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asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
asscreedkinkmeme) wrote2013-05-13 07:24 pm
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Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 6
Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.6
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≈ Comment anonymously with a character/pairing and a kink/prompt.
≈ Comment is filled by another anonymous with fanfiction/art/or any other appropriate medium.
≈ One request per post, but fill the request as much as you want.
≈ The fill/request doesn't necessarily need to be smut.
≈ Don't flame, if you have nothing good to say, don't say anything.
≈ Have a question? Feel free to PM me.
≈ Last, but not least: HAVE FUN!
List of Kinks
Kink Meme Masterlist
New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive
#3 (Delicious.com) Archive <-- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 12:26 am (UTC)(link)Author’s Note: There aren’t any female equivalents of the name “Connor,” so I just stuck with the canon that Achilles gives Fem!Connor the name. Not to mention, considering the times, it’d be a lot easier for her to move around with a male name. Admittedly, by the time she’s 20 years-old and she gets thrown in Bridewell Prison, it’d be obvious that she’s female. But I’ll just handwave it for the sake of conceit.
Considering her skills and successes up this point, including single-handedly killing William Johnson and John Pitcairn (that’s nearly half of the Templars in Haytham’s inner circle) and starting up a network of assassins in Boston, like canon Connor, Fem!Connor would be building up a scary reputation among her enemies. To the point where I assume they would start taking her seriously, in spite of the fact that she’s a woman. Hell, it’d likely make her even more terrifying. Mostly because no one of the time would expect a woman to be so singularly committed to her cause.
Anyway, as canon Connor is a lot taller and heavier than most men, Fem!Connor is taller than most women of the era, around 5’5” or so. She has the competent body of an athlete, not very curvy but muscular and with an average bust line. Basically, light enough to free-run without a problem but strong enough to stab a man clean through with a sword. Or stop him dead with a few hits from her heavy weapon.
The title is taken from the song Short Change Hero by The Heavy.
Warning: Sexy times, ahoy! And Hickey has a dirty mouth. Which he absolutely revels in.
Prologue
"Why in the bloody hell do ya always insist on crawlin' outta bed before the god-damned sun's up?" Hickey groused. Letting out a hiss of annoyance, he jerked his head towards the empty space in bed next to him. “It’s the middle of December, bloody freezin’ out,” he snorted, “And now you’ve gone and let the heat out, ya daft bugger!”
Her back to him as she chucked another log into the hearth, Connor distantly replied, “I have far more important concerns than your cold bed.”
“A likely story, mate,” Hickey quipped, eyes drinking her in.
Holy shit, she proved an infuriating piece of work. Most of the time, far more trouble than she was worth. But she admittedly wasn’t shy when it came to traipsing about as naked as the day she was born, at least during their liaisons. For fuck’s sake, the way the firelight danced along her bronzed skin as she idly ran her fingers through her tangled locks? Well, it was starting to make his mouth water and cock hard…
“What reasons have I to lie?” she lithely spun on her heel to face him, startling him out of thoughts and causing him to withdraw his hand from under the blankets bunched at his groin. “And I am not your ‘mate.’ No matter what this,” she adamantly pointed between them, “Apparently is.”
“Oh?” he smirked, hand sweeping about the room. Their clothes were scattered all over and every which way. The empty bottles of liquor littering the table by the fireplace only added to the disarray. “I’d say this paints a pretty ‘lil picture of a night of carousin’ and fuckin’ all gone swimmingly well. Suprisin', considering how many years we've been carryin' this on. And don’t you go wrinkling up your nose at me like that,” he flicked his fingers at her as she precisely did just that, “You ain’t no angel yourself, sweetheart; it takes two to tango, after all.”
“I have no time for your mindless prattling, Templar,” she snarled, seizing up her tunic and trousers lying in a crumpled pile on the floor from under the window.
“Of course ya don’t, Assassin,” Hickey sarcastically quipped as she dropped her clothes on the foot of the bed, “‘Tis why you ended up right here last night, right-o?”
Lounging up against the headboard, his hands were now clasped behind his head. Short hair messy, cheeks scruffy with five o’clock shadow and gaze half-lidded, he looked every part the drunken libertine. Still, she absolutely refused to acknowledge how his current position in bed best illustrated the hard line of muscle along his arms. Not to mention, the remarkably firm angles of his torso. Or how the blanket barely covered his hips. The lout likely knew it, too, judging by his sly wink in her direction.
Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, Connor rolled her eyes as she pulled on her smallclothes. Somehow, the damn things ended up tossed to the other side of the room.
"Besides," Hickey languidly stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck a bit, "I ain't got shit to do for the next few days. So what's your rush?"
"Unlike you, I have duties to attend to,” she murmured.
"Or maybe I do a better job of not fuckin' off my time, lass?"
"I highly doubt that to be the case," Connor clucked, moving to the wash basin and quickly rinsing her face.
"Don't ya 'ave your 'lil network of baby assassins workin' for you?"
"Firstly," she shook her head in disagreement, "They are recruits. Adults, in fact. Secondly," she distractedly continued, eyes sweeping the room for her hair ribbon. Spotting it haphazardly hanging on the back of the chair next to the table, she snatched it up. "Should I reveal anything else to the likes of you, I shall be forced to end your life," she cast him a brief glare. Crossing the room and dropping to sit on the bed, she began quickly plaiting back her hair. Its length nearly to her shoulder blades, she made a mental note to take her dagger to it for a quick trim.
"C’mon now, poppet, no need to get all melodramatic and wot not," Hickey snickered, sitting up a bit more. Leaning over, he pressed a trail of slow, sloppy kisses down her spine. While she initially flinched, she did nothing to further dissuade him. Not even as he lightly pulled the braid from her fingertips. Finishing off the last of it, he swiftly wrapped the ribbon around its ends before neatly tying it off.
“How did you-?”
“Second of seven brats, includin’ four sisters,” he shrugged.
“I…see.”
Leaping to her feet, Connor took her chemise from where it hung on the doorknob. Watching as she gracefully pulled it on over her head, Hickey licked his lips and grunted, “No need to get all dressed up on account of me, sweetheart.” She all but ignored him, wandering around the room, collecting her weapons, sharpening and inspecting them before carefully them in their various holsters.
Their quarters at the inn were sizeable and warm, mostly on account of the tidy bit of coin Hickey had spent. Then again, he always put up for their lodging while she paid for food. Interesting...these little clandestine meetings were occurring with more and more regularity as of late.
"You're a madwoman," he snorted, glancing at the shutters and still not seeing a single ray of sunlight falling to the floor. Seriously, it couldn’t be any later than around five in the morning.
"You certainly voiced no complaints about my supposedly troubled energies last night," she drawled from her seat at the table, surprising herself.
"What can I say, darlin’?" he lazily shrugged. The sinuous lines of his movement were made all the more so by the faint glow of the candlelit lanterns hanging from the ceiling. By the gods, she despised how she lost her train of thought for a few seconds. Subtlety shaking her head clear her mind, she went back to sharpening her dagger on her whetstone. "I was fuckin' distracted by those lovely tits ‘o yours,” he blew her a kiss. “Then, there’s that shapely 'lil ass. Plus, your scrumptious 'lil mouth. And lest we forget, those devilishly eager 'lil hands-”
The color blooming to her cheeks, she breathed, “Thomas-”
"I ain't speakin' naught but the truth,” he flashed a primal smile, dark gaze brimming with desire. "It ain't the end of the bloody world that you be proving quite the delicious distraction every time we be crossin’ paths, yeah?"
Letting out an annoyed sigh, she stood and searched around for her tunic while nodding in disagreement, "Which is why this is the last time-"
"Come back to bed, me lovely," he interrupted, playfully patting the space beside him, “‘Ole Hickey’s gettin’ cold and needs some company to warm ‘im up.”
"Ugh,” her hands flew to her hips, “Do you really think that will work on me?”
"Course I do," he cocked his head to the side, "‘Cause the fact is, you’re contemplating it, any sod can see that. Particularly since you ain’t threatened to slice me balls off. At least not quite yet.”
“I said I have to go-”
“The hell ya do,” he chortled.
“Do you ever listen to any of the words coming out of my mouth?!”
“Most always,” he drawled, rolling his shoulders a bit, “Especially when I'm in between those fetching legs 'o yours. You're awful vocal then, ya naughty ‘lil wolf-"
"You're insufferable," she curled her lip.
"Like ya said before, ya definitely wasn't complain' last night."
Throwing up her hands in disbelief, she snapped, "Of all of the ridiculous things that come out of you-?!"
"You need to rest up," he retorted, "So quit your whinin' and get on with it," he flipped back the covers.
"I would rather not," she sniffed, even as her gaze lingered there, "Thank you."
"Liar," he darkly chuckled, "You're exhausted, that much is bloody obvious."
"I am most certainly not-"
"Which is why it's takin' you forever 'n a day to get dressed and make your grand escape?" he arched a brow. Narrowing her eyes, she swiftly looked back and forth between the window and bed.
Alright, so she ached a bit. And her bones cracked and groaned a little more than usual when she attempted to sneak out. Frankly, the fact that he caught her in the first place was a fairly apt warning that she wasn’t at her prime this morning. Honestly, how could she successfully complete her missions if she could barely drag herself out of bed? So sleep deprivation was out of the question.
A little bit more rest wouldn't do too much harm.
"One. Hour," she emphasized, all but flopping down into bed. It was somewhat hard not to notice how surprisingly comfortable the mattress was. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.
"Well, would you look at that, eh?" he crowed, pulling up the blankets over her. “The stubborn little poppet isn't shootin' herself in the foot for once!"
"Hickey?"
"Yeah?"
"Cease your prattling before I strangle you, yes?"
"Right-oh, boyo," he snickered. It was impossible to understand her grumbled reply in her native language. So he settled for puffing up his pillows and gingerly pulling her closer. That she didn’t conjure up a hidden knife from somewhere and casually drive it into his sternum had to be a good sign. Hence, he let himself drop a protective leg over hers. Nope, he wasn’t met by her fist crushing his windpipe at that action either.
How kind of her.
Letting out a heavy sigh and rolling over to her side, she murmured, “I must be gone by mid-morning, at the absolute latest-”
"Don't go worryin' yourself to death, I'll wake ya in a bit," he retorted, even as he soothed a languid hand up and down her side.
"We shall see," she slurred, eyes sliding closed.
She drifted off, her back spooned against his chest and head resting on one of his arms. His other arm carelessly draped across her waist, she utterly refused to dwell on the fact that she didn't mind how his hand was comfortably lodged between her breasts. After all, there would be plenty of time contemplate her current madness when she awoke.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 01:37 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 02:37 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 1/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 03:04 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 06:21 am (UTC)(link)“Of course, I’ll gladly take me paws off of ya,” his words caressed her jaw before gave her a playful nip along her clavicle, “If you like.”
Her intense glare only served to make him bark out a laugh. It got even louder as she hastily yanked off her chemise over her head and hurled it to the floor. Somehow, she managed to keep up her aggravated expression in spite of as her hips twitching in response to him lightly pressing his thumb into her.
“I’ll take that as a yes ‘en, sweetheart?” he paused, looking up at her with a lewd smirk. When she didn’t immediately reply, he dragged her smallclothes down her legs and tugged them off her, tossing them over his shoulder.
Her expression swiftly slid to a pleased yip as he took a nipple between eager teeth. Judging by the way her fingers dug into his broad shoulders as he then switched tactics to lap at her, soothing the bite with his tongue, it was pretty damn clear that she was plenty alright with not going anywhere. At least not for a while.
Her tits lavished with enough attention, he licked a trail down her firm stomach. Pressing a lingering kiss to her slit rewarded him with an impatient buck of her hips. Finding her hot and whimpering for him made his cock throb with almost painful need. But hearing his comely ‘lil wolf bitch snap and snarl for him first would be well worth the wait. Eying her, he growled in appreciation as her hands fisted in his hair and his thumb was quickly replaced by his hungry lips on her pussy. Exploring her folds with his tongue, he dipped and out of her. Her increasingly keening cries doggedly drove him onwards. Particularly when he sucked her clit into his devious little mouth before finally slicking two fingers into her.
She nearly jerked him up off the bed. But his broad chest pinned her legs, allowing him to drop a heavy arm over her belly and hold her in place. It created a delectable friction, encouraging her twist and wriggle under him as he buried his face in her wetness. She nearly screamed at that, chest heaving with each shaking breath she took. Steadily increasing his movements, her groaning and cursing encouraged him. Chiefly since it was punctuated by the breathless, panting sounds of his name spilling from her tasty mouth. He welcomed it, chuckling against her sex before lashing the tip of his tongue against her clit.
She gifted him with one of her fierce yowls, her eyes squeezing shut. As her hips spasmed and shuddered up to meet him, he redoubled his efforts. And no, she most certainly was not babbling like a daft woman as he heartily lapped and slurped and thrust his fingers into her in languorous rhythm, drawing out her orgasm.
Quaking and coming down from her peak didn’t allow her to do much else besides shakily knock his hand away. Then again, she almost came a second time at the sight of him greedily licking at his fingers, his half-lidded gaze never leaving hers.
“Sorry I didn’t ask of her highness’ preferences as to how she likes getting woke up,” he smirked, crawling up the line of her body and plopping down beside her.
“Hmmm,” she tiredly retorted, allowing him to pull her to his chest. She didn’t miss the way his hard cock twitched against her ass. “I guess one can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Well, fuck you too, Connor-”
“Did you not just do that?” she arched a brow as she looked back over her shoulder at him, “Unless I am otherwise mistaken?”
“You got all sorts of ‘lil bits ‘o insanity to ya, but ‘stupid’ ain’t one of ‘em,” he lightly swatted her bottom. “Playing dumb don’t become ya, freckles.”
“So what has been your excuse all this time, Hickey?”
Her feral laugh taunted him as he flipped her over and yanked to her knees. Arching up into him as he lightly sank his teeth into her neck, right where it met her shoulder, she grabbed at the headboard to anchor herself. Still wet from his earlier efforts, she was properly prepared when he swiftly sank his thick cock into her from behind.
“Holy fuck,” he grit as she purposely ground back into him, “So bloody tight.” Sucking a trail of bites down her back, he entwined his fingers with hers where they gripped the headboard. His other hand reached around to give her breast a healthy squeeze, causing her to let out a breathless moan. “So bloody delicious," he began driving into her. “Ya dirty ‘lil minx,” he rocked into her, “Ya love it when I give ya the what for, eh? Oi!…ya fuckin’ undo me, love-”
“Less…talking!” she growled, pushing back against him.
“You’re bloody impossible, pet!” he gave a bawdy guffaw, surging forward.
Pounding into her, another flex of his hips sent her writhing beneath him. His angle deep and pitched, it nearly stole her breath away. Clenching around him when his hands dropped to grip her sides, he nearly lost it at the shameless sounds of her pitched mews. Finding his feverish rhythm, he couldn’t hold back a pleased grunt as the wanton chit met him stroke for stroke. Leaning down, he brushed her messy braid away and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. Swirling his tongue along her heated skin, he ran his other hand up her side until he caressed the heavy weight of her breast again. Thumbing her nipple as he drove into her, he rattled off a curse at how lusciously taut and wet she felt around him.
He couldn’t understand her gasping reply, as it was in her language. But the melodic sound of it echoing in his ears stirred something fiery and primal in him. Feeling himself tighten, he slowed a bit, catching his breath. Yet he still grinded against her. Plumbing her depths, he squeezed his eyes shut while muttering all sorts of filthy promises into her ear.
Without warning, she shoved back against him, easily throwing him off balance. It was the few seconds she needed to scoot forward, roll to her back and clasp her thighs about his waist. A twist of her legs sent him flying to his back and tangling in the blankets. Before he could fully register the change in position, she was straddling him and slowly sinking down onto his cock.
“Fuuuuck,” he grit out, eyes snapping open and taking her in. Her head thrown back and eyes fluttering closed, her breasts tantalizingly bounced in time to her increasingly frantic exertions. Mercilessly digging her fingertips into his chest for anchor, her nails left wicked little pink half-moons in his skin. Regardless, the tinge of pain created a dizzying contrast to the slick, snug feel of her riding him to utter ruin. As he hooked his grip to her knees in a vain attempt to control the pace, of course, she was having none of it. Not slowing down in the slightest, her powerful thighs grasped his sides, nearly holding him prisoner.
She never said much when they went at it. And mostly, it was in her native language. Nevertheless, he’d gotten plenty of practice in gauging the rolling sounds of her gasping howls and breathy exhalations. She was close, as was he.
He tensed a hand around her thigh as she finally slowed, snaking her hips around in little circles of frustrating delight on him. His other hand dropping to the small of her back, he shoved her forward, her breasts now in perfect alignment with his mouth. As he sucked and laved at them, he thrust up into her with renewed vigor. Feeling her suddenly tremble and hearing her swallow down a shriek, he knew he hit that sweet little spot within her. So he set a dogged pace, trying for it with each stroke. Every time he succeeded, he was rewarded with a sweet litany of garbled English and her language falling from her mouth.
“Connor!” he hissed after a bit, cock tightening within her as he scrambled for purchase. His hand on her back drifting downwards to her ass, he clutched her to him as he climaxed. Repeatedly muttering her name along with a snarl of cursed satisfaction, he spilled into her.
She wasn’t far behind. Alternately wailing and moaning against his forehead, she shuddered as his lips latched onto her breast again. The taut muscles of his chest and stomach quivering with effort, he keep up his tempo as much as he could. Thrusting up into her, his hand slid down between them. A naughty little twist of his fingers and he found her clit. Teasing and sliding against her, it sent her reeling. Her tight walls contracting around him in one final pull, her hitched breath flew into a long, earnest cry of his name as she came, thoroughly undone.
Collapsing on top of him, she let out a pleased sigh. He grinned against her skin before briefly licking at the pulse point on her neck, like a cat to the cream. Soon, their ragged panting slowed to deep and even breaths. Softening and sliding out of her, he yanked up the blankets to cover them.
“Eh, Connor?” he sleepily slurred.
“What?” she murmured after a while.
“I need me a beer, sweetheart. Be a good ’lil kitty and fetch me one, yeah?”
He cackled in amusement as she lightly punched him in his shoulder and drowsily replied, “Go fetch it yourself, you lobcock.”
“Wot’s this ‘en? Ya finally resortin’ to cursin’ at me, girlie?” he snickered in feigned shock, “Cheeky! Looks like I’m rubbing off on ya yet.”
“Hardly,” she yawned, burrowing deeper into the blankets as he sat up and grabbed a half-full bottle of gin that somehow ended up rolling beneath the bed.
Gulping down a long swig, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wanna drink?” he offered.
“I will pass, on that, thank you,” she lightly replied.
“Good ‘en, more for me,” he took another sip before abruptly dropping it back on the floor with a clatter. As she’d moved back to lying halfway on top of him, he began absentmindedly rubbing little circles along the small of her back. Feeling her lightly swat his cheek, he shifted a bit as she tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder to get more comfortable.
“Connor?”
“Hmm?” she cracked one eye open.
“How long ‘ave we been at our little games and wot not?”
“Far too long,” she exhaustedly replied.
“Ouch,” he chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest where her ear was pressed to him, “You wound me, me dear ‘lil huntress.”
“Someone has to,” she rejoined, beginning to nod off again. So much for leaving here on time…
“Come now, I’m bein’ serious here,” he lightly jostled her. It caused her to start and glance up at him with an annoyed expression. However, she was a bit astounded to see him furrowing a brow in concentration. Especially considering there wasn’t a freshly poured beer or new pair tits anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Schooling her expression to indifferent, she shrugged as he continued, “It’s gotta be, what, a few years or so, yeah?”
Closing her eyes once more, Connor thought back to the first time she crossed paths with the Templar beneath her. And of how she should’ve killed him years ago.
So much for the best laid plans, eh?
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 06:57 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 09:55 am (UTC)(link)You're really really doing a great work here, hope to see more <3
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-15 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-16 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)Chapter 1: Bridewell Prison
I can't see where you comin' from,
But I know just what you runnin' from:
And what matters ain't the "who's baddest," but
The ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder, baby.
--Short Change Hero, The Heavy
Mid-June, 1776
The last time someone held a blade to Thomas’ family jewels, it was through no fault of his own. The tasty little poppet smiling up at him from where she lay naked in bed had failed to disclose that she was married. Or that her husband was back in town and on leave from the local militia. No matter, as cold-cocking said cuckhold in the face gave him ample time to go crashing through the window and tear off out of the backyard. If he had to grade himself on the execution of his getaway, he’d determine it was a solid seven on a scale of one to ten. Yeah, it didn’t employ much in the way of finesse. Nevertheless, he had to give himself a couple of pats on the back for sheer style.
But that was few months ago. Just now, he tried the same trick with the Assassin. Because as far as he was concerned, it was pretty fucking rude to let the little git manhandle him up against the wall of the building they’d found themselves next to. Especially after such a bloody long chase through the streets of New York.
Apparently, me skills need a bit ‘o polishin’, he distantly mused, Or me age is catchin’ up with me. Having 37 years to you didn’t exactly make anyone a spring chicken. Not to mention, his pride had taken a bit of a bruising as well. The stupid blighter was wet behind the ears and likely still proverbially sucking on his mama’s teats. Yet he still managed to tackle him to the ground in the middle of the god-damned street. All despite his best efforts to distract the crowds by tossing out counterfeit money in his wake.
For fuck’s sake, didn’t Haytham swear up and down that the boy’s laughable ilk were all dead and gone?
“Be still. You will do no more harm.”
Thomas froze at the feel of cold steel against his inner thigh as he reeled back for the punch. Well, that and the fact that the self-righteous little voice proved on the high side. Then there was also the rather glaring detail that he could feel the fetching curve of her tits beneath her clothes. Mostly due to her being pressed all up against him as she securely balled her other fist into his collar.
Peering closer and really paying attention now, he arched a surprised brow. Well fancy that, it was apparently a woman beneath the white hood. She was on the tall side, the top of her head reaching above his shoulder. Her layers of clothes also hid most of her curve. Combined with her bristling with a menagerie of weapons, it was no surprise that he’d initially mistaken her for a smaller man. Yet she proved quite the comely bit ‘o fresh morsel. At least judging by the flash of her dark eyes and the charming spray of freckles across her button nose and chiseled cheeks. She bore a nice ‘lil mouth on her too, in spite of its current sneer. Her deeply tanned skin strikingly unusual, it didn’t detract from her lovely visage. Nope, not in the slightest.
Without warning, her countenance stirred some distant, uncanny recollection in him. As though he’d seen her before, though that had to be impossible. There’s no way he’d forget a face like that…unless he was utterly shit-faced at the time? He was admittedly distracted by the way her blade kept shifting upwards and way too fucking close to his balls. So his biggest concerns at present boiled down to two key things:
1.) Her knife threatening to castrate him. Really, it wasn’t fucking funny anymore, how close it was to his cock. Just, no.
2.) Getting her to shut the fuck up as she kept yammering on and on about that tosser, Washington. How could this little chit be so bloody naïve?
It certainly didn’t help when he spotted over her shoulders an approaching patrol of soldiers sizing them up. To add insult to injury, they looked to be carrying his bag of counterfeit money. Great, now that could be pretty fucking incriminating.
Trying to shove her away only earned him her even tighter grip on his collar. She was damn near about to choke him out if she pulled it any harder…and now, here were the soldiers. Bloody fucking hell.
Of course, the silly nitwit tried to talk them out arresting her. Jesus Christ, she should've just shut the hell up and let him grease their palms a bit. No harm, no foul and they could both be on their merry way. She, back to whatever rock she crawled out from under. He, off to lay low for a bit and let Haytham know that there was likely going to be a change in plans in sliding in Lee to command the Continentals.
They must have been just as fed up with her prattle as he was, for one of them knocked her out with the butt of their rifle. Though Hickey couldn’t bite back a wince as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed to the cobblestones. That was certainly going to leave a mark. And one hell of a headache.
“Serves her right, yeah?” Hickey attempted to garner the soldiers' camaraderie. "Bloody lil tosser should know 'er place, eh?"
Regrettably, that didn't go over as well as he hoped, judging by their sneers. “You want some more of where that came from?” one of them snarled, smacking him across the back of head as he led them away. Thankfully, it was with his hand rather than the same treatment he’d doled out to the assassin. “No?” he jeered, “Then I suggest you shut it!” Gritting his teeth, Hickey shot the soldier a murderous glare. Left with no room for escape at the moment, he found himself being marched to Bridewell Prison.
Lee had better have a solution for this little muck-up, that was for damn sure.
-----00000-----
Hickey wasn’t particularly surprised when the key jangled in the lock of his cell. Lying in bed (a real bed with an actual stuffed mattress, a couple of pillows and a heavily knit blanket. It was a fuck ton better than the disgusting straw mattress that passed for one in the cell he they’d tossed him in before his little upgrade) and staring up at the boring array of stones in the ceiling for a moment, he leapt to his feet as the door creaked open.
However, the sight that met him caused his gleeful expression of victory to fall from his face.
“Good, you’re awake,” Charles sniffed, scurrying into the cell. “I’ve a gift for you, Hickey.”
“Unless it’s me walkin’ papers, I ain’t interested!” Hickey snapped. “Wot’s with all this funny business ‘bout gettin’ me out?! I been in here for damn near a fortnight!”
“Patience!” Charles chastised, “Haytham is employing all options at his disposal to release you. In the meantime, this should serve you well.” With little care, he tossed a blanket-covered, body-sized bundle onto the bed. “Do with the little bitch what you wish,” he dismissively waved.
"Wot's this 'en?" Hickey shot Charles a suspicious look. Lee only shrugged before inspecting his nails for a bit.
In one, fluid motion, Hickey yanked the blanket from around his apparent sacrifice, revealing the knocked out, dusky-skinned wildcat who led to his arrest. She was bound hand and foot, her hair loosened of its braid. In a thin, filthy tunic that did little to hide her bodice beneath and torn trousers, she appeared every inch the prisoner. The mottle of bruises along her forearms and her thinner figure added to the effect.
For some reason that he had no desire to address aloud, Hickey’s stomach lurched at the sight of her.
Sure, she was a bloody assassin who’d killed a shit-ton of his allies. And she was better off dead instead of constantly fucking up their plans. But this? This was bordering a bit on the side of ridiculous. Not to mention, a god-damned waste of time. Better for a clean kill then whatever revenge-driven madness Charles was plotting. Put the girl out of her misery once and for all is how he saw it. Then again, that’d always been Lee’s shortcoming; his plans were way too damn complicated, so it was inevitable that he constantly allowed the most minor of setbacks to affect him far too personally. In all honesty, his sheer arrogance was getting to be a problem.
Thomas was glad he didn’t have some knob-headed, blind allegiance to the Templars’ ridiculous creed. A nice tidy little fortune for his efforts was plenty enough to keep him going. Well, at least for now.
“What in the hell would I want to do with that?” he pointed accusingly at her on the bed.
Walking towards the door, Charles was stopped by Hickey’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Spinning about on his heel, he gave a dark chuckle at the other man’s confused expression. “What?” he sing-songed, “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to think straight when you haven’t had your cock properly serviced in the last fortnight or so, eh?”
Thomas had never like Haytham’s creepy little lap dog. Especially not with the way the other man’s icy blue eyes lewdly trailed down to his crotch at the moment. Not that he wasn’t the equal opportunity sort when it came to his own bedmates. Before he went and got himself killed, Johnson had certainly enjoyed his attentions, to say the least. But Charles’ constant expressions of lustful adoration for the Grandmaster always left a nasty taste in his mouth. Perhaps like Kenway did in Charles’?
He snickered at that. His mind easily drummed up the image of the grandmaster sitting back in that big, comfy, leather chair of his in his office. Charles would gladly be on his knees, like one of his bloody Pomeranians, begging to suck him off. Of course, Haytham would last for a while, dismissive and bored, as always. Maybe he liked tying up the little lapdog and having him watch in frustration as he jerked himself off. Or fucked one of the tavern wenches from the Green Dragon, her buxom body bent over his office desk. Oh, Charles would be so deliciously frustrated. Likely whining and crying for release like the little lickspittle he was.
Thomas didn’t realize he was actually laughing out loud until Charles smacked him across the shoulder. “Shut-up, you imbecile!” he hissed, nodding towards the door. “I had to bribe the guards a hefty bit of coin to look the other way as I brought the savage to you. I shouldn’t even be here in the first place!”
“Well ‘en,” Thomas gave him a mocking bow with a flourish of his hand, “By you leave, m’lord?”
Rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, Charles stomped out of the cell. As he closed it, pulling on the door to ensure it was locked, he snapped out, “Frankly, it’s a waste of perfectly good funds that we’re getting you released.”
“Apparently, the boss-man don’t think that,” Thomas smirked with a feral flash of his teeth.
“Ass!” Charles muttered, gesturing for the guard at the top of stairs to lead him out.
Hearing the retreating steps, Thomas crossed his cell and took a seat on his bed, next to his apparent target. She didn’t stir. Not even when he slapped her cheek a couple of times to wake her up. Shrugging, he picked her up and unceremoniously dropped her on the floor, next to the bed. She was lucky that there were fresh rushes spread across it. No doubt, it was miles cleaner than the shit hole they had her locked up in. Pulling the blanket up over himself, he soon drifted off to sleep.
Seriously, why in the fuck did Charles have to be such a god-damned inconvenience?
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-16 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 3/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-17 11:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-19 01:45 am (UTC)(link)-----00000-----
She was still asleep when Hickey awoke the next morning. But she’d moved in the night, curling herself up against the wall. Her feet were still bound, as were her hands in front of her.
Judging by how the guard didn’t say a word as he pushed in his breakfast through the steel grate in the middle of the door, Thomas figured Haytham’s pockets must have run nice and deep for this level of bribery. From what he heard when they let him out for his daily hours in the prison yard (outside and away from the general, broke-ass prison population, of course), there had been no word of a prisoner escape. Meaning the guards knew that she wasn’t in her cell.
How fucked up was that?
In fact, he was so focused on the fact that Charles expected him to use her for a bit of fun that he missed that she still wasn’t on the floor when he returned that afternoon. It was his first mistake.
As soon as the door to his cell clicked closed behind him, his knee was kicked out from behind him. In the next split second, something wild and clawing then landed on his back, effectively knocking the air out of him. Within the blink of an eye, she boxed him twice the kidney. Nearly throwing up his supper at the blaze of agony that ricocheted up his side, he sluggishly crawled back to his knees, his fingers blindly clambering for purchase along the floor. Unfortunately for him, she briskly followed up her initial attack with a driving punch to the back of his neck.
As he once again hit the floor like a bag of bricks, a distant part of his mind had to give her some credit at her speed and efficiency. However, he was currently far more concerned with the rope that suddenly appeared in front his eyes. Instinctively throwing up a hand to protect his neck, he could do nothing else to stop her as she yanked it around his throat with vicious aplomb. Now, she was effectively strangling him.
Breath seizing and lungs on fire, his vision was already beginning to darken around the edges. If he didn’t do something quick, he was going to be dead in the matter of a few minutes. Probably sooner, judging by how she suddenly clutched his torso between her thighs and settled all her weight on his lower back. As his head jerked backwards, he knew all she needed was a little more force to allow her to cleanly snap his neck.
What a clever fucking cunt.
Without warning, he suddenly went limp. While it didn’t allow him to completely surprise her, it gave him the precious seconds he needed to slide his hand even further under her makeshift garrote. Ignoring the rope burn tearing into his hand, he rocked forward. At the same time, snapping his hips upwards threw her off balance. At least the rope was slightly looser now, allowing him to suck in a few desperately needed gulps of air. But her well-aimed hit to the back of his other knee sent him sprawling again. She must have connected with a nerve of some sort, as his thigh spasmed its own volition. His irate grunt echoing off the walls cell did nothing to slow how she wrapped both the edges of the rope around one of her hands.
At the same time, she bounced the side of his head off the floor with her other one. Light exploded in front of his eyes at the impact, making him roar out a curse of retort. Hands scrambling back, he viciously raked his nails down her arm. While he could feel himself drawing blood, she simply smacked his hand away while rocking back her weight again.
Holy shit, this bitch was serious.
Eyes desperately searching for anything to use to his advantage, he let out a gurgle of triumph as he spotted a loosened tile next to his nose. Grabbing at it, he yanked it from the floor. Reeling back, he smashed it into her thigh. While she groaned and seized when it shattered on impact, it didn’t cause her to drop the rope. But it was enough to force her to loosen a bit of slack while giving him the leverage he needed to struggle to his knees. He expected her to release him, what, with her equilibrium finally thrown off. But all she did was firmly wrap her legs around his waist and lock her feet together. Great, now he had the crazed savage on his back yet again. And she still had the bloody rope secured around his god-damned neck.
Enough of this bullshit.
Eyes darting around to get his bearings as he stumbled to his feet, he flailed backwards and hit the wall. Her snarled grunt of pain rang in his hears as her back connected with the stone. An idea swiftly forming in his head and realizing he likely had just under four stone of weight on her, he reared back and propelled her into the wall again. This time, with brutal intent and throwing his full weight into it. He was rewarded with her louder yowl and the feel of her feet loosening from around his waist. Pitching forward, he ran backwards yet again. The third time was the charm as she the breath was knocked out of her with a bellow of frustration, her grip on the rope finally faltering. Snatching it from around his throat, he hurled it to ground and doubled over. Shaking and gasping for breath as she slid to the ground behind him, he was forced to focus on not passing out.
That was his second mistake.
Did that bloody savage just launch 'erself off the fuckin' wall?! his mind reeled as she inexplicably appeared in front of him, letting out an eerily wolfish growl and shoving her shoulder into his chest. It was made even worse when her punch connected with his mouth, effectively splitting his lip. A little higher and she would’ve solidly broken his nose. Only luck allowed him to reach out and snatch her by the hair. But yanking her head back did nothing stop her hands from popping up through his arms and aiming a punch or two at his throat. Hell, she didn’t even shriek at the pain he know he was causing at almost tearing her hair out at the root.
Thank God he was a soldier, as a civilian would’ve contained laughably poor reflexes. Likely, he’d be currently choking to death in a vain attempt to get air through his newly crushed trachea. But he was used to attacks from his time in the field. So he jerked his head just to left, causing her first punch to land on his clavicle, the second on his cheek. Gritting out a litany of curses at he felt his face already beginning to swell up, he reached out and smacked her across the face.
She ducked about half of his reach, though her nose was bloodied, her teeth clattering at the impact so hard she bit down on her lip and drew blood. Yet it allowed him to snap his other arm around her neck and grind it down against her throat. Unfortunately, it still didn’t stop her next attack. In fact, she reared back to head-butt him. Only his height saved him, as well as the way he yanked on her hair again, wrench her neck backward and causing her to let out a hiss of agony.
She was still a whirling fury of spinning limbs. Changing tactics a third time, she kicked at the floor in an effort to get some momentum going. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was attempting to use his superior weight against him. Likely, in order to smash him back into the floor and finish off the job of throttling him to death. Frankly, he was a bit stunned that she wasn’t screaming and panicked. Outside of a swift babble of what he assumed were curses in her native language, she was silent. Doubtless, she wholly focused on killing him, the murderous little savage.
The chit had more balls than most men he knew, he had to begrudgingly give her that. But her game was getting old pretty damn fast. Thankfully, he was able kick a leg under hers and shove his legs further apart to better anchor himself. It prevented her from getting enough force to use him as a counterweight.
Somewhere in his brain, it clicked that he was pretty fucking lucky that she was probably not at her best due to being in prison. Or else he would’ve been dead in the matter of a few hits. A shame for her, though he’d never in a million years trade places with the little beast. It wasn’t his fucking fault that her luck had run out.
Her body went stiff when he pressed his arm even harder to her windpipe in warning. “Good,” he snarled, tongue licking at the blood trickling down his lip, the taste coppery and warm, “‘Cause if ya move one more fuckin' time, I’ll snap that pretty 'lil neck ‘o yours, yeah?” She remained silent, so he took it for acceptance.
Gingerly letting go of her hair to ensure she didn’t reel back for another blow, he still kept his arm solidly clutched around her neck. Swiftly reaching down, he retrieved the rope. Looping it around her hands, he double checked the knots. Looked like that blighter, Charles, was a solid fuck-up when it came to restraining prisoners. That had to be the only explanation of how she could’ve escaped her bonds.
“Now,” he huffed, “I’m gonna to drop ya to the floor. And ya ain’t gonna fuckin’ move, got it?!” Her body went even more rigid at that, no doubt rearing up for another attack. His ears ringing from his head getting shoved into the floor, he was in no mood for another fight. Not at moment, at least. And fuck, his throat hurt. So he settled for threats.
“Look ‘ere, ya ‘lil shit, ya try ‘n kill me again, God as me witness, I’ll give ya a sound beating ya won’t ever fuckin’ forget.”
In spite of his words, she still didn’t relax. Son of a bitch, what a stubborn little tosser. Well, time to step it up.
“And that’ll be after I stick my cock right up yer tight ‘lil rump for payment.” She certainly let out a hiss at that. “Then, I’ll hand ya over to the guards for their fun. And unlike most up in ‘ere, you’re a nice bit ‘o tits ‘n ass. So I wonder ‘ow long they’ll keep all their attentions focused on ya, eh?” His mother would’ve skinned him alive for such vileness. Then again, she never attempted to fucking choke him out. Besides, judging by the girl’s subtle nod, she was taking his words seriously. Good.
Feeling her relax, he let her go. She hit to the floor with little more than a grunt. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he inspected the damage with his fingertips. It wasn’t much. But his vision was swimming, the ringing in his ears hadn’t let up and half of his face was swelling up. His lungs also still burned from a lack of air.
Frustrated, he growled raised a hand to smack her across her insolent face. She didn’t even bother to flinching at his action. Stock still and bracing for the impact, her eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits of black. Her split lip curled with derision and teeth bared, it lent her the look of a rabid dog ready to rip his throat out at the latest provocation.
He surprised himself when he paused mid swing. She barely reacted to it.
Letting out a hiss of retort, he settled for shoving her cheek into the wall with a rough hand while scuffing at her calf with the edge of his boot. Outside of a wince and "oomph!" of impact as she connected with the stone, she said not a word. Crouching to where she was haphazardly slumped on the floor, he snatched her by the chin, forcing her to meet his incensed gaze.
“Now, stay put, ya daft ‘lil mongrel,” he growled, taking in the way her dark eyes narrowed at him, fierce and unbowed . Her swelling, bloody nose twitched, almost as though she was sniffing at him, the barbarous wench. “Daddy’s gotta see how much damage ya bloody wrought so he can go thinkin’ up the proper punishment, eh?” She still didn’t reply, save a mutter of foreign words.
Cuffing her ear for her efforts, he leaned down and tied up her feet as well. Considering he was due to be released today, there was no need to worry about her nearly escaping again. At least that’s what he had to tell himself as he doubled and tripled checked his knots. If only because he was dangerously close to getting killed just now. Way bloody close, in fact.
For the loved of fucking God, why in the bloody hell had Charles dumped this feral little bitch on his doorstep?
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-19 02:08 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 4/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-19 08:36 am (UTC)(link)Great update! So excited for more.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-21 07:27 am (UTC)(link)“Wot, love?” Hickey snarled, flipping a page of the newspaper, “Don’t tell me our little brawl got ya all wet and wantin’? Wot, ya bloodlust need a bit of a fix?” he let out a spiteful chuckle. Hopefully, the threat would shut her up.
After all, they were the first words she’d spoken in well over two hours. From her position securely trussed on the floor the cell and next to his bed, she’d made barely a scrape of noise. Yet he knew was awake the entire time. The feel of her eyes boring into his back where he sat at his desk, his feet propped up and reading the afternoon paper, was unmistakable. He could only chalk it up to her sheer frustration of not being able to strangle him when she had the chance. Now, he had a pounding headache, split lip and a half-swollen face for her troubles. Meanwhile, her bloodied nose, bruised ribs and the nail marks all up and down her arms were his malevolent gifts to her.
They would’ve made a comical sight, the pair of them now looking like old, battered, bare-knuckle boxers. Well, except for the fact that she’d fucking tried to kill him. Yet a distant part of his mind couldn’t blame her; you could sure as shit bet that he would’ve fought just as dirty, had their roles been reversed. Admittedly, he’d always had a predilection for shit-stirring little scrappers.
Then again, she could’ve been a bit more civil and not tried to fucking kill him.
“Hardly,” she quietly retorted after a long while. He let out a long, exasperated sigh at the fact that she couldn’t take the hint and snap up her yap as she continued, “I simply expect it of you.”
Who in the hell did she think he was?!
Oh, he’d lost what little honor he had long ago, of that there was no doubt. His life’s blood was smuggling and espionage. He’d unapologetically lied cheated his way to the top of the black market. Of course, he’d killed men. To the point where it’d become almost bothersome whenever he was called upon to do so for the sake of necessity. He was certainly a man of all sorts of lechery. Never too picky about the skirts he chased and bedded, a bit of coin and a draft of beer completed his usual trifecta of appetites. But there was a world of difference between taking a wanting lass and stealing what hadn’t been freely given. And he sure as shit wasn’t no thief of that sort of thing.
Then again, he had little desire to explore why exactly the dodgy little git’s assumption of that sort of contemptible behavior from him pissed him off even more. He’d never bothered thinking too much on such complexities. Mostly because it’d never done damn a thing to either fatten his pockets or contribute to his various indulgences. So he settled for the usual insult and intimidation.
“Well, if ya don’t shut ya yap,” he jeered, still not bothering to look back at her, “I ain’t makin’ no promises that a piece of ‘ole Hickey won’t end up all up in ya!”
“Understood,” she steadily said.
Thank whatever savage gods ya pray to that I ain’t no right proper deviant, poppet. No matter what Lee and the lot ‘o ‘em be thinkin’ of me supposed inclinations, he furiously mused. Which has gotta be the only bloody reason why that wanker dumped you in me lap.
Within a half hour, the sounds of her even breathing signaled that she was finally asleep. Glancing back at the setting sun through the bars of his window, he shook his head in irritated dismay. For fuck’s sake, Lee was supposed to bail him out hours ago.
Ugh, what a bloody prat.
-----00000-----
Thankfully, Lee finally decided to drag his sorry arse back up to Bridewell the next morning. Along with some longwinded plan to frame his temporary cellmate for their plot against Washington. Plus, the murder of the warden. Though Hickey personally didn’t think was the best idea to inform her of entire fucking thing. Then again, what did he care? He was finally getting the fuck out of here.
He found himself rolling his eyes as Charles made his usual megalomaniacal threats at the little beast. Seriously, if he kept waving his flintlock about like that, the whiny bugger was bound to end up shooting him. Couldn’t they just say their goodbyes and be on their way? Being in the clink for over a fortnight was plenty of time for him to decide he that he pretty much despised enclosed spaces. No matter a better cell and whatnot.
Alright, so he couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the ‘lil wolf’s astonishment that their apparent order expected everyone to fall in line. Such was life. Either you swam with big fish, or got ripped to bits by the lot of them. Looked like she was about to get eaten. And not in the good way.
Oh well.
“What in the hell happened to your face, Thomas?” Charles snorted, his irksome voice snapping Hickey out of his thoughts as he slammed the woman’s cell door closed. “Please don’t tell me our guest,” he nodded to where Connor appeared as though she was mentally calculating the slowest, bloodiest and most vicious way to flay them both, “Gave you much trouble?” he chuckled. “Because it would be a true pity if she has yet to learn the valuable lesson of obedience.”
Gaze narrowing and taking in how Lee’s hand lingered on the lock to her cell, Hickey suddenly found himself sneering, “Got inta a bit ‘o fisticuffs in the yard. Not that it be any of ya fuckin’ concern.” Eyes snapping to his at his supposed explanation, she arched a brow of utter surprise. He could almost see the wheels of confusion spinning in her head at his unexpected lie.
Frankly, he didn’t want to dwell on it either.
“Well, I certainly hope the other lout looks worse,” Charles scoffed.
“Ya assumin’ he lived through it,” Hickey rolled his eyes. “Besides, it ain’t like I’ve ever let ya down on that front, eh?” he snickered, ignoring the peculiar pull at his gut as she continued silently staring at him.
“Surprise, surprise, you still serve some use,” Charles retorted with a dismissive wave, spinning on his heel and finally leading him out of this hellhole.
Shooting him a cross expression, Hickey growled, “Oh, go knock off ‘o it, ya feckless pillock!”
Soon, the assassin’s fate was the furthest thing from his mind. He had some tail to chase and copious of amounts of drinking to catch up on, after all.
Chapter 2: Escape from the Gallows
June 28, 1776
“'Ello Connor! Didn’t think I’d miss ya goin’ away party, did ya?” Hickey brightly declared, dragging her out of the wagon some feet from the gallows. She remained silent, reduced to fixing him with an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred. If he were a lesser man, he would’ve flinched under that lethal gaze. Instead, he settled for the usual taunting. “I hear Washington ‘imself is gonna be in attendance. Hope nothin’ bad ‘appens to him!”
Her eyes widened for a split second as she spat out, “You said there’d be a trial!”
“Ah, no trials for traitors I’m afraid,” Hickey sighed with exaggerated regret. Though he didn’t really know if he was serious or relieved.
This whole affair was quickly turning into a clusterfuck of constantly shifting bullshit. Frankly, he was getting bloody sick of it. Particularly with the big bosses making all sorts of preposterous demands of him. If they would’ve just let him carry out his plan and quietly knock off Washington, the deed would’ve been done weeks ago. Now, they were offering up their sacrificial lamb to the hordes. What a waste, she could’ve been quite useful to Haytham and his grand schemes. Especially considering the little nutter had a mean left hook and a tendency towards attempting to kill whatever got in her way. His bruised face and neck alone bore the rather glaring signs of that. Then again, her reckless tendencies proved an irritating thorn in his side. So yeah, it would be best to rid the world of her.
…maybe?
Hmm, perhaps this was why the order never left him to make any of the big decisions.
Thoughts swiftly returning back to the present, he shrugged, “Lee and Haytham saw to that. It’s straight to the gallows for you.”
Her expression suddenly brokered no tolerance for negotiation as she turned and cast him a steady stare. He could blame it was the blurriness of the rain. Or the addictive bloodlust of the crowd addling his brain. But he could swear her cracked lip twitched upwards in a smirk as she firmly promised, “I will not die today. The same cannot be said for you.”
Hickey’s blood ran cold, his boots seeming stuck in mud as he froze. Rapidly blinking, his mind reeled at her insinuation.
Sure, he’d willingly thrown in his lot with the Templars, mostly at ‘ole Willie Johnson’s urging. But it wasn’t due to any hair-brained allegiance to some hazy, ridiculous higher power. Screw the hierarchy, he was here to get a leg up and avoid the poor house. That it was pretty convenient and paid exceedingly well was an added bonus. Aye, they went on and on about their supposedly lofty goals. What, with their diatribes about seeking world peace through order and combating chaos with an unyielding hand and blah de fucking blah. But if he was to be honest (and how long had it been since there'd been a need to do that?), it was all a bunch of bollocks.
Except, now there was the asinine conviction of the homicidal little chit as she walked her way to the gallows. Seriously, she couldn’t bother to give a flying fuck about the fact that she due for a long drop and a short stop in the matter of a few minutes? A broken neck, the mocking of the crowds and then a pine box. Assuming she was lucky and they didn’t rush to desecrate her corpse, that is. How could she not see there was no way back?
He was glad the other officer shoved her forward with a threat to shut her mouth. He didn’t intervene when some strumpet decided to send her reeling to the ground with a solid clock to the face.
He snorted in derision as Lee read out the final condemnation.
He looked away when the sound of the trapdoor snapped and reverberated in the air, a finality if he ever heard one.
A pity. That pretty little face wouldn’t do her any damn good now.
Except the crowd suddenly let out a hushed groan. Their silence going on for far too long, Hickey cracked one eye open and looked up toward the gallows.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! How in the bloody hell had the slippery little scrubber managed to get loose?!
Head snapping between the demon coming at him with a tomahawk (seriously, a mother-fuckin’ ax?!) and where Washington stood about a hundred feet in front of him, Hickey knew his decision would result in one of two outcomes. Either it would cost him his life, or he could eke out an escape by the skin of his teeth. So, he did what any normal gent would do when dropped between a rock and the psychotic ruffian swiftly becoming his hard place.
He fled.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-21 07:50 am (UTC)(link)In spite of squinting against the driving rain and stumbling a few times along the wet, filthy ground, Connor’s blood was singing. The beautifully familiar weight of her tomahawk in her grip was a welcome respite from prison. Artfully twirling it about in her hand, she sighed in relief. Now, to complete her mission.
Her quarry vainly attempting to shove past the press of people surrounding him, Connor’s gaze flicked to where Washington was already being hustled away from the pandemonium. Well, that would make the task at hand a bit easier. Still, she was too far away to stop Hickey. She needed a back-up plan. Thankfully, it stepped in front of her in the form of a soldier demanding her surrender and threatening to shoot her.
She didn’t so much pause as she ducked under the barrel of his musket and sent her elbow crashing into his nose. With him distracted, she swiped the dagger sheathed in his hip from his sword belt. A blink of an eye and he was swallowed back up the crowd, no longer her problem. Using the mob’s panic to her advantage, she charged sideways to utilize a less congested pathway. It also gave her a clearer view of her recruits making their way towards her along the rooftops. It’d take them a bit to reach her, giving her a solid window of time to question Hickey.
Balancing the newly acquired blade on her fingertips, she hurled it at her target. It landed true, the contemptible lout crumbling to the cobblestones with a satisfying yelp of pain.
“Dammit,” Hickey indifferently sniffed, looking down at his hands as she approached, “I thought I'd at least live to see another day. Shame.”
“If I wished you dead, you would not still be breathing,” Connor vowed, dropping to her knees and leaning over him. Eyes alight with fiery determination, she grit, “I want answers.”
Without warning, she abruptly jerked the dagger out of his shoulder. It sent him reeling out a litany of strained curses, his breath hitching in spurts. Tossing the knife away and shoving the tomahawk under his chin, she pressed her hand to his wound in warning. It was all the proof he needed to make it clear that she had no qualms about drawing out his agony.
“Why did Johnson try and buy my people's land?” she charged, dark eyes flashing with ire. “Why was Pitcairn targeting Adams and Hancock? What purpose would Washington's murder have served? Why does your order support the British?” she demanded.
“How should I know?” Hickey spat out a burning cough before fixing her with a defiant stare. “The Templars. Lee. The big man, Haytham.” He gave a ragged chuckle as she flinched at the mere mention of her apparent greatest enemy. “They 'as the money. They 'as the power. That's the reason I threw in with 'em. That's the only reason.” Connor’s expression slid to stunned as he continued, “Sure, they 'ave some sort of vision for the future too. I didn't give a damn about any of that. They can sing their songs about mankind and its troubles. They can make their plans and spring their traps, don't bother me none,” he smirked. “They paid me, so I said yes. Didn't bother to ask who or how or why. Didn't care.”
Connor shot him with a look of disgust, her gaze clouded with loathing. “You chose to side with men who would rob us of our humanity? Simply because it was more profitable?!”
“What else is there?” Hickey scowled. “I'm not some blind fool who'd give up all I've got on principle. What is principle anyway? Can ya bring it to the bank?”
Connor sadly shook her head in disbelief, causing Hickey to roll his eyes.
“Don't look at me like that. We're different, you and I; you're just some blind fool who's always chasin' butterflies, whereas I'm the type of guy who likes to have a beer in one hand and a titty in the other,” he flexed his fingers. “Thing is, girl, I can have what I seek. Had it, even. You? Your hands will always be empty.” He let out a chortle at her expression of obvious confusion. “All of this soddin’ trouble for the likes of ya? A pity we didn’t wipe out the lot ‘o you like we was supposed to, all those years ago.”
Face twisting into an ugly snarl, she pressed her knee a bit too close to his groin for his liking. “You would do well to cease your pointless blathering!”
“Make me, ‘lil she-wolf-”
Her head jerked up at the worrisome sound of muskets suddenly being reloaded. Frantically looking around, she let out a growl of annoyance at seeing a handful of soldiers bearing down on them. Beneath her, Hickey’s callous laugh echoed in her ears, even as she pressed her tomahawk hard enough into his neck to draw a cut of blood. “Looks like ya got some ‘ard decisions to make, sweetheart,” he mocked, even as he winced. “Do ya get shot to shit? Or do ya let ‘Ole Hickey escape, eh?”
“Quiet your incessant chattering!” she hissed, digging her knee into his inner thigh and giving him a firm shake along his shoulder that caused him spit out a garbled curse of pain.
“Ten seconds, darlin’!” he sneered.
He wasn’t going anywhere, by the looks of it. And she still had to warn Washington.
She reeled back and soundly punched Hickey in the jaw, not caring about how her fist ached at the impact. It did its task, effectively knocking him out. Let the soldiers collect him, she mused. Besides, they were both still surrounded by the terrified, fleeing crowd. If they opened fire on her, they’d injure or even kill innocent civilians. She had to get the hell out of here.
Reaching down, she swiftly relieved Hickey of his overcoat. In spite of the large patch of fresh blood blooming across its ripped shoulder, it would be better at letting her blend in than nothing at all. Tossing it on, she leapt to her feet and shoved through the crowd. It wasn’t hard to act to the part of the confused civilian trying to escape the square; she now couldn’t see where Achilles or her recruits were.
She nearly stabbed the arm of whoever suddenly snatched at her wrist, shoving him away from with her other hand. “It’s just me, miss!” a familiar voice slid across her ears as his grip slightly loosened. “‘Tis alright, you’re nice and safe now!”
Letting out a muffled sob at the familiar sound of Clipper’s eager voice, she quickly collected herself as he dragged her up against a brick wall. It took a healthy bit of her resolve to steel her usual impassive expression to her face. She also furtively ran a hand across her eyes under the auspices of drying her face from the rain. It went a long way towards concealing the tears spilling down her cheeks. For now, she would blame it on the sheer relief of finally being not quite so near death.
“Clipper, thank you,” she latched onto his arm and urged them forward. “How did you all-?”
“Tallmadge sent word to Mr. Davenport,” he declared, trailing in her wake.
“Remind me to thank him for his assistance as well,” she breathed. Desperately ignoring the flash of agony that flared through her body due to her bruised ribs from falling through the trap door, she gulped down mouthfuls of air. Shaking her head in an effort to get her bearings as her vision swam with the beginnings of a fever, Connor squared her shoulders and questioned, “Where is Washington?!”
“Don’t you worry yourself none, Connor,” Clipper flashed her a relieved smile, “He’s-”
The sound of an order to prepare to fire snapped Connor out of the conversation. Glancing over, she muttered a curse in her native language at finding a half-dozen soldiers with their weapons aimed right them. Gripping her dagger, she shoved Clipper behind her as she dropped to fighting stance.
“At ease, men! At ease! I said lower your god-damned guns!”
Thankfully, there was no need to brace for a volley of bullets as Israel Putnam barked out his order. Behind her, Connor could hear Clipper let out a deep sigh of relief. Not that she blamed him in the slightest.
“This woman’s a hero!” Putnam bellowed, marching forward. “The general can be so stubborn sometimes,” he grimaced, shaking his head and taking in the general anarchy of the square. “‘Piffle,’ he said when we warned him something like this would happen. ‘Piffle!’”
“The traitor you are looking for is over there,” Connor pointed in the general direction of where she’d left him. “His name is Thomas Hickey. He’s an officer with the Connecticut militia and part of the general’s bodyguard.”
“Good!” Putnam declared. “Men, go gather him up!” he shouted, waving for them to do so, “We don’t want to deny the people their blood sport today, eh? I believe a hanging was scheduled, and we may still get our wish-”
“Stop!” Connor held up an adamant hand as the soldiers fanned out to collect Hickey, “He deserves a fair trial.”
“He wanted to kill the Commander!” Putnam retorted with disbelief, “Nearly killed you as well. He's a scoundrel-”
“But still a man,” Connor steadily said. “For justice to be served, he must be tried for his actions.”
“Even though he denied the very same to you, girl?!” Putnam shot her a look of absolute disbelief. As she silently nodded, he rolled his eyes and chomped on his cigar, snorting, “You’re nothing, if not consistent.”
As they discussed Washington’s whereabouts, Connor nearly passed out from the waves of weariness washing over her. Finding out the general was heading to Philadelphia, she was thankful as Clipper politely made his excuses to Putnam that they had to go. Ushering her away, he soon brought her to inn where he, the other recruits and Achilles were staying.
Ignoring everything else, she collapsed into bed. She attempted to brush off the doctor Achilles fetched for her and fall asleep right then and there. But Clipper, Stephane and Duncan were having none of it. Their concerned fuss over her caused her to alternately blush and stammer with grateful surprise. Distracting her from her embarrassment with a few bold tales of how they carried off her rescue, they swore to return as soon as the doctor finished with her.
She insisted to the physician that she hadn’t been violated in prison. So there was no need for him to perform an incredibly awkward sort of personal exam. One small comfort was that the Templars apparently wanted her to survive long enough to make it to the gallows. No doubt, the damned guards were in on their plans, likely due to the promise of coin. Hence, why they constantly kept her in solitary confinement for the most part. At least before she earned her way into the pit and then ended up in Hickey’s cell.
Otherwise, she’d suffered a black eye, a swollen cheek and split lip, bruised rips, two broken fingers on her right hand, some cuts, lacerations and probably a mild concussion. Not to mention, the slight fever she was running. The doctor warned that her illness was the biggest concern, for it could easily grow worse if she wasn’t fully rested. Patching her up, leaving her with a sleeping draught and ordering her to remain in bed for the next few days, he soon departed.
Achilles quickly had a bath brought up. “Hush up, girl. We’ll discuss this later,” he waved off her apology for getting herself into such a dire situation, “For there are always lessons to learn from one’s mistakes." Dropping a fresh set of clothes on the bed, he retreated from her room. After the bath, he and her recruits promised her they would all have supper in her quarters.
What does my father have to do with all of this? Connor’s mind tiredly wandered as she scrubbed off the last fortnight of filth with a groan of relief. And most importantly, what is the next step in putting an end to the Templars?
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-21 09:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-21 12:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 5a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-21 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 6/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 03:10 am (UTC)(link)On one hand, he doesn’t seem at all bothered that Ziio doesn’t fit into the typical view of the ideal, domesticated woman of the time. He certainly didn’t reject her advances. And he never questions her fierce determination and unapologetic drive to defend her people though cunning and violence (though it conveniently served to further his own mission when they teamed up against Braddock). But that doesn’t necessarily mean he would be find the same traits acceptable in his own flesh and blood.
Would he take constant offense at Fem!Connor acting so “mannish?” Would he want her to be more “civilized” since she’s a woman? Would he be more worried about her getting killed in her duties because of her sex? Maybe he would seek to “protect” her by marrying her off to a Templar? It would serve two purposes of keeping her safer while cementing a truce via bringing both sides together. How would he react to how she pretty much runs the Homestead on her own? How about the fact that she hangs around men all the time, completely unchaperoned?
Suggestions of Haytham’s potential reactions to her are totally welcome, by the way. Personally, while I don’t think Haytham would be a raging sexist, I still think he would constantly find it bothersome how little his daughter cares for subtlety. Or even putting on the façade of being a proper young lady for the sake of using deception to her advantage. That she is an assassin as well would only exasperate it. Anyway, I apologize if I didn’t properly capture him.
-----00000-----
Lip curled with incredulity, Haytham took in the panicked crowds fleeing the scene of the would-be execution from his position in the alleyway. Just off the main square, it was hidden enough to not attract attention from the patrols of soldiers screaming and shouting for peace. In the few moments, they’d likely start arresting the stragglers. Or perhaps even shooting them, should it all descend into true anarchy. He had to get off the streets.
Forcing his breathing to slow, he shook his head to clear it of the sobering image of his daughter’s drop through the trap door of the gallows. Thankfully, it appeared the girl (Woman, he swiftly corrected himself, She has some twenty years to her and ceased being a child long ago) had allies of some sort. That had to be the case, considering the arrow that snapped through the noose’s rope a half-minute before his throwing knife finished their work.
Peeking out from his position once more, he shook his head in disbelief as Connor exchanged apparent pleasantries with that lunatic, Israel Putnam. As though that halfwit had anything to do with her rescue. To put it lightly, she had no idea that her life had been in his hands. And if he had anything to do with it, she would never come to find out he’d all but signed her death warrant. How she’d grown into such a naïve, impetuous sort was well beyond him. Frankly, it was saved her from the noose, his curiosity solidly piqued.
So much like her mother, for better or worse. That she contained Ziio’s sharp, bright eyes, full mouth and the charming smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks served to only make it all the more painful.
“The ‘lil wolf stabbed the ever livin’ shit outta me!” Hickey’s accusatory voice ripped Haytham from his musings. Panting in increasing distress from his position braced on Haytham’s shoulder, Hickey let out a ragged sigh. “Seriously?” he protested, “I’m starin’ to get pretty fuckin’ tired of that fussock layin’ ‘er hands on me and me always comin’ out on the loosin’ end.” He completely missed Haytham’s flinch at his insult of Connor as he pouted, “It ain’t bloody fair!”
“Well then, perhaps you should have avoided her path, now shouldn’t you?” Haytham sniffed, readjusting the oaf’s weight from where he’d dragged him from the middle of the street. When the hell had the boy gotten so damned heavy?
“C’mon then!” Hickey slurred, “I take bloody…offense at that, gov’nor! I did as ya said, goin’ after Washington at the first chance it all went to shit!” Head lolling forward, the blood spilling from his shoulder was slowly beginning to stain Haytham’s dark overcoat, much to the grandmaster’s chagrin. Not to mention, Hickey was starting to babble. No doubt from the blood loss.
“See, that be the problem! You lot always go accusin’ me ‘o bein’ thickheaded,” he pointed a shaky finger in Haytham’s face. “Of how I’m always cockin’ up yer…grand schemes!” he waved his uninjured arm about in exaggerated circles. “But who’s the one who took the fall for ya? Twice, I may say?” he shakily held up a second finger for emphasis. “Whose arse went ‘n got tossed in the clink? Who went ‘n just got a fuckin’ knife to me shoulder?!” he growled, voice ebbing every so often as he winced in pain.
“For the love of God, boy, quiet your chattering!” Haytham ordered, continuing to drag him in the opposite direction of the square until they finally spilled out of the long alleyway. “You’ll bring down the law on us. And neither I nor you are prepared to talk our way out of that one, at least not at the moment.”
Hickey could barely hear the grandmaster over the increasingly loud roar of his own heartbeat. Sweat starting to pour down his face from his exertions, he let out a fevered guffaw of laughter. “Who stayed ‘is base urges when she got thrown in me path, hmm?” he adamantly nodded. “I ne’ver laid a hand on ‘er when Charles dumped ‘er off in me cell. No siree bob, I swear on me lovely mother, I didn’t.”
“Wait, what?” Haytham was suddenly compelled to pull up short. Giving the area a cursory once-over, he saw that this section of the city was virtually deserted. While the farmland bordering Fort George didn’t offer much cover, they were closer to his usual physician and likely out of harm’s way.
“Did I stutter, mate?” Hickey groused.
Shooting him a look of reproach, Haytham purposely dropped Hickey to a bench hard enough to cause him to let out a yelp of pain. Wiping his brow, he insisted, “Now what of this business about how Charles supposedly moved her to your cell?” It was admittedly a struggle for him keep his voice composed. The years of training had served him exceptionally well in that regard. Particularly as his mind raced at Hickey’s insinuations concerning Charles’ behavior. Then again, he was well aware that there was no love lost between the two. How unfortunate, as they were quite similar in many aspects.
“Now lookee here,” Hickey took a few deep, shaky breaths before closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall, “All I’s sayin’ is-”
Without warning, the church bells from the square inexplicably began ringing again, which could only signal further trouble. It would best to make themselves scarce. As he waved for Hickey to get to his feet, Haytham retorted, “We will deal with this later.”
Within a few minutes, they were in front of a nondescript, brick townhome that lay within sight of Fort George. Haytham rapped three firm knocks followed by two more in rapid succession upon the door. An old man of medium height answered it. However, the chain on door prevented it from being opened more than a few inches.
“Hey now gents,” he hissed through the crack of door, “I don’t want no trouble-”
“You will assist us, Dr. Jameson,” Haytham snorted, swiftly shoving his boot into the doorway and preventing him from slamming it in their faces.
Startled, the old man narrowed his eyes. . In his late sixties, he was short and stooped. Leaning heavily on his wicker cane, he peered out at them through his gold-rimmed glasses. His clothes shabby and threaded about the edges, the only hint of wealth about him was the gold chain of his pocket watch tucked into the fob of his dark waistcoat. Combined with his bald head riddled with age spots, he appeared thoroughly unassuming.
A glimmer of recognition clouding his face, he suddenly cracked a small smile. “Ah, master Kenway!” he finally exclaimed. His entire demeanor shifting to deferential, he unhooked the chain and flung open the door. “Come in, come in,” he waved after glancing about to ensure they weren’t being watched. “I see you’ve bought Thomas as well,” he snickered, “I take it he needs to sleep off yet another tainted batch of beer?” he ushered them inside.
“Sod off, ya dodgy codger!” Hickey slurred, “I got a fuckin’ knife hurled inta me-”
“He’s injured,” Haytham cut him off as he rolled his eyes in apology to the doctor, “And loosing blood fast.”
Ushering them past the front parlor, Dr. Jameson led them to the down into the basement. Haytham half-carried Hickey while Jameson rushed around and lit various lamps. As they spluttered to life, their soft glow revealed a large, clean, wood paneled room stocked with enough supplies to perform a litany of medical procedures. The two men then maneuvered Hickey onto the operating table. Propping him so that he sat haphazardly leaning up against the wall, Jameson quickly stripped him of his waistcoat and tunic. Inspecting the injury, he began diligently working on it.
Finally getting a chance to take a good look at Hickey, Haytham raised an inquiring brow. The other man’s jaw was freshly swollen. Not to mention the purple bruising around his neck, the abrasion to his forehead and his healing split lip. Admittedly, he’d noticed all of the latter when Hickey was released from prison yesterday. But he’d been too caught up in the events of this sordid tale to take full note of it. Save his shoulder, Hickey’s fresher injuries were mostly along his face and neck.
“What brought all this about, Thomas?” Haytham nonchalantly asked, briefly pointing at them.
Spitting out a glob of blood at his feet, Hickey took a long swig of the rum directly from the bottle the doctor had procured for him. Sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cringed. He then rubbed at his throbbing jaw and clenched his teeth, snapping, “That bloody brat back at the gallows, that’s wot happened, see!”
Narrowing his eyes, Haytham clucked, “Funny. I’d have thought you easily able to defend yourself against a wet behind the ears woman.”
“The poppet packs a mean wallop, that she do,” Hickey grimaced. “And this?” he pointed accusingly at his neck, “Oh that bit ‘o damage be the result ‘o the ‘lil savage-”
“Language, Hickey,” Haytham murmured a warning, shoulders stiffening.
“I don’t mean ‘cause she be half-native,” Hickey swatted at the air and rolled his eyes before taking another swig. “Johnson’s pretty ‘lil widow, Miss Molly, be full native. I ain’t never had no problem with ‘er, yeah? Charles’ bit ‘o forest fruit from all those years back was a right lovely lass, rest ‘er soul.”
“Point taken,” Haytham tersely replied before clasping his hands behind his back.
“Anyway’s, the ‘lil terror decided to go try ‘n strangle me in me cell. And she came too bloody close to succeedin’, I’d say! Hell, you’d probably be buryin’ me corpse if she hadn’t been in lock-up for a fortnight ‘afore she tried it.” Taking in Haytham’s brief expression of surprise, Hickey closed his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh before meeting the grandmaster’s gaze. “All I’s sayin’ is, she be savage, Kenway. Like, pound me arse into the ground with ‘er bare hands and nary a lick ‘o remorse, fuckin’ vicious!”
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 6a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 03:10 am (UTC)(link)“Anythin’ else?” Hickey’s slurred voice interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, Haytham saw the man looked to be a few minutes from passing out. The stitches in his shoulder appeared only halfway complete as well.
“No, that will be all, Thomas,” Haytham calmly replied. “Not to worry, you will be greatly rewarded for your services. Chiefly, in keeping your hands to yourself,” he wrinkled his nose is distaste.
“Hey now, I like me coin well enough. But I wasn’t lookin’ to be all sordid and wot not with ‘er,” Thomas rocked forward and waved a dismissive hand at Haytham. “Frankly, boy-o?” he slowly said, eyes sliding closed for a moment so he could collect himself, “You need to go have a little sit-down with that bloomin’ arsehole, Lee. He’s the one that wanted me to do to ‘er…whatever ‘n the fuck the blighter thought I’d be too dimwitted to do to ‘er.”
Haytham gave a snort of disbelief at that, shaking his head in disagreement. “I am sure Charles meant no such ill intent-”
“Who in the bloody hell do he think he be foolin’?!” Hickey bellowed, raising his bottle in challenge. “I was there, Kenway! I bloody saw the expectation of what he wanted ‘o me with me own two eyes. And God as me witness, that sinister ‘lil sonofabitch wanted me to…oi!” his eyes widened at how Haytham abruptly took a handful of silent steps forward.
Well, this shit was quickly spinning way too out of control.
It did no one any sort of good whenever Haytham Kenway found it necessary to invade one’s personal space. Especially, when that infuriated gaze was combined with that increasingly taciturn expression that was starting to paint the grandmaster’s face. A mingling of those two, and you usually ended up dead. Or pretty solidly maimed, for life. Eerie, the she-wolf wore a similar expression, more often than not. It was bloody uncanny…
“Oi!” Hickey thundered, swatting at Dr. Jameson’s arm as he slid the stitching needle into his skin, “Watch yer fuckin’ hands, mate!” he hissed. Rolling his eyes, the doctor insisted that he drink himself into more of a stupor. Fucking hell, it as though his half his back was on bloody fire. Finishing off the rum in one long gulp, Hickey tossed the bottle behind his uninjured shoulder, not giving a damn as it shattered across the floorboards. All that really mattered was that a fresh one inexplicably appeared in his hand in the matter of a few seconds. Good on that, then. Now he remembered why the old Doctor wasn’t a complete tosser.
“Thomas,” Haytham lightly said, interrupting his thoughts, “I need you to focus and remember exactly what you did with the woman in your cell, yes?”
Letting out a piercing burp, Hickey murmured, “Alrighty ‘en, boss, I get ya.” Dropping a hand to his lap, he began nervously rubbing it along his thigh as he quickly nodded, “So, uh, how can I go puttin’ this in the sort ‘o…delicate terms I need to properly convey it? Mostly so that ya don’t go end up stabbin’ me clean through me precious throat?”
Haytham gave a careless shrug in spite of his quietly vehement, “I would say that for once, you need to think very carefully before you speak, Thomas.”
“I see, I see, I’m gettin’ it,” he mumbled. Pausing for a bit, Hickey swallowed before slowly beginning. “Lee put her in me cell a day ‘afore I was released. Now, what crossed his addled brain to go doin’ such? We ain’t exactly ever been close, so I ain’t one to know his motivations.” Looking downwards, he saw one of Haytham’s hands bunched along his cloak, his knuckle beginning to turn white. “All I did was point out to ‘im that ‘er being there was a waste ‘o time,” Hickey swiftly continued, “Save gettin’ outta her clutches when she laid into me, I kept me hands square off ‘o her.”
“This is all that transpired when she was there?” Haytham slowly replied, enunciating each word.
“I swear it on me mother’s grave,” Hickey held up a hand of surrender. Worrying his lip with his teeth, he exhaled, “I admit I be a lot ‘o unsavory things, Haytham,” he shrugged. “But I don’t go about takin’ to me bed what ain’t given to me freely, catch me drift? I ain’t all unseemly like that.”
Admittedly, it was true. Hickey had zero qualms when it came to thieving, spying and being generally conniving. He whored and drank as though his life depended on it. He never flinched at having to kill for the sake of carrying out a mission. But physical violation had never been a charge leveled against him. Nor was he apt to deceive, at least not when it came to staying in line with the order. In spite of his coarse demeanor and tendency towards the wanton, he’s was thoroughly dependable. Well, save getting caught for counterfeiting this time. Then again, Haytham’s daughter was more to blame for that muck up. So he had no reason to disbelieve him.
“I will speak to Charles,” Haytham replied, “And you shall come to see that it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Humph,” Hickey sneered, “A likely story,” he slurred. A few moments later and he lost consciousness. Dr. Jameson assured Haytham that the boy would recover, assuming a few day’s rest and infection didn’t set in.
Leaving the doctor to it, Haytham allowed his mind to wander. Salvaging his today’s ruined plans would prove rather simple. It was the new challenge ahead of him that would require a more nuanced touch. Mostly, how best to make his apparent daughter see the error of her ways. Without a doubt, he’d many regrets in his life so far. But allowing the last of the Kenway line slip through his fingers so easily was most certainly not going to be one them. Not so long as he still drew breathe.
Note: I'll be archiving this at AO3, under my user name sphinx81 and using the same title.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 6a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-24 06:14 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 7/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)Late Fall, 1776: Boston
George McCready screamed as his head slammed into the dining room table. His grunt was swiftly cut off as he was hauled upwards by his attacker and then hurled to floor. A kick to his ribs sent another scream bubbling up from his throat. The sound of bone cracking reverberating in ears, tears sprung to his eyes. Clutching his arms around himself, he curled into a fetal position to protect his newly broken ribs as a shadow fell across his crumbled form.
“Now,” the heavily accented, German voice rumbled above him, “I would prefer to not ask you again, Herr McCready. If you would be so kind as to tell me where you keep the funds you have pilfered from the General?”
Letting out a hacking cough, George rocked back and forth along the carpeted floor. Swallowing back his sobs, his hazy gaze snapped to his blood spattering the pale carpet as he struggled to speak. A distant part of his brain dwelled on how annoyed his wife would be at having to scrub out the stains. Assuming he lived through this, of course. Caroline was always exceedingly particular about keeping a clean abode.
Before he could respond, a rough hand snatched him by the shoulders and yanked him to his feet. A leather-clad backhand loosening a couple of his teeth, it sent one of them flying from his mouth. Before he could collect himself or send out a howl of pain, he was dropped into a chair.
Whimpering, he could barely hear the other man murmur, “Come now, you have wasted enough of my time. All I require is that you confess to your crimes, ja?”
Running a shaky, sweaty hand through his thinning, light brown hair, George shivered. His slim frame shook and nearly sent him crashing to the floor. If not for his tormentor dropping a heavy hand to his arm and keeping him in place, he would’ve slid out of his seat. Mouth swimming with blood, he spat it out onto the carpet before whispering, “I-I told you…I barely took b-b-but a few pounds from the g-general’s…convoys! Besides, w-why would he send a soldier to question…me?”
The other man let out a loud sigh as he withdrew his dagger from his boot. George’s eyes went wide as he deftly twirled it about his meaty fingers. Taking in the soldier’s brightly polished, black dragoon boots, tan breeches and dark brown infantry coat with its black embellishment, he appeared every inch the mercenary. It was made all the more so by his glossy, black fusilier cap and exquisitely crafted leather holster. Save the black Templar cross embroidered along the right thigh of his breeches, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. Features only slightly angular and distantly handsome, his face could easily be lost in a crowd.
It made his grim work all the easier. A forgettable visage, a soldier in a time of war within an occupied land, and few would remember him.
“I shall ask you only one more time, Herr McCready-”
“I said I don’t…have…the funds! FUUUUUCK!” George screeched in agony as the dagger plunged into his thigh. Legs shaking as his hands vainly clutched at the weapon, his eyes rolled back into his head as his wails echoed off the wood-paneled walls.
Snatching a cloth napkin from the table, the soldier efficiently stuffed it into George’s gasping mouth. Muffling his screams, he pulled up a chair and gracefully took a seat. Patiently waiting until George’s cries quieted to hiccupping groans of anguish, he tilted his head to the side contemplatively. “Come now,” he snapped his fingers in front of George’s bleary, red eyes, “Focus my good man. Focus, and I shall be done with you shortly.”
Spitting out the napkin along with his other cracked tooth, George looked up unsteadily. Blood poured from his mouth and dribbled down his dark green waistcoat and white tunic. It only served to make it all the more difficult to form words. “Y-you are a monster!” he bleated.
“I am a grenadier,” the soldier shrugged, “My calling is war, my duties to my master and to the Order. A pity the same cannot be said for you.”
George let out a hysterical laugh, the sound high and manic. “What do you know of order?” he mocked, “Of civilization? You, who torture a man for a mere bit of coin! Your f-fellow Templar, no less!”
Rather than appearing incensed or insulted, the soldier only slowly shook his head in mild disagreement. “I do not steal valuable funds from those who employ me. Yet, you skim profits from General Davenport’s convoys. Meanwhile? You withhold food and supplies from the men who fight for these lands.”
“Men who have no right to rule,” George struggled to hold up his head. Rapidly blinking back a surge of pain, he wheezed, “Men who use our homes from quarters and kill our boys for sport.”
“My poor, poor, misguided soul,” the soldier lightly patted Edward’s cheek. Dropping down, he picked up the napkin and hastily stuffed it back into George’s mouth. As the other man begged for mercy through his make-shift gag, his hands desperately clawing at the soldier who utterly ignored him, the soldier reached down for his dagger. Without hesitation, he slowly began twisting it. The rip of flesh sent George keening, tears spilling down his blotchy face as the blade was turned a quarter of the way.
Waiting again until George’s screams dropped to pitched whines, the soldiers pulled the gag from his mouth and asked again, “Where are funds, Herr, McCready?”
Rocking back and forth for a long while, George moaned, his breath hitching every few seconds. “M-my wife,” he pleaded, “P-please…my child-”
“I am a patient man,” the soldier murmured, “But even I have my limits.”
“Go…go to hell!” George hissed.
“I guarantee that you shall arrive first,” the soldier shrugged, thoroughly nonplussed.
Without further ado, he yanked the dagger out of George’s thigh and promptly plunged it into his chest. Gaze widening, George’s lips twisted into a ghastly expression. His body shuddered once, twice and finally a third time. Within a few moments, the color fell from is freckled cheeks and he exhaled his final breath. Sightless, blue eyes stared fixed on the ceiling as he slumped down in the chair.
“My, what a mess,” the soldier clucked his tongue with reproach as he retrieved his knife. Picking up the napkin, he cleaned his blade and rose to his feet.
A shot rang out, the bullet suddenly lodging in his shoulder. Letting out surprised grunt, he stumbled forward, wincing at the impact. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes to collect himself before pushing up from the table.
A second bullet whizzed past his forehead, nearly clipping him. “Shit!” a woman’s stunned voice said behind him. As the soldier pressed hand to his shoulder in an attempt to still the blood dripping down his uniform, he could hear the frantic sounds of powder being poured. She’d have to flintlock reloaded soon.
Willing away the pain, he straightened himself and turned to face her. On the tall side, her round form was clad in a simple, dark muslin dress. Her red hair braided back in a simple bun, her pale cheeks were flushed as she focused on reloading. So much so that she didn’t see him cross the room within a few long strides. By the time she looked up, he was within an arm’s length. Looming over her with his muscled bulk, he was at least a head taller than her. All terrifying, well-honed, brutal professionalism.
“You must be Frau McCready?” he asked, voice low and bored, “Caroline, I believe?” Save the way his dark eyes were slightly narrowed with admonishment, he appeared wholly impassive.
She hurled the unloaded gun at his face. It connected with his nose, cracking the bone as she fled the dining room.
Caroline was uncommonly fast. And she had the advantage of knowing the layout of her home. But the sight of her dead husband, bloodied and with a gaping hole in his chest, sent her panic clawing at her. As she finally made it to backdoor, her shaking hands yanked at its handle.
It didn’t budge. Jerking at it again, it remained frozen in place. Looking down as the tugged at it a third time, she looked back at the advancing soldier in horror at seeing her marble rolling pin stuck through the handles and solidly barring it closed.
She could only let out a terrified gasp as he abruptly snatched her by the shoulders and spun her around before slamming her back into the wall. Yet she had no time to let out any sort of exclamation as he reached up cleanly snapped her neck. It was a swift kill. Certainly far more efficient than her husband’s. Caroline’s body dropping to the floor, her heavy clothes muffled its lifeless thud.
“Who…who are you?”
The voice startled the soldier, the little boy suddenly standing at bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. “I ask the same of you little one,” he tilted his head in question. His black eyes were savage and soulless as they swept over the auburn-haired child with distant assessment. He looked to be no older than about seven or so.
Trembling, the boy stammered, “I-I am Whitney…sir. Is that,” his eyes went wide at the sight of his mother. Her head really shouldn’t have been turned at such a strange angle. She was nearly facing the floor despite lying splayed out upon her back. “Is that my…mama, sir?” he inquired, voice high with worried question.
“Indeed it is,” the soldier swiftly moved to his feet. His sheer size caused the boy to stumble backwards, though he did not run. Curling his lip as shock of pain arched through his injured shoulder, he glowered for a moment before his expression slid back to boredom. “Whitney, you said?” he murmured, glancing about the house and hearing no other sound indicating anyone else about. “That is such a nice name for such a nice young man,” he distractedly added.
Expression falling to relieved, the boy quickly nodded. “Aye, sir. It be me grandfather’s.”
“How interesting,” the other man carelessly shrugged.
“What is your name, if you please, sir?” the boy plaintively asked, nervously playing with his hands in front of him.
“Ah,” the soldier retorted, “I am called Gerhard Vonstatten. Of the Landgraviate of Hesse-Kassel,” he clicked his heels together formally and saluted. “Though most call me the Hessian.”
“His-si-anne?” Whitney stumbled over the word. Expression confused, he muttered, “Hesse-Kassel? Where in heavens is that?”
“Oh, it’s most certainly not heaven, I assure you,” the soldier flatly retorted. “Across the sea, so I am quite far from home. Not that I shall be returning to it anytime soon.”
The lad’s gaze brightening, he pointed to the ship within a bottle that sat on the mantle over the fireplace. “I wish to sail the sea one day! Perhaps be the cap’n of me own ship. With my own crew and whatnot, eh?”
Shaking his head is disagreement, the soldier distantly declared. “Not all of us get our wishes. No matter how hard we try at them. For time is short, especially in your case, boy.” Without warning, he quickly unsheathed his dagger and advanced. “You should not have seen me here,” he casually declared as the child stood frozen in abject terror, “A pity that you are destined to be the last of your line. For now, there shall no one else to carry on such a lovely name, lad.”
That Whitney’s back was now to the wall made it all almost too easy. This time, there would no need for the Hessian to chase down his latest quarry.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 8/?
(Anonymous) 2013-07-29 10:30 pm (UTC)(link)“A bloody damn shame,” Benjamin Church sighed beside him. Dressed in his usual silken finery, he would’ve cut a dashing figure. Well, save the way his powered wig sat askew upon his head, along with his feathered tricorne. He also smelled heavily of gin. Crossing his arms and bracing himself up against the wall, he arched a languid brow, “George was a git and a half, but how unfortunate-”
“Except this was no accident,” Haytham grit. Leaning back against the lamp post, his expression was grim.
“And how would you know that?” Benjamin let out a dubious chuckle.
“Regrettably, as soon as I attempted to call on him, there came screams from the house," Haytham narrowed his eyes, "Yet when I tried the front door, there was no answer and it was barred solid.”
Gaze snapping back to the blaze, he took in the dozen or so more neighbors who’d come pouring out at the commotion. Well, he could at least give them some credit at being a bit more organized. An older woman in nothing but a nightgown, sleeping cap and robe started bellowing out orders, sending children to fetch buckets and lining people up next to a well to start passing water down the line. He couldn’t hold back a grin at the old battle ax’s brusque demeanor. No wonder she’d grown to such an age.
“So why didn’t you break in?” Benjamin sniffed.
“Too many people about and the building was nearly half aflame by then,” Haytham declared with a shrug. “Considering this all occurred roughly ten minutes ago? That fire was deliberately set, it’s the only explanation.”
Casting him a sideways glance, Benjamin cleared his throat. “I take it that you know that McCready was skimming profits from the General Davenport’s captured convoys?”
“Of course,” Haytham shrugged. “I look over the books myself, every month. But it was a minimal amount, nothing to cut off his hand for. Surely, not worth killing him over. Certain loses are to be expected in times of war, especially when a man has a family to feed.”
Tilting his head to the side, Benjamin murmured, “So you didn’t have anything to do with,” he waved his hand in the direction of the flaming building, “That?”
Haytham blinked in surprise, balking, “As though I would murder a man’s wife and child!”
“Just the man, eh?” Benjamin sarcastically countered.
Pushing himself off the lamppost, Haytham’s dropped his hands to the sides and balled a hand into a fist. “Watch yourself, Benjamin-”
“Oh, I am, sir,” Benjamin threw up his hands in surrender. Though it looked to be more out of habit versus actual fear.
Suddenly reaching out to pick a stray piece of lint from Church’s collar, Haytham’s voice dropped. “Do not mistake me for anything but the master of our organization, Benjamin. One who will do everything in my power to ensure it flourishes within the New World.” Without warning, he suddenly twisted the other man’s collar against his throat rough enough to cause him to gasp for air. “Yet, I find the slaying of women and children utterly distasteful. No matter who they are unlucky enough to marry or be born to. Remember that, Benjamin,” he swiftly unhanded him, “And never deign to accuse me of such monstrosities again,” he nodded at the fire. Dark eyes narrowing, he didn’t say a word as Church struggled for breath.
The other man let out a hiss of retort, his hand clutching at his throat for a moment. His shaking hands straightening out his collar and readjusting his wig, he gulped, “You have made yourself quite clear.”
“Now,” Haytham cleared his throat, “The first thing we must do is track down General Davenport.”
“W-why him?” Benjamin snorted with derision, still catching his breath.
“Because there is only one sort of man who would kill a man’s wife and child without any sort of remorse,” Haytham worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “We know for a fact George was skimming directly from the General’s convoys.” Brow creasing in thought, he added, “Not to mention, the Commander has been getting bolder as of late with his incursions outside of Fort St. Mathieu. Perhaps it is time I have a little sit down with him. And his Hessian executioner he uses to do his bidding.”
“So you think he’s let his rabid dog off the leash?” Benjamin rolled his eyes in disbelief. By now, he stood a few feet away from the Grandmaster. His back purposefully to the brick wall, he shirked away from him at Haytham’s every move.
“Between McCready’s ruinous end, the near deadly attack on Padre Perez and Ms. McCarthy’s complaints about three of her informants ending up strangled in their beds since then,” Haytham pondered, drumming his fingers against his cheek in thought, “I’d say that the Hessian has been away from his master’s heels for some time.”
“Regardless, George had other enemies. Not to mention, there are other enemies of order,” Banjamin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “How do you know it wasn’t that bloody assassin bitch and her minions laying waste?” he sneered.
It took a rather large amount of self-control for Haytham to not throttle the other man. Then again, there was no way he knew of Connor’s parentage. Letting out a long sigh, he waved away Benjamin’s words. “Even at their worst, the Assassins aren’t quite so messy. As much of a nuisance as they are, they stay their blades from innocents.” Or at least I should hope my own daughter doesn’t allow such savagery among her ranks. “Such is part of their asinine creed. In the meantime,” his looked back at the fire across the street. Somewhat under control, it didn’t appear to be spreading to the homes next door. “Come, we should head back to the inn.”
“Seeing that we are out of other options,” Benjamin sarcastically said, following in Haytham’s wake, “We don’t appear to have much choice.”
Within a few moments, they were gone, melting into the shadows as the fire continued to blaze across the way.
-----00000-----
The Yellow Goose Inn was typical of its kind. Small, slightly dingy, with poor lighting and serving mediocre food and ale, it didn’t stand out in the slightest. Which made it perfect for carrying on clandestine conversations. Upstairs were the usual rooms set aside for overnight stays. Downstairs was the bar and dining area. Behind the counter was an elderly couple and their teenage son. Thankfully, the freckle-faced, blonde-haired youth had recently gone through a growth spurt. Built of solid muscle and quite tall, his mere presence kept more of the drunken customers at bay. Frequented by Patriot soldiers, the inn’s prices were inordinately high due to their tendency to freely spend coin.
Originally, Haytham only planned to stay the night. But with George and his family now dead, he had bigger fish to fry. Finding a dark corner and ordering food, he and Benjamin ensured they were served without further interruption by tipping the innkeep’s son a couple of pounds.
“So how exactly do you find yourself able to freely move about the city?” Haytham questioned. “Weren’t you supposed to be acquiring supplies for General von Steuben to get back into the Congress’ good graces after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” Haytham pointed out
Pounding an angry fist on the table that caused their plates to jump, Benjamin growled, “That letter said nothing of any troops or any pertinent information concerning the Patriots! I’ve told you this repeatedly!” he snapped, “And yet you and others insist I am traitor of the highest order!”
Arching a brow, Haytham help up a hand, “Peace, Benjamin. I am not insinuating anything of the sort.” Curling a lip in disdain, Benjamin shook his head in disagreement. Leaning back in his chair, he waved for Haytham to continue. “I just simply pointed out that your fortunes appear to be reversing, what with the fact that you are now able to apparently move about the city without a guard,” Haytham continued.
“So long as I don’t leave the confines of the city,” Benjamin groused. “As for the supplies, as much as I wish to reiterate my innocence to the blasted Congress, they will be wasted on the likes of that lot,” he threw up a hand.
“From what I understand, General von Stueben is Prussian-trained,” Haytham replied with curiosity, “They are some of the most talented troops in Europe-”
“What, and you truly think that even he will prove able to drill a modicum of discipline into the Continentals?” Benjamin sniffed in disdain, “An army of drunks, backwoods farmers, fur traders and shopkeepers?” Leaning over in laughter, he slapped the table in glee. “Oh, Haytham,” he wiped a tear from his eye, ignoring the other man’s scoff, “Whenever did you, of all people, become the perennial optimist?”
“Again, you mistake me, Benjamin,” Haytham pressed his lips together into a thin line of irritation, “Or my motivations,” he slowly added. Quickly finishing off his ale, he pushed away his plate of finished food off to the side. “Now, what to do about General Davenport? Do we have any assets we may call upon within the vicinity of Fort St. Mathieu? Considering it is his base of operations, it should be the first place we consider seeking him.”
Thinking for moment, Benjamin let out a long sigh. “I believe that Thomas is stationed in the general area now. Guarding convoys and what not after he was recalled back to the Connecticut militia.”
“The boy is lucky was wasn’t dishonorably discharged,” Haytham sniffed.
“After that disaster with Washington a few months back? And how many pockets did you have to line to ensure he never made it to trial for attempting to kill the general after the assassin miraculously escaped the noose?” Benjamin drunkenly chuckled, gesturing for another tankard. Waiting until the innkeep’s son left again, he added with a snicker, “I hope the drunken little shit was worth it,” he guffawed.
“Well, he’s never had his loyalty to me called into question, now has he?” Haytham rejoined with dangerous glint in his eye.
“Despite that he was nearly ruined by his sloppy actions against Washington?” Benjamin smirked. “Fortune smiles on that one, so it seems.”
“Above all, he is loyal to the Order first,” Haytham warned, “‘Tis all the supposed fortune one requires.”
“No matter that we’ve a murderous Hessian on our payroll that been loosened onto the world?” Benjamin brayed, “Which is how we find ourselves in our current situation, eh?”
“Which is why Thomas will come in handy in getting us out of it,” Haytham rolled his eyes.
Honestly, Church was beginning to get rather tiresome. Between his constant complaints about the direction of the Order, his increasing drunkenness and how poorly his end of the smuggling business had gone since his arrest for treason, he was well on the road towards being far more trouble than he was worth. And that was excluding the more troubling aspects of the accusations against him. His supposed correspondence with British currently had him a practical prisoner of the city. Oh, he claimed it was only to ensure his British contacts would never doubt him, allowing him to keep hauling in his black-market goods with little trouble. But Haytham knew Church always considered himself the smartest person in the room. Alas, such hubris often caused men to make careless mistakes that could cost the Order its continued progress. Between that and his daughter’s constant attempts against them, Haytham knew he had little room for error.
Frankly, should the time come, he would have little regrets about eliminating the former surgeon general. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone; remove Church and convince Connor to abandon her vain pursuit, thereby replacing Church within his inner circle. No doubt, once he opened her eyes to the truth, her loyalty would have little need of questioning. How could Connor deny her own father, after all?
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Benjamin barked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Forgive me, it has been a long day,” Haytham made his excuses, even as he mentally envisioned the easiest way to drive the spoon next his hand straight through Church’s skull. Blood splattering all over his clothes and sending the inn into a terrified frenzy be damned...
“Clearly,” Church crossed his arms as he leaned back even further in his chair. Haytham couldn’t hold back a huff of retort as he continued, “What exactly can Thomas do from his commission out on the frontier?”
“No matter his predilections towards his baser pursuits, the man has always been rather brilliant at gathering information,” Haytham replied.
“Give Hickey a decent amount coin and he’d sell his own mother into a brothel,” Church disparaged.
“Come now, he’s done nothing of he sort to elicit such an opinion,” Haytham shook his head in disagreement. Leaning forward and dropping his elbows to the table, he steepled his fingers. “Anyway, we need to find out just how far General Davenport has fallen from our goals. From there, we may decide the next course of action. Perhaps our relationship may be saved. It will all hinge on how best to eliminate the Hessian, of course.”
“For all rabid animals must be put down at some point, right?” Benjamin shrugged, taking another long draught of his ale.
Nodding, Haytham continued plotting with Church. Hopefully, a solution to the current chink in the Templar’s proverbial armor could be repaired. Ideally, the sooner, the better.
Author’s Notes:
Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, September 17, 1730 – November 28, 1794 – was a Prussian general and ally of the Continental army during the Revolutionary War. One of the father’s of the Continential army, he helped train and drill the Patriot troops the essentials of military drills, tactics, and disciplines. He wrote the Revolutionary War Drill Manual, which became the standard for American troops until the War of 1812.
“…after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” - In July 1775, Benjamin Church sent an encoded letter to a British Officer in Boston called Major Cane through a former mistress. The letter was intercepted and sent to George Washington in September. While the letter didn’t give away much pertinent information about the Continental forces, he did state his devotion to the Crown and asked to send further correspondence. By November, the Continental Congress expelled Church and placed him under house arrest in Norwich, Connecticut. By May 1776, he was moved to Boston and imprisoned until 1778.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 8/?
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