Author's Note/Explanation: Assassin's Creed 3's multiplayer is awesome. My friends and I play it so much; we've become possessive of our characters. I thought it would be fun to practice my writing a bit with some quick tales surrounding our characters, but taking on the quirks of my good friends. Our in jokes might not (read: won't) make sense to you, so I tried my best to just make it a general crack fiction as well. Dedicated to Brandon, my favorite fox-loving git. ;) I'll beat your score someday! *shakes fist*

TL;DR - OOC Nightstalker & crack ahoy! Constructive criticism welcome!

"S'all I'm sayin' is, ya gotta…y'know, let your hair down every once in awhile Brother." The Nightstalker shot an icy glare over to his irritating companion. The Sharpshooter just chuckled at his indignation. "Or bandana." Christ, if this man made another comment the Nightstalker was going to break a couple tenants of the Creed.

"I like my bandana Garret," he hissed.

"Oh I know, nothing wrong with that, but you're so tense." Caleb emphasized his point with a push on the shoulder, which made the Nightstalker (naturally) tense up. "Come on, relax! This is the best assignment I've been on in a long while! It's always, 'steal this' and 'stab that.' Now look, it's the two of us in the great outdoors!" He waved his hands wildly as if trying to encompass the entire frontier. The Nightstalker just huffed and eye rolled under his flat-brimmed hat. Garret knew his way around the land, having been a militiaman at one point, but the Nightstalker was used to the cramped brick alleys of New York. In fact, his leather getup and hooks seemed quite out of place alongside the Sharpshooter's hunting coat. Nature never really was his thing.

"Just…how much further 'til Concord?" he grumbled, tilting his hat lower.

"A few more miles or so. You just wait, when we get there, we're going straight to the tavern. They got the best rum around, straight from the Indies, and we can have us a game ah Six Men's Morris, and then-mmph!" Caleb's plan was cut short when he promptly collided with the Nightstalker's back. "Eh, why'd you stop?" The Nightstalker didn't respond, but stared straight ahead, entranced. "Hullo? Ah, whats'es name, Joe?" Caleb waved a hand in front of the killer's face, but he kept staring, eyes wide. The Sharpshooter looked over his shoulder, preparing for the worst, when he saw what had the Nightstalker riled. "Oh look, it's a cute little-GAH!" Caleb was then cut off mid sentence for the second time by the Nightstalker shoving him and tearing after the creature. "Damn git," he spat, picking himself up off the forest floor. Locking eyes with his partner's noticeable orange symbol, he gave chase, rifle thumping against his back.

After a few minutes of frantic searching, Caleb finally found him, kneeling and hunched over in a small clearing.

"The hell was that for? Do you always just start hauling ass for no reason? Concord's back that way!" he waved in the general direction of the main road. The Nightstalker looked up at him with innocent, pleading eyes. (Well, a murderer's version of that look, anyway.) "Tophat and Shadow are waiting for us, come on." Caleb held out a hand to help him up, but he didn't move, still hugging something to his chest. Something that just happened to squeak at that moment in particular. "The hell? What've you got there, Joe?" Caleb knew how the name bothered him, and used it to prompt him to talk.

"My name isn't Joe, Garret," the Nightstalker muttered, reluctantly loosening his arms.

"Well," Caleb replied with a smirk, "You've yet to tell me what it really is, Brother. And, is that…a fox?" He looked at the squirming orange ball of fur incredulously.

"Yes, a red fox. I uh, like foxes." Small wonder too, since the Nightstalker had a fox logo plastered to his shoulder blade clear as day. He was thankful for his bandana that hid his smile and blush as the fox tried to nip at his collar. Caleb chuckled, and got on one knee to give it a pat as well. He watched, fascinated as his partner played with the creature. The idea of New York's terror holding something without attempting to crush it to death, but with care, was rather…endearing. However, their colleagues were waiting and Caleb doubted foxes were allowed in taverns.

"It's real nice, but we still have a mission y'know." The Nightstalker nodded solemnly and Caleb began walking back to the main road so he could say his goodbyes privately. "Ready?" he asked when his partner finally stumbled out of the brush. Another curt nod and the two assassins resumed their walk to Concord.

"Not a word of this to the others," the Nightstalker growled. The Sharpshooter grinned and nudged him playfully.

"Nope, not one single word."

"I mean it Garret."

"My lips are sealed Brother."

Later, after a fair amount of tankards were consumed between them, the Mountebank and Silent Shadow laughed uproariously as the Sharpshooter recounted the day's events. The Nightstalker laughed along too for once, although his cackle scared off a few surrounding civilians. After spending a good deal of the night taking the Silent Shadow's money at Six Men's Morris, watching the Muontebank struggle to dance, and listening to the Sharpshooter bellow out various Irish drinking songs, the Nightstalker was no longer embarrassed.

Fin