Notice: I feel pretty bad that I didn't continue this one like I promised, but now that I'm on my way to finishing the last bits of "Know Thyself", I might as well finish this doc I've had stashed up for months now. Why not?

This was actually supposed to be a longer chapter, but now I've decided to make it two chapters, since the "not so long" chapter updates on this fic seem more ideal and balanced. Yippee! XD

Also I have NO IDEA where the actual location of the Davenport Homestead was in the game, so FRACK THAT. Imma put it in Cambridge City, near Boston, so THERE.

Brace yourselves.

Aaaaand…Read on!

— ACT 2 : THE WAITING UP —

The Davenport Apartment building, Cambridge, Massachusetts

1:15 A.M on a Tuesday

David Walston/Big Dave's POV

Low lighting and the faintest sounds being amplified by the quiet. The blue prints for a special tool I had drafted earlier that night was rolled up, my hands turning it constantly. I've been unrolling and looking at the design repeatedly for about an hour now, my turn as 'apartment sentry' for the night watch almost up. I've stopped marching about the hall minutes ago, but I still kept my Red Sox* baseball bat between my elbows just in case.

Besides me was Lance, who was waiting for his turn on the night watch on one of his IKEA-like chairs. Although, he didn't seem for the wear to be any kind of sentry: wearing one of those two-piece pajamas, complete with fuzzy wool slippers, hair frizzled all over and his beard, and even a dress robe! (All he needed was a night cap and he'd be ready for A Christmas Carol play!)

All I had on was a tank top and my sweatpants, my socked feet barely shielding my skin from the wooden floor. And even those were uncomfortable.

The sleep was still on him even, judging on how he keeps rubbing his hand over his face and the constant suppressing of yawns. Makes me wonder why he even bothered to get up for the watch.

Still, it was nice to have a friend to be with during this late at night.

Through another yawn, Lance went and drawled out, "How much longer till Connor comes back now? He said…said he'd be back before one, right?" The man then stretched out on his seat, arms and legs going on opposite directions.

Marching near the front door, I glanced over to telecom installed on the wall near it then to Lance and snorted out, "Already giving in to Morpheus' grasp, are ya?" I chuckled out and went over to lean against the wall next to him. I tried to suppress a snort as Lance shifted in his seat awkwardly from my statement.

"It's not that I wasn't prepared for my turn on watch…" The man began as he slowly got out of his chair, hiding a loud yawn futilely to look at me and continued, "I just wish Connor didn't take so long to come back." He remarked about our much appreciated but task-demanding caretaker. A short glance at the hanging wall clock above me made his brows frown unpleasantly. "What does the boy do when he's not taking care of this place, anywho? And at this late at night even!"

I merely shrugged in reply. We all knew that the man, modest and helpful as he was, had his own secrets, particularly about his daytime-or nighttime-line of work. Something about a telephone company or security work, but that was it.

We didn't pry him for more, though. Never. Why bother? He never asked us for our secrets.

A knock nearby got our attentions, but it wasn't from the front door. We turned our heads over to the nearby staircase to see someone at the bottom most tier. But as the person climbed down completely, we calmed down. It was Ellen, dressed in a long nightgown and her own dress robe (Really. Why was everyone in those things?) with, bless God Almighty, a tray of snacks…and coffee!

"Morning, boys. Thought you could use some 'power-ups' during the night watch." Despite the light hollowness of her eyes made prominent by the lights, Ellen spoke to us brightly as she went over to us, the rich aroma of caffeine goodness filling the air and reawakening my senses, practically calling out, "Big Dave! Drink me!"

As if by magic, me and Lance both got a jolt, Lance pushing his chair over to the stairs so Ellen could lay the tray on its seat. "Oh, Ellen. You're a real blessing, you know!" Drowsiness gone for the moment, I made for a mug and some biscuits to dip.

"Indeed. Praise be God for this tray, Ellen." Lance also joked about, grabbing a loaf of bread that had some butter slapped on it.

Despite the lateness of the Watch, there was always going to be someone offering to keep the sentries up and fresh. Prudence with her veggie soup, Timothy with his missionary stories, Doc White with his inquiries in our well-beings. Made up for a certain caretaker who was out past his promised curfew time.

Still, what kind of grown adult man would give himself a curfew?

Taking her own cup and lowering down onto a tier, Ellen said, "It's a 'thank you' for keeping an eye on our shop the other day. " She smiled lightly to either of us, but then her brows frowned in though. "Odd. Connor's usually home a few minutes earlier than midnight. Where is he..."

I nodded in agreement. Job or no job, the least the guy could've done was call or text ahead. Usually, he would. Now I was getting worried.

"Anywho, what's keeping you up now? It's not your turn for the watch yet." I said, not that the women, except that brawler Myriam, were asked to do rounds in the first place. Some often still insisted, though

She took a sip from her mug first, then tiredly answered, "Oh, just a really complicated commissioned dress. Something for that Autumn fest or so up the East—"

Before she could finish her sentence, we all almost jumped at the sound of the front door being knocked. My first thought was to give a mental insult to the knocker for not using the doorbell, but then again, the whole apartment building would've heard. Before I could react further, Ellen stood up from the tier and went over towards the door.

"Oh, you best leave that to us, ma'am.", Lance chided cautiously as he followed and grabbed her by a shoulder before she could touch the doorknob.

Not so much as flinching as to exasperatingly turning her head, the seamstress chided. " It could be Connor. If the man came home this late, then we'd have to—"

"But Lance has a point, Ellen.", I interrupted and strode over to the door ahead of the two. I continued firmly, "At this late, we can't be sure who's gonna be at out doors. Especially if Connor hadn't called us yet."

Mutely, Ellen's reconsideration of what we said was shown with trusting nod. I took a deep breath and stretched my arms some, keeping awake before going over to the telecom.

Taking a moment, I pressed the speakers on and said in a polite but cautious voice, "Davenport apartment building. Who would this be?"

Removing my finger the button, I glanced back to my friends and eyed their anticipating looks. And then, back to the door, I awaited a reply from the other side.

It made my eye twitch when the receiver roared to life with some static before th sounds outside became audible. There were some subtle male voices bickering slightly. I couldn't make out the owners, but then someone hushed the others before the receiver buzzed to life.

"Umm, yes. Good evenin' to ye, lad. Truly sorry to bother on such lateness." It's Duncan. Duncan Little. The pastor** who visited Ratonhnhaké:ton*** the other week?"

A slight Irish tone. Hold on... I knew that guy! This Little was sometimes with this rowdy group of friends Connor had. He and the native man were in complete contrast to the other two he often had with him. But the man was inclusive enough to use Connor's real name, so...

If he was here, then maybe Connor was with him and the other boys. Or knew where Connor is at the moment, at least. So, with a more welcoming and curious tone, I pressed the button again and said, "Yes, I remember you. Good evening. Now, before you speak your intentions of coming here, would you mind telling me what's currently happened to our caretaker? He's been out much longer than he usually is..."

I removed my finger again, but didn't have to wait long for the next set of replies.

"Oh, well. He's actually here with us...Dammit, Chief. Don't go galloping there!" A young, scruff voice said, the later sentence to some other person. It was them followed by a French accented voice.

"But he's...Heheheh. Now, he's a tad bit...not himself...Just...well, don't be too shocked—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you two!" Duncan exclaimed at whoever he was with, his irish deeper now. "Why don't you just blur out to the whole neighborhood and have a Twitter off about it!" He blurred out to whoever the others were before his tone subdued done when he spoke to me, "Yes. Connor's with us. He needed someone to take him home due to his current...state of being."

Whatever relief that I had upon hearing that Connor had come home was now replaced with worry. Current state of being? I turned back to Lance and Ellen, who both held the same confused expression I had before Ellen spoke up. "Let them in, Dave."

Lance, though the sleepiness had left him, nodded with a slight yawn out in agreement. I took to filtering what we might find in my head before shrugging and pressed the telecom again to tell Duncan, "Alright, alright, mister. I'll open the door now to let you all in."

As I heard the reply, Duncan's voice was rather relief, almost apologetically. "Bless you, sir. Please. Give us a moment to get our friend." And with that, the receiver went mute.

I took this as a cue to open the door, removing the locks as after handing Lance my blueprints. Finally, with an anticipating flick of the wrist, I turned the door knob and opened the door to allow them entry.

Problem was, I wasn't prepared for the sight beholding the stoop.

I couldn't see Connor yet, but his three friends, whom the other two I vaguely remember, were dressed in fancy black jackets and pants, frilly under shirts, red sashes everywhere, and gigantic sombreros. They were even carrying instruments: Duncan, I think, had a guitar while the other two sported a trumpet and maracas.

They were a mariachi band...at 1:20 A.M. in the morning.

Out of notion, I moved sideways to let them come in. They took in the hint and came inside, albeit with different looks of embarrassment. Duncan, whom I confirmed was the visitor for the other week, looked to me as if he tried not to be too ashamed of his outfit.

I was too shocked by their ensemble to make a statement, but behind me, Ellen beat me to it. In a weary voice, she asked, "So...did you all take Connor to a...fiesta of some kind?"

One of other guys, who was snickering despite himself, beat Duncan to a reply as he was just moving his mouth and said, "Well, not exactly. But the ride home was rather festive." It was followed by more spurts and a glare from Duncan. The other man, who looked younger than either men, was fidgeting in his costume and twirling the maracas, not looking at anyone.

When the French man finally calmed down, Duncan's expression softened as he turned back to us. He did some strumming on the guitar before speaking in a courteous tone, "We're terribly sorry for this awkwardness. I can't fully explain this to ye all without some eye brows raised."

"What do you mean by that now? What happened?" Lance, though still sleep-deprived, sounded alarmed. I couldn't blame him. Me And most likely Ellen as well were giving odd looks at the new trio.

It had appeared that Duncan was about to answer, but a strange clicking noise made itself known.

That clicking noise had a rhythm to it. Upbeat and snappy. And, bizarre as it is, it made me want to tap dance.

This...was getting weird.

As if on cue, the boys took up their instruments and drawled out a short intro tune. While he strummed the guitar, Duncan looked up to me from his sombrero, his face in constipation, and whispered, "We'll just let him explain later."

Not less than three seconds later, the front door, making us jump for the second time tonight, swung open and slammed into the paralleling wall, but I soon got over the moment as we all gazed curiously at a tall male figure, the light emitted by the street lamps outside making a distinct silhouette over the shadowed man.

Standing in a slouch, an arm latched onto the door that was pushed open and holding a castanet in his hand (I'm pretty sure that was what caused the clicking noises), and a similar ensemble to this pseudo-mariachi band, only with a sombrero with those little red balls hanging around the rim. It complete covered his face because he was looking down.

After looking back to my two neighbors and seeing their confused reactions similar to mine, I turned back to the man at the door and strode slowly, scruffily asking out loud, "Hello...Are you one of Connor's—"

But with a flash of motion, the man's stature changed drastically as both arms that held castanets snapped into position and furiously clicked the shells, posture curved and lax as he moved forward, raising his head to unveil from the sombrero his dark skin and lone hair braid—

Now wait a didly darn minute...!

"C-Co-Connor?!" I finally stammered out, sensing similar groaning confusion from everyone else in the room, even his friends. As we gawked at him, our caretaker swaggered his way in a faster tempo with his castanets, stomping in a rhythm around that part of the front hall without much of a word.

The little mariachi band strummed out another tune when Connor, a flush in his cheeks worrisome evident, paused in place. And, as if the situation couldn't have started out more peculiar than it had already, the man raised his head slightly to look lulling at us under his hat and spoke in a slurred out drawl tone that I had never heard him use before in any normal situation.

"Buenas noches, mi amigos."

Author's note: *I know. I KNOW. The Red Sox is a Bostonian baseball team, but let's just have it for now that Big Dave MAY HAVE BEEN from Boston before moving to the Homestead...?

**It WAS said that Duncan Little was a missionary for the Irish Catholics, then pastor as a Protestant, then just a mediator throughout the AC Universe. Made him a pastor in this AU since the strictness or looseness of a religious sector now varies drastically.

***In the gameplay, when Connor FIRST talks to Duncan after the mission assigning, he tells Duncan his name, but then the man chides it as a fine WELSH name and asks for his real one, then calling his Native name "strong" and said "You should use it more often." So now I kinda have a headcanon that Duncan will PURPOSELY say "Rahtonhnhaké:ton" sometimes, just because he can and wants to. XD

So...right. This bit won't make that much sense until the next chapter, of which I HOPE to finish before finishing chapter 8 of "Know Thyself". likewise, it won't get REALLY interesting until "Act 4" of this, but please. Tolerate me. QeQ

Also, apologies if the image of "Senior Connor" disturbed you or made you laugh you food out. My bad.

Update coming later next week. shouldn't take too long... I hope. /SHOT

~Itchy