Davenport Dance Party.
Rebecca Crane and Shaun Hastings were busily tinkering with the Animus inside an Assassin base somewhere in Russia. Having somehow evaded and hid from Juno and set the Templars back for who-knows-how-long, the Assassins are now focusing on preparations should the Templars ever rise back up like they did so many times before. Apparently, Shaun found an interesting set of memories from the eighteenth century Assassin, Ratohnhaketon; or rather, Connor Kenway. But, with Desmond dead, one wonders who on Earth would be kind enough to lend himself as a human guinea pig and relive this set of newfound memories. Fortunately, Desmond's father William is still alive.
"Shaun, are you sure Desmond never relived these?" William asked.
"No, I'm afraid not." the Brit replied "It says here it involves a Piece of Eden, and our friend Connor here had a rather...interesting experience with it." He then went back to his computer, taking care of whatever Database entries William would want to view while he's at it. "In case you wanna know, this memory has a connection to previous incidents with Altair and Ezio with their respective Artifacts." Rebecca added immediately afterward.
"Incidents?"
"Rather amusing ones, really." Shaun butted in. "Let's just say they both wounded up using some of the P.O.E's hidden abilities." William thought about what the Brit just said, and came to the conclusion that this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. He nodded, lied back, and thought of England.
Well, not really.
"All right, let's get started." Seconds later, William found an avatar of himself standing amid the Animus' loading area, with nothing around him but the ice-blue nothingness and what looked to be floating shards of reflective glass. He walked for a few moments, watching as the reflective shards move with him. Bill can't help but smirk. Just then, Rebecca's voice started to speak to him. "Alright, get ready, Bill. We're sending you back to 1789..." she said. Before he knew it, everything faded to white. When everything cleared up, he knew he wasn't William Miles anymore.
He was Connor Kenway, on the 21st of February, 1789.
Boston, Massachusetts.
The flag of the fledgling United States of America fluttered with the wind at Boston harbor. It was an ordinary day for the people of the city; as usual, merchants advertised their wares; soldiers patrolled the streets; children played games; and of course, a certain Native American, a Quebecois, and an English first mate were walking about, searching for equipment to be fitted aboard the "Ghost of the North Seas". So far, neither had any luck with the toy-shopping.
"Mister Faulkner, we have circled the harbor for hours now. Are you sure we can get the supplies we need here?" complained Connor.
"Yes captain, I am very sure!" Faulkner replied.
"I don't mean to break it to you, but everything we need 'ere is overpriced and/or out of stock!"
Faulkner shot a glare at the man behind him. "Well, I'm not the one who decided to bring too little coin, Mister Chapheau!"
"Hey, hey; enough!" Connor lightly tapped on his first mate's left shoulder, attempting to diffuse the situation before it turns into a fist fight. "If we cannot afford anything here today, I suggest we come back with a little more tomorrow." Faulkner and Stephane Chapheau both nodded silently. In the next five minutes, the three men walked around Boston harbor, passing by ships with cargo ranging from imported French muskets, to iron ore, to immigrants from Europe, and slaves from the African coast. The three just shook their heads in disgust.
The week before, Mr. Faulkner took the Aquila for a ride across the Atlantic, unknowingly finding himself sailing in the Caribbean Sea after chancing upon a storm. His problem was compounded by coming across a Spanish naval patrol consisting of three frigates. Needless to say, the man didn't have a good week. Now, he needed an amount of fresh crewmembers and ammunition, and some extra cannon to replace those that had been lost during his joyride. All for a cost of a hundred thousand cold hard pounds.
It must be a bit grating to Connor's pocket, though to be fair, he had given Faulkner his permission.
Dusk came, and the three still can't find anything more reasonably priced. They managed to come across some vintage Prussian guns from Frederick the Great's campaigns in the Silesian War, but they were too worn out to be of any use to the Aquila. Why anyone would import guns as old as Connor himself is beyond any of the Assassins' best guesses, seeing as the guns looked like they were used more than a prostitute with a rather colorful career in the docks. In the end, the three settled for a pub somewhere inside the city proper.
Unknown to them, another visitor is headed there as well...
"Right, so what makes you think you're worthy enough to be a crewmember of the Ghost of the North Seas?" inquired Faulkner. A few hours after their "grocery shopping" by the harbor, the Assassins decided to call it quits and head to the pubs to recruit new crewmembers. Now, in front of them, a jetlagged man about thirty years old and smelled like the Battle of Lexington scratched his behind without the slightest hint of shame. His voice had a Cockney accent about it, "Uh...I have experience..."
"What kind of experience?" Connor asked.
"Buggerin' boys below deck..."
"NEXT!"
Chapheau pushed the lobcock away before either Connor or Faulkner blew their tops. This was their two-hundred and seventy-fifth man, and all he had to offer was a buggering service! The Assassins called for the next man to come forward, being presented with a young man most fangirls would absolutely love to pair up with their character of choice. Before the young man could have his chance to speak, Connor said to his first mate, "I need to get out for a moment."
"Go ahead, sir." Faulkner replied.
Connor walked outside, careful not to push people out of the way. Apparently, most of the candidates for new crewmembers were so frustrating for him, that he felt a need to breathe some fresh air for a moment. He stood there idly with a stolen bottle before hearing some strange noises from one of the alleys. At first, he thought it was just a couple of cats fighting over leftover scraps, but curiosity got the best of him. Connor put the bottle down and readied his hidden blades; an investigation is in order, it appears.
The alley was short; two passed out drunks and trash were littered from side to side. The only light came from a lamp post on the other side. Despite this, Connor could make out two figures obviously locked in some sort of struggle. One was a blonde woman, and the other a rapacious drunk that looked suspiciously like the one who came up to him and Faulkner earlier that evening. The Hidden Blade glinted as Connor locked in on the rapist. The woman kept yelling at the man in what seems like French, but the man didn't let up.
That is, until Connor pressed his Blade on the man's neck.
"Ack! Wot the...? Bloody 'ell! Lemme go!"
"Not until you let this woman go..." The drunk, out of fatigue, gave up struggling.
"Whuh? It's not wot it looks like, mate!"
Connor shoved him to the opposite wall, so that he and the bastard would look eye-to-eye. "I will let yougo for now," he stated threateningly, "but if I catch you forcing yourself upon others, there will be no second chances..."
"All right, all right!"
The Assassin threw him on the ground, but the rapist got to his feet quick and darted away from Connor. But the threat of bodily harm didn't stop him from hurling a flask of whiskey at Connor, hitting the Mohawk square in the head. The last thing Connor heard from the degenerate was a loud cry of "SAVAGE!"
"Are you alright, monsieur?" Connor turned toward the girl, a lady wearing white shirt and coat with a red sash wrapped around her stomach.
"I am fine. You should be worrying about yourself. You could have gotten hurt." He started to turn away before he heard the girl's next words.
"I am sorry, I was just looking for someone named...uh," she searched around her various pockets and pouches, until she got hold of a little leather bag. "...Connor. Oui, Connor."
He lifted his brow once he heard his name. "That would be me..." Connor said, signalling her to follow him out towards the pier, "What business do you have with me here in Boston, miss...?"
"Boulanger," she replied, "Jeanne Boulanger. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Connor." She tried to offer a handshake, but was surprised at how reluctant Connor was to do it. They neared a pile of crates when Connor noticed a squad of Boston militiamen doing rounds; he signalled them to stop for a moment, since seeing a man strapped with weapons in the wee hours of the night could arouse a lot of suspicion. Once the militia were gone, Connor and Jeanne went for the ship docked nearby: a battle-worn Aquila, in urgent need of repair.
At first, Jeanne seemed reluctant to board the vessel, afraid it might sink. Once she saw Connor board without any sign of worry, she did the same. Cautiously, but still...
The ship was tilted slightly to the left, seeing as it was the only side with still-functioning cannons. Blood streaks still on the deck, while several masts were woefully aligned, as well. The product of Faulkner's naval battle with the Spanish, it is certain; at least all the weapons and ammunition left were back at their proper place. Outside, the ship looked like a piece of Swiss cheese that was nibbled on by a greedy rat. Jeanne kept muttering curses in French, which reminded Connor of Stephane's rampage throughout Boston against the British before the Revolution started.
When was that? Nineteen years ago? I couldn't keep track. Anyway...
"You still did not answer my question. What is your business with me here in Boston?" asked Connor as he sat down on the Captain's desk, which somehow survived Faulkner's naval engagement. Jeanne took the only remaining chair...which promptly collapsed. He just smirked when he heard the lady groan.
"The Brotherhood in France...they, uh, told me and my superior to deliver this to you." She got up and handed Connor the leather pouch she carried earlier at the alley. He scrutinized it first, before holding it in his hand. It felt heavy; it somehow reminded them of that object the Mohawk Clan Mother showed him before he joined the Brotherhood. But that wasn't all; he shaked it, before letting the thing drop down on the floor. After the loud thud, Connor picked it up once more. He untied it, and let the object inside roll down on the wooden desk in front of him.
Surprise, surprise...it's an Apple of Eden.
"I don't know where it's from..." said Jeanne, eyes cast downward, "...my superior, Dieudonne d'Etienne, said it was from somewhere in Europe. But he told me that this isn't from Italy; that was locked away somewhere by an Assassin named...who was that again? Ezio?"
"Ezio Auditore." Connor corrected.
"Oui!" the sudden change in tone was deafening, "Ezio! Ezio Auditore!" Connor had to shush the lady, for fear of an eavesdropper or a trespasser chancing upon them. Jeanne grinned sheepishly, before listening to what the more senior Assassin in front of her has to say. "So, I assume you are an Assassin-in-training under Mister D'Etienne." Jeanne nodded, "Hmm...I must ask you; why deliver this here in America, and not anywhere else?" Connor stood up, not even taking his eyes off the now-glowing Artifact. He stopped in front of a gaping hole torn by, presumably, a Spanish cannonball.
"Because France is currently in turmoil, Mr. Connor." she explained, "The bourgeoisie are growing discontent with the King Louis' rule over the country. The Brotherhood's leaders in France deemed it too dangerous for that...thing to remain there. They want to focus their efforts on preventing Templar takeover, and not worry about safeguarding this whatever-you-call it..."
Connor understood her point, but before he could ask another question, Jeanne hastily stood up and made for the door. "Where are you going?" Connor asked.
"Je suis desolee, Senieur D'Etienne explicitly told me to return to him so that we can go back to France as soon as possible..." and with that, she shut the door. Connor just stared at the door for a few seconds slack-jawed before turning his attention back to the Apple. It seems that he was going to baby-sit this until the situation in France stabilizes. The Artifact kept glowing in his hands, so he hid it inside the leather pouch Jeanne left behind. That was when Chaphaeu and Faulkner barged in, giving Connor a pint-sized heart attack.
"I knew we should've gone to Martha's Vineyard!" Faulkner exclaimed, tossing papers onto the Captain's desk.
"What happened? How did it go?"
"'Orrible!" replied Stephane, "The pretty boy was a narcissist, while the rest of them were too drunk to give any good answers!"
"There was also a cross-dressing woman there, too. Oh, and that dandy!" Stephane and Faulkner both laughed out loud. "He was all over Stephane..."
"I'll go wake up the others" said Stephane. Below deck were the other five Assassins Connor recruited during his crusade against Charles Lee, either sleeping or playing Twelve Men's Morris with the rest of the Aquila's remaining crew. After the French-Canadian left the Captain's Quarters, Faulkner asked Connor, "Should we set course back to Ol' Davenport's Homestead, sir?"
"Make it so, Mr. Faulkner." Connor answered while eyeing the leather pouch.
"Good game, Father Timothy."
Back at the Homestead, Connor and Father Timothy had just wrapped up another game at Achilles' old room. It was about eleven o' clock in the morning by then; Terry and Godfrey were already hard at work providing lumber for the Aquila's reconstruction, while Ellen and Big Dave were busy making ship sails and naval cannons, respectively. At the tavern, Oliver and his wife were preparing some alcoholic beverages to supply the thirsty sailors and passers-by who decided to stay the night.
In short, a normal day.
"Yes. You seem to be improving as well, Connor." the minister said as he drank a cup of tea. He poured some more on his and Connor's cups after finishing the last one off. Timothy waited until Connor finished sipping once before asking, "One question, though. Where did you get that fascinating orb hanging precariously above us like it's going to drop at any moment?" he pointed his finger upwards to emphasize his point. The Apple of Eden hanged, yet again, like a disco ball. (Jeez, what is it with Desmond's ancestors and disco balls?)
"I do not know, Father." Connor replied, "Some girl from France gave it to me for safekeeping; I assume it is a family heirloom, and she wanted to spare it from the disorder there..."
Timothy chuckled, "You're a terrible liar, Connor. But, I wouldn't ask for the details, for I fear I may uncover more than what I wanted..."
"...and get drawn into a conflict you did not ask for?" Connor continued.
"Precisely!" Timothy collected his belongings and bid Connor farewell. Once he shut the door, the Homestead was quiet yet again. One couldn't hear anything but bird songs and the laughter of the children playing outside. Connor considered getting something to eat, but he didn't feel hungry. Instead, he went down to the basement to inspect his equipment; for one reason or another. He wasn't wearing his Assassin robes, that's for sure. He was in Kanien'kehá:ka clothes; the robes were being hung to dry outside.
He lit the torches inside the armoury before proceeding to the stash of weapons he accumulated through the years, but before he could take a good look at his weaponry, he heard someone knock at the door. He grumbled something in his native language before stomping all the way to the front door.
"Yes?"
It was Stephane and Jacob. "Ah, 'ello Connor! There's a woman 'ere; she says she's looking for you..."
"Ja, she's behind me right now..." Both Assassins sidestep so Connor could see just who they were talking about. It was a woman...
...a woman not like any other Connor has ever seen. Or ever wanted to see for that matter...
I think it goes without saying that I own nothing here, right? BTW, just in case you're thinking I'm setting Connor up with some OC, guess what: I don't do shipping. Don't worry, the next one will be far more entertaining than that massive text dump up above.
UPDATE: I've changed the wording on the second sentence, so as not to appear to contradict canon. But, I guess the damage has been done.