"Connor, explain the Assassin turkey. Now."
A reply to an ask on the ask blog connorfemway on tumblr.
Slowly making my way out of a 'block' of sorts. Not a writer's block, but something different that I can't exactly explain. I did my best on this and will try to get to the other asks that have piled up in my inbox. Thanks to all who continue to ask and read, on tumblr and here on !
Enjoy.
Hanging upside-down in a tree wasn't the usual way one might spend their evening. Then again, nothing on this homestead seemed to be the 'usual'.
Several minutes are spent staring with a face that was anything but straight. Normally not the type for humor or to be easily amused, it took a lot for the Assassin to really feel entertained. It was amazing, then, to say that it was hard for Connor not to laugh in this moment. So hard, in fact, that the woman was nearly choking on the laughter that bubbled up into her throat.
"Aye, Cap'n, aintcha hear what I'm sayin'? Ya ganna cut me down or wha?!" Richard Clutterbuck wiggles about within his rope cocoon, the tree branch from which he is suspended creaking uneasily with the weight. This movement is the key to making Connor lose it. The woman dips her head low, grips her knees, laughter flooding past her lips before she could bother to stop it.
Drunken endeavors were hardly new around here - with the crew of the Aquila and the ships that would come and go from the dock there were plenty of sailors to cause drunken trouble. Add the inn's tavern to the mix, full to the brim with fresh drink and kind homesteaders, and it was not uncommon for Connor to find the remains of drunken dares or bets. This little stunt was definitely the most amusing of the lot by far.
Especially since the poor man was naked, the only thing covering his surely frozen extremities being the thick rope he was bound by. And then there was the man's face – drawings in mud across the man's cheeks, and some woman's undergarments tied around his eyes, preventing him from seeing his captain who stood on the ground below in a fit of hysterics.
It takes several more minutes for Connor to finally calm herself, wheezing and chuckling as she ascends the large tree. There was some guilt in her laughter, knowing the man was humiliated as it was, but she had needed the laughter and secretly thanks the man for his contribution to her increasingly positive mood.
"W-What happened?" she finally asks. The man's face is bright red by the time Connor begins to take her hidden blade to the thick rope wrapped around the sturdy branch. Richard begins to blabber his explanation of the situation in hopes of regaining face in the eyes of his captain, unaware that these matters hardly affected the way Connor viewed the homesteaders. Play was play, after all.
"Aye, meh brother an' I decided ta play tha'... tha' game them loggers play alla time, with them balls. We had many a drink toge'er an' we was doin' purty good too, 'til after we started throwin' out bets. All sudden-like, them loggers were professionals at tha' damn game an' me an David realized, 'Dammit! They gone an' swindled us'! An since we bet more'n we 'ad on us, they did... this!"
"Is David in need of help as well?" a laugh breaks the sentence in half at the thought of the man's brother in the same condition somewhere far from here. What if the other homesteaders found the poor fellow? The thoughts of Myriam poking at the man with the butt of her musket or Achilles using the man as a piñata for his cane made the affair all the more amusing. The man she tends to now wriggles impatiently, growling curses under his breath.
"I ain't got a clue, Cap'n! But dun tell nobody bout this, aight? I'll be sure ta repay ya someway! Please Cap'n!"
The agreement is made for the sake of the man's pride. Richard is lowered to the ground once the knot has been cut. Richard wiggles himself loose from the ropes and stands on wobbly legs, forgetting the woman who sits in the tree above him. When he remembers that she is still there he snatches up the frayed ropes and uses them to cover over his privates. Connor slaps a hand over her mouth, swallowing hard and breathing in a deep sigh to calm the laughter that just never seemed to want to stop. Her other hand points to the forest in the distance.
"Go and find your brother before the old man does!" she says to him. A petrified air fills the air as Richard's expression falters. A few words of thanks are tossed into the air as the man flees into the underbrush, Connor keeping her eyes directed elsewhere to avoid the sight of the man's bare rear.
Oh, the things she does for these people, she thinks with some exasperation. But now that the man was gone Connor could take a moment to let her forehead fall against the tree she leans against and laugh somewhat freely.
Despite the trouble and the humor, the Assassin wasn't one to betray a promise made to these homesteaders. Even when Achilles questions the girl on her reddened, sore cheeks, and breathless laughter that stirs from her throughout the rest of the day, she remains quiet about the reasons why. It wouldn't be surprising if Achilles was beginning to question her sanity, but honesty needed to be upheld and this laughter wasn't going away anytime soon.
"I can hardly see what is funny about chopping wood, girl!" he sticks his head out the window as the Assassin takes a seat on a log, pressing her face into her hands, "Your outbursts make it hard to focus, and I've just about had it."
"I-I am sorry, I will try..." the Assassin pulls her hood over head and clutches it tightly, leaning forward where she sits to rest her head on her knees, "I will be better, soon, I will try, it is very hard…"
"I have never seen such buffoonery before! The child sits here and laughs at the wood she splits!" the old man growls, slamming the window shut.
On this homestead it was dangerous to be drunk... sort of.
If you weren't careful you were made to be the butt of jokes, bets, and stunts. It was a key reason why Connor had kept from drinking too much with her crew and the other sailors who came through the homestead.
But there were times where it was nearly unavoidable, especially when Robert Faulkner was involved.
"A captain should be able to out-drink all of 'is crew," the man nearly slams a tankard upon the table in front of Connor. The Assassin raises a brow in inquisition, flicking spilled ale from her fingers, "Ye ain't no captain if ya can't do that much."
"If he hops my bar one more time I will have him tossed into the ocean," Corrine hollers from where she handles the bar not a table away from where Connor sits, contemplating the decision she must now make, "Manage your boys, Connor!"
"Mr. Faulkner, I do not drink more than I know I can handle," the Assassin grabs the handle of the tankard and brings the edge to her lips to take a small drink. Faulkner scoffs, cheeks reddened with the drink he has enjoyed already this evening.
"Aye, lass, we're here to celebrate a vict'ry!" the man reaches out a hand to grasp the girl's shoulder and gives it a hard shake. All around them the crew of the Aquila hollers. They raise their drinks and the Assassin gets many hard smacks and pats on the back. She tolerates it only for the sake of a good day, "Ye've led us blokes to vict'ry on tha high seas!"
A chant has started and it attracts sailors and homesteaders alike into the bar. Connor offers the men a small smile before taking another, bigger drink.
There was no point in not humoring her crew. They were victorious, and it was a good night to relax. A drink or two more than usual could hardly hurt.
Somewhere along the line Connor's tricorn hat disappears and turns up later on the head of Norris as he prances about the floor of the tavern, drink sloshing about as he tries to dance to the tune some of the sailors play on instruments produced from what seems to be thin air.
Connor cups a hand over her mouth and lets her forehead hit the table. Warren erupts with laughter, his hand smacking the table. Faulkner hiccups past his drink and the chuckling that makes his rounded belly jiggle.
"Aye, Cap'n, that joke a lil too much fer ya?" Connor waves off Faulkner's hand as he goes to rub her head into the wooden table. It's hard to focus past her chuckle-hiccups but she manages to keep hands off of her for the most part. Even while drunk she didn't enjoy the touch of others.
The night runs on and events become a blur. There is so much noise within the tavern, and the Assassin feels nothing but giddiness. More than once she smiles and laughs, but never once does she get up and dance despite the many hands that come forward and offer the chance. She spends her time chatting with others who come and go, bumping full tankards with Faulkner every so often. Outside a game of bocce has been started by the loggers, and the Assassin finds her arm grabbed. The warmth of the tavern is gone and the night air is cold suddenly. It's dark but not dark enough. There's a certain rush about being out in the forest at nighttime that Connor has always loved deeply.
Connor thought she was bad at bocce ball sober? She was like a seasick bear trying to hit targets miles away with acorns while intoxicated. Sure, nobody else was that good, but she was likely the worst of the lot.
A pair of dark brown eyes pop open. The world is sideways, and half of it is wooden planking. The Assassin contemplates why she is in a box for a few long, irrational moments before realizing she's not standing up. She's lying down.
When Connor turns her head to stare up into the green and brown of the forest her stomach does small flips. The woman holds back a burp, sure only in the fact that the burp was not going to be a burp but something much worse. The world spins for a few moments, prompting no further movement. Instead something at her side moves. Someone lies next to her, wherever she is.
Once the world has become still and the Assassin's vision can finally focus she makes a task of seeing who occupies the spot at her side. When she turns her head to the side she finds a large bundle of fur.
A surge of panic races up the woman's spine with no delay. The rest of her body is slow to react. When it does, she sits up and scuttles away so fast that it makes her world spin again. Connor irrationally fears that she lies next to a bear. This nearly makes her vomit from the sudden shuddering panic that overtakes her. When she almost falls from the perch upon which she resides within the trees she realizes that this couldn't possibly be a bear. Bears couldn't climb ladders, bears didn't have... feet. A pair of them, bare and dirty, were sticking out at the end of the bundle. A toe twitches. Now the dull and deep snoring that echoes from beneath the fur finally hits the native woman's ears.
So who was she sleeping next to, and why?
With some awkward hesitation Connor reaches out and pulls the bear skin off of the person who occupies her side. It takes a full thirty seconds before Connor drops back onto the wood of the perch above the forest floor, breathing heavy relief. She presses her palms over her eyes.
"You scared me," the Assassin mutters in her native language, reaching over again to throw the fur back over Myriam's face. She'd rather not have to watch the other woman drool the way she was right now. Not to mention the woman's snoring would likely wake the entire homestead.
"How did we get up here?" Myriam coughs and holds a fist over her lips. She only opens one eye as she sits up. The Assassin narrows her gaze at the other huntress, curious as to how Myriam woke up so soon. How long had Connor laid here in this spot, simply staring up at the trees, then? Far too long if Myriam was awake. It felt like a moment ago she was sound asleep, snoring like an actual bear.
"I could ask the same of you," she states quietly, voice cracking and fading. She wonders how loud she had been last night to turn her voice to crumbles.
"I... mean no offense, but you look like death frosted over," Myriam snorts and smiles awkwardly, hair dangling around her face when she removes her low ponytail. Each of her movements is slow and awkward, "You really ain't much of a drinker, are you?"
Connor snorts loudly, turning her head to the other side. The manor is within view but Connor can hardly think of walking through that door without feeling resentment.
"I guess I shouldn't say nothin', though. I'm one lucky lady to be wakin' up next to you and not some sailor bloke or something," Myriam, with a thud, drops back down onto the wood of the perch. Connor grunts with some sort of understanding, although she knew herself too well to think that she would ever accept advances from some homesteader, or anyone, while drunk, ever. She was far too... shy, and prude, and generally sheepish.
The native woman begins to realize that she wasn't like that only when she was drunk, either. She hadn't ever been with a man, after all. The idea of it was so foreign that it makes the hung-over woman chuckle breathlessly.
"Gods, I thought you smarter than this," Achilles is merciless, reaching up his cane to give his student a good thump over her head. Connor groans in agitation, holding both hands to her head and stumbling to the side to avoid any further abuse, "You really are turning into a brainless sea monkey, aren't you?"
"Do not patronize me, old man," the woman mutters in her native tongue, moving around him and down the hallway.
"Excuse me, did you say something?" the old man's tone feigns positivity, but venom lurks beneath, "I'm pretty sure I heard 'I'm sorry Achilles, I will get right on those repairs I've left unfinished for weeks'. Glad to see you finally owning up to your responsibilities around here!"
"Do not even speak to me of responsibility!" the Assassin continues to grumble in her native tongue, to herself, as she ascends the staircase, "I tend the horses and repair the house and manage the brotherhood and facilitate trade and take care of our homesteaders and this is how I am treated? I am sick, leave me be, please!"
The Assassin bumps her shoulder on the doorframe of her bedroom and snarls at her misfortune. Her head pounds and she inwardly promises herself that she will never fall into one of Faulkner's traps again.
Because with the way she felt right now, she was sure she drank at least half of the ale in that tavern and double what any of the other sailors drank.
When brown eyes open again, a few shadows lean over her. Those same eyes squint into focus.
"Good mornin', Cap'n," the Clutterbuck brothers stand over her, both smiling with crooked teeth. Connor's gaze turns sour quickly.
Before she can open her mouth, a sight catches her squinted eyes and an odd sound falls upon her ears.
"What is that doing in here?" the native woman sits up too quickly and clutches her head. The two brothers laugh despite her continuing words, "If Achilles sees you have brought this in here-"
"Aye, lass, the ol' man's down at tha docks givin' ol' Faulkner a run fer 'is muney," Richard grins somewhat stupidly. It seems he himself is recovering from his own night of heavy drinking, but he is far more alert than Connor.
"The old man ain't none too pleased bout the drinkin' we all did last night," David chimes in and tugs on a rope he holds in his hand, "He was steamin' mad, howlin' about 'ow you di'n't come 'ome last night an' all tha'."
The turkey steps forward reluctantly, prompted by the tug of the rope. It gobbles and it examines the surroundings with interest.
"Why does it wear that?" Connor reaches out somewhat blindly to flick at the tiny white cowl that it wears. It resembles the one she herself usually wears, "And why have you brought it here?"
"A few weeks back ye cut meh down from tha' tree an' saved me sum embarrassin', Cap'n," Richard prods at the turkey. This animal seems too used to this kind of treatment for whatever reason and hardly reacts. Connor eyes the animal for a few seconds before Richard continues, "So 'ere I am ta pay ya back what you is owed."
"I do not understand," the Assassin takes the rope that is handed over to her with reluctance. Foggy minded and blurry eyed she examines the rope, then the turkey, then the two brothers who stand before her.
"Wait... ya don't 'member?" David snorts, but quickly throws a hand over his own mouth at the expression his captain now wears.
By now Richard is looking pleased with himself.
"All the better fer ya, Cap'n. Some embarrassin' stuff wen on, and long as you keep this 'ere turkey I brought ya hidden you gonna get ta avoid it all! If anybody asks bout it, tell 'em ya dunno squat! So now, we're even," the Clutterbuck brothers make their way over to the door of the room. Connor's confused gaze follows them, not noticing the turkey as it jumps up onto the bed and settles down upon the blankets next to her.
"Wait! I do not understand! What has happened, and why-?"
"Rest up, Cap'n! Dun take no more bets!" the two laugh as they close the door behind them, speaking words she cannot hear as they descend the stairs loudly. The front door slams behind them.
Silence descends upon the room, soon interrupted by the soft gobbling of the turkey that wears an Assassin's cowl. Connor turns her gaze on the creature and eyes it with suspicion.
"How does one even make a hood so small?" she mutters to the animal. When she reaches out to try to take the cowl off her fingers are picked at by the turkey's beak and it gobbles loudly in protest. The Assassin pulls her hand back, grimacing.
This homestead certainly was not the 'usual'. All Connor knew, each time she stepped outside to feed the horses and spotted the white cowl among the bushes, was that she should be thankful that the homesteaders believed firmly in the 'do unto others' principle, just as she did.
This principle likely saved her some humiliation, the likes of which she could not comprehend nor understand fully. There was one thing she knew for sure - she was done with drinking and making bets.
The Assassin Turkey reminded her constantly that she had a brush with something dangerous on a level different than the 'usual'. How this peculiar anima came into her life? The animal that stalked after her through the forest and was stealthier than even she sometimes?
That wasn't something she could appropriately explain, even if she tried.