[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<b [...] now.>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
<b Proper post now. Anon is sorry for her earlier fail. :( /b>
<b WARNING: There is some racism in this chapter. I myself do not condone racism in any way, shape, or form, but considering the time period, I don't believe that Connor would have been treated with the same respect an Englishman like Haytham would have been given. Unfortunately. /b>
--
The inn Haytham had spoken of was on the outskirts of town, and it certainly <i looked /i> cheap. Calling the building dilapidated would have been generous. The door was hanging off of its’ hinges, most of the windows were cracked or so dirty that nothing could be seen through them, and it looked to Connor as if more than a few shingles were missing from the roof. What little paint was left on the building had gone gray and was peeling. Still, Connor had rested in worse places. This dump of an inn couldn’t possibly be worse than the time he and Kanen'tó:kon had spent the night pressed together in what had to be the world’s smallest cave, while a thunderstorm raged outside. At least Connor would be safe from the elements in here…probably. He wasn’t entirely convinced that a strong gust of wind wouldn’t blow the place right over.
Inside wasn’t much better. Connor tried hard not to think about the source of what he was smelling right now. The place didn’t look as if it had been cleaned at any point in the last several years. Haytham looked positively revolted. Clearly, his rich gentlemanly self had never actually stayed anywhere this low-class before. Connor felt a brief surge of anger at the thought of his father sitting in a mansion, perhaps having a glass of expensive wine with Charles Lee, and not sparing a single thought for Ziio or his son.
The woman at the counter gave Haytham and Connor a dirty look as she wiped at a glass with a corner of her ragged apron. “If the two of ye want liquor, then go someplace else. I don’t serve savages,” she said in a coarse, harsh voice. She glared at Haytham, who looked as if someone had just slapped him in the face with a raw fish. Connor felt a brief surge of satisfaction at seeing his father like that. Haytham, being a wealthy Englishman, had probably been fawned over and doted on his entire life. Being treated like Connor was on a daily basis, like some sort of filthy creature unfit to mingle with polite society, had to be quite an unpleasant experience for him.
Haytham opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. When he actually did speak a moment later, it was in a voice of rather forced calm. “Actually, we’d like to rent a room for the night. The, er…cleanest one you have, if you please.”
“You deaf? I just <i said /i> that I don’t serve your kind here! Don’t need any half-breeds mucking about in my ‘stablishment. ‘Specially not when they look as if they’ve been drinkin’ half the night.” The woman slammed the glass down on a shelf behind her and turned to look at Haytham’s (though in reality Connor’s) vomit-stained clothing with undisguised disgust, her face pinched into tight, cruel wrinkles.
Connor stepped in before Haytham could say or do something that would cause the proprietor to call the guards. The man certainly looked angry enough to, at this point. “We have money,” he said, searching through Haytham’s waistcoat for his coinpurse, growing increasingly nervous when he couldn’t find it. The woman was staring at him now, brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s in the cloak,” Haytham said quietly as Connor twisted around to check Haytham’s breeches for pockets. The Assassin nodded, and after a moment procured a small velvet bag from the hidden pocket sewn into Haytham’s cloak. He plunked it down on the counter in front of the woman, who counted the coins inside twice in quick succession. Her face broke out into a greedy smile as she clutched the purse in one gnarled hand.
“If you’ll follow me.” The woman led Haytham and Connor up a rickety old staircase, and into a room which looked just as dingy as the rest of the inn. “This’s the best room I have, and I don’t want no trouble, y’hear! I got no problems calling the guards if I find anythin’ missin’ come morning.” The woman glared at Haytham one last time before leaving. Haytham closed the door behind her.
“What the <i hell /i> was that about?” He demanded the second he was sure that the irritable hag had gone back downstairs. “You gave her all my money!”
“I did not see you coming up with any better ideas!” Connor crossed his arms and scowled at Haytham.
“That’s because she was <i insulting /i> me the entire time!”
“No,” Connor said quietly. “She was insulting <i me /i>.”
Haytham’s eyes widened at this realization. For a brief moment Connor saw a look of pity flicker over his face, before his expression once again hardened into anger. Connor felt a renewed surge of anger himself at this. The last thing the Assassin wanted was for his father to pity him. And using <i Connor’s /i> body to do it, no less! “This is all <i your /i> fault,” he growled out.
“And why is that, pray tell? I’m not exactly happy to be stuck in your body either, if you haven’t noticed.” Haytham angrily brushed a few strands of dark hair out of his eyes. “And do stop speaking like that, by the way. You sound like you’re from one of London’s poorer districts.”
“Wha-? <i You /i> sound as if I’m pretending to be a ‘proper Englishman,’ and failing miserably at it!”
“At least I’m <i trying /i>. You, on the other hand, will surely cause irreparable damage to my vocal cords if you insist on speaking to me in that manner.”
Connor stormed forward and jammed his finger in Haytham’s (his) chest. Seeing his father looking so superior, even when in his son’s body, was not helping Connor to calm down in the least. “Enough of this. What was that thing you were carrying?”
“What <i thing /i>? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever it was that caused us to switch bodies like this when we both touched it! The thing you were looking for when you woke up! That <ithing /i>.”
Haytham sighed and looked away. Having your own body glare at you with such an expression of rage and hate was quite unsettling, to say the least. He’d have to tell Connor <i something /i> now, or else the boy would start a fight and damage Haytham’s body. Or Connor might run off, and get up to all sorts of antics in Haytham’s body that could ruin his reputation. The thought chilled him. Still, just because he needed Connor unhurt and close by didn’t mean that Haytham had to tell his son everything.
“The item of which you speak is a piece of crystal that I found on Church just before you killed him. It seemed to be rather old, and possibly valuable as well, so I took it. I was planning on taking it to the market to be appraised when it fell out of my pocket and then…<i this /i> happened. I have no idea why it happened, or why Church had such a thing with him.” This last bit was unfortunately true. Haytham doubted that anyone, Templar or Assassin, really knew how the Pieces of Eden worked. And he wished he knew how Church of all people was able to get his thieving hands on one.
“And you do not know where it is now?” Connor bit out, obviously still angry.
“If I knew, don’t you think that I would have used it to put us back in our proper forms by now? Use your head, child.”
“But…that means it could be anywhere…” All anger seemed to drain from the Assassin. He slumped down on the bed in the kind of despondent pose Haytham was sure his body had never done before. “We might never find it. What if we are stuck like this forever?” Connor looked horrified by the thought. Haytham briefly wondered if the boy would ever make an expression he <i didn’t /i> mind seeing on his proper face.
Haytham just barely managed to mask the panic he felt at the thought. “We’ll start looking for the crystal first thing in the morning. It won’t do us any good to look now, not when it’s dark and we’re both in bodies we aren’t used to.”
If only to make Connor stop looking so damn pathetic while in <i his /i> body, Haytham made a stab at comforting him. “We <i will /i> find it, Connor. New York may be large, but there are ways of finding anything. Now sit up straight, you look quite undignified.”
Connor shot him an annoyed glare. “Fine, then. I only hope that we find it soon.”
“As do I. Now get some sleep.” Haytham made to get into the bed next to Connor, but stopped when Connor got up and lay down on the floor. “What are you doing, boy? Get back in the bed!”
“I am not sleeping on <i that /i>.” Connor’s lip curled at the thought of it. “It looks as if mold is growing on the sheets.”
Haytham had to agree with his son on that one. Upon closer inspection, the bedsheets looked foul and smelled even fouler. Grumbling to himself, he laid down on the floor as well.
Sleep was a long time coming for them both that night, and the rats scrabbling away in the inn’s walls didn’t make it any easier.
Re: Fill: Body Swap 3/?
<b WARNING: There is some racism in this chapter. I myself do not condone racism in any way, shape, or form, but considering the time period, I don't believe that Connor would have been treated with the same respect an Englishman like Haytham would have been given. Unfortunately. /b>
--
The inn Haytham had spoken of was on the outskirts of town, and it certainly <i looked /i> cheap. Calling the building dilapidated would have been generous. The door was hanging off of its’ hinges, most of the windows were cracked or so dirty that nothing could be seen through them, and it looked to Connor as if more than a few shingles were missing from the roof. What little paint was left on the building had gone gray and was peeling. Still, Connor had rested in worse places. This dump of an inn couldn’t possibly be worse than the time he and Kanen'tó:kon had spent the night pressed together in what had to be the world’s smallest cave, while a thunderstorm raged outside. At least Connor would be safe from the elements in here…probably. He wasn’t entirely convinced that a strong gust of wind wouldn’t blow the place right over.
Inside wasn’t much better. Connor tried hard not to think about the source of what he was smelling right now. The place didn’t look as if it had been cleaned at any point in the last several years. Haytham looked positively revolted. Clearly, his rich gentlemanly self had never actually stayed anywhere this low-class before. Connor felt a brief surge of anger at the thought of his father sitting in a mansion, perhaps having a glass of expensive wine with Charles Lee, and not sparing a single thought for Ziio or his son.
The woman at the counter gave Haytham and Connor a dirty look as she wiped at a glass with a corner of her ragged apron. “If the two of ye want liquor, then go someplace else. I don’t serve savages,” she said in a coarse, harsh voice. She glared at Haytham, who looked as if someone had just slapped him in the face with a raw fish. Connor felt a brief surge of satisfaction at seeing his father like that. Haytham, being a wealthy Englishman, had probably been fawned over and doted on his entire life. Being treated like Connor was on a daily basis, like some sort of filthy creature unfit to mingle with polite society, had to be quite an unpleasant experience for him.
Haytham opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. When he actually did speak a moment later, it was in a voice of rather forced calm. “Actually, we’d like to rent a room for the night. The, er…cleanest one you have, if you please.”
“You deaf? I just <i said /i> that I don’t serve your kind here! Don’t need any half-breeds mucking about in my ‘stablishment. ‘Specially not when they look as if they’ve been drinkin’ half the night.” The woman slammed the glass down on a shelf behind her and turned to look at Haytham’s (though in reality Connor’s) vomit-stained clothing with undisguised disgust, her face pinched into tight, cruel wrinkles.
Connor stepped in before Haytham could say or do something that would cause the proprietor to call the guards. The man certainly looked angry enough to, at this point. “We have money,” he said, searching through Haytham’s waistcoat for his coinpurse, growing increasingly nervous when he couldn’t find it. The woman was staring at him now, brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s in the cloak,” Haytham said quietly as Connor twisted around to check Haytham’s breeches for pockets. The Assassin nodded, and after a moment procured a small velvet bag from the hidden pocket sewn into Haytham’s cloak. He plunked it down on the counter in front of the woman, who counted the coins inside twice in quick succession. Her face broke out into a greedy smile as she clutched the purse in one gnarled hand.
“If you’ll follow me.” The woman led Haytham and Connor up a rickety old staircase, and into a room which looked just as dingy as the rest of the inn. “This’s the best room I have, and I don’t want no trouble, y’hear! I got no problems calling the guards if I find anythin’ missin’ come morning.” The woman glared at Haytham one last time before leaving. Haytham closed the door behind her.
“What the <i hell /i> was that about?” He demanded the second he was sure that the irritable hag had gone back downstairs. “You gave her all my money!”
“I did not see you coming up with any better ideas!” Connor crossed his arms and scowled at Haytham.
“That’s because she was <i insulting /i> me the entire time!”
“No,” Connor said quietly. “She was insulting <i me /i>.”
Haytham’s eyes widened at this realization. For a brief moment Connor saw a look of pity flicker over his face, before his expression once again hardened into anger. Connor felt a renewed surge of anger himself at this. The last thing the Assassin wanted was for his father to pity him. And using <i Connor’s /i> body to do it, no less! “This is all <i your /i> fault,” he growled out.
“And why is that, pray tell? I’m not exactly happy to be stuck in your body either, if you haven’t noticed.” Haytham angrily brushed a few strands of dark hair out of his eyes. “And do stop speaking like that, by the way. You sound like you’re from one of London’s poorer districts.”
“Wha-? <i You /i> sound as if I’m pretending to be a ‘proper Englishman,’ and failing miserably at it!”
“At least I’m <i trying /i>. You, on the other hand, will surely cause irreparable damage to my vocal cords if you insist on speaking to me in that manner.”
Connor stormed forward and jammed his finger in Haytham’s (his) chest. Seeing his father looking so superior, even when in his son’s body, was not helping Connor to calm down in the least. “Enough of this. What was that thing you were carrying?”
“What <i thing /i>? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever it was that caused us to switch bodies like this when we both touched it! The thing you were looking for when you woke up! That <ithing /i>.”
Haytham sighed and looked away. Having your own body glare at you with such an expression of rage and hate was quite unsettling, to say the least. He’d have to tell Connor <i something /i> now, or else the boy would start a fight and damage Haytham’s body. Or Connor might run off, and get up to all sorts of antics in Haytham’s body that could ruin his reputation. The thought chilled him. Still, just because he needed Connor unhurt and close by didn’t mean that Haytham had to tell his son everything.
“The item of which you speak is a piece of crystal that I found on Church just before you killed him. It seemed to be rather old, and possibly valuable as well, so I took it. I was planning on taking it to the market to be appraised when it fell out of my pocket and then…<i this /i> happened. I have no idea why it happened, or why Church had such a thing with him.” This last bit was unfortunately true. Haytham doubted that anyone, Templar or Assassin, really knew how the Pieces of Eden worked. And he wished he knew how Church of all people was able to get his thieving hands on one.
“And you do not know where it is now?” Connor bit out, obviously still angry.
“If I knew, don’t you think that I would have used it to put us back in our proper forms by now? Use your head, child.”
“But…that means it could be anywhere…” All anger seemed to drain from the Assassin. He slumped down on the bed in the kind of despondent pose Haytham was sure his body had never done before. “We might never find it. What if we are stuck like this forever?” Connor looked horrified by the thought. Haytham briefly wondered if the boy would ever make an expression he <i didn’t /i> mind seeing on his proper face.
Haytham just barely managed to mask the panic he felt at the thought. “We’ll start looking for the crystal first thing in the morning. It won’t do us any good to look now, not when it’s dark and we’re both in bodies we aren’t used to.”
If only to make Connor stop looking so damn pathetic while in <i his /i> body, Haytham made a stab at comforting him. “We <i will /i> find it, Connor. New York may be large, but there are ways of finding anything. Now sit up straight, you look quite undignified.”
Connor shot him an annoyed glare. “Fine, then. I only hope that we find it soon.”
“As do I. Now get some sleep.” Haytham made to get into the bed next to Connor, but stopped when Connor got up and lay down on the floor. “What are you doing, boy? Get back in the bed!”
“I am not sleeping on <i that /i>.” Connor’s lip curled at the thought of it. “It looks as if mold is growing on the sheets.”
Haytham had to agree with his son on that one. Upon closer inspection, the bedsheets looked foul and smelled even fouler. Grumbling to himself, he laid down on the floor as well.
Sleep was a long time coming for them both that night, and the rats scrabbling away in the inn’s walls didn’t make it any easier.