sixthiterationlogs | So this is it, I sold my soul for this

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So this is it, I sold my soul for this

WHO: Connor
WHERE: South Fountain » Inn
WHEN: November 20th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: (Nothing at the moment!)

Arrival;

This whole entire thing was surreal.

One moment he was on the homestead and live was proceeding exactly as it should have been.

And the next he was waking up in a fountain of all things, completely soaked down to the skin, hair matted to his skin and coughing up water he didn't even recall swallowing. Perhaps most important was he was no longer wearing the assassin robes he had grown so accustomed to, but instead a set of thin cotton scrubs, jet black in color and currently clinging to him uncomfortably.

There is no panic - perhaps there should be, considering he had just seemingly been transported to somewhere utterly different than where he had been just moments before. But all he feels as he lifts himself from the water is annoyance and anger because there was so much that still needed done and he does not have time for this.

Attempting to step over the side of the fountain reveal that his traditional boots made of leather and hide have also been replaced for some foreign pair that make his feet feel heavy and squished. There's no weight of his tomahawk pressed into his thigh, no tell-tale reminder of his quiver and bow strapped to his back.

Everything is gone.

Everything is gone and there is nothing pleasant about this turn of events at all. Absolutely nothing.

Inn;

Being dry does little to actually improve his mood, considering all of his things are still gone and it seems as though there's no getting them back. Having settled in also does little to help. But he's settled in at the very least, having found a room and gone around rummaging through the contents of the backpack he'd arrived with. The cap was a far cry from his normal hood, but he had placed upon his head and pulled it down as far as it would possibly go before journeying any further.

Currently, he sits downstairs, at a table that's been shoved into a corner, attempting to figure out how the watch that's been placed on his left wrist actually works, but all that's happening is his large fingers keep button smashing and it ends up displaying something else he doesn't understand.

At some point he'll finally grow so frustrated that he'll let out a sound somewhere between a growl and loud sigh before giving up, leaning back in his chair and staring outside.

There has to be something he was missing, something he could do.

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"Need help?" Wanda spoke in a thick accent that rounded and pulled at each syllable.

Unlike Connor, she wore a pair of olive green cargo pants, a dark tank top with a maroon leather jacket pulled over her shoulders and a bow slung across her back. At her side was a Norwegian Hound who's dark inquisitive eyes stared at Connor while obediently sitting at his owners side.

"You look frustrated." She smiled, a subtle curve to her lips as she spoke.

Wanda had been hunting, trying to catch what she can before the freezing winter chased the big game away. Her catch had been left in the kitchen but she always tried to pass through the inn and see if anyone needed anything before returning to her home.

Her accent was strange and foreign to his ear, one that he had never heard before now. As he glances up at the sound, he notices how differently she's dressed - and the fact that she has a bow strapped upon her back, and he makes a mental note to inquire as to how he can get one. Or at the very least, the materials to make his own.

"If it would not trouble you." Because there was no way he was going to actually figure this out on his own. For as stubborn and cocky as he might sometimes be, he was also humble enough to know when was in need of help. "I can not figure out this device. How does it work?"

Wanda stepped forward, pushing her long hair over one shoulder so she could lean over without it getting in the way. "Here."

"This allows you to text others who were brought here." She lifted her wrist and showed him the dark hunter green band that matched his watch in every way except for color. "We all have one. You can set your messages to private or public. You can also set your user name if you don't want to use your real name." Her own screen name showed up as ScarletWitch.

"It's useful if you need to call for help but you have a limited amount of space to send out messages."

Connor watches carefully as she shows him the different functions of the watch, slowly catching on to its intention. It still seemed strange and foreign, far from anything he had ever encountered before.

"Would it not make more sense just to speak to each other in person?" Or to send a letter, if they were too far away, but there may not be couriers here either. Although, being able to call for help may be useful.

"It would but the island is big and it takes weeks to travel between locations." She hadn't explored that far out but Wanda knew that it took days to travel from one town to the other. "This lets us talk to each other from other sides of the island as well as call and respond to emergencies. Sometimes someone needs help and this is the easiest way to find that."

Wanda had spent a great deal of time in the simulation before the watches and it had been difficult to keep in contact with people. Some people would disappear for weeks or longer and you never knew if they were dead or not.

There were no other means of contact here, except for the bulletin board at the inn... which wasn't the best way to contact someone.

"I see." Although it still seemed like a strange technology, perhaps it would prove useful with time, "Thank you for explaining it to me. I think I understand now."

His fingers still seemed too big for the small face of the watch, but now that he knew some of the functions, it was much easier to be mindful of what he was hitting instead of simply button mashing.

"Yeah. let me know if you need anything else."

Wanda didn't mind explaining the watches. They were a little strange to use and difficult for those who weren't used to technology. The only reason she could use them was because of her time spent with the Avengers, prior to that she'd had no reason to learn about these sorts of things.

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It's not that Ashley alters her route to bypass the fountain at least once a day, it's just that she totally does alter her route to come by the fountain and see who may have shown up in this place. She hits up the bunker as well, clinging to a hope that at some point Helen Magnus will be there, drenched and in some oddly coloured hospital scrubs, laughing about the adventure.

Instead she sees a tall man climbing over the side in dark scrubs. Not that she's yet to figure out what they all mean, but she knows Druitt wore black when he arrived, and she makes a mental note to add that to her physical notes later.

Strolling closer, Ashley pauses, knowing she practically came up swinging so being careful. She no longer wears those awful yellow scrubs but instead a pair of black leggings with a tee shirt she's cut and tied to fit beneath a lovely black and white zebra stripped snuggie cut into a jacket of some degree. It works. For now.

"Uhmmm, hey? You okay? For the value of just woke up drowning okay but no need for medical attention?" He doesn't look like he needs it, but she's going to check.

He doesn't exactly come up swinging - but he's alert and ready at the first sign of any danger, more so because he's been left without any of the various weapons and tools he's used to utilizing.

So he's wary at best of her when she approaches, but she speaks, asking if he's okay and it eases a bit of the tension.

"I am fine." His voice is a little rough from coughing and sputtering up water, and every now and again he still does, and will until it all manages to vacate his lungs. "What is this place?"

"Take your time, and there's benches if you need a breather. Drowning is not conducive to arriving healthy and happy and I really think that's part of it. That or it's how they defrost us. I haven't figured out which yet," she admits, talking casually as if all of this is common. It's anything but... Yet what other answer is there until they get full answers from somewhere?

"Best anyone can tell? It's like the Pacific Northwest in North America. Maybe Washington? Or the like. Except..." She cants her head back, looking skyward. They're not visible yet but they will be. "None of the stars look right to anyone," she says, lowering her gaze to him. "Not heard a name for it yet. Just the village. South village to be exact. There is a North one. It's not like streets that are like West main, but there's no East. I'm Ashley, and I came in the same way a few weeks ago so I have more questions than answers myself."

Never before had he experienced the sensation of drowning, not even when he was young and first learning how to properly swim. It had been strange and terrifying, an emotion he wasn't used to feeling. Glancing towards the benches, he motions towards them, indicating to her that he does, indeed, wish to move to one, sitting on the edge, allowing plenty of room for her should she wish.

"I do not understand, America is only just forming. It has not spread this far west." Had he not just been fighting battles in the colonies, trying to win this country its independence? To hear that it had come so far and spread so wide was almost as strange as suddenly arriving someplace else.

He was, in a word, exhausted.

With the illness that had been going through the town, most of Altaïr's time had been spoken for. Throughout the day, he'd take time to go to the healing springs and return with water, to bring back cool water from the fountain, but then he would be at bedsides, helping as he could with fevers and comforts while those with greater medical knowledge than he did the hardest of the work.

But he had wisdom enough to know that a man exhausted was a man who could do little in the way of help. That was why he came into the inn, knowing he needed food and a few minutes' rest before he found himself drained completely. They were on the cusp of healing. He just had to keep going long enough for it to happen.

And despite his tiredness, he couldn't help but notice another newcomer - or was it simply someone he'd yet to see in his short time? Either way, he obtained two plates before approaching the man's table. "My pardon for assuming, but may I sit?" he asked, even offering the second plate Connor's way.

At first - and for probably a few seconds too long - all he did was stare at the man who approached him. There were many open tables and chairs, so why this stranger would choose to sit at his was beyond him.

But this stranger was also seemingly offering him food and that much he could not turn down, considering the way his day had proceeded. So he nods to the empty across from him, shifting in his own seat to sit up straighter.

"You may."

"Shukran." He half-bowed before carefully pulling out a chair, being quiet for the sake of being quiet, and seated himself across the corner. "I did not recognise your face, but your clothing and your actions are familiar. I arrived here not so long ago myself, and thought I may offer assistance. My name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."

Altaïr spoke as quietly as he'd drawn out the chair. Tiredness was evident about him, as was a bit of darkness under his eyes. These last days had seen him busier than he'd expected, but with so many ill, it had behooved him to help how he could.

"I'm afraid you've come at an inopportune time - though the time you came I know was not of your choosing. Many here are ill."

Everything else goes unheard the moment the other man announces his name.

It couldn't be. It absolutely could not be.

Achilles had told him the stories, of course. Had instilled in him the deep respect that those who came before deserved. But Altair was a man who had lived hundred's of years before his time, there was way he could be sitting here before him now.

A look of complete and utter shock crosses his features for a moment - in fact, the only thing that could have surprised him more was if Ezio Auditore himself were sitting before him. But it's covered quickly, his expression carefully remaining blank.

If this man truly was Altair, then he would have to find some way to quietly announce that they were allies, brothers who could both me trusted.

"You may call me Connor." It came naturally now, to give everyone that name instead of the own his mother had given him. "You said that people have fallen ill. Is there nothing that can be done?"

He was exhausted. Off his guard. Lulled by the time in this village where most he had met, he would consider allies. An adopted son. An adopted daughter. Both of whom were very ill.

And none of that caused him to miss the momentary shock on Connor's face. He was too well-trained, held a healthy paranoia too close to his heart. This man knew him. Knew his name, at least. Possibilities swam through his thoughts, exhaustion evaporating in the face of readiness. Templar? Perhaps, though his accent was not one he would associate with Templars. The shock meant his presence was unexpected. Good. That meant neither of them were precisely prepared.

But the question remained: who was this man?

"We have been doing what we can," he went on as if the shock hadn't been there at all. "Those with minds turned to medicine have been studying the illness to search for a cause and a cure. The last I heard, they were close. An idea had been found. I have been working to aid the ill, and as I have not yet caught the illness, I doubt it is still able to be passed. None have died as yet, thankfully - and I hope they will not."

If only you knew how closely connected he actually was to the Templars, Altair.

Connor strove to always be prepared for everything that could possibly be thrown his way. Fighting a war had given him a healthy appreciation for the fact that life could be unpredictable. The enemy could strike at any given moment, and you always had to be ready.

But this man was not his enemy, and he was not his.

"Lucky that I have come now then." He knew how to administer first aid, at least, although he was not as skilled as medicine as other's he knew. "Perhaps I could prove useful. I have cared for those who had suffered injuries and illness before."

He nodded slowly, taking up the knife he had claimed to eat with, though he had brought Connor the silverware the others used. His knife was far from sharp, rounded and flat without even a hint of a cutting edge. For butter, he understood, but that mattered little. It wasn't a weapon he could defend himself with.

And he would not let that line of thought go further. He was more than capable of defending himself unarmed if it came to it, but he would extend a measure of goodwill and hope it would not come.

"I thank you for the offer. Currently, most who are ill are in a hospital. They are feverish, coughing, and sore. Our stores of herbs and other medicines are low. I have been attending them with cool water from the fountain, and I've been attempting to clean their bedding so when they do improve, they'll have something to return to besides the lingering miasma of sickness."

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Hawke's been out and about lately since she's practically useless with the illness situation. None of it makes a lick of sense to her, but they don't have any healers, and that's the main problem. She'd even close her eyes and wish for bloody Anders for five minutes if it meant everyone getting out of there well. But she can't exactly barter with the people in charge here, so instead she's been restlessly scouting about. This time in the direction of the west, so she's coming back to the inn looking a little bedraggled and with dirt on her face.

She lets her hair down from the braid, it's coming loose anyway, and she hefts her mildly acceptable but depressingly average bow to the side along with her self-made bag of arrows. She's really considering just sticking her head in a water bucket at this point or tossing it over her head, for all the good it'll do, when she hears a particularly frustrated growl and feels like it echoes her very soul at the moment. Which of course gets her peering at the bloke she hasn't seen before, and a moment later her characteristically bright smile comes to life.

"Let me tell you, my friend, you've stumbled into this place at the worst time. Normally there would be all sorts of bright people here explaining how to use that ridiculous thing, but they're all hallucinating in the hospital at the moment." Hawke doesn't wait for an invitation, she takes a seat across from him at the table and leans over to look at his watch. "The only thing I've figured out on it so far is how to write messages to one another. You don't need parchment or a raven. It's instant. I'm obsessed." Yes she is in fact acting like they already know each other. Why waste time being awkward strangers?

Connor's first thought upon seeing or hearing her speak is that she is far too much like a female version of Paul Revere and he already wonders how many times he'll have to take her hand off of him.

His second thought when she sits down uninvited is that she is way too friendly for her own good, but luckily he's not the sort of person to be anything other than mildly annoyed at the intrusion.

But - but she is trying to at least explain how the device works, and for that much he's thankful, considering it was far more information than he'd had before she arrived.

"Could you show me?"

"No, you're on your own! Just kidding, of course." Hawke appreciates the distraction. She thinks he might end up being the strong silent type like a few of the others she's collected here, but it's too early to tell. He will definitely need to take her hand off him eventually, but only once. She does have good physical boundaries if not any for everything else.

She leans over but only to show him her own, the color a vibrant yellow, and she taps the screen. Theirs look slightly different, but not so much that it seems like a completely different machine, like some of the others who are used to this tech. "So that is the time and date," she points to hers, " and what you do is tap here and then it'll give you letters to use." Hawke's display comes up. "You can use the letters to write a message, and then you send it, and everyone else can see and read it, same as you. They reply, you reply back. No need for long distance messages anymore."

It really is a wonder. She's only experienced at it now because someone else showed her. "You can't take it off no matter what, so there's no point in trying, you might hurt yourself doing it. I'm guessing whoever's in charge of this is tracking our movements thanks to them." It makes sense.

He would absolutely be the most impressed if it was only once. Most of the time it had to happen multiple times before the person finally got it through their head. And sometimes not at all.

It takes him a moment of simply staring at her leaning before he copies her movement, if only to get a better look at the small screen of her device, watching carefully as she explains the steps to him. It doesn't look too overly complicated, all things considered, but it still seems so very strange.

"I think I understand." His fingers still felt far too big when trying to operate the little device, but it was far easier now that he at least knew where to press. "Thank you. I have not seen anything like this before my coming here."

"Experiment a little, it'll get easier the more you do." Hawke poked at it for a good day or two before she started to get the hang of it. "It's very useful, especially I imagine if you get in a spot of trouble." If stuck somewhere, or something in the village goes wrong, she can see this being a great warning alarm for everyone else in the village. If she's out scouting and sees something coming, she can warn people faster than ever before. It really is a brilliant device, if slightly annoying.

"Neither have I. This sort of thing isn't possible where I'm from, and it won't be for a long time. We've got magic and the like, but this technology is a new concept." That's the word she keeps hearing. It's the type of thing someone would call high level machinery perhaps, war machines, but nothing like that. Hawke points upward and around them at the inn. "They've got a lesser version of it around here. Electric lights. Better than torches, though I don't trust it much." It reminds her of bottled lightning in a way. "A few other things are run that way. Makes life a lot easier."

Connor wasn't exactly the sort to call for help when he got into a particularly tricky spot. After all, the only ones he had ever truly had to come and aid him were the assassins which he had taken under his wing, and then he'd had to whistle and hope one of them was near enough to hear. To have a device that would allow him to simply reach out so easily was strange, and he didn't quite trust the idea of it.

"Electricity?" His voice, for once, doesn't sound incredulous, but instead a little bit amazed. He had known that Benjamin Franklin was experimenting with such a thing, but to hear that it had actually worked and been developed was incredible. "I can not believe he actually did it."

"Yeah, that's it. It's what makes all the lights work! Oh and that thing back there." She pointed in the direction of the fridge. "It keeps things cold all the time. Not just in winter. And that thing over there can cook things on it without a fire." To the stove. "Well, there's a little fire in it, but it goes on like a snip, not over a campfire." Hawke was pretty impressed with all of it, to be honest. She may or may not have done silly things like open the cold door over and over, or turned on the little flame and watched.

"I shouldn't be that impressed, my sister can literally call fire out of the air any time she wants, but it's still fascinating." It was the little things, go figure. "There's a lot of people here who are used to the electricity though, they come from a place where it's widespread. You know the person who made it work?" That was pretty damn impressive if he did.