Using one hand, he raked his nails down the Hessian’s face. At the same time, he drove his other palm upwards, breaking the man’s nose.
All at once, the pressure disappeared from his neck and he tumbled to the ground. His head slamming into the wooden floorboards, his vision swam with flashing dark spots, signaling more damage to his hard head than he’d prefer. He would’ve cursed at his ill luck if he could just catch his fucking breath. Shakily rolling to his side, Thomas hacked and coughed, eyes wet with pain. But even as he wrestled to get air back into his lungs, his hand flew to the spare blade in his boot. Yanking it out and frantically scooting backwards to sit with his back to the wall, he willed himself to focus. For in front of him, Connor managed to leap on the Hessian’s back and drove her stiletto into one of his shoulders while hacking at his other one with her tomahawk. Well, that certainly explained why the mad German so quickly unhanded him.
Yanking her knife out at the Templar’s roar of disbelief, she attempted to slash her ax across his neck. Regrettably, his goret was flung around it as he yawed backwards and spun, vainly trying to dislodge her. Gritting her teeth against the blaze of pain from her injured leg, she securely locked her ankles around his waist. Regardless, the metal of the name plate still prevented her from landing a clean cut. Ever the improviser, she braced her arm across his throat, forcing his chin into the crook of her elbow. Effectively immobilizing him, she then plunged her weapon into where his shoulder met his neck.
Seizing and howling like a feral animal, the Hessian floundered into the wall with a thud. Had he not been so powerfully built, his unconscious action of driving Connor square into marble mantle of the fireplace probably wouldn’t have hurt her much. However, her injured leg fell from around his waist, causing her body shift. It resulted in her taking the full impact of collision between a hefty foe and unyielding stone. Head lurching back, it collided into the corner of the mantle with a sickening impact. Only by Providence did she not fall directly into the flames as she slumped to the ground with a rasped groan.
Spinning around, the Hessian ripped her dagger out of himself with a vile squelch. Flipping the weapon about, he braced it reverse grip while advancing on William.
Slashing out, his strikes arced far too swiftly for Thomas to see. Anyone else would be sliced to ribbons. But William elegantly ducked, dipped and twisted out of every reach. Thomas thought him insane as he purposely backed closer into the corner of the room. Then, he abruptly launched himself off the wall, a vicious knee connecting with the Hessian’s crotch. Scrapping and brawling in the back alleys of London's Whitechapel in his youth, Thomas learned long ago that no man, no matter how much he boasted of his prowess, could take a solid whack the family jewels. Such was the case for the Hessian, who doubled over and clutched at his groin. William’s immediate roundhouse kick hurled their enemy across the room.
The Hessian vainly attempted to regain his footing, but it was to no avail. Toppling backwards, he smashed into the table in the middle of the parlor. His weight and the sheer force of the impact split its glazed glass into dozens of razor sharp shards. Letting out a stunned grunt, he attempted to twist out of the fall. It only caused him to over-spin and slam into the floor, face first.
Thick, jagged lumps of glass ripped his uniform, waistcoat and tunics beneath it to shreds. He should have bled in nearly a dozen place from the damage. But he wore another metal plate on his back. Eyes wide and head lolling to side in stunned disbelief, he shakily propped himself up one arm.
“C-connor!” Thomas rasped, stumbling to his feet. She remained lying adjacent to the fireplace, still as stone. And less than arm’s distance away from where the Hessian clawed at the floor. Despite his other arm limply hanging at his side and one of his legs appearing unable to move, the mercenary wheezed and dragged himself towards her with morbid determination.
From nowhere, a dark form hissed and seemed to drop out of the air, landing on the Hessian’s arm. The German roared as sharp little teeth pierced the soft flesh between his index finger and thumb. Claws latching on to his wrist, the cat scratched deep lacerations into the skin of his hand. Even as the Templar flung his arm back and forth, the animal fearlessly refused to budge. That was until he reached over with his other hand and snatched the cat by its scruff. With a gargle of annoyance, he tugged and yanked, finally ripping it from the meat of his arm. Hurling the calico into the opposite wall, he ignored its yelp as it connected with the hard surface.
“Merde!” William grit at their enemy's relentless press forward. But as the Hessian’s grasping fingers snatched Connor’s ankle, William surged forward and dove for his legs to avoid the shards on his back. Grabbing Connor's stiletto from where it'd landed on the floor, he heaved the Hessian over to his back. Surely, slicing open his throat would do him in once and for all.
With nary a warning, Connor sprung back to life. Heaving herself upward, she planted her back against the pillar of the hearth while at the same time maneuvering her body to clutch the Hessian's head between her knees. A flurry of red found her yanking her crimson sash from about her waist. Abruptly knotting it about the mercenary's neck promptly made it into a primitive noose. Both of Connor’s hands then wrapping around either end of it, her fatal intent as clear as day. Yanking upwards while planting her feet on the Templar’s shoulders, she viciously thrust him down to slide along the floor. The effect used his own weight against him as she put her makeshift garrote to its grisly use.
The bastard didn’t even give them a satisfaction of a scream as the unmistakable, grotesque shrick of his neck snapping echoed in the air. An eternity seemed to pass before the Hessian’s legs finally stopped flailing and jerking. Combined with his sightless stare at the ceiling and rigid form, he had to be dead. Not to mention getting stabbed multiple times, having his spine rearranged and then being strangled.
“Fucker’s got nine bloody lives!” Thomas breathed, collapsing to sit on the floor. “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he raggedly coughed as he closed his eyes and drew his knees up.
“So it would seem,” William replied with surprising alacrity. Chest heaving, he wiped his brow and took in Connor. Seeing her eyes fluttering open, he let out snorted chuckle that was more akin to relief. “And Connor has ten.” Sliding down the wall to sit next to her, he grabbed her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
“Ain’t gotta go tellin’ me twice,” Thomas painfully nodded in agreement. Gingerly touching his neck, he winced at the feel of the bruises forming. “Hell, we all do.”
“For the better,” Connor rasped, her expression lacking its usual irritation.
“Or worse, in your case,” William smirked at Hickey.
“Frenchmen’s got fuckin’ jokes,” Thomas groused. It took longer than he liked to pull himself to his feet. However, he crossed the room on a few strides to meet the other two.
At the same time, the cat stumbled out of the corner. Save shaking its head a few times, the animal didn’t appear worse for wear as he moved forward and lightly licked along Connor’s cheek. Feeling along the back of her head, William slightly recoiled at Connor’s growled exasperation when he hit a tender spot. Bringing his fingers up to find them bloodied, he started murmuring various questions to test the extent of her injuries. Things such as her age, the current year and day, who he was and so on.
The duo’s distraction allowed Thomas to toe at the Hessian’s shoulder before he crouched down and unwound the makeshift garrote from around his neck. He couldn’t stop from wrinkling his nose at how its edges actually cut into the arsehole’s neck, Connor’s strength evident. The blighter was as dead as a doornail though. About fuckin’ time, he thought to himself. Glancing back to William and Connor still babbling, he surreptitiously removed the Hessian’s Templar ring and pocketed it before inquiring, “So who be gettin’ the fun job ‘o dumpin’ this mongrel’s body?”
“We shall sort that out after attending to her first,” William insisted, shooting Thomas a look of admonishment as he opened his mouth again.
“Suits me,” Thomas shrugged. Glancing downwards, he took in the cat twining around his legs. “Wot?” he asked the feline. Shockingly, the animal didn’t reach out and swat at him. Instead, it settled for rubbing its cheek against his ankles. Taking it as a sign of an unspoken truce, Thomas leaned down and cautiously ran a hand along its back. Arching into his touch for a few moments, it strolled away. Though not before turning tail to hiss at the Hessian’s corpse. “Yeah,” he tiredly smiled, “He be a right proper bastard, boy-o.”
Meanwhile, William slowly drew Connor to her feet. She could already feel her thoughts swimming, her limbs becoming heavy and her speech beginning to slur as she repeated herself. “Do not trust,” she trailed off. Her tongue felt like cotton, loose and dry in her sandy mouth. Hand flailing, she reached out to grab William by the collar. “You cannot trust him,” she huffed, “He…is…a liar. Deceiver. Save for my threats, he would betray us. No hesitation-”
“I know, mon Cherie,” William worriedly grinned. “I know,” he clasped her hand in both of his. “Now, stop struggling against the sleep. You need your rest.”
“Hmph,” she drowsily exhaled. After a while though, it was impossible to stay awake. And so Connor finally allowed the darkness to claim her.
Notes:
"Oui" - "Yes" in French
"Ja?" - "Yes" in German
“De tout ce qui est saint!” – “Of all that is holy!” in French
“Merde!” - "Shit!" in French
“tea…some new concoction of tasting or orange and bergamot he’d never had in his life...it wasn't half bad” - Basically, this is a description of Earl Grey tea. While it existed, it wasn’t specifically known as that blend until about 50 years later. Named after the 2nd Earl Grey, the British Prime Minister in the 1830s, Lord Grey received the special blend of tea as a gift. It became hugely popular afterwards and the rest is history. In this case, I like to think the ever-refined William is ahead of his time.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27c/?
All at once, the pressure disappeared from his neck and he tumbled to the ground. His head slamming into the wooden floorboards, his vision swam with flashing dark spots, signaling more damage to his hard head than he’d prefer. He would’ve cursed at his ill luck if he could just catch his fucking breath. Shakily rolling to his side, Thomas hacked and coughed, eyes wet with pain. But even as he wrestled to get air back into his lungs, his hand flew to the spare blade in his boot. Yanking it out and frantically scooting backwards to sit with his back to the wall, he willed himself to focus. For in front of him, Connor managed to leap on the Hessian’s back and drove her stiletto into one of his shoulders while hacking at his other one with her tomahawk. Well, that certainly explained why the mad German so quickly unhanded him.
Yanking her knife out at the Templar’s roar of disbelief, she attempted to slash her ax across his neck. Regrettably, his goret was flung around it as he yawed backwards and spun, vainly trying to dislodge her. Gritting her teeth against the blaze of pain from her injured leg, she securely locked her ankles around his waist. Regardless, the metal of the name plate still prevented her from landing a clean cut. Ever the improviser, she braced her arm across his throat, forcing his chin into the crook of her elbow. Effectively immobilizing him, she then plunged her weapon into where his shoulder met his neck.
Seizing and howling like a feral animal, the Hessian floundered into the wall with a thud. Had he not been so powerfully built, his unconscious action of driving Connor square into marble mantle of the fireplace probably wouldn’t have hurt her much. However, her injured leg fell from around his waist, causing her body shift. It resulted in her taking the full impact of collision between a hefty foe and unyielding stone. Head lurching back, it collided into the corner of the mantle with a sickening impact. Only by Providence did she not fall directly into the flames as she slumped to the ground with a rasped groan.
Spinning around, the Hessian ripped her dagger out of himself with a vile squelch. Flipping the weapon about, he braced it reverse grip while advancing on William.
Slashing out, his strikes arced far too swiftly for Thomas to see. Anyone else would be sliced to ribbons. But William elegantly ducked, dipped and twisted out of every reach. Thomas thought him insane as he purposely backed closer into the corner of the room. Then, he abruptly launched himself off the wall, a vicious knee connecting with the Hessian’s crotch. Scrapping and brawling in the back alleys of London's Whitechapel in his youth, Thomas learned long ago that no man, no matter how much he boasted of his prowess, could take a solid whack the family jewels. Such was the case for the Hessian, who doubled over and clutched at his groin. William’s immediate roundhouse kick hurled their enemy across the room.
The Hessian vainly attempted to regain his footing, but it was to no avail. Toppling backwards, he smashed into the table in the middle of the parlor. His weight and the sheer force of the impact split its glazed glass into dozens of razor sharp shards. Letting out a stunned grunt, he attempted to twist out of the fall. It only caused him to over-spin and slam into the floor, face first.
Thick, jagged lumps of glass ripped his uniform, waistcoat and tunics beneath it to shreds. He should have bled in nearly a dozen place from the damage. But he wore another metal plate on his back. Eyes wide and head lolling to side in stunned disbelief, he shakily propped himself up one arm.
“C-connor!” Thomas rasped, stumbling to his feet. She remained lying adjacent to the fireplace, still as stone. And less than arm’s distance away from where the Hessian clawed at the floor. Despite his other arm limply hanging at his side and one of his legs appearing unable to move, the mercenary wheezed and dragged himself towards her with morbid determination.
From nowhere, a dark form hissed and seemed to drop out of the air, landing on the Hessian’s arm. The German roared as sharp little teeth pierced the soft flesh between his index finger and thumb. Claws latching on to his wrist, the cat scratched deep lacerations into the skin of his hand. Even as the Templar flung his arm back and forth, the animal fearlessly refused to budge. That was until he reached over with his other hand and snatched the cat by its scruff. With a gargle of annoyance, he tugged and yanked, finally ripping it from the meat of his arm. Hurling the calico into the opposite wall, he ignored its yelp as it connected with the hard surface.
“Merde!” William grit at their enemy's relentless press forward. But as the Hessian’s grasping fingers snatched Connor’s ankle, William surged forward and dove for his legs to avoid the shards on his back. Grabbing Connor's stiletto from where it'd landed on the floor, he heaved the Hessian over to his back. Surely, slicing open his throat would do him in once and for all.
With nary a warning, Connor sprung back to life. Heaving herself upward, she planted her back against the pillar of the hearth while at the same time maneuvering her body to clutch the Hessian's head between her knees. A flurry of red found her yanking her crimson sash from about her waist. Abruptly knotting it about the mercenary's neck promptly made it into a primitive noose. Both of Connor’s hands then wrapping around either end of it, her fatal intent as clear as day. Yanking upwards while planting her feet on the Templar’s shoulders, she viciously thrust him down to slide along the floor. The effect used his own weight against him as she put her makeshift garrote to its grisly use.
The bastard didn’t even give them a satisfaction of a scream as the unmistakable, grotesque shrick of his neck snapping echoed in the air. An eternity seemed to pass before the Hessian’s legs finally stopped flailing and jerking. Combined with his sightless stare at the ceiling and rigid form, he had to be dead. Not to mention getting stabbed multiple times, having his spine rearranged and then being strangled.
“Fucker’s got nine bloody lives!” Thomas breathed, collapsing to sit on the floor. “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he raggedly coughed as he closed his eyes and drew his knees up.
“So it would seem,” William replied with surprising alacrity. Chest heaving, he wiped his brow and took in Connor. Seeing her eyes fluttering open, he let out snorted chuckle that was more akin to relief. “And Connor has ten.” Sliding down the wall to sit next to her, he grabbed her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
“Ain’t gotta go tellin’ me twice,” Thomas painfully nodded in agreement. Gingerly touching his neck, he winced at the feel of the bruises forming. “Hell, we all do.”
“For the better,” Connor rasped, her expression lacking its usual irritation.
“Or worse, in your case,” William smirked at Hickey.
“Frenchmen’s got fuckin’ jokes,” Thomas groused. It took longer than he liked to pull himself to his feet. However, he crossed the room on a few strides to meet the other two.
At the same time, the cat stumbled out of the corner. Save shaking its head a few times, the animal didn’t appear worse for wear as he moved forward and lightly licked along Connor’s cheek. Feeling along the back of her head, William slightly recoiled at Connor’s growled exasperation when he hit a tender spot. Bringing his fingers up to find them bloodied, he started murmuring various questions to test the extent of her injuries. Things such as her age, the current year and day, who he was and so on.
The duo’s distraction allowed Thomas to toe at the Hessian’s shoulder before he crouched down and unwound the makeshift garrote from around his neck. He couldn’t stop from wrinkling his nose at how its edges actually cut into the arsehole’s neck, Connor’s strength evident. The blighter was as dead as a doornail though. About fuckin’ time, he thought to himself. Glancing back to William and Connor still babbling, he surreptitiously removed the Hessian’s Templar ring and pocketed it before inquiring, “So who be gettin’ the fun job ‘o dumpin’ this mongrel’s body?”
“We shall sort that out after attending to her first,” William insisted, shooting Thomas a look of admonishment as he opened his mouth again.
“Suits me,” Thomas shrugged. Glancing downwards, he took in the cat twining around his legs. “Wot?” he asked the feline. Shockingly, the animal didn’t reach out and swat at him. Instead, it settled for rubbing its cheek against his ankles. Taking it as a sign of an unspoken truce, Thomas leaned down and cautiously ran a hand along its back. Arching into his touch for a few moments, it strolled away. Though not before turning tail to hiss at the Hessian’s corpse. “Yeah,” he tiredly smiled, “He be a right proper bastard, boy-o.”
Meanwhile, William slowly drew Connor to her feet. She could already feel her thoughts swimming, her limbs becoming heavy and her speech beginning to slur as she repeated herself. “Do not trust,” she trailed off. Her tongue felt like cotton, loose and dry in her sandy mouth. Hand flailing, she reached out to grab William by the collar. “You cannot trust him,” she huffed, “He…is…a liar. Deceiver. Save for my threats, he would betray us. No hesitation-”
“I know, mon Cherie,” William worriedly grinned. “I know,” he clasped her hand in both of his. “Now, stop struggling against the sleep. You need your rest.”
“Hmph,” she drowsily exhaled. After a while though, it was impossible to stay awake. And so Connor finally allowed the darkness to claim her.
Notes:
"Oui" - "Yes" in French
"Ja?" - "Yes" in German
“De tout ce qui est saint!” – “Of all that is holy!” in French
“Merde!” - "Shit!" in French
“tea…some new concoction of tasting or orange and bergamot he’d never had in his life...it wasn't half bad” - Basically, this is a description of Earl Grey tea. While it existed, it wasn’t specifically known as that blend until about 50 years later. Named after the 2nd Earl Grey, the British Prime Minister in the 1830s, Lord Grey received the special blend of tea as a gift. It became hugely popular afterwards and the rest is history. In this case, I like to think the ever-refined William is ahead of his time.