Unlike the taverns in the city, this one was barely more than a large, two-story log-cabin. Lacking a name written on the blank wooden board hanging from an uneven beam on the second floor, it appeared relatively innocuous. Almost blending into the woodland surrounding it, only the forested, slate grey cliffs at its back made it stand out. Its logs covered in moss, while the windows weren’t of real glass, they were comprised of thinly sliced vellum. The bright, yellow light spilling from them cast the air in a pale, luminous glow. Despite being multiple days’ trip from any major city, it was absolutely packed. Likely because it was one of the few specks of civilization out on the frontier, save a few scattered homes and barns surrounding it. Men and women gaily congregated around the front door. Their laughter and loud voices echoing into the night, the smell of alcohol and pipe smoke tickled Connor’s nose.
“It be better if I be goin’ in first,” Thomas casually declared. After stabling their horses next door, they cautiously made their way up the stone path. “That way, ain’t no way anyone can go linkin’ us together.”
“Fine,” Connor vaguely shrugged. Scanning the scene, she focused on taking in the number of people milling about, as well as all visible entrances and exits of the tavern.
“See, there ya be go again, always questionin’ me-”
“I said fine,” she reiterated. “Surely you are not deaf?”
“No need to go gettin’ all smart ‘n shit,” he sneered, shooting her an annoyed glance over his shoulder.
Rolling her eyes, she gave a dismissive wave as she jogged to catch up with his longer strides. “Then perhaps you should listen to what I say.”
“Why in the bloody hell do ya have go be so flippin’ mouthy?”
“I only follow your own example,” she shot right back.
Running a hand over his face in frustration, he snapped, “Whatever. Let’s just go get this fuckin’ over with, yeah?” With that, he stomped up the path and slipped in through the front door.
Waiting for roughly ten minutes while Hickey got settled, Connor eventually made her way through the front door as well. Surprisingly, it wasn’t easy to separate him out of the crowd. Letting her vision slip into her instinctive perception, she noticed a few soldiers shining in red. While no one glimmered in blue, the rest of the room gleamed in neutral grey. In the matter of a few seconds, her internal senses allowed her to locate Hickey sitting at a table in a dark corner, outlined in gold. Of course, he chose one only a few feet from the back door. With a fanorona board in front of him and a pint of ale in his hand, he easily blended in with the other patrons. Dropping down in the seat opposite, she appeared a mere stranger challenging him to a game. Especially as she shoved a few pounds across the table to him. Ordering an ale from the elderly barkeep completed the illusion.
The liquor seemed to cool their tempers, the two back to distant civility as Hickey arched a surprised brow and asked, “Ya partake, love?” Glancing down, he moved a black fanorona piece into her territory on the game board between them.
“On occasion,” Connor replied, “Not mention, one cannot simply sit in a tavern and appear unengaged. It would look suspicious.”
“Point taken,” Hickey retorted, finishing off his second pint.
Jumping a white piece over his black one and capturing it, Connor took a sip of her ale. “Ugh,” she recoiled, wrinkling her nose. Gingerly moving it to the side, she pouted, “It seems this is not quite as good as other brews. It cost nearly twice as much as well.” Taking a long drink of water, she washed down its tainted flavor.
Thomas immediately found his gaze fixed on her mouth, entranced as her tongue darted out to lick away a final drop.
“Hickey?” she repeated for a third time, narrowing her eyes.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his grip on table tightened as he exclaimed, “Was’sup?”
“I asked if you wanted anything from the bar?” she nodded at it.
“I…no. I ain’t in no need ‘o nothin’.” Tapping his temple, he smirked, “Gotta keep me head clear for ‘ole Eleanor, yeah? The barkeep said she be rentin’ a room last night. Still here, apparently.”
“Suit yourself,” she lightly jumped up from her seat.
Hearing the door of the tavern open, Thomas craned his head around. Letting out a low chuckle, he shot Connor a devious grin. “Well would ya look at that? It seems the pretty ‘lil poppet has gone ‘n made ‘er appearance.”
Slightly shorter than Connor, Eleanor Mallow’s lithe figure certainly made heads turns as soon as she crossed the threshold. Clad in pristine white breeches, the gold buttons twining up the sides sparkled in the dim light. Over that, she sported a captain’s redcoat. Trimmed in forest green about the sleeves and down the front, its gold buttons matched those along her trouser. Beneath it, she wore a matching forest green waistcoat. Also trimmed in gold, it lay over her white silk tunic and cravat. Tilted on her head at a jaunty angle, her gold-trimmed, black, beaver fur tricorne made her appear that much more alluringly rakish.
Her dark locks loose and curling about her shoulders, they framed her patrician face. Her wide, dark and heavily lashed eyes, dark brows, high cheekbones and full mouth reminded Connor of gilded portraits she’d seen in the some of her richer contacts’ homes. But the most importantly, her attention focused on the Templar’s weapons. Eleanor bore a gleaming silver spadroon, a parrying dagger and a flintlock on her swordbelt. The assassin could only assume that she knew how to use them.
“Miss Mallow, I presume?” Connor asked, gaze sweeping over the other woman in predatory appraisal.
“Yep,” Thomas nodded in simpering agreement, grin widening to a rapacious smile, “They be callin’ ‘er ‘The Red Coat.”
“It is no matter,” Connor waved in dismissal. “In the meantime, that is your cue. I shall remain at the bar.”
“Ain’t got no qualms with that,” he lazily saluted. Watching as Connor pushed her way through the crowd, Thomas glanced down at the half-played game of fanorona on the table. While Connor captured more his black pieces, she made two mistakes that he would be able to use to his advantage with roughly three moves.
He could only hope the same would prove true upon questioning Missy Mallow.
-----00000-----
Thomas’ head jerked up at the unexpected sound of a commotion. A man’s lecherous chuckle was quickly followed by the loud noise of a slap. “How dare you lay your filthy hands on me, sir!” Connor’s voice lashed out against her apparent harasser.
“Ya high and mighty bitch!”
Her curse in her native language hit Thomas’ ears, causing him to spin around in his chair.
“Someone you know?” Eleanor leered from her seat at the table across from him. Languidly tracing the tip of her finger around the rim of her tankard, she shook her head in disbelief as the hubbub seemed to rise.
“Nope,” Hickey briefly smirked. Connor could handle herself just fine, and getting Mallow’s information fit into his personal endgame. “So…good ‘ole Gerard be headin’ to Boston?”
“Perhaps,” she idly shrugged, “Perhaps not. What’s it to you, my dear Tom?” she slid forward in her chair and unceremoniously dropped her elbows to the table. Clasping her hands together, she rested her chin on them, arching a brow of promise.
“Eh, Haytham needs a bit ‘o clean-up to go gettin’ done. Word be, ya pop’s been enjoyin’ Gerard’s services. A hell of lot, in fact, wouldn’t ya know?”
“That so?” she questioned, pulling back her lips a bit to flash him a playful frown.
“Seems to be the case, dearie,” he downed another tankard. Slamming it on the table, he thumbed back his tricorne a bit further on his head. Rocking back in his seat, he haphazardly threw his legs up on the table, let out an exaggerated yawn and stretched his arms above his head before clasping his hands behind his neck. “So, seein’ as I need to be findin’ our murderin’ ‘lil pal, where do he be, hon?”
Roughly an hour ago, he sidled up to her at the bar with little trouble. Flirting with the comely little thing was easy enough. They’d dealt with each other in the past, Thomas her usual purveyor of weapons and cash she needed for her missions. So it appeared nothing was amiss as he pretended to randomly recognize her. Lying about being on his way to Fort St. Mathieu to speak with her father concerning Haytham’s supposed need to hire the Hessian, he lured her back his table. Her first drink quickly turned into another. Combined with a hell of a lot of come-ons and charm on his end, she finally cracked. Revealing enough for him to know that she was on her way to Boston, he probed deeper. Yet she refused to reveal where in Boston the Hessian preferred to hole up.
“Oh, ya done pissed us off now, wench!” another voice from the bar rang over the crowd, interrupting their conversation.
“Remove yourself from me at once!”
Connor’s words were quickly followed by another smack, a flurry of her curses and then a grunt of pain. High pitched, Thomas could only assume it was hers. Gritting his teeth for a quick second, he steeled a flirtatious smile to his face and continued chatting with Mallow. He had a mission to complete, after all.
-----00000-----
While there was no real danger, Connor was plenty irritated.
She’d dealt with far worse than these three rough looking sorts. Their attention focused on the bartender currently cursing at them to get fuck off his property, they weren’t paying her any heed at the moment. While they were only a bit taller than her, they all had a solid look about them. Dressed in the tell-tale mismatched clothes of sailors, no doubt they’d been in their share of bar fights. That much he could surmise from tales of the Aquila’s crew. The fourth and youngest of them supposedly held Connor trapped against the bar, her back pressed to his chest. Fingers cruelly digging into her shoulders, he cursed as she jerked back and shifted her weight away from him. His mouth then stretching into a devilish smile, his yellowing teeth were crooked and foul. A dirty, dark blue stocking cap barely covered his dark blond locks.
“I believe I told you to unhand me,” Connor ordered, voice cold and stony as her eyes darkened with rising fury. “If you leave me be, I will not be forced to engage you,” she shoved back against the sailor. It did little, save knocking his balance off kilter enough to allow her to get her arms free from her sides. Then again, that was all she needed
“Shut ya trap, ya bloomin’ moppet!” he young sailor scowled at her. His features lean and sharp, they were made all the more menacing by the sneer on his face as he snapped his attention back to the barkeep, who chided him to lay off of it.
“I ain’t wanting no trouble up in ‘ere,” the barkeep warned with a shake of his meaty hand.
Looking the balding old man up and down with derision, the sailor let out of a snort of obvious disgust. Meanwhile, the corner of Connor’s mouth twitched with a repressed snarl at the feel of a bruise beginning to bloom along her cheek from where he’d struck her roughly a minute ago. Normally, she would’ve kicked him in the shin, punched him in the nose and then snatched him by arm to shove him away. Either she’d wrench it far enough behind his back to break it in at least two places. Or perhaps, upper cut him in the chin and knock out handful teeth to finish him off. But glancing back at Hickey and Mallow deep in conversation, she knew her mission came first. Even if her patience was quickly wearing thin.
“For the love ‘o God, get yer bloody hands off the woman!” the barkeep he snorted in front of her, slamming down an empty tankard along the hardwood of the counter.
“Go fuck yourself, ya bastard!” another sailor of the group hissed.
“You have no right to speak to him in such a way,” Connor commanded, voice dropping to dangerous menace.
“What’s it to ya, half-breed?” the man holding her spat. Her blood boiled at his insult as a glob of tobacco-laced spit landed nearly on top of her hands on the bar. “That it, dearest?” he hissed in her ear, his alcohol-soaked breath causing her to swallow back a gag. “Are ya fuckin’ this old geezer, then love?” he jerked his head in the direction of the barkeep, “He got ya all wet betwixt yer legs every night? He like the feel of yer mouth on his cock, suckin’ away for all yer worth? No wonder I don’t want ya now, ya Injun whore-”
The sound of his scream reverberated throughout the tavern as the bottle she swiftly snatched off the counter collided with the side of his face. The sheer force of it caused it to shatter into pieces. A collective gasp rang up from the crowd at the sight of blood streaming from his nose as he staggered back. Bringing a shaking hand to his bloodied, shard-filled cheek, his icy blue eyes narrowed in hatred and disbelief.
“Y-y-you hit me!” he pathetically screeched, his hand seizing out to grab her, “Oi! The w-wanton ‘lil…chit…HIT ME!”
“It is no less than you deserve,” Connor barked, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she smoothly sidestepped his attempted grasp at her. FUCK ‘im ‘n his bullshit, Hickey’s voice randomly echoed in her head, I’d of shoved two bottles all up into ‘is mangy fuckin’ mug, the pikey git.
Spinning on her heel and brandishing the broken bottle, she easily jumped out of his reach at his lame attempt to punch her. Unfortunately, she also was met by the solid expanse of one of his cronies at her back. Snatching her by the hair, he wretched her head back. She responded by elbowing him in the ribs, forcing him to release her in surprised pain. The shock of her follow-up stomp to his foot then sent him crashing to the floor. Kicking him in the family jewels for good measure, she snarled in warning at his remaining friends.
Now, the entire place was as still as a tomb, everyone’s eyes glued to the escalating scene playing out before them. Save the first man’s whimpers of pain and the litany of curses flying from his friend’s lips as he rolled about on the ground and grasped at his crotch, no one said a word.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 15a/?
“It be better if I be goin’ in first,” Thomas casually declared. After stabling their horses next door, they cautiously made their way up the stone path. “That way, ain’t no way anyone can go linkin’ us together.”
“Fine,” Connor vaguely shrugged. Scanning the scene, she focused on taking in the number of people milling about, as well as all visible entrances and exits of the tavern.
“See, there ya be go again, always questionin’ me-”
“I said fine,” she reiterated. “Surely you are not deaf?”
“No need to go gettin’ all smart ‘n shit,” he sneered, shooting her an annoyed glance over his shoulder.
Rolling her eyes, she gave a dismissive wave as she jogged to catch up with his longer strides. “Then perhaps you should listen to what I say.”
“Why in the bloody hell do ya have go be so flippin’ mouthy?”
“I only follow your own example,” she shot right back.
Running a hand over his face in frustration, he snapped, “Whatever. Let’s just go get this fuckin’ over with, yeah?” With that, he stomped up the path and slipped in through the front door.
Waiting for roughly ten minutes while Hickey got settled, Connor eventually made her way through the front door as well. Surprisingly, it wasn’t easy to separate him out of the crowd. Letting her vision slip into her instinctive perception, she noticed a few soldiers shining in red. While no one glimmered in blue, the rest of the room gleamed in neutral grey. In the matter of a few seconds, her internal senses allowed her to locate Hickey sitting at a table in a dark corner, outlined in gold. Of course, he chose one only a few feet from the back door. With a fanorona board in front of him and a pint of ale in his hand, he easily blended in with the other patrons. Dropping down in the seat opposite, she appeared a mere stranger challenging him to a game. Especially as she shoved a few pounds across the table to him. Ordering an ale from the elderly barkeep completed the illusion.
The liquor seemed to cool their tempers, the two back to distant civility as Hickey arched a surprised brow and asked, “Ya partake, love?” Glancing down, he moved a black fanorona piece into her territory on the game board between them.
“On occasion,” Connor replied, “Not mention, one cannot simply sit in a tavern and appear unengaged. It would look suspicious.”
“Point taken,” Hickey retorted, finishing off his second pint.
Jumping a white piece over his black one and capturing it, Connor took a sip of her ale. “Ugh,” she recoiled, wrinkling her nose. Gingerly moving it to the side, she pouted, “It seems this is not quite as good as other brews. It cost nearly twice as much as well.” Taking a long drink of water, she washed down its tainted flavor.
Thomas immediately found his gaze fixed on her mouth, entranced as her tongue darted out to lick away a final drop.
“Hickey?” she repeated for a third time, narrowing her eyes.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his grip on table tightened as he exclaimed, “Was’sup?”
“I asked if you wanted anything from the bar?” she nodded at it.
“I…no. I ain’t in no need ‘o nothin’.” Tapping his temple, he smirked, “Gotta keep me head clear for ‘ole Eleanor, yeah? The barkeep said she be rentin’ a room last night. Still here, apparently.”
“Suit yourself,” she lightly jumped up from her seat.
Hearing the door of the tavern open, Thomas craned his head around. Letting out a low chuckle, he shot Connor a devious grin. “Well would ya look at that? It seems the pretty ‘lil poppet has gone ‘n made ‘er appearance.”
Slightly shorter than Connor, Eleanor Mallow’s lithe figure certainly made heads turns as soon as she crossed the threshold. Clad in pristine white breeches, the gold buttons twining up the sides sparkled in the dim light. Over that, she sported a captain’s redcoat. Trimmed in forest green about the sleeves and down the front, its gold buttons matched those along her trouser. Beneath it, she wore a matching forest green waistcoat. Also trimmed in gold, it lay over her white silk tunic and cravat. Tilted on her head at a jaunty angle, her gold-trimmed, black, beaver fur tricorne made her appear that much more alluringly rakish.
Her dark locks loose and curling about her shoulders, they framed her patrician face. Her wide, dark and heavily lashed eyes, dark brows, high cheekbones and full mouth reminded Connor of gilded portraits she’d seen in the some of her richer contacts’ homes. But the most importantly, her attention focused on the Templar’s weapons. Eleanor bore a gleaming silver spadroon, a parrying dagger and a flintlock on her swordbelt. The assassin could only assume that she knew how to use them.
“Miss Mallow, I presume?” Connor asked, gaze sweeping over the other woman in predatory appraisal.
“Yep,” Thomas nodded in simpering agreement, grin widening to a rapacious smile, “They be callin’ ‘er ‘The Red Coat.”
“It is no matter,” Connor waved in dismissal. “In the meantime, that is your cue. I shall remain at the bar.”
“Ain’t got no qualms with that,” he lazily saluted. Watching as Connor pushed her way through the crowd, Thomas glanced down at the half-played game of fanorona on the table. While Connor captured more his black pieces, she made two mistakes that he would be able to use to his advantage with roughly three moves.
He could only hope the same would prove true upon questioning Missy Mallow.
-----00000-----
Thomas’ head jerked up at the unexpected sound of a commotion. A man’s lecherous chuckle was quickly followed by the loud noise of a slap. “How dare you lay your filthy hands on me, sir!” Connor’s voice lashed out against her apparent harasser.
“Ya high and mighty bitch!”
Her curse in her native language hit Thomas’ ears, causing him to spin around in his chair.
“Someone you know?” Eleanor leered from her seat at the table across from him. Languidly tracing the tip of her finger around the rim of her tankard, she shook her head in disbelief as the hubbub seemed to rise.
“Nope,” Hickey briefly smirked. Connor could handle herself just fine, and getting Mallow’s information fit into his personal endgame. “So…good ‘ole Gerard be headin’ to Boston?”
“Perhaps,” she idly shrugged, “Perhaps not. What’s it to you, my dear Tom?” she slid forward in her chair and unceremoniously dropped her elbows to the table. Clasping her hands together, she rested her chin on them, arching a brow of promise.
“Eh, Haytham needs a bit ‘o clean-up to go gettin’ done. Word be, ya pop’s been enjoyin’ Gerard’s services. A hell of lot, in fact, wouldn’t ya know?”
“That so?” she questioned, pulling back her lips a bit to flash him a playful frown.
“Seems to be the case, dearie,” he downed another tankard. Slamming it on the table, he thumbed back his tricorne a bit further on his head. Rocking back in his seat, he haphazardly threw his legs up on the table, let out an exaggerated yawn and stretched his arms above his head before clasping his hands behind his neck. “So, seein’ as I need to be findin’ our murderin’ ‘lil pal, where do he be, hon?”
Roughly an hour ago, he sidled up to her at the bar with little trouble. Flirting with the comely little thing was easy enough. They’d dealt with each other in the past, Thomas her usual purveyor of weapons and cash she needed for her missions. So it appeared nothing was amiss as he pretended to randomly recognize her. Lying about being on his way to Fort St. Mathieu to speak with her father concerning Haytham’s supposed need to hire the Hessian, he lured her back his table. Her first drink quickly turned into another. Combined with a hell of a lot of come-ons and charm on his end, she finally cracked. Revealing enough for him to know that she was on her way to Boston, he probed deeper. Yet she refused to reveal where in Boston the Hessian preferred to hole up.
“Oh, ya done pissed us off now, wench!” another voice from the bar rang over the crowd, interrupting their conversation.
“Remove yourself from me at once!”
Connor’s words were quickly followed by another smack, a flurry of her curses and then a grunt of pain. High pitched, Thomas could only assume it was hers. Gritting his teeth for a quick second, he steeled a flirtatious smile to his face and continued chatting with Mallow. He had a mission to complete, after all.
-----00000-----
While there was no real danger, Connor was plenty irritated.
She’d dealt with far worse than these three rough looking sorts. Their attention focused on the bartender currently cursing at them to get fuck off his property, they weren’t paying her any heed at the moment. While they were only a bit taller than her, they all had a solid look about them. Dressed in the tell-tale mismatched clothes of sailors, no doubt they’d been in their share of bar fights. That much he could surmise from tales of the Aquila’s crew. The fourth and youngest of them supposedly held Connor trapped against the bar, her back pressed to his chest. Fingers cruelly digging into her shoulders, he cursed as she jerked back and shifted her weight away from him. His mouth then stretching into a devilish smile, his yellowing teeth were crooked and foul. A dirty, dark blue stocking cap barely covered his dark blond locks.
“I believe I told you to unhand me,” Connor ordered, voice cold and stony as her eyes darkened with rising fury. “If you leave me be, I will not be forced to engage you,” she shoved back against the sailor. It did little, save knocking his balance off kilter enough to allow her to get her arms free from her sides. Then again, that was all she needed
“Shut ya trap, ya bloomin’ moppet!” he young sailor scowled at her. His features lean and sharp, they were made all the more menacing by the sneer on his face as he snapped his attention back to the barkeep, who chided him to lay off of it.
“I ain’t wanting no trouble up in ‘ere,” the barkeep warned with a shake of his meaty hand.
Looking the balding old man up and down with derision, the sailor let out of a snort of obvious disgust. Meanwhile, the corner of Connor’s mouth twitched with a repressed snarl at the feel of a bruise beginning to bloom along her cheek from where he’d struck her roughly a minute ago. Normally, she would’ve kicked him in the shin, punched him in the nose and then snatched him by arm to shove him away. Either she’d wrench it far enough behind his back to break it in at least two places. Or perhaps, upper cut him in the chin and knock out handful teeth to finish him off. But glancing back at Hickey and Mallow deep in conversation, she knew her mission came first. Even if her patience was quickly wearing thin.
“For the love ‘o God, get yer bloody hands off the woman!” the barkeep he snorted in front of her, slamming down an empty tankard along the hardwood of the counter.
“Go fuck yourself, ya bastard!” another sailor of the group hissed.
“You have no right to speak to him in such a way,” Connor commanded, voice dropping to dangerous menace.
“What’s it to ya, half-breed?” the man holding her spat. Her blood boiled at his insult as a glob of tobacco-laced spit landed nearly on top of her hands on the bar. “That it, dearest?” he hissed in her ear, his alcohol-soaked breath causing her to swallow back a gag. “Are ya fuckin’ this old geezer, then love?” he jerked his head in the direction of the barkeep, “He got ya all wet betwixt yer legs every night? He like the feel of yer mouth on his cock, suckin’ away for all yer worth? No wonder I don’t want ya now, ya Injun whore-”
The sound of his scream reverberated throughout the tavern as the bottle she swiftly snatched off the counter collided with the side of his face. The sheer force of it caused it to shatter into pieces. A collective gasp rang up from the crowd at the sight of blood streaming from his nose as he staggered back. Bringing a shaking hand to his bloodied, shard-filled cheek, his icy blue eyes narrowed in hatred and disbelief.
“Y-y-you hit me!” he pathetically screeched, his hand seizing out to grab her, “Oi! The w-wanton ‘lil…chit…HIT ME!”
“It is no less than you deserve,” Connor barked, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she smoothly sidestepped his attempted grasp at her. FUCK ‘im ‘n his bullshit, Hickey’s voice randomly echoed in her head, I’d of shoved two bottles all up into ‘is mangy fuckin’ mug, the pikey git.
Spinning on her heel and brandishing the broken bottle, she easily jumped out of his reach at his lame attempt to punch her. Unfortunately, she also was met by the solid expanse of one of his cronies at her back. Snatching her by the hair, he wretched her head back. She responded by elbowing him in the ribs, forcing him to release her in surprised pain. The shock of her follow-up stomp to his foot then sent him crashing to the floor. Kicking him in the family jewels for good measure, she snarled in warning at his remaining friends.
Now, the entire place was as still as a tomb, everyone’s eyes glued to the escalating scene playing out before them. Save the first man’s whimpers of pain and the litany of curses flying from his friend’s lips as he rolled about on the ground and grasped at his crotch, no one said a word.