Haytham was growing steadily more annoyed. He had been waiting for at least an hour and he was starting to get more than a little peeved. Haytham Kenway was not used to being ignored, questioned or kept waiting, and yet these were several things he found his newest company doing quite often. He slipped a hand into his waistcoat and pulled out a small pocket watch, he then clicked it open to scowl at the time that greeted him. He snapped it shut before sliding it back into his pocket, turned to the closed door, raised his hand and knocked.

"We're going to be late, Connor." He spoke in a strict tone that he hoped conveyed the urgency of the situation. He wasn't sure why his son was taking so damn long, but it was on his last nerve. Haytham folded his arms, and waited but was met with only silence. Part of him wondered if his son had simply climbed out the window and run off, but then he heard a slight shuffle behind the wooden door, and Haytham exhaled heavily through his nose. "What the hell are you doing in there that is taking so long? Do you need help?"

There was a short silence before he heard an agitated snarl from the other side of the door. "No, I do not need help."

"Are you having trouble?"

"I'm fine, father."

The way his son said the word 'father' always had a sort of bite to it, and part of Haytham both seethed and flinched at it. Though it was to be expected, he supposed. Besides, if Connor were to suddenly take up calling him 'Haytham' or god forbid something less formal like 'Pa', Haytham had a feeling he would collapse into a fit. He folded his arms and took a step away from the door. "Then open the door."

There was another stubborn silence on the other end. "No."

Haytham rolled his eyes, and let his arms fall back to his side before shaking his head. "Fine, then I'm coming in."

"What? No!"

Before anything else could happen, Haytham grabbed the doorknob and twisted, pushing the door open forcefully before his son could barricade, or lock it. He looked over at Connor who was in the middle of reaching towards the door to do one of those things, and then looked him up and down as his son straightened himself. "What's all the fuss about, then? They fit nicely. I thought they would."

Connor fumed at the comment, his face turning bright red, as he folded his arms, looking extraordinarily put off. "Its ridiculous."

"Nonsense, you look fine." Haytham walked over to the native man standing in the middle of the room, who was wearing a dark blue dress coat, with a similarly colored vest underneath, white knee breeches and brown leather shoes. Haytham looked him up and down again and then frowned. "Now wait a moment, where's the collar?"

"That … frilly thing?"

"Yes. Where is it?"

Connor arched a brow in confusion and pointed to the white piece of cloth that was still draped over the chair. Haytham sighed and walked over, picking it up and then walked back over to his son, who instantly took a step back. "No. I am NOT wearing that."

"Well you can't go to a party with that… necklace showing. What are those? Bear teeth?"

"They are claws."

"Come here, I'll show you how to tie it." Haytham walked over again and before Connor could protest, wrapped it around his neck and began tying it properly. Connor just scowled at him.

"What is the point of this? Even if I wear this, I am not going to blend in."

"Blending in isn't the point."

"I thought we were going to this… event… to kill someone."

"Yes well, I might have exaggerated that."

Connor's agitation and anger was quickly replaced with a look of disbelief. "Exaggerated? What do you mean, exaggerated? If we are not going there to kill someone then why ARE we going there?"

"It wasn't entirely a lie." Haytham said, tucking the ruff under Connor's dress coat. "We are going there to get information on the target."

"So why am I going? Why can't you do that on your own?"

"Because I'm your father, and I said so."

"That excuse is getting a little worn, father." Connor said, adding his usual spiteful tone. Then he was quiet a moment as Haytham continued to straighten him out. He fixed his father with a suspicious glare. "Is this some sort of plot to make me 'see the error of my ways'?"

"Don't be foolish. Besides, you said you wanted to know about our target. This way, you can acquire it first hand. There, now you're ready. How do you feel?" Haytham took a step back.

Connor looked down at himself, scrutinizing the clothes. "… Like I am being eaten by my own clothing. It is no wonder none of the regulars can fight, if they all have to wear these restrictive things."

Haytham waved his hand, and turned on his heel. "You look fine. Come on, let's be off."

He could practically hear Connor scowling at him, but he couldn't quite hide the smile that crept onto his lips when he heard his son follow him anyways. As much as he complained, he was probably not entirely opposed to the notion of spending time with his father when they weren't running for their lives, or fighting for them. And honestly, though he would never voice it aloud, Haytham was slightly excited by that idea as well.

"Remind me."

"Hmm?"

"How did you talk me into this?" Connor folded his arms across his chest, and frowned up at the tall somewhat ornate building.

"It will be a good experience for you." His father spoke up without even sparing him a sideways glance. "Learning how to behave at social events is key in any life, not just civilian." Haytham waved his hand in a circle and Connor gave his eyes a turn upwards in contempt. "And I feel a… well a sort of obligation to be the one to teach you these things. I doubt Achilles ever took you to one of these."

"He thought they were a frivolous waste of time, and so do I." Connor's words fell on deaf ears as his father started walking up the steps towards the building, and Connor reluctantly followed.

"An atmosphere like this might do us a world of good as well. Something relaxed like this might help us get over a few of our differences. We didn't start out on the best of terms, and I realize the first impression I made could have been… handled a bit differently."

"Which impression would that be, father?" Connor asked as he climbed the stairs. "The one where you had me sentenced to death, or the one where you pinned me to the ground and tried to stick a blade in my throat?"

"Both." His father's reply was curt and his voice strained.

"Or you could be talking about years prior, where you framed me for the beginning of a massacre that Charles Lee-"

"Yes Connor, I see your point." His father spoke through clenched teeth, and then suddenly turned around, narrowing his eyes at his son. "Now, wait a moment, that was you?"

Connor's eyebrows flattened. "Yes."

"Hm. I suppose I should have expected that." Haytham turned back around to climb the last few stairs. "Did Achilles put you up to that?"

"Yes."

"I figured as much."

"I wanted to go after you."

Haytham stopped again and looked down at his son. "Oh."

It was silent after that, and a few other people passed them on the way up the stairs, and Haytham's eyes did not leave his son. Connor shifted a bit, feeling even more uncomfortable under his father's scrutinizing gaze. He looked about, avoiding eye contact and then motioned past the older man to the door. "Are we going in?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes." Haytham turned around and walked to the door behind him, and Connor followed close behind him.

"You're angry now." He accused softly.

"I'm not angry, now quiet."

"You are. I can tell."

"You can't tell." Haytham turned around. "What on earth would I have to be angry about anyhow?"

"The fact that I wanted to kill you."

"Now that would be highly hypocritical of me. I knew you wanted to kill me, and we are not going to discuss this now." Haytham turned to him, shrugging off his overcoat and taking his hat off, handing it to a man who was holding his hands out eagerly to take it. "Come along, then." He reached forwards and put a hand on Connor's shoulder. "We have a party to attend."

Connor sighed and allowed himself to be steered to an arch way that lead to a large set of stairs. He found himself overlooking a large ballroom, heavily decorated and filled with people wearing all manner of fancy clothing. He found himself slightly awed by the sight, as he had been the first day Achilles had brought him into Boston. He looked over at his father who was still standing next to him, with his hand on Connor's shoulder. A short statured man with a white powdered wig approached them, his nose in the air. "Your names, sirs?"

Haytham turned to him. "Haytham Kenway. And this is my son, Connor Kenway."

Connor looked over at his father, his brow furrowing a bit, as the man turned to the crowd below and announced rather loudly. "Sirs Haytham and Connor Kenway."

He flinched visibly, and reached for the man mid sentence to silence him, when Haytham caught his arm, and began to pull him down the stairs. Connor gaped a bit as he was pulled and leaned in close. "Is allowing him to announce our presence really such a good idea?" He hissed.

"Relax, Connor. Our contact knows we're coming. Remember we're not here to kill someone." Haytham whispered back. He let go of his son's wrist and they walked down the stairs. Before they reached the bottom, Haytham must have noticed the slightly puzzled and disconcerted look on his son's face. "Something the matter?"

"I've never been introduced as Connor Kenway." He said quietly, not looking up to make eye contact with his father.

"Then what have you been introducing yourself as all these years?" Haytham asked, a mildly amused tone to his voice.

"Connor."

"Connor what?"

"Just Connor."

"No last name?"

"I've never needed one." He looked up, scanning the room suspiciously. "Achilles decided to call me Connor and that was simply out of convenience."

Haytham stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait a moment. Achilles decided to call you Connor?"

Connor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well it wasn't my idea." Haytham was silent for a moment after that and Connor's confusion melted away as he realized where this was going. "You don't know my real name."

"I thought Connor was your real name."

Connor smirked a little bit and shook his head. "I guess that's not too surprising. You probably only just recently found out about my existence anyways." He turned away from his father to look around the room, scanning it for their target.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What is your real name?"

Connor turned to his father, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Nothing you'll be able to pronounce."

"Tell me anyway."

"My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Haytham's eyebrows furrowed. "Ra-dune-"

"Connor." He folded his arms, cutting him off before his father could get any further. "Do you see why it was more convenient?"

"Indeed I do."

Connor turned back to the party and looked around. "Now, we should find our target, and leave."

"Why the rush? It's a party. We ought to enjoy ourselves."

"I am not here to have fun."

"Nonsense. Why don't you go find some young lady and ask her to dance?"

"I don't dance."

"You don't? Or don't know how?"

"Both." Connor looked over just in time to catch the sly grin on his father's face and he took a step backwards. "Oh no. No. We are just here to get information. Nothing else."

"Don't be foolish. What kind of father would I be if I didn't teach you how to dance?"

"You had me sentenced to death, you tried to kill me, you didn't know my real name, you owe me."

"Indeed I do. And I shall repay you, by showing you how to do the waltz."

"No!"

(This was largely inspired by a picture on Deviantart, drawn by ~thunderjelly titled 'Frilly Son'.)