"Come back to bed, messer."
"Si, si—to bed, yes?"
"You can teach us again."
Apologetically, Ezio began to dress himself in a haphazard fashion while the four noblewomen cooed to him, slipping his hood over his head before he walked over and allowed a brief exchange of kisses that implied what was to come later on; it took a while for them to understand that he really meant to leave—guiding eager hands away from his half-installed breeches, slowing down the course of his tongue, to ease back heavy breasts—for good, and when he finally pulled away from the valley of Lady Emilia's chest, the sulky females hissed in displeasure as he strode over to the high window in amused silence. It was clear that he was done for the day, maybe even going off to antagonize their own husbands for whatever purpose he upheld—but their current fixation was the broad back of the notorious assassin, who turned back in sensuous regard after swinging his feet over the ledge.
"Don't worry, belle; I won't be gone for too long."
And with that, he leapt off.
After dusting a copious amount of hay from his attire, Ezio expertly maneuvered himself onto a nearby rooftop, disposing of the guards who shouted in alarm without a glimmer of thought; laziness—perhaps, that was what it was, but the Grand Master paid no heed in sticking to the shadows or mingling with the crow below, as he zigzagged around the middle-district of Venice, his specialized vision activated to guide him to his target. Once more, three times post-leave, with the blazing sun on his back, he thought himself foolish for leaving the attention of his favorite ladies, all for some minute mission that could've been handled by his students or cohorts, wishing that nagging sense of something to cool down and halt the tugging at his gut. God, what the hell was he thinking, running off to save some random citizen at this time of day? Rosa was right about one thing: He didn't have the attention span of a monkey, always intrigued by random—
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" a raunchy voice purred, the sinister note too prominent to overlook. "You don't look like you're from around here."
There were several bouts of gruff laughter.
"Christ, you truly have some down there?"
And Ezio knew he had arrived.
Seeing the familiar militia uniforms was one thing, not being able to spot the source of ridicule was another; strangely enough, the tortured civilian did not shout out cries for help, like the others, the growing tides of mockery rising to high decibels in the narrow, abandoned alley: The confused brunet could not perceive anything beyond the giant ledge that jutted out from one of the nearby buildings, obscuring the bullied person completely, at first absorbing the number and ranks of the guards: four seekers, seven brutes, and twelve agile-types, a tad gratified at the expanse of challenge. Now, if only he could mark where the hell the victim was …
Well, now, maybe that thought was too late.
As one of the sentries reached out to grab said being, a quick hand shot out and counterattacked the grab, twisting the arm all the way up the back, and a foot giving a good kick on the rump. Outrage was everywhere, the angered entourage cursing and surrounding their foe, before Ezio realized he was staring in surprise and chose to make his path to provide aid, just to play it safe, even if the defender had a few of his own tricks up his, or possibly her, sleeve. Professionally, he dispatched a good number of throwing knives at his adversaries, who, right after his entrance, left a couple of openings for the other contender to send some of them sprawling to the ground. Dio, he had not been this amused in ages, fighting alongside some unknown force that maintained itself without any weaponry, whatsoever.
And 'astonished' was an understatement when he ultimately saw the mark.
"Ezio, to the left!" Leonardo exclaimed, ducking a particular harsh swipe at his head that allowed him to disarm the brute. "Roof!"
Swearing lightly under his breath, the younger man eliminated the three rooftop archers, throwing down a potent smoke bomb to create disorder, acute in the execution of his hidden blades to the point where only five of the original group remained. Leonardo's deep laughter could be faintly heard through the yelps of submission, pleased that his invention was a success, and completely contradicted the battle-honed state he was currently in—drawing a smirk to his own lips as he cut down the fleeing soldiers with an unforgiving use of a battleaxe. However, as the thick haze ebbed with the initial stench of blood, the old character the taller man was used to spread over Leo's features.
"Oh, Ezio! I'm so glad to see you—Come va?" The sun was practically shining through his smile.
An arched brow. "Amico mio, you are asking me what of my droll, boring days when you have just taken down an entire ensemble of these idiotas?"
"I-I did not," he lightheartedly corrected. "You helped me."
"With a few, my friend: With a few. Anyway … " It was hard enough to not gape like a dolt. "How did you … Better: Where in the devil's name did you learn to do that?"
"Well, as you know, Michelangelo tends to get too passionate about his work, sometimes; and—" An impish grin. "let's just say that you should never mess with him."
Great: Curiosity was oozing out of his pores. "Okay … I have not the slightest idea of what you're implying, aside from me not wanting to know about it, but … Merda, Leo: My men could use some training, as such."
"Ah, you are merely flattering me." Stepping around the mass of splayed bodies, the cheery artist walked up to his incredulous companion and clapped him on the shoulder, not long to know that his mind was wandering elsewhere, if the twinkle in his eyes had anything to do with it. "In any case, I just have to tell you about my latest discoveries in Firenze—you see, about the flying machine, I've noticed that the structures and beams should be hollow, as the bones of birds are. Lord Lorenzo most courteously provided—"
Ezio shook his head.
What another day to remember.