by Brock Law
towards him. Though guilty of the same, Will tried to resist arousing the suspicion of the two Presidents. Eventually, Vivienne’s lashes fluttered back to the window. Somewhere out on the pavement their gaze triangulated, as both strained to act casually. After kicking off her shoes, Vivienne tucked up her legs and pulled a blanket over her lap. She continued staring out, occasionally letting her eyes drift in his direction.
Will broke the silence. “Feeling better today?”
“Better,” Vivienne replied. “How do I look?”
“Better, back to normal,” Will complimented. “Does your neck still hurt?”
“It’s a little sore,” Vivienne pouted as she rubbed her nape in a circular motion. “I could really use a massage.”
Jefferson cleared his throat.
“I had my arm practically tenderized before every game. I could show you a good technique,” Will flirted.
Adams cleared his throat.
“I’m not sure it would do much good in my condition. I think I would need someone stronger to help me,” Vivienne provoked.
Jefferson and Adams both cleared their throats at the same time.
Vivienne ignored them, “Anyway, how are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Will shrugged nonchalantly.
Her head tilted shyly as she interpreted his inflection. “Would you believe me if I said I know how you feel?”
“I’m kind of an expert in things that are hard to believe,” Will joked.
Vivienne giggled, “I know how difficult it must be. If you ever want to talk about it…”
“Definitely, I do. I’m getting used to it. Just needed some time I guess.”
“Maybe when we land, I can show you my favorite café,” Vivienne offered. “We can relax there, and you can see what the culture is like.”
Will asked, “Do you have any tips for socializing with nine hundred year old crusaders?”
“Firstly, try and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day,” Vivienne urged.
As soon as the last word exited her mouth the plane jolted. Will’s fingers dug into the armrests. His chest felt heavy as the engines began to thrust, and gravity pinned him into the seat. The wind streamed over the wings, and whirred across the surface of the window. The tires bounced on the runway with a series of short squeals. His ears were already pounding. He gulped in rapid succession to clear his head. Forward momentum took over for down force, slowly releasing the pressure on his ribs. Suddenly, everything felt smooth. The tone of the jets evened out, and the plane tilted upward.
It still hadn’t seemed real until that exact moment, but now it was as crushing as the force which pushed him backwards into the chair. They were inclining fast. The buildings on the ground grew smaller, and the people insignificant. Puffs of smoke and clouds appeared outside the window, reminding Will to breathe again.
He looked at Vivienne who was curled up sleepily, undisturbed by the exodus. Lulled by the mechanical harmony, her eyes ticked shut. Seeing that despite her offer of empathy, she was useless, Will turned back to the changing atmosphere.
Eventually, he wearied from the stress and his mind began to wander. He tried to imagine what the Templars might say, how they dressed, and what Zurich would look like. He wondered what Vivienne thought of him, and what he thought of her. It was difficult to separate sincerity from what seemed disingenuous. The mystery drained him, until he too began to drift off.
After an unknown amount of time, Will reopened his eyes. His mouth was sticky and sour. Vivienne was fast asleep, her dark hair spun around her torso. He looked out the window on to a dimmer sky. Below the plane, the world was mountainous and densely forested.