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[Jack appears on the network. It looks as if he isn't aware he's being filmed at first; he glances around him nervously, his eyes darting from place to place.]

So-- right. You guys don't got no newsies, yeah? But I'm grown outta that business anyway, so I figure, I'll do somethin' else anyway.

[And now he focuses on the camera. His eyes are a little sunken in; his cheekbones jut out sharply from his face. The entire effect is unpleasant; he looks like he hasn't slept or eaten in quite some time. Carefully, each movement deliberate, he takes a cigarette out of his pocket; his gaze focuses on that as he speaks.]

I draw pictures. Real good, if I do say so myself. Do paints, too. You want your picture done? You want your wall painted? Maybe you're in theater, you want some sets done, or maybe you want somebody to put a, a, a mural on your wall. If it's somethin' to do with art, I can do it. I don't give a damn what it is. I'll paint you and your stupid girlfriend if you want, 's long as you pay me. Name's Jack Kelly.

[He nods sharply, once, and lights up the cigarette.]

An' in personal business, a couple thin's: this gun's good an' all, but I'm in the knives business, meself. Anybody sellin' any good blades? I don't mean no stores, all right, I ain't lookin' for no directions to no weapons shops. I'm talkin' about the good stuff, the stuff you get on the streets. I don't got much money yet, but like I said, I got a few skills I can exchange.

An' speakin' o' them: I hear I got some roommates. Miss, uh, Galadriel and some guy named Guy? Well, I ain't gonna be in at all. Not for sleepin', anyway. So don't trouble yourself with that, when you don't see me come in.

[A deliberate pause. He exhales a lungful of smoke and watches it drift upwards before adding:]

Asano Rin. I got a bone to pick with you, and I think you know why.

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I'd be all the better for some work, if you got any.

I might. I have had need of an artist's skills for some time now.

Yeah?

[Jack perks up immediately.]

What d'ya need?

Paintings. Portraits. Six of them to begin with.

[He nods.]

Right. You got any reference, or we goin' off what you tell me?

I may be able to provide references for a few of them. If not, I will be sure to describe each subject carefully.

[And an afterthought-]

They would not need to be large or very detailed, these paintings.

[He nods again, taking it in.]

I'll have to get paints-- and I'll probably draw em in detail in pencil first, just so I know I got it right. When you wanna start?

The sooner, the better, I suppose. Whenever you feel you are sufficiently settled in.

How would you like to be compensated for your work, Jack Kelly? I can pay with the local currency or with knives... or perhaps a combination of the two?

I can start in an hour. Lemme get dried off, and I'll-- mm. Meet you somewhere public, I think. As for payment-- yeah, let's do a combination. We can talk about the exact price in person.

As you wish. There are a number of taverns in the city, if you would like to meet at one of those.

Yeah, why not. I saw one not too far from the apartments-- meet you there in an hour?

I should be able to reach that tavern in an hour, yes. I will see you there then.

[Jack cuts off the feed without any more conversation-- but he's waiting at the tavern in an hour, paper and pencils spread over a small table. He's already drawing, sketching out random little doodles; occasionally he sips from a tall glass of water.]

[Connor steps into the tavern a few minutes late. He pauses briefly near the door and considers using his other vision to find the man, but then the paper and pencils catch his attention and make such a measure unnecessary.

He heads straight over only to stop again and more or less loom over the table. He is nothing if not skilled at looming, large, hooded, and covered in weapons as he is.]

Jack Kelly.

[Grabbing another chair, he turns it around to straddle it. Sitting properly would involve removing the bow and quiver and this business isn't quite formal enough to warrant that.]

[Oh my lord, he's way bigger in person than Jack first expected. Fear makes his heart hammer a little harder; he sits up a bit, shoulders tensing. Should Connor attack-- and he might; anyone might attack at any moment, that's what Jack's learned-- Jack will be ready.]

Evenin'. Or afternoon, I guess. Wanna drink, or shall we just get started?

[He nods once in reply to the greeting.]

Good afternoon. [Looking away, he makes a small motion to a waitress - who apparently knows him, as she sets off to get his usual order. Then he glances back to Jack, lifts something out of the belts on his coat, and sets a knife down on the table in front of him.]

I have a number of different blades I can offer you, but they are all about this quality. [He crosses his arms over the back of the chair and leans forward, relaxing some. His tone is as casual as his posture.] They are good knives, but I do not know exactly what you are looking for. What you might be used to, wherever you are from.

[A pause and he notes the glass of water.]

Have you had a chance to eat anything since you have been here?

Mm. Yeah, I have. This whole city's kinda after me to eat; it'd be flatterin' if it weren't kinda weird.

[He mutters that-- not offensively, not really, just more focused on the knife than anything else. He examines it for a moment before nodding and setting it back on the table.]

The quality's good. I ain't one for throwin', just stabbin'-- but thanks.

[That done, he settles back into his seat and sips at his water.]

So tell me about who you want me to draw.

Transports often try to look out for one another and you appear to be emaciated.

[Why be subtle when you can just bluntly point things out? He drops the subject there, though, and trains his eyes on the knife and the papers.]

The first six paintings I require are of men. One of them has been here. He put a video message on the machine during his stay. If I can find it again, you will be able to draw and paint from that. The other five either have not been here yet or they have kept hidden. References will not come as easily.

[He nods and makes a note of that. His handwriting is unformed, almost childish, but he manages well enough.]

All right. Start describin' the others?

[Connor nods and settles his chin on his folded arms. For a moment he looks thoughtful... then he reaches over and filches a pencil and a piece of paper.]

They are all men of pale complexion. They are not of this time, but most hail from around these lands, I think.

[He sets to work scribbling on the paper. It would be a grievous understatement to say he's no artist, but if he can at least scratch out the basics of the different men's appearances, that will save him from having to fumble his way through describing their features in any kind of detail.]

The first is a man whose age I do not know. He looks a little younger than the others. He has dark hair, brown or black. There is no hair on his face, but he is not clean shaven. He does not seem to have much pride, from what I have seen. His eyes are brown.

The second man is older for certain. Perhaps fifty or sixty. It is hard to tell. He wears a white wig that ages him considerably. [He has never understood the curled wigs on men. Strange custom.] He is a soldier and a leader, and he looks the part. His eyes are also brown.

I believe the third man is older, as well, but the years have been kinder to him than many of the others I would have you paint. He is a taller, thinner man. His hair is dark brown. It is starting to... retreat [close enough] from his forehead and he wears it tied at the back of his neck. He has a mustache and more hair along his jaw and chin. He is a well-groomed man... a man of some dignity. His eyes are blue.

The fourth... I cannot guess at the fourth's age, either. He is a large man. The captain of a ship. His skin is rough. He has many scars. [If he remembers right.]

The fifth man is middle-aged. He looks older than the third man but not quite so old as the second. Like the fourth, he is larger but in more of a heavy way. He also wears a white wig.

[A pause.] I do not know the eye color of the last two men. Make them any color you like.

[Finishing up, he looks over his "art" with a critical eye...] Six men. Those five and the one you can see on the machine. [... and then sighs.]

There is a seventh, if you feel you would be up to one more painting?

[He originally meant to use a creation of his own for the seventh, but looking now at the sketches before him, he suspects the traditional approach by an actual artist might be for the best. Especially if anyone else is ever to see the completed project.]

[His handwriting is childish and unpracticed, but Jack notes everything Connor says, from the appearance to the age to the colors of their eyes. He pays attention, too, to the doodles his companion drew-- they say more than words will, and he adds little notes of his own.]

Seven is fine. I'll probably draw em first, just a rough draft, just so you can say-- you know-- oh, this one's got higher cheekbones, or this one's uglier, or his scars are here, stuff like that.

[He smiles slightly at that and flips the paper over to try and draw the last guy.]

The sixth man has green eyes. Black hair, tied back. Thick eyebrows, a mustache, hair down the sides of his face. [He's quiet for a minute, focusing hard on the paper. He slips, briefly, into another language:] He is evil in the form of a man. [Only to catch himself and offer a translation of sorts in English:] He is a man of tremendous hatred and violence.

[Once he's satisfied with the final image, he sets the pencil down and slides the finished scribbles over for Jack to see them better.

The waitress he'd motioned to earlier returns to the table to set a mug in front of him and he busies himself sipping at his choice of beverage.]

As long as there is a resemblance, it should be fine. I look forward to seeing your work, though.

Got it.

[He nods once, checking both papers, before taking the doodles and pocketing them.]

Gimmie-- I dunno-- a week to finish the pencil drawin's, and then I'll start paintin'.

[Connor inclines his head in return, pleased with this arrangement they've come to. He works on his drink in silence and takes the opportunity to look around at the other tavern customers. After a time, he slides another sheet of paper over just close enough to write a name on it.]

Haytham Kenway. The man with the video message in the machine.

[He nudges the paper back, along with the knife. Reaching to his side, he draws a coin bag out and shakes out most of its marques contents onto the table. That is definitely more than one month's pay from the Initiative. The few marques remaining are set aside to cover the drink.]

I will see to it that you receive the rest of the knives shortly, and once you are finished with the paintings, I will have more of their money for you.

[He stands slowly and turns the chair back around.]

Thank you, Jack Kelly. You do me a great service. I will be in contact with you again soon.

[Like in a couple months. Shame on him.

But with that he abruptly takes his leave, slipping out through the front door and heading off on his way.]

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oh my god they're adorable

a thousand apologies for the late late late wrap up