not_kenway | PSL: For Hermann

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)

"Maybe, but pain and stress will make anyone grumpy." And he knew it was at least in part the pain for Hermann. Having actually seen and felt the injuries, he could only imagine the level of pain that he lived in.

"Well ... yes. It can make you somewhat cross." And annoyed. And frustrated. And unbelievably angry at the unfairness of the world.

"I am frustrated enough when I have injuries from combat and I know those will heal to perfect functionality."

The world was not fair. Achilles had driven that into him from the first day he had approached him. But he still disliked that fact.

"Well, then I suppose you can understand why I -- given the day and the pain - tend to hate the entire world and everyone in it, especially if it is not operating to full logical capacity." Hermann smirked as he patted together the pancakes, and got the sausages started.

"Yes. I can imagine, but I doubt I could understand without having been so grievously injured. All my life, I have been very athletic, agile, strong." Big for his age. It often came with slurs these days, savage, brute, half breed vigour.

"I think that would be irony. You become increasingly less logical as the world fails to be as logical as you desire at the time."

"A tragedy, I am sure." Was Hermann's tart response to that, before he looked thoughtful. "I think I can never be not logical, honestly. It's how I ... function."

Connor paused briefly. The tone, the coolness... He'd managed to befriend someone chillingly similar to his father.

Well. That possibly spoke of some issues he'd rather not delve into.

"Haytham tells me all the time I am illogical, driven by emotions and passions and frustratingly 'soft'." It was also possibly a bit odd that he still called the man by his first name. "Though that might be because I keep insisting I will kill one of his closest associates."

"Mmmmm ... that might have something to do with it. Just out of curiosity -- why do you want to kill your father's closest associates?" Because that seems like a rather important thing to know about the other man.

"For many reasons, but most importantly, because he burned down my village and killed my mother." That simple. It had started, in that first interaction, as revenge for what the man did to him. But from the moment that he had been dragged from his mother's side, he had sworn Lee would die for what he did to his home, to his mother.

He closed his eyes and swallowed against the pervasive feeling of a massive hand curled around his neck.

"He beats and torments children. He fights to replace the voice of the people with the voice of his friends alone. He has been involved in trying to kill Washington several times. He is a monster and he needs to be dead."

All right, now Hermann is confused. "Is he the man who trained you - or is he a different man? I am afraid I am getting a little confused. And ... dear God, why did he kill your mother?"

Connor stifled his initial reaction to get angry. Hermann was innocently confused, which was fair enough.

"Achilles Davenport trained me. He is an Assassin. Charles Lee is a Templar, serving under my father, Haytham Kenway, who is the Grandmaster of the New England rite.

"I don't think he cared who he killed. Her death was... incidental to him."

"Aaaaaaah .... " Three different men, who had three very different influences on the man in front of him. He cleared his throat, looking back at the pan.

"I am sorry, Connor. No one should have to go through such loss, and at the hands of his father's own man." He thought about it, before stating simply, "Would you like a hug?"

"I was five. I think." The memory should have been faded from the beating he had taken before hand, but everything about that day was blazed crystal clear in his memory.

"No. Thank you. I find being held threatening." He was only held because he was being dragged, pinned, hurt. He had no idea how to let someone touch him if he didn't control the interaction.

"... Dear God." Hermann stopped altogether, his eyes widening in horror at all of that. He tried to imagine Henrik in that position, and the acid and the anger that filled his veins made him turn away from his friend.

"If that was done to my son - if they did that sort of thing to my boy ... I would have killed every last one of them with my bare hands. Which would have been exceedingly difficult."

Then he frowned, turning towards the other man. "... then how can you stand to touch me at all?"

Connor's tribe weren't the most physical tactile people to begin with, but he did take it to new levels and it had almost undoubtedly started with that assault when he was a child.

"I have no doubt my mother would have, had she ever known. Had she lived. Lee and Hickey beat me unconscious, when I awoke, the village was aflame and within minutes, I was dragged from the longhouse and my mother before the roof collapsed on us."

He rubbed his arm, looking elsewhere. "Because you allow me to control the encounter. You don't try and touch me, or grab me."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject