She gripped the reins of her mare so tightly, she was sure her knuckles were beginning to turn white beneath her gloves. Her heartbeat roaring in her ears, it took far too much of her will to calm herself at his caustic words. So she settled for insult. “As though you know a thing about my people and their plight,” she jeered, “You, who are born of the conquerors who have tried time and time again to steal what does not belong to you.”
He let out a jarring laugh at that, even as he held up a hand of surrender. “Don’t go lookin’ to choke me out, woman,” he quickly said, “I just be a ‘lil taken aback that you think your kind be the only ones who’ve gotten run into the ground by those that got all the power ‘n prestige. It’s obvious you be forgettin’ where I come from.”
“I doubt I bothered to ask,” she heatedly countered, “Save your feverish musings mutterings of Ireland deep into last night.”
“That place ov’er the sea ain’t exactly the safest haven,” he grunted. “Like your people, we be privy to the bloody English’s whims. To them, we ain’t no better than a colony to their rich landlords. And before ya go asking, it’s been like that for well over a couple ‘o hundred years,” he swallowed, looking away from her for a moment. “Fuckin’ English ain’t got no qualms ‘bout starving us out ‘o house ‘n home. Nor of usin’ our men for labor, our women for their bed sport and our children for servants.”
Furrowing her brow, she clapped her mouth shut. Surely, he could not be serious? “But you do not speak as the ones who come from there.” She’d always found Duncan’s soft burr comforting. Dobby’s proved slightly different but just as fascinating. For despite being born in New York, she retained the speech of her parents and their origins from the so-called Emerald Isle. She’d also heard other colonists who spoke in a similar fashion. “In fact,” she continued, “You sound more akin to those from England and its great city of London.”
He guffawed at that, retorting, “That be ‘cause me parents moved me family to its slums when I had but six or so years to me. Even went so far as changin’ our surname when we left home. Hence, I be speakin’ like a proper English bloke. Gotta name like one of ‘em too, now.”
Brows shooting up to her forehead in surprise, she asked, “So you are more English than Irish-”
“No,” he swiftly corrected, pointing a finger at her. “In grand ‘ole England, the Irish be hated. That be why I appear more English than Irish, girl, as it be servin’ me purposes. Then again, no matter how much ya try ‘n dress it up, a man’s blood always runs from his homeland. Which is why no one important knows of my true heritage, at least not here in the colonies. Let’s just say that it be safer that way.”
“But to deny your very essence-”
“I ain’t denying shit,” he cut her off, face twisting into a grimace, “People just don’t ask ‘n only be assumin’, ‘tis all. Like how if they don’t be lookin’ at you close ‘nough, they assume you be of some far off land. Like Spain ‘o Italy ‘o some other place that be breedin’ black-haired, dark eyed, olive skinned beauties.”
Staring off into the distance for a long moment, Connor muttered, “Long ago, Achil…someone told me that I should disguise myself in such a way. I did not believe him when he relayed that ordinary people are not so forgiving of those of the tribes.”
Gawking at her for a moment, he couldn’t miss her forlorn expression. Without thinking, he reached out and ran a quick hand along her horse’s mane, scratching under the mare’s chin. Remarkably, she did not spur her mount away him. Nor did she gripe out a warning at his proximity. “He be right, for better ‘o worse,” he shrugged, withdrawing, “People be soddin’ arseholes.”
“Apparently,” Connor quietly replied.
Her blood seemed to slowly cool its boiling wrath as she mused on his words. While he was utterly wrong in his estimation of society, she was unaware of his heritage. Making a mental note ask Achilles, and perhaps even Duncan and Dobby of what they knew of Ireland and its people’s apparent troubles, she occupied herself with her thoughts for a while.
After a couple of miles of traveling in silence, Thomas looked back at his companion. Taking in that she now sat up a bit straighter and her expression wasn’t quite so vicious, he quietly began, “Ya know what, darlin’? In the end, I be similar to you.”
“Whatever you wish to think,” she arched a brow of disbelief, shooting him a dubious, sideways glance.
He gave a lopsided grin at her scoff of disagreement. “Just look at you, poppet! What, with your soldier clothes, ‘n your right proper English, ‘n your British name of ‘Connor.’ A name which any idiot with a lick ‘o sense knows can’t possibly be ya true one. Don’t go gettin’ ya knickers in a twist,” he raised a hand at her wary expression, “It ain’t like I’m gonna go screamin’ about that from the rooftops.”
“As though anyone would believe the likes of you,” she retorted, though her expression slid back its usual one of distant neutrality.
“Anyways,” he rolled his eyes for a moment, “Like me, you’ve had to go splittin’ yer self in two to go movin’ about them that ‘as the power. And like me, I doubt you ever gonna forget where ya really came from.”
“Perhaps,” she solemnly nodded.
“Yeah, so I be soundin’ English. But in me heart,” he pointed to his chest, right over the spot where she knew his tattoo lay, “I’m always gonna be Irish to the core. So like you, no matter what ya be wearin’ or how ya be speakin’, ya ain’t never gonna stop being what ya was born into. Even when ya go breathin’ yer last breath.”
“As you say,” she coolly said.
They rode in strangely companionable silence for the reast of the day. Unfortunately, the weather worsened once the sun started sinking below the horizon. The wind kicking up, visibility promptly became an issue. Especially with the untimely arrival of the icy, biting sleet. Looking over and seeing Thomas curse and wrap his scarf about his head, Connor pulled her hood tighter to herself. Taking in the descending, black storm clouds a few hours ride ahead, Connor came to a hasty decision. While she could tolerate the deteriorating climate, they would both be in less danger if they rested indoors for the night.
“I have utilized a hunting lodge a few hours ride from here,” she called out over the increasingly howling wind, gesturing to get her point across. “We will stay there the night.”
“It be a plan!” Thomas hollered. He always preferred anything to making camp outdoors.
“If we ride hard,” Connor shouted towards the slash of lightning illuminating the distant mountains ahead, “We should head off the tempest.”
Giving a grunt of agreement, Thomas reigned his horse to follow in her wake. After all, sleeping within walls always beat out being at the mercy of the elements, right?
Author’s Notes:
“I do not expect a colonist to comprehend how poorly the Six Tribes faired at the Treaty of Fort Stanwix." – the Treaty of Fort Stanwix between the Iroquois and the British was brokered by William Johnson and signed in 1768 at Fort Stanwix in Rome, New York. It’s mentioned by name by one of the tribal chiefs in the cutscene at before William Johnson’s assassination in-game at Johnson Hall. To make a long story short, the Iroquois lost some land rights southeast of the Ohio River and felt they were tricked by the British into giving up those explicit land rights. It also set stage for future hostilities between the colonists and the natives.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 18b/?
He let out a jarring laugh at that, even as he held up a hand of surrender. “Don’t go lookin’ to choke me out, woman,” he quickly said, “I just be a ‘lil taken aback that you think your kind be the only ones who’ve gotten run into the ground by those that got all the power ‘n prestige. It’s obvious you be forgettin’ where I come from.”
“I doubt I bothered to ask,” she heatedly countered, “Save your feverish musings mutterings of Ireland deep into last night.”
“That place ov’er the sea ain’t exactly the safest haven,” he grunted. “Like your people, we be privy to the bloody English’s whims. To them, we ain’t no better than a colony to their rich landlords. And before ya go asking, it’s been like that for well over a couple ‘o hundred years,” he swallowed, looking away from her for a moment. “Fuckin’ English ain’t got no qualms ‘bout starving us out ‘o house ‘n home. Nor of usin’ our men for labor, our women for their bed sport and our children for servants.”
Furrowing her brow, she clapped her mouth shut. Surely, he could not be serious? “But you do not speak as the ones who come from there.” She’d always found Duncan’s soft burr comforting. Dobby’s proved slightly different but just as fascinating. For despite being born in New York, she retained the speech of her parents and their origins from the so-called Emerald Isle. She’d also heard other colonists who spoke in a similar fashion. “In fact,” she continued, “You sound more akin to those from England and its great city of London.”
He guffawed at that, retorting, “That be ‘cause me parents moved me family to its slums when I had but six or so years to me. Even went so far as changin’ our surname when we left home. Hence, I be speakin’ like a proper English bloke. Gotta name like one of ‘em too, now.”
Brows shooting up to her forehead in surprise, she asked, “So you are more English than Irish-”
“No,” he swiftly corrected, pointing a finger at her. “In grand ‘ole England, the Irish be hated. That be why I appear more English than Irish, girl, as it be servin’ me purposes. Then again, no matter how much ya try ‘n dress it up, a man’s blood always runs from his homeland. Which is why no one important knows of my true heritage, at least not here in the colonies. Let’s just say that it be safer that way.”
“But to deny your very essence-”
“I ain’t denying shit,” he cut her off, face twisting into a grimace, “People just don’t ask ‘n only be assumin’, ‘tis all. Like how if they don’t be lookin’ at you close ‘nough, they assume you be of some far off land. Like Spain ‘o Italy ‘o some other place that be breedin’ black-haired, dark eyed, olive skinned beauties.”
Staring off into the distance for a long moment, Connor muttered, “Long ago, Achil…someone told me that I should disguise myself in such a way. I did not believe him when he relayed that ordinary people are not so forgiving of those of the tribes.”
Gawking at her for a moment, he couldn’t miss her forlorn expression. Without thinking, he reached out and ran a quick hand along her horse’s mane, scratching under the mare’s chin. Remarkably, she did not spur her mount away him. Nor did she gripe out a warning at his proximity. “He be right, for better ‘o worse,” he shrugged, withdrawing, “People be soddin’ arseholes.”
“Apparently,” Connor quietly replied.
Her blood seemed to slowly cool its boiling wrath as she mused on his words. While he was utterly wrong in his estimation of society, she was unaware of his heritage. Making a mental note ask Achilles, and perhaps even Duncan and Dobby of what they knew of Ireland and its people’s apparent troubles, she occupied herself with her thoughts for a while.
After a couple of miles of traveling in silence, Thomas looked back at his companion. Taking in that she now sat up a bit straighter and her expression wasn’t quite so vicious, he quietly began, “Ya know what, darlin’? In the end, I be similar to you.”
“Whatever you wish to think,” she arched a brow of disbelief, shooting him a dubious, sideways glance.
He gave a lopsided grin at her scoff of disagreement. “Just look at you, poppet! What, with your soldier clothes, ‘n your right proper English, ‘n your British name of ‘Connor.’ A name which any idiot with a lick ‘o sense knows can’t possibly be ya true one. Don’t go gettin’ ya knickers in a twist,” he raised a hand at her wary expression, “It ain’t like I’m gonna go screamin’ about that from the rooftops.”
“As though anyone would believe the likes of you,” she retorted, though her expression slid back its usual one of distant neutrality.
“Anyways,” he rolled his eyes for a moment, “Like me, you’ve had to go splittin’ yer self in two to go movin’ about them that ‘as the power. And like me, I doubt you ever gonna forget where ya really came from.”
“Perhaps,” she solemnly nodded.
“Yeah, so I be soundin’ English. But in me heart,” he pointed to his chest, right over the spot where she knew his tattoo lay, “I’m always gonna be Irish to the core. So like you, no matter what ya be wearin’ or how ya be speakin’, ya ain’t never gonna stop being what ya was born into. Even when ya go breathin’ yer last breath.”
“As you say,” she coolly said.
They rode in strangely companionable silence for the reast of the day. Unfortunately, the weather worsened once the sun started sinking below the horizon. The wind kicking up, visibility promptly became an issue. Especially with the untimely arrival of the icy, biting sleet. Looking over and seeing Thomas curse and wrap his scarf about his head, Connor pulled her hood tighter to herself. Taking in the descending, black storm clouds a few hours ride ahead, Connor came to a hasty decision. While she could tolerate the deteriorating climate, they would both be in less danger if they rested indoors for the night.
“I have utilized a hunting lodge a few hours ride from here,” she called out over the increasingly howling wind, gesturing to get her point across. “We will stay there the night.”
“It be a plan!” Thomas hollered. He always preferred anything to making camp outdoors.
“If we ride hard,” Connor shouted towards the slash of lightning illuminating the distant mountains ahead, “We should head off the tempest.”
Giving a grunt of agreement, Thomas reigned his horse to follow in her wake. After all, sleeping within walls always beat out being at the mercy of the elements, right?
Author’s Notes:
“I do not expect a colonist to comprehend how poorly the Six Tribes faired at the Treaty of Fort Stanwix." – the Treaty of Fort Stanwix between the Iroquois and the British was brokered by William Johnson and signed in 1768 at Fort Stanwix in Rome, New York. It’s mentioned by name by one of the tribal chiefs in the cutscene at before William Johnson’s assassination in-game at Johnson Hall. To make a long story short, the Iroquois lost some land rights southeast of the Ohio River and felt they were tricked by the British into giving up those explicit land rights. It also set stage for future hostilities between the colonists and the natives.