And Ezio, buoyed by the transformations he's seen of shattered brotherhoods, firm: "And you believe that? In your heart, the dream is little more than a fairy story, and if Falconer arrived tomorrow, you would tell her so with this same frustration?"
The question shocks jagged laughter from Kovacs. He shakes his head. "If Quell was here? Right now?"
He turns his head, hand over his eyes. All sounds feel distant. Even Quell's image, haunting him from a distance of inches, feels mournful. The laughter peters off.
He leans against a stone wall, feeling the cold seep into the skin of his back. He hopes his sweat stains the marble.
"That's a good taunt. Try it again when I'm paying less attention."
Ezio watches for a second, and that raw little note –– Quell, a nickname –– makes Kovacs' dismissal of the cause feel that much more desperate. It is not lost on him that in other circumstances, they could kill each other. Here, that cause is the thread Ezio must cling to.
"And a good deflection," Ezio replies. It was a taunt, too, but they both know it; it doesn't need to be said. It also doesn't need to be re-asked. He just heads back off into his mothers' old quarters. Dinnertime.
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He turns his head, hand over his eyes. All sounds feel distant. Even Quell's image, haunting him from a distance of inches, feels mournful. The laughter peters off.
He leans against a stone wall, feeling the cold seep into the skin of his back. He hopes his sweat stains the marble.
"That's a good taunt. Try it again when I'm paying less attention."
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"And a good deflection," Ezio replies. It was a taunt, too, but they both know it; it doesn't need to be said. It also doesn't need to be re-asked. He just heads back off into his mothers' old quarters. Dinnertime.