I swallowed hard. I considered his question for a moment. I could tell the truth, if he would believe it. I could lie. But I didn't want to, honestly. I was stressed, my mind was racing and even if I could pluck something coherent out of that mess, I doubted it would be anything convincing. Not to mention, if he found out later, I wasn't quite sure what he'd do. Shay'd seemed nice in-game, but then, that'd been his point of view, hadn't it? I didn't know what he'd do if I lied and he found out.
"It's… a long story, Captain Cormac." I held his gaze and searched his face, feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened, and wanting desperately to know how close he was to getting the box. Was he looking for it in America? What was going on right now? What year was it? Certainly not before the 1780s, there were too many red-coats around who weren't getting shot at.
"Well, it's a good thing my schedule's all clear today." His tone was friendly, but his expression was blank.
I inhaled deeply, sighed, and wondered where to begin. With who I am? With where I'm from? With when I'm from? The golden... thing? I decided to start with the basics. Hoping he'd believe me.
"My name is Courtney," I started, feeling slightly embarrassed-I'd already told him my name. "and I'm a long way from home." He waited patiently for me to go on.
"A lot of what I'm going to tell you is… well, I doubt you'll believe it. But I suppose I should preface it by saying that I was born in the year 1999."
His eyes widened and then he smirked, "Really? And I'm King George himself." His face fell. "Stop joking around."
"Listen I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true, alright? Just-let me explain, okay?" The words came out in a rush. He had to believe me. I didn't know what to do if he didn't.
There was a tense moment. He sighed. "Very well. But I suggest you be very convincing."
I held down my worry and gave him a mildly relaxed grin. "I'll try my best, sir."
WwWwWwWwW
As I spoke, Shay listened intently. Every once in a while, his jaw would clench, or his fingers would flex ever so slightly. When I finished relaying my story, all of it, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. It'd taken roughly thirty minutes to explain what I thought the most important things were-how I got here, where I was from, that I knew certain things about both the Assassins and the Templars that most people did not-, but the pressure I felt was immense.
We stood-he sat-in silence for a few moments. It seemed he was fitting it all together in his head, studying me, figuring out whether he should believe the absolute poppycock I'd just spewed.
He stood up and walked towards me. It took a certain amount of self-restraint to not back away; the man was intimidating. He reached towards my hand, stopped, looked at me, as though for permission. I nodded and raised my left hand up, so that he could look at it more closely.
His leather-clad hands were huge in comparison to mine, and I was once again reminded that he could probably kill me without breaking a sweat. His thumb ran over the burn marks, none of which hurt.
"So you have no idea what happened, aside from what you've told me?"
"Not a thing." I fought the urge to add I swear to the end of that. It would sound too much like I was lying and hoping he'd fall for it. That's not what I wanted in the least.
He nodded absentmindedly, still surveying the damaged skin on my palm. He dropped my hand.
"You're aware that with all you know and where-" He paused. "-when you're from, you'd be considered very valuable to either of our groups, right?" He said it like he was hinting at something.
I cleared my throat and straightened up. "I don't suppose I can just leave? That I could just…" I made a wiggly gesture with my unmarred hand. "-disappear into the masses and pose as some lonely farmer's only child?" I said it in a way that I hoped made it sound like a joke. He cracked a small, somewhat sad, smile.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be that easy. If others were to find out that you knew what was going to happen, before it was even planned, you'd become a target." I shuffled my feet. He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'd prefer you be kept a close eye on, but I won't force your hand unless I need to."
"'Unless I need to' isn't very comforting, Captain Cormac."
"It's all I can promise." He said in an apologetic tone.
There was a moment of silence; this time I was the one to break it. "What happened?"
"Pardon me?"
"All I remember is feeling like shit, hearing your voice, and then passing out. How long was I out? Why did you bring me on your ship? Why did you have my clothes cleaned and the doctor tend to me? What happened?" I repeated my question, laying emphasis on it. I needed to know these things. They were important-to me if to no one else.
"Woah, woah, slow down." He said. I nodded. "You were out for two days. Your clothes were cleaned because they, like you, were filthy. I brought you here because of those marks on your hand, and because I knew there was a doctor who wouldn't turn you away."
"And why is that?"
"Because I'm the one paying him." He grinned. I fidgeted.
"I suppose I'm indebted to you a fair bit, then."
"I suppose you are." I couldn't help but think of how this complicated matters.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, looking not unlike a poor imitation of a fish. "What do you want from me?"
He gave me another smile-I was coming to recognize this as his attempt to conceal what was likely laughter. "That information you mentioned would be nice." Shit. Of course. He walked back to his seat, sat down and propped his feet up on the desk. He gestured with his hands as he spoke. "For starters, where'd you get it? Were the documents of Templar or Assassin origin?" You really don't want me to answer that.
"Neither…?" He raised an eyebrow. "Neither." I said more confidently. "An outside group compiled records of activities and events that could be linked to the Assassins or the Templars, and fitted them together in a type of format not yet invented." I figured I wasn't really lying. It was true that Ubisoft was an outside group, and my wording left quite a bit up to interpretation.
"Tell me more about this group." Stop asking questions like this, I feel like I'm guilty of something.
"It is-will be, sorry-centered in France. It calls itself the largest producer worldwide of information in the format I mentioned. They tended to publish the information from the Assassins' point of view, but they made others in that of the Templars'."
"Hm. And I suppose there was a lot of information, then, about the Assassins?"
"Yes."
"Even some about Assassins during this time?"
My mouth went dry. I didn't want to say yes, but at the same time I knew I didn't have much choice in the matter. Unless I fancied death a fine escape. Shay was smart enough to see through any lie after I'd said that most of what I knew was told by the Assassins. "In America-er, the colonies and a bit in France." I felt like a coward for a moment, but pushed it away. I shouldn't be ashamed of trying to stay alive. If things go sour later on, I'll be alive. And I'll still have information that can help the Assassins.
"And you'd be willing to share it with myself and my colleagues?" His expression was hard, but not necessarily mean. Hopefully that was a good thing.
"If you'd like that." The words sounded hollow to me, but Shay seemed content with them.
"How much information will you be able to provide us with?"
"That depends on the date."
"6 October 1772."
I racked my memory. Most of the events in III had happened after 1772. Shay still hadn't gotten the box, yet. Was Arno born? Yes, he was born in the late 60's. Then Charles Dorian was alive, too-but I didn't know where he was. But I knew where he likely would be, in time.
"Quite a bit." Would it be worth it? One way or another, unless I directly interfered with Charles himself on 27 December 1776, he'd be killed. I'd feel guilty, like it was my fault. I knew it was going to happen, but if I didn't do anything to prevent it...
"How much time would you need to give us all of it?" All of it? But there's so much…
"Quite a while." I cleared my throat again. It was starting to hurt, and I was getting tired of standing. "I'm sorry, but can we cover that later? I'm… well, I'm tired." It seemed ridiculous to say that to a man who'd been through what he had, but he merely nodded.
He walked me to the door, instructed me to head back to my room for the rest of the day. Said Bruce would bring me lunch and dinner. I made a few wrong turns on my way back, but the crew, while rather stiff-lipped towards me, had a few members that were kind enough to point me in the right direction. Slumping down on the cot, I was reminded of the soft, pillow-laden bed I'd left behind.
I couldn't begin to imagine how any of this was happening. First, I'm sent back in time, then I meet a fictional character? That's not something that happens. Was it?
I couldn't say I was fond of most of my family, but my friends were a different story. Were they okay? Were they worrying? Did they even know I was missing? Was time even moving in my… well, time? Hell, I might be missing school. All those dual-credit courses, and I wasn't even there to take them. What a waste.
I sighed, my hands carded through my hair. I'd said I'd stick with optimism earlier, so I decided to follow through on that.
For the moment, I'm safe, warm, clean, fed, and I have a doctor looking out for me. All things considered, my situation could be much worse. I could be dead.
I guess I'll have to find a way to properly thank Shay.
I'm cringing at how that last line rhymes, but oh well. Would anyone be interested in my starting a tumblr for the story? I'd have to find a url, of course, and set it up properly, but it'd include information on original characters-such as Courtney, Greg, and Bruce-, relationships between characters both canon and otherwise, a timeline, and it'd be a place for you guys to ask about this and that, and for me to possibly throw around ideas, set up polls for things, and get a better idea of what you guys might want. Anyone up for it?