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Who: Stephanie Brown and YOU??
What: Sighing a lot and getting tar everywhere
When: Today!
Where: The castle grounds
Rating: PG

Tar, tar everywhere. It was black, sticky, and warm to the touch--which Steph discovered, as it clung to her arms and neck. It didn't take too long for her to realize that many in the castle were being afflicted by this, so she tried to tough through it. It would stop eventually, and she had things to do. There was still a lot to be done in the city, before she and Cass left on the expedition.

However, the more she touched, the more tar seemed to come from her hands.

She wasn't going to be useful to anyone today, let alone herself, she came to realize.

What was the logical response?

To lay down on the grass in front of the castle, of course. Maybe if she didn't touch anything for a while, the sticky goo would recede. In the meanwhile, staring at the sky seems like a good option.

Yeah, castle. She gets the irony. She messes up everything she touches. Ha ha.

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"When you're trying to move on from them, yeah, I think so. This place can get a little heavy with it. Plus, most people aren't comfortable with their mistakes laid out for all to see."

Well, the two of them seem to be doing alright. Steph's not thrilled about the situation, but she's able to keep her cool with only a little effort. The mess is more annoying than anything.

Connor looks his hands over for another second or so, frowning, then blows out a puff of air and leans back on them instead, looking up at the sky.

"This place is so strange. I do not know how you can be so pragmatic about it."

Not that Connor is flipping out about this bizarre event either. But Steph is so matter-of-fact about it.

She shrugs. "I've been here for over three years. I got used to it."

If she freaked out about every little thing, she wouldn't have any hair left on her head.

"I just try to remember that it passes. Eventually."

Three years is such a long time to a fourteen year old. He can't even imagine it -- a small eternity, trapped in a place like this. But he doesn't say anything about that, just makes another quiet noise of understanding.

He glances at her sidelong. "It is a strange lesson the god of this place teaches us, then. What is the point of reminding us of the failures of our past if it will soon take away the reminders? Our failures do not leave us so readily."

It's a good question. Connor seems to ask pretty good ones, for essentially being a kid.

"I wish I knew. Sometimes I think maybe there's no real point to it. That's not a very comforting answer, though," she says with a sympathetic smile.

He is a very serious young person. Serious young people tend to ask good questions.

Connor smiles back at her just a little, nodding in sombre agreement. "Sometimes that is just how it is."

He lapses into silence for awhile after that, looking at the grass, then he decides to change the subject. "What is it that you did before Paradisa? You are not an Assassin, but Ezio trusts you."

Before Paradisa somehow feels very long ago and just like yesterday. It's weird to think that there's still things she needs to attend to at home--guys in superpowered suits kicking her ass should be hard to forget, but her life in Paradisa makes it a little too easy.

"I'm not an Assassin, no, but my people have similar skills and goals. We protect the innocent. The city I come from is like a breeding ground for criminals and the like." Which definitely has nothing to do with the no-kill rule Batman has, no.

She grins. "How about you, hmm? Do you trust me?" Her tone is clearly teasing! Don't freak out, Connor.

Connor arrived in Paradisa on the same date and at the same time that he left Boston, so to him, time has progressed normally. If he stays here as long as Stephanie, he'll obviously notice it a lot more -- there's a really big difference between a fourteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old.

He smiles in that same sort of subdued way again, this time due more to shyness than anything else. "You have not given me a reason to distrust you," he says, very obviously being ambiguous about it on purpose, jokingly.

"Good answer," she nods, still smiling. Good questions and good answers, from the serious baby Assassin.

Since now seems to be a good time for questions, she figures she can ask some that have been on her mind. "So... how did you get involved with the Assassins? I didn't think they came as young as you."

She had asked Ezio about it, and he had said Connor had sought out their symbol--whatever that meant. Might as well ask him herself.

He pauses at the question, not because he's offended by it or anything, but because he's trying to figure out how much to actually reveal. From his limited conversations with other people here, he's come to realise that dreams may not be as important to others as they are to his people. Stephanie probably wouldn't understand if he told her about the spirit.

"I was told training as an Assassin would help save my people," he finally settles on, giving her the sort of truncated version, absently looking out into the distance. "My village protects something that the Templars seek, and we have done so for many years. And so I must become an Assassin to keep it safe, to keep them from driving us off our land and bringing us to failure."

That's fairly disheartening, given American history. Stephanie doesn't need to know his specific future to guess that it doesn't turn out very well.

"Do you know what they're after?" The Apple comes to mind, but Steph doesn't want to bring up things that Ezio may not have.

He shakes his head. It's a cave, just a cave with paintings, but he's not supposed to mention it to any outsider. Not that it really matters here, where there is no cave and there are no Templars, but his mother died because they sought it. She deserves at least his continued silence.

"No. But I do know they must be stopped. For my people and for yours."

She nods. "Templars don't really sound like the nicest folk."

She thinks about Ezio's war room and the portraits there, as well as the things he's said. They killed Ezio's family, and wanted that Apple--which Steph quickly learned was Bad News.

He smiles a little bitterly, glancing at his hands. "No."

But still, he wonders if there is a way to show them how wrong they are. He knows he must kill his father, there is no way to get around it, but if there was a way to make it not necessary...

"What has Ezio told you about them? The Templars?"

"Not too much, generally. I just know a bit about the ones he's dealing with in his time." The Borgia. Even if they weren't squeaky clean, historically, it's sometimes overwhelming to think that Lucrezia's father is responsible for the death of Ezio's brothers and father.

It used to be very difficult, given how sweet Lucrezia used to be, but nowadays not so much...

"Their ideologies remain the same throughout the centuries," he says, leaning back on his hands again. "The Templars Ezio struggles against are different in the execution of their ideas. Templars all strive to control men instead of allowing them their freedom, but those during his time also sought power.

"They now seek to influence and manipulate rather than outright destroy. And so they seek anything that will give them the knowledge to do so." He glances at her. "I do not know what they become in your time."

Good boy, Connor. This makes sense to Steph. She listens, paying close attention to what he's saying.

"I don't know, either. In my time, where I'm from--assassins are bad news. They're the enemy. There's a League of Assassins, but they're not like you or Ezio. And I'm positive I'm not a Templar," she adds with a smile. That would be awkward. "It's weird."

He's probably oversimplifying, but this is what makes sense to him. And isn't this what is at the core of the conflict between the Assassins and Templars? Freedom versus control. That's really all that's important.

Connor frowns thoughtfully at that, thinking for a second, then tilts his head. "The Assassins and Templars do not operate in the open. That is not their way. Perhaps you have simply not looked for them in the right places."

She shrugs. "I know the underworld pretty well, but who knows? Guess it doesn't really matter here, anyway."

At home, she'd stay far, far away from assassins, if she could help it. They tended to want her dead, after all.

"No. Much of what we know does not matter here."

He nods at his soot-covered hands. "Perhaps this is the god of this place reminding us not to forget who we are, and where we come from."

She looks down at her own hands. For some reason, she doubts that.

"Were you forgetting?"

There's only a short pause before he responds, but not because he had to think about it. He just has to think about what he wants to say.

"My father is an Englishman, Stephanie," he says, glancing at her. "I am not. How can I forget that?"

He folds his hands together.

It doesn't take a degree in history to figure out that means Connor hasn't exactly had it easy. She lets out a breath--fathers. Not her favorite topic.

"Doesn't sound like a good time."

He shrugs. His people don't particularly care about who his father is; he has always been one of them. But that doesn't mean it doesn't bother Connor.

"I have never met him. He was no longer with my mother when I was born."

"I'm sorry about that. Seems like he's missing out on one very smart and promising son."

Was that the right thing to say? She never knew. Her feelings of absolutely no love towards her own father made it difficult, sometimes, for her to imagine what it was like for others. She was reluctant to admit any sort of longing for acceptance by him of all people, but it's not like it really mattered since he was dead.

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