Casting her a look of loathing and hands still protecting his crotch, he snapped, “Simple; we both want that pissant, General Davenport, deader than a doornail.”
“I do not believe you-”
“So why in the fuck would I slaughter his men after he attacked your god-damned convoy, ya fussock?!” he demanded. “All ya gotta do is check their gorgets to see that they be part ‘o the General’s troops.”
Rubbing at her throbbing head, she shrugged, “Because you Templars aim to control both sides of the conflict.” Pressing her sword into his chest even harder, she warned, “Do not take me for a fool, Hickey.”
“Ya rotten, murderous ‘lil savage!” he barked, mouth twisted into a dangerous snarl and color staining his pale cheeks. “Seeing as yer such a right barmy arsehole, here then,” he reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat. Hearing the click of a pistol, he looked up to find her aiming one at his head. At least she’d sheathed her sword for the moment. Although her stony expression did absolutely zero to put him at any sort of ease. “It ain’t no weapon, ya mangy git,” he snit, slowly pulling out a heavy, half-folded envelope and tossing it up to her.
Snatching it out of the air, she kept her pistol trained on him as she opened it with one hand. Speechless at finding it from her father, she ignored the locket that fell out of the envelope and landed at her feet. Not only did the missive detail his suspicions about the fire that claimed the McCready’s home over a fortnight ago, he relayed specific orders to Hickey to infiltrate the Fort and scout it out. There was also note of the family’s suspected murderer. One Gerhard Vonstatten or “The Hessian,” as they called him. While it did not explicitly state the General’s life was forfeit, her father seemed to have no qualms should the Templar fall to a blade. Yet the Hessian wasn’t privy to any sort of mercy. Hickey was unequivocally ordered to eliminate him.
As far as Connor was concerned, the world would not miss such a monster. Or his apparent master.
Thomas used her silent astonishment to quickly roll away from her. While he was able to move to his feet, he was still kept at bay as she re-leveled her flintlock at him.
“Well,” she slowly began, stooping down and picking up the locket. Flicking it open revealed an exquisitely detailed miniature of a dark-haired man with a goatee and dressed in the livery of a high-ranking, British officer. Matthew Davenport, likely, she mused, So that Hickey may know his target. “This proves a new…development.”
“No shit, ya bugger!” he heatedly crossed his arms. Kicking over his tricorne to him, Connor gestured for him to pick it up. “So,” he groused, dusting it off, “I take it this means ya ain’t gonna kill me ‘en?”
Slitting her eyes at him, she intoned, “For now, no.”
“So how come ya ain’t put away that damned pistol, already?” he waved at her
“No matter that our goals align for now, you have not given me a reason to trust you,” she replied, even as she tossed him back the locket.
“Point taken,” he sniffed, shoving it into his pocket. “Still, I saved yer life when I warned ya of that redcoat ‘bout to shoot ya back there.”
“You had no idea who I was at the time.”
Cocking his head to the side, he let out a mirthless chuckle, “Ya be a sly one, girl.”
“No more than you, old man,” she shot right back.
“Hey now,” he held up a hand in surrender, “I ain’t exactly Father Time, ya milksop. I got ‘round bout 37 years to me.”
“Far more ancient than my twenty or so,” she huffed. Damn, he assumed she was older. Mostly on account of her humorless disposition and that steady, constantly irked countenance. Not to mention, her relentless commitment to her silly little Brotherhood. Though when he really looked at her, her face was clear of any sort of lines of age. Combined with her speed and agility, she likely wasn’t lying.
“So,” he slowly began, “Wot’s the plan then? How abouts the good ‘ole concept that ‘the enemy of my enemy be my friend?’ At least until we kill our mutual enemy, yeah?”
It took far too long for her uncock the hammer of her flintlock. And even as she shoved it back into her holster, she unsheathed her sword again. However, she held it at her side, tapping the glinting, silver blade against her leg rather than pointing it directly at him. Expression pulled in concentration, she muttered to herself in what he could only assume was the language of her people. Finally, she nodded in agreement. “It seems we find ourselves in alignment. So long as you make no attempt to kill me,” her gaze flashed in warning, “I will not harm you. At least not until finish tracking the general and his homicidal Hessian.”
Spitting on his hand and holding it out to shake, Hickey almost laughed at her look of revulsion at his action. “Usually, gents be shakin’ on such an agreement,” he clarified, extending his arm further. She didn’t offer hand in exchange, her continued silence wholly unsettling. “Alrighty then,” he withdrew with a huff, “I’ll take into account that ya ain’t no gent, I guess,” he shrugged.
Rocking back on her heels, she sheathed her sword and shoved her hand one of the deerskin pouches along her belt. He felt rather silly as he braced, only for her to produce a single eagle feather in her hand. Holding it out, she wordlessly nodded for him to take it.
Snatching it from her, he held it up to the dusky sunlight. Its colors sparkled and bounced along its fine grains of plume. “Eh?” he asked in confusion, “Wot’s this ‘en, poppet?”
“Among my people, it is the sign of a binding agreement,” she solemnly said. “When we have completed our mission, I expect its return, signaling an end to our truce. I believe that it is rather more…hygienic than your methods,” her gaze snapped to his hand for a moment. “Hence, we are allies, for you have taken it freely of me.”
“I, uh, see,” he slowly said. For some reason he had no desire to dwell on, he found himself carefully tucking it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. No matter how silly he inexplicably felt as she watched his every move.
Gesturing for her to follow, she silently fell in line behind him back to the other men. Considering who she dealt with, she wasn’t exactly surprised at his lie to Captain Moreau as to why he would be leaving the remaining soldiers in his hands. “Ya ain’t dead, ‘n the lady requests an escort back to her family,” Hickey mounted one of the dead redcoat’s horses. More spoils of war, of course. Ignoring the Captain’s dazed expression that their ally turned out to be a woman, Hickey drawled, “It be takin’ us ‘bout a week to cross the Frontier at this time ‘o the season. I’ll meet ya back at the outpost at me return. Dismissed,” he lazily saluted. None the wiser, Captain Moreau did as told.
Astounded to see Connor looting the dead for supplies before she mounted her white mare, Hickey let out a low chortle. Seemed the little prat wasn’t so high and mighty after all. Hopefully, it’d be enough to keep them from killing each over the next few days.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 11a/?
“I do not believe you-”
“So why in the fuck would I slaughter his men after he attacked your god-damned convoy, ya fussock?!” he demanded. “All ya gotta do is check their gorgets to see that they be part ‘o the General’s troops.”
Rubbing at her throbbing head, she shrugged, “Because you Templars aim to control both sides of the conflict.” Pressing her sword into his chest even harder, she warned, “Do not take me for a fool, Hickey.”
“Ya rotten, murderous ‘lil savage!” he barked, mouth twisted into a dangerous snarl and color staining his pale cheeks. “Seeing as yer such a right barmy arsehole, here then,” he reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat. Hearing the click of a pistol, he looked up to find her aiming one at his head. At least she’d sheathed her sword for the moment. Although her stony expression did absolutely zero to put him at any sort of ease. “It ain’t no weapon, ya mangy git,” he snit, slowly pulling out a heavy, half-folded envelope and tossing it up to her.
Snatching it out of the air, she kept her pistol trained on him as she opened it with one hand. Speechless at finding it from her father, she ignored the locket that fell out of the envelope and landed at her feet. Not only did the missive detail his suspicions about the fire that claimed the McCready’s home over a fortnight ago, he relayed specific orders to Hickey to infiltrate the Fort and scout it out. There was also note of the family’s suspected murderer. One Gerhard Vonstatten or “The Hessian,” as they called him. While it did not explicitly state the General’s life was forfeit, her father seemed to have no qualms should the Templar fall to a blade. Yet the Hessian wasn’t privy to any sort of mercy. Hickey was unequivocally ordered to eliminate him.
As far as Connor was concerned, the world would not miss such a monster. Or his apparent master.
Thomas used her silent astonishment to quickly roll away from her. While he was able to move to his feet, he was still kept at bay as she re-leveled her flintlock at him.
“Well,” she slowly began, stooping down and picking up the locket. Flicking it open revealed an exquisitely detailed miniature of a dark-haired man with a goatee and dressed in the livery of a high-ranking, British officer. Matthew Davenport, likely, she mused, So that Hickey may know his target. “This proves a new…development.”
“No shit, ya bugger!” he heatedly crossed his arms. Kicking over his tricorne to him, Connor gestured for him to pick it up. “So,” he groused, dusting it off, “I take it this means ya ain’t gonna kill me ‘en?”
Slitting her eyes at him, she intoned, “For now, no.”
“So how come ya ain’t put away that damned pistol, already?” he waved at her
“No matter that our goals align for now, you have not given me a reason to trust you,” she replied, even as she tossed him back the locket.
“Point taken,” he sniffed, shoving it into his pocket. “Still, I saved yer life when I warned ya of that redcoat ‘bout to shoot ya back there.”
“You had no idea who I was at the time.”
Cocking his head to the side, he let out a mirthless chuckle, “Ya be a sly one, girl.”
“No more than you, old man,” she shot right back.
“Hey now,” he held up a hand in surrender, “I ain’t exactly Father Time, ya milksop. I got ‘round bout 37 years to me.”
“Far more ancient than my twenty or so,” she huffed. Damn, he assumed she was older. Mostly on account of her humorless disposition and that steady, constantly irked countenance. Not to mention, her relentless commitment to her silly little Brotherhood. Though when he really looked at her, her face was clear of any sort of lines of age. Combined with her speed and agility, she likely wasn’t lying.
“So,” he slowly began, “Wot’s the plan then? How abouts the good ‘ole concept that ‘the enemy of my enemy be my friend?’ At least until we kill our mutual enemy, yeah?”
It took far too long for her uncock the hammer of her flintlock. And even as she shoved it back into her holster, she unsheathed her sword again. However, she held it at her side, tapping the glinting, silver blade against her leg rather than pointing it directly at him. Expression pulled in concentration, she muttered to herself in what he could only assume was the language of her people. Finally, she nodded in agreement. “It seems we find ourselves in alignment. So long as you make no attempt to kill me,” her gaze flashed in warning, “I will not harm you. At least not until finish tracking the general and his homicidal Hessian.”
Spitting on his hand and holding it out to shake, Hickey almost laughed at her look of revulsion at his action. “Usually, gents be shakin’ on such an agreement,” he clarified, extending his arm further. She didn’t offer hand in exchange, her continued silence wholly unsettling. “Alrighty then,” he withdrew with a huff, “I’ll take into account that ya ain’t no gent, I guess,” he shrugged.
Rocking back on her heels, she sheathed her sword and shoved her hand one of the deerskin pouches along her belt. He felt rather silly as he braced, only for her to produce a single eagle feather in her hand. Holding it out, she wordlessly nodded for him to take it.
Snatching it from her, he held it up to the dusky sunlight. Its colors sparkled and bounced along its fine grains of plume. “Eh?” he asked in confusion, “Wot’s this ‘en, poppet?”
“Among my people, it is the sign of a binding agreement,” she solemnly said. “When we have completed our mission, I expect its return, signaling an end to our truce. I believe that it is rather more…hygienic than your methods,” her gaze snapped to his hand for a moment. “Hence, we are allies, for you have taken it freely of me.”
“I, uh, see,” he slowly said. For some reason he had no desire to dwell on, he found himself carefully tucking it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. No matter how silly he inexplicably felt as she watched his every move.
Gesturing for her to follow, she silently fell in line behind him back to the other men. Considering who she dealt with, she wasn’t exactly surprised at his lie to Captain Moreau as to why he would be leaving the remaining soldiers in his hands. “Ya ain’t dead, ‘n the lady requests an escort back to her family,” Hickey mounted one of the dead redcoat’s horses. More spoils of war, of course. Ignoring the Captain’s dazed expression that their ally turned out to be a woman, Hickey drawled, “It be takin’ us ‘bout a week to cross the Frontier at this time ‘o the season. I’ll meet ya back at the outpost at me return. Dismissed,” he lazily saluted. None the wiser, Captain Moreau did as told.
Astounded to see Connor looting the dead for supplies before she mounted her white mare, Hickey let out a low chortle. Seemed the little prat wasn’t so high and mighty after all. Hopefully, it’d be enough to keep them from killing each over the next few days.