The scene back on the street had of course not been an ideal one. But if that scenario was not ideal, this one was dreadful. A paunchy guard pressed on behind Elena and Alessandro, forcing them down a small corridor until they reached a holding cell outfitted with the standardized metal shackles. How odd, she thought, to leave the pair celled together.
The less than interested guard used his meaty hands to shove Elena's far more refined arms (now stripped of their ornate gauntlets) into the cold metal grip of the cuffs, chaining her to the wall with little more than the threadbare prison uniform she was issued and the wall to lean against. Alessandro received the same treatment, though through his garments a bloodstain was already being added to the many that preceeded it. The prison guards were less aggressive than the Templar puppets of the street posts, but to be asked to care for an assumed criminal was a stretch.
Alessandro slid down against the wall after the guard left, hitting the floor with a soft thud and a grunt. The exhaustion was apparent on his face, his entire body actually. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed. Elena frowned and looked to the guard who stood outside of their cell.
"Scusa," The guard looked over his shoulder at her, but did little else to acknowledge the woman, "This man needs the medico, surely you could escort him to see a doctor about his injuries?"
The guard let out a barely audible grunt and turned his gaze forward again. Elena narrowed her eyes at the man. "You wouldn't want your superior knowing you let a man bleed to death and make such a mess on your watch, would you?"
"Basta! You are to wait until they come to take you to your separate chambers. Then, you will be more concerned about yourself than your friend."
So they weren't being held together. That fell more in line with the separation of the prison's quarters, a wing for women and a different one for men. Still, she had a feeling she wasn't going to be kept with the petty thieves if the Templars could pull the strings in Le Stinche as well. Knowing Rodrigo Borgia's growing influence, it was not unlikely.
Not long after, another pair of guards approached. Elena was picked up and removed from her shackles rather raggedly, as Alessandro was served the same. Elena resisted, but was met with a club to her side as she was drug from the cell. Struggling, she could see Alessandro being dragged as well, but not because he was resisting: because he could not walk.
"Alessandro! Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine."
Those were the last words she expressed to him before the club met the back of her head and the blackness overtook her.
Elena awoke in a damp cell that smelled of mildew and bile. Both her feet and hands chained to a wall, she was enclosed by rock all around her and held in by a sturdy iron door. A dark figure appeared through the small window of the door, laughing as she roused.
"Good morning, Assassin. I hope you had a nice nap. You won't be getting any more sleep once the boss gets here."
Her mind was groggy, but one thing she knew now for certain: her fate was in the hands of the Templars.
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