of going right into your home base and threatening a mentor. It should also be worrisome that the Templars know exactly where you operate.

Not much thought put into this, eh?

He stares, unflinching and pushes my hand with strong force onto the table. His other hand reaches to the back of his neck and tugs his hair, pulling out a lengthy ponytail tucked underneath his coat. He sits properly up and looks to the arm I’m clutching.

"Apologies...but I got a bit carried away masquerading as my twin brother." A cool smiles unfurls onto his lips, "My name is Uriel, but you can call me Samson."

Uriel? Ur-

"His name is Uriel….He's much nicer than Corvus and myself."

Another twin? Haven’t we had enough of them already? We have yet another random entering the plot when we could do more with the characters we do have, like Arno and Bellec. Instead, we have Attack on Titan battles with immortals. Le sigh.

It all hits me, so unforgivably. My shaking hand withdraws. I don’t look away from Uriel, who is so calm and collected while my memories battle themselves, to grasp in what he just told me to make sure it all connected and made sense.

“….Uriel,” I repeat.

“Elysia?” Antoine’s distant voice comes full circle, and I squeeze his hand back when it takes hold of mine. His hand comforts me, pulls me in. Aware of my reaction.

Of what the past has done to me.

And it took 233,000 words just for your ‘past’ to make an impact. Christ, woman. Just get out with it already! I have no care for these people. What the hell are you doing?

I seat myself beside to face him. I inhale, to readjust my bearings, and push away my lingering thoughts, “I….apologize for my reaction. I know who you are—in the sense you’ve been mentioned to me. I just…didn’t think that….” I don’t like how he looks almost exactly the same as Orfeo, “….Uriel is a twin.”

"No one told you?"

"Obviously not,” I stared.

Why would the pirate with the big dick tell you anything? It’s not like you two shared any secrets, or acted the way two people in a cherished relationship do. These plot twists remind me of a soap opera. Next, we’ll have triplets and bomb threats and previously dead characters coming back to life to be used as blood donors.

Samson sighs gently, rubbing his temple to make sure I didn’t cut him, "Well, I shouldn't really be surprised. After all, it’s easier to explain to strangers you have brothers that live far away then giving the details."

I say nothing.

"Then perhaps I should apologize again for frightening you. I didn't expect you to react as such and it wasn't my intention to cause you distress." Samson took the coffee to his hand, taking a tentative sip before disappointedly putting it down. "Honestly this is all a very big coincidence. Guards had chased me earlier this morning and an Assassin had suggested I stay low here in the meantime. I also couldn’t resist to a free meal when offered. Very aggressively, I might add.”

OK, so he was the guy who was hiding in the rose bushes earlier. In any case, he’s getting a ‘free meal’ when the staff is stretched on funds and food. I’m glad he’s getting a king’s welcome, though. Not sure why Bellec would direct someone like that to the Café, but whatever.

If it wasn’t your intention to cause distress, you could have approached Elysia a different way. You did it in a public place, in a public scene. Not a good look.

Needless to say, Samson already made a questioning first impression. Did I remember wrong? Did Augustine really not tell me Uriel was Orfeo’s twin? And, even Orfeo didn’t mention it. Though, I never asked him, nor did it cross my mind to.

I haven’t the faintest clue, because I have no idea who these people are. It’s character harvesting at this point.

The initial shock has subsided, but whatever was left held my back straight when I seated myself across from Samson this time. The way he turned his head made me brace myself, especially when he smiled knowingly, like he knew something else was on my mind. I, in turn, was unsure of what to say to Samson.

When you are dropping random characters as twins you are grasping for ideas. This is NOT how you pull the audience in.

I rest my arms on the table, and open my hands apologetically, “…I apologize for my reaction from earlier, again.”

"Don't apologize, you have your reasons I'm sure. Your line of work is nothing to look over with what it might mentally inflict." He knew I was an Assassin; Alessio told him that too.

OK, is this guy from the past as well? How many time travellers do we have here?

“I like to treat people the way I like to be treated,” I relayed. “Of course, that depends on the person.”

Nah, you treat people like pieces of shit because you are a piece of shit. Just the author’s reflection.

“The most ideal hope one can have. You’ve certainly made a mark for yourself…what with the lives you’ve impacted…”

“….Again, that depends on the person,” I cleared my throat. “And who you’ve come across to be able to say that.”

Yup, murdering students and sending others to their near deaths is something a proud, intelligent woman does. Don’t cross her, Fucking White Males. Her Magic Woman of Colour powers will eradicate you.

“As I’m aware…Antoine thought the same thing. Perhaps it’s better for Augustine to think that I’m in fact, not here. It sounds like he’s made amends to the absent people in his life with that knowledge, and that includes you.”

As if a brown woman with weird ears and inhuman abilities is going to be overlooked. You’re pushing the limits here.

I place the vial back on the table, hardly making a sound, “So he took some with him. Probably to grow some himself; they carry medicine properties which had definitely saved our comrades when we were in a pinch.”

“I’ve noticed…though I’m positive he was unaware of what they were capable of.” Samson shook the little vial once in his hand before returning it to his pocket, “He brought them for more…sentimental reasoning. I had only discovered their medical prowess after taking samples to see how they differed from trees in the New World.”

Introducing trees from another universe, especially ones with magical properties, are not going to go over well with native flora. You are begging for an ecosystem collapse. Not that Uriel cares or anything...or that the author knows.

“They have.” Samson popped open another pocket. He pulled out a smaller, contained vial full of a clear liquid, “Perhaps you’ll find some use to this. I have that much to thank for you…bringing them here.” He set it on the table, and I gave it a hard stare.

“….It’s a poison. You made poison with the Deku Nut,” my eyes rise back up to him.

“If it’s not used with caution, then yes, it would be a poison,” he advised.

Will this poison be used against the anime twins or nah? I’m hoping it’ll be a MacGuffin. Why bring this up if it’s never going to be used?

“I don’t think he will take it lightly if I lied to him about you, or your arrival,” I revealed, already imagining the look of his face if someone else managed to tell him before I did. Knowing that I already knew.

“Oh, he definitely wouldn’t. You might not know this but he hates liars.”

My lips press.

Odd. Orfeo lies all the time. Elysia lies all the time. They lied about where the grain was going and lied about what was going on with the Templars. It seems to be fine provided Orfeo is the one making them up.

“What are the odds I won't be able to get out of the city beforehand? Unless those phony guards decided to claim my possessions as their own then...that would be a problem."

“What guards?”

"Men disguised as patrol at the southern border gate. They wore black arm bands on their upper shoulder. Clearly, that isn’t part of the uniform as I’ve come to realize on my way over here."

A familiar name hits me, “La Bande Noire.”

“Notorious for you to remember their name?”

“They’re a gang of criminals known to steal worthy possessions of travelers, and run an underground fence. They’re a hassle to track down, and their secret location changes frequently.”

Cool. Now why isn’t this brought up more? It’s valid, it’s important, it adds conflict...all things this story needs. But no. That comes second, or last, to whatever the fuck this woman has planned.

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was a twin, merely a brother,” I sighed, resisting to rub my face clean.

“Then I hope you make more frequent visits so we get to know you a bit better, especially Elysia,” Charlotte giggled mirthfully. “Since—oh, it all makes sense on why you answered the way you did….when I asked you all those questions earlier….” She twiddled her thumbs, “Ooops.”

I gave her a curt stare, and the edge of my eye twitched. Dear god, Charlotte. 

 Orfeo doesn’t just have a twin brother. He has two brothers. Alessio clearly isn’t the twin, but the brother left behind in 1400’s Rome. So you’re adding another layer of confusion to this messed up family.

For once, I am in agreement with Elysia. My eye would twitch at the way Charlotte is acting. No mature woman acts like that. We are not in an anime or a cutesy Kingdom Hearts episode.

With pressed lips, I strode over to the nearest bloom of a flower, and unpluck it from its fresh stem. I set it aside on the stone fence of the balcony, inspecting the vial one last time before tipping its opening above the rose.

One drop.

Two drops.

Three-

There was a hissing sound, and the petals instantly shriveled, almost decaying to the center. The light petals turned a ghastly gray, and the veins within protruded and shriveled to ash. I clenched my teeth, and closed the opening with the softwood.

Cool. You now have a poison that acts like hydrochloric acid. Are you going to use it against one of the villains? Maybe – if the author remembers she even included it. It might be a new MacGuffin, conveniently forgotten like the Pieces of Eden.

Well. This chapter was another dialogue heavy chapter, and I am somewhat pleased to say most of it was not worth copying for commentary. Sometimes, these posts take hours to conjure up as critiquing each sentence requires more effort than the author’s initial input. The previous chapter was a heavy hitter with the sheer amount of dialogue and poor exposition. The issue with bad dialogue is that it drags everything down. You are not making your characters alive by being heard or seen. As weird as that sounds, it’s one of the only ways for the readership to empathize or understand the protagonist (s). Not every author is skilled with environment building or exposition, so they use dialogue. Great dialogue tells a story all on its own. Bad dialogue, which is seen aplenty here, will only drag down the quality of your work.

Now, we learn that Orfeo has yet another brother – plot convenience, I tell you – and Charlotte acts like a cosplayer who just found her favourite voice actor at a con. It’s grating and completely unlike her. But if I focused on that, I’d be here all day. I could be focused on how ALL of the canon characters act like anime villains. It just doesn’t seem realistic in the slightest.

The chapter actually started off well with Bellec’s flashbacks of Shay hunting down the Colonial Brotherhood. It’s good enough to stand on its own and we saw more of Bellec’s character. Sadly, he was pushed aside for Elysia, because what plot point is NOT centred on this selfish bitch? He’s already plotting against the Brotherhood and he’s doing it because Elysia is keeping secrets from him as well as Mirabeau. I don’t know what the author has in store for him exactly, but I know it isn’t going to be good. Les has a habit of toying with canon characters and then throwing them out when their use is no more.

Bellec’s past is worthy enough for its own story. If you want to make his betrayal of the Brotherhood bittersweet, this isn’t the way to do it. I will end up cheering for him the moment he ghosts Elysia because she has been a piss-poor protagonist since her introduction. He will extend the olive branch to her, not Arno, and what will Arno do? Well sit there and mope, as he’s always done.

If all you’re doing is introducing random twins and shoving in dialogue that moves nothing forward, you become a repetitive machine – as I have – because you keep repeating things. I have to keep repeating criticisms because they keep being brought up over and over again on the screen. I have to keep mentioning that the character is NOTHING like the author says she is because textual evidence does not support it.

You are wasting your time. Elysia has no relationship with Orfeo. None. She got all wet for his dick and that’s it. Now, she has ultra toxic poison from a Deku tree and has a choice to go full Caustic or take the nerf.

Since the ‘smut’ is out of the way, I now have to wait to see what will become of Arno. Whether it’ll be 30,000 more words or 50,000 more words, I know it’s coming. We haven’t even reached the climax of this story because it is simply taking forever.

Fanfiction offers a ton of freedom. I get that. But when you just keep going and have no textual substance, and I have to keep repeating myself to the point of boredom, it says a lot more about you than it does about me.

Pick a plot. Stick with it. Use characters that you actually plan to use. Canon characters that you said you’d flesh out should be fleshed out. Make it all make sense.

If Bellec was the star of the show I would not mind at all. Problem is, he isn’t. This entitled Magic Woman of Colour from a separate universe who became a Mentor in five years is going to tell the others they are the ones keeping secrets and putting the Brotherhood at risk. Better yet, tell a veteran who survived the worst Assassin hunter that you don’t care about the Creed! None of this would fly for anyone else. It does for the Gypsy Queen here, because diversity or some shit. Arno certainly wouldn’t get away with it. He’d be killed on the spot.

Turns out, when you’re a Magic Woman of Colour whose vagina is as wide as a swimming pool, anything and everything can happen to you and you’ll still be celebrated.