Morning (Arno Dorian)

Requested on: Nothing
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Mod: Adrasthée

(SO I HAD A TERRIBLE IDEA THAT DAY AND HONNESTLY SOMETIMES I REGRET THIS VERY MUCH WHY THE HECK DID PAST ME THOUGHT WRITING -Adrasthée)

I just had the amazingly terrible great idea: with absolutely no plot in mind, I am going to attemp writing something with Arno with no basic plot in mind and…. I’ll let the rest a surprise ;) So yeah, enjoy!

-Mod Adrasthée

ps: Fun fact, rumours has it in the family that we’d be related in some way to the Marquis de Mirabeau, it’s not really clear how or why, but the elders always told my grandmother so and it’s been puzzling us since forever.

pps: I went with a female reader because in French there is nothing that isn’t gendered and as a girl it’s easier for me to write in female form (it doesn’t require aditional thinking for my verbs :’ ))

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Paris, City of love, of endless slate roofs and dreamy sights.

The sun was quietly rising above the roofs of the heart of the French nation as you were stitting atop a building close to the halles, watching the city slowly awakening from it’s slumber as merchants were preparing their stalls, loading it with all sorts of products coming from all over the country.

“Déjà réveillée? J’ignorais que Mademoiselle Y/L/N était une lève-tôt.” The voice of Arno graced your ears as the young man sat by your side, legs dangling off the roof.

(“Awake already? I wasn’t aware that Miss Y/L/N was an early bird.”)

“Et moi j’ignorais que Monsieur Dorian était capable de se lever tôt.” You replied, a smile reaching your lips.

(“And I wasn’t aware that Mister Dorian could wake up early.”)

“Touché.” A dry laugh escaped his lips.

Paris, City of Lights, home to the greatest thinkers of this century.

“J’aime bien venir voir le marché se réveiller, il y a quelque chose de… familier, de rassurant.” You explained him.

(“I like to watch the market waking up in the morning, there’s something… familiar, comforting.”)

Arno turned his head toward the street below as you did the same, the two of you looking at the passerby, pickpockets and other kinds of market dwellers. A fishmonger was already loudly advertising his product.

“IL EST FRAIS MON POISSON! IL EST FRAIS! EN PROVENANCE TOUT DROIT DE LA MER! 10 LIVRES CHAQUE, LE MEILLEUR PRIX DE TOUT LE MARCHÉ! IL EST FRAIS MON POISSON, IL EST FRAIS!”

(“FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH FOR EVERYONE! DIRECTLY FROM THE SEA! 10 LIVRES EACH, LOWEST PRICE ON THE MARKET! FRESH FISH!”)

A few clients were already gathering around his stall and as the merchant was busy selling them his fishes, a thief took this occasion to steal one, unseen by anyone but the duo sitting on the roof.

Paris, philosophal city with an ever changing face, buzzing with life.

“On dirait bien que quelqu’un va manger du poisson comme déjeuner…” You mumbled, stretching as your stomach emitted a loud groan. “Parlant de manger…”

(”Looks like someone is going to eat fish for breakfast… On the subject of eating…”)

Shouting echoed from the street as the fishmonger noticed the figure running away with his fish.

“Faim?” Arno chuckled as your stomach, grumbling again, answered for you and a sheepish smile reached your lips. “Allons manger.” He stood up, offering you a hand.

“Ouais…”

(“Hungry? Let’s go eat something.”

“Yeah…”)

As he turned around to climb down the roof, you stayed there, transfixed by the market below. The thief had been caught by one of the guards patrolling the market place and was now struggling to get out of their grip. The distant sounds of riots, happening all over the city could already be heard.

“Tu sais ce qu’on fait aux voleurs comme toi, hein? On les guillotine! Voilà ce qu’on en fait!”

(“You know what we do of thiefs like you? We guillotine them! That’s what we do!”)

Paris, city of changes, city of guillotines, home to a Revolution.

“Le monde change.”

“C’est ce qui arrive avec une révolution…”

(“The world changes.”

“That’s what happens after a revolution.”)

“Arno?”

“Hmm?”

“Promets moi que tu ne changeras jamais.”

(“Promise me you’ll never change.”)

You turned to your companion, waiting for his answer. He looked at you before answering.

“Promis.”