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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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✩ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
✩ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Fills Only
Discussion
FILL 4/?
(Anonymous) 2012-11-24 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)Oh, also 'invert' was the polite term people used to talk about homosexuals before the word 'homosexuality' was invented.
The first thing Connor does when Haytham and Charles leave is to shut the door and search for possible escape routes. The templars have probably thought of everything, but he has to try, nonetheless. He tries not to think about Haytham's revelation. He hasn't got time for an identity crisis. Not while he still has a chance of getting out of this mess.
Just as he'd feared, the windows only open a little. If he was a child, he could squeeze through, but the drop would seriously hurt one so small. The fireplace is blocked by a large grate, built right into the stones. There is no way of dislodging it. There are no other possible exits to the room, aside from the door.
He peers through a window, trying to see where he is. He'd guess it's one of thise grand estates, probably not far from New York. Even if he did find a way from the mansion without being caught, the lawns are vast, sloping down a steep hill. He would be seen straight away, and he can see lamp posts dotted around the perimeter and the path to the house. What would they do to him if he were caught escaping? He has nothing he can exploit, no ace up his sleeve. He is tired and weakened. He couldn't fight a group of Templars in this state, much less the highest-ranked of their Order.
He curses under his breath. It would be best then to speak with the servants, try to garner as much information as possible, even if it might be false. Actually, he could really use a bath and something to drink. Before he was captured, he'd spent two days running through the slums of New York, getting covered in blood and god-knows-what. He'd not had time to properly eat or sleep during that time, much less wash. One of the servant would be able to direct him to the washroom, and he could talk to them then, perhaps get them to sympathise with him and his plight. It's not much of a plan, but it's the best he has.
He pads down the corridor, trying to retrace his steps. He is soon completely lost. After god-knows-how-long of wandering, he sees a maid at the end of a hallway. He thanks the spirits silently. This place is a maze.
"Hello?" he calls. "I'm lost."
She smiles politely, and walks to him. There's something odd about her, though Connor hasn't ever really spoken to a servant before, nor has he spoken very much to Colonist women. He hopes he's just being paranoid.
"How can I help, sir?"
"I... uh, I was actually wondering if maybe I could have a bath. And something to drink. It's been a long couple of days."
She gives him a tiny curtsey.
"This way, sir. Is there anything else?"
"I also have some questions."
"I'll be happy to answer them, sir."
Connor nods, and follows the girl to a small, stone room. There's a large tin tub in the corner, a small chest of drawers, a few hooks on the wall. The maid pulls at a string hanging from the ceiling. He hears the faint tinkle of a bell. She bustles around the room, lighting candles and fetching soaps and washcloths from the drawers.
"Somebody will be along in a moment to fill the tub, and fetch you a towel and new clothes, sir. Your questions?"
Connor asks her everything he can think of, about whether Haytham really is an invert, who the members of the inner circle are, details of the history and layout of the mansion. Every now and again, someone else enters, bringing a pail of scalding water, pouring it into the tub.
It's strange that the maid knows so much about the Order and its members. And then Connor realises why. He wasn't just being paranoid.
"You're a Templar, aren't you?"
"That I am, sir," she says, giving another tiny curtsey. "I'm glad the Grand Master has decided to help you see the error of your ways. You seem a decent sort, sir."
Connor is speechless. How many in number are the Order? How many ordinary citizens have been coerced to their side? How could they be so twisted as to think his imprisonment is a good thing?
The second maid appears again, this time with neatly folded cloth in her arms, and a comb. Connor takes the pile from her, and she leaves.
"It seems your bath is ready, sir," the maid says. "You'll find some tea waiting for you in your room when you get back."
She curtseys politely once more and leaves. Connor makes sure to bolt the door before peeling off his clothes as fast as he can. This place is not safe. He is going to leave the first chance he gets.
...
When he finds his way back to his rooms- with the help of a manservant- he paces anxiously. He thinks about how he might defend himself from the servants should Haytham change his mind. He thinks about setting up some sort of early warning system in case somebody intrudes on him in the night, a bell tied to the doorknob, perhaps.
He pours himself some tea and sweetens it as much as he can. He doesn't understand why the Colonists are so addicted to the stuff. He thinks about how he misses his old, worn clothes from the homestead. He might look good in formal waiscoats, but they do not feel right. He thinks about what is to come, whether he can stay strong to the Creed and the Brotherhood. He hopes that he will return to Achilles soon, bruised and broken maybe, but still strong in his convictions.
He sits on the edge of the bed, fidgeting. He wonders who his father actually is. A white man, certainly, his skin colour proves that. He wonders why his mother lied. Perhaps he was concieved of rape, and his mother had coped by telling herself a falsehood. Perhaps she had planned to tell him the truth when he grew older, when she could admit it to herself. Perhaps she had simply been mistaken. Perhaps the falsehood had become reality to her.
He combs his hair as it dries, wondering what to do with it. Perhaps he will leave it loose, to distance himself from the 'civilised' templars. A small rebellion.
He is jerked from his thoughts by a knocking at his door. The time has flown. He is a little afraid to answer the door, in case it's somebody unexpected. Hickey and Lee don't like him, and as much as he hates to admit it, Haytham is probably the closest thing he has to an ally right now.
"Yes?" he says, opening the door. No need to fear, Haytham is standing there, casting a critical glance over his clothes and hair.
"You've done well," Haytham says, after a very long three seconds. "This way."
The mansion is becoming more familiar to Connor, if only a little. He recognises the corrior that leads to Haytham's study, and the hall where the bathing room is. Finally, they stop in front of a grand set of double-doors, carefully engraved with beautiful floral patterns.
"I expect you to behave," Haytham murmurs, before opening one door, holding it open for Connor.
The dining hall is large enough for several tables, though only one is being used right now. He recognises the men seated, from the paintings in Achilles' training room. Haytham gestures to the chair opposite his own, at the end of the table. Connor sits, feeling the eyes of the inner circle upon him. He's starting to feel like a piece of meat.
Haytham introduces the men quickly. Hickey and Lee smile, though not in a good way. Johnson, Pitcairn and Church give him wary glances and polite greetings. Connor stares at the table, wondering why there are so many knives and forks. A man only has two arms, after all.
"...And as I'm sure you're aware, gentlemen, this is Connor Ken--"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton," he interrupts. "My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."
"I can't pronounce that," Haytham says, looking irritated at the interruption. Lee looks especially murderous. Before an argument can break out, Johnson smiles and starts asking questions.
"You're a Native, aren't you? Half-caste by the look of things. What tribe are you from?"
"Mohawk," Connor admits, after a few seconds. He doesn't like Johnson knowing anything about him. He's a thief, even if it's for a good cause.
"Oh?" Johnson switches to Connor's native tongue. "This must be a very different experience for you. Have you ever been at a formal dinner like this?"
"No," Connor replies, in English. "I have not."
Johnson looks a little crestfallen. A servant comes in with a starter, a soup of some sort. Connor's never really liked soup. It's a sick-person food, something you'd give to the elderly. He glares at it, even as the others start to eat. It's probably poisoned or drugged or something. He lifts his eyes for a moment. Hickey and Lee are arguing about something,
"I had hoped you might indulge me. It has been a while since I've been able to speak in a Native tongue. Your languages are extremely interesting, so very different to English. Our cultures are so similar in some ways, and yet so different in most. Your technology is primitive, but your arts are sublime! We're the other way round, you see."
Connor can't decide what he thinks of Johnson's overbearing nature. Is it worse than those with open hatred of his kind? Either way, he doesn't particularly like the way Johnson is interrogating him, like a dissection. He is a person, not a specimen for scientific study.
"Isn't it rude to conduct studies at the dinner table, William?" Haytham interjects. Connor is grateful, until Haytham continues. "I'm surprised you haven't touched your soup. Surely you're starving after, what? Three days without proper nourishment?"
Connor mumbles something that could be taken as an apology and takes a few spoonfuls of the green mixture. It tastes mostly of water and salt. He leaves as much as he thinks he can, by eating it as slowly as possible. The servant who takes it away seems irritated, and Lee mutters something that is either "ungrateful" or "uncivilised", before apparently being kicked very hard under the table by Hickey, who smirks as Lee bites a lip to avoid cursing in pain.
Moments later, actual food arrives. There's only a tiny amount on the plate, but at least it's not soup.
"You start from the outer set of cutlery. There's one for each course," Johnson says helpfully, in Mohawk again.
"Thank you," Connor mutters, using the same language. This is going to be a very long meal.
Re: FILL 4/?
(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 02:00 am (UTC)(link)Can't wait for the next part, please update soon!
Re: FILL 4/?
(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 04:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 4/?
(Anonymous) 2012-11-25 06:58 am (UTC)(link)Also loving how Connor is doubting his own connection to Haytham now. If the prologue is this fascinating, I can't wait to see how the rest of the story develops.