hasani-river

[hasani-river]

@fratellanza \\ chapter 1: florence

Hasani had soft spots for people. People who were always women, and Enzo. Everyone else… everyone else would end up watching his always stoic expression study them, wanting for them to say something of worth. He wasn’t bored, not with most, he wasn’t cold either, not with everyone, but he simply didn’t enjoy his time being waisted. Which easily happened.

Allesia was a soft spot, even though rather like most others from the brotherhood, she had her own cuts and bruises - leave it to the Assassins to have no care for their own bodies - and like the others she’d been bleeding in the villa’s rooms enough times. But he would never mind her needing his help, while scolding most of her colleagues.

He watched her closely as she came in. A habit, when he felt like he’d seen no obvious injuries, he smiled up to her. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

[hasani-river]

@ofvengefulheart // chapter 1: florence

Hasani cared little about local politics, all of it gave him a headache, it was so many names to keep track off, so many power hungry people. All he cared for was his own craft and the completion of it. He kept tabs on important figures in Edinburgh, he wished to know how his home country was fairing, and he liked to know if he could continue his work without fear. Those wishes were mostly filled by his friend, or simply by word of mouth. His accent a combination of thick Scottish tone and the Egyptian Arabic he spoke in his home. If he spend enough time with people in Florence, it morphed again.

He stared at Enzo from the side of the table, looking up from his scribbled hand writing. “Someone’s dead, and someone in power goes mad,” he concluded. “You’d have to make the story more enticing to make it original. Ah, the emperor, one of them, the mad one, Nero? Did he not do the same?” A read man, Hasani merely recalled those things that interested him. Mad kings, yes. Politicas, no grazie.

[hasani-river]

@scfthxnds // 1500AD. Rome.

Hasani was too old to be an apprentice of any kind, too seasoned to learn many new things, and far too grumpy to be taking commands again. Regardless, he stood next to Sofia and looked onto the body on Enzo’s request. Not to stand in or help, but to learn. Though he wondered what learning he still had left.

The body had needed a shave, that was for certain.

“My professional opinion, he’s quite dead.”

[hasani-river]

Hasani didn’t normally find himself in cathedrals. Too many people, totally not his crowd as well, after all, he kept his own beliefs to himself, as close to his heart as possible, having perfected the ability of pretending to pray in the ways of christianity. Wasn’t that hard, his latin was on point. 

He spotted Jacopo pretty much on first glance, keeping himself to the entrance for a bit longer, before making his way towards the younger one. Though, while seen, Hasani doesn’t acknowledge the company of the other, as he goes to stand next to him, looking up at the gigantic structure. He’s seen the pyramids of Giza, this is tiny. 

late afternoon | five days later | florence cathedral | open

Jacopo doesn’t normally find himself in cathedrals. Too closed in, too full of cold stone, now too likely to be found perched on its roof instead. Sure, his father had his duties and his political allies were all members of the clergy, hiding power behind religion, but he had followed his mother’s lead and generally kept his distance.

It means that every time he steps inside, it is only then that he remembers how beautiful it can be.

He pauses in the entrance, wanting to drink in the detail across the ceiling, before he pulled his hood down further, shuffles into a pew at the back, watching the light paint the floor through the stained glass.

He doesn’t pray, but he kneels there for a long time, eyes open. Long enough to watch the light turn its back, for the beauty to turn golden and red across the walls. Long enough for someone to slip into the pew beside him.

[hasani-river]

º  . ✣   ⸻    the  italian   renaissance   welcomes   HASANI  RIVER  of  CAIRO,  the  THE  SURGEON  of  FLORENCE.   news   borne   by   ships  sends  word   that   he  bears  a   resemblance  to  BRIAN  TYREE  HENRY.   the   FORTY  year  old   CIS-MAN  is   reputed  to   be   EDUCATED  and  FORTHRIGHT,   but  with  papacy  spies   watching   their   every   move,  they  might  turn   out   to   be   METHODICAL  and   COLD.   when  history   is   recorded ,  the   documents   speak   of  GREAT  TALENT,  A  STEADY  HAND,  AND  THE  GREAT  NEED  TO  BRING  HIS  CRAFT  FORWARD.  whispers   throughout   italy   claim   that   their   allegiance   lies   with  THE  ASSASSIN  BROTHERHOOD,   where   they   conspire   to  GAIN  ACCESS  TO  THE  LATEST  ADVANCEMENTS  IN  THE  MEDICAL  FIELD.    (niek,  29,  cet,  they/them.   )

— Biography

Hasani, named by the elder of the tribe his family once belonged to, can trace his origins through many perilous tales told to him by his mother, his grandmother, and all the other mothers and women who had a hand in raising him. They told him tails of the gods, of the great Alexander, and of the Romans who once took the city of Cairo. About a people who lived all along the Nile river in the greatest empire the world had ever seen.

Hasani however knew the past may lay at the river Nile, the future lay in colder venues many miles away from home. One day when he was only thirteen years old, he boarded a ship to the land of the English, together with his best friend. They arrived many months later after having worked for their crossing and meals on the ship, in Edinburgh. Hasani had a dream, like the great Anubis, he would learn the body, he would preform on it and help those who needed his steady hands to remove or attach. He knocked on the door of the soon-to-become greatest university of Surgeons in the world, and demanded to be let in. His demands went unheard for many years, till after much pleading, protesting, and a few silent marches, Hasani - who had no last name he was capable of remembering - River became the first African member of the Barber-Surgeons of Edinburgh (the royal college not being established until 1505).

He went through much training, watching his field become more and more difficult with every surgeon who came around to learn new things, and eventually, when his education was successful, a new opportunity presented itself. His old friend had not taken the same path as him, instead finding himself on the road to Florence and becoming a part of a secretive Brotherhood that he spoke little about. When he heard of Hasani’s new profession, he was quick to invite him to Florence, and to find he would be well rewarded in secrets and bodies to work on. All for the prize of helping every unfortunate soul that passed under his hands.

Eventually he landed within the halls of Villa Valente, offering his skills, in return for knowledge, slowly learning what the secretive organisation stands for.

— Wanted Connections

Bodies of the living (-) members of the Brotherhood who have found themselves in such situations to require a surgeon (or barber) at the Villa Valente.

Works of the studious (-) citizens of Florence who have either sat through one of his many rants about his profession or have dared him on occassion to prove one of his theories.

Failures of the reckless (-) random strangers of all walks of life who have found themselves scolded by this aging surgeon after pushing their body to any sort of physical limit.

Beards of the young (-) people with proper beard-grow from all walks of life who have found that in Edinburgh one who holds surgeon as their profession also has had training as a barber.

Friends in old age (-) those who - despite Hasani’s constant bragging that he doesn’t need friends - have become friends.

[hasani-river]

BRIAN TYREE HENRY | CASSIUS FALL 2022