#fortrivmph

[honorhearted]

@fortrivmph liked for a short starter!

Benjamin flexed his hand, shaking out the stinging pain with a curse. "Sorry for hitting you," he muttered. "Next time, perhaps you should lead in with 'I know Connor' rather than skulking into a man's private quarters uninvited."

[forlibcrty]

@fortrivmph asked: "go inside and clean that up. you're getting blood everywhere."

typical. no sign of concern, no fatherly sympathy — just concern for the inn's front stoop. with an irritated little grunt, connor limped his way inside, one hand pressed tight to the wound in his thigh, and dropped himself down in the nearest chair. if he bloodied the floorboards, so be it; blood was easy enough to wash out. that much, he knew a little too well.

from within his pocket, he fished out the usual rag he used for these occasions and clapped it over the gash. he'd bound it back at the mercenary camp, but the makeshift bandage had come dislodged in the ride back to new york, as he'd feared it might. "this might not have happened," he grumbled, "if you had not pranced away in the middle of a fight you began."

[songandflame-archived]

"To dream the impossible dream, that is my quest."

Answered here!

[wolfkcst]

Unhinged Sentences -Accepting!! @fortrivmph

Well... That was certainly an interesting way in starting a conversation. A light huff of bemusement falls from scarred lips, arching an eyebrow as they looked the stranger over with slight intrigue. ❝Is that so? Is this problem going to be directed to me, as well?❞

[ofspvrta]

Kassandra had been across so much of the world already, seen so many different cultures, and appreciated their art and cuisine and music, their people (for the little she interacted with them) that any time she returned home, she came to recognize it less and less. The history was slowly stripped away and now her precious Parthenon was even gone, just the skeletal remains of a once glorious temple. A place where her friend died. The Venetians did that. So many bitter tastes were left in her mouth as more and more places that held such memories were destroyed, decayed, or rotted by time or man's intervention through conquest. Were she a lesser person, she could have left them all to their fate, but she's seen the beauty in humanity as well. Maybe that is why the calculations deemed her the Keeper.

"Why does that always seem to be the case?" It was more of a question she asked herself. Then again, there was an artifact to be found and trouble followed those little fuckers wherever she went. "Are they unhappy with the management?" Oh, she's seen her fair share of revolutions. She aided in the revolt against the Thirty Tyrants after all. Never mind how many times she's pushed back at oppressive regimes from the shadows. "Hm, perhaps it may help that I'm not British then. But, I'll be sure to keep my head down. Well, as much as I can, anyway." She joked, knowing she stood taller than many of the folk here. This only piqued her interest further, though. She had to find out if the artifact had any play in this.

He had gotten a taste of Ottoman control in Turkey, when he'd gone to retrieve Jenny. For all that Britain exoticised and exaggerated the spread of Islam across the Mediterranean and Europe, Haytham had found it an empire much like any other: diverse, at times militant and at others content to rest on its laurels, weighing slaughter and subjugation against art and education. He had seen the best and worst of it, the grand mosques and synagogues, preserved texts the newly-established British Museum could only dream of, a mixing of cultures they certainly didn't get in the south of England; and the treatment of women, the maiming of men, but, well, that was everywhere. What had happened to Holden would remain with him forever, but he had not found the Ottomans uniquely cruel. How could he, living in the colonies? Anyone could rob another of a limb -- or a member.

"You've sailed into a bit of a situation," he said, with typical English gentility. "Boston is rather a powder keg. Some disagreement between the colonists and the Crown. You might find the locals... less than friendly, at present. If you come across trouble in the streets, I would suggest keeping out of it." That was for both of their sakes: half the trouble in Boston was stirred up by Haytham's own men.

[dairsmuids]

a headcanon brought to you by aurora and sam: haytham has a tiny pillow in his pocket that he pulls out when he needs to muffled scream about the state of his life

[vicemirror]

THIS IS WHAT YOU MADE ME LOG IN FOR @fortrivmph

[forlibcrty]

@fortrivmph. / new york, 1777.

it had been several days, since their first encounter in the church, and yet connor was far from settling on how he felt about this little arrangement between them. working with a templar was troubling enough, but haytham swung so quickly from one extreme to another — at one turn, he was abandoning connor in the thick of a fight with some snide remark about his abilities, and at the next, he was proudly proclaiming connor as his son in front of a host of guards. it was positively dizzying. the solitary ride back to fetch the aquila gave him ample time for thought, but by the time he hitched his horse and stepped up to the helm, he'd succeeded only in running his mind in circles.

in the end, it mattered little. time was of the essence now, if they had any chance of catching church. everything else could wait. the wind, thankfully, was on his side, and manning the helm gave him blessed distraction — within a short while, the peaks of new york's rooftops came into view, followed presently by the pier. before they even lowered the sails, connor recognised the distinctive red flash of a familiar coat. his father's. he decided not to acknowledge the rush of something like relief that brought on.

he waited in carefully-measured silence as the rowboat carried haytham across to the ship. when he clambered up the ladder, however, and came into view, connor stepped forward to offer a hand up from the last rung.

"welcome aboard."

[forlibcrty]

@fortrivmph asked: ❛ well, look who remembered my existence. ❜

haytham's particular brand of acerbic humour had taken some getting used to. at the start of their little arrangement together, connor had bristled at every snide remark; inclined as he was, by upbringing and by nature, to take words at face value, haytham's painfully british circuity grated on him. close quarters aboard the aquila, however, had given him enough time to learn the man's habits and temperament. connor watched him, when he thought haytham wouldn't notice. for the most part, the templar kept to himself, but daily life on the ship required enough interaction among them all for connor to begin finding his patterns. he took note of the way that pursed lips followed an order or question he didn't like, how a tilt of the head betrayed genuine interest, and how a loud laugh meant less actual mirth than a sharp exhale from the nose.

and this remark now, snide as it was, had a tone to it that connor had only ever heard directed towards him. it was not warmth so much as an absence of cold, but with haytham, that counted for enough. just above the crow's nest, connor hung effortlessly from the rigging, one arm looped securely around the ropes and both feet balancing by the arches for stability. "perhaps i would remember it more if you did not hide up here so often. you are surlier than the ship's cat."

[songandflame-archived]

Various Literary Prompts

@fortrivmph asked: "to dream the impossible dream, that is my quest." (thank you!)

"Yes, because you find it in the slums of Montreuil," she retorted, her mocking echoing from rain-dampened walls.

She would hardly ever be so bold, but after reading how her daughter was dying, Fantine had to allow her anguish some relief. Perhaps the man would strike her; even better, perhaps he would involve her pimp like the coward most men were. Either way, Fantine would feel something other than all-consuming grief. She did not care if it came as a foot to her ribs or the back of a hand to her cheek.

"You'll be more likely to find it between my legs, Monsieur." She paused, only to drink whatever watered-down brandy remained. "I assure you, a good woman is far better than any dream. Come, let me be your quest."

[forlibcrty]

@fortrivmph asked: i knew you'd haunt all of my what ifs.

that was... surprisingly candid, for haytham. perhaps it was the gentle rocking of the crow's nest lulling them both. perhaps it was the questionable amount of rum they'd partaken in. or perhaps, out here with the sea air around them and the rumble of shanties below, far away from the battlefields on land, they both felt the presence of something familial.

he remained silent for a moment, eyes up on the stars above them. the sentiment was achingly familiar. no matter how much he tried to keep his eyes focused on the future, those what ifs always nipped at his heels, and sometimes, they sunk their teeth in too deep to ignore. what if istá had never sent him away? what if he'd been there to save her? what if i'd gone to find him instead of achilles? what if there was no war to be fought and no sides to choose? he hadn't paused to wonder whether haytham considered the exact same questions.

whether it was the rum or the sea air, something brought down his usual defences. saying nothing, he leaned aside until he could rest his cheek on his father's shoulder. that, he hoped, conveyed the things he couldn't find words to say. i know. i understand. maybe 'what if' can be for the future, too.

[forlibcrty]

@fortrivmph asked: it would seem your friend is in distress.

even on a battlefield, haytham was seemingly incapable of reining in his dry humour. it was truly beginning to grate on connor's nerves. he shot his father a withering glare, then lifted his pistol and fired a clean shot at the redcoat grappling lafayette in the mud of the trench nearby. once he was certain that the frenchman had regained his feet and launched back into the fray, connor retreated until his back struck haytham's. "we are outnumbered here!" even at this short distance, he had to raise his voice to a near-shout over the din. "we need to call a retreat."

[songandflame-archived]

Fantine scanned the man's face as closely as the flickering of flames would allow. She saw the way his jaw tensed and lips pursed. It was a mistake on Fantine's part to feel safe inside. Witnesses had done nothing to help her before, who would do anything to help her here?

"There is your usual," she answered, hands tucking underneath her legs as she spoke, awkwardly shifting in her chair, "goods, pirates waiting to make men merry and then smuggle them on to ships. There is discontent and those who preach about a better future. Why do you care?"

"I'm not interested in the brothels," he said firmly, lips tight. He'd done enough of that in his youth, and hadn't so much as touched a woman since-- well. Men were another story, of course; they always had been. But he couldn't reach for the fairer sex without thinking of her. To stem the tide of memories, he raised a hand for drinks to be brought, then turned back to Fantine. "It's just as you said. I want information. Anything interesting you've noticed by the docks. Gossip you might have heard. Strange visitors."

[forlibcrty]

no one prepared me for how much the assassin's creed lineage short film fucking whips ass

[forlibcrty]

it's my birthday!! @fortrivmph and i are going to the assassin's creed symphonic concert in london tonight, so i'll be around on discord 🎉

[forlibcrty]

blaming @fortrivmph for putting these brain worms in me but if we have to think about it so does everyone.

no way — altaïr don't lose ur head — ezio heart of stone — connor get down — edward all you wanna do — haytham i don't need your love — arno