[closed] will they tell our story?

[jackdawvision]

Who: Edward Kenway and Edward Little!
What: Rorschach dropped the pirate bomb on Little. Now it’s time to talk to Kenway about that.
When: Late December after Kenway comes back.
Where: Kenway’s house in town!

Content Warnings: Discussions of piracy, necessarily including talk of murder, violence and executions. AC: Black Flag and AC: Forsaken spoilers. Mention of recent amputation and ritualistic amputation in the past. allusions in brackets to blanket Assassin’s Creed warnings, in general.

[Edward had heard, once, about how the Assassins used to initiate people into the Brotherhood.

You’d step up on the dais and present your hand. Then they’d chop off the ring finger—to ensure that the hidden blade had room, you see, because back in the days of Altaïr and his lot, they hadn’t made that improvement yet. So they had to, and they made it into something of a ceremony that symbolized their commitment to the cause.

It’s funny, then, that Edward’s lost a ring finger now as well, to nothing so ceremonious as a ritual blade. He means to go speak to Goodsir about it, really he does, except while he’s unpacking he hears someone knocking on his door.]

Bloody hell, [he mutters to himself. He calls out:] Hold on just a second! I’ll be right there soon enough.

Comments

[fidior]

[ This isn't a task he wants to fulfill, but Edward Little is no stranger to such things. So many of his obligations had become unpleasant, towards the end. Unpleasant in ways he could never have imagined — responsibilities that were never meant to be his. Perhaps it became that way for all of the officers, and the captain himself.

Now he is here in a community trapped once again in some frightening place, and many of the tasks here are unpleasant, but this one is.... different. The dread and anxiety in his heart are something of their own flavour. He has dealt with criminals before, but not quite like this, and never fully on his own. (Is this man truly a criminal?) He doesn't know anything for certain, and he is not going to condemn any man based off of gossip.

But it is worth... checking into. It's his responsibility to. If there's a chance that he could be a danger to others here... Edward tries not to think about the steps to be taken after that fact; first, he needs to speak to Kenway. But he has no idea how this interaction may go, stepping up to the door with the mannerism of someone who would rather be doing anything else.

He's dressed as he always is, in his uniformed greatcoat, shotgun strapped to his back. Little takes a moment to gather himself, squaring his shoulders before he lifts a gloved hand to knock. The response gives him pause, fist hovering over the wood of the door, before he raises his voice to call out to him in return. ]

There is no hurry! It's only Lieutenant Little.

[ ....Here on unpleasant business — no emergency, but... certainly not a casual check-in. Edward worries his lower lip, frowning as he stands there. ]

[jackdawvision]

Oh! Little! I’ll be right there.

[Edward pulls the door open a couple seconds later, and he looks…well, he looks like he’s seen better days. The sheer cold of the month has gotten to him, especially after hunting with Methuselah, and when he lifts his left hand to say hello, the missing ring finger becomes obvious, the stump wrapped in bandages. But he spares a small, tired smile for Little, and steps to the side to let him in.

He’s not even wearing his bracers, not here in his home. He trusts most people here well enough, and Little of all people seems like a good man.]

Sorry about the mess. I’d been out a whole week, I’ve not cleaned as much as should’ve. [He pauses, only now registering Little’s mood.]

Are you all right, mate? I’ve some food, if you feel a hunger.

[fidior]

[ Edward's opening his mouth to greet the other — a "Good day" resting on his tongue — but he freezes when he takes in the state of the man. He doesn't look well, for one thing, but..... immediately he notices the bandaged hand, the space where another finger should be. Little's eyes are widening, clearly startled, but he tries to maintain his manners as he steps inside instead of ogle the other man. ]

Ah— no, I'm all right, thank you. [ He slides his gun off of his shoulder and leaves it propped at the door the way he would in any other circumstance; he isn't here to use it as any threat of intimidation. It's only a part of his uniform.

Turning to face the other man, Little can't help his brow knitting, not wanting to pry into his personal business, but... he's no stranger to seeing men lose parts of themselves in the ice. His heart gives a pained, empathetic pang. ]

Out a whole week...? Are you all right? You've.... [ There's no beating around it, eyes dropping to Kenway's hand for a brief moment. ] You've suffered injury?

[jackdawvision]

Take a seat anywhere, I won’t mind.

[Indeed he doesn’t, because he just flops down on an armchair and gestures toward the sofa that once held an entire family enthralled by a now-broken TV.

And as for the question. Edward huffs out a breath, taps his fingers absently against his thigh and winces just a little bit when he feels the phantom pain where his ring finger used to be. How did the early Assassins manage this? The pain on the first day had been awful, and even now it still twinges. It had been a necessary thing, but the loss of a finger still hurts, still makes him worry.]

Frostbite got it, so I had to cut it off. I did it as cleanly as I could. [One thing you can trust an Assassin to do: they’ll do the dirty work, but they’ll do it quick and clean.] I’ll visit Goodsir for it, soon enough.

[But first:]

So what brings you here, mate? Is this a social call, or has a problem come up while I was away?

[fidior]

[ Politely, Edward moves to sit down where gestured, seating himself on the sofa, spine held straight and hands folded onto his lap as he continues to watch the other man. His expression tightens at the explanation, his horror kept controlled, but still visible in his face, his eyes. He'd had to do it himself....? He can hardly imagine, but it all conjures up memories of some of those worse days. Men coming out of the doctors' quarters with less and less parts of themselves. Edward having to help hold down a screaming man as his entire leg was removed — that hadn't been from frostbite, but even so.... Butchery makes his stomach curl. The fact Kenway had to do such a thing on his own... it's quite horrific. ]

Good god. I am sorry. Please, do see him as soon as you can — I'm certain he can help.

[ He's very unsettled, worried by it, and there are more things to question about, but... of course Kenway is curious as to the nature of his visit. Edward hesitates, at odds with himself over how to handle this. The man is treating him as a companion, amicable and welcoming to him. This is not one of the boys on the ships to admonish. He finds himself apologetic, head dipping for a moment. ]

This is.... unpleasant to address, and I apologise for it. I make no habit to gossip, and I do not tolerate it in others. A man's reputation can become tarnished for such things.

[ Little gives a firm shake of his head. ]

But someone has... informed me of a particular piece of information regarding you. For the safety of the community, I knew I must speak with you about this matter myself. [ An awkward beat; he sincerely dislikes this part of his responsibility. It had been extremely unpleasant back on Terror, and is extremely unpleasant now. ]

That you... engage in piracy.

[jackdawvision]

I will. Believe me, I don’t want to lose any more bits of me.

[He kinda needs this hand.

But anyway. Kenway blinks at Little in surprise as the last word comes out of his mouth—piracy? Who’s told him that? Wait—ah, must be one of three people in this town. Kate, or Tim, or Rorschach. He hadn’t said to keep it a secret, after all, but he hadn’t really been volunteering it either, because of…well, this, really. Because he didn’t want to lose Little’s good opinion, and potentially run afoul of the many, many Royal Navy sailors coming in.

Probably should’ve tried harder to keep it a secret, Kenway supposes. Time to explain.]

They had it right. I was a pirate. If it’s one of the three I’m thinking of who told you, I’ve told them as much myself. [Emphasis on was, however.] But I have not been a pirate in over a decade, now—not since I took the king’s pardon, not since I started raising my daughter. I’m a merchant now, or I used to be before I came here.

[His thumbnail digs at the very edge of his wrist, under the bandages.]

I didn’t want to tell anyone, not really. But Kate and Tim asked me outright, and for Rorschach—it was confess or see us both dead, and I would not have his death on my conscience. There’s enough death there as it stands.

[fidior]

[ Little has no idea what to expect, here. If Kenway outright denies it.... what will he do? The man in the strange mask who'd told him about this is hardly what he would claim to be a refutable source of information regarding someone's personal details; Edward doesn't know him at all. But why would he create a lie about this man....?

But Kenway... admits to it. Little's eyes widen as he listens to the other man say he was a pirate, and... a lot more, too. Pieces of his story: it's been a decade past now, he's become a merchant, he has a daughter....

King's pardon. Ah, and that's— Well, all of this changes things quite a bit, doesn't it? This is very much a different case than what he'd been thinking. There's a kneejerk relief blossoming within Little's stomach, and he gives a long exhale, tension relaxing a bit. Granted, it's still... striking, to hear that this man used to be a pirate — Little knows what such a life involves, and there's still a hefty dose of conflict within him about it, something lingering, needling unpleasantly, like an insect burrowed and fluttering within him. (If a man has done horrible things in his past... at what point is he no longer that man? Even if pardoned, even if time passes by... does he truly become someone else? What is fair? What is truly just?) ]

....I see. I... am sorry that your past has been revealed against your will.

[ He is empathetic to that, genuinely, and torn between those two parts of himself. The empathy and the other thing, the uncertainly as to what this means, exactly. This man... was a pirate, once. ]

Why did you renounce that life? Was it.... because of your daughter?

[ Asked carefully, not meaning to be invasive — stuck forever between the officer he's meant to be and the man who would likely refer to Kenway as a companion. ]

[jackdawvision]

[Of all the secrets Edward Kenway has ever kept, on the whole he’s glad that it’s really only the piracy that’s gotten out by now. It’s not a part of his past he’s ashamed of, though he knows he ought to be—why should he be? He’d never do it again, of course, he is no longer that callow young man, but if not for being a pirate, he wouldn’t have become the man he is now. He wouldn’t be an Assassin.

And that is something Kenway cannot tell anyone. Nothing personal, but he swore an oath when he joined. He picks at the bandages, restlessly, then runs his uninjured hand through his hair, mussing it even further. He’ll need to trim it, he thinks ruefully. This time with something other than a hidden blade. He shakes his head, and gives Little a small smile.]

Nah, don’t be. I told them when they asked, I knew the risks of it spreading around. [Especially with someone like Rorschach, who has…a very black and white view of the world. Could it have been him, he wonders. But then Kate likes Little, and didn’t seem to mind Kenway’s past either—she might’ve let it slip, innocently, not quite realizing the magnitude. Or Tim, as well.] This is on me, probably. If you feel you must tell people, I can’t exactly stop you, but—I would rather keep it to myself, for the most part. I’ll tell if I’m asked, but…

[He shrugs.]

People don’t ask, usually.

[Or else more people than four would know by now. He figures it’s because the other survivors have other, more pressing matters on their mind.

As for that question. He looks up at Little, then back down at his hands.]

…partially, aye. When I left my wife, my first wife, to become a privateer, she’d been with child, but I hadn’t known it at the time. I only found out long after I’d turned pirate, when a letter I sent to her came back with news of her death—and our daughter’s existence. [A breath.] That was the moment I realized—I had to go home. And I couldn’t go home with a price on my head, so.

[It’s a more complicated story than that, and. Well. He had said partially, so he continues, his voice heavy with grief:] I…had friends, back in the day. Good friends, people I’d come to consider close as brothers. I watched them all die—killed in battle or hanged for their crimes. [He killed Ben Hornigold himself. He held Mary’s body in his arms after she’d passed, and she’d been so light. She’d been so light.] I knew if I didn’t change course I would end up like them. I couldn’t do that to my daughter, she’d already lost her mother, so—I took the pardon and renounced the life. And went back home.

[How neat and tidy, this story. A clean cut made between the pirate and the businessman.]

[fidior]

No, I— I assure you, I'll not speak of it. It is your own business to share with whom you wish.

[ Is that... wrong? Do the people here have a right to know if a man was once a criminal, was once capable of dangerous acts? But what if that same man gave up such a life? Is it fair to smear his reputation based on what was done in the past...?

It's a conundrum, to be certain; Little's extremely conflicted. But he isn't one to spread anyone's personal business, not even in matters like this — hell, he hasn't even told anyone here about what Cornelius Hickey did or is capable of, which may be... foolish of him, but it doesn't feel right. He's been trying to keep an eye on that situation himself, to not involve the people of this community. Is it the correct way to handle things? He doesn't know. He only knows what feels right.

And he has committed horrors of his own, of course. There are things that he would be horrified to have brought to the surface, should they come to light to the people here.

He falls silent again as he listens, and slowly removes his cap so as to be polite and respectful, placing it in his lap. He turns his head attentively to listen to the other man, and... Kenway's words grasp his heart tightly, squeezing it. Ah. ]

You did what you had to, for your daughter's sake. I imagine it must not have been easy.... but it's very commendable. [ He nods, meaning it. Kenway chose his daughter.... chose to renounce such a life for her. It makes it all the more bittersweet, and painful, to think that the man is trapped here now without her.

...A beat, careful, as he slowly twists his cap in his hands. ]

What is her name? Your daughter.

[jackdawvision]

[It is his business, but more than that, it's a cover for the truth: Kenway may no longer be a pirate, but he's an Assassin, and his hands are still stained in blood. For a better cause, to be sure, a better creed, but he's still a killer and he knows that if that were to get out people would wonder if he's a danger to them. Not to mention he swore an oath. Not to mention how he likes the people here, rather prefers to be known as the local eccentric who likes to run around on rooftops. Maybe that's just what getting old does to you, he supposes.

Maybe that's just what dying does to you.

But even though he's still hiding so much from Little, he doesn't hide how much he misses his family. Kate had been the first to know, and she'd been sympathetic to his plight. Even months after telling Kate, it still hurts to think of them, to wonder what must've happened to them, to hope to god Miko's swooped in to keep them safe. Kenway rubs a fingernail against the edge of the bandage, and says:]

It was an easy choice to make. The transition was harder, but—I don't regret choosing her. I never could.

[And now he lets out a breath.]

Jennifer. Jennifer Scott, really. [A small, sad smile.] She took her mother's maiden name, you see, because she hadn't met me until she was nine. She's grown into such a fine woman, and I can only hope she's safe, back in England.

[He pauses. Little didn't ask for this, but Kenway volunteers the information anyway:] I have a son, as well. His name's Haytham, he's much younger than Jenny, and he's—he's such a clever boy, so curious and inquisitive, and so sweet as well—he's got my second wife's hair, but unlike Jenny who's the spitting image of her mother, he got my nose. I'm glad they're not here, but I miss them so, and I think you would like them both.

[fidior]

[ Little continues to listen, a quiet and attentive audience, cap held politely in his lap and his nervous hands slowly coming to a halt where they'd been turning it over and over again. Now... he's relaxing, even if just a little, listening to the other man's words. And there's a soft expression of curious surprise as Kenway reveals more to himself, his family — another child, another wife, pieces of his life and experience. It's so different from Little's own, and he's tilting his head softly, allowing himself to gently indulge in this rare moment of getting to learn about someone else. It's been... rare that he has, really. He's met many people in this town, but neither shared nor learned much to their personal details.

He smiles gently at the description of Kenway's son and daughter, heart still heavy by the ache behind it all, but it's.... nice. It's nice to hear about someone's children. ]

They sound lovely, Mr. Kenway. You must be incredibly proud. [ It's precious information he's been given; he'll not forget it. Them. Jennifer and Haytham. He hopes, but does not voice aloud, that Kenway will be able to reunite with his children some day.

And then pauses, because.... perhaps this is a chance for him to share some to his life, too. Even if it's considerably lacking in comparison to Kenway's — much of an opposite in many ways. ]

I've never married, nor had children. Such things are.... discouraged, particularly for officers.

[ He'd known that, getting into the Royal Navy, following in his father's footsteps and then surpassing them to become a lieutenant very early in age. But he was all right with it; marriage never felt particularly suiting for him, and he'd been quite content to belong only to his post, his position. ]

In truth, I was never easily able to imagine being a father. It seems very.... scary. [ He offers a little smile, trying to lighten the heaviness of such a word. ] But it must be nice, too. To discover what traits they have of yours... To teach them things.