Troubled spirits on my chest

[skennen]

Date & Time: August 22nd, evening
Location: In front of the Hold
Characters: Haytham Kenway, Connor
Summary: Haytham's had enough of his son's Templar-Initiative conspiracy theories. There may or may not be other Very Important Things to discuss.
Warnings: tba, probably none

[Connor shows up at the Hold as the afternoon gives way to the darker evening hours. His approach is fairly unguarded, all things considered. There's no rooftop surveillance of the designated meeting place beforehand, and he makes no attempt to blend in with the locals or otherwise conceal his presence while walking up the street toward the Hold. His Assassin robes and multitude of weapons are as obvious a sight as they've ever been.

His eyes focus on his father's figure, a grey ghost in the rain, as he draws closer. He doesn't look to see if the other Templars have come out of hiding to support their Grand Master.

If this is a trap, which he logically knows it very well could be, he plans to handle things as they happen. He'll fight his way out, if he must.

He'll kill Haytham, if he must.

He doesn't actually expect to be attacked, though. Why that is, he can't say for certain. So much has changed lately. He's back on a path to set things right here and that's it's own sort of comfort, having direction again, knowing what needs to be done, but with the renewed focus comes too many questions - questions about the Assassins and the Templars, about the organizations here. Questions about his father, not who the man is as leader of the Templar Order but who the man is... as a man. As the man his mother might have loved.

Connor stops a comfortable distance away from Haytham, his shoulders squared and his chin lifted slightly. The air is damp and cool and... empty, even with the rain falling in unforgiving sheets of white and grey all around them. There is no danger here.

It feels wrong.]

Father.

Comments

[iniquitas]

[He's been meaning to speak to the boy for a while now, ever since his conversation with Ziio the night of the bombings--the night they'd both saved his life, much as it pains him to admit it. It's been difficult finding the time, though... or if he's really honest with himself, it's been difficult to face up to the candid conversation he'd had with the boy's mother that night. So many things have become more difficult since arriving in this blasted city.]

[Back in the Colonies he'd actually been allied with Connor, however tentative the alliance may have been. Here their relationship is more tentative still, hinging--so Haytham believes--largely on Ziio's presence to keep them from killing each other outright. More difficult still is the boy's stubborn insistence that Haytham must somehow be allied with the Initiative, and therefore responsible for the seizure and entrapment of the Transports within Exsilium. If he can accomplish nothing else tonight, he will dispel that notion.]

[And so he waits patiently outside the Hold, clad not in his cloak and coat but in the least offensive native coat he could find. It's a poor replacement, but he's working on that. As Connor approaches he turns, nodding politely before glancing beyond the boy. Based on the brief time he's know his son, he trusts that Connor wouldn't bring the other Assassins of the city to ambush him. Not knowing exactly who those other Assassins are, however, means that he doesn't entirely trust that none of them have followed Connor of their own accord.]

Connor--good of you to come. Shall we?

[He gestures toward the sidewalk, indicating that they should walk together. The rain is never pleasant, but it's a necessary evil. Somehow Haytham can't imagine the two of them sitting politely at a table to discuss the sort of things they need to discuss.]

[skennen]

[His expression is perfectly impassive as he nods and starts down the path. He turns his head to keep an eye on Haytham as they walk along, watching for any quick or otherwise suspicious movements. He may not feel threatened by his father right now, but he certainly doesn't trust him, either. And it's a good opportunity to study the Templar further, see how he conducts himself... when not supervising the slaughter of innocent civilians.

Or when not run through by a piece of metal.

Speaking of which-]

Your wound has healed well?

[iniquitas]

[There's not so much a frown as a wrinkle of the eyes at the mention of his injury. It's healed well enough by now, barring the occasional ache that he knows well enough to expect. He's not getting any younger, after all, and he still suffers aches from wounds he received while Connor was still in swaddling clothes.]

[No, the real rub is that he can't even remember Connor dragging him away from that place, saving his life. All he can remember is lashing out at the boy shortly before he'd passed out, and the awkward conversation with Ziio later that day.]

Well enough. I've not had to give up the sword, at least.

[Because of you, he thinks, and then a look of ire crosses his face as he banishes the thought.]

Tell me Connor, what was the year in the Colonies when you were brought to Exsilium?

[skennen]

[Connor nods again, a small dip of his head that serves as his entire response to their first matter of discussion. He's not sure what more he could say on the subject of his father's injury. It's good he's healed properly, or at least 'well enough' that he's still able to fight. It's good, but he's not exactly glad to hear it, and for all that he's thought back on his father's bloodied fingers curling into his robes, the snarl that twisted his face, he hasn't much worried about how the man's recovery would go.

He eyes Haytham a few moments longer but looks away before he answers.]

It was 1776.

[iniquitas]

Ah. And therein, I believe, lies at least part of our problem.

[The look on Haytham's face is a little bit smug, a little bit triumphant. He's suspected for quite some time now that they weren't brought here from the same point in time, or even the same year, though admittedly most of what he knows about this Connor comes from the boy's mother. Their own interactions, father and son, have been few and not exactly brimming with constructive conversation.]

The year was 1778 when they brought me here. You and I had just returned from a sea voyage aboard your ship, the Aquila.

[skennen]

[And therein, I believe, lies at least part of our problem. Connor bites back a sharp retort, though the effort of keeping those words to himself curls his lip a little.

He schools his expression blank again before he glances back at Haytham. One crooked eyebrow is his only allowance of emotion.]

Oh?

[The 'Oh?' of an unconvinced son.

Or maybe a curious one.

Can he really expect to meet his father in two years? Meet his father and... What? Spend time out at sea with him? After running into him in a church and deciding they have mutual business regarding a man who just so happens to be named Church?

No, the very idea is absurd. Perhaps not the them actually meeting someday part, but all the other tales Haytham has tried to tell of how they meet and what follows their meeting is. Especially this new part involving his ship.

Faulkner would probably try to knock the Templar overboard or otherwise plot a fine, sea-related death for him.

And Connor would never allow the man near the Aquila and her crew in the first place!

... Best just to drop these pretenses of neutrality then. Haytham cannot stop lying and Connor has no interest in fighting fire with fire in this case.]

You think me a fool.