Chapter 10: Cruel Cruel World Pt. 3
I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 characters. I do own MaryLynn, Madam, and the Maverick brothel.
Italics: Native tongue spoken
This was originally supposed to be in two parts, but more material came through.
"Where there is desire
There is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame
Someone's bound to get burned
But just because it burns
Doesn't mean you're gonna die
You've gotta get up and try, try, try...
Gotta get up and try, try, try...
You've gotta get up and try, try try..."
-"Try" by P!nk
June 26, 1775
"MaryLynn? Why won't you open the window? MaryLynn!"
The blonde woman refused to answer to Connor's questions. She lay in bed, her bare back facing the window. He could see in the darkness that her body shivered. What was wrong? What had he done for her to refuse him entry?
"Come down from there. She won' listen to you or me."
The voice from below was raspy and heavy with a Scottich accent. Looking down, Connor found Madam standing there, her hands placed on her round, plump hips. Sighing in frustration, he climbs down the building, hoping to gain answers from the older woman.
"I know you come through the window, lad," she says, her voice softening.
"I do not doubt that. You have not actively protested against me since my first visit. Why is this so?"
"I usually don' take kindly to 'suitors' coming to my brothel, botherin' my girls after their shifts are done and over with. However.."
Madam softens up, her hands leaving her hips.
"You seem to make tha' girl happy. So, I figured what the hell."
"Why won't she let me in? What has happened? Is she still ill?"
"Ill? Ah bullocks, she didn' tell you..." sighed Madam, shaking her head.
"Tell me what? What is it you speak of?"
She sighs deeply once more, rubbing her eyes. This wasn't going to be easy, since the young man was clearly alarmed.
"Lad, she was two months pregnant…And the baby didn' make it."
Beyond silenced, Connor's eyes widened, his lips agape. He looked away to the side, his lips thinning as he tried to stifle his emotions. Why didn't she just tell him? Why did she lie? Who was the father? 'I'll kill him,' he thought with vengeance. Connor began to pace back and forth.
"I see you're mad, but it's not called for," Madam said.
"She lied to me when I asked her what was wrong," Connor argued, his pacing having stopped. "She had told me that she was ill. Why couldn't she trust me?"
"This has nothin' to do with you, boy! She was scared out o' her wits, and the last thing she needs is an angry man demandin' answer after answer from her. Only she and I knew, no one else. Now, I'll ask you straight out: Are you the father?"
"No…No, I am not. I have never been…intimate…with her."
The idea of being a father left the Native assassin uncomfortable and suddenly ill.
"I didn' think you were. It would be rather quiet when you would visit anyway. "
"You listened in?" he asked, bothered by the fact that the older woman would eavesdrop on their conversations.
"I am the madam of this brothel," she asserted, stepping up to Connor despite the height difference. "I supervise all my girls."
"I understand," he mutters, his anger wavering.
"Come on, I'll take you inside," Madam offers. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Poor thing jus' found out last week tha' she had a miscarriage. She refuses to come out of bed now."
Leading the Native assassin into the Maverick, Madam ascends the small steps to the front door, opening it to enter the brothel. Connor followed the older woman with a respectful distance. Passing through the narrow entrance hall, he was greeted by the disturbing pressed flowers hanging on the walls. He never did enjoy those herbal corpses. How were they supposed to convey a welcoming feeling? It all just seemed disturbing to him.
Madam stops at the bottom of the staircase that led to the bedrooms upstairs. There was the same rickety podium, positioned on the left side of the staircase. A quill saluted the ceiling atop the podium.
Swallowing hard, Connor tightens his fists by his sides. With all his might, he tries to remain level-headed.
"Does she know who the father is?"
"Oohh, nev'r ask tha' here. Sometimes contraceptives don' work, and a woman gets pregnant. In this line of work, how can a girl honestly know who fathered the child? And don' go thinkin' you'll figure it out. I see that anger in you. You wan' to beat some bastard to a pulp. Well, get in line, because I'll beat you to it. However, we will never know who the father is.
Some girls choose to kill the baby in privacy. There is no judgmen' here. A woman does with her body what she will, and the rest is none of my concern. But MaryLynn…Christ, she was goin' to keep it."
Connor turned away. Nature took its course when it was deemed necessary. However, the loss of a potential life was a grand loss. He was thankful that the lip of his hood had concealed his eyes. As talented as he was at retaining a neutral facial expression, his dark eyes had always given him away.
"Let me see her," he requested, his firm voice having softened.
"Alright," Madam sighs, figuring that if no one else could get through to her girl, then maybe this young man standing before her could. "I've tried speakin' to her. I've lived this common tragedy before. She won' speak or move, and, quite frankly, no woman would wan' to talk to anyone after somethin' like this."
Madam leans her elbow onto the podium where written schedules were kept.
"She jus' stares at the walls. Maybe you can snap her out of this."
Connor nods his head, his hands folded before him. In this moment, he could feel the crucifix MaryLynn had given him against his skin more than usual. It was always tucked underneath his military shirt. It was in times of stress when he could feel the cold silver and smooth onyx beads against his copper skin more than usual. It was something that she had worn, as if she were present every time he felt the necklace.
He began to ascend the staircase. Once he reached the second to last step, Madam's throaty voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You're clearly not the father. Why do you care for her so much, dearie?"
She was being serious, no trace of threat or sarcasm detected. She wanted to know why this Native man made it his business if MaryLynn was not well, mentally and physically.
He could not answer the older woman right away. The wrinkles framing her small brown eyes and her terse lips had alluded to how much stress she underwent, despite what she allowed people to see. He squeezed the banister of the staircase, refusing to turn around and look at Madam. The emotions were not difficult to experience. In fact, they overpowered his ability to speak. Why must emotions be communicated verbally? Why can't emotions just be manifested into living things? Pictures, even? That was how his people had communicated their emotions, through paint and craftwork and etchings into material. Some things were better shown rathe than spoken of. Talking about every little thing tugging at his heartstrings was something Connor was not comfortable with at all.
However, he would give it his best try. At least try.
"She said you were a private one, dear," Madam said, having mercy on the quiet young man. "I'm trustin' you. She's my girl in more ways than one."
Ascending the rest of the staircase to the top, Connor finally turns around, his gaze hesitant from beneath his hood, but unafraid nonetheless.
"I will honor your wishes," he says in a deep, clear voice.
The hallway was thankfully not as narrow as the entry hallway downstairs. Instead of dead, pressed flowers hanging on the walls, there were paintings of lush gardens and velvet drapes hanging on the wood tiled walls. The place needed a serious dusting, but other than that it was nicely decorated. He was able to discern MaryLynn's bedroom easily, picturing where her window would be located outside the building.
Standing before her bedroom door, he knocked three times on the hard surface.
No answer. He knocked three more times. Finally, a weak, monotone voice called out.
"Go away."
"MaryLynn, open this door. It's Connor."
"Leave me alone."
"MaryLynn, I am not leaving until I speak with you. Open this door, please."
She refused to answer or even open the door.
Vexed by her behavior, he sighed deeply from his throat. He tries to turn the knob, but found it to be rigid. Locked. He resorted to picking the lock. Retrieving the proper tools from one of his belt pouches, Connor begins working on the lock by inserting the first slim metal tool. Once he found a clicking "sweet spot" within the lock, he inserted the second tool, which was shorter in length than the first. A couple of hard slams of the tools had granted him access to the bedroom, the door creaking as it opened. It was pitch black inside, the only source of light coming from the window. His eyes adjusted as best as they could to the darkness, making out a silhouette lying down in the bed.
MaryLynn lay on her side, her back facing him once again. She must have known that Connor would eventually break in, changing her position in bed. On closer inspection, he could see that her shoulders, arms, and collarbone were bare and exposed. The rest of her body was concealed beneath the ivory sheets. He gulped at the sight, trying to remember that she was not fully exposed. Now was not the time to worry over her lack of clothing.
As he walked over to the bed with heavy footsteps, the blonde woman uttered in a throaty voice, "Why won't you leave me be?"
"I will not leave you until you are content enough to sleep."
He now stood over her body, his white hood casting a deep shadow over half of his face.
"Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me that you were with child?"
"It's my business," she spat, pulling the sheets closer over her nude body. She refused to show her face, but her voice had given her emotions away.
"Have I not trusted you with my troubles? Why can't you do the same in return?"
MaryLynn peeked over her shoulders, blonde curls covering her eyes.
"This is not about you. I didn't want to talk about it. I tried to be brave. Now look what my so called bravery has brought me."
Her head returns to facing the windows, a dry sob erupting her body. Madam's words rang true. The blonde woman was frightened, and speaking of such things would have made her feel worse. Connor felt slightly guilty. He only wanted her to trust him, to come to him when she needed him. He did not mean to push her. However, to see her so devastated…he could not bear it. His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes began to sting. What could he possibly do?
"C-Connor," she spoke again, her sobs breaking up her words. "I don't…wa-ant you…to…see me…th-this wa-ay."
Pulling up a spare chair to the bedside, Connor sits down, resting his elbows on his knees as he leans forward toward MaryLynn.
"I will leave when you are able to pluck my body from this chair and throw me out yourself."
The mentioning of this impossible feat had evoked a response from her. She slowly rolled over onto her other side, facing Connor with a tear stained face. Her eyes were bloodshot, as red as the eyes of a white rabbit. They appeared swollen from excessive crying. The bedsheets still covered her body from her collarbone and down. Her arms lay over the bedsheets, tangled blonde curls slightly brushing her shoulders. MaryLynn felt humiliated facing her dear friend in this state. She failed to retain a growing child inside her body. And now here she was, refusing to see the light of day and locking out every person who banged on her bedroom door. She hated looking like a child in front of him.
The millisecond he met her weeping eyes, the Native assassin experienced a dull pain in his chest. Empathy.
'She would have been a kind mother,' thought Connor, his head bowing slowly. An image of the blonde woman with a rosy cheeked infant danced into his mind like a pleasantly calm minuet. He envisioned her laughing, joyous to hold the mot beautiful symbol of life in her arms. Subconsciously, he imagined the infant bearing darker skin than the mother's. 'She would have been the perfect mother.'
"I couldn't keep it," she whispered between sobs, her blue eyes wide and glistening with fresh tears. "My body k-killed it. I'm a failure. I'm st-stained, a sinner, that's why I couldn't k-keep it be-because I wasn't good enough!"
She sobbed heavily into her pillow, her body shaking violently. Connor pulled down his hood, his dark eyes and downturned mouth revealing his own sorrow for the blonde woman. 'How can she speak of herself in such ways? She did nothing wrong. She gave this new life a chance.'
"You are not to blame. Understand that. This life was not meant to be, and nature had to take its course. Sometimes nature intervenes when it deems the action appropriate."
"Nature is cruel," she growled, wiping her eyes and cheeks with the sheets.
"I know," he sighs, his voice barely audible, knowing all too well how nature can leave one stranded and confused at times.
Whenever a pregnancy failed, his village would bury the remains of the fetus in a ceremony. Even an unborn life was still honored and wished all the luck and love for that life force to reach the Sky World in peace. He did not know if the blonde woman would allow him to, but Connor wondered if a prayer in Mohawk would ease the woman's sorrow over her lost child.
"MaryLynn, I can pray for your child's life force if you wish."
"L-life force?" she stutters, sniffling as she rested her head into the pillow.
"I believe you call it a 'soul.' In my village, we honor the life force of a deceased fetus. It is still valuable despite not being born. If I may...I can pray in my native tongue for your child to find peace."
"Can you?" she questioned, her voice quiet as a gentle breeze. "I want it to find Heaven."
"Of course I can. I may have to place my hand on your stomach since this is where it shared life with you. Is this alright?"
"Yes."
He did not want to mention the remains of the fetus, in fear of upsetting the blonde woman even further. Touching her stomach and praying was the best that he could do. She seemed to be alleviated by this. Initially hesitant, Connor places his open palm onto MaryLynn's lower stomach, his hand molding over the roundness of her belly. He closes his eyes, and begins a relaxing rhythm of breathing to focus his mind. In a deep, clear voice, he prays softly in Mohawk to wish this child a safe journey to the Sky World.
"I pray that this life force, this precious being that has not experienced this physical plane, will find peace and allow the Faceless One to guide it to the Sky World. Find peace, for you are well protected by the spirits." **
His heart began to race once his focus was broken. He had never spoken in his native tongue in front of MaryLynn before. Slowly opening his eyes, his vision was met with a tranquil expression on the blonde woman's face. Her tears had ceased their shedding. Her eyes were clear and bright as ever. Her breath was very shallow, passing through slightly parted lips.
"MaryLynn? Are you alright?" inquired Connor, his heated palm still melded over her stomach.
"Connor…Was that your mother tongue?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"Yes. I prayed that your child would find peace in the Sky World, or Heaven as you call it. It is safe and well protected. It will find peace."
Just as Connor was removing his hand from her stomach, MaryLynn gently took hold his hand. Her touch was delicate, shaking slightly from the rattling of her previous sobbing.
"I-I.." she begins to speak, trying to ease herself. "I know y-you're not one for physical cont-tact, but.."
MaryLynn breathes in deeply, exhaling in shivers. The sobs were smoothed out, allowing her to speak coherently.
"Can you hold my hand until I fall asleep?" the blonde woman finally manages to ask of him.
Her wide eyes. Her quivering rosy lips. Her unoccupied hand grasping the bedsheets like a final lifeline. They were all like an antique glass menagerie, lovely to view upon but utterly morbid to watch shatter in the eruption of a quake. MaryLynn was the broken menagerie on display for Connor to see, and she worked through being honest in her vulnerability.
The somber expression upon Connor's face had nearly mirrored her own face. To her surprise, the Native assassin immediately, gently squeezes her hand to communicate that he would hold her hand until she was thieved of him by unconsciousness. The contract of her small, pale hand in his large, copper hand was more than noticeable, but the unity was beautiful enough to blur the differences.
For a man that was skilled in killing, he possessed the most healing touch she had ever experienced.
"Thank you," she whispers, her sorrow beginning to fade away in the palm of his hand.
"Always," he mumbles, breaking eye contact for a moment to take in her gratitude.
She moans, the tempting touch of slumber pulling her into a deep sleep. The pillow had never felt so comfortable before until now. As her vision began to blur, the final thing she saw before she fell asleep was Connor's vigilant, meaningful gaze. She smiled lazily, her eyelids sealed shut.
"Never stop being my angel."
He smirks morbidly, looking away. 'I am not an angel. You're delusional.'
Eyes burn like cinders from beneath her lids as she leaves the numb reality of her dreams. To move her eyes behind her lids had hurt, a dull sting experienced. MaryLynn frowned deeply at the sting as she forced herself to open her eyes.
The soft golden light streaming from her window developed from a blob of light in her vision to the image of the rising sun. So, a new day had come after all.
Groaning softly, MaryLynn rolls onto her back to carefully sit up. She was still groggy from the deep sleep. She could have sworn that she had just closed her eyes for a moment, only to awaken with the sun. Heavy hooded eyes drift to the side to find Connor still in his chair, sleeping with his arms crossed and his head hanging low. A muffled snore emitted from his large body.
He had stayed all night. He had promised to leave when MaryLynn fell asleep, but he had extended his promise to staying the entire night for her. 'He must be exhausted," she thought. 'If only he would ask for a blanket or a pillow, that poor, stubborn man.'
Her heart was still heavy with sorrow. Her body still felt too heavy to lift. Depression had these effects on the body. The blonde woman could easily go back to sleep and bury herself in the sheets to hide from the new day. She could ask herself, "Why get up?" Nothing was different. She still felt lost.
However, watching Connor sleep had granted her the ability to see a light in the seemingly omnipresent darkness. The Native assassin had loyally sat by her bedside until she stopped crying and fell asleep. He had spoken beautifully in his native tongue a prayer of protection and peace, just for the unborn child. He did not have to do this, but he chose to.
He once came to her after a battle a broken man. She granted him the same peace he had granted her in this time of need. And he had gotten back up. He continued to fight, even when he was exhausted; close to giving everything up. He had rose to his feet just as the sun rose to each new day. Resurrect the spirit, just as the universe resurrects the sun.
The Native assassin had taught her perseverance.
'You are not stained,' MaryLynn thought to herself as she stared at the inspiration sleeping before her. 'You live because you have a purpose. Just because it was not meant to be, does not mean that you should stop living!'
And then a revelation hit her like a tidal wave crashing onto the crisp white sand.
Never stop living. Never stop trying.
If people like Madam and Connor cared for her when she did not care for herself, then life was worth living. To stop living would only hurt the people that gave a damn about her, believed in her when she refused to believe in herself. She had to get up. She had to get up and try another chance at life. This was not the end, and it wouldn't be for a long time. She will learn to live for herself. To stop living would be spitting on the death of her unborn child. If it…If she could not live, then MaryLynn had to try and live the beauty of life for this child.
'For you,' the words smoothed over in her mind like a lullaby as she filled her heart with love, not sorrow. 'For you, I will live.'
Easing out of bed, MaryLynn makes her way in the nude to her dresser, the pads of her feet sliding over the wooden floor. A crisp white blouse, a dark gray bodice, and a faded emerald skirt with a creamy petticoat underneath. She worked through the tangles in her golden hair with her fingers as she gazed into the looking glass on her vanity desk. Her eyes were still slightly swollen from last night's sobbing. Her fingers left her hair as they smoothed around her eyes gingerly.
"You'll be alright," MaryLynn whispered, patting the tender skin around her eyes.
Fully dressed and prepared, the blonde woman quietly makes her way to the bedroom door to start her day with chores. Before she could even touch the doorknob, Connor voice's slithered through the air with a rasp.
"Where are you going?"
He was awake? Was he even sleeping before?
"I'm starting my day, Connor," she calmly answers, turning around to see that Connor had begun to turn around in his chair to look at her.
She appeared different from last night. She stopped crying. She did not lie in bed like a helpless rag doll forgotten by her beloved owner. MaryLynn was fully dressed and standing her full height, looking him directly in the eyes. No tears. No fears.
"Are you alright?" he asks, clearing his throat as he stood up from his seat.
Her eyes shift down to the floor for a moment, mulling over her honest to God answer.
"Not really," she admits, looking back into Connor's concerned gaze. "However, that does not mean I should pity myself, and neither should you."
She takes a step or two closer to him, her gentle gaze refusing to falter.
"I may not know how to live this life, but I am going to try and live it, even if I am sad. I can do this. I've told you from the beginning that I don't need a savior, and I never will. But your friendship…what you showed me in the past and last night has shown me how to draw in strength, even when I don't believe I have any left. Your friendship has shown me just that. You stood up; so can I. Thank you, Connor. Always."
And that was when Connor saw her true potential. She was brave. He believed in the spirit of people just a little bit more as he watched his dear friend transform from a broken child to a soaring woman. And all she asked of him was his friendship, nothing more. His heart beat just a little bit faster, just a little bit harder for MaryLynn Mortenson.
He stared at her with admiration, a smile sneaking past his vigilance and onto his full lips. This expression was nothing like MaryLynn had ever seen on his face before. Did he have the slightest idea how lovely he was when he smiled? Truly smiled?
"Wh-what is it?" she questions him, somewhat bashful in his presence all of a sudden.
"Umm," he chokes out, the smile vanishing. "Nothing. I'm happy that you are well. I did not doubt your will, not once."
She smiles warmly at his behavior change. He was so frantic sometimes, especially when he caught himself smiling. She understood why, and that was ok with her.
"Thank you. In more ways than one."
"You're welcome. Always."
"I'm going to start on my chores for the day. You're welcome to stay if you want."
"I cannot," Connor declines her offer graciously. "I don't wish to irritate Madam any further by extending my stay."
"Did she give you more trouble?"
"No, she did not. She cares for you, that is all. I can respect that very much. I must leave for the homestead, anyway."
"If you say so."
The blonde woman backtracks to the door, her hand reaching for the knob, Her fingers sail over the cool metal before bidding Connor goodbye.
"Goodbye, Connor, Travel safely."
"I will, thank you. I will leave through the window so as not to raise suspicion."
"I think after last night you have already raised suspicion."
He smirked at her comment.
"No worries," says MaryLynn. "Madam is trustworthy."
Connor nods his head. He does not understand why he does not wish to stop staring at the woman before him. Unspoken words had burned on his lips and his tongue. He could not bring himself to say the words. What were the words? What did he crave to say to her? He gave up trying, and instead bid her goodbye.
"I will see you soon, then?" he says.
"Yes. I will be here."
"Goodbye, MaryLynn."
"Goodbye, Connor. Thank you, again and again."
MaryLynn opened the door and exited her bedroom, smiling one last time in his direction before closing the said door. Connor sighed aloud, his shoulders hunched forward. Staring at the closed door, he pictured her warm, light-inspiring smile in his mind as the words he yearned to say escaped his lips.
"Konnorónhkwa." ++
Alas, she would not hear his voice, the moment long gone in the sands of time.
Later That Day
MaryLynn locates Madam in the backyard, hanging bedsheets and blouses on a line to dry in the afternoon sun. Two pins were firmly held between her lips. Standing at the open doorway, MaryLynn wrung her hands together nervously. This would not be an easy announcement to make, especially to the woman who took her under her wing. However, the time was calling for her to make the next transition in her life. She had to heed the call to take a risk.
"Madam?" the blonde woman called out, one foot stepping past the threshold.
"Mmhmmm?" hummed the older woman, the pins still between her lips as she hung up a sheet.
'Now or never,' thought MaryLynn, rubbing the leather bracelet as she made her way to the laundry line. The sunlight was slightly harsh on her skin. She could feel her cheeks and chest heating up. However, her nerves might also be the culprits of this sudden warmth. Who knows?
Once the pins were gone from her lips, Madam said, "I know you're standin' there dearie. Speak."
Ceasing the rubbing of her bracelet, the blonde woman stood on the opposite side of the laundry line, the sheet concealing her face and body from Madam.
"It's good to see you out and about," Madam spoke again, disliking the silence. "I'm guessin' tha' Connor must've said somethin' righ'?"
"Yes," MaryLynn attested to the assumption. "However, it was your words that rang true as well, Madam…on the day that I found out about my pregnancy."
"I don' recall half of wha' I say. Hopefully, I said somethin' good," the older woman chuckled.
"You did. All morning, I have been thinking hard about what I'm about to tell you."
At that moment, Madam pulled away the sheet that separated them, looking her in the eye with her brows raised.
"Madam…you are the world to me…but I think…I think it's time for me to move on."
A moment or two passed before Madam smiled warmly, her eyes looking down to the verdant grass beneath her. She nodded, her red curls bopping up and down. MaryLynn did not understand the older woman's reaction until she had explained why she smiled so widely.
"I had a feelin' tha' you would come to this. Your life is meant to be lived out there, not stuck here. Come with me, let's talk, you and I.."
**: This was tricky to write in because to find Mohawk or even Iroquois/Haudenosaunee views on miscarriages was tough. The best that I could gather from research is that the unborn child is still viewed as a living being with a Life Force (soul), therefore it is honored after death. The remains would be buried like a full grown body, but again, this is very brief. Native American ceremonies are special and kept private from anyone outside of the heritage, so I doubt finding an exact ceremony would be easy. If anyone has further information on this topic, please let me know. I do not wish to be inaccurate and insult anyone. I tried my best and thought of what Connor would do, since he does pray for his deceased targets to reach the Sky World and be at peace in the actual game.
++: Konnorónhkwa is Mohawk for, "I love you" (loose translation into English). An exact translation would be, "I show you I care."
Author's Note: Two chapters. One update. How 'bout them apples? I ended up writing quite a lot. I wanted to get through writing these battle scenes because writing lines from the game isn't something I'm thrilled about (but it's part of the story), so I try to add my own flavor here and there with dialogue and insight. I guess I pushed myself a lot, ha ha.
Anyway, things are going to be nice in the next chapter. It's a big step for MaryLynn, and I can assure you she will be happy in the next few chapters. Connor is developing as well, I'm happy that he is coming out of his shell (even if he goes right back in his shell once in a while).
The last two songs I provided, "Resurrect the Sun" by Black Veil Brides and "Try" by P!nk, are very special to me and inspiring in the darkest of times. These characters have been through a lot, and I felt that these songs truly captured certain moments. So, I hope you look them up and listen for a few minutes to get a better feel for the characters' emotions. Shout out to KathDMD who completely understands my love of combining writing and music! They go hand in hand! :D Thanks for inspiring me, Kath. :)
Thank you for all your support, everyone. I hope two new updates show you how much I appreciate your support and encouragement. I love to entertain people through my writing. You are lovely and the messages are a delight to read! I hope these two chapters entertain you.
~take care