(no subject)

[dominare]

Characters: Haytham Kenway and you
Date: 3/31/2013
Location: a little bit of everywhere, more specifically fire sector and wood sector
Situation: Haytham's doing what the British do best, chilling and sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.
Warnings/Rating: nonya



Earth Sector;
[ ever seen someone utterly fascinated by mold? Whatever the answer to that question was, it is now yes, because Haytham is examining a growth of black mold with the scrutiny and devotion of an usher at the New York Symphony.

For a moment, it appears he's content to look, and not touch. Wait a few seconds more, and you'll spot him take out a knife to carve out a sliver of mold, complete with a nice chunk of tree along with it. If you wanted to stop and confront him about his lack of environmental concern, you need to hurry along because he's scaling up a tree, nearly about to make his escape in the treetops. ]

Fire Sector;
[ there is a quaint little console cafe Haytham is fond of visiting. Maybe it's the tea, which has become rather lackluster since the rationing, or the atmosphere, which unfortunately borders kitschy, or the unspoken understanding between the owner and Haytham that he should be left alone to his own devices at all times, or at least until he needed a cup refilled.

whatever the reason, it's one of Haytham's usual haunts, and today he's settled in a quiet corner with his journal laid out in front of him, quietly tapping his empty quill on the open page. If you're very observant, you'll notice a slight bump in the journal's pages, where his precursor amulet is safely tucked. ]

( ooc; BUG HIM IN ONE OF TWO PLACES. GO FORTH POR FAVOR )

Comments

[amonfire]

Sounds like something I might have heard before. [ Amon made an amused sort-of chortle despite himself. There was a father in this tale to be sure. ]

Before we open our bleeding hearts to one another, can I suggest somewhere other than a public street? A bar, maybe.

[ He never partook, but he also thought he'd live only once. ]

[dominare]

[ After the veritable Spanish Inquisition of questioners, a good old fashioned ale or lager sounded great right about now. He takes a moment to consider, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before coming to the conclusion that yes, it was good idea to go drinking with a masked man. ]

There's a tavern nearby: quiet, out of the way, and the owner's quite familiar with the importance of being mum.

[ I LOOKED IT UP IT'S FROM SHAKESPEARE IT ISN'T ANACHRONISTIC AT ALL ]

[amonfire]

[ The heavy roof of dead branches of ironwood trees hanging over them cast a shadow across the pallor of Amon's mask that almost imitated a hollow smile widening. ]

Think I know the one you're talking about; I passed it on the way. A clean, well-lighted place would do me well. I doubt they'll need a reminder on the virtues of discrepancy between the two of us.

[ Out of exhaustion mixed with mocking courtesy, Amon bowed slightly so Haytham might lead the way. ]

[dominare]

[ go home Tolkien ur drunk. Haytham finds his stride quickly enough, not bothering to look back and check if Amon was following. ]

I do hope it doesn't come to that; I'd prefer to keep a clean reputation for now. [ his tone is mild, almost as if he gave no cares about scaring NPCs shitless. ]

[amonfire]

[ gawd that was Hemingway of course he would be drunk jeez. Amon was at his heel, determined to push through his bone-wearied mood and walk in a straight line with his head held high. He was if nothing else very conscientious of appearance. ]

You're merely waiting for the other boot to drop with these people.

[ Said with an undercurrent of bitterness though he was of the same devil-may-care mindset when it came to what the kedan thought of him. Still, the walk was quieter after that. ]

Ah- [ Amon broke the silence after crossing into the threshold of their destination. The first thing of note was that the air in the quiet little barroom was absolutely stifling- dark and not a window insight let alone one opened to tempt in even the tiniest breeze. It wasn't unbearable, but it did have him tugging at his collar. ]

It seem we weren't the only ones who had it in mind to make this little detour. [ In a hushed voice he nodded to a tall figure, human, sitting down at the far end of the bar. ]

[inseine]

[At the far end of the bar sits the aforementioned tall figure. Unlike most bar-crawlers, he sits in his stool like he has a titanium rod strapped to his spine. He is alone, with no one on either side of him. Not that the gentleman looks terribly sociable, with his intimidating side whiskers, low-combed bangs and grimacing jaw. In front of him sits a single one-third-filled glass of cheap wine, poured in strict compliance with the rationing decrees in effect.

The man is called Javert, and after his audience with the Emperor, he chose to travel directly to this place and indulge in a glass. There is only one problem: it is difficult to indulge when one is so unwilling to stray outside the letter of the law.

So there he sits, oblivious to the world around him, thoroughly absorbed in his own little universe of unsavory and irritating thoughts, and gazing almost plaintively down at his completely insufficient glass of wine.]

[dominare]

[ when Haytham spots Javert, his cheery mood falls as he remembers the rather thoroughly thrashing he got from the Emperor, but he puts it behind him and resumes his rather cheery demeanor. THEY ARE HERE ON PLEASURE.

He clears his throat slightly, hands folded smartly behind his back, before addressing Javert ]

We meet again, Javert.

[amonfire]

[ The bar is dark enough that it's difficult to notice Amon appraising the room with an almost nervous eye as if he stepped into some foreign, hostile environment. Perhaps the stockpile of alcohol rations he never thought to use would put him at ease.

Attempts to integrate himself into the bar-hopping atmosphere and not look entirely out of place comes to a stand still when Haytham calls out to the stranger nursing his drink at the far end. Amon announces his presence as he always did. Coming out into plain sight and in just the right lighting to look drenched sharp, intimidating shadows. It was well practised. ]

A friend of yours, Haytham?

[inseine]

[At the abrupt greeting, Javert starts. He wheels around and plunges a gaze deep into Haytham's eyes. When he hears a second voice, he darts a quick look a--

Wait. Wait. Wait.

The Devil with Haytham Kenway's sudden arrival, when there is such an animal in the room! Javert stares freely at the mask on Amon's face. He does not respond immediately. There is a faint spark of almost indiscernible disdain in his eye. He opens his mouth.]

Your ensemble -- Don't tell me! Are you one of those vigilantes that calls himself a super-hero?

[Well. This man certainly doesn't hold back, does he?]

[dominare]

[ have the most dubious eyebrow raise. ]

A super hero?

[ he looks from Amon to Javert and back, before deciding 'fuck it all' and sitting himself down in a stool next to Javert, making a motion that Amon should do the same. He removes his hat, and signals over for the barkeep to pass out a drink. ]

His name is Amon, and as for hero— well. I suppose that's best left for him to answer.

[amonfire]

A man no more than you. Only I enjoy the liberty to remove ones unfavourable visage. [ He taps on the polished wood of the mask. ]

As our mutual acquaintance said, I am Amon and you must be Javert. Sorry to say this is the first I've heard of you.

[ Amon neither removes his mask or drops his hood before pulling up a seat on the other side of Haytham. Leaning over the bar to appraise the other man with blue eyes peering out from his mask like cold water of treacherous depth.

He orders brandy with the added request of a straw. ]

[inseine]

[Javert studies Amon closely. The disdain drains out of his eyes, replaced instead by a digging nosiness he never manages to suppress. ]

Because we won't bear your 'unfavorable visage?' [Javert mutters in an undertone] Sure we have seen worse than you. Well, keep it, then.

[His broad nostrils flare. He blinks, the first time he has done so since the pair entered and approached him.]

You do not offend me. Better that I'm not known. [In the same cool, drawling breath, he sweeps up his glass, raises it for a mocking toast and adds,] M. Kenway, if you and your masked monk came to recover from our Emperor's grace, whatever slop they served me won't do the trick. It is watered.

[dominare]

Come now, Javert. Perhaps he has simply worn the mask long enough to the point he feels bereft without it.

[ or that he's too pretty to exist and has to wear it to keep people from staring. Playing the peace keeper feels odd, but it reminds him of a time long ago when he had to defend Hickey from Charles in the same manner. It was a nostalgic feeling, and he had to admit, being in the company of men he 1/8th trusted was a nice change of pace.

The barkeep passes him the Kedan equivalent of Natty Light, and Haytham raises his glass, still feeling rather stung over his quick rejection. He'd stayed to convince Ziio, but the stakes hadn't been quite the same with the Emperor. (And she was a mean women.) ]

Then I hope our company far surpasses the drink.

[amonfire]

Peace finds its keeper.

[ Amon recants the prying gaze he held Javert in and mechanically falls further into his seat. They stew in overlong silence waiting on drinks. Exchanges between Javert and Haytham go on without comment from Amon; they spoke obliquely and he suddenly felt like an eavesdropper though their plight was shared.

When he at last wets his lips over a little drink did he find the will to engage. Where the straw failed he gas tipping his mask just so there was only a sharp jawline and Roman nose silhouetted against the dim light of the barroom to confirm there was even a man at all under that deathly white wood. ]

And if drink and company fail then I will find comfort in having had them regardless. The Emperor's words cut with an absoluteness that I should be grateful I'm here and not bleeding out my last breath after our exchange.

[inseine]

Really! [Javert snorts, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a crooked smirk.] Can't say I have ever been accused of enjoying company before. You give my sociability a lot of credit.

[He finishes his mocking toast with a sip of his flavorless wine, and the smirk drops into the grimace of a man sucking on a particularly sour lemon. His eyes wander back to Amon thoughtfully. He is an odd fellow, all right. Where the Hell does M. Kenway manage to dig up these folks? First himself, then this masked creature; before long, Haytham will collect an entire menagerie of devils and fiends.]

No luck in charming our Majesty either, then? [he hums.] I have found her willing to hear men out. That is something. Most rulers do not have the time or the patience for these public audiences.

[dominare]

Squabbling over titles, land, and belief takes up a fair amount of time— I suppose the Emperor needed other means of entertainment when those fell short.

[ Haytham doubts Tu Vishan even has Dukes, Earls, Popes or City-States to worry about. A few flavorless beers are enough to keep his thoughts away from the Emperor, and instead he wonders what Amon could have wanted with the Emperor. ]

A similarly failed request, or did she merely take offense to your mask?

[ is a mask like a hat? must it be removed before royalty? ]

[amonfire]

I didn't mean to insult you with allegations that you were tolerable, Javert.

[ He attributed present company with no cajolery- they were simply Company. Neither good nor ill. Amon waved down the bartender then drank in silence before he and Javert volleyed more sideways remarks with poor Haytham stuck in the middle refereeing. He tilted his mask further up to take a long pull of what was left in his glass then slamming it down with a certain finality. ]

Hanging her guests on rakes and having them at the mercy of a lash would almost be preferable to the advice she offers. At the very least it would make her more predictable as far as crazed sovereigns go.

[ He was interrupted when the bartender came at last, and after some heated bargain their server left- leaving a bottle of honey whiskey and three glasses. When he spoke again at last his voice had all the passion of someone reciting their grocery list. ]

Ha! She could have tried, but no. Oh, I'm dead, and have been for awhile according to the Emperor. I killed myself in a fit of pique right out on the water along with my brother. He was kind enough to deliver the explosive end, but that's beside the point.

[ Without a hint of being affected, Amon divvied out the glasses between the three of them. ]

The legality of hoarding alcohol rations never crossed my mind to be honest. I never touched the stuff but thought it would be wasteful to discard them. By all means help yourselves.

[inseine]

[Where Javert was once only slightly intrigued, Amon has now snags his full, unwavering interest and attention. He darts a blank and uncomprehending glance at the full liquor glass slid in his direction, but resumes talking without touching it.]

You needed the Emperor to tell you that? [Not exactly the typical question a man would ask when faced with a supposedly-dead individual.] It is her word against your memory. Your watery grave is not terribly forgettable. Strange you turn to Her Majesty about it. [A spasm in his face, and a deep, brief frown cast towards his fresh glass. He adds without missing another beat,] You... hoarded these rations, you say?

[No theft, one hopes. But hoarding? He did not recall reading or hearing anything illegal about holding on to your own rations week after week.]

[dominare]

[ Haytham catches the slight nuances in speech, from the flat tone of Amon's voice, to the deep frown Javert tried to conceal. Either Javert was deeply Catholic at heart and worried for Amon's immortal soul (he doubted it), or he had run into similar predicament before.

Which would explain some things somewhat.

He could chime in, utter a false platitude or noise of sympathy, but falseness was unnecessary in present company. Instead, he casts an interested eye on the three glasses, eyebrow raised in curiosity ]

Family is an unending burden— you can not live with them, nor without. Threats and secrecy are far more commonly exchanged than pleasantries in mine, if the word 'family' could even encompass my predicament.

[ FAMILY. How does it work. It's a casual quote said in a casual voice, but there's a sense of something deeper, along the lines of 'Bro, I know how that goes'. With a careful hand, he reaches for the bottle, tilting the mouth towards Javert's glass in hopes the 80 proof would sooth his worries ]

Temperance should not be punished, and the legality of the matter is best left for the barristers who enjoy tedium. I hope you take no offense to my departure if it must become our next topic of conversation.

[amonfire]

Yes, and no. There are certain stains that weigh on a mans heart past any bearable ache or despair, but sometimes you have to seem the first hand to even admit they're even there. How she showed me, however, I don't wish to repeat.

[ The matter of his immortal soul was one he cared not to repeat in what was otherwise civil company. The story of original sin and the Christ-child reached his ears before and it was a very unpleasant lesson for all involved. Especially when Amon suggested the Romans might have had it right to nip any omnipotent leaders in the bud. ]

Javert, I understand your concern but you may drink with a clear conscious. The rations were accumulated because I had no use for them until they fell out of memory. There are no backroom deals here; I will be dead again and back under the water before anyone can accuse me of racketeering with all the guile of a criminal or bureaucrat, but I repeat myself.

[ On his second glass and the harsh lines of his disposition began to soften where his bearing because less rigid and he appeared to cease policing his every word and action. Amon had taken to his third glass with a blush spreading from the exposed skin around his ears and down his neck like a dye bleeding through fabric. ]

And are you, Haytham, burdened by something so vexing as family that it followed you here? Your wounds don't look closed from where I'm sitting.

[ He made for another pull only to struggle with drinking under his mask. It was then he figuratively let his hair down and the literal mask came off. In slow jerking movements dulled by his drink he pulled at the string secured tight at the back of his skull. The damned thing nearly fell to the floor if what was left of his reflexives hadn't caught it.

A breeze struck his exposed face almost like a slap across the face and blue eyes stark against his nut brown complexion blinked against a suddenly brighter barroom. Twisted and maybe a little slack was the smile that broke his handsome if a bit brooding countenance. ]

But maybe you shouldn't bleed your whole heart to us, or Javert will be the only one on this damned turtle with any secrets left!

[inseine]

That's all!

[Javert cannot believe his eyes, Amon. Of course, that is not something one could easily glean from his unchanged expression.]

Yes, what a hideous face you were hiding, [Javert observes, a broad smirk parting his lips. He wraps his fingers around his fresh glass.] Here I was imagining some scar. One of those disfiguring ones I've seen in the rougher old highway bandits. I am slightly disappointed, seeing that you have a much handsomer nose than me.

Now, pardon me, but I don't care to speak about family talk. No experience.

[Javert raises his drink and kicks it back in one fell swoop. The sweet-hot burn down his throat brings a sharp grimace to his face, and he slams the glass back on the bartop. He freezes, palpably, and swipes the full honey whiskey bottle and turns it around. He peers ruefully at the labels on the bottle. They are all bobbledygook to him.]

Damn, [he mutters, and he tentatively ventures to give himself another pour.] How the hell did you barter for this stuff?

[And more significantly, how much does he owe for it? That didn't taste terribly cheap.]

[dominare]

[ holy shitsnacks, Amon is hot. Even Haytham can't keep a look of slight surprise off his face, although it's really due to the fact Amon is far younger than what his voice or personality gave the impression of.

Younger being relative of course, because everyone here is pretty much ancient in terms of video game and tv show protagonists. ]

You wear the mask to hide yourself from admirers, I assume. Or is it that you prefer attention of a more infamous kind?

[ because let's be honest, a mask stands out more than an a ridiculous attractive man. But the revelation is short, and he doesn't feel the need to rib Amon any more about his ridiculously photogenic face. Instead, he takes a long drink from his own cup, wondering how to bring up the topic of family without revealing too much.

Ah fuck it all. ]

Nothing entirely as dramatic as a double suicide, I'm afraid. Merely an infuriating son set in his ways. It is a blessing to have none to deal with, [ directed at Javert, of course ] but he is my burden, and my responsibility. Children always believe themselves to know best, and he is no different. Near impossible to deal with, naive, simple, a complete pain in the arse— but he is adept, and efficient.

I almost see myself in him.

[ A DRAMATIC PAUSE. also probably the highest praise he could ever give Connor. ]

It matters little; it is a poorly kept secret.

[amonfire]

Flatterers, the both of you! I have two admirers right here so I don't believe your first assumption to be case. [ With a thrice empty glass he sat at a steadily drooping angle. ] While Javert here does himself a discredit when he fills out a uniform so handsomely. Do you have to stoop coming in a doorway, or does the world move around someone so statuesque?

[ A rippling, honey-scented laughter trickled from the upturned corners of Amon's devil may care smile. Amon was not a man given to vanity, but watching two men his elder turn pink like young boys swept up in the lusty throws of spring amused even him. Not that he thought himself their junior by any stretch of the imagination. ]

Javert had the winners guess, and everyone was happy to assume I was disfigured and unknown when I had family and enemies alike I wanted to avoid. Especially when those two coincided. [ His laugh a short bark and harsh from years of being unused. ] But you, Haytham! I would have never accused you of having children, and here I was ready to condemn all of us to being over forty, funny bachelors.

[ At that his eyes lost all that whiskey coated haze and he looked pointedly at Haytham. For whatever reason he thought about tall trees, and the echoing sound of wolves crying against an arctic wind. ] All of a sudden you look familiar. As if I'm just taken by this sensation we've met before the clinic.

[inseine]

Ah! I have knocked my head once or twice on a low doorframe, [Javert murmurs wryly to his glass.] Comes with springing up taller than a beanpole by my 18th year.

[Javert sets the bottle back down. While Haytham and Amon talk about things with which he does not sympathize like children and brothers, his gaze bounces between the two in turn, listening intently. He does make a concerted effort to slow down his drinking, the little voice called conscience in the back of his mind whispering nasty little nothings about how he Does Not Drink and other such rubbish. Speaking of which - after a moment's glance at Amon's drooping posture, he casually slides the bottle away from his new acquaintance's reach. Let's make that a bit more challenging for him before the migraines set in.

He does bat an eyebrow and curl his lip at Amon's increasingly fogged rambling. Alcohol should not take this quick to set in, should it?]

That is the drink talking, [Javert snorts.] It might be the son you saw. I believe Monsieur said he is here in Keeliai. [Haytham is a rather unforgettable sort of man. He makes an impression. Surely Amon would know if he met Haytham before or not. He sips his whiskey again with a light shrug.]

And, well, families do tend to look alike. There's your familiarity!

[dominare]

Javert is correct; the clinic was our first meeting— you would remember if we had spoken before.

[ COME ON.

The bottle of honey whiskey nears three forths empty, a ridiculously fast pace considering it was for the indulgence of only three old men. Haytham's careful in his drink, making sure not to get in over his head and suddenly spill his darkest secrets.

Although at this point, the only one he has left (that matters here) is that he's a Templar. ]

There is family resemblance, but he is larger, coarser, and will go on at length about his futile, overly-idealistic quest. Oh, Connor is most certainly here— sulking in the trees, no doubt.

[ every time freedom and revolution is brought up, SHOT. He takes a heavy sip, a sign of his obvious discontent, before continuing on ]

I have a son, yes. But that fact alone does not make me a father.