An Eye For An Eye Makes The Whole World..

[Rahmil Binachi]

His calmness only made her even more upset.
No, he was supposed to agree with her.
He was supposed to feel just as angry as she did.
But oh oh oh he
didn't
understand.
She jerked out of his touch.
She was tired of everyone touching her.
I'm not some dog that needs to be pet. She thought bitterly in a quiet seething.
" _{I want to be alone for a little bit.} " She grumbled, her teeth muffling it oh so slightly.
" _{I need some space.} "

[Diego Liberatore]

His stiff movements through the streets took him to the familiar morning market, which was awash in sights and scents and sounds. It was good to be a native here, to know exactly which vendors were the best. Or, in Diego's case, to know which women did the best baking. And he held himself to be a very good judge, as he purchased sweets from them often enough to know who made the most delicious of what. Greeting them with a smile, he bought in excess, and walked away with a variety of soft, warm, sugary breads fresh from the ovens that morning.

Returning to the tavern, he entered slowly and climbed the stairs cautiously, listening for any more explosions that might come from Rahmil's room. Finding it rather quiet, he took a breath, and knocked gently before letting himself in.

It was strange, to see them both standing. But he supposed, as he knew from those he lived with, women never could yell very well siting down. His mother had always favored grabbing a towel or some other weapon. Or worse - a shoe. Just to hold on to, in case her voice didn't quite make her point. Eying her empty hands, he relaxed a bit. "I'm back." he announced himself, only then fully entering the room from where he had stood in the doorway. He gave an honest look of apology to Nicola, having heard what Rahmil said before he left. But he didn't open the topic. "I hope everyone's hungry." he said cautiously, moving the paper back towards Rahmil as a sort of peace-offering. He wondered, not having been there for her assault on Nico, if she had spared some kind of tongue lashing for him as well, some scolding for arguing about their predicament.

[Nicola Rangé]

Nicola kept his face neutral at Rahmil's coldness. Did she really believe she was the only person that suffered in this world? Did she even appreciate anything he had just said? Antonnio had stepped through the door at just he right moment. Stepping around him, Nicola moved out the door almost as quickly as he entered. "I'm not hungry," was all Nicola said as stepped into the hallway. She wanted space? Fine. Nicola was good at giving people space.

[Rahmil Binachi]

Nicola had left. She could feel his footsteps dance around Diegos and out the door.
A wave of guilt washed over her, but was soon pulled back by the ongoing tide, leaving her with just her anger.
Releasing an angry sigh, she reached out for what ever Diego was handing her, and upon finding it, took hold of it and held it.
" _{What time is it?} " She managed- her voice strained with the anger she was trying to hold back.
These were her only friends.
Without them she wouldn't survive- literally, and even though she knew she had hurt Nicola, she didnt feel bad for it.
She didnt feel bad for any of it.
If she was going to be blind, she was going to do whatever the hell she wanted.
A sort of...trade right?
" _{I need a drink.} "

[Diego Liberatore]

His eyes darted around him, from Rahmil to Nicola, followed Nicola out of the room, and then back to Rahmil. "Wait... wh-what?" He gave a confused stutter. He had heard the blow up before he left, but that didn't call for... what had happened? Then he could feel Rahmil's anger again as if it radiated from her. Not directed at him - yet - but still he could feel its heat.

"It's... um, a little after breakfast time." he said, not daring to move from where he stood. "I think maybe you should eat first." A drunk, blind Rahmil was not what he wanted to deal with for the rest of the day. But he would, if that was what she needed. "And then see how you feel."

He remembered her like this. It wasn't quite as bad as when he trapped her in his house after she had come to kill them, but still. He could imagine, in a way, she was trapped again now. Diego took a quiet step to the side, hoping to throw off her deadly accuracy she seemed to possess in case she decided to lunge at him too. "It's no secret that Nicola and I are enemies." he started, trying to make her see reason. "But the only thing that keeps us from killing each other is you. And I don't think even Nicola deserved whatever just happened here, Rahmil. As much of a stooge as that kid is, he cares about you. Just like I do." Another step back, just... in case.

Diego eyed the chair beside her bed, and the bag of breakfast desserts she held. His stomach grumbled. All he wanted to do was eat, famished as he was and not having eaten since their little adventure the night before. But she would have to sit first, as was polite. And he didn't want her falling over again, either. "If you need a punching bag... I'm here." he offered quietly. "But just verbally, please." He didn't want her attacking him physically. On any other day it would have been fine, but his shoulder wasn't something he wanted to mess with. And his arm bore the reminders from her fingernails on his skin.

[Nicola Rangé]

Nicola never even looked back as he made his way down the hallway and down the staircase. His pace slowed as he reached the lobby, the bar easily attracting his attention. How great it would feel to drain all the sorrows of the day away with a mug of beer...

He shook his head violently, the thought vanishing as soon as it came. Now was not the time to be in a drunken stupor. He didn't need alcohol, he just needed some time away. Exiting the inn, his arms took him to climb--to reach the places where most people couldn't go. It was a liberating thought...

Within a matter of minutes, Nicola was sitting on the edge of a building, straight across from the inn. His legs dangled over the edge as he sat with his elbows on his thighs, chin in hands, watching people come and go across the busy streets. Thoughts drifted in and out of his mind like clouds across the sky.

[Rahmil Binachi]

The fire, the monster, the storm,
that was raging inside of Rahmil was finally drawing down to a close.
No matter how much she fed it, how much she tried to keep it alive, it was dwindling down leaving her with nothing but the darkness to cling to.
Diego's words were only patting out the flame, rocking the beast to sleep, and shooing away the storm.
In a stubborn effort, she violently gathered up the thin sheet of her bed and wrapped herself in it, before letting out a rather pitiful groan and pushing herself face first into the foot of the bed, the groan soon turning into a muffled whine.
" _{I don't want any food I just want to see, L'orso.} "

[Diego Liberatore]

The sound she made resounded in his ears, and it broke his heart from where it had been beating in his chest. He set the bag of sweets on her dresser and stared at her for a cautious moment, stupidly wondering what to do. Her pitifully mumbled sentence broke him from that stupor. L'orso, she called him. Bear. The symbol of his house, and in essence who he was. Of all the many names he went by, it was his favorite. And only she called him that.

Convinced her rage had gone, Diego sat beside her and stroked her hair, thinking. There was a lot to think about, and there was a lot to say. But he kept silent. With another stroke of her hair, he moved it gently to look at the still purpled wound on the side of her head. "I'll be right back." he said finally, and rose painfully from his seat before shuffling down the hallway. Downstairs, he went to the empty bar and paid the tavern wench for a bucket of ice and a clean cloth. Taking its handle with his good arm, he ascended the stairs and returned to her room.

He set it down on the floor and gathered some of the ice in the towel. "Here, come here." he said as he sat down again, and tugged gently at her arm for her to sit up. "Tilt your head," he instructed her, and tried to guide her so that she could rest her head on his bad shoulder. "It's ice." he said, as he reached across his body with his other arm to hold the pack in place over the swollen bump on her skull.

Diego was quiet for a minute as he gathered up his thoughts from before. It was difficult for him, trying to figure out what was right to say. It was a very different Rahmil who sat beside him. A wounded Rahmi, a blind one. Perhaps even a scared one. Before, he had always thought of her as unpredictable, perhaps a bit vicious at times, independent and incredibly stubborn. But that was what he liked about her, and she didn't seem to be any of those things now. She looked like a broken lion in a cage. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were covered by cloth, and she was still in her pajamas in the middle of the morning. By now she should have been leaping over rooftops, scaling walls and hunting down unsuspecting Templars like him with an arsenal of weapons at her side.

So it was his job to remind her of who she was. "You were very brave," he told her. "It took courage to do what you did. A lot of it. You risked your life for something you thought was important. And you are lucky to be alive, so remember that." He brushed away a tear of water that had melted from the ice. "You need to have that same bravery now, piccina. You will see again, but first you have to learn how."

"Right now, you can't see with your eyes. So you'll have to see with your other senses. You can see some distance with your ears. Details with your hands." He picked up her hand and moved it over his face, so that her fingers brushed down over his closed eyes, nose, mouth, beard, as he had seen other blind people do when they 'looked' at whomever they were speaking to. Then he returned the ice to her head, hoping that at least some of the swelling would be going down soon. "Sometimes your nose will guide you to where you need to go," he said, eyeing the bag of chocolate and cinnamon breads hungrily before tearing his gaze away. She was more important of course than food. But still, he was hungry. "And Nicola and I - whenever he gets his sorry grumpy ass back here - will be your eyes until you can see again." Diego sighed, knowing how not incredibly encouraging that comment was. For a moment he wondered where the little pipsqueak had gone, and then felt sorry again, knowing it was his doing in essence that had driven Nicola out. He knew the boy cared for Rahmil, as he did, and was only doing his best. And if Diego had regarded him as an equal in that mess at the church, he supposed he would have to regarding him as such now.

Returning his focus to Rahmil, he continued. "And until then, you're just going to have to learn to see with your heart." Bruised and battered thing that was, too. Rahmil had never revealed much about her past, other than what had happened with her former fiance Davide Gallo. But Diego suspected there was something more there. She was so slow to trust people, she drank way too much, and she flinched whenever anyone touched her. Like a beaten dog. Whatever the issue was, Diego knew it wasn't his business. Though his curiosity lingered, the fact remained. She would have to start trusting people. She would be relying on him and Nicola a lot from now on, so whatever it was she would have to get over it. Trying to be more hopeful, he added another thought. "I've heard of a few Templars and a few Assassins who had developed a different gift of sight, one that allowed them to discern friend from foe. The legends, especially those involving Altaïr, are strange. Like someone trying to describe a new color. And there's not much written on it besides. But still, it's a possibility, right? It sounded pretty literal..." But he soon gave up talking about it. He wasn't knowledgeable enough on the subject to continue.

He looked at her, as if by staring long enough he might be able to see her eyes through the blindfold. He hated the thing, though he understood why she wanted it. It felt strange to him, not making eyecontact when he spoke. It must have been worse for her, he figured, not seeing at all. He wanted to see movement in her eyes, some kind of confirmation that she was still listening to his rambling. Even if it was an angry glare, he wished he could see it.

"You will see again, piccina." he promised her, before another idea popped into his head. His next sentence he spoke with a sense of certainty and enthusiasm, resolving for it to be a surprise. "And I'll take you someplace special. I want the first thing you see to be something really beautiful."

[Rahmil Binachi]

Despite the ratted knots his fingers broke through, his touch was gentle.
It provoked an urge to jump, to shove, to break away and not let him touch her again.
But no matter how loud her instincts screamed, she sat still. Tortured by his comforting strokes.

Soon they stopped and he was gone, yet within a few minutes he was back with an object to which she could not identify. He coaxed her near and with his light tugs, she allowed him to guide her.
Being so close to him was strange, alien yet familiar. Her walls shattered, her blockade crumbled, her defense was rendered useless. Not even the cold of the ice could have brought her back, for she simple pressed herself closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. Embracing the comfort, for right now he was her rock. Her solid foundation to stand on. She could trust him.
For the moment at least.


His words lulled her into a relaxed state, bringing her away from the crazed being she was not even an hour ago. Was she completely comprehending his sentences? Who could tell, and when he guided her hand to his face she let him. Understanding the idea that he was telling her.


Soon he stopped talking, and she stayed as she was. Silent and still.
Her brain was working, processing, thinking, and desperately trying to get a grip on this new reality that would be hers.

"You will see again, piccina."

Perhaps she would, perhaps not. Yet for now she would have to keep going, hopeful or broken.

After a few long moments in her silent state she detached herself from his grip and sat up looking in the direction she knew he was in and reached for his hand.
It was an awkward fumble but with the cold radiating off of it from the ice pack she had a good idea of where it was.
She took it with both of hers and pressed her face against it, the cold seeping from his hand into her cheek.


" _{I suppose you are right.} " She started, her voice soft to the point of almost a whisper.

" _{I've made it this far, L'orso, it'd be a shame to give up now.} "