Pain During White Boy Summer - Pistols at Dawn Chapter 28

This chapter was originally meant to be posted in August, but I had not been feeling in the mood to review it. It, along with Chapter 29, will be posted in the same month. The wordcount is 275,182, and we are nearing two fully years of reviewing this story. We are finally entering the 300,000 word mark; the mid-life crisis is here. 

The Master Room revivified from the refreshing outlook we’ve newly adopted, and I couldn’t have asked for a better response to this all than now (especially with Bellac’s unprompted exit). Beylier and Sophie shifted their chairs to address me properly at the end of the table; it was fair to say that a burdening weight had evaporated from their shoulders from my rightful outburst against Mirabeau. Quemar sat attentively straighter, sword-cane clutched in his right as his left relaxed near the silent Head Master; whose wide-framed jaw slouched in his prompted palm and beady eyes harshly ostracizing my way.

To be frank, he brought this upon himself.

A sum of the previous chapter: Mirabeau wanted to frame Arno for crimes he committed, including treason and undermining the Brotherhood. Elysia takes credit for things other people did, and Bellec gets slapped in the face by Arno when he lost the tug-of-war with Elysia. 

While it is true Mirabeau brought it all on himself, you would think an experienced politician would cover his bases better. It is convenient how Elysia, the Token Brown Woman, manages to figure out what his colleagues, who have known him for years, did not.  

With a swift brush of the faintly throbbing Piece in my pocket, I calmly replayed my surreptitious exposures from the Grand Hall. They listened without interruption, without a shred of doubt about my zealous motives and the enemies I encountered with the team (though it should be noted that Quemar huffed in annoyance when he realized I did, in fact, lie to him about the party mishap Orfeo and I ambushed). By the end, the information was received well, and Sophie was the first to initiate our long-awaited, diplomatic discussion.

You admitting your motives were zealous doesn't make your case seem sympathetic. Not only did you lie to Quemar about buddying up with Orfeo, you also lied about knowing a Templar banker when Arno was brought to trial for having one conversation with Elise. The most important thing everyone is forgetting is that Elysia had no idea who Shay Cormac was, and her ignorance cost her the lives of Assassin recruits more than Mirabeau's knowledge did. Naturally, she is going to escape the consequences of her actions because she's brown. 

“Your search for Shay has been, no doubt, pressing and tedious; as much as…we would’ve preferred to know your intentions from the beginning, perhaps it had been best not knowing in order to keep your work a secrecy.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” I responded with a hand to my bowing chest.

You didn't know who he was to begin with; you didn't search for him whatsoever. You wasted your time figuring out what secret society James' uncle belonged to, dissolved an opera plot, and had sex with her immortal pirate boyfriend. There has been zero indication she has actually hunted Shay down. Her keeping a Piece of Eden secret when your Brotherhood is going extinct is a nice way to erode trust.

Of course, this would have happened with a well-rounded character. When you are a Magic Woman of Colour, everything is forgiven and you are loved.

“You have this obtained Piece of Eden safely guarded?”

“Yes, absolutely. I will have a personal researcher that will further look into it.”

Quemar lifted a finger at this, though his usual, critical nature had all been washed away, “Wouldn’t it be best for you and your team to do research within the confinements of the Brotherhood? Including keeping the Piece itself here?”

I was happy to provide an answer, “I will accept any resources provided by the Creed, but I would rather conduct this near my living quarters. It’s easier to access, and safer for my acquired aid.” 

What resources? You squandered them all. And having a glowing red orb in your room, that is frequently visited by people who are affected by its energy, is a bad idea. If Shay wasn't around it wouldn't be an issue, but you have people who know what you look like and spies everywhere who want that PoE. Helps to be smart for once.

Quemar hummed for a brief moment, before— “Very well. It was merely a suggestion.”

Mirabeau clutched at the end of his armrest, sighing away his uncompromising tone, “While I am uneasy with the proposition of the Piece of Eden being outside the Bureau’s hands…I am willing to allow you the freedom to conduct your research in peace.”

Interesting how he says that when he was also forgiven for nearly framing Arno. We're not going to talk about that, or is that going to be saved for later? 

Not that I was asking for permission, per say, “Shay’s team is formidable all on their own, and I would rather deter them from finding the Brotherhood if they were to come across its location.”

“That, we can all agree,” Sophie carried on. “With our low numbers, and less experienced Assassins around, it would be best.”

That ship has sailed. Elysia never told the others she fought a pair of anime twins in an opera house who wanted to kill a mute ballerina. She never told them about the heiress she killed in a mansion despite being a high ranking Templar AND a member of Shay's new inner circle. These details have never been mentioned.

Not to mention that there are next to no experienced Assassins left. You alienated Bellec, you threw out Arno and Stephen and Clement are just gay boys looking for a glory hole. None of them have done anything worthwhile.  

“Then, it is only fitting for Elysia to have access to the confidential information of Pieces that we have locked away,” Beylier spoke up next, gloved finger drawing across his own chin. “We don’t have much funds left to spare, and this is the least we can do to guarantee you success.”

Why are there no funds? Is the Café not bringing in any money? Is there any particular reason why that would be?

Sophie gave an understanding gesture, a sigh softening the lines around her eyes, “In the meantime, it be best you make good allies with Élise de la Serre and Lafrenière; their possible knowledge will suite you better in the unprecedented events ahead.”

“Of course,” Beylier smiled. A mischievous gleam kindled in his eyes as he crossed his leg over the other, “I will say, Elysia’s speech was riveting and well-spoken—” Mirabeau is darting a strained expression of annoyance, “—I have something to confess, as well.”

Mirabeau is annoyed even though he accepted the truce from M. de la Serre? Oh, right - ELYSIA was the one who encouraged it. It was all her idea. No one else's.

It's also interesting to note that Elysia didn't make any effort to reach Elise - Arno did. Elysia dismissed her as his 'sister', but the real reason is that Elise is a well rounded, more sympathetic character - with better hair. 

Elysia's speech, by the way, was pure cope.  

The four of us regard him, and it’s Mirabeau’s acerbic words that strike first.

“That would be?”

Beylier doesn’t hesitate, and his succinct remark broadens his proud demeanor, “With our current condition, I felt it necessary to contact Connor Kenway from the Americas, and provide aid for our French Brotherhood if possible.”

“You did what!?” Mirabeau’s hands slammed the table, nearly rattling it. Quemar remained composed, and I dare say takes delight in Mirabeau’s distraught demeanor.

I have to sincerely laugh at this. Mirabeau is angry that Beylier asked Connor for help, when their very first issue could have been solved if they sent a letter to Connor. Connor would have had information regarding Shay and where his whereabouts may be. After all, Connor restored the Colonial Brotherhood after Shay destroyed it. Bellec, out of all of them, would have supported this measure enthusiastically. 

“…You did not confide in us with that information,” Sophie stated the obvious.

“I used my best judgement,” Beylier shrugged simply, completely ignoring Mirabeau’s piercing glare. “Unless there any prominent rejection—”

“Absolutely—”

I cut off Mirabeau, “I agree with this decision.”

Ain't that cute? Elysia got away with not confiding to anyone else that she had a PoE, or that she did other things behind their back. Yet Beylier gets shit for actually doing the right thing.

Priorities.  

“As do I.” Quemar unexpectedly agrees, “Mister Kenway has experience dismantling the damages Shay Cormac has wrought. Perhaps it will be of use to us...and besides, there’s no way to stop him now if he’s already coming.”

So you wasted your time doing useless errands instead of planning. You still had a network of spies and allies who could have told you Shay went to France. Again, had you asked Connor, he would have told you straightaway where he was. 

If you knew Shay was a problem, you should have stopped with all of these useless subplots and just brought him over. It'd be infinitely more interesting than what we have now.  

“Then we will proceed with that new plan,” Sophie momentarily brushed back her loose bangs away from her eyes. They curtained again when she turned to the pink-faced Mirabeau (who begrudgingly accepted at this point), “These are motions we must support, and the Brotherhood stands on bare bones alone. It is our hope you accept these changes, now that we have one less Master to work with.” He said nothing, his tetchy exterior whelmed in whatever patience remained on his person.

Why does it stand on bare bones? What happened to the money? What happened to the recruits? Why can't you find any new members?

Wouldn't happen to be...Elysia's fault, would it? 

“What of Master Bellac, then?” Quemar moved to me again, “It sounds like you had a former discussion, and he didn’t take it took kindly.”

“I made an attempt; his deep hatred for Templars is a history that has hardened for who knows how long. I was no match against it.”

All you had to do, Elysia, was ask him what happened to the Colonial Brotherhood. Had you even did a smidgen of reading you'd know. Bellec has good reason to despise the Templars and you could have immediately had him on your side had you said Shay was in Paris. But you couldn't stand to be upstaged, could you? 

“Surely, the man will come around to his senses,” Quemar hoped, and I refused to combat it because I had that same wish. It would make things less dire, especially for Arno who needed him now more than ever.

Arno doesn't need Bellec because you never wrote that need in the first place. Any interaction they had has been assumed, it has never been written. So the dynamics between them are entirely up to the reader. Bellec hating Arno and Arno smacking him doesn't have much context.  

“If Bellac is willing to make amends, I will be the first to hear him out,” Mirabeau answered after a short moment. “With that being said,” he direct his next sentence sternly to me, “are you certain you can handle the challenge against Shay Cormac.”

“I can, yes,” without a thought.

“Will you continue to uphold the tenets of our Creed without compromise?” followed soon after.

“…..I can’t promise that,” my brutal honesty rings a tense silence amongst the group, Mirabeau most of all. “Shay has gone out of his way to halt any opposition he’s had, and I can’t be chained to fairness. Not this.”

It's funny, really, how when Arno did this in-game he was expelled from the Brotherhood. He was the only one who viewed Germain as a threat and did what he had to do. He was condemned for killing Bellec yet was saved when it was discovered Bellec had murdered Mirabeau and was ready to purge the Brotherhood. Here, Elysia can openly say she will break the Creed's tenets to stop Shay, a man she had no clue existed. 

No one else would get away with this. Magic Brown Girl privilege.  

Quemar’s cane tapped once, “Perhaps, our moral code should not be chained to this decision. Not to Elysia, for that matter.”

The Head Master scowls, briefly, before it melts away in the form of compliance, “…I accept we are dealing with unprecedented times within our Creed.” He folds his hands together on the table, one finger brushing against the silver ring on his finger, “We all have to make hard choices; be sure yours will be the right ones.”

Hang on. We just had half a chapter dedicated to holding Arno responsible for talking to Elise once. Yet Elysia can be forgiven as a Mentor for disobeying the Creed? Oh yeah, we've got favouritism here. It is hypocritical for Mirabeau to view Arno as a traitor when everything Elysia does is the epitome of treason. Worse yet, she will never be held accountable for it.  

The meeting is dismissed, and by the time Beylier meets me outside, the regular Assassins that had gathered are gone as if nothing had happened. The friendly Master keeps a steady pace with me, and I realize he’s heading to the catacomb spaces of where we had laid those murdered to rest.

Where we laid James to rest.

Of course 'nothing happened'. Nothing in this story exactly sticks. As for James, it's funny how he manages to have better character development after he's dead than Elysia has for three installments of her arc. 

“The information is indeed in there,” Beylier replied softly, turning to face me. I didn’t even realize I had stopped walking. “Do you wish to wait out here?”

I shook my head, and trailed after him into the Lower Tombs.

Without the mourning Assassins, pacing through the graveyard’s elongated, rock walls were colder and emptier. A lantern in Beylier’s grip lit our way as it swayed with the motion of a lulling pendulum. A lighthouse for the phantoms that remained here, to warn them of our intruding tread. I tried not to shake as I halted before entering the final apse of the lined-up corridor. Beylier waited patiently beside me, and his eyes too observed the gravel bed set in the center…of where we had cremated James.

“Tell me…what is a fond memory you have of him?” Beylier whispered, his half-lit face sliding to me in elegant grace.

I have one: despite three or so chapters of him being around, he was a much more likable character than Elysia ever was. He at least had principles and believed in something. He was killed for no reason other than to prop her up. He was a wasted character.  

“There’s many to pick from,” I answered. The corners of my lips frowned, “There wasn’t enough time to make more.”

You had time. You just chose never to write it, because the author(s) is a lazy bitch. 

“That’s always the tragedy, isn’t it.” Beylier’s first step echoed in my ears, “There’s never enough time, there will never be enough time…but what we do share should always be cherished in memory; James will never be gone as long as we remember him, don’t you agree?”

I sighed heavily, “…Yes, you’re right.” 

James is forgotten until the plot demands that he be brought up. For a guy whose death wasn't supposed to be in vain, it took until Chapter 28 for his will to be acted upon. We had auctions, sex, and pointless assassinations in the interim.  

My feet trudged on, and Beylier stands in front of the center Assassin that is carved in stone. He’s not moving, and I steadily raise my gaze to observe the Master I’ve attempted to ignore the three times I’ve been required to step foot in here.

It was as if Cecillio never aged, carved in an infinite time of his life that displayed his full leader-like personality. The soft tresses that carved around his lean-built face, and the shoulders that burdened so much more than he let on. His undying love for Vitalia, and his brotherly torment against Ameriggio. His protective and soft demeanor whenever he remembered Najla….his undying loyalty to Augustine despite their bickers and differences.

Why are there statues of Italian Assassins in the Parisian Brotherhood? Unless I'm overanalyzing things and she's just remembering her time in Italy? Either way, I have no care for these characters who were in 'Run Fox Run' as I do for any character in this story. Les manages to craft these huge chapters without having a single character - aside from Elysia - dominate. This despite insisting they have a significant role to play. 

The same qualities James had built for himself, as if he were reborn into another being. And how soon he left altogether again.

“I could’ve done more…” my voice is near to nonexistent. Beylier simply stands beside me when I briefly choke on air, and my face rests itself into my open palms. Oblivious to who my words belong to; to the past, the present, whatever uncertain future I drew for myself now.

Yeah, actually. And you could have 'done more' by asking Bellec why he hated Templars and read a fucking book on the Brotherhood. I will never stop pointing this out: her refusal to learn anything about the history of the Brotherhood she controls cost her. Her crocodile tears should be saved in a jar and then thrown back at her. 

“You did enough.” He holds my shoulder, giving it a considerate rub, “That’s all that matters.”

Objectively? She did nothing. She has wasted her time chasing ghosts when a real ghost was killing her recruits. Arno was the one who pursued Shay, and he was the old who told James that Shay killed Germain and the French Templars. He did it because he feared what Elysia would do to him if he told her the truth. Those are not traits of a leader. They're the traits of a dictator.  

I don’t know how long we’ve been here until I regain some sort of composure. When the small tears are wiped away to find themselves against the front of my thighs. My chest falls and rises harshly, to excrete any emotion that attempted to take refuge in me again. Golden coins examine Cecillio’s hooded face, and the hidden, Tuscany symbols that dressed the outlining of his robes.

Spare me your tears. Also, these statues belong in the Italian Brotherhood. The French Brotherhood celebrates the French.  

“Head Master Cecillio’s accomplishments rebuilt a strong foundation for this Brotherhood; it is a shame of where it is now.” He sets the lantern in front of our feet, and the natural shadows grow to hide Cecillio’s face again, “Did you know he has an existing descendant that still works in the Brotherhood?”

I regard him properly at this, “You don’t say….”

Maybe you'd know if you actually read something. 

Again, these are all Italians. We're in France. France had one of the most well-kept, orderly, and strongest Brotherhoods in Europe. Shame it went to shit once a diversity hire arrived. 

“Well….not working per say…” Beylier retreated with a mindful shrug, “Regis used to be here when I arrived. I must’ve been in my early twenties…such a while ago. He left to see ‘other horizons’, as he told me. At first, I didn’t understand why he would leave all of this behind. The older I am now…you could say I understood his predicament better.” He laughed gently, and examined Cecillio’s reverent, simulacrum again, “Despite the grand achievements his ancestor accomplished, I can’t help but feel that Regis continues to carry that the lively spirit of his lineage. Maybe if you meet him, you’d see what I mean.”

He sounds pretty interesting, vs the Magic Brown Woman who steals every accomplishment that belongs to others and claims she invented ideas that others did. 

“For some reason…I believe you,” I smiled lightly. Then, my brows furrowed, “You said the information was in here?”

“Ah….right.” Beylier picked up the lantern, and handed it to me. His right hand free, he expelled out his rare hidden blade, and it took me a second to inspect the hidden slot marked on the wall. With the hidden blade inserted, the ground groaned in movement that both of us had to step back. The entire statue leisurely swung forward to reveal a hidden door. Again, Beylier expelled out his blade, and turned the knob to open it properly.

A-fucking-mazing. The Nostradamus puzzles that Arno solved are now all going to Elysia so she can wear his robes. Is there nothing this creature doesn't steal? 

“After you,” he gestured.

We paced down the dark, stone hall until we finally settled in a confined study of sorts. There was only one shelf with five large books, some charts, a desk with a chair, and a large painting that stirred a memory from long ago. Beylier crossed the threshold, gently procuring the lantern at hand. He lit the other surrounding torches around, giving us proper view of the undisclosed study.

I just realized something: Elysia has been a mentor for several years and yet has never heard of Thomas de Carneillon. She doesn't even know his tomb and equipment are down there. So her acting shocked at all this, and Beylier introducing her to it for the first time, indicates that she wasn't actually trusted with that information to begin with. That, or I am overanalyzing it again and Les simply just forgot to include those details.  

“I will admit, our information about Jacques de Molay is more speculation than it is solid intel. We do, however…” Beylier skimmed through one of the novels, and nodded triumphantly as he pointed to a section. I looked over his shoulder. “Thomas de Carneillon was an Assassin that lived during that time.”

Oh for fuck's sake. Jacques de Molay was the OG Templar. He was killed by Philip the Fair. This was in the beginning of the game. Every single Templar and Assassin - especially European Assassins - knows who he is. For French Assassins he'll be pinned to their wall. The only speculation you'd have is where he hid the Sword of Eden. 

Why did that name sound familiar to me….

“What’s his significance?”

Shouldn't you know, since you're a MENTOR? It's your job.  

“He dismantled the Templar Order under Jacques de Molay because he was aware of their intentions. In Molay’s possession were two Pieces of Eden: a manuscript, and-“

“Thomas went after them but the sword was no ordinary weapon….”

“—a sword.“

 Again, I have to chuckle at this. None of this should be surprising to her. It's her job to know the who's who of the Brotherhood, and Thomas was one of the ones who brought down the original Templars. Once again she has to put on her baby shoes and be walked through things she should, by reason, already know. 

You mean to tell me she wasted all that time hunting down PoEs and asking her friend Samson about where to find more, yet didn't know where the Sword of Eden was? Get outta here. 

My legs shifted, and I was standing in front of the hanging canvas—

“And that is where our painting is based on."

“The sword,” I exhaled sharply.

“He locked it up and the location was never revealed.”

Beylier’s eyes shift between the painting and myself, “The Sword of Eden?”

"There's scratches and indentations that show it’s been slotted into something times before.”

Wow, it's not as if you should know these things already.  

I examined the painting, and Cecillio’s words burned into memory.

“Yes, the same one.”

“What about…” Beylier stopped himself.

“That’s what Shay is looking for,” I finished for him.

I don't have much to say here, except wonder how Elysia is a Mentor while knowing nothing about her own Brotherhood. Jacques de Molay was the leader of the Templars when, historically, they were purged from France and across greater Europe. This should have been burned into her mind from the get-go. It should have been prioritized, but we kept getting red herring subplots so...

My team and I congregated within the Library, right above Mathias’ Study quarters; the main core of the Manor itself, it housed various forms of information, whether it be directed to a specific kind of field (more notably theatre and food recipes) or that of Assassin affiliation. The wooden, polished table was decorated with chairs from the café below as the evening sun hinted the slow traffic of customers.

How come you haven't spent more time there? When you were sending Clement and Stephen to spy on Mirabeau, you didn't think that was a quaint location? Why didn't you use this information to discover Shay was in France?  

Arno invited himself to stand next to me; he’d been rather quiet since his departure of the Creed’s caverns, but I didn’t exactly blame him. I could only hope Bellac’s temerarious brashness didn’t do something stupid while he was alone. Meanwhile, Arno had grown a fair sense of focus, and pushed back the memory from hours ago to situate himself at the unfolding problem facing us.

Arno being a wallflower is a development I expected. He's been with you for two years and never learned how to stand up for himself. I sincerely wonder how he went through life. It's not in his personality to be like that, but for argument's sake, let's say he WAS like that. He'd have room to grow and develop a thick skin. Bellec and Elysia both are not nice people. He should have learned the ropes. Instead, he was dragged around like a toy doll and slaps Bellec. 

He's flat out uninteresting and that isn't even the worst criticism.  

The ones named Élise and Lafrenière remained guarded, and took a seat next to each other at the far end of the table, a good two yards away from us. I wouldn’t want to immediately regard them as judgmental…

Elise and Lafreniere have judged Arno ever since he met up with them. He was regarded as a traitor for one discussion; how else do you expect them to react? Elise has been nothing but a bitch. She doesn't have a reason to blame Arno anymore - she just refuses to learn.  

“Would you like anything to drink or eat?”

“No, thank you,” Élise’s punitive tone proved otherwise. I could see why Arno had been upset the first time they crossed paths in Versailles. However, I was confident they would see reason if they were so willing to follow us back to this location.

I have said this before and I will stand by it: I honestly think Les does not like Elise because she is everything Elysia is not. Aside from their names sounding similar, and them having red hair, Elise is likable and has goals. Elysia, despite having three large stories centering her life, is not relatable. The only way to make her palatable is to lower Elise. This explains her bad attitude.  

“Tea?” I offered to her comrade, instead.  

He regarded with a small, cerebrating pout, “Tea would be nice.”

Once we were all settled, I recapped the discussion in the Master Room: Mirabeau’s acceptance of the terms I had laid down in pursuing our common enemy, and Beylier’s letter to contact Connor Kenway.

Beylier's decision to contact Connor is viewed with derision, even though it was the most reasonable thing offered. I just wonder why Connor wasn't contacted earlier. The Parisian Assassins failed on every level - be it intelligence, protecting recruits, upholding the Creed - so they need the guy who saved the Colonial Brotherhood to save theirs. 

What gets me, though, is Bellec's reaction.  

"What do we have in mind now?" Clement goes next.

"Our objection has not changed,” I answered. “While we await the American’s arrival, our best course is to continue searching for the next Piece of Eden, and I have a firm idea of what it could be.”

That was your initial purpose. Oh, and hunt down Templars. If you had done your job, Shay would not be as big as a problem as he currently is.  

Once revealing my findings with Beylier did Lafrenière’s eyes regard me heavily. The advisor placed down the porcelain to its saucer, and connected his wizen, willow fingers in front of his mouth, “Miss de la Serre and I have heavily hypothesized that is what Shay could be after, as well.”

Hypothesized? No, you should know. You were friends with Germain once. He likely would have told you.  

Élise picked up the conversation from there, looking less comfortable the longer she was here, “I have met Shay personally; he confided that he knew the Sword of Eden was here, and another. However, I suspected it wasn’t the manuscript. By that deduction, I’m assuming the other Piece he’s searching for is the one you have now.”

Then it's not a hypothesis is it? It's fact. You should have approached the Assassins sooner since you had a mutual threat.  

“Did he tell you why he was searching for it?” I interrogated.

SHE JUST SAID IT, FFS.  

“He was vague. He revealed that Germaine had also been looking for the Pieces of Eden, though I’m unsure how far he had gotten with that goal.”

He killed one of the few sages on the Continent, one who could've helped him locate the Pieces...but hey, logic, right? 

“Not very far from where we’re standing,” Arno quipped in.

The elder Templar gave a hefty sigh, and this makes us all turn, “….I presume what you have is the Heart of the Sword. The Heart of Eden, if you will.” The…Heart?

Yeah, lady, it's the second piece that activates it to its full power. It acts like a battery. You'd know if you read about Joan of Arc, who had the Heart in this universe? 

I took the softly-humming Piece out of my pocket and laid it on the table (where the sensation of it immediately quieted). The two Templars inspected it from their seats, all harboring skepticism waning. “I had a reliable source confirm its intention.”

The elder’s eyes inspected it gravely, “No one has seen it for centuries. A crucial matter if Shay sought it out.”

Luckily Elysia has a hot twin from a hot pirate tell her all about these objects. Let's not forget the Heart was at a private auction. Talk about uber-tight security. And it wasn't inert, mind you: it was throbbing and glowing like it's doing with Elysia.  

“And knew where to look for it,” Arno added with an open-hand gesture, “One of his followers was there, and didn’t take kindly to our interception.”

You should've known he was there to begin with. You fought two of his lieutenants - the axe wielding, acrobatic anime twins - during the opera subplot. It has taken you this long to discover what he wants? 

“The notorious band he has made for himself, yes,” Lafrenière agreed with a slight edge. “Whatever history is known about them, we cannot say for certain; Shay Cormac is a widely known Templar, but much of his life is private and speculated after his infidelity against the Assassins.”

He was known to the Assassins and the Templars make it their mission to know everything about you. Shay grew up poor, didn't have a good relationship with his family, left home early. No loose ends. 

What I find fascinating, though, is that Elysia has to be lectured about all of this.  

“What does the Sword do, exactly?” Stephen interrupted with his head lightly tilted. “Would help us to know what we’re getting into.”

Lafrenière spoke once more, “The Sword of Eden is able to grant great, influential power and leadership to the bearer. It can take down countless foes who oppose them, allow exceptional speed and strike the ground with a fierce bolt. Grand Master Molay knew the Assassins would attempt to use it, and hid the Heart away to lessen the damaging degree if the Sword were ever to be found. Jointed together, there would be little to no chance for the bearer to lose in battle.”

This was….concerning.

Not quite. Thomas de Carneillon was tasked to grab the Sword during the chaos of the Templar purge. That way it would remain in Assassin hands and its location would be unknown. Molay predicted this and tasked an underling to hide the Sword in a crypt below the Temple. 

Use of the Sword and Heart was described in AC II during the puzzle sequences. Joan of Arc held both. They were taken from her when she was tried for treason. 

(See? I know my lore, too.)

Stephen continued, "Why don't we just take a boat out into the ocean and throw it into the depths? No second Piece, no problem, right?"

"What makes you think he wouldn't go after it?" Lafrenière rebuttled. "The man went as far as the Artic circle to hunt down your Assassin brethren, I can only think diving into the depths of the ocean would be child's play for him."

He went to the Arctic to find an Isu temple there to stop them from activating it. A little detail you missed. But Lafreniere is still correct: Shay goes to great lengths to get what he wants, and all of these people are dawdling.  

"You can't solve all your problems by dumping them into the ocean...despite how much I can agree with that," Arno added, giving an understanding eye glance to Stephen.

Coming from the guy who never solves his problems? I think I'll pass.  

"Shay knows we have it, so I doubt leaving the city would be an easy route to go," I replied with crossed arms. "Even without the Heart, the Sword itself poses severe damage, and it be best to insure he doesn't obtain it."

He likely knows where it is. Better yet, he would've had it had he not killed Germain.

In your quest for this rewrite you deliberately made it harder for the villain to achieve his goal, LOL 

"Quite so," the Templar elder sighed again. "Why am I not surprised Mirabeau refused to do anything. This is a problem that should've been dealt with in the first place; a strained relationship with a King is the only natural response, after that horrid display of unity."

Lafreniere the lampshader. He is right - again - but Mirabeau wouldn't be stupid enough to ignore this. He's a politician, he's degenerate, he's selfish...but knowing there's a WMD in a vaul somewhere would be his utmost concern. He'd put aside partisanship for this.  

"And what about the Templars?" Clement's voice rises up, his gaze narrowing, "I didn't expect you all to...allow for an outsider like him to interfere with French issues. If you had rebuked him in the first place, this issue wouldn’t have happened."

Wow, Clement rolling in with facts. However, our dear Magic Brown Woman doesn't care - after all, it's her story.  

"You can thank Haytham Kenway for that," Lafrenière defended with a displeasure tone. "If it were in my hands, no such thing would've happened. An Assassin turned Templar is not a matter to be taken lightly—"

1. Haytham was a member of the Colonial Rite, not the French Rite. He was none of your concern and he would have told you as much. 

2. You had a Sage, Germain, on your side. You could have appealed to him. You didn't.

3. Shay, against the orders of any Rite, killed a Sage who could have been on his side.

4. Shay has been a loyal Templar for decades. Elysia became a Mentor in five years. Who has the greater experience? 

"Whatever the case, we're here and now we have to fix it, regardless," I cemented. “We must collaborate together on where it may be hidden. No ties between Assassin or Templar here, it'll only hinder us if we do."

You had a year to fix it. You didn't. Now someone else has to clean up your mess.  

"You expect much out of centuries old enemies." Lafrenière remarks coolly, observing my students and me with a brief gaze of scrutiny. He sighs after, rubbing his temple in deep circles, "If we are discovered, it will certainly mean death for us."

Shay already killed the faction opposed to de la Serre. He aims to kill Elise. Why? Well, the reason isn't actually given. To this day, it's not even known why he is concerned with the French Rite when there are temples and PoEs all over America. Weaker administration, perhaps? 

“When has it not?” Élise joked, and there is a friendly banter none of us have been aware of until now.

Because there was no banter. She was just being a bitch. 

Lafrenière eyes Élise specifically, a faint trepidation masked well with solicitous words, "Our Order needs for someone to succeed; you must be the one who must remain safe during this investigation."

Advice, Les: stop using word vomit. 'Solicitous intent' would have worked.  

I hold his attention again, "I will ensure she is safe."

"She will need a safe house to remain in. I was attempting to find her one when we were meeting at the Cimetière des Saint-Innocents…before rudely being interrupted."

Arno's shoulders slumped, ".....Apologies. Again. Truly."

Arno should not apologize. He was the one to reach out and rekindle the truce. Elysia did none of that. She never sought out Lafreniere or Elise, despite having greater resources than Arno to find her. So her snipping at him and blaming him for being accused of treason - when she works with an immortal Japanese Templar banker - is the epitome of hypocrisy. Unlike Arno, she's a WOC, so she will not be held accountable.  

I shook my head, "I might be partially blamed for that; I haven't given Mirabeau any good news or faith to trust me, and thus resulted in him acting irrationally to send trackers out. As hard as it is to believe, Arno tries to be careful."

'Yeah it was really my fault you nearly died for no reason but it's OK I made a mistake and I'll be forgiven.' 

"That's righ- wait, what," he darted his eyes to me. “In any case…” Arno emits an earnest smile toward Élise, “Then why not have her stay with us? This is probably the safest place in Paris.”

Housing the heir to the French Rite in the Café is a bad, bad idea. Come on. Use your brain for once. 

“As much as I would like to have her close by…I can’t risk the Café Manor, nor the Piece being discovered.” I regarded Élise next (who was somewhat scowling at Arno’s suggestion), “I also don’t think she’d be comfortable staying here, which is why I look to you, Clement.”

Ah, housing the redhead with the openly gay man. Is he going to start doing her hair? 

“…Quoi?” Clement blinks, pointing to himself, “You.…me??”

“Yes…..you,” I lightened my tone, already getting the darting eyes. “You have a big enough space, and it’s somewhere secluded in part of the city. It’s a good distance away, but not enough to pose a threat in case things take a turn.”

But he won't be able to have open house gay bars! Not fair!  

“Do I have a say in objecting this offer?” Élise stood at this. “Surely, I can—”

“Are you insinuating my student can’t handle the task? Because if you are, I find that very insulting,” I cemented with a hand on my hip.

There is no insinuation. No one succeeds under your tutelage, Elysia. You are an absolute bitch and no one in your household likes you. So you can stop with the sass. No one likes this character, period. 

Élise scoffed at that, and pressed a hand to her temple to shake off whatever built frustration was growing. Clement, on the other hand, continued to dart his gaze between Élise, then to Arno, at last to me. His knuckles curled against the table, repeating the motion until he speaks up again.

It's OK, Elise, no one likes her either. You're just a clog in the sewage pipe that is Elysia. Since you're also a redhead, you're direct competition.  

“Are you certain?” I see him fighting the internal thoughts. “Are you changing my assignment to just…babysitting then? I mean, it’s not, but—”

“If you mean babysitting in the sense of keeping a Templar informant who can help us take down Shay Cormac, then yes…” I shrugged one shoulder up, “Who knows….maybe the both of you can find something in common, or learn your differences from one another in the grand scheme of things. Life is funny like that.”

Glad to see that instead of diverting your resources to things that matter, you are turning out of your Out and Proud students into a glorified babysitter. 

The silence in the room is deafening. Clement and Élise share a glance, one ridiculed with the absurdness of the situation they’re facing while the other didn’t look eager to head out (honestly, they could be interchangeable at this point). Clement’s fingers find their way to the nook of his collar, a soft fuzzball attempting to squirm its way free.

I'd feel sorry too if I, the heir to the French Rite, had to be babysat with a gay man whose only personality is that he has triggers solved by his cats. I'd probably hang myself off the banister.  

“Stephen?” he attempted, one last time.   

The brunette merely teetered on the legs of his chair, spectating with a curious pout, "I only have one bed and chairs. And the floor. And I don't think we'd want any of us to have bad sleep on top of everything that's going on..."

He has the mansion with his immortal Templar boyfriend. Can't have Elise come in and see the portals he's got going on.  

“…I have cats.” Clement’s eyes fell to Élise, “They might bite.”

Her nose scrunched, “….Charming.”

 You know that white liberal woman stereotype of her only children being cats? Now imagine that but with a flat, insufferable gay man.  

The setting sun provided enough shadows to maneuver around, but it didn’t lessen the spontaneous burden heaved onto his shoulders.

Be honored. This is the most responsibility you've ever been given.  

Never would he ever come across the idea of housing a Templar under the same roof as him, and it didn’t make things better when there seemed to be this silenced tension between both Arno and Élise (because of course, he had to come with to see her arrive safely at the apartment). He wasn’t sure what game Elysia was playing, but his patience was thinning by the day under her thumb; not once has she asked how he would feel about this, or about anything that’s transpired since James’ death. He shouldn’t be so defensive, he wasn’t always like this…

First point: Clement is frustrated at this, but didn't seem to be bothered by James' history or Stephen dating an immortal Templar vampire. 

Second point: he is correct that Elysia has not asked him what he feels about this. I am not sure if it would count as a betrayal of trust, but she does walk all over those beneath her. 

Third point: true, Clement 'wasn't always like this'. He hasn't had any character development to have a before and after. 

When they finally approached the front door of his apartment did Arno give a small smile. The door opened under Clement’s key, Arno gesturing for his sister to take the first step.

“It’s definitely the second, better option,” he joked, but she didn’t smile at that. In fact, she seemed to grow further annoyed of the Dorian’s presence. She stepped in, her eyes scrutinizing this sojourn punishment she and Clement were going to share for the night. Clement felt the heat rising at the back of his neck.

No option was the good option. Elise can't be in the same room as Elysia - for fear of upstaging - so she gets to stay in a gay man's house. Her boytoy, Arno, gets to be her doormat. Every second they spend together it's inescapable that she cannot stand him.  

What a cuck.

Arno collected Clement’s attention next. “Can I…talk to you for a second?”

Clement almost robotically closes the door of the room, and they both step into the hallway for privacy, “What?”

Ouch, here comes the sassy gay man. No, Clement, you don't get to take your anger out on Arno. He didn't make this decision. Elysia did. Instead of holding her accountable, you'll blame anyone else. 

Note: you don't 'collect' people's attention. You grab it or command it.

Arno unexpectedly pulled out a coin bag, and held it out to him, “I know you’re doing a lot, I’m sorry about…this all being so sudden. I was sure Elysia would have let Élise stay at the manor but…” He shook his head, and made the coin bag more prominent, “This is for anything she needs. In the morning for breakfast, she enjoys the filled croissants, those are her favorite. There’s a café down the street from here that serves them. She also likes cats, so don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s fully miserable here. It’s funny, one time we found a kitten and…..”

It's something, isn't it, how Arno is written to know everything about Elise - as if he loves and cares for her - and all he gets in return is her eternal hatred and scorn? This is too cruel to even be considered a friendzone. 

Arno’s eyes abscond away, and Clement wasn’t sure if it was sudden, or if he had made some sort of face to make the younger man stop his recollection.

“Um…thank you again, for your help. If you run out of money and have to use your own, I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

I'm sure some of this 'paypback' involves getting stuck in a door or laundry machine somewhere. 

Clement’s gaze studied the coin bag before lifting to Arno’s face. An anchor weighs in his limbs when he takes the money from the lithe Assassin, deliberating over it. The hidden motive, the goal. The…good faith he suppliants to the buffer man without judgement.

Clement still does not trust Arno despite having a good few months to bond. It's not a matter of being paranoid or untrusthworthy, it's just shitty writing. 

“Why?” Clement found himself ardently questioning.

Arno’s brows furrowed (from the way his cheeks harden within the confinements of his cowl), “Why…what?”

“All this, for your sister. Even after how she’s treated you…you still go out of your way. Why?”

Because, uh, she's the only family he has? Besides, if Elise was written properly she'd be actually grateful and not the bitch she's acting now.  

“Because…I love my sister,” Arno smiled, sadly at that. He does this small gesture of squeezing his own fingers into his opposite hand, “I have hope she’ll forgive me…but even if she doesn’t, I’ll know I did everything I could to try to change whatever the outcome.”

So. We have unconditional love, unrequited. Arno goes out of his way to protect others and defend them on his behalf and he gets treated like shit. Which is fine. It's how he reacts to it that gets me. He never becomes vindictive or stands up for himself. That's what gets me.  

Clement remained quiet for a moment. Seconds too long. He squeezed the bag, the hard outlining of the coins webbing into his skin. It grounds him enough to answer back.

“…Then I’ll be sure to keep her safe. Maybe you’ll…have a favorable outcome.” 

He would, if he was more proactive in his wants and needs. Like the actual Arno.  

Arno, despite all of his reckless tendencies and head-strong attitude, produces the softest smile Clement could recall in distant memory. That whatever Clement had said was more than enough and that alone created that smile. He swallowed roughly, darting his gaze to the closest wall to ignore the potential heat enveloping his cheeks.

So far, Arno's 'reckless tendencies' has just ben him doing things other people can't be bothered to do. He was the one who brokered the meeting between himself and Elise; he was the one who overheard Germain and the French Rite being liquidated. Two, he has never been headstrong. Other people walk all over him and he acts like a meek, obedient pet. Elysia tells him to get in a tutu? He gets in a tutu. She tells him to jump off that church? He jumps off that church. She sends him on failed missions? He gets failed missions. And he is always blamed. 

Arno must have noticed because now he works his digits into his neck, strands of his dark amber locks peeking from the shadow of his hood. Clement must’ve seemed cold to avoid his gaze, but it had to be done. Today would be a very long day and the privacy he longed for would not be easily accessible.

Don't worry. You'll get to know Clement's apartment soon enough. It's where you're getting that anal cherry popped.  

“I better be going.” Arno acknowledged suddenly and Clement nodded briskly, digging his fingers into the bag of coins. “…Try not to fight with Élise; she’s tougher than she looks.”

“I doubt I’m going to throw a punch at your sister…but I’ll restrain myself.”

Nothing like your 'best friend' and gay dudebro threaten to hit a woman. Equal rights, equal lefts! 

Arno chuckled at that, and there’s a blossom of warmth that seeps along Clement’s chest, hoping it’s only Eugene curling to him. The younger Assassin bids a brief wave before taking down the stairs, his footsteps creaking until they’re suddenly gone. Clement finds himself momentarily rolling his eyes at his sudden escape out the window, knowing the temptation had been there and Arno would be the one who takes it.

 Well, it's the easiest route. I'm sure you do it all the time, Mr. Bundle of Sticks. 

Clement’s unable to fully understand Arno’s dedication to Élise. Perhaps it’s because Clement’s own relationship with his own sister is far from…this. Cordial, the occasional letter here and there, the acceptance that their relationship might forever be strained after their parents’ death. Of her reluctancy to understand who Clement is, and of his own fears to explain it. There’s an inevitable sense of rejection that hangs at the end of that conversation and Clement does not wish to know. Throwing away the last familiar ties he has in this world would be lonelier than living in the former home of his friend. However, Arno still persists despite the horrible odds stacked against him. In all honesty, Clement probably would have given up. Clement knew Arno deserved better than to be treated as such…but…perhaps there’s a sense of strength in Arno’s actions.

Nah, it's not the same. Elise lost her father during a coup. Arno lost his biological father at the hands of Shay and has no living family. Your sister just disowned you because you are openly gay, something that would not be possible in this time period. If you were closeted, and far more respectful about it, maybe your sister would understand. 

Arno persists because the plot demands it, not that he is an actual character with motivations. He's not the main character, remember: Elysia is. 

Perhaps…they aren’t that different as he thought.

Well one was supposed to have an actual personality and be the centre of his own story, and the other is the creation of a Latinx woman desperate for white cock. I'll let you decide what the difference is.  

Clement enters to find both Manet and Monet are sitting in front of the cushioned chair Élise decided to take refuge onto. Both of her feet are pressed on the cushion, her hands locked around her bent legs to fasten them there. She gives them a challenging look (almost looks like a cat herself from how her hair was raised around her shoulders), and swiftly looks away when Clement fully enters the living room of the apartment now.

Cats aren't dogs. Staring at them isn't going to show dominance. Slow blinking will charm them. Cats were also everywhere in Paris. You mean to tell me Elise has never met one? 

“Your cats look like they’re plotting something devious,” she replied as she inspected the nearby table and its contents. “They best not be getting any ideas.”

“They know better not to.” Clement inspected the largest of the cats, tail flickering slowly and watching. “He’s just trying to see whether you’re friendly or not.”

Is this Assassin's Creed or a Disney movie? Please don't tell me the cats are going to have better characterization than the humans. 

“…Odd things, cats.” She rested her tense shoulders back, her nails picking at the fabric of her trousers. “I suppose if Shay tried to infiltrate your apartment, your pets will be the first to know.”

“It’d buy us a few seconds if they go for his face.”

He'd either shoot them or break their necks. Poison would be the first option.  

Her eyes reflected upon the window, and her eyebrows furrowed. “He’s definitely a force to be reckoned with, that much is certain. And…to find out the lot of you were tracking him down…that’s completely asinine.”

“We have our reasons. I would think it’s understandable, especially in Arno’s case.”

It's...their job? Come on, Elise. Don't tell me you've been in the dark. He's the worst threat to your entire inheritance and you just slept on him? 

Is everyone here retarded?

“And what would that be, exactly? He’s already done enough damage as it is…truly it can only get worse from here on out.”

“Of his birth father.” The words are forced out (and he tries his best to not sound agitated), “Of our teammate. Both murdered at the hands of this man.”

What damage? HE is the one who sought Elise out. HE is the one who told James the truth. No one else believed him. Not his Mentors, not his girlfriend-who's-magically-his-sister. 

But noooooo...he's STILL blamed. 

Élise doesn’t turn at this, “I’m aware of Charles Dorian…” something battles in her eyes, but Clement doesn’t get a good look to register it, “I have lost allies as well, but I know which battles to pick, and which to wait out. Arno’s impulsiveness landed where he was, and it disappoints me to know it never ceased.”

She’s not wrong.

No, she's 100% wrong. It was not Arno's job to know Shay was in France. That was Elysia's job as she is Mentor. She should have done her job and mentored. Led. Controlled. She tanked the Café, stole food, steals credit for things she didn't do, and actually acts reckless and dangerous while blaming other people.  

Arno isn't impulsive. Everyone else has been impulsive and not ONCE have been held to task. What should be disappointing is how far this bullshit has gotten.

Clement knows because that’s what he’s always thought Arno was. Impulsive, tractable, vacuous; never thinking of the consequences. Clement picked his words carefully, “Yet it’s also the one chance you have to getting your birth-right back.”

There has been no indication Clement has thought or said this aside from him being a smug fuck. Arno is a character who absolutely thinks of the consequences - that's WHY he can appear impulsive. He does it in the name of redemption and justice. But calling him what  amounts to a meathead is solely on the feet of the vacuous, impulsive, never-thinks-of-the-consequences author. 

This time she darted her eyes to him, and doesn’t like the insinuation he’s built, “Arno has no business prying into the affairs of my Order; he offered an opportunity and I took it, but that does not mean I see eye-to-eye with his intentions. At the end of the day, he is still an Assassin, and will always be that, as he was destined to be.”

“What is your destiny then?” Clement doesn’t see why Arno tries.

Once AGAIN: Elise is in no position to lecture Arno. None. She's on the precipice of extinction. Her name, her house, her legacy, is nearly gone. She has no Order to speak of. 

Shut up and take the olive branch. 

“My destiny entails me to take over what belonged to my father; he spent years preparing me for this role, and to have it….whisked away in a matter of moments—” she scoffed at this, clearly displeased of where her memories took her. Offended that Clement had managed to pry this out of her with mere words alone, “Whatever happens to your Creed is of no use to me, nor the members who decide to hide in the shadows than face their judgement.”

Jesus Christ, woman. Both of your organizations face extermination. Shut up and work with your 'mortal enemies' to stop Shay.  

Elise has unironically hidden in the shadows to avoid facing her judgement all because Shay is a threat. You have to love this projection.

"We don't ask to be recognized for our work, or the power that comes with it." Clement acknowledges with a steel tongue that could contest any hidden blade, "We only hope that we leave things a little better than what it was. That's....that's the same thing Arno does for you and you don't even see it as that. You don't see kindness; you only see a nuance, an obstacle you have to go around."

You have to love how Clement is taking Arno's role of being the mediator to Elise. These are things he would say. But since he's a white cuck whose only destiny is to get sodomized, he doesn't get the time of day.  

The sturdy strength that has built into his chest tightens like a crimson noose, forcing him look away. To control whatever discomfort has built. He thinks back to what James had done often after missions, counting off his fingers exaggeratedly as they had walked home. He'd stop at six or nine, but never past ten. If it wasn't counted off by threes, it's bad luck.

Figures James, the superstitious one, actually died for what he believed in than act like a coward. He took Arno seriously. Amazingly, he was the only likable character in this fic. 

Clement taps his index finger to the muscle along his thumb, counting off until he finds the unlethal, reasonable response. In doing so he pulls down his hood, addressing Élise.

"I am a face among those shadows who have lives just like everyone else. If it displeases you that you have to rely on someone, especially an Assassin, then please." He steps away from the door, "Get out and save your breath."

Once again. She's not in a place to agree or refuse. You need to take help when given. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.  

Élise inspected his gesture, digested the words. Weighed her options. For a moment she doesn’t move, and then stands up to go over to the window overlooking the street instead. Clement’s jaw tightens, inspecting the profound red hair that rested at the top of her back.

“Sometimes….I wish my father hadn’t gone to the meeting in Versailles. At the time, adopting Arno was the morally correct thing to do. I don’t fault my father for it.”

But? Ah, but there's a but, isn't there? You've never considered Arno family. Why pretend to care now? 

Her eyes curtained by her closing lashes in the window’s reflection. Clement feels the deep breath she takes.

“If it had been an Assassin who killed my father, I have no doubts Charles would’ve done something to right that wrong; Arno would’ve fought tooth and nail for me, the same way I did for him. If…we hadn’t been there, things would’ve been simpler, black and white with no misty greys. No meddling affairs, no alliances nor truces between Templars and Assassins. I wouldn’t be here…but then I realize…”

?? But Arno did fight tooth and nail for you. He sought you out! 

You claim to honor your father's legacy yet decided to shit on the truce? How caring of you.  

She hugged her arms, and the shadows on her face deepen by the sullen expression she adopts.

“Arno would’ve been all alone, out there. No mother, no father…what a cruel thing to imagine.”

It apparently isn't cruel to treat him like a piece of shit who isn't worth your time. According to you, he's impulsive, vacuous, stupid. A dumb dog who needs to be put down. 

I'm getting 'AC Unity Rewrite' vibes.  

Clement’s unsure of where Élise is going with this, but he opts to listen to her thoughtful spillage.

“My father always reassured me that Arno would be fine, that Shay’s decision to end Charles’ life shouldn’t have affected me, nor was it my responsibility to carry that on my shoulders. But…if I had done something, said something…if I had not taken Arno to steal some pathetic apples in the back courtyard of the palace…then maybe Charles might still be alive. Arno might still have his father…and I would have mine. It’s such a simple wish.”

Then you would have witnessed the crime and be traumatized further. Charles was marked for death. You could not have saved him.  

There, Clement hears the shakiness veiled beneath solid words.

“I relied on my father for many things; he was my mentor, he was my friend. To have that gone, to have all that stripped away from you within seconds…it’s only fair to admit I didn’t take the news well. All I knew was that Arno was at the scene of the crime, his hands riddled with my father’s blood like it was some poetic justice a devil could conjure. I could not stand the sight of him as he laid unconscious, because now I had no one to depend on. Everything I knew was gone…and Arno—” she inhaled, and her arms straighten down so her fists turn to clubs, “comes back, demanding why I couldn’t accept him when I had barely begun to pick up the pieces of my own heart?”

Look. I understand her feelings here. He was at the crime scene, he was seen holding the body, he was thrown in the Bastille. Yet you have had two years to discover the truth. You blaming and hating Arno for a crime he didn't commit - and told you as much to your face! - is your own fault. 

Clement’s eyes widen.

“Begs for me to forgive him?”

And the mirror cracks.

“Like we could move past it so simply?”

Imagine having someone with undying loyalty for you, going out of his way to find you and secure an unlikely alliance to make sure you are safe. He does this despite knowing he was blamed for the death of a loved one. He does it for redemption. He does it for his 'sister'. He expects nothing in return.

And THIS is how you repay him. This is how you reward loyalty. And you haven't even given him a chance to explain himself! For shame, for shame. 

He doesn't recognize if he's breathing anymore or if he's just watching in horror. Of the embarrassment creeping up along his neck and stringing his muscles into knots. Thinking of how foolish or emotionally charged his words were, how right Élise had been feeling.

Clement may have known Arno longer, but he wasn't a fool to this pain. Knowing that being crossed would put a sturdy lock upon one's heart. To be weary of future interactions, despite how tender they once were. Arno might have been his teammate and maybe he's trying to be Clement's friend, but Élise...Élise's pain makes sense.

I wouldn’t know if he’s a fool to anything because there have been zero chapters dedicated to his development. The only thing he has going for him is that he’s openly homosexual, buff, and has cats at home.

Second, Elise’s feelings are quasi understandable but her taking it out on Arno with all the facts known is pure vindictiveness. She hasn’t had any chapters dedicated to her or her growth, let alone her feelings, so the exact reasons why she’s holding on to these emotions are, once again, pure vindictiveness. Arno went out of his way, putting his career and life at risk (while his own Mentor gets away with worse crimes, mind you) for her. This was his payment.

If he wasn’t cucked, I’d say ‘dump that bitch’. But this fic seems to be a self feeding beast.

That a part of him couldn't move on just yet because he still felt wounded from losing James.

Having to live in the same house that his friend used to sit upon, because his uncle had put him on the spot in front of his team. Of the guilt of still being alive while his friend was dead. Of someone that had an idea of who Clement really was and didn't judge him. Didn't hate him. He was still there and...now he's not.

Again, this would be great if these characters actually mattered. James’ purpose was to die and bring in his Supernatural-hunting uncle as part of a subplot to bring down Elysia – which, might I add, was never brought up again? - and Clement and James did nothing but torment Arno.

And who killed James? It wasn’t Arno. Arno feared Elysia and what she would do if he told her the truth. So he brought along James. Yet James was closer to Elysia and she should have been more privy to him. She purposefully killed him and all of his comrades.

He’d still ‘be there’ if Elysia did her job and actually instilled respect in her underlings rather than make them hate her. But I digress.

Her words cut deep into his core, “All because of Arno.”

Clement rubs his neck wearily, unable to meet Élise's vindictive stare.

Yes, keep blaming Arno. It’s not as if you used your time to find out whether he was guilty or not.

"It has been nearly two years since then and I still can't look Arno fully in the eyes," Élise admits. "The pain he's unwittingly dealt is too much to bear. I...I can't be told to just forgive him and move on, not after what has been done."

No, bitch. You KNOW the truth. You KNOW he didn’t kill your father – Shay did. So suck it up and admit you were wrong and forgive the man who went out of his way to protect you.

Elise being purposefully obtuse, spiteful, and an overall bitch will never sit right with me. She doesn’t act like this; she’s being made to act like these due to the author’s whims.

The silence succumbs the apartment and Clement almost chokes on it. His thick fingers digging into his sleeves, attempting to think. To push past the words that are repeating in his mind, the ones Elysia, Stephen and everyone else has been telling Clement since then.

"You're right."

No, no one is right. No one is in the right mind or making the right decisions. Elise is deciding to blame Arno for her own failings and misgivings. She blames him for the collapse of her Rite and legacy even though the man actually responsible is running around Paris and killing the last of her loyal supporters. What has she done in those two years? Nothing. What has Arno done in those two years? More of the same – but at least he actually tried, author’s shit characterization notwithstanding.

Élise sat back down, and this time her posture differs; hands on her knees, both feet touching the ground. She sits back, and her eyes look down at the cats that study her again.

“I….I don’t hate Arno. I don’t think I ever could.” Monet nears closer, and his paw pats Élise’s boot with heavy curiosity of her behavior. She shook her head instead, “But I know that if I did, it would make things easier.”

It would...it would make a lot of things easier.

To put the blame on someone, something.

And there we have it. There is a massive problem of characters refusing to take responsibility for their own actions, and it’s endemic enough not to be a genuine character flaw. These people legitimately do not care how stupid they look, act or sound, and neither do the authors writing them. I do not care how many times I have to reiterate this: Elise has no room to blame Arno for facts she didn’t collect and the truth she refuses to see. She spoke with Shay, she knows he’s a problem. She knew Shay killed Arno’s father and acts as if she doesn’t know he killed Germain.

It’s indeed easier to put the blame on someone else, because they have to work twice as hard to undo and correct all the mistakes you made. You are free of guilt; the other party has to take on said guilt as well as prove their innocence.

The focus to work, the desire to be away from his team as much as possible, to not cross paths with the Dorian. Anything that could help, anything that could distract Clement's mind from immediately zooming upon Arno and thinking...why it couldn't be him?

 But if it had been….

This is the gay male pairing that is going to rock this story: a buff ‘bear’ gay man wishing the twink was dead. Glad we’re off to a good start. I’m also glad that despite Arno’s good will and giving Clement money for Elise, he’s still treated like shit. The poor guy just can’t catch a break.

Wishing for death upon someone who has done nothing wrong to you is, again, vindictive. You’re just being a piece of shit. But I guess that’s the memo.

Clement wouldn't get to see his crooked smile. Or make a fool of himself. To have seen him on stage in an outfit that had made him seem otherworldly. The way his warm, almond eyes peered from underneath the harsh darkness of his hood. The way he effortlessly scaled buildings like child’s play and make himself look like he was flying whenever he leapt off death-defying heights. Untouchable and angelic.

I don’t get this obsession with writing Arno’s eyes as ‘almond’. It can mean two things: almond coloured, or almond shaped. I usually think it’s the latter. Which is funny, because Arno isn’t Asian. Anyways, his eyes are hazel. Lore down pat.

It’s also funny how, a paragraph earlier, Clement was wishing Arno was dead and now he’s praising him for his skills. Moody, or gay?

To not debate whether or not he found Arno as a friend….or someone of interest.

It would've made things a lot easier if Arno Dorian was gone.

But...that is the life both Élise and him would continue to struggle with.

Yes, life is easier when the people you hate no longer exist. But I need to reiterate: Arno has gone out of his way to make himself palatable to others. Clement knows the personal mark Shay has left on him. He was just given money from Arno. He also had time to ask Arno the circumstances of James’ death. He did none of that. He also seemingly forgot Arno’s kangaroo trial where he was nearly executed for treason.

Yeah, there are quite a few people who wished Arno was gone.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’ll send word once we collect some information,” I bid Stephen a farewell, and see him off scaling the neighboring structure beside the Café Manor.

I lend Lafrenière one of the books Beylier had entrusted me, and I don’t interrupt him in the silence that envelopes us. I bring him another round of tea, and he thanks me for it before returning back to his indulging activity. The sunset turns a milky lavender that soon develops to a deep crimson with golden, orange smears. I don’t remember if I had ever seen colors like these back in Hyrule, but I catch myself mesmerized by it, shoulder resting against the rim of the window.

Maybe if this was a book about sunsets, it'd be tolerable. More emphasis is placed on sunsets and the weather than anything actually important. 

Now, correct me if I'm wrong: Elysia was raised among the Gerudo tribe. Shouldn't she have seen sunsets like these? She's also lived for centuries. This shouldn't be a point of conention. 

“You cast your eyes towards the gold-colored sky...and loneliness pervades you if only for a moment."

Which would be quaint and poetic if Elysia was a character deserving of those words.  

James’ words play like a harp, and my eyes are closed from their lulling spell. It’s been an exhausting day…

What have you done that has made you exhausted, pray tell? You weren't held in contempt of court or tried for treason.  

“I’m impressed.” Lafrenière sets his empty cup down, prompting me to turn around. “Yet, slightly uneasy of all this.”

“I’m listening,” I invited.

That’s a first, don’t you think? The Magical Brown Woman of Colour is going to listen to an Old White Man. Makes you wonder why she didn’t bother to search for Elise or Lafreniere herself vs letting Arno do it. She’d take home half the credit and get away with the accusations of treason.

“It’s been much a time since any sort of Templar and Assassin alliance has been gracefully honored. I’d had my….disagreements with Monsieur de la Serre, though my distrust didn’t lie with him; I could not trust Mirabeau, nor do I still.”

I nodded, “I can see why.”

‘Honored’? This truce hasn’t even been mentioned once throughout this whole thing. The Mirabeau deception has taken up more time as has the PoE treasure hunt. Oh, and let’s not forget the time-traveling Japanese vampires and Black Swan subplots that didn’t go anywhere.

When the truce was conveniently mentioned after Arno was hauled in front of the Mentors for a crime he didn’t commit, Elysia took full credit for it even though M. De la Serre and Mirabeau were the ones who concoct and honor it.

She didn’t pursue Elise; she didn’t make friends with any Templar bar her Japanese friend. Which, by the way, she didn’t mention when Arno was convicted for her crimes. Funny how that works.

Now, does Lafreniere trust Mirabeau, or does he mistrust Shay more? Make a choice. Mirabeau is a politician first and foremost and Lafreniere would likely know of his exploits. As it stands, he is not your problem.

Why are people so retarded in this?

He hummed gently, “As much as I enjoyed Mirabeau’s criticism in front of an audience, it is concerning that your Brotherhood is not as united as it makes itself to be.”

“For that, I blame Mirabeau entirely. I found out his hidden motives, and the inactions he took to dissolve the issues pertaining in the city, in the Creed, and with Shay himself. I could not let that slide.”

Ah...but it has nothing to do with the Woman of Color who made the Cafe go bankrupt; who killed her own recruits in numerous botched ‘initiation’ rites; and who refused to learn about her own fucking Brotherhood and was made a Mentor for it. Of course she’s going to get all the credit. Everyone else is flawed and evil but her.

Elysia did not do anything to solve problems in the city. There are no contextual examples of it. Everything she has done she did for herself, her boyfriend, and her immortal friends. None for her Brotherhood and none for those she is meant to teach and protect. She was happy to see the Café employees live on the street because she couldn’t look at the tax returns or expenses.

So yeah. Blame Mirabeau. Even though he has objectively done more shit than you.

“…Intriguing.” The elder man sat back, and set aside the book I lent him. “I’ve seen my fair share of rubbish alliances and false promises…and experiences have provided me with careful optimism to accept this so fleetingly and quickly.” He eyes the Heart I had left so openly at the table, then back to me.

“I’ve also been hurt before, by people I’ve trusted. It only makes sense to not repeat history.”

Sure thing, honey. But you can’t repeat history when you don’t know it, right?

Such a shame there are things called books and Elysia has never been seen with a single one.

“…That is one way to view it, yes.” He’s trying to make out who I am.

Hm, let’s see: treasonous, double-crossing, vindictive, bitter, vile, selfish, greedy, parasitic, leeching...the token ‘everyone else is nasty and racist and they don’t get my ideas’ brown woman talk. Not a great tactic to make your brown character a walking stereotype.

“The only promise I make to you is that I will bring Shay down one way or another.”

You had several months to do it. He knows ash angel dust can cripple you and it just so happens ash is one of the most plentiful trees in France. All he has to do is blow it in your direction and you’re finished.

“And we shall see if you deliver on that promise, then. Many lives are dependent on that alone; it is a heavy burden to carry, but you must be aware of that already, having taken this decision.” He stood up at this, resting his sleeved arms behind his back as he paced around the rest of the chamber, “Allowing Templars into your very home, to lay Pieces of Eden so carelessly around them. It really is unthinkable, hard to imagine without experiencing it firsthand.”

She’s best buds with a Templar banker and was made a Mentor in five years. You tell me what’s ‘unthinkable’, and I’ll sell you my kidney.

“Then I’m not like any other Assassin, is that right?” I questioned with an open-hand motion before tucking it underneath my crossed arm.

Damn right you’re not. You’re a needy, greedy, nasty bitch who doesn’t deserve that Mentor status, but got it thanks to Affirmative Action. That’s it. Always usurping those who are objectively better and shooting down those who have a chance to outshine.

What a great character to helm this work, truly. 

“You and Arno Dorian share that in common. Surely, he gets that from you,” he revealed, turning his head over. I take a moment. “I had many suspicions when he confronted us in the church, even when we were brought before the Masters. Surely, this was all a trick of the mind…that he somehow would not keep his word, yet here we are, and I don’t have a hidden blade driven into my heart.”

If he’s gotten anything from this woman, it’s how to be unlikable. He’s never retained any meaningful skill, hasn’t stood up for himself once, and his one character trait is to be a pillow princess. Put him up against anyone else and he never stands out.

I say nothing and watch him have another pace before pushing the chair in properly.

“I will see to where I can find the Sword’s location, of those who remain loyal to us. Thank you for your hospitality,” he bowed his head briefly before turning to me one last time. “Until then, keep Élise safe.”

You had months to figure out who was loyal and who wasn’t. So many characters have wasted time doing anything I truly think the author is just wasting page space. Word length does not always mean adequate plot development. This proves it.

“You won’t wait for Arno’s confirmation?”

Wait. So Arno isn’t even an Assassin yet? Oh that changes things.

He shook his head once, “Don’t need to.”

He left without another word.

You know, when you refuse to crown Arno as a proper Assassin after two years of training with two separate Mentors...that says a lot more about you than it does about him. I’m sure Bellec had a lot more positive things to say about Arno than Elysia ever did.

Soon, did the Dorian climb down from the rooftop and enter through the open window across from me. He removed his hood with a swipe, letting his jumbled hair loose from its ponytail.

“Gosh, it’s so hot.” He obtained a nearby pamphlet and fanned himself with it.

‘Like Gosh, it’s so hot in the summer and I just can’t handle the heat!’

Fuck’s sake.

“It is the summer, and you decided to take the rooftops instead of walking in the alleyways,” I reminded him. “Did Élise and Clement situate themselves?”

Alleyways would stink to high heaven and he’d properly step in shit. Running across the rooftops would be cooler vs the stink of hundreds of bodies pressed together.

“That’s the hope isn’t it?” he sighed, and plopped himself back into an armchair. “I really hope they don’t bicker….Élise will win with her words from how sharp her tongue is.”

“I’m sure Clement can handle himself.” I approached, and tussled his bangs onto his sweaty forehead.

A redhead and an open homosexual? Might as well buy a coffin. Someone’s going to get buried.

He weakly swatted my hands away, “Hey….hmm? Where is Lafrenière?”

“He left a bit ago, entrusted you did your part. Come, there’s something we have to discuss.”

“After I just sat down-ugggghhh,” he groaned, and it only grew louder when I stopped by the doorframe, judging him from afar. “Fine, fine, I’m coming.”

If this author didn’t make Arno intolerable by making him ridiculously OOC, his minor quibbles about every facet of life makes me want to hit him with a golf iron. He’s that insufferable.

I led us to the Training Room, unoccupied with the doors opened on either side. The linen curtains kissed by the minor breeze, and the fragrance of the lavenders in the garden gave the room a pleasant scent aside from metal and wood. I turned to Arno, who’s demeanor turned serious when I gave a small smile.

“What did you want to talk about?”

Hmm, where to start? Oh yeah. How Elysia got away with crimes worse than Arno while he got held in full contempt. How he sought out the truce when no one else was willing to honour it – let alone remember it – and how a Magical Woman of Colour took all the credit for it. That’s just recently. We can go all the way back to Chapter 4 where she tried to kill him, or Chapter 2 when she ran him out of the Café because she thought he had no place as an Assassin. Just a few things. Nothing serious.

“Take a seat,” I pulled up the two armchairs situated in the room, across from each other in the center. Arno did so, and I felt him watch my back intently as I walked over to the rim of the fireplace and purchased the unmarked, wooden box. After the soft thuds of my boots, did I sit myself properly in front of the Dorian, leaning slightly in my chair with the box resting on my lap. Arno looked to it, then up to me.

“First, I want to thank you for the work you’ve done, to get us this far. It wasn’t easy…and I know my beginnings with you didn’t come smoothly. I can only hope I’ve done my part, from what we discussed that day when I searched for you.”

‘Smoothly’ doesn’t include attempted murder and the fact you drove your business to ruin. She was never held responsible for that, by the way. In fact, I don’t even think the author remembers what happened. But I do.

It’s also odd to see her give credit where it’s due before she takes it all for herself.

He blinked from the sudden disclosure, “Oh…of course. Thank you, Elysia for your kind words. Though, I’m….unsure what brought this all up.”

“Again, I’m….sorry about what happened at the Bureau.” At that, his nervous smile collapsed, and a stern expression rolls itself on there. “I wish I had done more.”

“…You did all you could. I should be aware that you’re not in charge of Bellac, and neither I am. I’m simply….sad, about how it all transpired.”

Bellec wouldn’t have slapped Arno. He would have attacked Elysia because she refused to learn about Shay and never once asked him why he hated Templars. Five years they’ve known each other and he has never opened up with her? That says a lot. Bellec would have consulted with Arno in some way and told him that he never trusted Elysia. That would have given him more development and I would cheer for him a lot more. Unfortunately, none of this matters as he does indeed die the next chapter. It’s a sad way to go out.

“Whatever the case, Bellac must be the one to make amends with you, and not the other way around. Do not seek him out, Arno; let him figure out his thoughts, and quell his mind with space.”

He nodded at that, “I understand.”

But you don’t have to do anything. You are a Mentor. Elysia should have taken it upon herself to learn why Bellec hated Templars. All it would have taken was one question. She should have done some reading and discovered that he survived the Colonial Assassin purge. Instead of humbling herself, she made assumptions. As she is wont to do.

Isn’t it weird how I know more about these characters than the author does? Weird how internal thoughts and textual evidence clash.

“Today has been a tiring day, and I know you’re eager to get some sleep; I won’t keep you up any more, but I have something to give you.” I open the wooden box, and Arno patiently waits as I collect the metal from inside, and lift the object properly for him to see. Arno’s eyes stare at it, and they widen before falling to me. His mouth practically drops as I gesture to the weapon one more time.

“I….I can’t accept this,” he suddenly answered. “I can’t take James’ hidden blade.”

You mean to tell me he never had one of his own? Pathetic. You really were trying to kill him this whole time, eh?

“It is a Phantom Blade, a type of hidden blade modified by Master Cecillio, and yes….you can most certainly accept it.” I don’t break gaze, “Tell me: why can’t you accept this?”

“It’s not mine.”

“I know it’s not yours, I am giving it to you.”

It’s something when, in-game, Arno was given the Phantom Blade as a means of his graduation into higher ranks. Here, he’s given it as an heirloom. He should have earned it by now. The fact he didn’t says more about Elysia’s training and treatment than it does about his skills as an Assassin.

“Why…why don’t you give it to Stephen, or Clement? Why does it have to be….” He breathes heavily, and I let him take his time to expel out his next interrogating statement. It doesn’t come out.

“Do you not find yourself worthy? Is that it?”

Arno’s tongue is smeared with silence. Almond eyes avoiding me.

Truthfully? Arno isn’t worthy of being in this work. He’s treated like trash. I know you aren’t supposed to take these things uber seriously but I cannot help but cringe every time canon characters come on screen. They are immediately unlikable in the way they act and what their motives are. The author has managed to make everyone intensely mediocre and despicable as a human, toppled only by her Mary Sue of a character. Not many authors achieve this, and go on as they do. But this one managed to go on for more than two years. Quite a feat – and to do it with no one criticizing her? Even better.

 “Listen to me when I say you are more deserving of this than you think you are.” I clutched his hand with the lightest grip. The motion calls his eyes to me when I curl his warm hand into mine, turning his palm upwards. My fingers are long compared to his, powerfully convincing. He doesn’t fight this, and waits instead. “I know, in my heart, James would accept you having this. You have grown so much since I have crossed paths with you, and you still continue to despite our setbacks, despite what happened today. It takes a strong-hearted person to do what you did…and it will not be the last as we continue this journey of ours, together.”

For fuck’s sake.

This entire time, this disgusting bitch has NOT ONCE ever given him credit. Ever. Now I am to believe that she’s had this sudden turn around and magically believes in him? That she trusts him to do the right thing?

He has never grown when with her. Ever. He has remained a manchild and has not retained any skills, any stealth, any teaching, with this woman. All setbacks are on her and her alone.

What happened when Arno went through that depression bout? She made it all about her. Her work. Her image. It had less to do with Arno’s change and personality than it did about her resume and position. There is nothing you can say or do to convince me she is doing this out of good will.

Elysia certainly hasn’t gone through any self reflection to do this. Just earlier in this very chapter she took credit for something she didn’t do and held him responsible for a crime he did not commit. This is beyond pathetic. It’s self-flagellating.

His eyes well with tears, lips lightly pressed as he looks at me. Really looks at me. Vulnerable orbs of every capable emotion, because that is who Arno is. An opened book with many chapters, many hopes and many goals. Someone I used to be, and that I should help grow.

‘Someone I used to be’.

Elysia started off as a one-dimensional, hateful sexist and she’s still a one-dimensional, hateful sexist. She sure has nurtured his many hopes and goals by doing minor things like attempted murder and instilling such fear and distrust in him and he didn’t tell her about what he saw Shay do with Germain? Yeah, little things like that undermine your gesture of good will. It helps as an author to remember what you fucking wrote.

I recited the words I once said to James long ago, “Please accept this Phantom Blade, and the responsibility it brings. To make the right decisions, and protect the ones that need protecting; one blade can save many, but a man can kill thousands. You have shown the honesty in your heart, have grown so much in character that many only dreamed of achieving. May you take this blade, Arno, and use it wisely.”

“….Elysia….”

I hold his eyes, and there, his sodden eyes smile.

“Thank you…for believing in me.”

“Always.”

Never, ever, in the nearly 300,000 words of this godawful fic, has this woman ever believed in this man. She has treated him like he’s the shit under her boots. She forced him to enter a ballet and wear a tutu; she forced him to undergo murderous initiation rites (I remember the botched Church massacre), humiliating rituals involving his own team members, and viewed as incompetent, childish, and thick headed. Earlier in this chapter she viewed him as arrogant and simple-minded. Now she views him as hopeful, emotional and honest?

Get the fuck out of here.

His hidden blade was removed, and I attached the newly acquired one in meticulous fashion to show him how it worked.

Once fitted, “Works as a hidden blade, and as a crossbow.”

“You prefer your bow and arrow more?” Arno joked.

Yeah because waving around a bow when there are firearms in use during this period works great. Sure, they’re quieter and are quicker to reload, but take the mini-crossbow. It’s called progress. You’re a progressive, right?

“You mean the honest and genuine fashion of archery? Yes, I proudly do.” He laughs at that, and I turn the hidden blade over to show the hidden contraption. Once activated, the limbs of the crossbow spring out. “On the top, the bolts slide into this slot. You have the option to select normal bolts, poisoned bolts, or sleep darts,” I advised.

“There seems to be plenty here, good to know,” Arno procures the wooden box, placing his original bracer inside it for safe keeping. “Thank you again, Elysia.” He stretches an arm out, and I invite the hug. A brief moment we part, standing up to go our separate ways.

I truly wish this was the last time he ever saw her. I know that when this shitfic finally comes to and end I’m going to read an emotional giveaway just as there was in the first and second fics. Then I’m going to remember all the shit this bitch did and meticulously note it, because I’m autistic that way. Details seldom escape me.

Arno heading to bed while it was time for me to face the music.

 

Despite how disconcerting it might be.

What’s that? Consequences for actions you deliberately caused? No...we can’t have that! The Magical Brown Woman can never be held to white standards! That’s white supremacy!

My arrival to the café brought the beginnings of the evening. Several people were out, but the district Orfeo’s café laid was deserted. A few of the shops had been boarded up, with one in particular left in broken glass and tossed chairs and tables. It took a moment for me to register it had been Henry’s café…and a cut rope hung at the shop’s overhanging sign.

You know, for a woman who's supposed to be engrained with the culture and all that...you sure know so little about the people you lord over. She has lived two years into one of the bloodiest decades of French history and she knows nothing. 

Removing the image that threatened to creep on me, the bread shop was in direct view. Miraculously, movement was still in it, Jaq sweeping out the remaining dust. His head jerked up when I came closer, and his beaming smile eased me slightly when I came in range.

“Still working? I’m surprised,” I greeted.

"My mother is still chatting with Orfeo and Maduka about adult things." Jaq shrugged a shoulder up. "I'm sure they'll be done soon. Then, I'm going to have tomorrow to sleep in!"

I know I have said this a few posts back, but I just cannot fucking stand this kid. His only trait is to be a quirky, cutesy character to make the big, badass WOC more relatable. He can choke on chalk.  

“That’s exciting,” I nodded, trying to weigh down the agitated storm grappling my chest. “How was the store today? Not too busy?”

"No...it's been pretty quiet." Jaq peered across the way and frowns, "I think people are preferring to eat at home."

“…Right,” I nodded in understanding, “You’ll be safe here, I guarantee it. Especially with Maduka and Orfeo….the real force to be reckoned with is your mother.”

No, no. Put him in the danger zone so he doesn’t have to plague this piece of shit like the annoying rat he is. I am begging you.

"I know..." his soft words aren’t convincing. Before I could say more, our attention is pulled when the doorway opens, Giselle stepping outside in a simple, beige dress. She delivers me a nod, dark bags running under her eyes.

"Go put the broom away and let's head home,” she patted her son’s back in her usual, motherly fashion.

"Fiiiinnaalllly," Jaq scuffled to head inside, igniting a bark from Orfeo inside. I swallowed.

Giselle pushed the tresses of her hair back, "It's been sometime since you've last stopped by. I hope things are fine with you."

 Yeah, she just oversaw treason, had a talk with the head of the near extinct French Rite, gave away an item that wasn’t hers to give, did jack shit with her business...but it’s cool that the token Africans have to do all the work for an immortal (white) pirate. Rather poignant, don’t you think?

“I had to handle some things….more or less,” I answered. “You look exhausted.”

"It's been a long week. We've been.....rearranging some finances, work schedules, cutting back so we don't have to be open as long."

“If there’s anything you need, I’m sure we can arrange something with the Café Manor.” I briefly eyed down the path before meeting Giselle’s orbs, “Rather you all be safe than worry about profit.”

They need to worry about profit because that’s the only reason they’re keeping their doors open. It’s still awe inspiring how they manage to find an endless supply of food and goods when they were all restricted during this time. “Safety” is a far cry in this day and age. Elysia should know better. 

"True, but we're prideful people, Elysia." Giselle’s smile thinned, "Only until it becomes overbearing, then we may ask for help. Charlotte must have much on her own plate, the poor dear doesn't need more if I can help it. But thank you, I truly appreciate it and will keep it in mind."

Charlotte would body slam a man for Giselle, I immediately thought, “Of course. Never hesitate to ask.”

"I won't."

Charlotte goes doe-eyed for a gay immortal vampire banker she doesn’t know is actually gay, and were her thoughts drawn like that in an anime, it’d be filled with ‘uwu’ and squealing. She’s in her forties and has never once acted like it. 

Jaq comes running out the door, arms open to embrace his mother from the side. She chuckled and brushed his hair back, “We hope you have a wonderful night, Elysia.”

I forced a smile, “You too.”

The good thing is is that there are no sex scenes in this chapter. I am spared from reading about a desert girl getting dick by a nine inch cock. 

They depart, and it's only a moment after that Maduka and Oya come hand in hand, both wearily greeting me, and facing down the length of the street. Giselle had paused at the end from the distant ring of the bell, waving them over to catch up. That appeared to calm Maduka’s furrowed brows.

“Good night, Elysia,” Oya waved with Maduka, the duo following in step with Giselle and Jaq.

 

Well…there was no avoiding this any longer. 

 And what are we avoiding, pray tell? The feelings you have for this bisexual immortal pirate? The guilt you feel for what you did? The struggle of your fantasies where you dream about his immortal twin brother fucking you?

I’d love to know.

I entered with a secure close of the door; Orfeo’s back was turned, reaching something behind the counter. He must’ve seen me outside, considering he didn’t seem concerned I was inside unannounced.

“Hey there,” I greeted (trust me, I did the best I could to not sound awkward). “Is…everything okay?”

You tell me. You spend enough time with your boyfriend-not-boyfriend, and have an entire café of your own to get the goods...why don’t you figure out what’s wrong with your boytoy? 

"Yeah." There's a click of a barrel, and I inspect the rifle in Orfeo’s grip being stuffed away under the counter. "Organizing some things." When he’s satisfied with how it’s concealed, he turned to face me, midnight locks tussled on his head from the hard day’s work. He tugged a wooden tray into view, showing two pastries had been left untouched, coated in a fine sugar that seemed tempting to take. "It's all we have left but....they're not bad if you want something to bite on."

I approached with caution, wiping the sweat from my palm in my back pocket. I regard the sweets, “I would like to have one, thank you.”

Are those the last two remaining pastries in your entire business, or just the ones leftover? Because if they were the very last ones you ever made, it’d add necessity and a sense of scarcity that we have not seen in this work. 

Cleaning my hands on a rag provided, Orfeo stands beside me as we rested our backs against the counter. I admire the morsel with a closer look, and take the first bite. It’s supremely delicious, and I feel……..so so guilty trying to act like nothing is bothering me.

 You’ve never acted guilty before. Why start now? Are we trying to seem sympathetic?

“This is perhaps one of the best sweets I’ve ever tasted,” I admitted, licking off the sugar from my lips.

His carefree look scrunched up like a piece of crumbled parchment, “….Are…are you lying to me?”

“NO, I’m not lying to you,” I defended with a deceived face of my own, “I find your accusation in poor taste.”

“…Like the pastry-“

 It’s a fucking pastry, not a confession of guilt, relax.

Then again, most emphasis is placed on a pastry than anything else in this goddamn chapter. 

“Orfeo.”

“You don’t normally compliment my pastries. You exaggerate, like this.” He purchased the other, and with a dramatic flourish he takes a bite out of it, and leans with filled cheeks, “Mmmmmmmmmm~”

My cheeked flared, “I swear to the gods—”

I swear to god, I’m going to punch a hole through my computer screen. These attempts to make these characters seem quirky and relatable is positively grating. I’d rather have my flesh flayed and go swan diving into a salt mine. 

“That’s exactly what you do, don’t lie to me.” His tongue swept to glisten his lips, and that recognizable smirk further grew when the edge of my lips twitched. I attempt to push his face away, and he merely chuckles in my palm, “So what’s really on your mind?”

‘I fantasized about fucking your twin, hope you don’t mind!~~~~’ 

The flush dies away, and my peaceful sense of mind is interrupted harshly from that question alone. He knows I’m here for something…

He doesn’t like this quieted, somber expression I can’t stop myself from having, “What is it?”

“…We need to talk,” I bit my tongue momentarily beneath closed lips.

Orfeo’s eyes narrowed. The remaining pastry in his hand is quickly set out of sight.

"Upstairs then."

 Oh this is getting juicy. What kind of confession is our dear Woman of Colour going to wrangle out?

The steps creak beneath my burdening weight, and I somehow envisioned them getting louder the further I trekked. I entered the hidden quarters, but the lingering, lustful sensation of before couldn’t be farther than what was already now.

I would expect you NOT to have sex on your mind, especially since you were so serious a minute ago. It’d be weird if she suddenly decided she wanted to have sex again. TBH? It’d make this a whole lot funnier. 

I don’t sit, merely turned around to wait for Orfeo to come through that door, and close it behind him. Eventually he faced me, one hand gripping the head of the chair, while the other twiddled with his digits. He hid tension well.

“What did you need to tell me?” he asked simply.

I articulate my words well, “Before I tell you…I need your word that you listen to what I have to say.”

Hmm, you couldn’t threaten him to sit down and shut up? That seems to work with others. Or mortals, I should say. The unclean. 

"....All right." Orfeo accepted, "You have my word." He pulled the chair and planted himself upon it, fingers drumming on his thigh.

I open my mouth…

Orfeo’s brow raised.

“….Uriel is here, in Paris.”

Orfeo stared.

He stared for a good three seconds.

You’d think immortals would be ‘in tune’ with the world around them, or suspect when another immortal is nearby. Yet Orfeo has never learned where his brother might be or suspected he’d be there. They are twins of unusual circumstances.

I probably shouldn’t put too much thought into this, because this is a ‘just so’ story. Nothing needs to make sense here.

The color drains from his face. His fingers stop twitching against his trousers, instead, gripping at it fiercely. He remained motionless, intently listening to what I say next.

 Isn’t he already deathly pale? How does someone that white lose any more color? Or did he magically gain the skin tone of an Italian?

“He was in Charlotte’s café when I arrived there—” purposely avoiding his brief prank, “and explained that he had been trying to travel through the country borders. A mishap happened, and I had to aid him in…some things to get his desirables back. I did….and….”

This was easier said in my head five hours ago.

 This entire fic was easier said in your head than it was when you put it to screen.

“…He has the potential to help us stop Shay from whatever he is planning against us. Samson-Uriel, sorry, spotted a Piece of Eden which is a dangerous artifact, when neither Arno or I could. I…I need you to understand that I wouldn’t have asked him to stay without reason.”

I stop there.

Orfeo doesn't move, he doesn't look like he's breathing. 

 An interesting development. More on her part than Orfeo’s: she, a magical being, couldn’t detect another magic artifact, and nearly botched its theft during a routine private auction. She also was very chummy with Orfeo’s twin, even though she just met the guy. Are we getting a polycule?

He stays frozen in place, his gaze locked in a place beyond where I actually stood, in a distant land I couldn’t reach him. The lit candle at the table wavered despite the window being closed. Then, a figment of the flames bleeds into his eyes. Crimson spills and fills into his irises like a poisoned lake, the corner of his eyes growing wet. His jaw clenched into place and it takes all his will-power to not abruptly stand.

 Aren’t his eyes fully black? Like just two huge black pools? I don’t think this author has ever been consistent on what his eye colour is. All I can picture him as is Criss Angel.

Obviously, there’s something shattering in my words, damaging the composure he had so well until now, and I know well enough not to move. The once calmed flicks of Darkness expel like that of an enraged tentacle-like organism, and the pungent smell of ash floods the room within the second. My memory can’t differentiate if this was the same reaction, or worse from the last time I saw him like this.

I don’t….like the reaction.

 Well no shit. You just brought up some bad memories he has never told you about. You knew about his twin, though, and their history. And, like everything else, all this otherworldly knowledge the Magic Brown Woman has gets thrown out the window and the audience is expected to go along with it. I’m left as flabbergasted as anyone else would be.

"I need a minute." He forced the words out, choked them out with flaring nostrils, "Just..."

The words die as his palm crawled up his face, shielding it from view. His shoulders quake briefly and he grips a palm on his bicep, attempting to keep something together.

 Wouldn’t it be nice if we had a chapter dedicated to Orfeo and Elysia building a proper relationship and we could learn about the tumultuous past he had with his twin? Where we didn’t have to rely on flashbacks or exposition? That’d be something.

My legs are stiff by the time Orfeo moves in another position, when he finally inhales sharply and deeply like a blade cut into him. This once, solid composure from before is no longer within reach, and Orfeo’s eyes shift as if searching for an answer I don’t have in plain view. Like he didn’t want to look at me.

 To be fair, I don’t know a single person who could stand looking at Elysia for more than five minutes. She’s not like Urbosa where she has the body and the swagger. Elysia is just...a flat cardboard that’s drummed up to be something she isn’t. She’s a Potemkin village. All that work...for nothing.

I was prepared for Orfeo to throw some sort of aggressive stance against my words…the fact he went to utter silence made it worse. Like he was a different entity, an Orfeo I was unacquainted with.

The only Orfeo we have is the one we got. You haven’t bothered to give him anything else, Les. That’s on you. 

The minutes stretch to ten, and I shift a bit to try to lessen the lead in my limbs, “…Take your time.”

Time continues to pass and it doesn't feel any easier than before. He's tense in place, unable to truly grasp my comforting words. His fingers hold his jaw and he stared at the candle intently, as if he hated its very light. It’s existence and sense of being.

I don’t blame him. I’d hate everything too. Well I do, but that’s besides the point. 

"Where."

“He’ll be staying at his own location, but will come to inspect the Piece of Eden with me at the café. I haven’t gotten the specific days when he will yet.”

"For how long."

My brows furrowed, "I...I don't know."

 You’re responsible for him. You welcomed him in. Know where your own goddamn guests are.

Silence grappled the pirate again. Never looked away from the candle.

"Has he threatened you?"

“….No,” I’m taken aback by the accusation. “He’s been rather courteous since I met him.”

Silence overrides everything.

Wow, wouldn’t it be nice if we had Orfeo tell his side of the story several chapters ago? It’d make this good a lot smoother. 

Orfeo hunched forward in his seat, the red in his eyes dimming to a maroon. Cautious, uncertain. His hands stretched out and curled to fist, repeating the motion as he gets up and unexpectedly goes about his stuff, deliberating through the drawers rather harshly and sporadically. It's after coming empty handed that he finally wills himself to stop. His trembling hand hovers over his neck, twitching like he’s a man of old age.

“I…knew it wouldn’t be right to keep this from you,” I truthfully answered. “I had to tell you, despite how much the news unsettles you—”

The burning ember returns to his eyes, and he interrogates me with them.

Let’s step into Orfeo’s shoes for a moment. He’s living in France for reasons unknown, in a cafe he came to own through unknown circumstances. He works everyday for a meagre wage, keeps people fed and his business protected. He hires locals. Locals know him. They respect him enough not to destroy his property. He has a lot of baggage he isn’t willing to give away. He has sex with another immortal he barely bonded with or spent time with. She then tells him his twin is in the same city, in her building, and it opens up old wounds.

Honestly, he has a right to be angry. But we don’t actually KNOW the circumstances, so it can be hard to sympathize with him. When you don’t make this a priority, your work suffers. 

"How much do you know?"

“….I don’t follow,” I attempt. “Know…what?”

"How much...do you know about my family? About me? About Uriel? About—" He can't even attempt his name, "What do you know, Elysia?"

I fight against the claws on my back, “I only was told that you’re all immortal, Augustine had two brothers, and that’s it. Augustine refused to tell me what happened when you both encountered one another those centuries ago."

Ah, so she knows nothing. As usual. No one tells her anything despite her demeanour being one that demands everything. Again, were she like Urbosa people would feel comfortable telling her things and she could use her natural wiles to get what she wanted. She’s got no gains. Who’d feel safe telling her their secrets?

Orfeo shakily inhaled. Stared at his own hands. Becoming rigid, an angry look making itself forever permanent. Especially when he clamped his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze.  

"Does Uriel know I'm here?" he urged.

My back tensed, "He does, yes—but he doesn't know where you are."

"Good. Keep it that way." He lets go and sits on the bed. His red orbs skirt around the room as if he didn’t trust it. He frowned deeply, "My brothers don't deserve to be in my life....not after what they've done."

It’s such a shame we haven’t learned what the brothers have done to Orfeo...because no time has been spent on crafting him into a three dimensional character. Exposition and other useless background information is going to have to fill in the gaps. 

“I understand…” I lie, because I have no goddamn idea what the hell transpired between all three of them. I don’t know if I can even open that box without disclosing what I knew.

What I did with Alessio, what we shared.

For one, don’t bother lying when he knows you don’t actually understand. Two, you didn’t even form a bond with Orfeo yet slept with him as if he was the one you well and truly wanted. The smut was just that – smut – and it wasn’t even good enough to use as a plot point. Orfeo and Elysia only had three or so chapters together and there wasn’t enough detail to effectively conclude they were a couple who understood each other. Too much emphasis was placed on the sex scene for it to be a one night stand. What was it for? 

What my feelings were, and how it might be possible that in some way….Samson would tell Orfeo everything he knew about us.

Well, did you tell Samson you had sex with his twin?

No? You have nothing to worry about.

And my chest hardens so coldly that I almost visibly flinch in front of Orfeo, to reveal the cocoon I molded so much for myself up to this point.

How cute that you’re this butterfly ready to show her beauty to the world.

“When I know, I’ll make sure to tell you.” It was fair to say, I don’t think Orfeo would be visiting the café anymore.

Orfeo rubbed his wrist roughly, "....Sit down."

I sit beside and keep both my hands visible on my lap. He allows this. I nod to him, faintly as possible. His eyes search his hands again before catching mine.

“…You had asked me once why I came to Paris. When I could’ve been anywhere else in the world.” Orfeo rotated his wrist in a circle, “Samson…had been the reason I left the Caribbean.”

“When you were a pirate.” He nodded. “Why...did you leave, then?"

You know, if this was meant to be an important plot point, this should have been added about 100,000 words ago. It should not be something so minor. This is meant to break apart trysts and trust. If Orfeo is meant to be a bigger character than he is written this should have been spoken about when he was getting intimate with Elysia. It’s clear trust is so misplaced among these characters I’m not sure if it is intentional or due to authorial idiocy. I’m leaning towards the latter.

"Because my trust had been betrayed," Orfeo answered simply. "I thought...Samson would understand the choices I had made. Instead, he took a gun and killed the woman I was seeing at the time."

“…..” I should say something. I HAD to. Words left me, and a lingering chill resides in my chest when Orfeo looks at me like that. “W-Why?”

"......Because she was human." Orfeo’s painful smile unsettled me, "Samson...thought inevitable she'd betray my trust."

Oh. Well.

Maybe this should have been said before Samson was introduced as a potential ally. It would have helped the ‘oh shit’ factor. Not after. Now it’s an ‘oh wow, couldn’t have seen that coming’ reaction.

Blowing your load before the fun begins is no way to start a party.

I swallowed, “…Orfeo….I’m so sorry. If I had known…”

"It's...not exactly a story you tell during a date or two. Or ever. But....circumstances have changed, now that Uriel is here." He sighed, taking a moment before continuing on, "I don't trust Uriel being alone with you, despite how courteous he may be right now, or how much he might have changed in the last hundred years. How I know he won't touch you....but I can't trust that he won't find a way to harm you. I just...I like you Elysia...I don't want to see you get hurt."

…..Fuck.

 It should tell you everything that Orfeo didn’t view you as a partner but as a quick fuck. If he didn’t want to tell you the intimate details of his life despite forming a bond with you, that’s a mix of bad characterization and bad writing. Elysia can’t be killed by any traditional methods. Is Uriel the key to finding out her weaknesses? Is he going to defect to the Templars? My bets are on both. He’s too good of an ally to be an authentic one. Watch him double cross her and take the PoEs for himself.

I swallow the hesitation, and hold his shoulders, “I won’t. I promise you I will do all I can to ensure my safety, as well as everyone else’s around him. He’s the only option I have right now to help me stop Shay, unfortunately.”

Girl you nearly killed Arno when he told you you were fucking up your own business. Who, exactly, have you protected?

Orfeo nodded slowly, "If it's a weakness you need.....he'll find it. That much I can ensure you."

“I believe it,” I agreed. I thumbed a caress against his shoulder, “I will do my best to make sure this is settled swiftly.”

Orfeo remained quiet at that, merely nodding. Like he didn’t believe me…

 He has a right not to. You’re not even taking him at his word; you still believe Samson over his. Though I have to agree, Orfeo only gave an anecdotal story and not hard evidence. You need more than a paragraph to describe something that traumatic. You could have spent more time developing that, but no.

Then, "Is there.....anything else you want to know?" Orfeo tenderly asked, "About...us."

“….I…not tonight. I already made you relive something terrible, and I want to respect your emotions.” I hold his cheek there, and his dark lashes rest halfway before he properly looks at me again, “In due time, on a better day than today.”

Traumatic? It was only one paragraph. Sounds more like venting at an Alcoholics Anonymous rather than a gripping, emotional rollercoaster shared between lovers. Don’t you think it’s important to talk about it now, in all its entirety?

"...All right. Just....promise me, you'll punch him square in the chest for me."

“I will make a note of that,” I smiled lightly. “When he least suspects it.”

"No mercy." Orfeo adds, a flare of his mischief returning.

“None whatsoever.” A tinge of sadness lingers, and I reinforced the words, “I like you a lot, as well. It’s taken a lot to get here but…I can only hope it gets better.”

That’s good advice for a man whose suspicions you don’t want to arouse. If you want to keep Samson in the dark, it’s best not to punch him at all, even if it’s in jest. He’s going to suspect something. And it’s likely he knows you’re chummy with his brother. Details like that don’t stay hidden for long. 

"....I hope it does too, Elysia."

“As much as I would like to stay…I have some things to take care of early in the morning. That’s… a mess I will tell you later about.”

"That's fine....it hasn't been any better out here either." Orfeo's laugh sounds hollow, "Maybe bring an extra bottle of wine to get through whatever shit needs to be said."

“That—for sure, yes,” I agreed with a brief shake of my head. “Then we have a lot to discuss. I’ll come by when I can, hopefully tomorrow.”

"I'll hold you to it then."

Leaving, the cold night refreshed the heat along my skin, and gave me some time to think. To calculate the best course of action to proceed with….all this mess.

 You’d think that if this was an actual, important mess, time would be spent sorting this out instead of leaving it to dialogue and a plot point that will never be brought up again. A paragraph isn’t enough to go through character trauma; the whole course of a story does. However, Elysia is the protagonist and the world’s event revolve around her. No one else is going to get their time to speak their piece because she will merely take precedence over them. It’s unfortunate, but it’s what I’ve come to expect.

When I reach the Café Manor do I find it closed, and climb myself up the side of the building to reach the second-level balcony that belonged to my room. With a brief rub of my eyes, I opened the double doors with a quick flick of my blade. The room is dark, except with the moonlight peering inside. There’s a small shuffle outside the door, and the recognizable knock of Charlotte comes through.

“Is that you, Elysia?”

If she didn’t wake her with her teenage fandom squealing, she couldn’t rouse a crowd. This is the quietest Charlotte has ever been. 

“Yes, it’s me.” I plop myself in the chair in front of my desk, and see Charlotte is dressed in her nightgown with a candle at hand, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was about to head to bed,” she informed with a quick button-up of her gown. “You look exhausted.”

“You have….no clue.”

“Arno told me what happened at the Brotherhood,” she frowned. “I can’t seem to wrap my head around that Bellac would do such a thing. Especially with how much Arno looked up to him.”

 I guess he didn’t tell her he was almost executed for Elysia’s crimes? Seems to be something minor to gloss over.

I’m sure he painted his little bitch slap as an epic punch, too.

Arno never actually looked up to Bellec. Know how I know this? It was never actually fucking written. 

“He’s better off without him, knowing his true colors,” I rested my chin in hand, squinting at the scattered pile of papers on the desk. “….Were you looking for something in my room? This is not how I left it.”

“No one has entered your room today,” she replied.

………What.

Oh here we go. So, Bellec, instead of getting aconite from the pharmacist, got poison from Elysia. And how would he have known it was there? Samson, maybe? 

My eyes shoot open, and my stare is rigid, “….No one entered the room?”

She shook her head, brows knitted, “No, I can assure you everyone stayed downstairs aiding the café all day. The only one I saw up here was Bellac, when he said he was grabbing something before we heard Clement yelling outside for you.”

 Well then there you have it. The epic confrontation has been set up and solved: Bellec, who had a better reason to go rogue in the fucking game, in this fic decided to go rogue because he got slapped in the face by his student.

Of all the things he had to go rogue for, disrespect was the thing that got him. Amazing. 

My arms are scrambling, and my eyes are swiftly reading every piece of parchment in sight. Jerk out the books from the secret compartments I had. Topple over the book tower I crafted. Charlotte shuffled over, providing candlelight to aid me in anyway she could. My heart drops, and the acrid words burst out.

 

Because not only do I find the letters signed by Mirabeau gone…

“What the hell, Bellac.”

 

So was the vial Samson had given me with the Deku nut poison.

 And there we have it. The epic conclusion to another huge, bogged down chapter. In the next, Bellec dies! Can’t wait to detail that one.

It’s a theme in this fic to completely drag down each chapter with unnecessary detail. Arno’s kangaroo court trial gets cleaned up by Elysia taking credit for the truce and being tasked with not only finding the Pieces of Eden, but solving the Nostradamus puzzles so she can wear Thomas de Carneillon’s armour – who, by the way, was another prominent figure she had no clue existed. Everything that would be appointed to Arno, Elysia has been tasked with.

Speaking of Arno: Arno gets gifted the Phantom Blade at last...despite not even being officially designated as an Assassin yet. Two years in the Brotherhood and he still remains a low-ranked lackey under the tutelage of two Mentors. He is gifted it as an heirloom from James and as a token of good will from Elysia, who has finally realized his true potential and how kind hearted he is...

...despite calling him the equivalent of thick-headed pig shit earlier in the chapter. Character consistency has never been a thing here.

As for background characters, Elise’s character traits are to whine and be a bitch, despite not being in a position to complain. She continues to blame Arno for all of her ill will despite him not being responsible for killing her allies and her father. She had time to learn the truth and she did not. Remember: she is being written this way so that when she dies, the other redhead, Elysia, will come out on top. This is authorial assassination of an established character: it’s done to make your character look good. Did I make this word up? Yes. And I’m not apologizing because it fits the bill.

It’s a shame canon characters are not being treated fairly. Even historical characters like Mirabeau are being villainized for the shittiest reasons. His letters with the King aren’t even mentioned or brought up, and his revolutionary character has never been a focal point. Were it not for minor details here and there, you would never actually know this is taking place in Revolutionary France. That is how bad this is.

Bellec is being cast as the villain not for his convictions, but because he has a bone to pick with Elysia – which could have been avoided had she asked him what his history with the Templars was. He never spent more than a paragraph with Arno so we don’t actually read what his relationship with him was. It’s said Arno looked up to him, but we don’t actually see it. So, when he inevitably goes evil in the next chapter and tries to kill Arno and Elysia, the reasons for his turn are going to be utterly ham fisted. No villain aside from Shay is ever worth his salt, and even Shay does not feature as prominently as he should. It’s all around shitty writing, and it hasn’t changed for the two years I’ve read this work.

Now, for Orfeo, the casual admission he never told Elysia about his brother tells me the smut scene was a Meet’n’Fuck rather than a legitimate relationship. Orfeo is written to be an important character, yet he doesn’t feature in more than five chapters. His chapters with Elysia are fewer. How am I to sympathize with him and his struggles when you only devote a paragraph to a deep seated trauma he has? That’s not keeping things short, succinct and clean. That’s just laziness.

I wish I had more to say. But I am exhausted and I have to work on the larger, longer chapter that follows. I finally get to read Bellec die. It’s a shame, I would have loved seeing him deck Elysia. It’d add something that hasn’t been experienced by her this entire time: humility.