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ladyhoneydarlinglove) wrote2013-01-23 12:06 am
{Assassin's Creed BroT4 AU}
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
Characters: Altair Ibn-La'ahad, Ezio Auditore, Connor Kenway, Desmond Miles
Rating: PG-13, for language
Word Count: ~2200
Summary: The roommates try to spend some quality time together. This is apparently much harder than it sounds. (Mostly unedited.)
--
Desmond doesn’t really plan for a guys’ night to happen. The idea gets planted in his head one day after listening to Lucy talk about girls’ night with Rebecca and Maria: how they have it every week, how they always get pizza and make margaritas, and how they always watch a movie (which, six times out of ten, ends up being Moulin Rouge).
It’s not like Desmond is dying for social interaction with his roommates; he thinks he sees enough of them and gets along with all of them well enough that he could definitely call them friends. But he does think that a guys’ night might be kind of fun. So he picks up some pizzas and a twelve-pack of beer on the way home from class and borrows Fight Club from Clay the next time he knows all of them are going to home
What Desmond fails to take into account when he plans this is what while Lucy, Rebecca and Maria all have similar tastes in food (apart from the fact that Rebecca’s a vegetarian, but Lucy likes to eat healthy and Maria’s not picky), his roommates’ eating habits fall on completely opposite ends of the spectrum from his, and each others. So while in theory pizza and beer seems like a good idea, in reality, it isn’t
“Guys, c’mon,” Desmond says, getting more exasperated by the minute. “I spent thirty bucks on this pizza, the least you could do is eat a slice.”
“Absolutely not,” Ezio replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest and eyeing the pizza with the same look one might give road kill. “I refuse to touch that abomination you Americans insist on calling pizza.
“Look, just because it isn’t that fancy wood-fired oven shit you’re always raving on about doesn’t mean it’s not good!” Desmond protests.
“Desmond, you can see the grease on the cheese.”
“So?”
Ezio just gives him a look, and Desmond groans in defeat. “Okay, fine, be a picky bastard. See what I care.” He turns to Connor, who is currently eyeing the pizza with obvious trepidation. “What about you, Connor? I thought you loved pizza. What’s your beef?”
“You got pepperoni,” Connor says simply.
“You love pepperoni!” Desmond says. “Remember that one time you brought pizza home from that place on Grand Avenue and you ate the whole thing by yourself? That was pepperoni!”
“But that was from Gino’s,” Connor says. “They source most of their ingredients locally and their meat comes from Oakland Creek. So I know that I can trust it.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Desmond demands.
“It means that I know the animals were well taken care of and had good diets and haven’t been injected with any chemicals or hormones,” Connor explains. “But this pizza is from Pizza Hut. And I highly doubt Pizza Hut cares much about where its meat comes from, so…” He shrugs. “I’d just rather not eat it, that’s all.”
Desmond groans and drags a hand down his face in frustration. “Well, pick the pepperoni off, then!” he says. “Then you don’t have to worry about the meat, right?”
Connor glances at the pizza. “Well, like Ezio said, it’s also very greasy,” he points out.
“Oh for—okay, you know what, fine.” Desmond grabs both pizza boxes off the table. “Fine. If you guys aren’t going to eat the pizza, I’ll just eat it myself!”
“I was eating it,” Altair says from his spot at the table.
“You only ever eat one slice of pizza and you’ve already finished it,” Desmond snaps, and stomps off to his room.
--
Desmond manages to eat an entire pizza by himself before Connor coaxes him out of his room, and they all sit down to watch Fight Club. So at least there’s that.
It’s actually pretty fun until Desmond pukes his pizza back up.
--
So the story of Desmond’s first guys’ night is one of total disaster. It’s completely disheartening and Desmond doesn’t plan on ever repeating it.
So he’s surprised when one night, Connor comes home with sandwiches from a local sub shop that he frequents and claims that they’re going to try this again. “It was a good idea,” he tells Desmond as he hands him a sub. “The food just didn’t work out, that’s all.”
“If you say so,” Desmond says; he’s just glad he’s not the one paying this time. “What’d you get?”
“Chicken club for you, Italian for Ezio, honey mustard chicken for me, and turkey and Swiss for Altair. Sorry if that’s not okay, by the way. But I didn’t know what you liked,” Connor says, looking sheepish as he hands Altair his sandwich.
Altair shrugs. “Turkey and Swiss is fine,” he says without looking up from his physics book.
“Why did you get me a Italian sub?” Ezio asks, eyeing his sandwich dubiously.
Connor frowns. “Because you’re Italian?” he says.
“Connor.” Ezio gives him an thoroughly exasperated look. “An Italian sub is not Italian. It is an American creation that bastardizes anything and everything Italian food stands for.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Connor looks down at his own sandwich and holds it out. “Do you want to trade?"
“Per favore,” Ezio says.
“Do you have to be so picky?” Altair asks, still not looking up from his physics book. “Why can’t you just accept the sandwich like a normal person?”
“Because, mio amico, unlike some people in this room, I have standards when it comes to food,” Ezio with a sniff. “Besides, Connor doesn’t mind.” There’s a pause, and then Ezio glances at Connor. “Do you?”
Connor shrugs. “Not really,” he says.
“Not really? What do you mean not really?” Ezio frowns. “Because we don’t have to trade if you don’t want. I didn’t mean to force you.”
“Ezio, it’s fine. I don’t mind, really.”
“Are you sure? Because—“
“Connor, is there mayonnaise on this sandwich?” comes a sudden shriek from Altair’s spot on the couch, and all three men turn to look at their roommate, who is staring at his half-eaten sandwich with somewhat widened eyes and a half-open mouth, which, on Altair, is an expression equal to abject horror.
“Um, yes,” Connor says. “Why? Do you not like mayonnaise?”
Altair gives Connor a look that Desmond is fairly certain would make a lesser man piss himself. As it is, he’s shrinking as far back into the armchair as he can and Ezio has suddenly disappeared.
“Connor, I’m allergic to eggs,” Altair hisses.
“What?” Connor’s eyes widen. “Oh God, Altair, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—“
Altair punches him.
It’s a testament to how much he likes Connor that that’s all he does.
--
Altair spends the night in the bathroom puking his guts out. None of his roommates are brave enough to go in and check on him, which leads to a very annoyed Malik showing up at a little past midnight to help out. When a sleep-deprived, angry as hell Altair finally emerges from the bathroom the next morning, Desmond bolts for class and spends the next two nights sleeping on Clay’s couch.
Connor is horribly upset by the entire incident and spends the next week trying to make it up to Altair through various means, including making him meals, buying him special organic fair-trade coffee, doing his laundry and generally just following him around like a dog that thinks it’s upset its owner. It’s kind of cute but also gets annoying very easily, and Desmond thinks the only reason Altair puts up with it is because he loves being the center of attention.
Needless to say, they don’t try guys’ night again any time soon.
--
In fact, it’s another three months before Ezio gives it a shot, surprising everyone when he brings home Chinese take-out. He even remembers to get Connor something vegetarian and Altair something without eggs.
“This is great,” Desmond says as he cracks open his fortune cookie. “I was beginning to think we’d never find something we could agree on.”
“Me too, amico mio, me too.” Ezio grins. “But it seems our luck is finally holding, no? Look, even Altair’s going in for seconds!” He chuckles. “Io sono un genio.”
“Oh please,” Desmond says with an eye roll. “You just got lucky, that’s all.”
“Luck, genius—are they really so different? Perhaps luck is simply the name we give to genius that we don’t understand."
“You’ve been spending too much time in your philosophy class,” Altair mumbles. “This was luck. Especially since there was a ninety percent chance Connor wouldn’t have eaten it.”
Connor looks up from his plate and blinks. “Why wouldn’t I have eaten it?” he asks, confused.
“Well, because of the MSG,” Altair says simply.
There’s a pause.
“This food has MSG in it?!” Connor and Ezio yell at the same time, so loud that someone upstairs bangs on the floor, shouting at them to shut up.
--
So Chinese is out.
They decide to try Thai next, which fails because the closest Thai restaurant is twenty minutes away and doesn’t deliver.
After that, it’s Indian, which doesn’t work because Indian take-out is apparently ridiculously expensive in their city and no one is willing to fork over fifteen to twenty dollars per take-out meal.
Then it’s Mexican, which doesn’t work because Ezio decides he hates it after some spilled carnitas ruins one of his favorites dress shirts. Desmond thinks that this is ridiculous, but he’s overruled when Connor thinks they should respect Ezio’s wishes and Altair doesn’t care.
One night, Connor suggests take-out Italian, and Ezio almost murders him. This actually does little to deter him, but Altair pointing out that a good majority of Italian dishes have egg somewhere in them does.
Ezio tries bringing home gyros one night, and some spanakopita for Connor. They are all very shocked to learn that Desmond hates Greek food with a passion, something he refuses to expand on beyond saying that it brings back horrible childhood memories.
After that, they just kind of give up.
--
It’s a shame, really. Desmond was kind of looking forward to bonding with the guys.
--
And then one night, Altair comes home loaded with four huge bags of take-out.
“Surprise,” he says, setting the bags on the counter. “I bought dinner.” He looks up at his roommates with a small smile, which vanishes instantly when he sees them all staring at him in silent shock. “What?” he demands, scowling. “You guys don’t want food?”
“You bought food,” Desmond says in disbelief. “You.”
“Yes, me.” Altair rolls his eyes. “Why is that so surprising to everyone?”
“Altair, you hate food.”
“Si,” Ezio agrees. “Remember when you told me that you wouldn’t eat if you didn’t have to? Mi dispiace, but you’re the last person I want buying my dinner for me.”
“I don’t not like eating because I don’t like food, I don’t like eating because I have more important things to do,” Altair says as he starts taking boxes out of his bags. “And most food isn’t worth the time it takes to eat it.”
“But this food is?” Connor asks.
Altair smiles. “Yes,” he says, and opens one of the boxes.
The smell that hits Desmond’s nose is about as close to nirvana as he thinks he’s ever come.
“Holy ball sack,” he gasps, staring at the succulent looking pieces of meat sitting nestled on a small bed of rice. “What is that?”
“That is kefta kabob; a ground meat mixture of lamb and beef, seasoned with spices and grilled,” Altair explains as he begins opening more boxes. “This is lamb kabob; this is shawerma, spit roasted meat thinly shaved off; this is tabouleh, a bulgur and parsley salad; baba ghanouj, smoked eggplant dip; hummus, chickpea dip; falafel, fried chickpea patties—“
“Where did you get all of this?” Ezio asks, inching closer to the table as bit by bit, one of the most enticing meals Desmond has ever seen is revealed.
“A new Middle Eastern restaurant opened up near the Planetarium on campus,” Altair explains. “It’s run by a Palestinian family. They make everything from scratch, so Ezio can’t complain about quality; all the meat is halal certified, so Connor can’t complain about standards and practices; and it isn’t Greek food, so Desmond can’t complain that it’s Greek food.”
Altair opens the last box, which is filled with delightful-looking golden brown pastries. “And bavlawa for dessert,” he finishes, and gives them all a smug look. “So, you guys think you can agree on this?”
Desmond is already shoving the kefta kabob into his mouth.
It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten in his life.
--
Between the four of them, every last scrap of food is finished. Everyone is beyond stuffed, but also beyond satisfied, so they all fall asleep in the living room with aching tummies while trying to watch Pulp Fiction. The night is considered a roaring success.
And while Altair never says as much, the other three talk amongst themselves and decide that the reason Altair likes the Palestinian food so much is probably because it reminds him of Syria; and they all know he misses his homeland, even if he’d never admit to it.
So even if the food weren’t fabulous, which it is—beyond fabulous, even; Desmond is starting to think he could eat it every day for the rest of his life—they’d put up with it anyway, because Altair is their friend, and it makes him happy.
--
Some thoughts??
So basically when it comes to eating habits, my head canon is this:
- Ezio is super picky because he grew up in Italy and was always surrounded by good food.
- Connor is very in to the organic food movement, and while he's generally okay with eating non-organic vegetables from restaurants, he's very picky about the quality of his meat, both for health reasons and for animal cruelty reasons. So he likes meat, he just wants to make sure the chicken got to run around and be free for a while before he eats it.
- Altair doesn't generally like eating because it's inconvenient.
- Desmond will eat pretty much anything.