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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2012-10-29 11:35 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 5
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.5
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Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-03 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)Moments later his silent prayers are answered as the motion of the wagon ceases. Shuffling, followed by the heavy crunch of boots hitting snow heralds the driver's sudden return to animation. Wasting no time he abandons his vehicle in favour of a search for the nearest fireplace and ale. As the sounds draw away Connor is close to breathing a sigh of relief, ready to spring back up and away again. Then, much to his dismay, new voices come into range. Footsteps are approaching, two pairs, which seem to be slowing as they draw nearer to the cart. Belated inspection, or just grunts coming to unload the cargo in spite of the unfavourable chill?
'General Braddock refused the offer, there will be no truce.' Both the clipped tone and the authority it displays suggest that this is an officer of some standing. Whoever they are, they do not sound particularly pleased with their commander, which unto itself merits close attention to the unfolding conversation. Any information on that man is good information right now.
'Damn it!' There is significantly less restraint on the respondent’s part, possibly why they were choosing an apparently secluded spot to speak on this. 'Why George? What reason did he give?'
'He said a diplomatic solution was no solution at all, that allowing the French to retreat would only delay an inevitable conflict. One in which they'd now have the upper hand.' It's a fair point, one that sounds almost too well worded to be a strictly accurate report.
'There's merit to those words, as much as I hate to admit it... Still, can't he see that this is unwise?' Standing to one side of the cart now, the pair are sheltering themselves both from the wind and the ears of their comrades. Even so, the dissenter is careful to lower his voice as he questions his general's judgement.
'It doesn't sit well with me either.' George, he thinks the name was, sighs. 'We're far from home with our forces divided. Worse, I fear Braddock's bloodlust makes him careless, it puts the men at risk. I'd rather not be delivering grim news to mothers and widows because the Bulldog wanted to prove a point.'
'Where is the general now?' Ah, not here then, it would seem. Connor isn't quite sure whether he's relieved or disappointed to hear that, or even which of the two he should be.
'Rallying the troops.' Which could be damn near anywhere.
'And then it's on to Fort Duquesne I assume?' The other officer can barely keep the weariness from his voice. So, Braddock is intending to make a preemptive strike against the French stronghold. An ambitious plan, one which neither of these soldiers seems pleased with.
'Eventually, the march north will surely take time.' Shifting and stamping his feet audibly, George pulls the confidential conversation to a close in preparation to move away. Back to duty rather than inside, the Assassin guesses, he sounds the type for that. 'There's a copy of the plans in the command tent, should you wish to review them.'
His partner doesn't respond to the offer, even though the ears of both eavesdroppers prick up at the mention of the plans. Instead the man just sighs long-sufferingly, resigned to the inevitable. 'At least this will be ended, soon.'
'I tried, John.'
'I know, my friend, I know.'
Until the crunch of boots on snow has completely faded into the distance Connor doesn't try to move, knowing that he won't be allowed up yet. Part of him almost expects to hear another person or two at least walking past, but there is nothing. Sitting up, while initially a little difficult, is a relief. For the time being he refuses to meet his companion's eyes. The revelation of Braddock's absence from the fort certainly changes things, although to be fair they didn't seem to have much of a plan in the first place. At least not one that they had shared.
They sit in silence for some minutes before Haytham speaks. 'Braddock has gone to ground... That makes things... difficult.'
'But, if he dies on the road to battle it does seem less suspicious.' The novice surprises himself with his words just as much as anything. Pragmatic but cold, challenging but achievable, he gets the feeling that his Assassin elders would approve. However they would probably approve more if it was his real target he was talking about.
Certainly he gets an incredibly approving look from the Templar for the comment. 'Indeed, in which case that map will surely be of use...'
Keen to assert himself before there can be any doubt, the teenager quickly cuts his claim in. 'I am faster and quieter over the snow, I will go find it.'
'And I shall sit here and wait I suppose?' Levelling a rather displeased glare at him, Haytham echoes the same objection thrown at him earlier. Obviously the grandmaster is used to being the one giving the orders.
When Connor hesitates too long he rolls his eyes and promptly takes back control of the conversation with that rather pleasant commanding voice of his. 'Fort Necessity is equipped with cannons at its rear, for warding off naval attack among other things. It would be in our interests for those to malfunction. I can see to that while you retrieve the plans. The gaps they leave in the defensive wall will also give us an easy route out.'
'I hope you are better at climbing cliffs than you are at climbing trees.' Miffed but still somewhat relieved by the return to relative subordination, the Assassin can't resist making the jab.
'As it so happens...' Already at the flaps, Haytham turns back briefly to respond to the quip. There is the hint of a smile through his serious facade and then he is gone.
Fighting back the urge to go straight after him, Connor sits put to refocus himself on the real task at hand. Well, the real immediate task at hand. This shouldn't be too hard, he reassures himself, it's only a bit of stealthy theft. Straining his ears for the slightest hint of movement outside, the teenager picks his way back across the cargo and lifts the flap just a little to check the coast. Finding nothing of concern he swings himself down, ducking down into a conveniently located patch of dead ferns. A twig snaps somewhere off to his left, prompting him to look round just in time to catch his companion vanishing around the corner of a building. Hopefully that was a mere oversight, the Templar should be able to move around quietly enough, he reassures himself.
Necessity is really a very different fort to Southgate, necessarily so, even though some basic principles of design seem to have remained the same. That reluctance or inability of soldiers to remove significant swathes of undergrowth appears to be mercifully unchanged here. Probably because there was simply so much of it in the first place, he assumes. It does seem to generally comprise a rather larger area. Rather than the veritable multitude of tents there are a number of sturdy stone buildings apparent. A difference that the troops stationed here are no doubt thankful for. Built on a hill, as opposed to the flat, reclaimed wetlands of the Bostonian fortifications, its design consists of a number of tiers connected together by various slopes and staircases. Far less simple, far more labyrinthine the place is obviously geared towards enduring greater stress and more significant attack that the encampment on the skirts of the city.
Assessing it, the Assassin is fairly certain that the command post, and tent, will be located at the highest elevation, above the barracks and other elements of the stronghold, the easiest place to defend. An initial survey of the area reveals no soldiers in proximity, even the ramparts above the gate appearing empty at present. Snow storms really do favour the attacker. In any other conditions such desertion of posts and dereliction of duty would be unthinkable, but with their feared general away these men do not judge one another for seeking shelter from the harsh bite of the cold. They have nothing to fear after all. Necessity is not near any contested lands or hostile forces, and the French would hardly attack in the middle of a storm.
Remaining cautious nevertheless, he is wary of simply walking up the steps and presses himself down as far as possible before he tackles them. His impulses are torn between moving quickly to get back into cover or slowly to better gauge any upcoming threats, ultimately ending up with a moderate pace. Thankfully the wooden planks are neither so old nor so new that they creak at his weight. More browned scrub awaits him at the top, having grown unchecked between the enclosing wall and the path. To the other side sits a darkened building, its windows devoid of light or life in the absence of its commander occupant. Several small tents are staked out up ahead, struggling against the buffeting wind, while beyond those he can just make out an observation tower marking the fort's corner and a gap in the battlements that must be the location of the cannon post. Amongst the murky greys, whites and browns of the landscape Connor spies two distinct blurs of red. While one is standing faithfully at attention manning the tower, the other is working a fair groove into the ground as he patrols obsessively back and forth in front of a rather large, open tent. Only an actual sign could have made it any more obvious that this is the command tent he is looking for.
By the look of him, the solitary guard has been on duty there for some time. He must be tired, cold, thus should be easy enough to lure away. Deciding that it is probably better to remain completely unseen the young Assassin creeps closer slowly, until he is hidden behind the nearest adjacent tent, waiting for the right moment. As the telltale heavy march pauses in a turn Connor throws as loud a whistle as he dares. Probably bored out of his mind, the redcoat instantly perks up at the sound and without the first thought to his charge grips his musket tighter to plunge off in pursuit of the noise. Sliding under his notice easily, the novice circles his cover to elude detection as the duped man clatters off down the stairs. It should be a little while before he comes back.
Feet barely making a sound he crosses the final stretch to the mouth of the command tent. Fully laid out on a table, for any to see, is the map, which is being haphazardly held down at one corner by a long-emptied tankard. Presumably so that it is not snatched by the wind, rather than as a last precaution against unfriendly hands. Connor glances over its details before moving to disturb it, picking out the distinctive sweep of a familiar river as he narrows his eyes at the marked route. It cuts uncomfortably close to the lands of more than one of the other tribes, almost as if Braddock has plans for them. That worries him.
It isn't too hard to make it look as if the wind has carried off the paper, for exposed and unsealed tents are hardly the best places to store valuable documents. Folding it carefully, he tucks it securely inside his clothes and listens out for the sound of approaching footsteps. Hearing none he takes a quick glance outside before bolting across the open ground to shelter in another patch of vegetation. That really was almost too easy. Now he just needs to find Haytham again, which is hopefully just a matter of watching the as-of-yet un-sabotaged cannon.
So he crouches, wraps his arms around himself by way of warmth and waits. For long minutes he hears little other than the howling of the wind. At the back of his mind he wonders what is keeping the guard from returning, as the tent continues to stand very much unattended. Were he not also occupied with thinking about his companion's lack of appearance it might have already started to worry him somewhat. Had he been caught there would have been enough of a commotion to alert the Assassin, surely. In the middle of contemplating whether he should assume the worse and leave or should go in search of the missing man, he is surprised by a sudden scrabbling on the slope below. Moments later Haytham conquers it and pulls himself up next to the relieved novice. A quick check establishes that he doesn't even have any redcoats following him.
'Finished?' Connor's low whisper betrays nothing of the concern that had been beginning to gnaw at him in the prolonged absence.
'Not quite.' He gestures towards the nearby cannon, as expected, their routes having converged quite naturally. 'You have the map?' Pausing momentarily, he answers himself with a smile. 'Of course you do.'
Pleased by the confidence in spite of himself, the teenager counteracts himself with bluntness. After all he is certain that he will hear footsteps returning any moment now, becoming quite tense with the expectation. 'We should leave.'
Haytham gives him a brief searching look, then nods. 'Agreed. After you.'
They don't have the time for him to object, so the novice does as he's told without argument. A short sprint and he's swinging himself over the low wall on which the cannon's end rests. Miraculously he is left perching on a tolerably narrow part of the ledge, had he come from the other side of the barrel he'd probably have ended up in the frigid waters below. One hand of his instinctively stays resting on, tentatively gripping at, the stonework, and only belatedly does he realise that it will leave a telltale disturbance in the snow that covers it. He just has to hope that enough new flakes fall before anyone thinks to pay close attention to the wall. Judging by the general state of disorder the storm is causing it shouldn't be a problem.
Again his companion is delaying in following him, busy finishing up his mission of sabotage. It doesn't sound as if he does much to the weapon, but the Assassin trusts that it is quite enough to render the thing useless or worse. Balanced carefully on the cliff top every second seems to stretch, pulled taut by the knowledge that the guard has got to be coming back now or that the one in the tower is going to get tired of staring at the horizon and look down...
A blue blur dives past him before he has a chance to register it. By the time his brain has caught up with his eyes the sea below has erupted with a telltale spray of white. Detection is certainly no longer a real worry, but now... That water will be cold, colder than the other man probably expects, if he doesn't get out and dry off quick then he's going to get sick. He had only been joking when he said about saving Haytham's life again.
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 02:29 pm (UTC)(link)keep writing, ya? don't let us keep hanging :DD
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-08 01:44 pm (UTC)(link)Why isn't this fill overrun by comments of praise and love? Your style is absolutely wonderful, your descriptions marvelous, your interaction masterful. You are a clever tease. Guess that must be it then - most will opt for porn. In any case, I just read this fill in one go, and I was astonished. Please, please, please, please don't give up on this wonderful story, I'm enjoying every single word. You said in the beginning it'll be long --- the longer, the better, I say. I solemnly promise now: I'll offer praise and reviews every time you update, no exceptions.
Thank you again for this wonderful fill. I'm very excited for the next update.
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-08 06:39 pm (UTC)(link)I'd rather want a good plot than just pornpornporn, to be honest.
Believe me there are a lot more people reading this, than what the comments might suggest.
Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-08 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Who Will Save You Now? [8.5/?]
(Anonymous) 2013-04-08 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)