aterat | Wrestling with these contradictions.

Altaïr was still unsure about this place. He'd been keeping to himself so far with great intent, watching from the rooftops and, though he'd been assigned a building and a room, he'd yet to enter it, having slept on those rooftops as he had countless times before.

The story they told about rebuilding, about strange magic - though he couldn't deny the magic, as much as he wanted to, it struck him with doubt. If this was a place to rebuild, why him? He was a killer. It was what he'd been raised and trained to do. He had no purpose in a place trying to rebuild unless someone specific was hampering that process. He could eliminate them, certainly. But why?

It wasn't as if he wanted to return to Masyaf. Not consciously, at least. Now that he'd seen precisely how conditional Al Mualim's care was, how he would be treated for doing precisely what he'd been raised and taught to do. He'd already wanted to leave the Brotherhood. That, he'd certainly done. Not of his own accord, true enough, but he'd left. This was, in its way, a chance to change things. It was what he'd hoped to do with Adha. But at least she would have been there and taught him another way of life.

Here... what did he have here? Nothing. Nothing at all.

He dropped own onto the street level between a pair of buildings, careful to not be seen before stepping out into foot traffic. He was hungry. While he had no money beyond what had been granted to him on his arrival, it was surely enough, with what he'd saved so far, to purchase a bit of food. He could've stolen it, but why? It served no purpose. Not yet. And he wasn't yet that desperate.

Food. For now, that would serve as a goal.

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It took him a moment to realise that the voice he heard was aimed at him. It wasn't something that tended to happen in the Levant. Yes, people stopped and spoke, but not to scholars, and certainly not to men in hoods. His head tilted in the direction of the voice and he took in what he could. A young-seeming man with an accent that wasn't quite one he recognised. A bite, he'd said. Of-- Ah, of food.

"Yes," Altaïr said shortly, answering the question as it was posed.

Here was a bloke who wasn't used to being noticed. A part of him suggested he should even apologize but he shook off the notion quickly. It was just lunch after all.

"Me too. You wanna tag along. The name's Jagger."

"...Why?" Why. Why would someone...

Ah.

"I suppose."

Someone had recognised him for what he was. Or similar. It was possible the man intended to offer work. He'd listen - here, now, he would, with no Brotherhood to guide him. He'd make the decision on its own merits.

The other man had come to some sort of decision, though Jagger had no way of knowing what, not without making contact, physically, with him. Then his gift of psychometry might give him a bit of insight...or it might reveal to him this man was a mass murderer and they were all on his hit list. Touching someone rather than something was always a crapshoot, it was why he kept his hands covered most of the time. People were moveable, objects static. They were just easier to read and tended to be less overwhelming...unless they were possessed by demons, but that was another story.

"You're new around here, yea?"

"Yes." Easily enough answered.

As they walked, his eyes glanced about, taking in what he could. The man seemed... unassuming. That meant little. And as they walked, Altaïr couldn't focus his Eagle Vision well enough to guess at the man's actual intention. That, he would have to work at. Until now, the limitation hadn't actually occurred to him. Until now, he'd been able to take his time to watch those around him before interacting.

Unassuming was a good way to describe Jagger. He rarely threatened, and he wasn't a fighter, that much would be obvious in his gait. The only true threat he provided came from touching objects that belonged to other people. His abilities allowed him to see the past associated with an object, and a bit about the people who used it.

"Not a talker, eh?" Though he was also a detective and very good at reading people. This guy, though, was a pretty closed book, except for the fact that he was wary, but who of them wasn't?

"No."

No, not much, at least. Speaking seemed... unnecessary? He'd spoken to his mentor, of course, and even at length, but here? He didn't know the customs. He didn't know what words would be heard and which words would have people reading between the lines. The culture was alien to him. The place was alien to him.

And yet.

"What is it you ask of me today?" That may as well be asked, as nothing seemed to lead toward it in a more usual circuitous manner.

"That's an interesting question." A simple observation, but it told Jagger volumes about the man he'd invited to lunch. He wasn't used to being invited places, not casually anyway. Either he was from a time when such things didn't happen or he was misanthropic enough that people didn't care to spend much time in his company. The way he watched his surroundings in confusion as well as lacking an understanding meant that option really could swing either way.

"Why do you think I'm asking something of you, mate?"

Had he been wrong?

It wasn't a question he often asked of himself. Certainty had been one of his hallmarks. Even now, he leaned more toward being sure of himself and his place in the world, but that made this all the more curious.

"What other reason," he said, "would you have for speaking to me?"

People always asked things of him. It was a part of his life.

"Just being a friendly neighbor, mate." He couldn't say the man seemed like the friendliest person to be around and certainly not the most open. "Way I see it is, we're all stuck here, yeah? Might as well know who's stuck in here with us."

Wrestling with these contradictions.

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