A/N: Hey guys! I decided to do a short story based on Connor and Aveline's encounter, but more so on a digital art piece by kk-graphics, which is an amazing picture on deviantart. Please, if you guys can, go check it out and leave her a nice comment. But don't forget to tell me how you enjoyed this first chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of UbiSoft or its characters so please do not sue.
He never liked crowds. They always had a thousand stories to tell, most of them never good. When they were ones full of an exceptional amount of dishonest faces, he knew which would speak with a forked tongue, and which would tell all at the tip of a knife or at the end of a rifle.
But some held eyes full of fire and more venom than a water moccasin. Because of him. Because of his red skin. Because he forsook the settlements for the wide open plains and the evergreens of the Eastern wilderness. Because the blood running through his veins was some of their own, but not enough to quell their concern.
However, one woman dared to look him in the face; yet, the mirrors to her soul elicited nothing hostile or unfriendly. Rather, they were fiercely discerning—and dark, as black as a raven's feather.
For some unknown reason, they put him at ease; the moment they broke contact, he was thrust back into the moment at hand.
He had a mission to accomplish: seek out the traitor's contacts in Boston, interrogate them to find out his location, and then punish the betrayer. It seemed simple enough, but allies turned quicker than the shadow at dusk, so it was hard to trust anyone.
The Assassin kept a constant reminder to casually glance over his shoulder, to feign staring up into the sun when he was actually scanning the rooftops, and keeping his movements as calm and languid as possible to avoid suspicion. It took much effort to stay undetected when his kind were very rare in the crowded cities—and very unwelcome.
His contact, a young russet-haired lad from one of the settlements nearby, was waiting for him by the docks. There were red coats all around, rifles stocked and ready in their eager hands, as if they had been expecting him. But they paid him no attention after giving him a once over.
"I expected someone more experienced than you," he admitted outright, his eyes scrutinizing the crowd. There were watchful eyes and ears everywhere.
"The Captain did tell me that you weren't afraid to speak your mind. Don't let my boyish looks fool you." He squinted his eyes the color of sea foam.
"You said you have information on the whereabouts of the spies."
"I do, but we should speak somewhere less crowded. I can hardly hear you." Connor nodded once, and started to follow, but a flash of bright green caught his attention. It was that woman again; if he took a few steps forward and stretched out his arm, his hand would be at her shoulder.
She was facing him, but her head was down, focused on something on the wooden table in front of her. Perhaps a woman with high status and a purse full of coins, she was biting her lip in contemplation, giving her a flustered and juvenile appearance. He had been staring at her for too long, but he was waiting to see what she would do.
Her small, delicate hand reached out hesitantly, then drew it back as she looked from item to item, as if she were panicking and didn't know how to choose. Then suddenly, all emotion left her face, and she looked up, directly at him.
She reminded him of a lithe, young doe, watching her surroundings for a predator. Once she'd found him, her eyes didn't dare stray. The calm he once felt began to envelop him again.
He was surprised a little, to see a colored woman in such elaborate attire, and began to wonder if she were from that area. All the others were quite fair—and too fearful to look him straight in the eye.
"Are you coming?" his contact asked. Connor was the first to look away, failing to see the small grin that danced across her face.
They maneuvered through the busy streets to what looked like a small park and stood over by the trees. "There's a guard tower at the docks, guarded by six men 'round the clock. If you're as capable as they say you are, it should be no problem."
"What am I seeking?"
"A list." The younger man started to walk away. They had been together for too long already.
With nothing else to discuss, he returned to the crowded streets and surveyed the higher buildings bordering the docks. There were three towers separated by several boat warehouses spanning the Boston harbor, meaning three possibilities and more than plenty of guards to keep him occupied.
He bumped into someone, hard, and excused himself quietly. A very feminine, strangely accented voice repeated the kind gesture, and he turned. She kept going—that same woman in peridot.
It was strange, to see her for a third time in less than an hour. A coincidence, but nothing more.
Suddenly, he felt lighter, like something was missing. He stopped to give himself a once over and realized that one of his pistols was missing from its holster. Cursing silently, he pivoted on his foot and began to pursue her. She looked over her shoulder, grinning apparently. Was this some kind of game to this silly woman? He had no time for it.
The gap between them was growing smaller and smaller, yet as soon as she was within his grasp, she disappeared. The narrow street had suddenly opened up into a wide avenue, giving her ample room to blend in.
Groaning inwardly, he concentrated a bit harder, separating innocent from enemy until he found her glowing a bright yellow. The chase resumed as he followed the woman deeper into the city, where the buildings were more densely concentrated.
She made a quick right into an alley and he copied her movements. They were isolated now. "Wait," he commanded her.
The young maiden froze in her steps and then turned to him. "*Venez et le prendre de moi." He didn't understand a single word that she had spoken, but she was standing there, seemingly harmless. With her arms at her sides, he felt a little less on edge. Connor moved toward her slowly, uncertain what this woman was going to do. The closer he came, the more he could see the smirk on her face. Her mannerisms reminded him of a cunning fox.
After a few more slow movements in her direction, they were face to face—well, face to chest. Would she really let him examine her for his gun?
He immediately rejected the idea and almost thought it best to walk away. However, the possibility of their never meeting again kept resurfacing in his mind.
As if she could read his thoughts, she removed a blade from her sleeve and swiped at his neck. He jumped back just before it made contact and barely guarded his chest from the fist barreling through the air at him. Although she was slender, there was great strength behind her volleys. Instead of putting all effort into his offense, he parried her fists and simply moved out of the way of her knife.
"This is just a game," he told her. He was barely breaking a sweat. She, however, seemed to be tiring. Her breaths were starting to become ragged, and her attacks were not as swift.
"Bien sûr. Seulement un jeux." Finally, he grabbed her by both of her wrists and pinned them to the wooden exterior of the building behind her.
He leaned in close, close enough to count the brown flecks on her skin. "I cannot understand you."
Her large, dark eyes reminded him of the stars that dotted the night sky. Although in a confined situation, she still held that mischievous smile. "I said,'Of course. Only a game.' You played along well. I know what you're looking for," she breathed. "A list, non?"
"Yes. Where is it?" he asked.
She chuckled briefly. "I don't know. I merely overheard your conversation," the young woman replied, her accent very clear on her vowels. She wiggled a little. "Now, could you please let me go? I don't like having my arms above my head. It makes me feel...unguarded."
He released her, folding his arms across his chest. "Fine. But give me my gun back," he asked of her.
The fox-like woman put her hands in the air, as if surrendering. "Go ahead and take it."
"I'd prefer not to touch you inappropriately."
"Ah, *chut garçon! Just take it. It's in my belt." Her scolding outburst had him taken aback, but he stepped forward and reached behind her anyway. She looked up at him with a curious stare, and he suddenly felt like he was stuck in a longhouse with too many fires. Careful not to let his fingers drop below even an inch from her belt, he pulled it out and replaced it in its holster on his hip. "You don't look like you belong here, monsieur."
"Neither do you."
She laughed again. "You're not afraid to speak your mind."
"I hear that often."
The maiden leaned in close. A light gust of wildflowers followed her. "Then maybe it's true. But there's nothing wrong with that." Her twinkling eyes roamed the shadow of his hood and danced over his entire form before returning to his steady gaze. He couldn't tell what was on her mind. Was she determining his threat level? His intelligence? His allegiance? "Now that you have your gun back, what are you going to do?"
"I have business to take care of."
"Bien sûr. À plus tard," she replied sweetly, doing a slight curtsy before departing from the alleyway. He watched her retreating form sway for just a moment before he examined his surroundings. Beneath his feet was a round, flat object, perhaps to cover the ground, and looked for some sort of sign as to its function.
In small letters on its front, it read, 'To Loyalist guard towers. Do not enter.'
Well, if some benefit came from following the woman in green, she had just made his mission much easier.
Her bright smile was an unusual, but welcome change from all the other faces he'd been greeted with since he started visiting the colonies. Before heading down, he checked all his weapons, and then realized that his repossessed pistol was made of a lighter, more hollow wood. The weight would no longer counterbalance his aim should he be firing and running at the same time.
Obviously, the game was still in effect, and she wanted to play a bit longer.
Sooooo...how was it? Terrible? Did they lack chemistry? Not spicy enough? Tell me! I figured Connor and Aveline would have a sort of playful relationship because she looks like the uncanny, quirky kind of woman. Or maybe I'm using myself as a base, but less bold than her. I'd never steal from a guy to get him to follow me.
If anything, just please, tell me if I failed in the last scene where they talk to one another and get a little physical. Does anyone get the hint that there's an instant attraction between the two? I hope so! I think I mentioned it at the top in the Author's Note, but this story builds up to a picture created by an artist named kk-graphics on Deviantart. All you Connor/Aveline fans should check it out. The image will really fit in the last chapter.
*Venir le prendre moi-come and take it from me
*chut garçon-quiet, boy
*À plus tard-see you later
I'll be using French in the coming chapters just to add to Aveline's New Orleans flavor. Until next time.