[Fic] Spirits - Part III - END
(Part II)
Part III
a - The Head
Every now and then, Connor likes to spend time with Lance and discuss his inventions. The man is not Benjamin Franklin, but he has his own kind of genius. The folding chair, for instance, was a stroke of genius. Connor acts as patron while Lance gets his foothold in the market. Sometimes, however, Connor gets these strange ideas for the most curious instruments
Like when he buys bread from Prudence, he is always surprised that it is not already in slices. He mentions this to her once, before she gives him a small smile and explains that the bread would dry out too fast.
"But what if it were kept in wrapping that kept most of the air out?"
"That...might work Connor. I'll see if it can be done."
And again, when he's over at the Tavern and speaking with Oliver and Corrine, he will insist on mixing the strangest of concoctions, sever of whom have had strong positive reception.
"What did you call this one again?"
"A Shirley Templar"*
"Well, not quite as solid as an ale, but it has a nice taste to it, I must say."
Sometimes, Connor finds himself quite frustrated by his inexplicable expectations, but the residents of the Homestead are a clever and hardy bunch, and each of their victories and visions is enough for him.
*-This drink name came from another fan fiction which I've lost in the bowels of the internet, but I think it might have been a Protocreed fic.
b - The Heart
There is something about the sight of the gallows at Bridewell prison that sends a cold, leaden feeling snaking in Connor's guts. Even after his encounter with Achilles, the pall of dread suffocates him still
Three nooses are lined up on the platform (or is it really only two? He needs his wits about him now, but all he can feel is the hot sun on him) and his accusortraitor! tands victoriously before him. He sees his brothers' eyes wide with terror and hear his father spit violent retribution at thecordardo
-but it is his own neck that the rope is tightened around, and it is not Umberto that sneers at him and slanders him, but Charles Lee.
As he falls through the trap door, the pain and fear in his heart are far greater than the strain on his neck.
END
Part III
a - The Head
Every now and then, Connor likes to spend time with Lance and discuss his inventions. The man is not Benjamin Franklin, but he has his own kind of genius. The folding chair, for instance, was a stroke of genius. Connor acts as patron while Lance gets his foothold in the market. Sometimes, however, Connor gets these strange ideas for the most curious instruments
Like when he buys bread from Prudence, he is always surprised that it is not already in slices. He mentions this to her once, before she gives him a small smile and explains that the bread would dry out too fast.
"But what if it were kept in wrapping that kept most of the air out?"
"That...might work Connor. I'll see if it can be done."
And again, when he's over at the Tavern and speaking with Oliver and Corrine, he will insist on mixing the strangest of concoctions, sever of whom have had strong positive reception.
"What did you call this one again?"
"A Shirley Templar"*
"Well, not quite as solid as an ale, but it has a nice taste to it, I must say."
Sometimes, Connor finds himself quite frustrated by his inexplicable expectations, but the residents of the Homestead are a clever and hardy bunch, and each of their victories and visions is enough for him.
*-This drink name came from another fan fiction which I've lost in the bowels of the internet, but I think it might have been a Protocreed fic.
b - The Heart
There is something about the sight of the gallows at Bridewell prison that sends a cold, leaden feeling snaking in Connor's guts. Even after his encounter with Achilles, the pall of dread suffocates him still
Three nooses are lined up on the platform (or is it really only two? He needs his wits about him now, but all he can feel is the hot sun on him) and his accusortraitor! tands victoriously before him. He sees his brothers' eyes wide with terror and hear his father spit violent retribution at thecordardo
-but it is his own neck that the rope is tightened around, and it is not Umberto that sneers at him and slanders him, but Charles Lee.
As he falls through the trap door, the pain and fear in his heart are far greater than the strain on his neck.
END