Author's Note: A much longer one-shot that doesn't really have Haytham in it as a major player, but he is mentioned and seen once. Thanks for all those who like it so far. Enjoy! :3
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything made in relations to the games.
This blasted sweltering heat! It was accursed, the way the rays beat down like the wrath of god. And another thing! Why was the sun so damned bright?
A snarl ripped from the throat, eyes narrowed before the slim form retreated to the shadows. Oddly enough this man had allowed himself to actually drink- a wish he'd been forced into by a friend who insisted he stay and relax at his social party. More of a bother as he ended up drinking his fair share of some alcoholic concoction that had been given to him by James, a fellow assassin under Achilles' command, though recruit he was. James was actually a fellow Indian who merely adopted such name when people stressed over his real one. It was one of the various reasons the pair had gotten along.
Connor approved of the young man but his taste in drinks and activities.. were less than desirable.
This brought him back to the topic of why the bloody sun was effecting him more than usual; he had a wicked hangover. While he was no stranger to alcohol he didn't exactly have a tolerance for it, let alone an acceptable level for heavy drinking as had transpired. He grumbled his disagreement with his predicament, silently cursing James for his friendly pressuring. He'd have a word with the man next time they came into contact with the other.
He squinted even more as he realized his current target had pushed open the door, stepping out into the waking sunlight. The tall man stood easily over six foot, with a lean and yet dense build that betrayed his 'scrawny' frame. Tilbert McHale was not a man to mess with and rightly so, a cut-throat being among many of his garnered titles. Achilles expected him to take down this killer? Connor was a skilled fighter, don't get him wrong, but he had little experience when it came to people of Tilbert's caliber. He was a whole breed of his own, a deadly man the likes of an assassin, yet he came from neither faction truly. He was a middle-man, a Templar ally that walked the shadows with light as his coat.
Great, he'd have to kill the man- with a bloody hangover. Icing on the proverbial cake!
Achilles clearly had some faith in him to assign this mission earlier this morning, very much aware of Connor's condition. Maybe it was a test. He scowled as he watched the man momentarily scan his surroundings, not spotting Connor from the shadowy alley he stood within. The man brushed aside paranoia and strolled down the street, hands casually tucked into pockets.
Today Connor was also not in his traditional assassin robes. He wore his captain garb from the Aquila as it was more common for this island's city situation. Vessels frequented this area and as such it would surprise no one to be in that attire. He pushed past his barely noticeable staggering walk and willed his body to obey as he stepped out, following after the man.
Unknowing of the company that followed the man turned a corner, sliding through the thickening crowd like a fish in the sea. Connor turned, peering down the semi-narrow roadway spread out before him. He let his brown eyes flicker up and observed the buildings lining either side for signs of a threat. When none made itself present or known he walked on, trailing after the man.
He exited this street and arrived onto a more spread out area with people bustling about. Across from his position Connor saw his target walking. Tilbert was almost to his destination, a tall building the likes of an inn that had a sign just above the door. 'DEVIL'S DOMAIN' it read. To be fair he was on the island of Martinique in the Caribbean so this didn't surprise him.
Someone was exiting the structure just as Tilbert was almost to the door. Connor stepped back, hovering at the corner of a grey building beside him. His heart began to race, his thoughts erratic, his headache growing.
It was Haytham Kenway.. Grandmaster of the Templars. What was he doing here of all places? Coming out at Haytham's back appeared Charles Lee, his second-in-command and close friend.
The sight of this vile man, with the alcohol in Connor's system, made his blood boil. Oh how he wanted to end that man's life! People thinned and even from his position he could make out their conversation:
"McHale! How nice of you to finally arrive." Came the slow drawl of Haytham, who seemed as if annoyed.
"What, get stuck in bed with a harem?" Charles retorted viciously, scowling as he wrinkled his nose. Clearly he could smell something on the man that he could not from this distance.
He heard Tilbert chuckle darkly. "She came onto me. Not the other way around, gentlemen. Now, shouldn't we step inside and out of this sun?" To make his point clear he turned, scanning the area. The pair also did the same, but didn't notice their lurking observer.
"Indeed." Haytham muttered before the trio slipped back into the inn.
"If I'd have known you were here-" Came a deep voice from behind Connor, yanking his attention to the form standing behind him with his blade quickly drawn. "-I'd have joined you sooner."
He was greeted by the short frame of a particular ally of his. His black-haired, blue-eyed and smirking 'friend'. Lance Aikens. Lance was a pirate captain he had met two years prior. Weary of the man they had pretty much become close allies as Lance was half Cherokee, half French. Connor was half Mohawk, half British and the difference between their Native American tribes was immense. Yes, he had gained a more.. simple name from his mother, who was French.
Lance was more talkative then Connor and at times it seemed as if they were polar opposites.. which was strange, considering Lance was a well known pirate of the area. By technical definition he was a 'privateer', but the man was a pirate born again, that much was clear, as he hated the British, hated control and pretty much hated governments. He was a traveler, a lover of the seas and a free spirit. He couldn't be shackled down by no man. Trust Connor, many had tried; hell, even him, when he wanted the man to join the assassins.
Claiming his love of the open waters of greater value he had declined the man's offer to join the Brotherhood. That didn't stop the two from working together often.. or crossing paths when it suited them. He.. in a way.. took the place of Kanen'tó:kon in terms of being close to Connor. Though not quite filling the gap of that betrayal he did help to soothe Connor's frazzled nerves at times. Who said opposites couldn't coexist?
He turned to gaze toward the inn and realized the trio were well out of current grasp.. He spun back to look toward his friend, smiling almost softly. "It is good to see you, Aikens." He said politely.
The man's smirk increased by ten-fold. "Monsieur, it is always a pleasure."
While Connor was quiet, reserved, cautious.. Lance was his polar. He was hyperactive, a Sagittarius. Being as independent as that zodiac sign was he was overly optimistic, had a good sense of humor (well, actually, better than good; he was a pun master), straight forward, intelligent and philosophical, casual, but restless, reckless and irresponsible. At times he could be unemotional.
"To what duty calls your wings to the land of Marti... Martini..." He paused, clearly struggling with the word.
"Martinique." Connor supplied in a calm way he had adapted when dealing with his more.. eccentric friend.
"Ah, yes!" Lance snapped his fingers, beaming now.
Connor gestured behind him toward the inn, watching Lance's ocean eyes flicker over to the facility with a curious gaze. "To that inn? No, no, monsieur, the Devil's Domain is.. un désir de mort!" He trailed off in French, frowning now.
Connor didn't speak French and didn't dare indulge his friend with insult by pretending he did. "English, my friend."
"A death wish!" The man clarified for the sake of his ally.
Connor hesitated, glancing back toward the inn with a look of uncertainty before sparing his friend a frown of his own. "It seems as though. My adversary is in the company of people higher in the hierarchy of the Templar ranks." He said with a would-be scowl.
The color faded from Lance's cheeks. "Kenway and Lee are here?"
Connor merely nodded in reply.
Lance stepped up to him, placing a hand onto a shoulder before locking eyes with the taller man. "You must wait for a more opportune moment, my friend, for now would be more reckless than me in the Battle of Notre Aviar."
Recollection of such a story was difficult, since it was years ago, but Connor managed to recall how Lance had looked when he came back- or, more specifically, his ship! The Lunar's Revenge had been in such a state of damaged goods that it looked like a ghost and it shouldn't have even been floating, let alone capable of being manned.
A bunch of British Frigates (HMS Jericho, HMS Eliza and HMS Truth) had been locked in a heated battle with seven French Brigs (L'Guerrier, HMS Speedy, The Crosser, The Falcon, Lynard's Trail, Viper's Tooth and HMS Silverthorn), four Spanish Schooners (Cancerica, HMS Luminescence, Pilot Charl and HMS Crystal) and nine 'pirate' vessels, aka rouge ships (Lunar's Revenge, Demon's Dancer, Man O' War Dragon, Blitzer, HMS Cardinal, Lanner's Rise, The Descent, Incadence and HMS Ramrod). It had been such a.. devastating, long and practically exhausting battle from the stories told of it.
Connor couldn't tell as he hadn't been there, but he trusted the crazed man since he'd yet to lie to him. That was one thing that couldn't be confused about Lance. He was honest- even brutally at times.
"You are right." Connor said softly, musing over his situation as he peered back toward the inn with a blank face. "Once he leaves the company of the Templars I will strike." He clenched a fist.
Lance placed a hand over the fist, smirking. "With me at your side, mon ami."
Several hours had passed and evening had long since settled over the quiet and serene city of Martinique. Connor had settled with his back against the wall of the grey building while Lance had made a resting place on the ground, back propped against the wall as he sat beside Connor. Connor, in question, was gazing dazedly toward the inn while Lance was peering up at him with a look of curiosity.
"You alright? You seem.. more tense than usual."
A look of irritation crossed the assassin's face as he let those brown orbs shift to his friend's face.
"Blame James for my current 'down' mood." He merely answered with.
A snort filled the air. "What'd James do?"
Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "He had a social gathering and forced me into drinking. Said I needed a strong one, but I clearly over did it." He had a very clear scowl on his face.
Lance snickered then. "James is an odd one, but Connor, if he forced you to drink, shouldn't you be resting it off?"
"Blame Achilles."
A full on laugh escaped the younger man, who pushed on his knees to stand up, clutching his stomach. "They got you all worked up, mon ami."
Connor shrugged, uninterested in thinking on it.
Finally, in what seemed like forever, Connor noticed the door to the tavern opening. He straightened, moving from the wall to turn toward the inn.
Lance turned serious as he stood beside Connor, gazing as well with narrowed blue orbs. He nodded to Connor as the man trekked away down the side road. He sighed before saying, "I'll head on ahead. Cut him off. Rester en sécurité."
Connor grumbled his understanding while Lance slipped off to another road, which connected with the way the man had taken. Connor decided it was time, checking that his hidden blade would be able to do the job as he flicked his wrist, the blade flashing before he shifted the hand, drawing the blade back in. His foot moved and he found himself falling into step many feet behind his target. Tilbert seemed oblivious to his presence as he weaved past people, heading towards the harbor way down below from their hill-based location of the city.
Just up ahead a form, with his casual brown and white garb that looked like a drunk pirate, moved out from the shadows to intercept the path of Tilbert, who paused at the sight of this 'drunkard', as he would assume most likely.. that, or trouble. Connor's ears picked up the confrontation.
"Move, you bloke." Tilbert's voice, having earlier been quiet and gentle, was now a growl of frustration.
Connor heard the sound of a slow chuckling, saw the glint of a smirk as the man turned.. and then Lance was peering at the man with that creepy way he could show when he was being intimidating. But, from the looks, this only served to further irritate the Templar ally than strike fear into his heart and mind.
"Move, he says. Fou." He said, 'crazy' slipping from his lips in French.
The man unsheathed his side dagger, glaring at Connor's friend with another growl. "Looking for a fight, pirate scum?"
"I've not been one for looking.. I create." Came the sharp retort of the self-proclaimed pirate Native American Frenchman.
Connor advanced, almost to his target.. but he broke into a sprint when he saw the man raising his blade as he prepared to fight Lance.
Lance peered over the shoulder of the brute to the running Connor, whistling loudly to distract the man while raising his fists to show that he was eager to indeed brawl.
Just as the man was about to dash at Lance Connor was upon him, but the man had actually side-stepped at hearing the swishing of cloth, sword flashing to instinctively block Connor's hidden blade.
He snarled at the sight of Connor, shoving him back roughly with his sword. Connor slid back, hood covering his upper-face. Tilbert glanced between the two, connecting the dots as he stood to his full height, smiling bitterly. "I see. A distraction you were." He spared a look to Lance briefly. "I've heard about you." He gazed to Connor then. "The assassin that Achilles took in and trained." He raised his blade, waving it in the air. "I've been wanting to cross blades with you."
Connor scowled at the man, tensed, half crouched as he prepared for the intense fight he knew was coming. "If you know so much about me.. you know I am not one to trifle with."
The man laughed, a dark sound that rattled the very air. "As you should know about me, assassin."
Connor wasn't up for chit-chatting. He wanted to get this over with. Lance pulled out his flintlock, holding it up but not aiming it at the man; a show that he was not as he had appeared and was ready to fulfill his words.
It was showtime.