Assassin's Creed High-School

Beach Appreciation Club

Hello, lovely readers~

So, I'm finally getting to the point where I can begin writing individual results for most of the chapters - yay~! And it's finally time for club activities! Each club has a rather lengthy result, so I will be posting them as individual chapters~

Hope you enjoy this one~!

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School was finished but in no way was the day even close to being over.

Being Wednesday meant that every student was required to attend a compulsory after school club of their choosing; no such thing existed in your previous school, so it came as little surprise to find yourself overwhelmed by the entire ordeal.

You thread your way through the crowded corridors on the way to the designated clubroom. All around you, the sounds of high school echo off the poster-covered cinderblock walls.

"If you threaten to spoil Endgame for me once more I’ll decimate you just like Thanos did the world!"

"I’m never talking to that skank again!"

"Oh, you dick – I was going to ask her out!”

A smile plays upon your lips as their conversations linger in your ears for the remainder of the journey; eavesdropping should be the last thing you find satisfying after all the secrets you’ve come to uncover these past few days, but unfortunately that’s the baggage of a curious soul.

No sooner had your mind began to wander back to Lucy and Desmond's conversation the other night did you suddenly find yourself at the club’s place of gathering.

                                                       ~~Result~~


Primrose Island was renowned for it’s exotic beaches and exceptionally warm weather – a perfect tourist destination. When you first arrived, you doubted the memories from childhood and thorough investigation of guest reviews on TripAdvisor for it had been unseasonably cold and wet. But lately the weather had begun to live up to its reputation, gradually inclining to the point where performing a task as simple as breathing could, and does, conjure an onslaught of severe perspiration.

Indoors is pleasantly cool and acts as a temporary haven for students and teachers alike until the inevitable moment approaches when they would need to leave the commiserative embrace of the air conditioner and return home where they may once again find solace.

That moment of inevitability has arrived.

For you.

Trudging down a set of stone steps, you meander towards a decent sized gathering of fellow club mates all huddled underneath the tree providing the largest coverage, yet you could see, even from a distance, they each made a conscious effort to refrain from making contact with one another.

Like yourself, the students had replaced their uniforms with proper beach attire; the boys had stripped to their waists, enticing torsos bare in the shimmering heat, whilst half the girls donned bikini’s, the other full body swimsuits.

“You’re the last one, girl!”

Edward Thatch is the one to first notice your arrival; the man was a giant, fearsome and intimidating in appearance, yet somehow you were under the impression that underneath the gruff demeanour and copious facial hair there lay a gentle soul that would never even consider causing harm to another being; a quick scan with Second Sight provided the indication of truth to the theory, a pale blue glow emanating from his enlarged outline.

A flash of white pokes through the man’s thick beard – which looks newly brushed and conditioned – when he smiles in greeting. “Now we can haul ass.”

>>Fast Forward>>

A trio of gulls prowl the shoreline with a common goal uniting them: food. The bounty of the sea was plentiful yet these three particular birds longed for a change. A delicacy for the palette rather than the bland and monotonous scull consumed on a daily basis.

Within their sight tottered a child no more than five years old, sticky hands curled possessively around a decent sized chunk of seedless watermelon. In that instant surfaced a simultaneous knowledge – they would obtain that watermelon slice no matter the cost.

Sprawling across a brightly coloured towel, you watch behind a pair of oval-lensed sunglasses as the feathered predators follow the child across the sand, providing the occasional cry to alert the child of their presence. They were daring, these birds. Too daring. And no doubt the notion of consequence never even crossed their minds.

The child casts an inquisitive glance over their shoulder and an unrequited fear causes their body to freeze; despite the child’s age, they instinctively knew what it was the gulls were after. The watermelon was pulled closer to their chest and the child’s eyes darted to the side, pinpointing the exact location of their family – they weren’t too far away. With a fleeting glance in the birds direction, the child took off in an ungainly trot, the feathery menaces pursuing.

“There’s more to the beach than just sunbathing, lass.”

Edward stands there, chest heaving in exertion from the aggressively competitive game of volleyball he, Adewalè, Vane, and Hornigold recently finished. His hair has been tied back haphazardly, a few stray strands clinging to his face due to sweat.

It was true that whilst everyone else had been competing against one another in volleyball, frisbee, races, and swimming, you had been confined to a towel. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy the beach – you had willingly signed up for this club, after all – but you had grown up in a city where beaches were a rarity, near mythological. And swimming in a body of water with a current was slightly unnerving.

Removing the sunglasses from your eyes, you gaze up at the figure looming above you. “And you’re gonna tell me all about what the beach has to offer, aren’t you?”

The slight purse of his lips told you that was exactly why he approached you in the first place, but now that his plan had been pointed out, his mind worked to construct another excuse so he could prove you wrong. “No. I’m telling you to join us in the water.”

“The water?”

Your attention drifts to the ocean, as calm and placid as a sloth, instilling in you a false sense of serenity. A couple charges head first into the water with delighted laughter, and you wonder if the idea of being sucked beneath the swell had crossed their minds at all, like it has yours.

Edward, seemingly oblivious to your hesitancy, motions to the oversized shirt you wore. “Bit overdressed, aren’t we?”

You cast an offended glance down at your apparel, prepared to argue, but then a better idea springs to mind. “Actually,” you begin, forcing the beginnings of a sly smile to remain hidden, “I’d say I was a bit underdressed; I’m not wearing anything under this.”

The breathiness of your tone astounds even you and, cringier than that, sounded as though it came directly out of a cheesy romance novel – not that you would know what resided within romance novels. But despite this fact, it was completely worth it to see the bob of an Adam’s apple as the senior before you swallows thickly, cerulean tinted eyes taking their time in appraising your body, eyes narrowing faintly as though trying to peer through the fabric to the body underneath.

Though it was fun to tease, you did have good reason for wanting to shield yourself from prying eyes, especially your torso; it wasn’t anything serious or unsightly to the point of being repulsive, but it brought forward questions. Personal questions in which you had no answers. And it didn’t help to have the voices of your parents take up residency within the shitty studio apartment which acted as your subconscious reminding you to keep the mark hidden.

The mark. A birthmark of strange and intricate appearance. It begins at the hip and ends at the top of the ribcage. You hadn’t a clue as to why it would be so horrible for the mark to be seen, but, as seems to be the norm, no answers were given. Just a command meant to be obeyed.

Edward, now having finished his acute inspection and winding up unsatisfied with the results, snatches at your wrist. “We’re going surfing.” He declares, giving your wrist a tug in order to get you moving. He doesn’t even have the decency to ask whether or not you cared to partake in the activity.

You fight against his incessant tugging by digging your heels into the sand. “Whoa, hey, hold up!” You blurted in panic, eyes round and frozen on the water, which seemed to be endless, traversing to unimaginable distances. “I don’t know how to surf!”

Edward’s body jostles as though he been kicked in the groin. He angles his head towards you, the movement stiff and robotic, his gaze accusatory.

Was it something you said?

“You don’t know how to surf?” He repeats the words as though they were of foreign origin, the tiny gears within his head at risk of disassembling due to the unnecessary speed they were currently spinning – one would think you had just asked for one of his testicles.

“I haven’t really spent much time at the beach,” you explain, still struggling with trying to ease your wrist from his grasp.

“Well then,” he starts, the initial shock having worn off, “it’s time you learn.”

You silently observe him after he provides what you presume to be his attempt at an innocent winning smile. He was attractive, you’d give him that, and you found your observations turn to admiration. The sea breeze ruffles his hair in the same tender manner a mother would her child and you find the need to hold yourself back from running your fingers through it; charm oozed from his every pore, and you most likely would have fallen prey to him if Mary hadn’t come to the rescue.

“Are you terrorising the poor girl again, Edward?”

She joins your side and raises a scarred brow in her friend’s direction. Meanwhile, your eyes rake over her, taking in her appearance; without her make up she was identical to her brother, though maybe an inch or two shorter. Her skin was a lovely bronze – clearly she spends much of her time outside, unlike yourself who is reluctant to leave the house even if it were set aflame. Her arms and legs were lean and perfectly toned. It was an athletes body, without a doubt.

“The girl hasn’t surfed a day in her life, Kidd.” Clearly this was a tragedy to him. “I plan to rectify that.”

Mary’s lips purse and you’re certain she was going to take your side. But that was just wishful thinking, for what she said next was the gavel coming down. “You’re a shite teacher, Kenway. I can teach her the proper way; you go on ahead and rent us some boards.”

You sentence had been decided.

So you wait for Edward to return, scanning the beach. Rackham, Vane, Hornigold, and Bonny all go jogging across the sand towards the ocean, surfboards cradled underneath their armpits with the same ease they carried their textbooks. You had always imagined surfboards to be cumbersome but they all made it seem effortless. They must surf a lot.

“So you’re a newbie then?” Mary asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Alright, well, first I need you to turn away from me.”

An odd request but you comply without question and turn your back on her. You spot Thatch in the distance, inclined on a lounge with an ice cream in hand and cone crumbs ensnared within his beard.

An almighty shove is provided to the middle of your back, causing you to lose your balance and stumble forward, but your foot flies out instinctively and prevents you from kissing the sand. “What the hell?!”

“Don’t move,” Mary rushes out, preventing you from whirling on her. The urgency in her voice suggests that by your feet lurks some sort of deadly peril, a poisonous snake or fish that may have washed up onto the shore, but a glance downwards reveals nothing but lovely gold sand.

“See how that foot automatically went forward when I pushed you?”

“Well...yeah.” You say, unsure of where this was going.

“That’s your forward foot needed for surfing.”

And she needed to shove you in order to find that out? A gentle nudge would have sufficed.

Edward returns and has somehow managed to cart over three surfboards on his own. His attention drifts between the pair of you and a toothy grin is provided. “Ready to hit the waves?”

Mary answers for you. “Not yet.” She motions to one of the surfboards laying in the sand. “Lay down on one of the boards here.”

As much as you’d like to question her thought process, you know she’s doing this for a reason. So, obediently, you stretch out across a surfboard on your stomach. Mary follows suit. Edward watches on with an expression which suggests that he’s been in the same position before.

“You’ll paddle through the water.” She demonstrates paddling her arms in the sand. “Then, when the time is right, you’ll want to jump to your feet in one swift movement. First put your forward foot in the centre of the board and your back foot a stride behind. If you don’t feel confident enough to try that the first time, then you can start by moving to your knees, then stand from there.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Don’t get too cocksure, (Y/N),” She warns, casting a cautionary glance your way. “The ocean can be dangerous.”

Right, and you were being forced to go in there why?!

Edward interjects. “You’re going to turn her off from going in there, Kidd.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t worry, lass. I happen to know mouth-to-mouth.”

That was supposed to be a flirtation, and it probably would have been effective were you not currently in the process of imagining all the grotesque ways in which the ocean could cause your untimely demise.

Mary shoots him a glare before continuing on with the lesson. You practice everything on the sand, Edward tossing a few unwarranted comments into the air, leaving you to wonder if he was distracting you on purpose. You weren’t athletic. At all. So you had difficulty keeping up with her light and rapid movements, the abundant slathering of sunscreen beginning to melt and ravage your eyes. But after fifteen agonising and chafing minutes of sand surfing, you were deemed ready to try the real thing.

Edward was already far out in the water, lounging on his board with a practiced ease. Show-off.

The water is up to your waist by the time Mary instructs you to stop. “We’ll start here. Hop up on the board just like we practiced, aye?”

Well...here goes nothing.

>>Fast Forward>>

After several failed attempts and having either Mary or Edward hold onto the end of your board to help stabilise the carpentered slab of wood, you were finally competent enough to stand atop the board like everyone else. You even managed to ride a wave rushing towards the shore. It was a baby wave, but still, progress.

“Did you see that?!” You boast when paddling back to the other club members. “I didn’t even wobble that time!”

“The girl’s a natural,” Edward says with a laugh.

“Good work,” Mary offers a smile which complements the praise.

They, along with the other club members, were taking a much needed breather, their legs swaying beneath the water’s surface as they sat atop their boards. You wished to join them, thinking you had more than earned a rest, but then a challenge is presented to you by Rackham – mimic his actions whilst he rides the waves. It was a test, you thought. You knew from the slight mischief tugging at his lips that there was more to the request than silly competition. Was this his way of determining whether or not this club was right for you? To prove if you belonged there, to be one of them?

Like always, you couldn’t say no.

Rackham buzzes with unbridled glee and paddles further out. You follow him. The waves seem to have gotten larger, more aggressive. Or was that simply the perspective of a newbie? You were beginning to have second thoughts as your eyes narrow accusingly at the water; like untamed horses, the waves reared before crashing down onto the beach, pounding the sand with white foam hooves. But it was too late to turn back now; Rackham had somehow ridden a wave without your noticing and was paddling past you, a smug smile growing larger thanks to the enthusiastic response from the other club members.

It was your turn now and you began paddling further out once more, further and further away from the club, from the shore, from view of humiliation. This was your way of buying time. To steel yourself. But now you realise that swimming out this far was a grave mistake, for there, raging towards you, was the biggest wave you had ever laid eyes upon.

Shit.

Your mind goes stagnant. Instead of concocting plans which could save your life, you remain seated on your board, catatonic, eyes wide and mouth agape as the monstrous wave closes in.

A helpless noise escapes the back of your throat. There were no options. No way of escaping. You were too far out. Too petrified. You were in the worst place anyone could possibly be. The knowledge made you sick. You were still sitting there. Hadn’t moved since the rogue wave appeared.

Panic consumed your mind. You were seriously concerned about surviving this mountain of water that was poised to slam into you. You didn’t even see anyone else; it was just you and Monstro out there. Closer and closer it came, and you still didn’t have a plan. In the back of your mind, you could swear that you hear your name being called, shouted. But the sound was muffled – you may as well have had your fingers in your ears.

The moment before impact, without any conscious thought or will of your own, you turn your board towards the shore, facing away from the colossal wave. There you sit, gripping the board with both hands and thighs, awaiting collision.

Despite anticipating the inevitable, contact still came as a shock, mainly because of its power. The blast knocks you from the surfboard, separating you from the only thing that may possibly have been used as a lifeline. And then you were gone. Swallowed by the wave as though you were a pill, down in one giant gulp.

You didn’t want to die but you were frightfully aware that you were going to. There was no escape from the ocean’s wrath no matter how much you struggled. You could swim, of course, but in no way were you a strong swimmer. Hell, you weren’t even a mediocre swimmer. Maybe if you had paid more attention to Lucy’s swimming lessons when you were younger then things would be different. Maybe you wouldn’t be about to drown.

But it was much too late for maybe’s.

You start thinking of your parents. Is this how they felt when that drunken driver ploughed into them? The helplessness? The fear? The loneliness? You hope not. You hope that their passing was quick, instantaneous.

Your eyes finally slip closed.

>>Fast Forward>>

A gasp.

Water comes charging from your stomach and lungs, erupting from your mouth like the pea soup scene in The Exorcist. A violent cough follows suit. Your insides are suffering, sharp, blistering pain attacking them with every frenzied gasp of breath.

“Get it all out, lass.”

Edward...?

Your body is suddenly on its side with the sand now clinging desperately to your cheek. A large hand makes rough contact with the middle of your back repeatedly, forcing any excess water to leave your body. Black spots fade from your vision, though everything remains hazy, out of focus. Blurs of colour dance within sight, various voices growing softer then louder as you teeter in and out of consciousness. But you know them. The voices. Anne, and Vane...Rackham. Adewalé is speaking softly...it sounds like advice. Edward is yelling. And Mary is murmuring words of comfort.

The coughing subsides and breathing becomes a little easier – every gasp is similar to inhaling multiple shards of glass, but at least you could relax with the knowledge that water no longer blocked your airways. Arms envelop you. Warm and strong. Secure. Salt is the only thing you can smell until the one cradling you provides a new scent. A better scent which somehow puts you at immediate ease: mango.

“We need to get her looked at by a doctor.”

Mary speaks again, and you’re fairly certain those are her fingers currently brushing the wet sand from your cheek.

“I know. Go grab Thatch. Quickly.”

Edward. It was Edward’s arms you rest in. The words had caused his chest to rumble, and you felt every vibration. Had he been the one to save you?

“Edward?” You eventually croak, that one word spurring on a fresh bout of coughing.

“It’s me, lass,” He confirms, voice surprisingly soft and containing an intimate kindness. “Don’t speak.”

That was fine by you; turns out a near death experience can be quite exhausting.

The sand is no longer beneath you, Edward having stood and tightened his hold on you. You crane your neck with whatever remaining strength you had and stare at his face. Your vision had yet to return to full capacity, but at such close proximity, you could see him fairly clearly. He was even more dishevelled than usual, pale and sweating.

You force yourself to speak one more time. “...Thank you...”

“Don’t mention it, lass.” He meets your eye and smirks. “Told you I knew mouth-to-mouth.”