It was impossible for the Eleanor’s mind to register the flash of silver inexplicably flying from the Native’s hand. Not before the piercing agony ripped across her stomach. Unfortunately, at the same time a bullet tore through her side and ricocheted off a rib. The thick, grey haze blinding her and filling her nostrils from the detonated smoke bomb behind her certainly didn’t help. Strangely, the sound of two pistols roared in her ears as she collapsed to her knees. She knew she’d squeezed off a shot before she was so unceremoniously brought down. Yet judging by the Indian bitch’s skittering gasp, she hadn’t killed her outright. In fact, she’d kicked away the filthy assassin’s flintlock earlier in their skirmish.
So who in the fuck just shot her?
Doubled over and sight swimming, she vainly reached for her sheathed dirk. However, she was shoved over to her back by the firm toe of someone’s boot to her shoulder.
“I’ll be takin’ that,” Dobby snorted, yanking the knife from her fingertips. “And may I say that this be a nice lookin’ flintlock too? Thank ya!” she grabbed it from the ground mere inches from Eleanor’s reach.
Craning her neck as the contents of the smoke finally dissipated, the Templar owlishly blinked at the blurry sight of that traitorous bastard pulling the Native to her feet. All as infuriatingly casual as can be, to boot. Then, instead of blowing the blighters’ brains out, Thomas frowned at the assassin as she slumped against him. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of his smoldering pistol. “You?!” she squawked. Her futile attempt to lift herself up using her uninjured arm only led to her crashing back down on the icy grass. Despite her heartbeat roaring in her ears and turning her head to the side cough up the blood gathering in her throat, she fixed him with a withering look. “You dare shoot me?!” she howled.
“Looks like that’s how it went down, Templar,” Dobby tossed out from behind her while marching towards the other two. Leaning down, she inspected Connor’s leg with careful fingers. Sighing in relief and moving back to her feet, she said, “It ain’t just a flesh wound, but it ain’t nothing too bad. No amputation or nothing like that,” she nodded at the other woman.
“That is better than I initially assumed,” Connor slowly said, readjusting her weight to balance between Hickey and the tree trunk at her back.
“Aye,” Dobby replied with a grin, “Lucky for you, lass.” Then, without warning, she lashed out and soundly slapped Thomas across the face.
Reeling back from the blow and cursing, he rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “Wot in the fuck be gettin’ into ya-?!”
“That be for putting a leanbh na páirte,” Dobby angrily exclaimed, pointing at Connor, “In certain danger!”
“I fuckin’ saved yer stonewalled arses, ya ungrateful ‘lil cailleach!” Thomas snit.
“Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!” Dobby scoffed in their shared, native Irish Gaelic.
“Oh yeah?” Thomas yelled, haphazardly shoving Connor into Dobby’s arms. As Connor snorted in surprised, he jeered, “Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!”
“You sonabitch!” Eleanor screamed out, causing both of them to pull up short from their verbal assault. “A bloody fuckin’ disgrace! You throw in your lot with this Indian cunt and her ‘lil mick whore?! A god-damned Frenchman as well? For what?!”
Hickey sneered, doggedly crossing the ground between them. Crouching down, he balled his fists in her collar before yanking her upwards. Ignoring how she grunted and clutched her side, the blood pouring from between her fingers and grotesquely staining the white snow, he growled, “You ‘n ya pop be betrayin’ us first! Ya went unleashin’ that sick fuck Hessian on the entire McCready family,” he railed. “He went murderin’ the mark’s wife ‘n kid-!”
“Such are the consequences of crossing a Templar,” Eleanor jeered.
“The ‘lil tyke had but seven years to ‘im!”
“Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis,” she fiendishly smiled, it made all the more savage by her scarlet-stained teeth.
“What in the bloody fuck do ya be squawkin’ bout?!” Thomas demanded, shaking her so hard, her head jolted back.
“Thus always I eradicate tyrants' lives," William quietly translated the Latin as he silently materialized behind the two.
“Shocking, his comprehension,” Eleanor drawled. “Though I suppose even animals may learn a few tricks for their betters’ entertainment,” her eyes slid to where the French assassin stood at her feet. “How tragic for the McCreadys,” she gurgled, coughing up more blood, “The family line ending in such an exquisite fashion, yes?” She only brayed even more as Thomas’ dirk suddenly pressed into her neck. Hard enough for a fine trickle of blood to begin flowing down her collar, it dug into her jugular. “You always were a pikey git,” she hurled at him, “Good for nothing but kissing Haytham’s arse and getting railed by that dead, Scottish prat, Johnson.”
Hazel eyes blazing with violent fury and reeling back for the strike, Thomas snarled, “Go to hell, ya demonic bitch!”
Yet his arm was yanked back in an iron grip. Fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave bruises, Connor’s exhausted voice pierced through his frenzied wrath.
“She baits you-”
“Ya think I don’t be fuckin’ knowing that?!” Hickey fumed, spinning around and fixing her with a murderous glare.
“She will be put out of her misery after questioning,” she quietly retorted.
“If I may?” William ventured, stepping between them.
Eyes flitting between Connor and the Frenchman, Hickey finally shoved Eleanor away, aggressively shook off Connor’s hold and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the Redcoat’s wheezing laugh, he stomped over to stand behind the assassin, grumbling under his breath all the while.
“I’ll go take McGuire back to William’s,” Dobby declared, handing off Connor back to Hickey despite her glare at him that mostly translated to, You’d better be real fuckin’ careful with her, in his direction. “I’ll swipe of them mercenaries’ horses since the coach still looks in decent repair ‘nough to bring y’all back to the house.”
“He needs a surgeon,” Connor breathed, “Sooner rather than later.”
“Of course.” With that, she stole back to the carriage and was off.
Meanwhile, though bloodied and bruised, William appeared without major injury. His dark eyes measuredly took in the Templar on the ground. A lessor person would’ve shivered at his predatory expression, utterly taciturn and devoid of all sentiment. Especially as he readjusted his grip on his double hooked blade and dropped to his knees over her. Instead, he paused, his weapon at his side rather than buried in her neck or heart.
“What, ya frog?” Eleanor smirked, pausing only to cough up the blood beginning to pool in her throat again, “You haven’t the balls to rip my throat out?”
“Alas for you, Templar,” his accented voice lilted along her ear, “We require information.”
She could only darkly chuckle in satisfaction as her bloody spit landed on his cheek. Cooling removing a white handkerchief edged in lace from his pocket, William studiously wiped his face.
Eleanor screamed her throat raw, convulsing as his double hookblade plunged into her shoulder. Stars exploded in front of her eyes when William gave it the barest of twists. Just as swiftly, it was over as he jerked it from her skin. Wiping its crimson end on the grass, he flatly commanded, “You shall give us what we seek. The sooner, the better for you, mademoiselle.”
Eleanor could barely register the sound of his voice above her ragged breathing. Combined with her fading vision, it was a pathetic struggle for her keep her senses. “Search her,” Connor’s voice warbled in her ears from above. “Not you,” she shook her head at Hickey as he moved forward, “William.”
“What, ya don’t be trusting me?” Hickey pouted. “Hell, it obviously be a feint back there when I had you the end of me flintlock.”
“As per usual, you acted out of turn-”
“To stop ya from gettin’ shot to shit!”
“And any one of us could have killed you at any moment!” Connor breathlessly replied, closing her eyes against the throbbing that sliced through her leg yet again.
Hickey guffawed, “Like ya would’ve been missin’ me.”
“That is not the point-”
“Oh-ho?” Hickey sent her a lazy, if somewhat lurid grin, “So ya would’ve been weepin’ over me handsome corpse at your feet then?”
“I did not relay such in the slightest-!”
“It was plenty inferred, love.”
“Quiet yourselves,” William brusquely ordered, batting away Eleanor’s shaking fingers and snatching a stack of tied letters from her inner pocket. Moving to his feet, he frantically scanned their contents. A hiss of annoyance escaping his lips, he grimaced at Thomas, “Your Hessian.” Shoving a letter into his hand, he disdainfully said, “He is already in the city.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Thomas huffed, sheathing his pistol as he read it.
“Likely, he’s aware of where I reside,” William rejoined.
“So we wait him out,” Connor instructed. “It is always to better to fight on familiar ground rather waste our time combing the city for an enigma.”
“I believe that will-”
The shouts and cursing of a group marching out of bushy the edge of the marsh caused William to stop mid-sentence. Glancing over her shoulder, Connor glowered, “Redcoats!”
“We gotta scram!” Hickey barked. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder with a grunt. “Again, girl...why do ya weigh so bloody much?!” he mumbled.
Too weary to reply, she settled for purposely digging her fingers into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Yet it was summarily forgotten as a bullet grazed Thomas’ other shoulder, ripping open his sleeve. Apparently the British regulars were trigger happy at the moment. That notion was reinforced as William dodged behind a tree some yards behind them. Narrowly avoiding a volley of musket fire, he swooped down to retrieve one of the mercenaries’ unused flintlocks. Balancing it on his forearm, he squeezed off a shot. Fired from such a long distance, it only managed to maim one soldier. But mercifully, the trio had the hilly terrain on their side as they wound their way around its perimeter. Still, they all would’ve welcomed a cleaner escape.
“Should’ve killed the poxy bint at first chance,” Thomas snapped before the carriage appeared ahead of them. “They likely be thinkin’ we went attackin’ one of they own.”
“I prefer to not have left any loose ends,” William rejoined, sprinting next to them, “Though she didn’t have many more breaths to take.”
“A pity, that,” Thomas sniffed, Connor nodding in agreement for once.
Reaching the coach first, William nimbly swung up into the driver’s seat. A few steps behind them, Thomas yanked open the door and shoved Connor inside. She nearly crashed on top of Harris. In spite of his stunned expression at the mayhem, the boy’s solid reflexes allowed him to dodge out of her way. Hauling himself in behind her, Thomas smacked the back of the carriage to signal William. A shouted command sent the horses lurching forward. Despite the coach groaning in protest, it shuddered into submission and hauled them back onto the road.
Fingers spasming, Eleanor labored to raise a crimson-stained hand in signal to the regulars. But even as the redcoats rushed to her side, their voices fell about her ears in garbled nonsense. Her chest heaved, lungs drowning in her own blood. No matter her efforts, her tongue couldn’t form the orders to go after the assassins. The last thing she recalled as the darkness fell across her vision was her whispered oath to end them all. Either by her own hand. Or that of whoever the Order sent to tread in her ruinous footsteps.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26a/?
So who in the fuck just shot her?
Doubled over and sight swimming, she vainly reached for her sheathed dirk. However, she was shoved over to her back by the firm toe of someone’s boot to her shoulder.
“I’ll be takin’ that,” Dobby snorted, yanking the knife from her fingertips. “And may I say that this be a nice lookin’ flintlock too? Thank ya!” she grabbed it from the ground mere inches from Eleanor’s reach.
Craning her neck as the contents of the smoke finally dissipated, the Templar owlishly blinked at the blurry sight of that traitorous bastard pulling the Native to her feet. All as infuriatingly casual as can be, to boot. Then, instead of blowing the blighters’ brains out, Thomas frowned at the assassin as she slumped against him. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of his smoldering pistol. “You?!” she squawked. Her futile attempt to lift herself up using her uninjured arm only led to her crashing back down on the icy grass. Despite her heartbeat roaring in her ears and turning her head to the side cough up the blood gathering in her throat, she fixed him with a withering look. “You dare shoot me?!” she howled.
“Looks like that’s how it went down, Templar,” Dobby tossed out from behind her while marching towards the other two. Leaning down, she inspected Connor’s leg with careful fingers. Sighing in relief and moving back to her feet, she said, “It ain’t just a flesh wound, but it ain’t nothing too bad. No amputation or nothing like that,” she nodded at the other woman.
“That is better than I initially assumed,” Connor slowly said, readjusting her weight to balance between Hickey and the tree trunk at her back.
“Aye,” Dobby replied with a grin, “Lucky for you, lass.” Then, without warning, she lashed out and soundly slapped Thomas across the face.
Reeling back from the blow and cursing, he rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “Wot in the fuck be gettin’ into ya-?!”
“That be for putting a leanbh na páirte,” Dobby angrily exclaimed, pointing at Connor, “In certain danger!”
“I fuckin’ saved yer stonewalled arses, ya ungrateful ‘lil cailleach!” Thomas snit.
“Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!” Dobby scoffed in their shared, native Irish Gaelic.
“Oh yeah?” Thomas yelled, haphazardly shoving Connor into Dobby’s arms. As Connor snorted in surprised, he jeered, “Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!”
“You sonabitch!” Eleanor screamed out, causing both of them to pull up short from their verbal assault. “A bloody fuckin’ disgrace! You throw in your lot with this Indian cunt and her ‘lil mick whore?! A god-damned Frenchman as well? For what?!”
Hickey sneered, doggedly crossing the ground between them. Crouching down, he balled his fists in her collar before yanking her upwards. Ignoring how she grunted and clutched her side, the blood pouring from between her fingers and grotesquely staining the white snow, he growled, “You ‘n ya pop be betrayin’ us first! Ya went unleashin’ that sick fuck Hessian on the entire McCready family,” he railed. “He went murderin’ the mark’s wife ‘n kid-!”
“Such are the consequences of crossing a Templar,” Eleanor jeered.
“The ‘lil tyke had but seven years to ‘im!”
“Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis,” she fiendishly smiled, it made all the more savage by her scarlet-stained teeth.
“What in the bloody fuck do ya be squawkin’ bout?!” Thomas demanded, shaking her so hard, her head jolted back.
“Thus always I eradicate tyrants' lives," William quietly translated the Latin as he silently materialized behind the two.
“Shocking, his comprehension,” Eleanor drawled. “Though I suppose even animals may learn a few tricks for their betters’ entertainment,” her eyes slid to where the French assassin stood at her feet. “How tragic for the McCreadys,” she gurgled, coughing up more blood, “The family line ending in such an exquisite fashion, yes?” She only brayed even more as Thomas’ dirk suddenly pressed into her neck. Hard enough for a fine trickle of blood to begin flowing down her collar, it dug into her jugular. “You always were a pikey git,” she hurled at him, “Good for nothing but kissing Haytham’s arse and getting railed by that dead, Scottish prat, Johnson.”
Hazel eyes blazing with violent fury and reeling back for the strike, Thomas snarled, “Go to hell, ya demonic bitch!”
Yet his arm was yanked back in an iron grip. Fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave bruises, Connor’s exhausted voice pierced through his frenzied wrath.
“She baits you-”
“Ya think I don’t be fuckin’ knowing that?!” Hickey fumed, spinning around and fixing her with a murderous glare.
“She will be put out of her misery after questioning,” she quietly retorted.
“If I may?” William ventured, stepping between them.
Eyes flitting between Connor and the Frenchman, Hickey finally shoved Eleanor away, aggressively shook off Connor’s hold and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the Redcoat’s wheezing laugh, he stomped over to stand behind the assassin, grumbling under his breath all the while.
“I’ll go take McGuire back to William’s,” Dobby declared, handing off Connor back to Hickey despite her glare at him that mostly translated to, You’d better be real fuckin’ careful with her, in his direction. “I’ll swipe of them mercenaries’ horses since the coach still looks in decent repair ‘nough to bring y’all back to the house.”
“He needs a surgeon,” Connor breathed, “Sooner rather than later.”
“Of course.” With that, she stole back to the carriage and was off.
Meanwhile, though bloodied and bruised, William appeared without major injury. His dark eyes measuredly took in the Templar on the ground. A lessor person would’ve shivered at his predatory expression, utterly taciturn and devoid of all sentiment. Especially as he readjusted his grip on his double hooked blade and dropped to his knees over her. Instead, he paused, his weapon at his side rather than buried in her neck or heart.
“What, ya frog?” Eleanor smirked, pausing only to cough up the blood beginning to pool in her throat again, “You haven’t the balls to rip my throat out?”
“Alas for you, Templar,” his accented voice lilted along her ear, “We require information.”
She could only darkly chuckle in satisfaction as her bloody spit landed on his cheek. Cooling removing a white handkerchief edged in lace from his pocket, William studiously wiped his face.
Eleanor screamed her throat raw, convulsing as his double hookblade plunged into her shoulder. Stars exploded in front of her eyes when William gave it the barest of twists. Just as swiftly, it was over as he jerked it from her skin. Wiping its crimson end on the grass, he flatly commanded, “You shall give us what we seek. The sooner, the better for you, mademoiselle.”
Eleanor could barely register the sound of his voice above her ragged breathing. Combined with her fading vision, it was a pathetic struggle for her keep her senses. “Search her,” Connor’s voice warbled in her ears from above. “Not you,” she shook her head at Hickey as he moved forward, “William.”
“What, ya don’t be trusting me?” Hickey pouted. “Hell, it obviously be a feint back there when I had you the end of me flintlock.”
“As per usual, you acted out of turn-”
“To stop ya from gettin’ shot to shit!”
“And any one of us could have killed you at any moment!” Connor breathlessly replied, closing her eyes against the throbbing that sliced through her leg yet again.
Hickey guffawed, “Like ya would’ve been missin’ me.”
“That is not the point-”
“Oh-ho?” Hickey sent her a lazy, if somewhat lurid grin, “So ya would’ve been weepin’ over me handsome corpse at your feet then?”
“I did not relay such in the slightest-!”
“It was plenty inferred, love.”
“Quiet yourselves,” William brusquely ordered, batting away Eleanor’s shaking fingers and snatching a stack of tied letters from her inner pocket. Moving to his feet, he frantically scanned their contents. A hiss of annoyance escaping his lips, he grimaced at Thomas, “Your Hessian.” Shoving a letter into his hand, he disdainfully said, “He is already in the city.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Thomas huffed, sheathing his pistol as he read it.
“Likely, he’s aware of where I reside,” William rejoined.
“So we wait him out,” Connor instructed. “It is always to better to fight on familiar ground rather waste our time combing the city for an enigma.”
“I believe that will-”
The shouts and cursing of a group marching out of bushy the edge of the marsh caused William to stop mid-sentence. Glancing over her shoulder, Connor glowered, “Redcoats!”
“We gotta scram!” Hickey barked. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder with a grunt. “Again, girl...why do ya weigh so bloody much?!” he mumbled.
Too weary to reply, she settled for purposely digging her fingers into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Yet it was summarily forgotten as a bullet grazed Thomas’ other shoulder, ripping open his sleeve. Apparently the British regulars were trigger happy at the moment. That notion was reinforced as William dodged behind a tree some yards behind them. Narrowly avoiding a volley of musket fire, he swooped down to retrieve one of the mercenaries’ unused flintlocks. Balancing it on his forearm, he squeezed off a shot. Fired from such a long distance, it only managed to maim one soldier. But mercifully, the trio had the hilly terrain on their side as they wound their way around its perimeter. Still, they all would’ve welcomed a cleaner escape.
“Should’ve killed the poxy bint at first chance,” Thomas snapped before the carriage appeared ahead of them. “They likely be thinkin’ we went attackin’ one of they own.”
“I prefer to not have left any loose ends,” William rejoined, sprinting next to them, “Though she didn’t have many more breaths to take.”
“A pity, that,” Thomas sniffed, Connor nodding in agreement for once.
Reaching the coach first, William nimbly swung up into the driver’s seat. A few steps behind them, Thomas yanked open the door and shoved Connor inside. She nearly crashed on top of Harris. In spite of his stunned expression at the mayhem, the boy’s solid reflexes allowed him to dodge out of her way. Hauling himself in behind her, Thomas smacked the back of the carriage to signal William. A shouted command sent the horses lurching forward. Despite the coach groaning in protest, it shuddered into submission and hauled them back onto the road.
Fingers spasming, Eleanor labored to raise a crimson-stained hand in signal to the regulars. But even as the redcoats rushed to her side, their voices fell about her ears in garbled nonsense. Her chest heaved, lungs drowning in her own blood. No matter her efforts, her tongue couldn’t form the orders to go after the assassins. The last thing she recalled as the darkness fell across her vision was her whispered oath to end them all. Either by her own hand. Or that of whoever the Order sent to tread in her ruinous footsteps.