Chapter Text
"Ladies, Gents, this is Arno Dorian."
Jacob was late. Not that is was unusual (quite the contrary, in fact), but he hated being late. The Grandmaster didn't tell the messenger if his so-called meeting was important or not. So he had to go, you know, just-in-case. Unlike the others, he had a gang to take care of, and shit, it wasn't that easy. They all thought he could come whenever they wanted him to. No. There was always something to do, introduce a new Rook, tell an asshole to fuck off. Kill an occasional bad guy.
He opened the door of the headquarters violently and without a single care in the world... Just to find everyone already here. Well. That was some late arrival. When he says 'everyone', there is no exaggeration. Almost the whole brotherhood was here, assassins he knew, young recruits, and, of course, Evie was sitting in a wooden chair close to the left wall. But his eyes stopped on someone else, a stranger standing next to the Grandmaster, arms crossed. This one was an assassin, there was no denying it from the way he hold himself or for his hood, or for his partially visible hidden blades, or the weird mini-crossbow on one of his gauntlets which wasn't at all a common thing. But he was definitely not a British one. If in London they all wore mostly dark clothes, he wore a long navy blue coat, a red scarf and... Was that yellow? Or beige? top. Yellow, really? The guy was everything but discreet. And by his eyes, he was judging Jacob as well. 5 seconds, and the Rook already wanted to beat him. Damn. That was a new record.
"Mister Frye. Nice of you to join us, with your usual punctuality and so much respect for our door."
Jacob's gaze turned to the Grandmaster. He unfortunately didn't have a punchline right now, so he just shut his mouth and silently took a seat.
"As I was saying... This is Arno Dorian. He's a brother Assassin, from the French Brotherhood. He is here for one of their mission and will stay in the headquarters for a while until he is finished. Until then, consider him an ally."
Oh. French. Well that explained all the colors. Frenchies and their need to be seen.
But was that all? Did he come just to know some guy he would never see again came here, when he had so much job to do? Damn it.
The other assassins weren't that tolerant (for obscure reasons. what did he do to them?). Either they didn't like French men, or they didn't like this one in particular, or didn't want him, or just were idiots who couldn't help but complain for nothing whenever they had the chance (he was rooting for this one).
"And what's that mission of his? We can do things. Don't need ya mate. Ya can go back to your part of the world."
If he were at Arno's place, Jacob would've called the bastard names and beat him because what he was doing here wasn't his problem. But Dorian seemed to be more polite, and only raised an eyebrow at the remark. Before the Grandmaster could say anything or punish the insolent, or whatever he wanted to do to him, his guest answered calmly the first (and probably not the last) question he'd been asked today. (with, let's be honest, a pretty horrible accent.)
"We had a traitor in our ranks. He's been one of us for some years and changed his loyalty all of the sudden. Took lots of infos with him. He knows we can track him so he lost us by crossing the sea. We believe he's in London to give the information to our Templars via yours, or just to hide them until he's safe, but he probably won't come back home. So I was sent here to take him before he does too much damage."
'Our Templars'. That was a funny way to call the enemy, he gave him that. But then, without any transition, the Rook saw Arno clench his teeth, murdering the asshole with his eyes, and say loud enough for everyone to hear clearly:
"Either way, it's none of your fucking business, mate."
Now that was more like it. Jacob wanted to laugh or clap, but the room was dead silent so he restrained himself and just waited patiently for the rest to come. The Grandmaster cleared his throat.
"...Right. So..."
"Gotta take him back to France when you find him? Cause that'd be bloody tiring and you'll have trouble finding help, dear."
It was Evie who talked. Her brother stared at her, but she didn't pay attention nor see him, as she was watching Arno like he was a freaking prize she wanted to have very badly. Although the question was quite useless, she seemed far too interested in the answer. Was that a sort of test for the guy? Anyway, it was supposed to be in the not-your-fucking-business category, just like the question he was asked like two minutes ago. But, with a smirk, Loverboy answered. HE ANSWERED.
"No. The plan is simple, find him, learn what the hell he did with the info. As for the final touch..." he raised a hand and unsheathed his hidden blade, which seemed far too shiny to be real. "I cleaned this just for him."
And still the smirk. Evie seemed satisfied with this answer. Jacob also saw some smiles in the assembly. Oh, come on! The man was playing with them! He wasn't even built for killing people. How was he an Assassin? Unbelievable. Before he could roll his eyes, he saw the Grandmaster, who seemed tired of this, and couldn't bear one more question when he was trying to talk, stand up suddenly; he started to speak really loud, though he didn't shout.
"As I was trying to say, Arno has never been to London. I need someone to show him the city, teach him some tricks. Not some brutal tank like our beloved Mister Frye over there, the French Brotherhood apparently prefers stealth so I want someone who actually obeys the Creed and uses discretion in their missions. Any volunteer?"
"I'll take him."
No. Nope. He was dreaming. Evie didn't say that. She didn't. During her free time she was supposed to help him with the gang, for she was the reasonable one. She didn't have time to show the city to a random Frenchie who suddenly came here because of a simple mission. So yes, there was no better teacher than her if he wanted to play with a little stealth (and that explained quite well the way he was built. If he didn't need to fight in the open, of course he didn't need to be a big guy, that's why he was just tall and slim.) But she had other business. This wasn't fair.
Jacob could wait until everyone was out before saying how he didn't agree to the situation. He could. But he didn't. Because he was Jacob fucking Frye and he wasn't just going to wait and talk to his sister when the idea had been in her mind for too long, and/or when nobody could hear them fight over such a little thing. So he expressed his thoughts right here, right now, in front of the whole brotherhood and the idiot guest, like a child who didn't get what he wanted, and, deep inside, he knew he lacked a lot of maturity.
"What the hell Evie? You got the gang to help me with, remember? We're gonna take another soon! You're a leader too! You can't do that! You don't have time for this brat."
He didn't really know what would be her reaction, but he clearly saw Arno raise both his eyebrows like he couldn't believe what he heard, and the muscles of his crossed arms tensed behind the blue fabric of his coat. Jacob wasn't in the best place to call him that, and he knew it, but he didn't find anything better so he'd stick to 'brat'.
"Oh I'm sorry, Jacob, am I your property now? I do whatever I want. Don't you dare tell me what to do. Go back to your Rooks, give me peace and grow up. You're a big man, you can take care of your men alone."
If the other Assassins knew better than to do anything during one of the twins' fights, Arno was trying really hard not to laugh out loud, slowly failing to do so. What he was doing right now looked like some sort of chuckle. Asshole. Going out as carelessly and quickly as he entered, Jacob mumble an answer no one could hear (hopefully).
"By all means, I can."
He got out of the building so fast he couldn't see the way everyone watched him. His fellow Assassins were only surprised and so was the Grandmaster, still standing behind his desk. But Evie just rolled her eyes with a satisfied smile, having just broken her brother for the day. As for Arno, he calmed down, his lips forming the biggest grin ever known, congratulating Evie with some "Good job, now that was fun." He didn't know how much trouble he just put himself in by only coming in England. Jacob wouldn't let a stupid French wanna-be womanizer touch his sister. Not without a little fight. He would break him just for the way Dorian looked at her.
Yes, he was over-possessive. Yes, it wasn't supposed to be his problem. No, he didn't fucking care.
He stole a carriage and made the horse run as fast as possible. He had a bunch of talented guys to train. He was going to take control over London for the Assassins, with or without his twin. But, even as he entered the part of the city where they ruled, he couldn't think of anything else than the way she looked at their new guest. He had never seen her like that, for she was always deep in her work, throwing away any other thought she could have. But Loverboy, she wanted him. Badly. And he seemed to want her as well. It made Jacob kind of sick to even think about it.
Stopping the carriage, he prepared himself to join his men and ask for news about the neighbors. Suddenly realizing Arno and Evie were taking far too much place in his thoughts, he muttered.
"Asshole."