notambidextrous

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[ there is no warning before Malik finds himself lying on the ground, head pounding, room spinning, and in an even worse mood than he'd started in. he brings his hand up to rub his temple, a small attempt at relieving the building pressure in his head, but it does little for him and he only scowls when the ache seems to get worse. when he opens his eyes, his scowl only gets worse.

he knows this place, there are subtle differences from what he remembers, but he certainly does know this place. this was not, however, the place he remembers being. he does not remember ever even having the intention to come here at any point in the near future and yet here he is. he is suspicious of everything right now, as anyone with a brain would be in a situation like this. the unfamiliar face looking back at him does nothing to help his unease. the man has plenty of features that catch his attention - features he recognizes as being eerily similar to his own and as he takes in everything around him, he can't help the slight narrowing of his eyes at this strange man.

just what in the world is going on here? ]

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[ It was an unforgivably hot day. Those who weren't being dispatched for a mission (of which there were very few these days) or guarding their posts had gone down to the river in an effort to find a little relief. Even their Master had made himself absent. To where, Tazim could not say.

Unlike his brothers, Tazim had taken up refuge from the heat in the library. The stone of the castle was cool enough for him, and the silence that he found here was more comforting than that which he would have found splashing superfluously in the river with his brothers.

It was said that in the old days of the Order, the assassins would train in any weather, rain or shine or snow- but the training ring was empty now, and was empty more often than not. The old ways were dying under Abbas's own paranoia, and Tazim was not the only one who could see that he saw enemies in every corner.

His thoughts were wandering from the scrolls he had at hand, and Tazim sighed. Pushing them away and lifting a hand to rub his temples. It was hard to focus in heat like this, even in the slight relief of the castle. ]

I can't sit here any more.

[ He grumbled this to himself, before collecting what he'd been reading to put it back where it belonged. It was then, when he'd moved to stand that it happened. A flash of light that first he took to be a reflection of the sun bouncing off something and blinding him- but then suddenly there was a disoriented man standing before him, and the scrolls that Tazim had been holding tumbled from his hands. He stared at the other, clearly at a loss. Perhaps he should have drawn a knife upon the other- but the robes the other wore were clearly that of a Dai, and even in such strange circumstances, it would be wholly disrespectful to draw a blade upon a man well above his rank. Besides- he didn't know what the hell was going on here; there would be more than enough time to threaten the other later, if that was what it came to. ]

You- who are you? How did you... [ He made a vague hand gesture, continuing to stare in disbelief at the other.

Had the heat caused him to go mad? ]

[ his glare gets a bit more severe at the questions. it's annoying to be questioned and the how part-- well, that really irks him. he doesn't know how he got here, nor does he have any inkling of an idea. perhaps if he did, he would be able to start forming a plan for how to correct whatever was going on here. and then there was the question of who he is. it's an odd one. as close as he is to Altiar, it seems strange that there would be anyone in the Order who hasn't seen him at least once. or at the very least, someone who can't recognize him by his missing arm. the events of Solomon's Temple were hardly a well kept secret.

not only that, but the fact that Malik can't seem to recognize this man at all is odd. his memory is nothing to be questioned-- it's one of the reasons he was taught to become a cartographer for the order in addition to his training to become a Master Assassin-- and he's made it a point to be able to recognize any Brother immediately to ensure that there could be no imposters, but he's never seen this man.

as he thinks these things, however, it occurs to him that as strange as they might be, there are various other things that are just as strange. the missing sound of metal clashing against metal coming from the training ring for one. he'd grown accustomed to hearing it everyday and the sudden absence is slightly unsettling. there couldn't possibly be enough men out on missions that no one would be training right now. for as long as he can remember, there has almost never been a time when the training ring was unoccupied. ]

Me? I think the better question would be, who are you?

[ Tazim was studying the other with an intense look of scrutiny- everything from the shape of the other's nose to his missing arm to the exact cut of his robe. Searching for any recognition, or any flaw in the uniform that might have given the other away as an imposter. But there was something oddly familiar about the other that Tazim just couldn't quite manage to place, and he narrowed his eyes, frowning just slightly. ]

It is impolite to demand to know a name, without first introducing yourself. [ The younger man chided. ] However, given the circumstances I shall make an exception to your rudeness. [ The sarcasm was light, but it was there. ~~Bitch has sass.~~ ]

I am Tazim. Now I think, it is your turn. [ He watched the other closely, wondering if the other would give him this. ]

[ if Malik had two arms, he'd be crossing them right about now. as it is, he just has his hand on his hip. that look of scrutiny doesn't pass him. he sees it and narrows his eyes, watching the other man carefully and keeping his guard up. that feeling of familiarity that he'd had since he'd first seen Tazim doesn't go away and it's more than a little unsettling. ]

It is impolite to speak in such a way to someone who is clearly well above you in rank. [ Malik is unamused by this sass. if it weren't directed at him, he might be a little more amused, but that is not the case here. ]

How good of you to tell me when I am supposed to speak. I don't think I would have realized it without you informing me. [ there's a slight pause before he speaks again. at the very least, he'll give Tazim his name. ] My name is Malik.

Edited 2012-09-01 17:22 (UTC)

Malik. [ He repeats it back as his heart gives an aching lurch. He still has not put the pieces together, but there is no denying that the name does not have sentimentality to him. A brief flash of this crosses through his eyes- pain? Longing? Anger? It is hard to say, and it is gone just as quickly as it had begun.

But the more he looked, the more he saw. What were the chances that there would be another Malik who both possessed one arm, and looked so... oddly familiar.

In response to the other's snark, Tazim just gives the other a slight, but easy smile. While Malik is not amused, he most certainly is. ]

I am here to be at your service, Dai Malik. [ He tipped just slightly in a half-bow, a mocking gesture- likely getting himself in more, and more trouble with the other. But it would not be the first time that Tazim's inability to keep his tongue in check that had gotten him into trouble. ]

Tell me, Malik, where do you hail from? [ Certainly not from Masyaf, or he would have known the other. ]

Edited 2012-09-01 21:46 (UTC)

This is what I said or were you having trouble listening? [ he pays no mind to that flash of-- whatever it was in Tazim's eyes. he isn't interested in what Tazim is feeling now and so that makes no difference to him. he's more interested in finding out what exactly is going on here, though he doubts that the other man has anymore idea than he does. ]

I have no need of someone who would rather sit around doing nothing than do something more productive with his time, like training. What exactly do you hope to accomplish by lazing about like this? [ Tazim irritates him for a few reasons already. the way he seems to be neglecting his training is one, and that familiar feeling he's been getting this entire time is another. it hardly helps that in someways, Tazim reminds him of himself.

he rolls his eyes and rubs at his temple. the questions are annoying; he has no interest in talking about himself and he can feel a headache coming on already. ] I am from here, Masyaf. I have lived here since I was a child. Is that answer good enough for you or shall I tell you the rest of my life story as well?

My ears are open, Dai, but you, have you spent too much time in the sun? [ This was all growing stranger, and stranger. ]

The Master forbids it. If you were truly from Masyaf, you would know this. [ The younger Malik's left hand twitched just slightly- while the right made a far more obvious motion, hand settling upon the weathered hilt of a sword...

A familiar sword; one Malik would surely have recognized-

for it had once been his own. ]

Now tell me again, stranger. And this time, tell me truthfully. Where are you from?

[ His words were still light, but there was the edge of threat in his gaze, eyes just slightly narrowed as he regarded the other. It was a look that was familiar, too. One Tazim had inherited. ]

Think before you speak, boy. Do you truly think the Master of the Order would forbid training? An Assassin will gain nothing from sitting here, hoping for the books to somehow improve his skills.

[ strange doesn't even begin to cover it. an Assassin who doesn't believe in training is hardly cut out to be an Assassin at all, let alone the Master. but for all the time he can spend dwelling on that, there's something else that takes his attention away. ]

My answer will be the same no matter how many times you ask.

[ he can feel the weight of his sword hanging at his side. it's a weight that is hardly ever absent and yet at the side of this man's sword, he impulsively goes to check for it. that sword looks far too much like his own for him not to be suspicious. ]

Rather than continuing to question me on where I am from, tell me, where did you get that sword?

[ there's too much about this man that's familiar. not in the way that might hint that they've met before, but in his features. the look, the sword-- he notices them immediately. it makes him uneasy. what exactly is going on here? ]

And do you truly think that I would suggest something such as this if it were not true? [ Tazim shook his head. ] You wear the robes of a Dai but more and more I am finding you cannot be of our order. Master Abbas has forbidden physical training for years. If you were truthful as to who you are, you would know that.

[ Tazim slid the first inch of his blade free of it's sheath- an obvious threat. He felt certain that he could take a one armed man; Dai, or no. ]

Where I received my sword is none of your concern. [ In truth, the memory of it made him ache. His mother's last gift, before he had returned to the Order. ] It is my questions you should concern yourself with. I am not buying your lies.

Master Abbas? [ well if Malik hadn't been convinced that something was wrong here before, he certainly is now. Abbas? really? why would anyone ever think that Abbas of all people could ever be Master of the Order. ] I think the heat must have gotten to you. Abbas is hardly the type of man that could ever lead the Order and his skill does nothing to make up for that. The Master's name is Altaïr and he has certainly not forbidden physical training.

[ the idea of Altaïr being the Master is still strange, as it would be if anyone else he's known for so long became Master, but certainly that idea is no where near as strange as the idea of Abbas being Master. at least Altaïr has proven himself worthy of the position. ]

Do you really think it wise to challenge someone who clearly outranks you? You claim that you have not trained in years, but I am supposed to feel threatened by a man who has shown no signs of being a decent Assassin. [ Malik only rests his hand on his own sword, not making any other attempt to prepare for an attack, should one come. he will fight if he has to, though he isn't in the mood for it. there are answers he wants and a battle will bring none of them.] I will concern myself with whatever I wish and I wish to know where you received your sword. Whether or not you choose to believe the truth makes no difference to me.

Altaïr has not walked these halls in two decades, Malik. [ This declaration hung in the air between them, heavy, solemn. ] You speak as though you knew him. [ Which of course, was impossible... wasn't it? ]

I said that Abbas has forbidden training. [ But of course, that did not mean he had not trained. No, he had returned to Masyaf looking for something- looking to serve the memory of his father, though he was still not sure how. He knew in his heart that the path would present itself to him, he simply had to wait for the right sign.

How was he supposed to know that it stood before him now?

He could see that the other was not going to back down upon the question of his blade, and despite that Tazim had shown naked steel he was not truly looking for a fight either. A battle was foolhardy, discussion could glean knowledge. But of course, one had to give answers to get them. ]

This sword was my father's blade, and if you are wise you will leave it at that.

I know what you said, and your presence in here would suggest that you have followed that command or you would be out there training right now, not sitting in here allowing any skill you might have go to waste.

[ as for the rest of what Tazim says, he's not really sure how to respond. two decades since Altaïr has been here? that makes no sense. he spoke to Altaïr earlier today here, in the halls of Masyaf and certainly the few hours since that time did not equal two decades. there are very few possibilities as to what can be going on here, one of those few being that Altaïr had done something with the Apple to cause this situation. he pushes that idea to the back of his mind for now, though. he doesn't know enough about that thing to say that it had anything to do with this for certain. ] I know Altaïr well and I know that he was here today.

[ and then there's that last part. it's possible that Tazim's father and Malik have identical swords, but it doesn't seem very likely. ] A man who would threaten me so carelessly has no business speaking of what makes someone wise. What is your father's name?

[ More and more Tazim was beginning to suspect that the other was addled of the mind, or perhaps it was a medical condition that caused the other to be delusional. If Malik had been older, he would have suspected it was simply a matter of age- a mental lapse. But no, Malik appeared to be in the prime of his life. Older than him, for certain, but not old enough to be losing his wits. ]

Then you know a ghost, or another Altaïr. As I said, it has been two decades since he abandoned this place. [ Tazim shook his head. ] Named a traitor to the Order, after he murdered his wife. [ Tazim of course, knew that this was not the true version of this story- his mother had told him the truth. But to keep under Abbas's radar, Tazim had to be careful what he said, and to whom he said it.

He smiled though, at the other's insult. ] If you mistake the motion for carelessness then you severely underestimate me already, to your detriment.

[ Tazim knew that he should not speak his father's name, not here. Malik would note the way Tazim took a careful glance around. He was certain the castle was empty due to the heat, and yet... one never could be certain. ] You share his first name. [ Tazim spoke lowly, so that his voice travelled no further than the two of them. ] His name was Malik Al-Sayf.

[ And he had been murdered before Tazim had ever had a chance to know him, meet him. ]

[ silence. silence is the only answer Malik can muster for a good, long minute. is this some kind of strange joke? he doesn't have a son. he would know if he had a son. and aside from that, Altaïr would never murder his wife-- if he had one. but just as Malik is certain he doesn't have a son, he's certain that Altaïr doesn't have a wife. he isn't so concerned with that, though. that matter can be sorted out later. the part where Tazim thinks Malik is his father needs to be cleared up first. ]

I don't think I have underestimated you at all. Only a fool would claim to be the son of a man he doesn't even have a physical description of.

[ Tazim studied the other's reaction carefully, ever alert to their mutual uneasiness, the disbelief and stubborn refusal for mutual acceptence blanketing them and seeming to block out all the rest of the world as well. ]

I have a physical description. [ His response was icy; here was ground sacred to Tazim- even the Brotherhood was second to the memory, the honor of his father. It was clear in the way Tazim's shoulders drew up, tensing visibly that this was something deeply important to him-

And a wound that he had perhaps not recovered from.

Physical description of Malik or no, the other actually being there was so farfetched, so impossible that was it really any surprise Tazim denied it? His father was long dead- he had never met him for himself, and even if he was still alive he would have been an old man. Not anything like Malik, standing directly before him. ]

You know nothing, and I will tolerate you insulting me, or the memory of my father.

Edited 2012-10-14 01:18 (UTC)

Then tell me, what did this Malik Al-Sayf look like if he did not look like me? I have never heard of this man who shares my exact name.

[ it's fairy obvious that this is something that Tazim feels strongly about and that he genuinely believes Malik is his father, but it still makes no sense. he can't even begin to make sense of this one way or the other. there is that one possibility he'd thought of before-- that this is the work of the Apple, but even then it makes essentially no sense.

and then there's the matter of "the memory of" Tazim's father. it might explain why Malik has never heard this man who shares his name if he's dead. if he were an unremarkable man there would be no reason for him to have ever heard of his namesake, but that doesn't explain the rest of it. the sword, the looks-- if it weren't so far fetched it'd be easy to believe that this is his son. ]

Your name? [ This truly threw Tazim off. That niggling sense of familiarity rose again- but this time it wasn't so easily pushed down, forgotten, or pushed off as coincidence. ]

You can't be. [ He insisted it now with an edge to his voice, the denial he was feeling present in his tone. ] It's impossible. My mother-

[ This was all becoming too personal, and Malik was drawing more out of Tazim than the younger man was willing to share. He steeled himself once more, pushing down all of the tumultuous feelings that the memories of stories about his father stirred. ]

Enough. My father is dead, I have seen his grave. [ An unmarked thing- that he had one at all was a surprise, Malik was lucky that while the Assassin's had chosen to follow Abbas, they had not allowed him to desecrate his father's body- or so he had heard. It was possible that those he had spoken to of the matter were lying, but Tazim preferred to take their words for truth. It was far better than the thought of the alternative; to think that not even his father's bones could rest. ] No matter how you seem to look like him- claim to share his name. It is not possible. Malik Al-Sayf has been dead for twenty years. Died the day Grand Master Altaïr fled, and never looked back.

I am not claiming to be your father. I am well aware of the fact that I have no son. [ he wants one, yes, wants to have a family of his own, but does he have one? no, as far as he is aware he doesn't. and even if he did he couldn't be as old as Tazim must be. hearing that the description of Tazim's father and Malik really do seem to match us enough to make him doubt his own words, though. but there's no way-- there's really no way. if this boy has been alive for at least twenty years, that would place them at around the same age and Malik knows he couldn't have fathered a child when he was six. at six years old he was busy wandering from place to place taking care of Kadar and trying to find Masyaf after the death of their parents. ]

[ for once in his life Malik really isn't sure what to say. none of this adds up at all. Altaïr abandoning the Order, Abbas becoming Grand Master, and the possibility of Malik somehow having a son... What ca he say? How does he even begin to figure out what's going on. ]

What year is it?

[ it's a strange thing to think that he could have been taken forward in time, but if the Apple can create multiples of a person and take control of men's minds, it doesn't seem farfetched that it can do that. and no matter how strange it might be to think that he is in the future, it would explain somethings. explain somethings and reveal some other unpleasant things, that is. because if what he's thinking is true it means the future is hardly bright and some serious problems will arise during Altaïr's time as Grand Master. and depending on the answer, he may just kill Altaïr himself for getting him into this mess when it's all over.]

And yet you claim his name as your own. [ There was something strange, and suspicious going on here- though what it was, he still did not understand. Could not put his finger upon what the answer to this bizarre puzzle was.

Malik Al-Sayf was hardly a common name- it was his own, a name he shared with his father. His father who had known Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, and walked at his side as his right hand man. As this man claimed to be. Clearly he was delusional, or-

Or something he did not understand was at work here. ]

1246. [ The response was dry, and even, but his eyes were sharp upon the other. Studying for the tiniest of responses- looking for even the slightest responses. Anything that might have provided further evidence to solve this puzzle. ] Will you ask me what season it is next? I should hope that would be obvious enough, even to you.

Edited 2012-11-22 09:59 (UTC)

Watch your tongue, boy, and think before you speak. If the answer were so obvious, I would not have asked the question.

[ he's getting more and more irritated by the second. the year 1246 is nearly fifty years in the future for Malik and he's starting to get the feeling that he really is right. Altaïr must have done something with the Apple to cause this. there's no way Malik could have possibly skipped ahead so far in the future under normal circumstances and if he had lived those fifty years between the year he knows and this one, he is certain he would remember it. ]

Less than an hour ago the year was 1195. Altaïr was still Grand Master and the only Malik Al-Sayf I am familiar with, still very much alive. [ and if Malik is right, he is going to see to it that Altaïr does not get to live very much longer. of all the stupid things he's ever done, of all the ways he pisses Malik off even now, this is the worst. he could very well be in the future and he has no idea how to fix this. ]

If you wish to help make sense of this situation, stop thinking of things that should be obvious.

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