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But We’ll Get Together Then, Son

Discussion in 'Pandora, Year 1 - 7' started by Haytham Kenway, Jan 8, 2018.

  1. Haytham Kenway

    Haytham Kenway Assassin's Creed

    Posts:
    299
    Occupation:
    Bodygaurd//Templar
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    52 (looks 26)
    January 2nd -Year 7
    @Ratonhnhaké:ton

    My, whatever Haytham expected out of the bodyguard business it was quite booming. Apparently Pandora suffered from a plethora of assassins and mercenaries but not a lot of highly skilled bodyguards to counter them. So at the moment, beyond the more illegal companies such as the mysterious HYDRA, Haytham retained the strange but solid monopoly on bodyguards for the everyday rich man.

    Not to mention he’d already made some spectacular contacts through his clients. Several business and politicians had expressed an interest in what more Cross Protection Services could provide on a more… influential level. Starting the Templar Order here in Pandora would be easier than Haytham thought.

    And, as far as he was aware…. No Assassins with a capital A. And trust Haytham when he said he was monitoring that particular Creed of white robed death seekers. When teenagers started screaming in the street about vengeance he’d start getting more worried.

    In any case: there was work to be done in the practical before the Templars could really start their moves.

    The current client was a simple one. Men with lots of money had lots of paranoia about said money. Haytham and his men ventured about with him, hiding in the crowds and on the rooftops. Haytham watched on a rather central rooftop as their client went about his business, shopping with a pretty wife who was far too young for him and giggled far too much.

    Which was why he was on the roof, and away from the giggling. Also the roof gave him a particular vantage point to the goings on in the crowd.

    That’s when Haytham spotted something that kept flickering blue and red, walking through the crowds in a haze of purplish black, around the golden aura of his client.

    The Templar blinked the vision away, spotting the white cloaked figure almost immediately. The two making eye contact in a way that reminded him of the Boston Massacre…. Before he knew that the figure in white was indeed his son. …. Connor…. His eyes widened in slight surprise, fingers going to the ear piece.

    ”Keep an eye on the white figure.” He spoke, getting up from where he was crouched on the roof, eyes still locked with the Native American Assassin. ”Do not engage unless he goes after the client…. He will follow me.”

    He then turned and made like he was running away. Hopping across the rooftops, and knowing his wayward son couldn’t resist….
     
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  2. [​IMG]


    The mist was average today, no greater or less of a ghostly still hanging of rain and humidity than usually present throughout the town. He had already visited enough times in the past month to keep himself rather in form and not decaying like a frozen mass of waste in the bed of a kind stranger. Tall Bird, a good woman. Better at wrapping than him, better at caring than him. He would have to make sure to visit more often, to bring gifts and repayments more often.

    But even still with a permanently dense fog and the knowing it was, he cut through it with a sight of infinite blackness. A tunnel vision of interest and latent feeling, a sea of haze spread out with one or two sights of gold: things he might be of interest to, a person who might have been in need. Nothing important, not to the moment. However, as he continued to gaze, other sights began to spring.

    A red aura over a group of traveling men that surrounded the area meters behind another and a young girl, barely over the required marrying age as he had seen. His eyes shut for a second, seeing them transition into common sight. Nothing out of the ordinary, they appeared. Uniformed, nearly, but... he had no reason to pursue outside of interest. So, naturally, his tailing began. Slowly, piercing through the crowd and blending in before moving to the next cluster of people and hiding behind poles and boxes.

    His gaze shifted back into blackness, memorizing the hazes of crimson around the men as his eyes shifted between them. At least two on the right of him, one on the left rooftop, and--

    ... A sight he had. Though he had only seen objects in gold since he had arrived in Pandora-- nothing targeted, but simply interesting... His eyes shifted towards the right and above to the sky. A man's build, covered in a golden hue like an idol, raising from the rooftop. It couldn't have been.

    It shouldn't have been.

    But, as the sight of gold removed from the man and the navy tricorn had come to his sight like a beacon of identity, it was.

    Though a pause to collect his thoughts should have been in order, there wasn't a single thought that ran through Connor's head as his feet dashed to the right. There wasn't another word that spoke into reality from him, except for one. His lips trembled as he took off towards the wall of a building, kicking off from it and soaring up to the next handhold that he sunk his fingers into and trudged upwards and upwards.

    His teeth grit against each other as he climbed himself to the roof and took off after the shagging cape of a man he once thought had passed years ago. Jumping across the canopies of shops in the downtown area, Connor followed like a fool. A mad, dashing fool.

    Only a single word that whispered from him, seething through his teeth and burning like coals from his throat as he ran after the man with all he knew of him flashing through his mind like a movie of atrocity. "No.."


     
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  3. Haytham Kenway

    Haytham Kenway Assassin's Creed

    Posts:
    299
    Occupation:
    Bodygaurd//Templar
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    52 (looks 26)
    Connor was a child, and he reacted rather than thought things through. So of course Haytham could read his son like an open book. If he ran, Connor would follow. If he pushed a little, Connor would go this way, or that way. The child would have to learn one day that he could not allow others to drag him about so easily. That he could not let his emotions rule over him, not if he was to continue down the path of being an Assassin.

    Haytham had to learn the hard way not to. With Birch…. With Washington….

    And with Connor himself. There could be no room for emotion here. Luckily Haytham was not the kind to hold his son close and sob weepily into his coat. Such an action would likely get him stabbed, since he knew very well that he was a member on the Assassination List.

    So he ran in a particular direction, hearing Connor follow. Dodging around rooftops, and eventually across to other rooftops, eventually jumping down signs and shop banners to the street below, hearing Connor race after.

    He planned this route particularly. In just the right moment he turned a sharp right around a corner, ducking into the darkness of an alleyway. Hidden blade on his right wrist out, he waited on the wall until the figure in white was just approaching the alley, about to run past when-

    Haytham’s hand latched onto the back of the boy’s Assassin robes, yanking him backwards into the darkness of the alley. Away from prying eyes of what would most likely be a…. lovely family reunion between father and son.

    The father started out by sticking his hidden blade under Connor’s chin, his other hand going to hold his son’s right hand, so he wouldn’t be a tricky bastard and try to stab him while he had him pinned. His left hand wouldn’t be able to move without alerting the Templar’s right: which would be an unfortunate close shave for Connor.

    ”Connor! Lovely to see you as always….” Up close to his son he could catch a nasty scent of something he couldn’t identify, the older man’s nose wrinkling. ”…. What on earth did you do? Roll in a swamp?” Of course he didn’t know certain herbs smelled different.
     
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  4. [​IMG]


    Speed was the goal. The faster he could catch up to this specter-- this... apparition of discarded memory, the faster he could ensure a better peace for the day and his life after. Connor knew that his father was a dangerous man and couldn't be trusted to remain even breathing still. Of course, not that he still was as past recalled and the tactile sensation of plunging a blade through a pumping artery still rather fresh.

    However, the route that Haytham had run through gave a bit of confusion in its improvisational randomness but not enough to slow the Assassin's movements or mind in thought for a second. He had to follow, and he had to protect. Above all, if needed again, he had to kill. With haste, Connor clambered down from the rooftops and slid down banners with the ease of a gymnast as his body rolled along the ground from the impact down.

    The alleyway was obviously a trap, but not one that he had the option of avoiding. Achilles had taught him before of the idea of unavoidable pain, and he could damn sure think of this too as an example. Slowing for a second, his right hand flew to his side and flexed each digit, grabbing the wooden handle of the steel tomahawk and giving it a twirl before charging headlong forward.

    However, just as one could have predicted, the straps of his robes were snagged by the Templar's hand and flung back against the wall. A blade to his throat and a grip around his wrist caused his axe to fall to the ground with a thud and a resonant clang. Out of reflex, the blade along his left had sprung before being slowed. If it were for his swiftness being greater, this would have been easier. But as it... was not, it was... not.

    Connor's eyes focused on his father beneath the point of his hood, contempt for the villain as he stood still and tight-lipped. He watched his expression wrinkle in disgust for the smell, a one that comically didn't radiate from his own body for once. A snarl on the Assassin's lips, he grunted. "You are dead."

    Whether or not it was a threat or an objective statement, however, was up to the interpretation of the listener as Connor's inflection was comfortingly blunt and without expression as one would have come accustomed to when dealing with a secondary English speaker. Connor explained, the smell radiating from a bag of freshly cut herbs found within his Silverwood expeditions hanging from his belt "...It is the smell of your return to peace."


     
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  5. Haytham Kenway

    Haytham Kenway Assassin's Creed

    Posts:
    299
    Occupation:
    Bodygaurd//Templar
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    52 (looks 26)
    The Templar continued to smile, that self-satisfied little smile on the corner of his mouth. The kind that made him look like he knew ten thousand more secrets than the other person. Connor meanwhile had no trouble glaring at his father like he’d much rather still have that tomahawk in his hand. Well for all of Pandora’s dangers the boy looked in one piece. At least he had enough energy to be rushing after Templars. The Grand Master told himself, of course: this troubled things. With Connor’s presence he would have to be extra careful on Templar movement, now that an assassin, however novice his level, was roaming about.

    Ah well: that was a problem that needed only monitoring… for now.

    Haytham continued to give that little smile of his, as the boy snarled that he was ‘dead’. Of course, the Londoner took the phrase not as a statement of fact but as a threat. ”Already on threats? And here I thought we were happily getting along with that little expedition to the Caribbean….” A pity that too: they were standing in the same room without tomahawks and knives flying. Just a step closer and he’d be throwing away those assassin robes and coming to the side of common sense and logical reason.

    Of course one would ask if Haytham thought it wise to put a knife to his own son’s throat. But well: with how emotionally volatile his son could be it was better safe than sorry with a tomahawk in your back (or front). Besides: it wasn’t like he was out to kill the boy. Not like how clearly the boy was still out to kill him.

    Of course, with his explanation about why he smelled atrocious, Haytham just gave him a look as if Connor started announcing the end of the world. That would actually sound less crazy than what came out of his mouth: which made no sense. A vision of Ziio, which must have had to do with those eyes of his, came into his mind. Are you touched in the head?!

    Haytham carefully adjusted his grip on his son’s right bracer, keeping in mind also his left. While Connor was young and quick, Haytham had experience on his side. He watched for the smallest twitch that indicated the Assassin was going to go after him again. As he did so, he listened to the boy explain that it was ‘the smell of his return to peace’, whatever the bloody hell that means. Probably Mohawk for ‘Your death is assured’. ”Sounds fascinating…. And also particularly foul smelling. I did just bathe this morning, so I’m going to have to pass on this uh ‘peace proposition’. Lovely as it sounds.”

    Haytham let out a sigh, eyeing the boy. They’d get nowhere if he was insistent on snarling at him like a wolf. In fact, he’d be sitting here with him all day. ”….. Well since clearly your trip into Pandora has scrambled your brains I’ll have to keep this blade to your throat until I hear more sensible words. You understand.”

    The Templar looked his son up and down carefully, ”So are we going to talk sensibly and not immediately try to kill me?” He drawled slowly, like Connor was five and having a temper tantrum. And not a fully grown Assassin with a one-track-mind on killing Templars.