Assassin's Creed High-School

The Island

Pretty pink lips curled into a smile. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

The door shut behind you once you were fully inside. “Thanks for letting me stay here, Lucy.”

“Hey, how could I ever say no to my favourite cousin?”

Lucy disappears down the hallway, leaving you shivering by the door and taking in your surroundings. The place certainly is very…white. White walls, white floorboards, white furniture, all with a few splashes of red, black, and grey tossed here and there. Seems they’ve chosen to go with the typical ‘modern’ interior. Hopefully your room will be different. You don’t think you’ll be able to last the next few weeks without going insane if you’re forced to be surrounded by so much white.

A blur of colour emerging from the kitchen – you suspect it’s the kitchen anyway – detracts your attention from an odd, near supernatural, looking golden sphere placed atop the hall table. The blur of colour narrows its eyes at you, like you were some sort of foreign entity that shouldn’t be there, before swallowing a mouth full of food.

Its eyes sweep over your dripping form, lingering on the puddles beginning to form on the hardwood floor around your feet. “It’s raining,” it says simply, slipping another Dorito into its mouth and crunching noisily.

You regard it with mock-incredulity. “Oh, is that what that water falling from the sky called? And here I was thinking you were nothing but a pretty face, Desmond.”

Desmond smiles, flipping an imaginary lock of long hair over his shoulder. “You think I’m pretty, (Y/N)?”

You fold your arms across your chest with a scoff. “Pretty ugly.”

“Ouch.” The smile on his face slides into a smirk and he holds out the crisp bag.

“Dorito?”

You shake your head no and he shrugs before tilting his head back and pouring the contents of the bag into his mouth – well, mostly in his mouth. Near half of the cheese smothered triangles ended up on the floor or slipped down his hoody, which he’ll evidently wind up shaking onto the floor to join the others. You watch him for a moment in silent disgust; it’s like watching a pig eat its gruel, sounds like it as well. If he eats like that all the time then it’s no wonder that he’s gained a few pounds. He’s gotten especially pudgy around the middle.

Lucy finally comes back with a towel in her hands. “Here we are. Let’s get you dried and then we can-,” she stopped talking immediately as her eyes fell on the miniature mound of crisp crumbs around her boyfriends mismatched socked feet. She places her hands on her hips, “Desmond. How many times do I have to tell you not to make a mess? Do you even listen when I speak?”

“What mess?” Desmond asked, crumpling the now empty bag and hiding it behind his back.

Lucy exhaled heavily through her nose, as though trying to keep her anger under control. “Desmond...let’s not play this game again.”

“Game? Whose playing games?” He brushed the crumbs out of sight with his foot as inconspicuously as he could manage, keeping his gaze locked with the silently fuming blonde. He rubbed the cheese from his fingers on the back of his sweatpants, leaving an unsightly orange streak on his bum. “Now I, for one, don’t see any sign of the supposed ‘mess’ you’re talking about.” He looked to you expectantly, “Do you see a mess around here, (Y/N)?”

“Uh...,” you stole a glance at a few crumbs that remained - which were hard to miss seeing as how the tiny orange flakes were the only bright colour to be found in the cramped hallway – before staring back at Desmond. He blinked his eyes in rapid succession, silently pleading for you to not rat him out. It was tempting to spill the beans right there and then, but you needed to think of the future. Desmond could wind up being a necessary ally, or a serious pain in the ass, depending on how you handled this situation. Looking over to Lucy, you plastered on your best shit-eating grin, “I don’t see any mess either. Unless, of course, you’re referring to the water on the floor?”