Pain during the month of Pride - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 26

 Isn’t Pride the greatest month? Virtually every corporation and hot take voices their support for all manner of acts, identities and personalities for a select minority of people – all for them to whine about oppression. Truly, we’re going to see some gay representation in this particular instance, won’t we? In the previous chapter, we got a little snippet into Elysia’s sexuality and how she’s not all that monogamous and grew up in a sexually free, woman-only culture. Maybe we’ll see Arno get with his boyfriend! One can only hope.

The word count stands at 252, 275.

“Let’s take a look at what we have here!”

The unnecessary plunders of unsuspecting victims through a long-time span was now on full display in one pinpoint location—to be auctioned off effortlessly for a miniscule amount of greed within a struggling, ill-fated city. Naturally, it was plentiful enough to question exactly where Samson’s belongings were in the mess of it all.

That's quite a word salad. All that for 'people who were too wealthy beyond their means had their stuff stolen and auctioned off for other rich people to buy'. Let's also consider that this kind of plundering has been happening for years and has never been mentioned until now. Good plot structuring, ladies! 

“Um…what is it exactly we’re watching out for?” Arno rested his elbow on his opposite hand, and fanned out his free fingers in a rotating-like fashion.

“A briefcase, about this size—“ the identical twin of Orfeo indicated a decent amount of space in front of him, “—hoping they didn’t take everything out of it beforehand.”

You know Arno has this thing called 'Eagle Vision'? He hasn't used it once. Scratch that, he did somewhat use it when Elysia took him to the catacombs, but it was barely there. All the things that made him unique as a person and as a man are gone. He's just acting like a dim-witted, flamboyant gay Frenchman. 

Which is, uh, typical?

Plus, it's custom to look through valuable items with a fine toothed comb to see if there are any hidden treasures within the lining. Unless the guy has a lock on that briefcase, they are going to open it. People are desperate and the rich want every precious trinket they can get their hands on.

“Would that be bad?” I addressed calmly.

The immortal tentatively scowled, "There is…..a valuable ring. An old one; it’s embedded with a blood-like ruby, and has been a family heirloom. If it’s lost…."

 'If we don't stop this McGuffin from getting stolen, bad things are gonna happen' cliché. Why did you let it get stolen in the first place if it was that important to you? You should have gotten it before the revolution.

“Nothing we can’t handle I’m sure,” I comforted him. He thinks for a second, but is soothed of my words momentarily.

“Take a good look and see what fancies you!” The auctioneer tossed his arm behind; the first set of items being demonstrated onto the stage. “Let’s start the bidding on this first item, a chest full of the finest dressings and cloths…”

You know, between Arno and Elysia, they should have easily found the itinerary where all the items were listed and stored. It would have saved you a lot of time. But that's the logical solution, and we need this tension, don't we?

Jewels, vases, scriptures and swords of various kinds enthralled the crowd of wealthy and rowdy men. Attentively we scouted the luxuries, and I could hear Samson mutter and sigh to himself beneath his slender digits as the flow of stolen belongings carried on. Half an hour passes, and there’s still no sign of Samson’s things. A doubting thought hangs over me: what if they had completely ransacked his entire traveling pack and already split the share of it? What if there had been an earlier auction of sorts without any of us knowing? I dreaded the thought.

Again - you could've stolen the list, sifted through storage, and found what you were looking for. Arno doesn't have to wear a dog collar and get a dildo shoved up his ass as 'punishment' from de Sade, and you can have a threesome with the twins. 

“Tempted to buy myself that.” Arno gestured to the rapier sword grabbed at its handle by the auctioneer who waved it pompously for display. “How many livres do you have on you, Elysia?”

“Not enough,” I responded with an arched brow, considering the pouch at my hip. “Don’t you already have a sword?”

“….I do, but not that one.”

"Here." Samson coolly digs into the pockets of his pants, and suddenly handed over a hefty pouch onto Arno's palm, "Buy it." I stare at the gesture….conflicted. Tempted to tell Arno to give it back…

It's something, really something, when Elysia is insinuating that Arno is bad with money. This man, canonically, is good with math and managed several social clubs on his own. He knows how to make a profit. But no, he's just an irresponsible spender while Elysia here - the same one who nearly tanked the Café - is a scrooge with her money.

Soooo rich.

"...You're joking." Arno’s wide eyes consider the money, then back up to Samson with a small glitter, "Really?"

"Show you're interested in buying; they're more likely to catch your hand for later items,” he answers so logically without any hesitation. "Think of this as an investment for the future. "

....Am I surprised? Yeah...a little bit. But boy, the increasing smile on Arno’s face—

You just gotta keep cucking the guy, eh? Gotta show him as being shit with money and buying things he doesn't need, just like all the other Fucking White Males. 

“Any more takers?? Last call!”

“I bid!” Arno threw his arm up, and the last bidder grumbled at his interruption.

“Going once! Going twice— sold, to the chap over there!” the man pounded the pedestal once, and Arno went up hurriedly ahead to collect his reward. I resist the urge to ask Samson where he got that kind of money, but I remind myself it was really none of my business.

 It should be. It's your job. He had to have money to bribe his way into France without having his items seized by soldiers posted at the borders, and he had to have money to get all of his expensive clothes. You really think the brother of an immortal pirate is broke, girl? 

“That was nice of you,” I replied instead, watching Arno handing over the necessary amount, and his mouth shooting happily open as the rapier sword was planted in his hands.

"It's a fair trade." Samson eyes me next, "After all, you're helping me...it’s the least I can do."

“…It’s fine, really,” I answered gently. He regards me for a few more seconds before turning away.

I can't get over on how awkward this all is. The dialogue never seems authentic or genuine. How can you fluctuate between being untrustworthy, to trustworthy, and back again? Is it because you're letting your genitalia and sexual arousal dominate your thoughts? Not a good look for a 'strong female character'.  

In the midst of Arno’s distracting return, I took a subtle, good look at Samson within the protection of my cowl. It…bothered me he was so cooperative, but I knew that was a silly thing to suspect him on, and again no real proof to categorize him as a hazard (especially if all he wanted was to leave Paris with haste). Maybe…my irrational thinking was conflicting with my emotions due to his sibling ties. Of what he could do, what he could reveal, tell and say to either (or both) of his brothers.

This is how Shay manages to be such a threat in this story: not because he has magic rocket launchers or anime twins carrying huge axes into opera houses, but because the Magic Brown Woman doesn't have an ounce of situational awareness or operational security. If all it takes is one twin who you barely know getting in the way of your 'cool, collected' attitude everyone else relies on, then you aren't as strong as you think you are. I'd dare say you have a touch of narcissistic personality disorder. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t fair to do that to him, to put him in a battle I made for myself. One I didn’t have to be in. But…here we were as I overanalyzed and criticized everything I could to decipher; he already told me why he was here, what more proof did I need?

Pure pedantry. You made that fight, you deserve to stay in it. You started throwing punches? You deserve to have them thrown back. You don't get to throw the boomerang and not expect it to spiral back at you. 

You're 'overanalyzing', criticizing everything to 'decipher' things, and yet couldn't look at the itinerary list or eavesdrop on this black market to see what was being sold. You had to rely on Arno, who knew the entire time, to get the dirt. 

Which reminds me: many chapters ago, Elysia helped a famous painter deal with a lost painting. Why didn't she strike up a deal with the art scene where they'd give her info on black market sales? Guess it was just a lost plot point never to make it to importance. 

“Elysiaaa? Do you like it?” I didn’t even see the garrulous Arno waving the sword as he stood in front of me.

I blinked, “Oh...yes, it’s nice. Nicer up close.”

“It matches my coat...when I get that back,” Arno pointed out casually, and securely tied the sword at his hip. “Thanks again, Samson. Heavily appreciate it.”

Writing men, especially white men, as eternally petulant children isn't attractive. I get it that it's a running joke to mock them for everything in life, but truth be told, even AOC fucks white guys. Women don't like weak men. They don't like manchildren either. 

None of these traits makes men look good.  

"Think nothing of it." Samson waved a courteous hand, and his almond eyes lift back to the stage. We follow his example and watch the men switching the items for the next batch: some paintings, one large one and a statue stationed.

“Hey, Elysia-“ Arno jabbed my side gently, and motioned, “Think that’s the painting?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know, there’s a lot of paintings-“

Eagle Vision. Arno has Eagle Vision. USE IT FOR ONCE.  

“Feast your eyes on this beauty! Made by a famous bloke from Britain, titled The Nightmare!”

“That’s the painting,” we both sighed in unison. Several participants shot up their arms, the auctioneer calling out each rising bid.

“Final bid? No, we got another!”

“Should we move?” Arno asked.

You know how you could have solved this? The same way you could have dealt with the opera/ballet/Black Swan plot: steal it. Go when everyone is asleep or distracted, use Arno's abilities to locate the painting, and steal it. Leave no trace behind. You do not have to waste a single dollar and you don't have to have these stupid sub plots.

Then again, I'm thinking rationally. Unlike Miss 'Who Makes My Pussy Wet' here. 

“No...but I’ll keep an eye on it for the moment.” The bid kept going higher, until—

“Sold! We’ll roll that up for you, ready to go,” the announcer clapped his hands in encouragement. “We got a lot more to get through, let’s carry on!”

I'll repeat: this could have been solved by sneaking in and stealing whatever you wanted. Samson has no reason to be in Paris aside from getting his ruby ring, which will lead to questions as to how the ring was stolen in the first place. This is not the first time random characters have been introduced, supposedly with big roles, never to be seen again.

Smaller paintings depicting mythical stories, tapestries that showcased exotic patterns and twined with various colors; fine, imported carpets from overseas and tea sets of golden and flowery design were snatched eagerly by the onlookers and trinket collectors. Then, came the jewelry batches. Samson tensed beside and I knew he saw something I wasn’t aware of.

Did he not tell you that he wasn't after just the painting, but a ring of his? This was said just a few paragraphs before.  

“Is it something of yours?” I asked.

Samson shook his head vehemently, and is now standing near the wall, shoulder to shoulder with me, “...No, I thought I...” he paused.

I gazed to him properly, “What is it?”

A short-lived expression escaped him, and he nodded upward, “There. It’s the ring.”

Wouldn't it have helped if Magical Brown Woman used her super-duper stealth abilities or reconnaissance skills to, I don't know, get this ring before it was placed for auction? She's spent the past 100,000 words lecturing to Arno and others that they suck at doing their jobs, yet she gets away with fumbling hers. The benefits of being a flatter Kamala Harris.

The auctioneer pulls out a small cloth bag and it has an intricate symbol on it. He scissored it open with his digits, and plucked out—

“God knows how much this is worth, but it can be yours!” The man waved it around, the red stone bright and saturated.

Well that's not very beneficial for an auctioneer. You should have some semblance of what it's worth. If you're selling black market goods, you need to make sure they're authentic. If you don't, that's the easiest way you are found dead in an alleyway. Some of those thieves were very good at detecting fakes from genuine stones. 

“And there’s the briefcase,” I whispered softly, seeing it behind the auctioneer’s feet that had some documents and rummaged pieces of clothing peeking out.

You didn't see it before? Then again, I am reminded that this woman did not see a hulking axe-woman walking around in full armour in an opera house. 

"We'll have to act with care now." Samson acknowledged, "I can front the money if needed."

“...After what you paid for Arno, I’d rather you save it than actually give it to them,” I rebutted, already hearing the price rake up far beyond what Arno paid for his sword. The arms and shouts increased, and the amount had tripled in the span of a minute. 

I'll go back to what I said earlier: all of this could have been avoided if you just stole the items you needed. If you knew you didn't have enough money beforehand, you could have found fake money to pay the items with. You have a woman who can exert mystical energy and kick people across the room whose boyfriend is an immortal pirate. You can't, for whatever reason, make fake gold or shortchange people?

“Any more takers??? Don’t be shy!”

“We don’t have that much, do we?” Arno questioned with urgency.

Probably should have thought about that before buying the sword. Arno had no problem stealing back his father's watch after he lost it after cheating at cards. Yet he can't steal a sword he likes? Canon Arno would have no problem stealing stuff he wanted. This version of Arno is so cucked he can't even clean his own nails without Elysia's help. 

I shook my head, “No, so we’ll go with our next plan.” The auctioneer finalized the sale, and the ring was passed down to a fancily dressed gentlemen in the front row. He took the ring to clean off whatever dust was on it after procuring the funds out of his pocket. 

Oh that's... a clever way to hide an expensive ring. You're usually meant to exchange papers and give the item to the person in private, but oh well.

I analyzed our pathway, and the distance between the ring bearer, the tossed briefcase behind, and The Nightmare painting being finally rolled up from its wide space. If correctly executed, a smoke diversion would be enough to create an escape with a few thrown daggers to take down the snipers in case they aimed. 

  Hang on a minute. You are going to throw a smoke bomb - that will damage the painting - and throw said daggers in the smoke because your magic Brown Girl abilities can make you see in the dark (and Arno doesn't have his Eagle Vision!), for snipers whose guns would also damage the precious materials inside the building?

Someone actually thought this sounded like a good idea. Then proceeded to write it. Then had two editors give it the go-ahead. Jesus Christ.

"And now for our next piece—"

Samson froze in his position, eyes fixated to the stage in a worried, trance-like manner, enough to make me stop and stare at him.

"What is it??" I question.

The immortal’s voice is rasp, "No..."

If he knew the ring was a MacGuffin and could not be managed by mere mortals, why didn't he tell Elysia? She already took him at his word that he's an immortal, too. All he had to do was say the ring had magic powers and then they would have been incentivized to prevent it from even making it to the auction. He made it all the way to Paris to get it back, yet he remained silence.  

Arno tried next, "Are you all right? Is there something else you're missing?"

"It's not what I'm missing, but what that miscreant is mishandling."

My eyes cut across once more, and onto the strange object the auctioneer flaunted. A mutely, scarlet-colored stone, fashioned in the form of a sphere. "Surely a piece to brighten and highlight anyone's home for those looking for more foreign items today."

Samson's teeth grind slightly, "I don't know how he found it...but that's a Piece of Eden."

......What.

I'll say. It took us 250,000 words for the author to even mention the Pieces of Eden. That said, you'd think this would necessitate Samson coming right out and saying that they're selling a potential WMD. The Assassins and Templars kill for control of those things, and once again, a Mentor knows someone in possession of one and told no one else about it.

I paused from my next step; fingers laced with a smoke bomb I was ready to douse the crowd with, “....What did you say?” I enunciated, but Samson’s expression didn’t change.

“That man is holding a Piece of Eden.”

My eyes lock to Samson, then to the object in question…but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It looked like a regular orb of sorts, a paperweight even.

I lowered my arm and regard Samson again, “Are you absolutely sure he is? How can you tell it’s one??”

It's something when a magical being like Elysia doesn't feel any sort of connection to advanced scientific items or read a single thing by Ezio Auditore. Hell, she LIVED with him, and not once knew what a PoE is or what their energy is like. If a scarlet orb looks like an Apple of Eden, it's safe to assume it might just be one. Amazing how none of them can put two and two together. 

"I've studied Pieces of Eden in recent years...the Colonial Brotherhood had once tasked me with confirming whether Pieces such as those were of the genuine article." Samson points with great conviction, "There's runes carved into the stone, in the language of those that came before us."

Has...Samson actually lost his mind?

And there it is. 

Elysia has been in France for ten years. Gained mentorship in five. And not once did she ever learn about one of the main reasons the Assassins and Templars fight: control over Pieces of Eden. She spent one year with Ezio, not even knowing he had contact with the Apple of Eden. This woman gained control of the Parisian Brotherhood without even knowing what they stand for or do. 

Absolute peak SJW writing: elevating a Woman of Colour with no personality or likeability on the basis of her race over others. 

This woman fell through time traveling portals, knows several immortals, can break peoples legs like toothpicks, and knows a time traveler who dates an immortal Japanese vampire. Who really has lost their mind here? 

“We got some bidders here!” the auctioneer exclaimed, and the crowd jeered when a high number came into the fold. A murmur of excitement, then-

“I outbid him by a thousand livres,” a woman voice rung from the right side of the area. She was taller than the average height of the men here, and had long, jet-black hair with almond skin. She wore a dark cloak of sorts, with boots that looked tribal and handmade.

“Eight hundred more!” The same man as before outbid her.

She calmly called out, “A thousand more.”

“Ten more!”

“A thousand more.”

You'd think a Native woman would get incredibly sick in the land that was a hotbed for the diseases that killed 90% of her people. But she is merely another magic minority that will likely never be seen or heard from again, more so if she is actually more interesting than the PeeOhCee protagonist. 

Samson’s figure tensed, and Arno gripped my arm and shook it once, “I don’t think Samson is lying.”

“What makes you say that???”

“He did buy my sword-“

“That’s not enough proof!” I whispered urgently. Why the hell would a Piece of Eden end up here?? Was the Brotherhood even aware of this?

You weren't aware of it. You don't even know what they are. Who the fuck put you in charge of the Brotherhood? 

"Why do you think I came here??" Samson enforced instead, standing right in front of me with urgency in his eyes, "I'm heading to Cairo to study a site, a precursor site—"

"Four hundred livres more!"

"A thousand more."

"I can't in my good-conscious let that item slip into the wrong hands. Not again!"

Really? Well, shame Samson didn't appear several years earlier and find the Sword of Eden or the Apple of Eden in St. Denis. It's a damn shame that Shay had killed a Sage, the few people who can connect with PoEs better than anyone else, for the sake of plot. 

If you never wanted the item to slip into the wrong hands, why didn't you send a message to your brother earlier so he could get Elysia to steal it? You would have wasted time traveling all the way to France. What's the deal?

"We are totaling at about eleven-thousand-six-hundred livres for this exquisite item!" The auctioneer waved the jewelry like trinket teasingly, "Any other takers! Going once, twice—"

"Two thousand more livres!" Arno's voice piped up. I gave a stern glare to Arno, who avoided for my gaze for that exact reason.

“We have a higher bidder!” the auctioneer pointed to us, earning us every glance available. Including the colored woman who narrowed her gaze to us. Samson motioned himself behind me swiftly, tucking the hood to hide his face fully.

'Colored woman'? Wow, how racist. More so since Elysia has never been referred to as such, and she's fucking orange.  

"Four thousand livres more!" Arno snaps.

"A thous—"

"Sold to the gentleman over here!" The grinning auctioneer points to Arno deliberately, slamming the pedestal as the last call. “She’s all yours! Claim your prize with money in tow, of course.”

....Shit.

What did I say about sneaking and stealing? You know there are entire missions in Unity where you just sneak into palaces and steal priceless paintings, and you get higher scores if you don't get caught? Yeah. 

Arno smiled nervously, gesturing to the announcer, “One...second!” He jerked his head to me, “What’s the plan?”

“What plan??? You went ahead and made one up!” I hurriedly murmured. “Get ready for my signal, then. We’ll-“

That's what happens when a Mary Sue gets called out for her lack of leadership. Or when her own author forgets what she's supposed to do.

A collected gasp rung out from the clutter of attendees, the path parted between us and the woman...who held aimed a rifle toward us.

Where did she hide that? Under her dress?  

“If you know what’s good for you, I suggest you walk away,” she called out. I rested a hand on Arno’s chest, pushing him a bit behind alongside Samson.

“I think we won that trinket fairly,” I answered with narrowed eyes. “It’s best you go and be on your way, or else.” A couple of brutes pooled into the scene, a few with some pistols, others with swords in order to diffuse the dispute.

Guess you didn't scan the room and find the few hulking brutes that were eyeing the token brown woman, eh? You mean to tell me they didn't notice the huddled group of hooded people at the back? This is a black market auction. Those people are born paranoid.  

"I will not be leaving without that item." The rifle cocks in place, and she is unphased of the swarm of men that surround her, "If this has to be done the hard-way, so be it."

Solution to a Native woman holding a gun: throw a blanket at her. 

"All right, all of you, get out," the auctioneer bellowed, signaling to the guards, “Grab that rapier sword while you’re at it!”

“Before we all decide to—OKAY,” Arno’s stride is immediately halted, making the men take a step toward us. I ready a dagger in hand—

So...whatever happened to Arno's Phantom Blade or his pistol? Does he just carry a sword, or...?

BANG! a man drops to the floor, the colored woman twisting her rifle around to shoot the next brute closest to her. Like a magnet do the rest head in her direction.

I suspect she is using a bolt-action rifle if she is able to shoot once, reload, and do it again. The first bolt-action rifle was not invented until 1824. The closest thing you had to a rapid-fire gun was the Puckle Gun (for ships) or the blunderbuss, which is a shotgun.  

“Get Samson’s stuff!” I ordered, and sent the smoke orbs flying. Shots rung out, and the crowd dispersed in a hectic frenzy. I navigated through the clash of men, reaching the stage to see the auctioneer ducking and weaving through the chaos to escape into the pub while the opportunists raided the stand. I followed after him, but recoiled back when the man’s head was shot dead center from the side. His limping body fell back, and the sphere rolled across the uneven ground to the outstretched boot catching it.

You're throwing smoke bombs in a crowded, small area, knowing that people are going to stampede at Native Sniper Wolf here. You just created a disaster. Amazingly, the Native woman was able to see through the smoke and shoot the auctioneer, which led to the orb conveniently rolling in her direction. How can opportunists even see the stand they're raiding in the first place? 

The woman sniper snatched the sphere and tucked it within the satchel on her hip, rifle poised to me with one easy hand.

"A few thieves could go without this. An impulsive Assassin much less," she coldly remarked to me.

"You won't leave without it," I curtly answered, holding a smoke bomb at my hip. "Tell Shay he can fuck off." Her rifle fired, igniting the whole row of smoke bombs preemptively along my waist. She hiked into the smoke of the scrambling crowd to disguise herself.

That's what happens when you don't think ahead. This has happened before when the anime twins did their monologue at the opera: Elysia just stood there and let them talk, and not once did they think to attack her conveniently placed smoke bomb belt. The bullet also doesn't pierce her body - even if she has rapid regeneration, it's still going to pierce her skin - and the Native woman can still see in all that smoke. 

Don't bother with monologues. Just shoot and be done with it.

I chased after her, leaping over the dashing bodies and managing to snatch the satchel for a split second. The rifle came swinging, my hands gripping the body in time before it could smack my chest. We spun in place, the woman elbowing me off and raising the rifle's end straight at my arm. I swung upwards to make the rifle fire into the air instead. Once again, I aimed for the leather bag, her boot catching my side and sending me staggering from the brute force. The familiar smoke of ashwood engulfed the scene, making me cough hoarsely from the burning sensation pasting in my chest. I squinted my eyes and swiftly flung myself to the ground. A barrage of shots rang above me, the bullets hitting the building in rapid succession before I could hear her shuffling off to the distance.

Elysia is an immortal being capable of regenerating herself after sustaining mortal injuries. She can climb up buildings, get razor-sharp claws and teeth that can tear apart normal humans, and has inhuman strength. She can kick away guns, axes, and cave in grown men's rib cages. 

She gets kicked away by a tall, Amazonian Native woman while inhaling the smoke of the tree that populates the entirety of Europe. Simply amazing. 

"Damn it!" I gave chase, watching her scale the building's windows in an attempt to reach the rooftop. "No you don't!" I gripped an anchored rope, and with a swipe of the hidden blade cut off the support to send me flying upwards. On the way I swiped at the satchel, and caught the bag on my foot when she attempted to procure it midair. With a swift maneuver it was on my person, and speedily ducked onto the rooftop from the shooting rifle that pierced the wood.

How can she shoot you if she's scaling the building? She'd need to use both of her hands. Even Connor couldn't climb and shoot at the same time. How were you also able to grab the satchel with your foot, knowing that one wrong movement would miss it completely? 

None of this makes sense. I'd love to know what kind of gun the Native woman is using, though.

A loud whistle rung from below, a troop of soldiers invading the pub and storming inside the auction space. I sensed the pair of eyes, and looked across to the next building to see the sniper climbing her way into a third story window. Her tall form was rigid with tan eyes that burrowed into mine. She secured the rifle at her back, and her glare burned with the energy of a thousand suns.

“I will retrieve that from you, one way or another, Elysia." Without another word, she disappeared into the shadows of the quarters. 

You had the option to kill her then and there with your hidden blade when you used the momentum of the counterweight to pull you upwards. She was vulnerable and could not possibly have shot you. Instead, we're going to see this Big Baddie act all high and mighty until she performs another monologue and dies in the most pathetic way possible.

Motioning across the rooftop, I scanned the vicinity for any sign of Arno and Samson in the midst of the blue-uniformed troops. Coincidentally, a recognizable attendee of the auction lingered by a nearby structure, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to leave unquestioned. In his arms was a rolled-up canvas, the only large one that had been done so. With a quick leap and a glide down the alleyway, the man made an expected dash toward my direction when he realized it was the only path unguarded. Just when he thought he was home-free, I stuck my foot out and clutched The Nightmare painting from his flailing grip. 

You could do that to this NPC but couldn't do it to the Native woman, despite being capable of outrunning nearly every human on earth? Wow. Consistency.  

"H-Hey!" he met the ground with a grunt.

I made a sprint for the neighboring alley, ducking myself against an opened doorway of a tailorshop to see the fuming figure hunt after me down the path, and around the bend where he vanished from sight. Alone and safe, I collected myself at a secluded section of the riverbank, blending enough with the walking pedestrians. I tucked the painting behind me, making sure it was upright against the wall before turning to the ripped satchel I had.

I think people would notice a large, priceless rolled up painting sticking out of your back. Just saying. And I think they'd also notice a bunch of soldiers heading towards a black market auction and go investigate. You're not exactly being subtle. 

With a careful opening of the clip, I inspected inside and spotted the dark-colored sphere, its shine lost. A Piece of Eden here, undetected and ending up in the streets of Paris? I was tempted to pry it out when I suddenly heard the shuffling of footsteps nearing. My chest settled when I recognized Arno's voice quipping out.

You, uh, know that there was an entire underground complex at the Temple where the Sword of Eden was held? You could have asked Germain if you bothered to keep him alive. Not as if Thomas de Carneillon's work could've been read, you know.  

"Elysia! You here?"

I signaled my arm out, and Arno closed the distance eagerly. Tucked in his arm was the shut briefcase, and Samson not too far behind. He seemed to be fiddling with something between his fingers, and closer inspection revealed it was the ring he had mentioned earlier.

Yeah, just shout out her name casually. Not as if Parisians can't notice the only brown skinned woman in a red hood, with flaming red hair and pointed ears. Oh, and the most crooked nose ever. Definitely not things to gossip about, no.

As for Samson, he could have asked for Orfeo's help. But he didn't. My guess is that there' another plot point as to why the brothers aren't communicating and he might turn out to be the big baddie. Calling it now, place your bets.

"Oh, and you got the painting, perfect," Arno sighed in relief, scanning the large canvas behind me. “Did you get the Piece?"

I nodded, and tied the satchel to my waist, "I did, yes. It's in there. All of Samson's belongings were retrieved?"

"Might've lost a blouse or two in that scramble, but for the most part, yes," Arno set the leathered luggage down and rested his hands lazily on his hips. “That was….something.” 

I appreciate how Arno has been turned into a stereotypical gay dude who only cares about his clothes and looks. Not as if he knows how to fight or has special abilities no one else has, like a thing called Eagle Vision. 

I'll say it was 'something'. Throwing smoke in a crowded area while shooting blindly is something you see in high speed cop chases. I'm surprised the place didn't catch fire from all that exploding gunpowder. 

“Certainly, it could’ve gone better but this was a good outcome versus what could’ve happened,” Samson added after. Wiping the ring once more in satisfaction, he tucked it in his pocket, and then viewed me next.

"May I see the Piece? I just need to see what exactly kind we're dealing with."

"There's more than one kind?" Arno asked with an arched brow.

So, in this iteration, Arno doesn't know what the Nostradamus puzzles are and no one seems to know who Thomas de Carnellion (sic) is. The guy who was sent to locate the Sword of Eden and steal it from the Templars? That guy? From the intro? Who left his armour behind? Who wrote journals about it?

Perish the thought that Elysia and the rest would ever be bothered to read what he wrote! 

Arno should absolutely know what they are. He's spent two years among the Assassins, and knowing he has (?) Eagle Vision was already a clue he was gifted. Alas, we're never going to see that. 

"Unfortunately, yes. There are dozens of different versions; you might be most familiar with the Apple of Eden."

“Maybe all that spewing Bellac gave me went in one ear and out the other when it came to that lesson, because I don’t recall,” the Dorian settled on.

Samson opened his palm directly to me this time, “Well, let’s see it.”

Is there anything Arno isn't mentally disabled on? He physically and mentally cannot act or behave like an adult. He doesn't listen to anyone unless it's the magic brown woman yelling in his ear.

“Maybe not here.” I nodded to the canvas. “Let us deliver this first. No doubt word will get around and our benefactor will be questioning where we are and where’s his painting.”

"And least we need is De Sade holding this incident over us." Arno added in, sighing, "Or more so over me."

Hm. Maybe we'll see a BDSM scene with Arno getting whipped and tied up? Maybe an enema scene, like that dastardly Google translate Chinese fic I read - I'm still shuddering in disgust from that. If there isn't one here I'll be glad, but I'm almost tempted to see one written for the Hell of it. Just to see how bad this will go.  

“Meet us at Notre Dame at Mass time,” I advised Samson. His fingers curled back, and accepted my proposal without objection. “Near the back way. Arno.”

Worst time to go. Why not give it to him then and there? Oh, right. You need the dialogue.

The Dorian handed over Samson’s briefcase, “Safe and sound. Your ring didn’t get damaged, did it?”

Samson smiled faintly, "No, perfectly intact. Let me give this back to you." He removed Arno’s coat off of his person, exchanging it with a nodding thanks. He checked the outside of his case one last time before he removed the dark ring from his finger, and held it out to me to retrieve. “Thank you again, Elysia.” 

Just as how the ballet plot could have been solved if Arno just talked to Fran or stole her letters, this could have been solved had they just stolen the item before the auction began. This is what happens when easier solutions are exchanged for meaningless plot points and complicated twists. 

De Sade was profoundly thrilled. Almost leaping out of his couch and clapping his hands enthusiastically. His giggle fluttered in the chamber, his lanky fingers brushing the dried oil paint sensually when the canvas was stretched out against the wall.

“Lovely, lovely, lovely!” he cheered with claps. 

Well I'm glad someone is in character. Sort of. But this is just too..queer for my liking. De Sade's flamboyance is one of sensuality and cruelty. Had you swapped this dialogue for Charlotte's, I wouldn't be able to tell who was speaking. 

I handed back the dark rings over and he took them without looking. I still when he held my arm in an affectionate manner and waved his free hand across the space of his stolen plunder, “...Everything you ever dreamt of?” I questioned.

"It is. The lighting, the poise, oh....what a dreadful indication!" He grinned delightfully, tenting his fingers together. "I must thank you for acquiring this for me. I must ask, it didn't cost much, did it?"

Yeah, it's a good idea to rub against the Mary Sue when she could tear you apart like a German sausage. Better for him to do it to Arno - after all, he's asking for it. 

“....The value of money is subjective, all that matters is that it makes you happy,” I answered instead.

"Precisely the answer I was looking for." He giggled again before turning to some of his men, ordering them to scavenge for a large frame. De Sade lounged back in his couch, gazing along his prize. "And I hope the answer to your own." 

Ah...there's the author's politics. But truth be told, the value of money is based on the scarcity or material weight of something. If you don't have a standard, you are just printing worthless dollar bills. You use money as an exchange for goods. She should have learned that by now, with France being, you know, broke. 

"Precisely the answer I was looking for." He giggled again before turning to some of his men, ordering them to scavenge for a large frame. De Sade lounged back in his couch, gazing along his prize. "And I hope the answer to your own."

You know, I would've expected a deeper dialogue considering that de Sade always has a metaphor in hand. For a character as controversial as he was, he sure is put on the backburner. I wonder why that is...? Of all the things he had to say, it was 'OK thanks, bye!" 

I pressed my lips together...and nodded, “Right.”

“See you later, my Arno~!” he wiggled his fingers toward the Dorian who kept a good distance aside.

“….Bye,” my pupil was practically speed-walking away.

Don't worry. We'll see the sexual harassment in a few more chapters. 

We exited the brothel, and reached the base of Notre Dame within the next hour. It was reaching the afternoon of the day, the crowd of Mass congregating to the front and center. We situated ourselves in the shade, Arno playing with some stems of grass while I held the satchel on my lap. I wouldn’t say it was anything special, but I could...feel some faint coming from the bag.

I wasn’t sure how to describe it...

As mentioned before, she is a magical being. She got a Deku nut that was manipulated to become the strongest acid known to man from a stranger. James' uncle outed her as a supernatural being and hinted he was part of an organization dedicated to bringing them down. Now, she suddenly feels the power of a PoE? Get outta here.

The Dorian wasn’t one for the quiet, “Wonder what Stephen and Clement are up to.”

“Stephen is probably lounging somewhere. My guess of Clement is as good as anyone else’s,” I shrugged, rocking my heel against the dirt. “He keeps to himself most of the time.”

Hey remember how you sent them to gather intel on Mirabeau and Clement almost got caught by Bellec? Good idea to not know what your recruits are doing since you sent them on that mission in the first place. Glad we have critical thinking skills for Miss Magic Brown Woman. 

"I notice you're not as..." Arno waved his hand in order to clasp onto the next word, "…close to Clement as much as you are to Stephen and I. Is there a reason for it?"

He was bound to ask this, “Clement likes to keep his space and I respect that." I sighed, shedding off the excess of ripped leather from the satchel, "But I know I didn't give off an... approachable attitude as much as James did. That might have something to do with it."

No, you knew. All of your employees feared and hated you. You didn't get the hint because you're a stuck up narcissistic bitch. I'm amazed Arno would even forgive this woman; in-game Arno would not. But cucked Arno would. 

Being a bitch and thinking you aren't when all evidence says otherwise isn't the deep character development you think it is.

"I mean, he doesn't either if that helps. I don't know...sometimes it’s hard to tell if he even likes us." He flicked a piece of grass away, substituting it for another longer one to toy with.

Well, no one actually Elysia, but the author insists that everyone does, so does that help?

"He's been through some...quarrels in the Brotherhood that haven't been resolved yet. Or, weren't resolved in the way they should've been."

You're a Mentor. That should have been your job - to stand up for him. 

"I didn't take Clement to be the troublemaker type."

"He isn't but...." I inhaled, sitting properly against the stone pillar, "....You know Quemar used to be his Mentor."

"Might've been mentioned."

It hasn't...? Not good story-telling to drop these details in dialogue, especially when it could've appeared 100,000 words ago. I recall Stephen, Clement, James and Arno all being under Elysia's tutelage. Retcon?

"Quemar put him on desk duty, despite his credentials. Very....passive aggressive. Gave him the most mundane and lackluster missions you could think of. It was....frustrating, watching that. James and Stephen didn't like it either. At the time I had barely got Stephen to be under my study, and it wasn't easy."

Elysia became Mentor and became a member of the inner council in under five years. This, despite being a stranger and not knowing or caring anything about the Creed. In those five years, Clement gets desk jobs from a Jewish lawyer and he doesn't like it. Are we being anti Semitic, Les?

"But what had Clement done to warrant that?" Arno crossed his arms, "Quemar can be a little stubborn in his ways but he's never shown me any ill means..."

Ohhh this is funny. I'm guessing we all conveniently forgot the capture-the-flag chapter, where Clement stole the flag Arno rightfully won? And conspired with Stephen to make him look like an ass? And used his cat as a distraction? I would too if I had 250,000 words of dogshit on a page.

“...It’s not my place to say, but...” I took a moment, and stretched my legs fully out in front of me. Arno waited patiently. “When Quemar sent him on his first mission, he’s very particular on what he wants; the stress overwhelmed Clement, and he ruined the mission to a heavy degree. It probably doesn’t help that Clement is an openly gay man, and Quemar didn’t take kindly to that either.”

 This is mightily quaint. Stephen and Clement, as well as Arno, are all gay, and Elysia is the 'gay momma' keeping them all together. Plus, it should be mentioned - as all things should be - no one was 'openly gay' in this era. Yes, homosexuality was decriminalized in 1791 - for private affairs only. Acting like a stereotypical queer (it's safe to use that word now) who needs a therapy animal makes you look incapable of handling criticism. 

Reallllllllllllly not the stereotype you want to keep.

“The stress?” Arno didn’t mean to blurt that out, but his mind had stumbled on Clement being openly gay from the way his eyes searched mine. “What…but then why is Clement so cool and collected—I mean in the missions we’ve done.”

“His cat.”

“…Pardon?”

'I am too gay to handle life, please give me a therapy animal while I kill people for a living.' What a flex.

“His cats bring him comfort and he’s able to focus more on missions with them,” I answered with a small smile. “Once he was allowed to, he surpassed all expectations of the Masters, especially Quemar.” Arno sat up properly, letting the information sink. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. “You didn’t hear it from me,” I quipped in gently, scratching at the edge of my jaw. “Maybe it’ll help you understand Clement a bit better.”

“I…” Arno thought of his words carefully, but pushed for a smile instead, “I’ll keep in mind for the next time we meet up then.”

What, like understanding Clement has anxiety attacks while Living While Gay in a job that requires you to kill without hesitation? Man the recruitment standards have gone down - but with someone like Elysia in charge, who needs standards? 

“Thank you for honoring this particular request of mine.” Samson strode over with his hands propped on his sides, “It’s more often than not that I have to convince Assassins to allow me to examine these ancient artifacts.” So he was well aware of the Pieces of Eden, though it was hard to say whether Alessio had informed him of that…or if he had known way before.

No shit. No one knows who you are, and you are awfully sketchy about your dealings. You need to build repertoires with them before they even let you near those items - something these original characters lack. 

No shit he knows what the PoEs are! He just told you what the were half a page ago! 

“Following that logic, do I have to convince you to get on my back?”

Samson raised a brow at me, “What for?”

“You want to examine the Piece? Then get on, unless you can climb Notre Dame yourself.”

White immortals can't jump, this is fact. 

“Meet you at the top then, you two!” Arno’s running leap gives him enough momentum to lunge onto the first holding. He’s scaling halfway when Samson finally approaches me. I hold my arms open behind my back, but I see Samson’s arms open at my sides, hesitating on where to exactly put them.

“Do I just…..” he nears. Withdraws, curling his digits inward. Attempts again. “Grab…on?”

“That is the idea, yes,” I turn my head to look back at him, and open my arms again. “I won’t drop you; I’ve carried heavier.”

This woman can carry full grown men up buildings but can't stay on her feet when another woman kicks her. Or rib another woman's axe out of her hands. Consistency. 

 His long arms embrace around my neck (awkwardly I might add), and I dip my back once to scoop up his legs. The Twilight instantly surges into play, and Samson is light in my grasp as I faced the stone. With one brief bent and a leap, my claws dig into the formatted gravel, and I climb the wall rapidly. Samson’s grip tightens, one leg almost losing grip until I paused and adjusted him accordingly. His hood slips off, and he’s about to tell me something when I shoot myself up again, making him gasp his words. The ascent is rapidly executed, and I touch base onto the stone platform underneath the ribs of the flying buttresses where we would be safe from prying eyes.

She never used this ability in the theatre. She never used this ability while fighting Shay. Only selectively does she use it and for the dumbest reasons. You're immortal and superhuman. What the fuck else are you doing? 

 Samson lets go, one leg sliding off, the other catching his balance. "That was...." He couldn't find the words, blinking wildly, "...What was that??"

“Guess you don’t know everything about me,” I shared a brief glance to him. The edge of his open mouth twitches once. We meet Arno in the shade, the satchel safe in my grasp.

Neither do we. Your character changes rapidly like particles in CERN. 

"Well??" Arno inquired once he grew tired of the anticipation.

"I don't have much information...but I believe this factually went into something else." Samson's eyes trace along the surface, "There's scratches and indentations that show it’s been slotted into something times before. If that's the case, it's most likely an amplifier of sorts...."

"A part of another Piece?” I rest a hand on a hip.

You vibed with Ezio, woman. You know should all about these things. Takes a little bit of reading but you'll get it. 

"Most likely; Pieces of Eden react to one another, after all." Samson stuffed his book back in his pocket, "You might both want to take a step back."

“What are you-“ I didn’t even finish before Samson raised his arm. I swiftly caught his grip, halting the perfect-sphere ruby from slamming into the stone wall of the church. “Are you trying to blow us up!???”

"I'm trying to see if we do blow up," Samson countered simply.

I shook my head firmly, “NO.”

Testing a weapon of mass destruction against Europe's greatest Cathedral that took three centuries to build in order to prove your hypothesis is, frankly, retarded. That's like trying to build an atom bomb in your backyard and try it out on your neighbour's house.

“....But-“ Arno raised a finger, “Maybe-“

“NO,” I solidified, resisting to grab the jewel, “You are ALLOWED to inspect it, not destroy it, or so help me-“

Samson sighed, clearly exasperated with a roll of his eyes (and he’s the exact replica of Orfeo for one full second), "I'm trying to see whether there's a trigger to activate it with. Most amplifiers can react on their own but this one seems to be...malfunctioned-“ 

Wow, is Elysia being...logical? Colour me surprised! She's doing something right in her life!  

I cut in, “And your first thought is to slam it against something??? Last thing you want to do is mess around with a holy object!”

"A holy object?" There's a haughty smile that draws on his face, "Hardly...its advanced technology at best."

Yeah, and you decided to experiment on it by slamming it against France's greatest cultural treasure. Fuck you.

"....Am I missing something here?" Arno darted a look between us, "I'm getting a lot of mixed messages here." I leisurely let go of Samson, giving him a curt, demanding look. He, again, rolls his eyes and lets his arm drop with the Piece still in his hold. The other raised defensively as to signal his agreement when he realized I wasn’t looking away.

Yeah we're missing your Eagle Vision, your Isu DNA, anything that made you you, and all that stuff that made Assassin's Creed Assassin's Creed. 

Samson cleared his throat, "Pieces of Eden are objects made of a higher existence of technology, belonging to a higher race, or that’s the conclusion I have deduced from my years of research. There are many kinds and each Piece has a specific function or ability. For example, the Apple of Eden is able to create illusions. The Crystal Skull is able to track any being on the planet with the drop their corresponding blood if obtained.”

  Amazing how a random NPC is saying this vs Elysia figuring this out from her years of research within the Creed. Guess she has never heard of Edward Kenway's exploits? Ho hum.

“That’s…….not normal,” Arno scrunched his brows, and I could physically see the gears in his head doing their best to rationalize the information suddenly thrown. “And….you’ve never seen this one?” he points to the jewel.

Buddy, you saw a guy use a rocket launcher, a magic brown woman climb up a cathedral in record time with fast healing injuries, and saw two twins with magic pixie dust attack said brown woman. None of this is normal.  

Samson inspects it one last time and then opens the satchel to drop it in, “No, not this one. Nothing like it, either.”

“Then I guess my question is...how did it end up where it is, and why did one of Shay’s followers want it?” the Dorian crossed his arms, a deep frown stretching. “Because, she was one of them, right?”

You just answered your own question. The Templars want it because it's a Piece of Eden and gives them an advantage. You didn't just go through centuries of this struggle for no reason, dude. 

“That’s my suspicion,” I answered. “Shooting at me and knowing my name was indication enough.”

“If what Samson says is true, then...does that mean he has the other Piece of this? For the jewel?? He must know what Pieces of Eden do…if he used to be an Assassin.”

Being a token brown woman who can run up buildings and appeared out of nowhere and became a Mentor wasn't a clue? Second, you should have known Shay's history, with him wiping out the Colonial Brotherhood and all.

“Sent off to retrieve of Piece of Eden in Lisbon …”

I rubbed my chin at this.

“…Whatever that failure was changed him.”

Arno continued, “It’s not making sense…none of this is.”

Story of my goddamn life.

If the Rogue Assassin had history chasing after a Piece of Eden, despite having a negative history with it….why would he want this? Why search for them and have all these formidable allies aiding him? Something about this wasn’t adding up; all these associates and enemies had pieces of Shay, but it was not enough to clarify his true and determined motivation. 

Uh, you know damn well why. 1. To keep them out of Assassin hands, and 2. to win your war. He doesn't need a motivation when the actual motivation is right there in front of you. He killed Germain, a Sage, for plot points. You're answering your own questions. Stop acting as if the audience doesn't know. 

Then, Samson sternly looks to me, then to the bag retied at my hip, “Should you choose to continue holding onto it, I promise you others will seek it out."

A dark thought hits me: what if it was the only way to lure Shay out? To me? It was already hard enough to track him down and Arno was not having any luck locating his sister…

It took you this long to figure it out? You spent all that time looking for dirt on Mirabeau, you didn't think for a second that Shay had agents looking for PoEs to get the upper hand.  He didn't jut kill James for the thrill, and the Brotherhood didn't send all those recruits to die by the dozens for him to prove a point. You know full well what he's after. The random Native woman, in France, wasn't a clue something was up?

“Shay Cormac is already a problem with how he is now….I can’t imagine how much worse it would get if he happens to achieve whatever goal he has in mind.” I close my eyes with a heavy sigh, scratching at the side of my jaw, “…A part of me says we should get rid of it….”

He's such a problem you waste chapter upon chapter on useless exposition and dialogue. He barely shows up and he's been in France for a year. Amazing what the most feared assassin hunter can do in that time. 

“….The other?” Arno persists.

I keep my eyes closed, “The other says: we beat Shay to it first.”

So glad you're being proactive! It just took you half of the goddamn story  to get here! 

Recalling the days of Rome, I knew how important these Pieces were. Ezio made it abundantly clear of where the Assassins stood regarding this, and how they went out of their way to aid me in retrieving my artifacts, guessing they were part of this Eden collection themselves. Did I ever witness the full capacity of an Eden piece being used? No…but I would imagine the consequences were calamitous.

Elysia doesn't actually believe any of this. The author would not write her being confused as to what they were and what they could do if the opposite was true. She would also know why Shay is going after them and his exact reasons for doing so. The fact the author has no fucking idea what she is doing and is paving along as if she is 'fixing' the plot is what gets me. 

You went through two portals that took you to a completely separate universe and era. You don't think for a second that these objects are dangerous? Really?

Samson’s voice clears the slight fog in my mind, “It sounds as if you’re facing with a dangerous adversary…one that even surpasses the usual Templar and Assassin war.”

“Given his history and what others have told me, he seems like an impossible force to put down,” I agree momentarily, “But, I’ve vowed to bring him to justice, whatever the cost may be.”

YOU DID'T EVEN KNOW WHO HE WAS, YOU DUMB BITCH. COULDN'T EVEN READ A BOOK. NO ONE TOLD YOU BECAUSE YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO LISTEN. WONDERFUL MENTOR HERE, EVERYBODY. ABSOLUTELY FIT TO LEAD. 

I have stuck with this story since the beginning. No one has ever told Elysia about Shay. Not a single person. And she never once asked about him. It is absolute dogshit for the author to lie here. I guess she thinks her audience is too dumb to notice.

“…The cost may be greater to others than it is to you,” Samson suddenly warns.

I regard him closely, and I suddenly feel Arno tug my arm at this, “Hmm?”

“Can I…talk to you for a second?” he urged. “Excuse us, Samson.”

“….Sure,” the immortal nodded, and occupied himself with his notebook for the moment. Arno shuffled me down the stone platform, and faced me when we’re far enough out of earshot. He checks behind me to make sure Samson isn’t paying attention.

It's something when Arno is fine with portal hopping, time traveling immortals but doesn't retain any of his innate abilities. Cucked in every corner.

He started, “You’re not going to like my idea.”

“…Let’s hear it anyway.”

When Arno is still uneasy about giving suggestions or advice to Elysia, we have a problem here. He knows she's still a massive bitch, and THE bitch who nearly murdered him after he told her she was ruining the Café. So much for that deep and moving moment she SHE said it was okay when HE apologized TO HER. For doing nothing wrong, I might add. He apologized for her mistakes. 

I ain't getting over that. 

He breathes in, then out, “Samson is knowledgeable about these…Pieces of Eden, right?” I nod. “What if he helps us?”

….My stare is sudden, “…You’re suggesting he stay longer.” A cold thread ties around my lungs. 

Even if you hate the guy - for no reason aside from your personal, emotional ties - you can still use him. You're powerful enough to make him do whatever you want. Beggars cannot be choosers, and Shay has more resources than you. Stop acting like an irrational bitch.  

“He recognized the Piece of Eden when we couldn’t.”

“Arno-“

“Figured out what it’s used for! He’s even admitted he helped figure these things out in another Brotherhood!” he whispered with his hands opening toward me. “It might’ve been pure luck, but we managed to be one step ahead of Shay in regards to whatever plan he has. Isn’t that a good thing??”

I try not to grit my teeth, “He can’t stay-“

Arno is 100% right here. You have an advantage. But you refuse to take it because he is the twin of your boyfriend. You cannot afford ay more losses and this is the one chance you have o secure peace for the Brotherhood - the organization you swore loyalty to. Allegedly. And you're going to throw that away for - what? 

Arno is wrong in them being one step ahead of shay. He already decimated their ranks and killed James, and in the time since then he's elected to send his minions for opera house massacres. Not the greatest villain's plot, but I guess it'll do for a pansexual Latina. 

“I know what it means to you, Elysia,” Arno’s tone is resolute, and I eye him for this reason. He replied with heavy conviction, “Everything you told me, I understand why you want him to leave. What it means for Orfeo and you. But if this helps us to defeat Shay, and bring him to justice whatever the cost, just like you said….”

No, you don't. She's an absolute cunt and her reasons for Samson to leave is because she's afraid she might fuck one and not the other. That's it. She has done nothing for the Brotherhood and it would be infinitesimally better if she fucked off and left. She doesn't care for it, lets those below her die, and threatens to kill others who get in her way. I'd be happier if Shay just took over and ended them all with this MacGuffin plot. But we won't. Shay will be killed, Elysia will take all the credit, and Arno will just be the token gay boy getting his ass smashed in by 50 different dicks. 

I rub my face with a hand.

Token Brown Woman can't have a white man telling her what to do, now can she? 

Because….he makes a good point.

But that doesn’t mean I like this option.

She will never admit someone else other than her will have any good idea. Even when her entire organization is at risk. Her career. The lives of others. It doesn't matter because a white man who is more talented than her is telling her she's wrong. 

I say nothing for a good while, my eyes scanning the graveyard below us. Of when we sent Arno to retrieve the keys as his first lesson. How all of us were together, and James was here.

When James was alive, before Shay took his life.

Yes, the lesson he botched for Reasons, and the man you allowed to die because you didn't know who Shay was? I'll never, ever forget that. And the author STILL doesn't get what she did wrong. That's the beautiful thing. 

Please, Elysia...don't give up on them...

His dying words.

How could I….ever deny them, even in the wake of my happiness?

For one, you killed James. His death is on you. Second, you nearly killed them beforehand with that botched Church missions. Third, you nearly killed an innocent when you decided to fight the anime twins in that opera house instead of stealing the letters and actually killing them. It's incompetency all around.  

My chest heaves. I look away, and walk past Arno to display my back to him. To gather my thoughts, my words. To make sense of this all…

And come to terms of what must be done, because I knew how much it meant.

It shouldn't be this hard. You know the risks otherwise. It should be a simple yes or no answer. Stop making it seem complicated and philosophical when it isn't.

“….You’re right…” I managed to expel out. “Samson has helped us a great deal; we wouldn’t have known what to do without his guidance.”

You've known the guy for a day, and he's already more useful than Elysia has been since the beginning. Nice.  

“Maybe if we stay on Samson’s good side, he won’t mention anything to Orfeo,” Arno encouraged.

I nodded slowly, “….Mhmm….” I could already imagine his reaction. Knew he wasn’t going to like it, but it was bound to happen sooner than later. Whatever the case was, I hoped it wasn’t enough to tear whatever relationship we managed to create. “….Alright, you made your point; we’ll follow with your suggestion.”

You don't even HAVE a relationship. You just had sex. You are, at best, a 'friends with benefits' thing. If that. You don't even have a relationship to be friends, because it has not been prioritized. Right now, survival of the Brotherhood comes first, and you don't even give a damn about that.  

“You want me to ask Samson?”

I shook my head, “No….I will.” I turn around, and Arno is genuinely looking at me, a small frown there. I reach and tugged the front of his hood down further, making him raise his shoulders a bit, “Good work.”

“…Thanks,” he fixed his hood, peeking up to me with one visible eye. “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

The best...that includes leaving people to die and not knowing what the Assassin vs Templar war is even about. Yeah, sure buddy.  Give yourself a pat on the back for all the astounding work you've done. 

“Heh….right…” I stride over to garner Samson’s attention to us, who lowers his book and plants it inside his coat again. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening…” he crossed his arms securely on his lean chest.

I think I'd make friends with the guy who spent his whole life researching these things, than alienate him and force him to go to the other side or be manipulated into joining the Templars. Just saying. 

“If I let you mess with this, will you be able to figure out what this jewel is capable of? Give us an idea of what Shay might do with it? I’ll be honest, my familiarity with these Pieces of Eden is not enough to act on anything. It doesn’t come to par with what you know or what information you might’ve come across by now.” Samson rubs his chin, mulling upon my words. “I can promise that you won’t get into the crossfire of it.”

You have been alive for several centuries and NEVER figured out what PoEs are used for? Amazing. This also contradicts what you said earlier about Ezio teaching you that these artifacts hold immense power. SO, the Assassins went out of their way for you to get YOUR artifacts, but you never bothered to learn about the objects from this universe. 

Gives a good look into this character, doesn't it?

He debated for a moment, “That would…push my plans by a few months. I’d have to find someway to explain it to my associates in Cairo…but not only that, what would you plan to do about Orfeo?”

“I’ll have to tell him you’re here. He won’t be….happy but Arno makes a good point: we need all the help we can get to continue staying one step ahead of our adversary. I can compensate for your necessities and your stay if you need help with that, too.”

Yeah, just bankrupt your people even further to help this freeloader. Works wonders. Or you can ask your immortal Japanese vampire for help. Weird how he's filthy rich and he's never used as a resource. 

“…..Perhaps.” Samson quirked his lips, narrowing his gaze, “…I can agree to this, so long as you promise to keep my name away from your Brotherhood and in conversation in general.”

 Isn't he working with other branches of the Brotherhood? Or did we forget about this detail already?

“Done. I’d rather you fiddle with the Piece of Eden at Charlotte’s café; there’s a Library room with plenty of space with hardly any disruptions. But the Piece of Eden remains there, that’s my only condition.”

“I can agree to those terms.” Samson hummed to himself, closing his eyes fleetingly before meeting my gaze again, “Then we have an accord. I’ll have to make preparations, but if there’s a time when you’d want me to start…”

“I’ll send word to you when we’re ready,” I answered. He agreed to this. “Whatever it is you can to help us…”

“I’ll do my best. You can count on that.”

Yeah, letting the guy blow up your only source of income in a highly crowded area is GENIUS. Man, no wonder you rose among the ranks so quickly! 

On a serious note, what the fuck are you thinking? Really? Taking it to your reconnaissance centre? REALLY?!

The Brotherhood is crumbling behind closed doors.

Beylier knows this.

The token black guy knows the truth, and his fellow token is off hunting for sacred objects and fighting Templar twins in opera houses without killing them. Oh, and bring in a WMD into their base of operations. She's the best you have.  And you made her Mentor. 

Tensions are high between the corresponding Masters, and its no surprise when most of them can’t stay in the same room without having some sort negatively implied comment or snide remark. The meetings are ending abruptly short, and each Master goes on their own way after whatever was poorly discussed about.

Everyone knows Mirabeau is a politician. They don't know about his letters to the King. If you wanted to keep that twist that's fine, because that was historical. But you are making Mirabeau far more irrational than he was. Bellec has the strongest convictions on Shay's threat and, him actually surviving the Colonial purge, should be taken seriously. He is not. Why? Well for plot's sake, another white male is thrust aside for the whims of a brown woman. 

The French Brotherhood is, at this time, in a unique position where the Templars are weak in their country. Yet, they still can't do a thing about it. 

Imagine promising to fix the plot of the game while making it a bigger shit heap than it ever was. Couldn't possibly be anyone's fault.

Mirabeau’s lack of action has displeased everyone to a heavy degree. His true, parsimonious attitude shields itself behind closed doors and the wine bottles have increased in appearance (Mirabeau doesn’t even try to hide them anymore). His once kept hair is disorderly in his clutching grip, and he mutters angrily when he wrongly signs his name at the end of each document. This does not bode well, nor give Beylier hope of the swift change they need. Mirabeau’s reputation is on the balance, and Beylier knows which priority falls first to the elder Master without asking. 

Let's be fair. Not a single person has taken any action here. The absolute nonsense that has crippled this story has taken precedence over everything else. Beylier wants change for blacks and blacks only; Trenet is a feminist and has done nothing for women, and Quemar is just a stuck up Jewish lawyer. 

You want to talk about priorities? Start with those first. 

Quemar’s spirit has practically rusted to ash despite his suggestions to rework some of the Creed’s structures. He is vain and regretful, and nothing Beylier says can repair the damage Shay Cormac implanted in his already sick heart. His feet wade through sludge versus their resounding determination from before, but how else does someone move forward when you’ve seen your entire, found family murdered before you?

You can't rework the Creed's structures unless you are in an advantageous position. As it stands, you are failing the Creed's tenets on your own. Quemar knew none of those weaker Assassins could stand a chance against Shay, yet sent them out anyways. As did Elysia with James. All he had to do was listen to Bellec or recall what happened to the Colonial Brotherhood. Not a single person is using their brain and is going gun-ho in situations they are not prepared for. 

Bellac is tensely silent and all humor in his eyes have left. His tongue is venom in everything he says. His eyes are dark. Dark. With something deadly promising. He always leaves swiftly and refuses to say anything else after (when he was always so open to express what was bothering him before). He’s oddly avoided everyone except Elysia…but that all changed after their argument he saw from the balcony above. Then, in the morning when they regrouped for their last meeting, Beylier saw it.

No shit. I would leave her ass in the dark too after I found out she doesn't know whao their worst enemy is. It's shameful and ignorant, and to put her in a position of power is the worst mistake anyone could have made. He's forced to live with that.  

Saw the darkness in Bellac’s eyes. Beylier is worried.

You should be. He's the only one experienced in this situation and you're leaving him out to dry. Smart move.  

Elysia herself is dealing with her own issues, but she is much spirited versus how she was before. He sees her relaxed posture when her team, and despite their hardship of losing a beloved member of the Creed, of their team, they work in unison like a well-oiled machine. It makes him happy, assured that at least someone here is working in the right direction. Though, he’s not entirely sure what she’s been up to but he’s trusted her enough to leave her to her own devices.

They don't work in unison. All of them are mismatched, headless chickens running around their coop. Of course Elysia, after her little depression quest that is fixed with a good fuck and blaming Arno for his mistakes, comes out on top. We can't have her be at fault for anything, even though she is directly responsible for everything that has happened since Shay entered the picture. She is a Mentor, endowed with great responsibilities, and she is free to do whatever she wants even when others are at their breaking point. Who in their right mind would trust her?

Sophie is in a spare, study room. She’s exhausted, especially when she rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. The loose threads of her high bun hang over her forehead and temples, and they sway gracefully when she jerks her head up as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

Beylier smiles tiredly, but fondly as he sets the tray of tea beside her tower of documents, “Mind if I join you?”

Oh, are we getting a quasi romance here? Wouldn't that be something.  

She allows it, and decides to pile her work to her left. Beylier sits across, and at first they say nothing as he pours their drinks without a fuss. Biscuits are served, and she almost eats it whole. Beylier silently holds off on his piece, and says nothing when she unknowingly takes it.

“It’s been a while since we shared some time together,” he starts.

Sophie nods, and she somewhat hunches forward in her seat, “It has been.”

They sit for a moment, and Beylier says, “How are you faring?”

“Could be better,” her voice is low and soft.

He exhales gently, “…Likewise.”

These people have no one to blame but themselves. Elysia, more than anyone else, should have a share in the blame, but she doesn't. She never will. Because we can never have a Mary Sue ever be a rounded person capable of making mistakes. 

She attempts to reach for the parchment beside to finish it-

“Don’t,” Beylier holds her wrist. It’s not sudden, nor commanding. Genteel. A whisper.

Sophie looks to his hand, and meets his dark-brown eyes. Beylier’s feels the lump in his throat.

“Please…enjoy the tea with me.”

Sophie’s mouth slacks, and it tightens a second after, “…Why are things the way they are?” Her digits curl inward, and her hand is lightly shaking. Beylier feels it. “Why can’t….”

Beylier knows what she means, “I don’t know.”

I have no sympathy for these people. Shay has been in Paris for a full year and they knew nothing. They did nothing. Their newly enshrined Mentor, Elysia, who has only been with them for five years does not know who he is nor does she know anything about Templars in general; this despite her living with Ezio for a full year. She could have fixed this, but she didn't. Every single one of you knew what the risks were, and you chose to ignore them. No wonder your Order is at risk. Look at the state of you. You see a problem and you decide to ignore it. You choose to send weaker Assassins up against Shay. You have no one to blame but yourselves. 

“I’m exhausted.”

“Then stop working—”

“I can’t!” she pulls her arm back, and Beylier lets her go. Her hands rub her face tersely, and he sees her wipe the liquid from her eyes.

He straightens up, and folds his hands in front of him, “Why? Why can’t you stop?”

“I-I have all this work to get done—”

“For who? Mirabeau?” Beylier doesn’t intend for the name to come out poisonous. “Stop. Stop doing it.”

“It’s our duty, it’s my duty to the Creed—”

Then go tell Elysia to stop fucking her boyfriend and start helping. That is ALL she has done for the past few chapters. She has done nothing but dawdle while everyone else has to pick up the slack. Peak brown privilege. This is HER story, so why hasn't she actually done any hard work? Instead, she's off at auctions looking for Pieces of Eden while telling no one else about it, and getting into fights at the opera without anyone else knowing. Isn't she great?

Now, the next is just exposition dialogue and Beylier sniffing Trenet's hair as if he was a black Joe Biden. He tells her to go home and rest because he's going to finish her work to out Mirabeau. Not worth putting it here. 

Beylier knew what to do.

 

He collected Sophie’s things, and made way to the Intelligence Room. It was somewhat barren minus the few students who lingered there and greeted Beylier with simple nods. He returned them, casually observing if any Masters were present. Once secured, he stuffed Sophie’s work behind the vase set in the corner, and made sure it wouldn’t be seen by Mirabeau. Next he collected a book from the shelf, and skimmed it swiftly to recognize and memorize the address there.

Wow, stuffing it in a vase. 200 IQ experiment. No one is EVER going to find it there.  

Soon enough, he was writing a letter, secluded in a chamber:

 

Formal and personal request to assist aid
from Ratonhnhaké:ton Connor Kenway
from the Colonial Brotherhood.
Bring most trusted advisors.
Pairs Brotherhood faces grave setbacks.
As soon as possible, discreetly.

—Master G. B.

What's missing from this letter is a "Yeah, we fucked up grandly even though the Templars here are nearly extinct, but still fucked up because our Magic Woman of Colour Mentor wanted to fuck her boyfriend instead! Please come and fix our mistakes!"

With the note rolled up, Beylier moved to the falcon coop of their Brotherhood, away from prying eyes of any commoners or enemies. A small church where he was welcomed by his priest friend.

“Is it urgent?”

“Yes.”

Beylier said nothing more, and the falcon was presented to him on the borrowed leather-glove. The curled message was stashed onto the falcon’s leg, and Beylier stared into the pink and purple sunset where the mob-like and unsatisfied citizens took to the streets once more. Beylier took a deep breath, and signaled the falcon with a lift of his arm.

“Godspeed.”

He prayed that the message would arrive in time.

That falcon is going to be exhausted before it even reaches the Atlantic. We are talking several months of traveling for that letter to each the US eastern seaboard. By that time, it'll be too late. You'll need to figure things out on your own. Or, that would be the rational outcome.  

“Alsoomese is here.” Shay hears Vincent from the doorway, and gestures without looking up. “He’s free, have at it,” the male twin salutes, and departs. The looming shadow nears, and Shay keeps his eyes on his paper, his finger playing with the small indent above his top lip.

“Have a seat,” he answers.

The Native American woman does so, and sits properly.

Let me guess. Once she has her epic fight, she will never be mentioned again like that Marie Levesque stand in. 

Shay reminds himself of her manners, and greets her eyes with his welcomingly, “You’re back earlier than expected.”

“The Piece of Eden was at the auction. I wasn’t able to retrieve it,” she cut to the point.

Shay pressed his lips together in understanding, but nods nonetheless, “That’s unfortunate. I’m sure you did your best.”

“I could’ve done better.”

You had toxic gas and a semi-auto rifle and you still lost. 'Do better' is a lost motto.  

“You always do, and I don’t fault you for this,” he comforts. Her shoulders don’t loosen, and he sits back. His large hand cups the side of his face, elbow prompted on the chair’s arm. “I’m assuming you were intervened in your object.”

“Affirmative,” Alsoomese’s square jaw tightens.

Shay already knows, “Was it Elysia?”

“It was.” Her shoulders don’t slump. Not even an inch.

I wonder if James' uncle will enter the fray. Especially since he is part of a Wincester-esque supernatural hunting society and he knows what Elysia is. IF we ever see him again. 

That said, Shay knows she's immortal and invincible until she gets a puff of ashwood. When exposed to an even greater dose in the auction room than the opera house, Elysia marched on. Really, he'd need a PoE to defeat her. 

I wonder why he's deciding to lounge around with a recently deceased-turned-alive Ben Franklin than do his job.

He nods again, “….Of course. Then, I wonder how she was able to get that information, considering how dismantled the Brotherhood is. I suspect….did Miss de la Serre sing a song on our behalf?” His voice draws out when he notices she’s not looking away.

“I have an idea how she might’ve.”

This captures his attention swiftly, “…And that is?”

Her lips press tightly, before, “Samson was with her.”

Oh wow, what a twist. However, this does not override the fact that Elise is not in a threatening position to Shay. He needs a Templar base in France. He is not appealing to any of the Revolutionaries - who have not been mentioned at all, in an era where a REVOLUTION  is happening - to take up positions of power. We instead have to watch these parleys with random characters who have no overarching role in the plot. It's a huge waste of time, but I've said this so many times I have lost count.  

 

Shay’s cold heart pumps, and his jaw tightens that he grinds his molars together. His hand sweats, and its not because of the burning fireplace behind him. His toes feel trapped in his boots. An angry smile unfolds.

 

“….How very unfortunate," he expels out, forcefully.

Ah, so Shay is going to be the one who ends up killing her, spurring Arno to take revenge against him...or so one would think. I reckon Elise will still die but Arno won't care as he will be shacked up with Clement, the openly gay Assassin. The Pieces of Eden will be destroyed, Elysia will be sent back to Hyrule, and all will be well. 

Maybe. But we're already dealing with many, many logistical problems here. It's been established the Brotherhood is out of funds and recruits, the former due to Elysia's mismanagement and the latter from her and Quemar's mismanagement. Shay arrived in France in the first chapter and not one Assassin spy or Templar agent told anyone about it. Then, he and the anime brigade killed all of the existing French Templars, including Germain, who invited Shay there in the first place. 

In case the authors have forgotten, Germain was a Sage. They are a once in a lifetime occurrence. Shay would not actually kill him - he'd know how important he is. Not to mention Germain has connections to the PoEs in ways Shay does not. Germain is aware of their power. So, this twist does not make sense. We also know Elise is not a threat to him. She has little support, and would need to rely on Shay to cement her power. Am I to believe he'd knock her off her pedestal to gain access to Pieces of Eden she has no clue about? 

That brings me back to the Assassins. Bellec is the ONLY one there who knows Shay's dangerous behaviour. Not a single Mentor has taken him seriously or asked him for advice. He would have told Quemar to shove it and keep the Assassins home. Everyone would put aside their differences and listen to Bellec, because that dude has actually LIVED through a purge. They don't.

Instead, he is made out to be the villain. His betrayal will have nothing to do with Mirabeau selling out the Assassins for what he believes is a misled truce, but just because he can. I'm having a hard time hating him regardless. He is the only one making sense. 

Elysia, as always, is the worst offender. She decides to not trust Samson after a day's worth of knowing him (to be fair, I would too) and shows everyone that she hasn't a clue what the whole Assassins v Templar conflict is about. She does not know what the Pieces of Eden are, before the author catches her mistake and adds a note of her remembering Ezio's lectures on them. Too late: the damage has already been done. We have a Mentor who knows collectively nothing about her work, and nearly decides to throw away the expertise of a guy who has worked with them her entire life. 

And why does she do this? Well because she will confuse him for Orfeo, her boytoy. That's it. There has been no adequate relationship between those two, remember. They talked for a few chapters before that atrocious sex scene. There was no real 'oomph' for me to conclude that those two were a cute couple. 

Lastly, for the umpteenth time, these chapters could easily be shaved to a quarter of their length. The exposition and dialogue has not worked and it cannot save this damnable plot. I suppose there is some consolation in being so confident of your shit-tier abilities, though, and that is why the author has continued for as long as she has. Wish I could have that confidence.