Nonslash? What madness is this?!
Jun. 19th, 2008 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seiberwingFandom: Assassin’s Creed
Title Party Like It’s 1199
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seiberwing
Characters: The Bad Guy Collective. Surprisingly, nonslash.
Prompt: 60. Assassin’s Creed: Abul Nuquod. How do Nuquod’s co-conspirators, many of them from strongly religious backgrounds, react to Nuquod being different?
Summary: Robert de Sable attempts to ease Abul Nuquod’s shame about certain…inclinations. Meanwhile, everyone else gets extremely intoxicated.
Author’s Note: This fic was not written by a team of multicultural individuals, but any ancestors I may have had in the Holy Land during period were spending most of their time running around trying not to get killed by everyone else so I’m not really predisposed to favor one party over another. Any opinions expressed in this fic are the opinions of the characters and not necessarily my own, any historical or cultural inaccuracies come with my sincere apologies.
Party Like It’s 1099
The conspirators met at an abandoned fort near Acre. It was a decent midway point between the respective groups they claimed to swear allegiance to, remote enough to avoid any pesky interlopers, and comfortable enough to rest in while they made their evil plans. If by evil plans one meant party and by evil one meant full of good food and wine and people trying their best to sing properly.
Although at this point Robert de Sable was wondering if the wine was such a good idea. Half the men in the group still claimed the Musselman faith in their home cities, a faith that banned the use of alcohol. Consequently, they were now demonstrating their lack of faith in a very flamboyant manner and were currently getting drunk off their arses.
“Where’s Majd Addin?” Robert asked William quietly, turning his face away from the crowd.
William shrugged. “Not sure, been avoiding him myself. I don’t like him much.”
“I hope he hasn’t fallen out a window somehow. We need him.”
“Hmph. No great loss to the world if he did. The man makes my skin crawl.” William slumped to one side, blinking blearily at him. Apparently the former Musselmen weren’t the only ones enjoying the wine.
“I’ll go looking for him anyway. Keep an eye on the rest, the last thing we want is a brawl over some minor misunderstanding. Tensions are high enough as they are.” Robert needed an excuse to get a breath of air that didn’t reek of men that had been traveling all day
“Mmm. Fine.”
Robert attempted to help William stand up again. “And try not to make too big a fool of yourself,” he added as he turned to leave.
Robert de Sable didn’t actually like most of the association. They were slavers, murderers, power-mad regents and sadistic doctors, and their elaborate speeches on the greater good weren’t always enough to cover up their baser motivations. Still, they were better than the alternative and they were at least devoted to the cause, for whatever reasons they had.
Majd Addin turned out to be relatively easy to find. Fortunately he had not gone out the window, but had gently fallen onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling with dulled, unseeing eyes. Robert gently turned the man’s head to the side just in case—he’d dealt with drunks before—and continued on down the stairs.
On the next floor he encountered Abul Nuquod, the Merchant King, curled up on a pile of pillows with a tray of fruit next to him. His smallpox-scarred face looked absolutely miserable, which did little to improve his appearance.
“Strange that you’re off by yourself, considering you funded the whole matter.” Robert slipped down to sit beside him, folding his legs casually. Abul barely looked at him, holding his goblet close to his chest. He’d been sitting alone most of the evening, pretending to drink when he was really taking the same tiny sip over and over again to seem busy until he could escape from the party.
“I don’t like socializing.”
“The way I hear it you throw lavish parties practically every week. That’s hardly the act of someone who hates company.”
“Oh, but he doesn’t go to the parties. He just makes them.” Robert looked up to see Tamir slumped against the wall, cup in hand and a foolish grin spread across his already twisted face. The petty merchant’s shifty eyes and greedy nature always made Robert wonder if he had a bit of Jew in his heritage, and the general moral degeneracy of the man seemed to only support the theory.
“But here, here is the question!” Tamir continued, waving one unsteady finger in the air. “Why does a man rich enough to win any woman in the city, no matter how ugly he is, remained unmarried? It is quite an ab’ration. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Robert expected Abul to make a cutting retort, perhaps to demand satisfaction of some kind. But the other man simply let his shoulders slump and looked away in pain.
“What I think,” Robert commented with a strained smile, “Is that you should go back to the party. Garnier de Naplouse said he had something to tell you, although I couldn’t manage to pry the message out of him.”
“Right!” Tamir stumbled forward and Robert took him gently by the shoulders, turning him back around and sending him upstairs to go bother someone who needed bothering.
Again he sat down next to Abul, now ever so slightly farther away from him. His men had mentioned his prosperity and his despair, but not that he used the former to cover the latter.
“So,” Abul said quietly. “You see why I stay away from the parties. The taunts, the veiled insults…I’ve had enough of them from my lessers, I don’t need them from those thinking to be my equals.”
“Then I won’t let them,” Robert said simply, shifting a bit closer to indicate friendliness (although not close enough to indicate anything further). “They have no right to do so, not when you’re as devoted to the cause as we are.”
More devoted, really. When the issue had first been brought up by one of Robert’s men, Abul had been apathetic about it. He had money and power, what would he profit from a changing world? But then they had brought up the deeper meaning of their vision and Abul’s eyes had, according to Robert’s underling, lit up like the star above Bethlehem. A man like him could buy anything he wanted…besides respect from his peers and relief from his own guilt.”
“No right? Even if they stay silent they’ll think it. You’re thinking it right now, thinking those horrible words that they only say behind my back so they can hate me and still keep taking my money.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t patronize me. Of course you are.”
…all right, so he was thinking it a little bit. It was only natural, considering it put images in Robert’s head that made him consider finding more wine. Abul Nuquod was not an attractive man, even if you liked that sort of thing.
“I can’t help it,” the merchant said quietly, curling inwards ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to appreciate women, but these thoughts…they never stop no matter how hard I want to force them to go away.”
Robert leaned over, putting a reassuring hand on Abul’s shoulder. Perhaps he’d have felt a bit less awkward about it before he knew about Abul’s little peculiarity, but this was not a time to let personal prejudices get in the way of the grander plan or, for that matter a chance to raise morale. Any good leader knew the importance of that.
“This is a new world we are making here, Abul,” he said confidently, raising a hand as if to wave the future into existence. “A world free of hate, free of war, free of the bigotry that plagues this land. We are French, English, German, Arab, Turkish…we even have a woman fighting beside us! If we can put aside our bigotry for those, why can we not allow those with strange inclinations?”
“Inclinations of the weak-willed, the weak-minded, the decadent and useless. Don’t taunt me with falsehoods.” Abul set the goblet to his lips and began drinking in earnest, trying to drown yet another bout of shame and self-hatred.
“No such thing!” Robert declared, flashing his teeth in a comradely grin. “Any man could have them and not be held back. A man with inclinations could lead armies and rule whole countries...”
His voice turned sweeter, more persuasive, his hand on the merchant’s back turned possessive. “England, for example.”
Abul nearly choked on his wine. “Richard?”
Robert chuckled. “You know of our tradition of confessing our sins? Richard confesses. A great deal. And his words go from his mouth to God’s ear, and also to mine after I make a generous donation to the church.”
“But…your book also prohibits…”
“Does Richard need a reason to be a hypocrite? He’s started a war of madness and slaughter, I suppose he thinks a bit of…that is small in comparison. The point is that there is a difference between you. You are ashamed, but you realize what hypocrisy would lie in supporting a cause that loathes what you are. But Richard wields a sword for his Bible with the one hand, and with the other he proudly…um…”
Robert trailed off, realizing the sentence was heading into a rather strange area that he knew little about and did not wish to be educated upon. But Abul nodded gently, and smiled for the first time that evening. His expression was almost shy; a strange look for a man of such size and age.
“I understand you. I…” He hesitated and Robert patted his shoulder reassuringly, evoking another nervous smile. “I think I’m feeling a bit more sociable.”
“There you are.” Robert stood, offering Abul a hand up. “We’ll go back, we’ll drink, and you can show them you have nothing to hide in the corner about. And we’ll see if we can’t get Talal to do that trick with his bowstring again.”
Title Party Like It’s 1199
Author:
seiberwing Characters: The Bad Guy Collective. Surprisingly, nonslash.
Prompt: 60. Assassin’s Creed: Abul Nuquod. How do Nuquod’s co-conspirators, many of them from strongly religious backgrounds, react to Nuquod being different?
Summary: Robert de Sable attempts to ease Abul Nuquod’s shame about certain…inclinations. Meanwhile, everyone else gets extremely intoxicated.
Author’s Note: This fic was not written by a team of multicultural individuals, but any ancestors I may have had in the Holy Land during period were spending most of their time running around trying not to get killed by everyone else so I’m not really predisposed to favor one party over another. Any opinions expressed in this fic are the opinions of the characters and not necessarily my own, any historical or cultural inaccuracies come with my sincere apologies.
Party Like It’s 1099
The conspirators met at an abandoned fort near Acre. It was a decent midway point between the respective groups they claimed to swear allegiance to, remote enough to avoid any pesky interlopers, and comfortable enough to rest in while they made their evil plans. If by evil plans one meant party and by evil one meant full of good food and wine and people trying their best to sing properly.
Although at this point Robert de Sable was wondering if the wine was such a good idea. Half the men in the group still claimed the Musselman faith in their home cities, a faith that banned the use of alcohol. Consequently, they were now demonstrating their lack of faith in a very flamboyant manner and were currently getting drunk off their arses.
“Where’s Majd Addin?” Robert asked William quietly, turning his face away from the crowd.
William shrugged. “Not sure, been avoiding him myself. I don’t like him much.”
“I hope he hasn’t fallen out a window somehow. We need him.”
“Hmph. No great loss to the world if he did. The man makes my skin crawl.” William slumped to one side, blinking blearily at him. Apparently the former Musselmen weren’t the only ones enjoying the wine.
“I’ll go looking for him anyway. Keep an eye on the rest, the last thing we want is a brawl over some minor misunderstanding. Tensions are high enough as they are.” Robert needed an excuse to get a breath of air that didn’t reek of men that had been traveling all day
“Mmm. Fine.”
Robert attempted to help William stand up again. “And try not to make too big a fool of yourself,” he added as he turned to leave.
Robert de Sable didn’t actually like most of the association. They were slavers, murderers, power-mad regents and sadistic doctors, and their elaborate speeches on the greater good weren’t always enough to cover up their baser motivations. Still, they were better than the alternative and they were at least devoted to the cause, for whatever reasons they had.
Majd Addin turned out to be relatively easy to find. Fortunately he had not gone out the window, but had gently fallen onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling with dulled, unseeing eyes. Robert gently turned the man’s head to the side just in case—he’d dealt with drunks before—and continued on down the stairs.
On the next floor he encountered Abul Nuquod, the Merchant King, curled up on a pile of pillows with a tray of fruit next to him. His smallpox-scarred face looked absolutely miserable, which did little to improve his appearance.
“Strange that you’re off by yourself, considering you funded the whole matter.” Robert slipped down to sit beside him, folding his legs casually. Abul barely looked at him, holding his goblet close to his chest. He’d been sitting alone most of the evening, pretending to drink when he was really taking the same tiny sip over and over again to seem busy until he could escape from the party.
“I don’t like socializing.”
“The way I hear it you throw lavish parties practically every week. That’s hardly the act of someone who hates company.”
“Oh, but he doesn’t go to the parties. He just makes them.” Robert looked up to see Tamir slumped against the wall, cup in hand and a foolish grin spread across his already twisted face. The petty merchant’s shifty eyes and greedy nature always made Robert wonder if he had a bit of Jew in his heritage, and the general moral degeneracy of the man seemed to only support the theory.
“But here, here is the question!” Tamir continued, waving one unsteady finger in the air. “Why does a man rich enough to win any woman in the city, no matter how ugly he is, remained unmarried? It is quite an ab’ration. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Robert expected Abul to make a cutting retort, perhaps to demand satisfaction of some kind. But the other man simply let his shoulders slump and looked away in pain.
“What I think,” Robert commented with a strained smile, “Is that you should go back to the party. Garnier de Naplouse said he had something to tell you, although I couldn’t manage to pry the message out of him.”
“Right!” Tamir stumbled forward and Robert took him gently by the shoulders, turning him back around and sending him upstairs to go bother someone who needed bothering.
Again he sat down next to Abul, now ever so slightly farther away from him. His men had mentioned his prosperity and his despair, but not that he used the former to cover the latter.
“So,” Abul said quietly. “You see why I stay away from the parties. The taunts, the veiled insults…I’ve had enough of them from my lessers, I don’t need them from those thinking to be my equals.”
“Then I won’t let them,” Robert said simply, shifting a bit closer to indicate friendliness (although not close enough to indicate anything further). “They have no right to do so, not when you’re as devoted to the cause as we are.”
More devoted, really. When the issue had first been brought up by one of Robert’s men, Abul had been apathetic about it. He had money and power, what would he profit from a changing world? But then they had brought up the deeper meaning of their vision and Abul’s eyes had, according to Robert’s underling, lit up like the star above Bethlehem. A man like him could buy anything he wanted…besides respect from his peers and relief from his own guilt.”
“No right? Even if they stay silent they’ll think it. You’re thinking it right now, thinking those horrible words that they only say behind my back so they can hate me and still keep taking my money.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t patronize me. Of course you are.”
…all right, so he was thinking it a little bit. It was only natural, considering it put images in Robert’s head that made him consider finding more wine. Abul Nuquod was not an attractive man, even if you liked that sort of thing.
“I can’t help it,” the merchant said quietly, curling inwards ever so slightly. “I’ve tried to appreciate women, but these thoughts…they never stop no matter how hard I want to force them to go away.”
Robert leaned over, putting a reassuring hand on Abul’s shoulder. Perhaps he’d have felt a bit less awkward about it before he knew about Abul’s little peculiarity, but this was not a time to let personal prejudices get in the way of the grander plan or, for that matter a chance to raise morale. Any good leader knew the importance of that.
“This is a new world we are making here, Abul,” he said confidently, raising a hand as if to wave the future into existence. “A world free of hate, free of war, free of the bigotry that plagues this land. We are French, English, German, Arab, Turkish…we even have a woman fighting beside us! If we can put aside our bigotry for those, why can we not allow those with strange inclinations?”
“Inclinations of the weak-willed, the weak-minded, the decadent and useless. Don’t taunt me with falsehoods.” Abul set the goblet to his lips and began drinking in earnest, trying to drown yet another bout of shame and self-hatred.
“No such thing!” Robert declared, flashing his teeth in a comradely grin. “Any man could have them and not be held back. A man with inclinations could lead armies and rule whole countries...”
His voice turned sweeter, more persuasive, his hand on the merchant’s back turned possessive. “England, for example.”
Abul nearly choked on his wine. “Richard?”
Robert chuckled. “You know of our tradition of confessing our sins? Richard confesses. A great deal. And his words go from his mouth to God’s ear, and also to mine after I make a generous donation to the church.”
“But…your book also prohibits…”
“Does Richard need a reason to be a hypocrite? He’s started a war of madness and slaughter, I suppose he thinks a bit of…that is small in comparison. The point is that there is a difference between you. You are ashamed, but you realize what hypocrisy would lie in supporting a cause that loathes what you are. But Richard wields a sword for his Bible with the one hand, and with the other he proudly…um…”
Robert trailed off, realizing the sentence was heading into a rather strange area that he knew little about and did not wish to be educated upon. But Abul nodded gently, and smiled for the first time that evening. His expression was almost shy; a strange look for a man of such size and age.
“I understand you. I…” He hesitated and Robert patted his shoulder reassuringly, evoking another nervous smile. “I think I’m feeling a bit more sociable.”
“There you are.” Robert stood, offering Abul a hand up. “We’ll go back, we’ll drink, and you can show them you have nothing to hide in the corner about. And we’ll see if we can’t get Talal to do that trick with his bowstring again.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2008-06-20 02:52 am (UTC)So, do you think Richard went on the crusades because he was afraid that if he didn't God would ding him for being Gay/Bi? It just suddenly occurred to me.
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Date: 2008-06-20 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-20 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-20 03:02 am (UTC)Yeah, mum's pretty big into history, especially the European parts of it.
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Date: 2008-06-20 03:07 am (UTC)Cool! My mom's really into gardening and yelling at dogs and kids. But especially dogs.
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Date: 2008-06-20 03:15 am (UTC)I adore Robin Hood, but his mythology does seem to mess with who the better guys were.
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Date: 2008-06-20 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-20 10:21 am (UTC)And yeah, but it's still more than his brother got done.
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Date: 2008-06-20 11:59 am (UTC)True, true.
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Date: 2008-06-20 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-20 01:35 pm (UTC)