Caution had become very much a thing of Connors daily routine and incorporated into some part of his life. Be it when speaking with a stranger or being given strange new objects. In this case; both.
Before taking the device, he gave it a good look, taking glances at the stranger and at the weapon several times.’Twas large indeed. And heavy, as he soon found after he careful and slowly took the weapon from the stranger.
It reminded him of the muskets that the Red Coats often carried with them. However, this weapons material was not common wood. Not even that of a rarer kind. Mostly… steel. An odd choice to create a weapon with. Steel was heavy and although physically stronger, it was never fast enough.
The trigger was rough, cold. It told him that it shot projectiles and was not meant for close range combat. And the strangers words stuck out to him: ‘be careful of the kick back.’
This weapon had him too much on edge.
After a moments of silence, simply holding it by the weapons handle and looking at it, he glanced back up at the stranger and handed it back.
“Nia:wen, but I believe this is not something I should wield.”
However, to say curiosity was not sparked would be a lie.
No matter how bad his mood could ever be, it wouldn’t be enough to not make him snort at the prospect of those guys killing him. Yeah, right.
“Nothing to do.” Not entirely a lie, but it’s not as if he doesn’t complain (all the time) that there’s ‘nothing to ever do’ in the first place, even while he’s messing around uselessly.
He frowns at the question and perches upwards, nimbly sliding down to a branch closer to the ground (he’s gotten better at tree-climbing, if he does say so himself).
“No—” Thinking about his sister really sucks, no matter how sad or how happy the memory is. “—I've been.. thinking. Is all.”
There was a sight to behold. Alex Mercer, showing weakness? At least, it seemed like weakness in the eyes of the Native American. It could be just simple confusion or some sort of inner battle. One of which he didn’t expect the other to begin divulging about.
Beneath the darkness of his cowl he rose a brow at how the other climbed down from branch to branch till he was lower, closer to the ground. Still rather amusing to try it, even if he was now better at it then how he once was.
" Thinking? Of… ? ” Part of him wasn’t expecting a response. Not one that didn’t end with some sort of backhanded comment to once again start their seemingly daily bickering.
Still, he let himself become comfortable as he sauntered over to the tree across and leaned against it, staring up at the virus.
[ Ignoring everything in favor of ‘brooding’ only works until somebody starts throwing pebbles at you. ]
[ He sits up, slightly (in the tree branches, grips one for balance), eyes cracking open; he manages to force himself to look slightly disgruntled, even though he really just sounds tired. ]
A momentary pause, watching the other groan and adjust himself on the branch. A different kinda of posture. Almost as if there was a lack of confidence in how he moved. Although, the thought itself is odd, especially for Alex.
A humble tilt of head at the virus.
" You’ve been absent all today. For a moment, I had thought that maybe the British claimed your life. ”
As if that was possible. An amusing thought however.
" Is everything alright? ”
[ . ooc ] Sorry about not being very active on here. A combination of school, work, and just overall laziness has taken over me. Well, the laziness was never anything new. Plus, I have a new muse ( an OC of mine ) that’s been occupying my time and I’ve been having quite a time with. I’ve been meaning to share it on here but at the same time I’m not sure if I want to. Anyways, sorry about the delay in everything!
he’s dead nigga calm down.
" I highly doubt that I am immortal, stranger. Nor do I ever wish to be immortal. To have to live through all the burdens that live has thrown at me? A frightening thought. “
" However, if by ‘death date’ you mean a time in which I will in fact perish, that I also doubt I have. Death claims us all, eventually, however the question when is never certain. ” Odd words coming from an Assassin. The kind of which has held many of lives in his hands.
Cut cold, no longer to draw breath at his hands.
I don’t care what they say— I still say no.
A pause was taken. Digits sprawl out amongst his own palm, letting his blade slide out. The sound of metal scratching against metal never got old. A kind of harmony that was twisted and different.
" I must disagree for these have lasted me this long with little wear on them. A fine quality of metal. ” Quick did the weapon sheathe back into its hidden resting place. Then, like a flash of a specter, he reached for the tomahawk that hung at his side. A dexterous show of skill as he spun the weapon with but his fingers till it remained gripped in the Native Americans right hand.
Beneath the viel of shadow that hung over his face, his eyes trailed from the weapon back to the stranger. “ However — ” He begun. ” If what you say is true then I suppose I must switch to this, do you disagree? A unique weapon, one of which is dear to me. No doubt will last me even longer than that of my hidden blades. “
Like the heart of the Mohawk people, his specially crafted blade was strong and true. Never to crack beneath that of the enemies oppression.
Our muses are destined to do jail time together
“I cannot believe you.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Wasn’t your fault—?!”
Right. This is where he conveniently diverts his gaze elsewhere and coughs innocently because he swears to god it seriously wasn’t his fault this time.
Not that getting thrown in a jail cell isn’t funny.
Because it is—mostly because it’s satisfying to watch Connor completely lose his shit because Alex got them in trouble again. But, hey, it was fun, right? Right? (He’s sure one of the two would beg to differ. Absolutely sure. It’s not his fault that getting stuck in whatever time era leaves much to be desired sans for the easily-frightened-everybody.)
He coughs again.
Can literally feel Connor’s right eye twitch after that.
“No, you look—“ An accusing finger is jabbed in his direction.
“It might’ve been a little uncalled for—“
“It was completely your fault—“
“But I think—“
“No. Be quiet.”
“I think they were being a little too harsh, and—“
“—and it’s not like I can’t just—“
“—just get us out—“
A discarded tin mug is lobbed at his head and he curses, recoiling and clutching at his forehead.
“What?! What was that for?!”