synopsychic | (no subject)

...I'm your teacher, I'm supposed to ask things of you.

[ He hasn't yet gotten to The Police's "Don't Stand So Close to Me" in the library's collection of records, as he is still working his way through Johnny Cash and Blondie. ]

Altaïr. [ He came from an era where people could be mostly known by a first name and some sort of descriptor. His hometown wasn't really relevant since most Travelers didn't know it. Same for his father's name. His job title, Mentor of the Levantine Assassins, was a secret. ]

Yes, teacher. Are you going to punish me if I don't do well in class? [The tone is still teasing, playful, and very definitely flirtatious, but he drops it after a moment, to address the introduction.]

Altaïr. [Eliot repeats it back with perhaps surprisingly good pronunciation.] That's Arabic, isn't it? What year are you from, do you know?

[ The feeling the Network conveys is of confusion at first, which quickly turns to amusement. ]

If my wife were here, she would put your face on the ground with one arm.

[ He misses her fiercely, but his time of grieving and not speaking of her to anyone is over. ]

It was 587 when I was taken here. [ A pause, then, ] That is 1191 by the Christian calendar.

My kind of woman. My boyfriend would probably just pout. [This said very fondly.]

Medieval, huh? [He had been required to study history and language at college, the Arabic languages were very common in magic, and it suddenly clicks with the skills Altaïr had been mentioning. Ninja skills.]

[He switches to a private message when he asks, with great interest] Wait, so are you Hashishin? Fedayeen?

[ Altaïr's name is a weird one. No one named their kids after the birds that flew in the sky or the brightest star in the constellation Aquila.

[ Eliot seems to be another history nerd like Thorne. It's hard, being history... He's unnerved his secret could be discerned in such a way, though that anger is also similar to the indignation anyone else might feel at being called one of the feared scourges of society. He runs with it. He responds the only way he can: ]

Of course not! Do you go around accusing every man of some skill of being a murderer hiding in the mountains? I am a scholar. I travel, at risk to my life, bringing books and knowledge between cities despite the war.

No, not usually. [The reply does sound slightly apologetic, at least - while Eliot may know a lot of history, be familiar with multiple ancient languages, he doesn't always take into account the personal context of those historical facts.] But there aren't exactly many "normal" people here. Most people here come from some sort of extraordinary background, and that was the first one that came to mind ... sorry.

'Extraordinary' is a strange way to say 'feared and hated.' Well, I think it is extraordinary that I survive the roads alone. They're crawling with soldiers, who can be worse than bandits. You're one of those people who would have mistaken me for one of Salahuddin's men as well. I should have known.

[ Off to a great start... ]

[pause] Why should you have known? [dryly]

Your mistaken assumptions about me, most of all. Best to keep those to yourself if you want to talk with anyone not from your home.

[ ... yes, but Eliot is asking why Altair should have known that Eliot would make those mistaken assumptions, and ... you know what. Nevermind.]

So I guess the teaching is off the table now? [disappointing]

If I had nothing to teach you, and I would guess that includes care with how you speak, I would not be talking of it. I am past the days of refusing to help someone out of spite, and this will not be my first time working with someone I may not get along with. But know that I am a harsh teacher regardless. I cannot be merciful, because someone attacking you surely won't.

(no subject)

/dies

Poor Altair. XD

Re: Poor Altair. XD

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