Thomas was roused from a warm and comfortable slumber. Sunlight streaming on his face, he stretched his arms above his head. With a roll his shoulders and the crack of his knuckles, he let out a loud yawn. The chaise he lay on was overstuffed and upholstered with exceptionally fine silk. It proved miles better than a shitty flea-ridden bed at some backwater inn. Or the cold, frozen ground of the wild. Frankly, it was the best sleep he’d had since, well, that licentious night back at the cabin in the wilderness.
“I’m assumin’ ya didn’t go ‘n fuckin’ die on me, yeah?” he chuckled. Met by silence, he snorted, “Christ, you ain’t gotta get all pouty ‘bout it, she-wolf.” But there was no reply.
Swinging his legs over the lip of the chaise to sit up, Hickey froze at finding Connor was nowhere to be found. Harris no longer slept in the room either, the divan he previously occupied also empty. Before he could jump to his feet, there was a light knock on the door.
“Gimme a sec-”
Not waiting for him to finish, one of the maids pushed it open. An older woman this time, tufts of her salt and pepper hair curled around her ears and the nape of her neck beneath her starched, white bonnet. Like all the other servants, her clothes were dark blue and edged in white lace embroidered with gold thread. He hadn’t seen her before either. Pleasantly plump with a bright smile, she chirped, “Good morning, sir-!”
“Where do Connor be?" he stood and demanded.
“The young miss is safe, sir.” She barely spared him a glance, occupied with eagerly waving in two burly young men who each held a bucket of steaming water.
Pointing at the divan, he questioned, “And what ‘bout the boy? He got all sorts ‘o banged up, ya see-”
“Our Harris is recovering,” she jauntily proclaimed.
“But where’n seven hells do he-?!”
”You should wash up, sir,” she brightly interrupted, her jovial disposition unphased by his irritation.
"What?" he crossed his arms while leaning against one of the bedposts, "I don't get no privilege of Willie's valet helpin' me get all classed up this mornin' like usual?"
Without missing a beat, the maid lightly shook her head in disagreement and demurred, "I'm afraid he's indisposed, sir."
At a clap of her hands, the two men set their buckets on the floor. One of them left, only to quickly return carrying a porcelain basin. When he set it on the desk, Hickey made out a towel, some massively expensive soap that smelled of sandalwood and a scrub brush arranged inside it. Behind him, the maid announced that once he was done she’d lead him downstairs.
He couldn’t get in another word before the trio left and shut the door behind them. After it clicked closed, he attempted to yank it back open. Of course, it was locked from the outside. His movements restricted again, he had no choice but to do as asked.
Finishing his morning routine, his knock on the door was greeted by the same maid. Her continued cheery expression gave nothing away as she gestured for him to follow her. He also took note that the two who brought up the water tailed them as well. All in all, there was no chance for him to go exploring. Not especially with how she took a straight path downstairs to one of the smaller dining rooms on the ground floor. By now, it was no surprise to find William settled in across the table and halfway done with breakfast. Clothing neat and coordinated with fastidious precision, he appeared as foppish as ever.
“I’m afraid Connor’s been called away on other business,” the Frenchman announced. Thomas shot him a look of confusion as he yanked out a chair and took a seat. According to the clock sitting on the mantle behind him, it was around ten in the morning. Later than the familiar routine, but he wasn’t going to bitch about it.
Frowning for a few seconds, Hickey steeled a careless smile to his face and shrugged, “Apparently, the girl ain’t one for tearful goodbyes.”
“It has never been a strength of hers,” William cast him a knowing look over the edge of the newspaper he perused. “However, she sends her apologies.”
“Somehow,” Hickey filled his teacup and starting piling his plate high with food, “I be highly doubtin’ that.”
“Now why ever would you assume such?” William sing-songed before wetting a finger and flipping the paper to the next page.
“Tosser,” Thomas sniffed before digging into his food.
“In the meantime, I must go into town for errands,” William continued, pretending not to hear the insult. “Where shall I drop you, mon ami?”
Thomas nodded with supposed ease, “Don’t go troublin’ yourself. I got two feet ‘n can go findin’ me way back-”
“Oh, we cannot have that,” William casually replied in spite of his fleeting but narrowed gaze over the newspaper. “Besides, secrets must remain so. Though it was a worthy attempt in order to figure out exactly where you are at the moment.” Grimacing, Thomas silently continued eating as William declared, “In the meantime, enjoy your brunch. We leave within a half-hour.”
As promised, Saint-Prix dropped Thomas off back at the tavern they met at some days ago. Relieving him of the blindfold when the carriage stopped, the Assassin exited it behind him.
“Well now, Mousier Hickey,” William held out a hand, “I appreciate what you have done for me.”
“It wasn’t for ya,” Hickey shrugged, though he returned William’s firm shake, “Just a means to an end. And I ain’t guaranteeing I’ll be so accomodatin’ the next time we be seein’ each other.”
“What makes you think I shall be, Templar?” William flashed him a predatory smile. Hickey's other hand immediately flew to his belt for a weapon. “No need for that,” William breezily continued despite tightening his grip around the other man’s hand in warning. “Besides, it would be in particularly poor taste to take your life right here and now. In front of all of these lovely people? How gauche,” he carelessly waved around the bustling town square.
“And what makes ya think I be givin’ a damn ‘bout the proper time to go killin’ an Assassin?” Thomas sharply retorted, yanking out of the younger man’s grasp.
“I’ve never been under any such illusions,” William lightly shrugged as Thomas flexed his fingers. “Truly you cannot think me so remiss as to not always have other plans in place?” he jerked his head upwards.
Hastily glancing over his shoulder, Hickey examined the roofs. Though she was half-hidden by the shadows, he could just make out Dobby crouched above them. Not to mention, the tell-tale glint of her flintlock pointed square at him. He shook his head in disbelief as she gave him a languid salute from her temple.
“Always one step ahead,” Thomas muttered.
“As it should be,” William steadily replied. “Then again, you should know better, considering how much time you’ve spent with Connor.”
“Ya don’t say?” Hickey cocked his head to the side.
“Precisely,” the young noble agreed. Crossing his arms and rubbing his chin, he added, “It is such a pity that you’ve chosen the wrong side of our ancient conflict. We could use someone as, how shall I put this?” he smirked with a flutter of his hand in the air, “Ah, as spontaneously efficient as you.”
“Ya don’t say?” Thomas repeated in exasperation.
Laughing, William gracefully leapt back into the carriage. “While I shall not falter should it come to pass, it will be a true shame to have to kill you when I next have you in my sights.”
Lip curling upward, Thomas replied, “The feelin’ be mutual.”
“And so it shall be when we meet again,” William reached out and knocked on the door, causing the driver to pull forward. “Adieu,”he waved in goodbye. With that, Thomas was left to contemplate the strange twists and turns of his alliance with Assassins. As well as the glaring fact that he hadn’t spilled any of their blood. Nor had they done the same to him return.
Interesting, that.
Translations and Notes:
"Ma bichette" – “My little doe.” A French term of friendly endearment.
"Skennenko:wa" – “I am fine” in Mohawk
“bien sûr” – “Of course” in French
“Mais comment peut un côté confiance à l'autre quand compromis pourrait coûter leurs deux vies?” - “But how may one side trust the other when compromise could cost both their lives?
"Niá:wen ki’ wáh" – ‘”Thanks a lot” in Mohawk
“Ma louve féroce” - “My ferocious (female) wolf” in French
"O:nen ki' wahi'" – “Good bye then” in Mohawk
Per canon, Duncan hangs out around in the North End section of Boston. So I assume he lives there and frequents its taverns. My fanon is that he lives very close to the real, historical tavern called Light-House and Anchor, which was located near the Old North Meeting House. Unfortunately, during the Siege of Boston (April 19, 1775 – March 17, 1776), the meeting house was torn down by British soldiers to use its wood as firewood.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 28c/?
“I’m assumin’ ya didn’t go ‘n fuckin’ die on me, yeah?” he chuckled. Met by silence, he snorted, “Christ, you ain’t gotta get all pouty ‘bout it, she-wolf.” But there was no reply.
Swinging his legs over the lip of the chaise to sit up, Hickey froze at finding Connor was nowhere to be found. Harris no longer slept in the room either, the divan he previously occupied also empty. Before he could jump to his feet, there was a light knock on the door.
“Gimme a sec-”
Not waiting for him to finish, one of the maids pushed it open. An older woman this time, tufts of her salt and pepper hair curled around her ears and the nape of her neck beneath her starched, white bonnet. Like all the other servants, her clothes were dark blue and edged in white lace embroidered with gold thread. He hadn’t seen her before either. Pleasantly plump with a bright smile, she chirped, “Good morning, sir-!”
“Where do Connor be?" he stood and demanded.
“The young miss is safe, sir.” She barely spared him a glance, occupied with eagerly waving in two burly young men who each held a bucket of steaming water.
Pointing at the divan, he questioned, “And what ‘bout the boy? He got all sorts ‘o banged up, ya see-”
“Our Harris is recovering,” she jauntily proclaimed.
“But where’n seven hells do he-?!”
”You should wash up, sir,” she brightly interrupted, her jovial disposition unphased by his irritation.
"What?" he crossed his arms while leaning against one of the bedposts, "I don't get no privilege of Willie's valet helpin' me get all classed up this mornin' like usual?"
Without missing a beat, the maid lightly shook her head in disagreement and demurred, "I'm afraid he's indisposed, sir."
At a clap of her hands, the two men set their buckets on the floor. One of them left, only to quickly return carrying a porcelain basin. When he set it on the desk, Hickey made out a towel, some massively expensive soap that smelled of sandalwood and a scrub brush arranged inside it. Behind him, the maid announced that once he was done she’d lead him downstairs.
He couldn’t get in another word before the trio left and shut the door behind them. After it clicked closed, he attempted to yank it back open. Of course, it was locked from the outside. His movements restricted again, he had no choice but to do as asked.
Finishing his morning routine, his knock on the door was greeted by the same maid. Her continued cheery expression gave nothing away as she gestured for him to follow her. He also took note that the two who brought up the water tailed them as well. All in all, there was no chance for him to go exploring. Not especially with how she took a straight path downstairs to one of the smaller dining rooms on the ground floor. By now, it was no surprise to find William settled in across the table and halfway done with breakfast. Clothing neat and coordinated with fastidious precision, he appeared as foppish as ever.
“I’m afraid Connor’s been called away on other business,” the Frenchman announced. Thomas shot him a look of confusion as he yanked out a chair and took a seat. According to the clock sitting on the mantle behind him, it was around ten in the morning. Later than the familiar routine, but he wasn’t going to bitch about it.
Frowning for a few seconds, Hickey steeled a careless smile to his face and shrugged, “Apparently, the girl ain’t one for tearful goodbyes.”
“It has never been a strength of hers,” William cast him a knowing look over the edge of the newspaper he perused. “However, she sends her apologies.”
“Somehow,” Hickey filled his teacup and starting piling his plate high with food, “I be highly doubtin’ that.”
“Now why ever would you assume such?” William sing-songed before wetting a finger and flipping the paper to the next page.
“Tosser,” Thomas sniffed before digging into his food.
“In the meantime, I must go into town for errands,” William continued, pretending not to hear the insult. “Where shall I drop you, mon ami?”
Thomas nodded with supposed ease, “Don’t go troublin’ yourself. I got two feet ‘n can go findin’ me way back-”
“Oh, we cannot have that,” William casually replied in spite of his fleeting but narrowed gaze over the newspaper. “Besides, secrets must remain so. Though it was a worthy attempt in order to figure out exactly where you are at the moment.” Grimacing, Thomas silently continued eating as William declared, “In the meantime, enjoy your brunch. We leave within a half-hour.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As promised, Saint-Prix dropped Thomas off back at the tavern they met at some days ago. Relieving him of the blindfold when the carriage stopped, the Assassin exited it behind him.
“Well now, Mousier Hickey,” William held out a hand, “I appreciate what you have done for me.”
“It wasn’t for ya,” Hickey shrugged, though he returned William’s firm shake, “Just a means to an end. And I ain’t guaranteeing I’ll be so accomodatin’ the next time we be seein’ each other.”
“What makes you think I shall be, Templar?” William flashed him a predatory smile. Hickey's other hand immediately flew to his belt for a weapon. “No need for that,” William breezily continued despite tightening his grip around the other man’s hand in warning. “Besides, it would be in particularly poor taste to take your life right here and now. In front of all of these lovely people? How gauche,” he carelessly waved around the bustling town square.
“And what makes ya think I be givin’ a damn ‘bout the proper time to go killin’ an Assassin?” Thomas sharply retorted, yanking out of the younger man’s grasp.
“I’ve never been under any such illusions,” William lightly shrugged as Thomas flexed his fingers. “Truly you cannot think me so remiss as to not always have other plans in place?” he jerked his head upwards.
Hastily glancing over his shoulder, Hickey examined the roofs. Though she was half-hidden by the shadows, he could just make out Dobby crouched above them. Not to mention, the tell-tale glint of her flintlock pointed square at him. He shook his head in disbelief as she gave him a languid salute from her temple.
“Always one step ahead,” Thomas muttered.
“As it should be,” William steadily replied. “Then again, you should know better, considering how much time you’ve spent with Connor.”
“Ya don’t say?” Hickey cocked his head to the side.
“Precisely,” the young noble agreed. Crossing his arms and rubbing his chin, he added, “It is such a pity that you’ve chosen the wrong side of our ancient conflict. We could use someone as, how shall I put this?” he smirked with a flutter of his hand in the air, “Ah, as spontaneously efficient as you.”
“Ya don’t say?” Thomas repeated in exasperation.
Laughing, William gracefully leapt back into the carriage. “While I shall not falter should it come to pass, it will be a true shame to have to kill you when I next have you in my sights.”
Lip curling upward, Thomas replied, “The feelin’ be mutual.”
“And so it shall be when we meet again,” William reached out and knocked on the door, causing the driver to pull forward. “Adieu,”he waved in goodbye. With that, Thomas was left to contemplate the strange twists and turns of his alliance with Assassins. As well as the glaring fact that he hadn’t spilled any of their blood. Nor had they done the same to him return.
Interesting, that.
Translations and Notes:
"Ma bichette" – “My little doe.” A French term of friendly endearment.
"Skennenko:wa" – “I am fine” in Mohawk
“bien sûr” – “Of course” in French
“Mais comment peut un côté confiance à l'autre quand compromis pourrait coûter leurs deux vies?” - “But how may one side trust the other when compromise could cost both their lives?
"Niá:wen ki’ wáh" – ‘”Thanks a lot” in Mohawk
“Ma louve féroce” - “My ferocious (female) wolf” in French
"O:nen ki' wahi'" – “Good bye then” in Mohawk
Per canon, Duncan hangs out around in the North End section of Boston. So I assume he lives there and frequents its taverns. My fanon is that he lives very close to the real, historical tavern called Light-House and Anchor, which was located near the Old North Meeting House. Unfortunately, during the Siege of Boston (April 19, 1775 – March 17, 1776), the meeting house was torn down by British soldiers to use its wood as firewood.