Someone wrote in [personal profile] asscreedkinkmeme 2013-07-21 07:50 am (UTC)

Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5a/?

...and I ran out of space. So this is part 5a

In spite of squinting against the driving rain and stumbling a few times along the wet, filthy ground, Connor’s blood was singing. The beautifully familiar weight of her tomahawk in her grip was a welcome respite from prison. Artfully twirling it about in her hand, she sighed in relief. Now, to complete her mission.

Her quarry vainly attempting to shove past the press of people surrounding him, Connor’s gaze flicked to where Washington was already being hustled away from the pandemonium. Well, that would make the task at hand a bit easier. Still, she was too far away to stop Hickey. She needed a back-up plan. Thankfully, it stepped in front of her in the form of a soldier demanding her surrender and threatening to shoot her.

She didn’t so much pause as she ducked under the barrel of his musket and sent her elbow crashing into his nose. With him distracted, she swiped the dagger sheathed in his hip from his sword belt. A blink of an eye and he was swallowed back up the crowd, no longer her problem. Using the mob’s panic to her advantage, she charged sideways to utilize a less congested pathway. It also gave her a clearer view of her recruits making their way towards her along the rooftops. It’d take them a bit to reach her, giving her a solid window of time to question Hickey.

Balancing the newly acquired blade on her fingertips, she hurled it at her target. It landed true, the contemptible lout crumbling to the cobblestones with a satisfying yelp of pain.

“Dammit,” Hickey indifferently sniffed, looking down at his hands as she approached, “I thought I'd at least live to see another day. Shame.”

“If I wished you dead, you would not still be breathing,” Connor vowed, dropping to her knees and leaning over him. Eyes alight with fiery determination, she grit, “I want answers.”

Without warning, she abruptly jerked the dagger out of his shoulder. It sent him reeling out a litany of strained curses, his breath hitching in spurts. Tossing the knife away and shoving the tomahawk under his chin, she pressed her hand to his wound in warning. It was all the proof he needed to make it clear that she had no qualms about drawing out his agony.

“Why did Johnson try and buy my people's land?” she charged, dark eyes flashing with ire. “Why was Pitcairn targeting Adams and Hancock? What purpose would Washington's murder have served? Why does your order support the British?” she demanded.

“How should I know?” Hickey spat out a burning cough before fixing her with a defiant stare. “The Templars. Lee. The big man, Haytham.” He gave a ragged chuckle as she flinched at the mere mention of her apparent greatest enemy. “They 'as the money. They 'as the power. That's the reason I threw in with 'em. That's the only reason.” Connor’s expression slid to stunned as he continued, “Sure, they 'ave some sort of vision for the future too. I didn't give a damn about any of that. They can sing their songs about mankind and its troubles. They can make their plans and spring their traps, don't bother me none,” he smirked. “They paid me, so I said yes. Didn't bother to ask who or how or why. Didn't care.”

Connor shot him with a look of disgust, her gaze clouded with loathing. “You chose to side with men who would rob us of our humanity? Simply because it was more profitable?!”

“What else is there?” Hickey scowled. “I'm not some blind fool who'd give up all I've got on principle. What is principle anyway? Can ya bring it to the bank?”

Connor sadly shook her head in disbelief, causing Hickey to roll his eyes.

“Don't look at me like that. We're different, you and I; you're just some blind fool who's always chasin' butterflies, whereas I'm the type of guy who likes to have a beer in one hand and a titty in the other,” he flexed his fingers. “Thing is, girl, I can have what I seek. Had it, even. You? Your hands will always be empty.” He let out a chortle at her expression of obvious confusion. “All of this soddin’ trouble for the likes of ya? A pity we didn’t wipe out the lot ‘o you like we was supposed to, all those years ago.”

Face twisting into an ugly snarl, she pressed her knee a bit too close to his groin for his liking. “You would do well to cease your pointless blathering!”

“Make me, ‘lil she-wolf-”

Her head jerked up at the worrisome sound of muskets suddenly being reloaded. Frantically looking around, she let out a growl of annoyance at seeing a handful of soldiers bearing down on them. Beneath her, Hickey’s callous laugh echoed in her ears, even as she pressed her tomahawk hard enough into his neck to draw a cut of blood. “Looks like ya got some ‘ard decisions to make, sweetheart,” he mocked, even as he winced. “Do ya get shot to shit? Or do ya let ‘Ole Hickey escape, eh?”

“Quiet your incessant chattering!” she hissed, digging her knee into his inner thigh and giving him a firm shake along his shoulder that caused him spit out a garbled curse of pain.

“Ten seconds, darlin’!” he sneered.

He wasn’t going anywhere, by the looks of it. And she still had to warn Washington.

She reeled back and soundly punched Hickey in the jaw, not caring about how her fist ached at the impact. It did its task, effectively knocking him out. Let the soldiers collect him, she mused. Besides, they were both still surrounded by the terrified, fleeing crowd. If they opened fire on her, they’d injure or even kill innocent civilians. She had to get the hell out of here.

Reaching down, she swiftly relieved Hickey of his overcoat. In spite of the large patch of fresh blood blooming across its ripped shoulder, it would be better at letting her blend in than nothing at all. Tossing it on, she leapt to her feet and shoved through the crowd. It wasn’t hard to act to the part of the confused civilian trying to escape the square; she now couldn’t see where Achilles or her recruits were.

She nearly stabbed the arm of whoever suddenly snatched at her wrist, shoving him away from with her other hand. “It’s just me, miss!” a familiar voice slid across her ears as his grip slightly loosened. “‘Tis alright, you’re nice and safe now!”

Letting out a muffled sob at the familiar sound of Clipper’s eager voice, she quickly collected herself as he dragged her up against a brick wall. It took a healthy bit of her resolve to steel her usual impassive expression to her face. She also furtively ran a hand across her eyes under the auspices of drying her face from the rain. It went a long way towards concealing the tears spilling down her cheeks. For now, she would blame it on the sheer relief of finally being not quite so near death.

“Clipper, thank you,” she latched onto his arm and urged them forward. “How did you all-?”

“Tallmadge sent word to Mr. Davenport,” he declared, trailing in her wake.

“Remind me to thank him for his assistance as well,” she breathed. Desperately ignoring the flash of agony that flared through her body due to her bruised ribs from falling through the trap door, she gulped down mouthfuls of air. Shaking her head in an effort to get her bearings as her vision swam with the beginnings of a fever, Connor squared her shoulders and questioned, “Where is Washington?!”

“Don’t you worry yourself none, Connor,” Clipper flashed her a relieved smile, “He’s-”

The sound of an order to prepare to fire snapped Connor out of the conversation. Glancing over, she muttered a curse in her native language at finding a half-dozen soldiers with their weapons aimed right them. Gripping her dagger, she shoved Clipper behind her as she dropped to fighting stance.

“At ease, men! At ease! I said lower your god-damned guns!”

Thankfully, there was no need to brace for a volley of bullets as Israel Putnam barked out his order. Behind her, Connor could hear Clipper let out a deep sigh of relief. Not that she blamed him in the slightest.

“This woman’s a hero!” Putnam bellowed, marching forward. “The general can be so stubborn sometimes,” he grimaced, shaking his head and taking in the general anarchy of the square. “‘Piffle,’ he said when we warned him something like this would happen. ‘Piffle!’”

“The traitor you are looking for is over there,” Connor pointed in the general direction of where she’d left him. “His name is Thomas Hickey. He’s an officer with the Connecticut militia and part of the general’s bodyguard.”

“Good!” Putnam declared. “Men, go gather him up!” he shouted, waving for them to do so, “We don’t want to deny the people their blood sport today, eh? I believe a hanging was scheduled, and we may still get our wish-”

“Stop!” Connor held up an adamant hand as the soldiers fanned out to collect Hickey, “He deserves a fair trial.”

“He wanted to kill the Commander!” Putnam retorted with disbelief, “Nearly killed you as well. He's a scoundrel-”

“But still a man,” Connor steadily said. “For justice to be served, he must be tried for his actions.”

“Even though he denied the very same to you, girl?!” Putnam shot her a look of absolute disbelief. As she silently nodded, he rolled his eyes and chomped on his cigar, snorting, “You’re nothing, if not consistent.”

As they discussed Washington’s whereabouts, Connor nearly passed out from the waves of weariness washing over her. Finding out the general was heading to Philadelphia, she was thankful as Clipper politely made his excuses to Putnam that they had to go. Ushering her away, he soon brought her to inn where he, the other recruits and Achilles were staying.

Ignoring everything else, she collapsed into bed. She attempted to brush off the doctor Achilles fetched for her and fall asleep right then and there. But Clipper, Stephane and Duncan were having none of it. Their concerned fuss over her caused her to alternately blush and stammer with grateful surprise. Distracting her from her embarrassment with a few bold tales of how they carried off her rescue, they swore to return as soon as the doctor finished with her.

She insisted to the physician that she hadn’t been violated in prison. So there was no need for him to perform an incredibly awkward sort of personal exam. One small comfort was that the Templars apparently wanted her to survive long enough to make it to the gallows. No doubt, the damned guards were in on their plans, likely due to the promise of coin. Hence, why they constantly kept her in solitary confinement for the most part. At least before she earned her way into the pit and then ended up in Hickey’s cell.

Otherwise, she’d suffered a black eye, a swollen cheek and split lip, bruised rips, two broken fingers on her right hand, some cuts, lacerations and probably a mild concussion. Not to mention, the slight fever she was running. The doctor warned that her illness was the biggest concern, for it could easily grow worse if she wasn’t fully rested. Patching her up, leaving her with a sleeping draught and ordering her to remain in bed for the next few days, he soon departed.

Achilles quickly had a bath brought up. “Hush up, girl. We’ll discuss this later,” he waved off her apology for getting herself into such a dire situation, “For there are always lessons to learn from one’s mistakes." Dropping a fresh set of clothes on the bed, he retreated from her room. After the bath, he and her recruits promised her they would all have supper in her quarters.

What does my father have to do with all of this? Connor’s mind tiredly wandered as she scrubbed off the last fortnight of filth with a groan of relief. And most importantly, what is the next step in putting an end to the Templars?

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