Assassin's Creed High-School

So Much for a Night Out

You knock twice on the doorframe of the spare room. “Desmond?” You step in without being invited. “A few people from school are going to the Sleeping Fox tonight and I was wondering if I’d be allowed to go?”

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing; he straightens up an old gin bottle with the use of two fingers, ensuring that it was perfectly in line with the dozens of other antique liquor bottles positioned atop wooden shelves. “Why are you asking me?”

Was that not obvious? “Honestly? Because I know Lucy will say no.”

The sudden contortion of his features told you he knew exactly what you were talking about. “Good point.” He stepped off the stool and wiped his hands on his shirt. “Well, as long as you’re back before curfew, then I don’t see why not.”

“Awesome.” You’re already backing out of the room in case he plans on changing his mind. “Thanks.”

Desmond hums in acknowledgement and goes back to tending to his collection. Within a matter of seconds, you’re back in your room, the outfit you had chosen earlier waiting patiently on the bed. It sucked that the island had a curfew, but at least you’ll get to spend a few hours with your friends.

Friends...heh. It was funny. Back home it took more than a week before anyone could really be entitled ‘friend’, yet here...it felt as though you had known each and every one of them for years. Perhaps you were meant to move here all along – destiny is crazy like that. Though you had hoped the cause for moving had been under better circumstances.

Drifting towards the attached bathroom, you automatically reach for the makeup box on the edge of the sink. Today had been a long day, and your face was paying the unfortunate price . New routines tend to screw with your body in many undesirable ways, but fortunately there were minor tweaks you could make so it didn’t look as though you were ready to drop.

It wasn’t a special evening, so natural tones deemed the more appropriate choice.
It always feels a bit like doing art restoration. Just minor concealer to hide the flaws, highlights to emphasize the features that work: minor shifts in emphasis, but nothing too gaudy. The kinds of changes that you wish you could make in your own life.

You look at yourself one last time in the mirror. You smile. Seeing yourself so put together helps reassure you. You adjust your hair, then head on out. Hopefully tonight will be as fun as promised.

The location of the staircase was almost lost to you; it was taking some time to grow accustomed to the layout of this house. Your body was still performing as though you were in your old house. There, you didn’t need to think about which direction to turn or how many steps there were to reach the bottom floor. You just knew. Your body knew. It naturally anticipated every step, avoided every creaky floorboard, swerved around furniture with the level of grace one expects of a dancer.

But now, you descend the staircase with caution. Every step is slow and calculated. The railing is gripped in preparation for a misstep. You don’t trust yourself to walk. You turn, knowing where everything is, but at the same time questioning whether you know where everything is.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, it would have been a left to get to the kitchen. Now it’s a right.

In a few days, you’ll inevitably forget the change. You’ll have gotten used to the steps. You’ll trust yourself enough to release the railing and operate as though you had never known any other home. It’s rather upsetting to think about.

You nearly step on Rooni’s tail. He’s sprawled across the hallway, as usual.

Rooni raised his head and blinked those big brown eyes. You knew what that meant. Crouching, you reach behind his ear and reward him with a good scratch.

“You like that, huh?” He was an easy dog to please. “You’re such a good boy.”

You’re rewarded for the massage with a slobbery kiss; a thick layer of saliva coated your cheek, with Rooni appearing rather pleased with himself as he slurps his tongue back into his mouth.

“Ugh, gross...thanks. Thanks, Rooni, that’s...lovely.”

Rooni barks, his tail swishing across the floorboards like a hairy metronome.

“You want your dinner?”

Another bark. One day, you’re positive words will leave his mouth. He waits - impatiently, you may add - until you step over his colossal body to trudge into the kitchen after you. He takes his usual seat by his empty dinner bowl, watching as the bag of dog food is dragged across the kitchen floor.

“There we go,” you whisper, some of the biscuits skidding across the floorboards after accidentally overfilling the bowl, “eat up, big boy.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; you have barely enough time to back away to a safe distance before Rooni is devouring his food, nearly choking when gulping the biscuits down too fast.

“What are you doing all dressed up?”

Lucy appears in the archway with anxiously narrowed eyes, her car keys getting tossed atop the counter. Crap. The one night she actually arrives home early.

“Oh, this?” You play dumb. “This is what I always wear when I’m knocking around the house.”

She doesn’t buy it.

Her hands fall to her hips the same time as her lips press into a thin line – the tell-tale signs of an inevitable lecture. You brace yourself. There was no way you were leaving the house now.

“(Y/N), where were you planning on going?”

Your eyes drop to the floor. “Some people were going to the Sleeping Fox tonight and I was going to join them.”

“On a school night? To that dump? Oh no, I don’t think so.”

“But, Lucy-”

“There’s nothing you can say that will get me to change my mind, (Y/N). Now go upstairs and change.”

There was no point in arguing. Lucy had this weird overprotective attitude when it came to you. It was nice to know that she cared about your safety, of course, but there was always an unexplained anxiousness in her eyes - almost as though she were worried someone were going to attack you in the streets. But this was one of the safest islands in the world.

Lucy stepped aside in order for you to pass, but in doing so, she bumped into Desmond who had just rounded the corner. “Whoa, what’s going on in here?”

“(Y/N) was getting ready to go to that shitty karaoke bar by herself tonight.”

Desmond’s gaze flickers to you. “Yeah, so? I already told her she could go.”

Her brows furrow at this newfound knowledge. “You told her she could go? And you didn’t think of asking me first?”

“I didn’t think I needed your permission to make decisions around here.”

An involuntary gasp escapes the safety of your mouth the same time as Lucy’s eyes narrow dangerously. Even Desmond looks close to biting off his own tongue, but somehow he continues to stand his ground.

“Don’t say that as though I boss you around.”

“Well then don’t constantly undermine me.”

“I never undermine you.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.” He points at you. “I give her permission to do something, and then you turn around a few minutes later and completely disregard what I said. Your name isn’t the only one on the adoption forms, you know.”

Their voices grow progressively louder the longer the argument persists. This was not supposed to happen at all! They’ve had little tiffs before but this time they were near rabid. You flinch, feeling the impact as Lucy’s hand connects with Desmond’s cheek. This had gotten way out of hand.

“Guys, that’s enough!” You step in between them, gaze flickering uneasily from one to the other. “This entire argument is friggin’ crazy! If I knew a night out was going to cause all this crap, then I never would’ve asked in the first place! I’m going to go change.”

Once confident that no more slaps were to be thrown about, you vacated the kitchen, seeking sanctuary in your bedroom.