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Untitled for Now
series: Ouran High School Host Club, Assassin's Creed
characters/pairings: TBD, maybe Tamaki/Kyouya/Ezio/Leonardo if I can figure out how that would work.
rating: PG, this is subject to change
summary: Assassins and Hosts put together. What could possibly go wrong?
note: This is not done yet, but it's only saved on my iPod right now and I'm too lazy to turn on my computer to transfer it so I'm just posting it here now. It will most likely be edited and added to periodically. Espcially since I have to work Leonardo into it somehow because he's not in it at the moment. :|
The room spinning, his head pounding, and the distinct feeling of bile making its way up his throat are the most noticeable things right now; the only things he really notices as his vision is too blurry to see anything clearly and he lacks the strength to move and survey his surroundings through touch. He swears he can hear a group muffled voices coming from somewhere, speaking a language he can't understand, wouldn't understand even if he recognized it. Too many people are speaking at once for him to be able to pick out just one and focus on what it has to say, least of all in the state he's in. The floor is cold and hard and it makes the wound at his stomach sting unbearably and it takes all of his energy to get on his hands and knees, only to find himself emptying the contents of his wounded stomach and collapsing back on the floor - on his back this time, thankfully, so as to avoid putting any unnecessary pressure on his injury.
He swallows hard, the taste of his own vomit strong and unpleasant in his mouth and he'd like nothing more right now than a glass of water to wash it out. He continues to lie there for a few more minutes and eventually some of the nausea fades and he managed to open his eyes and see something other than black spots and clouds that obstruct what's actually in front of him. The place is totally unfamiliar and he can't remember ever being in a place like this. The walls are all painted pink and aside from shelves upon shelves of things he's never seen before there's not much in here. With some difficulty, Ezio manages to drag himself up to his feet, some of his previous nausea coming back, but he doesn't let that stop him. At the very least, he’ll drag himself through that door, get an idea of where he is, and what this room filled with strange things is. The Apple, just a few inches from him, does not escape his notice and he wonders if it has anything to do with his current situation.
He makes it as far as that thought and a few steps before he has to lean against the shelves for support. The wound isn’t quite as bad as one would think, but between the disorientation he still feels and the fact that it is still a wound, he’s having a harder time than he might usually have. It’s hardly helped by the sickeningly sweet smell coming from one of the packages on the shelves – no, that only serves to make his nausea worsen. Vaguely, he can hear someone outside the door, probably right in front of it, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and hid himself. All he can do is hold his wound, breathe heavily, and wait for the person to come in. they’re talking to someone and despite the fact that he is thinking slightly more clearly now, he still can’t understand a word they’re saying. It’s a language he’s never heard until now, that much is certain.
The person who enters is small and slight of frame, feminine, but resembles a boy far too much to pass them off either way just yet. The person’s eyes widen, clearly shocked by the sight of the bloody man whose only half conscious. They turn to look behind them, calling out another word he doesn’t know – it’s possible it’s a name; “sempai” it sounds like. That’s all he manages to recall before he’s on the floor again, the last vestiges of consciousness leaving him.
The person who found him – Haruhi, as she’s (because despite all appearances, she is, in fact, a she) called by those familiar with her – runs over, worried, confused, scared, and more than a little annoyed at the mess left by this man because she knows that she’ll have to be the one to clean it up later on. A group of six boys come in after her, the much larger group of girls long gone already, before Haruhi had even approached the door of the Host Club’s snack room. They all have mixed expressions of fright, confusion, and worry – save for the two dark haired boys who stand toward the back of the group. They somehow seem very indifferent towards this whole strange situation.
The taller of those two boys is sent by one of the blondes – the taller one, the one that Haruhi had called “sempai”, (but whose name is actually Tamaki, as Ezio will later learn) – to get bandages. First things first, this man is wounded and needs help; they can try and figure out what’s going on after they take care of that. The bandages arrive soon enough and Haruhi takes care of wrapping the wound once they manage to remove his armor and extremely old fashioned clothes. It’s a job that might have been better left for Kyouya, given his family’s business, but he reminds them that while the do own hospitals, he is not a doctor, nor does he have any medical training. Besides, he’d rather not risk getting blood on his hands and uniform.
They bring him to one of the couches – an task which takes two people since their strongest is too small to carry this much larger man, and their second strongest is busy holding the strongest. They sit around him, mostly silent aside from a brief discussion of what they should do. They should tell a teacher, maybe even Tamaki’s father, but how would they explain it? A wounded, bloody man just magically appeared in the closet? Only Tamaki thought that would be a good idea. And what of his clothes? They look like they’re from the 15th century, to say nothing of the armor that clearly indicates he is some sort of warrior.
characters/pairings: TBD, maybe Tamaki/Kyouya/Ezio/Leonardo if I can figure out how that would work.
rating: PG, this is subject to change
summary: Assassins and Hosts put together. What could possibly go wrong?
note: This is not done yet, but it's only saved on my iPod right now and I'm too lazy to turn on my computer to transfer it so I'm just posting it here now. It will most likely be edited and added to periodically. Espcially since I have to work Leonardo into it somehow because he's not in it at the moment. :|
The room spinning, his head pounding, and the distinct feeling of bile making its way up his throat are the most noticeable things right now; the only things he really notices as his vision is too blurry to see anything clearly and he lacks the strength to move and survey his surroundings through touch. He swears he can hear a group muffled voices coming from somewhere, speaking a language he can't understand, wouldn't understand even if he recognized it. Too many people are speaking at once for him to be able to pick out just one and focus on what it has to say, least of all in the state he's in. The floor is cold and hard and it makes the wound at his stomach sting unbearably and it takes all of his energy to get on his hands and knees, only to find himself emptying the contents of his wounded stomach and collapsing back on the floor - on his back this time, thankfully, so as to avoid putting any unnecessary pressure on his injury.
He swallows hard, the taste of his own vomit strong and unpleasant in his mouth and he'd like nothing more right now than a glass of water to wash it out. He continues to lie there for a few more minutes and eventually some of the nausea fades and he managed to open his eyes and see something other than black spots and clouds that obstruct what's actually in front of him. The place is totally unfamiliar and he can't remember ever being in a place like this. The walls are all painted pink and aside from shelves upon shelves of things he's never seen before there's not much in here. With some difficulty, Ezio manages to drag himself up to his feet, some of his previous nausea coming back, but he doesn't let that stop him. At the very least, he’ll drag himself through that door, get an idea of where he is, and what this room filled with strange things is. The Apple, just a few inches from him, does not escape his notice and he wonders if it has anything to do with his current situation.
He makes it as far as that thought and a few steps before he has to lean against the shelves for support. The wound isn’t quite as bad as one would think, but between the disorientation he still feels and the fact that it is still a wound, he’s having a harder time than he might usually have. It’s hardly helped by the sickeningly sweet smell coming from one of the packages on the shelves – no, that only serves to make his nausea worsen. Vaguely, he can hear someone outside the door, probably right in front of it, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and hid himself. All he can do is hold his wound, breathe heavily, and wait for the person to come in. they’re talking to someone and despite the fact that he is thinking slightly more clearly now, he still can’t understand a word they’re saying. It’s a language he’s never heard until now, that much is certain.
The person who enters is small and slight of frame, feminine, but resembles a boy far too much to pass them off either way just yet. The person’s eyes widen, clearly shocked by the sight of the bloody man whose only half conscious. They turn to look behind them, calling out another word he doesn’t know – it’s possible it’s a name; “sempai” it sounds like. That’s all he manages to recall before he’s on the floor again, the last vestiges of consciousness leaving him.
The person who found him – Haruhi, as she’s (because despite all appearances, she is, in fact, a she) called by those familiar with her – runs over, worried, confused, scared, and more than a little annoyed at the mess left by this man because she knows that she’ll have to be the one to clean it up later on. A group of six boys come in after her, the much larger group of girls long gone already, before Haruhi had even approached the door of the Host Club’s snack room. They all have mixed expressions of fright, confusion, and worry – save for the two dark haired boys who stand toward the back of the group. They somehow seem very indifferent towards this whole strange situation.
The taller of those two boys is sent by one of the blondes – the taller one, the one that Haruhi had called “sempai”, (but whose name is actually Tamaki, as Ezio will later learn) – to get bandages. First things first, this man is wounded and needs help; they can try and figure out what’s going on after they take care of that. The bandages arrive soon enough and Haruhi takes care of wrapping the wound once they manage to remove his armor and extremely old fashioned clothes. It’s a job that might have been better left for Kyouya, given his family’s business, but he reminds them that while the do own hospitals, he is not a doctor, nor does he have any medical training. Besides, he’d rather not risk getting blood on his hands and uniform.
They bring him to one of the couches – an task which takes two people since their strongest is too small to carry this much larger man, and their second strongest is busy holding the strongest. They sit around him, mostly silent aside from a brief discussion of what they should do. They should tell a teacher, maybe even Tamaki’s father, but how would they explain it? A wounded, bloody man just magically appeared in the closet? Only Tamaki thought that would be a good idea. And what of his clothes? They look like they’re from the 15th century, to say nothing of the armor that clearly indicates he is some sort of warrior.