not_kenway | PSL: For Hermann

"Aaaah yes, I know this word. She's a trans-gendered person. Someone who is a woman within a man's body." He nodded his head, pleased to know that such people were accepted in society - or at least in the tribes - in Connor's day. "Did she make potato pancakes as well?"

Not just accepted; there was a special place for them. Connor shook his head and then huffed, pushing his hair back from his face. "No. Not those."

"Well, then you are in for a treat." Hermann stated with another crooked smile. "My mother used to make these for my brothers and sisters on every Jewish holiday."

Having finished putting things away, Connor hopped up onto the counter to sit and watch what Hermann was doing. "You are Jewish?"

Hermann nodded his head, smiling up at Connor. "I even have the yarmulke to prove it. Of course, I only observe the High Holidays and the Sabbath ... I am usually too busy to go to synagogue."

"I know very little of the Jews and their culture. Achilles is Christian, as are all my neighbours at the homestead. The Jew colonists keep to themselves in the towns."

In other words, he has no idea what yarmulke or synagogue is. Or the high holidays.

"Well, then we shall have another thing for me to teach you, then, if you wish." Hermann said with a firm nod. "And you can tell me of how you worship, as well."

Connor swung his legs idly, watching what Hermann was doing for a little bit. "It's not about worship." He didn't really understand their 'worship' as it was.

"It's just about understanding where we fit in the natural and spiritual world. Giving thanks for what we have and what is given to us. We give thanks to the plants and animals who provide us food, to the spirits of the trees and rivers for wood and water. We listen to the messages sent from the spirits in our dreams and do our best to do as we are asked. We try to do more good than evil."

His village had been insular, from the colonists and from the other clans in the tribe. Their beliefs had differed a little. They had a direct connection to the spirits, and a Great Mother spoke through the relic to them.

Hermann raised both eyebrows at that, before he looked thoughtful. "Hm. It is not something that I could get behind, I am afraid, but it does sound fitting for you. It is too ... loose, for what I consider a divine plan. But then again, I believe God speaks through numbers and programming, so there you have it."

He started to peel the potatoes in the sink, and once that was done, he began to shred them with a grater he had brought with him.

"We do not believe there is a plan. There is a world, in which we all live and support one another." He never understood the white man's need to declare something a divine plan.

"The white men in Boston say that God has declared that Negroes are not truly human like them. That my people are damned because we do not sit in their churches every seventh day and do not declare ourselves the owners of the women who carry the future in children. I do not understand the beliefs of the white men. They thank God for the meal in front of them, but not the animal who died to give them meat, or the woman who cooked it for them."

He knew the men here were not like that. But that was his world, what he would return to.

"Well, Connor, then you can clearly see that the white men in Boston are complete and utter morons." Hermann looked over his glasses at the other man, "God loves all of us - and it does not matter what you believe in, or the color of your skin, or what gender you are. We are his Children, and he loves us and guides us along the path we should follow. The choices we make, are the definition of that path - and sometimes we can swerve right off of it. But He's there, to help us find the way home again. At least, that is what I have always thought of God."

While he shredded the potatoes, he looked thoughtful, "I suppose your spirits are very much the same. They help guide you towards a better life, yes? Being thankful for everything around you, the animals that give you meat and fur, all of that."

Connor gave a small chuckle at the statement about the men of Boston. They were morons, but he wasn't to say so to them, and he knew it. He tried to smother his smile as Hermann continued, but the one thing he truly and honestly found so ridiculous...

"You believe the creator force is male."

Which was one of the most strange ideas the White men had brought with them. The men could birth a world and life.

"The Great Mother guides us to live in the world she has given us in harmony. We must respect all her children, and give back to them as they give to us."

"Honestly, yes. Only a man could screw up the world so royally. Women would never muck up creation so poorly - they have common sense."

Hermann stated with a faint snort. "Beyond that, remember, I believe God speaks through mathematics -- and mathematics is too cold and logical for almost all the women I have ever met."

That made no sense. "I cannot agree. The Creator is the Great Mother. It seems in my world, the only disasters brought upon the world are by men who think they are suited to lead, to rule, to be over women. What they do is nothing to do with the Mother."

Templars spoke of the Father of Understanding, yet they understood nothing to peace, of freedom, of contentedness.

"Women are far more logical than men. Men think with pride and fire and war. Women think with the future for their children ever in mind." He knew mathematics, he was able but he only care enough to manage the accounts that he needed to.

"Well, I suppose we shall have to agree to disagree my friend. Although I believe I will respect your Mother more than I respect my own Father, so there you have it." Hermann paused before he stated simply, "And I would like to say that fathers ... fathers too can sacrifice for their children."

Connor regarded Hermann for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes. I believe some can, even if I do not have experience with it."

Read: He believed Hermann would. He simply had no experience with it. The men in his world took from him. Even the one who had given, had done so in unkind ways often.

"I am sorry you have not, my friend ... but that at least we have in common. My father took more than he gave from me." In more ways than one, he thought to himself bitterly.

"I fear one day that Haytham will decide I am more trouble than I am worth, and he will kill me. I am not sure I will be skilled enough to survive the encounter."

He sounded fairly calm about it. He still hadn't really decided how he felt about it. How he'd cope.

"My father has given me nothing, and I have asked for nothing more. Likewise, though, he has asked for nothing from me. I think, in that regard, he has been kinder than yours."

"... I wish I could stop that. The only thing I could do would be to design you a weapon to survive it."

He paused, then stated. "I could, actually." Another pause. "My father is a difficult person to try to live up to."

"I think I would be stopped from returning if I tried to taking something time inappropriate with me." He had learned a bit about time and the importance of preserving it from Desmond, who liked to watch movies about such things.

"He sounds unpleasant." Blunt, but honest.

"Tch, that is a shame. I would have liked to help you in some small matter. I'm ... sorry." Hermann stated, with a faintly sad expression on his face.

"He is. Brilliant, but unpleasant. I suppose we are simply too much alike." He smirked faintly.

"I appreciate the gesture. And thought." It was all he could offer in return. He didn't want to die and certainly not at Haytham's hands, but he could only hope they would manage to avoid it going that far.

"You are not unpleasant."

"If I could do more, I would, Connor." Hermann put one hand to his chest, before he smirked slightly. "You haven't seen me in my workspace, my friend. Trust me, I can be ... difficult."

"Everyone is difficult in their workspace. I have been told I get very grouchy when I am disturbed while trying to balance the books for the Homestead accounts."

Unpleasant was who you were outside a stressful situation. No one was good company under stress.

"Well, since I tend to work longer hours ... I am grumpier for a longer amount of time."

Hermann was at least going to be honest that he was a bit of a problem.

All right, he was a huge, grumpy problem.

Edited 2016-04-09 15:42 (UTC)

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