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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
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(Livejorunal) Archive
(Delicious.com) Archive
#2 (Livejournal) Archive
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(Dreamwidth) Archive
#3 (Delicious.com) Archive <-- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Fills Only
Discussion
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 24a/? (
(Anonymous) 2014-06-26 04:03 am (UTC)(link)********************************
Entering the tavern from the rear with Dobby, Connor stiffly introduced Thomas to William, though she only used the Templar’s first name. After all, there was no need to create an even more awkward situation. Or have her comrades attempt to kill him. She’d have plenty of time to let them know of how the two became bound together later. Preferably after they rid themselves of the Hessian and she banished Hickey from her sight upon the natural conclusion of their increasingly strained alliance.
After greeting Dobby with a gentlemanly press of his lips to her fingertips (causing her to smirk and give him a warm slap of “hello” on the shoulder), William stood and graced Thomas with a low bow of regard in his typical, florid fashion. “A pleasure to meet you, good sir!” he breezily declared, pressing one hand over his heart, the other outstretched in greeting. His French-accented English melodious and charming, he smoothly added, “Any friend of Connor’s is a friend of mine-”
“We are not friends,” Connor immediately clarified, crossing her arms and giving Thomas an expression of warning. It caused him to snort back a guffaw. At the same time, Dobby arched a brow. Silently leaning back against the banister of the stairs leading up to the second floor behind them, the older Assassin rolled her shoulders and shoved her hands into her pockets. Barely able to bite back a chuckle at watching the scene unfold in front of her, Dobby settled for a brittle grin. “It is an alliance born of pure necessity,” Connor insisted next to her, “For we are both tracking the same quarry. Who in turn is aiming to kill you.”
“How diplomatic of ya,” Thomas sarcastically replied.
“And yet, do I lie?” Connor dismissively retorted.
“Sin ‘o omission, darlin’-”
“Come now, I’m sure that nothing is so simple,” William smiled to relieve the obvious tension between the other two. Fixing Thomas with a murderous glare that seemed to last a lifetime, Connor finally huffed in agreement. In return, Thomas raised a hand of interruption as William pointedly continued, “But considering there is little time for an explanation-“
“Actually, I could go fer one right now,” Dobby brightly declared in supposed innocence.
“Or perhaps you would rather not?” Connor sharply replied.
“I’m just sayin’ that you seem all wound up about something.”
“Oh, so ya be seein’ it too, then?” Thomas gaily irritated Dobby, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Told ya so,” he triumphantly tilted his head in Connor’s direction.
“Excuse me?!” she balked.
“…I will settle for a full explanation at a more convenient time,” William authoritatively settled the conversation while shooting Connor a look of sympathy.
“At least one of us has not lost their senses,” she muttered, briskly waving for them to follow her out the back of the tavern.
As William attended church earlier that morning, the trio retraced their steps back to it. Heading to its stables, they found William’s coachman, Mcguire, ready and waiting for them. Dobby first hopped into the ornate, navy blue carriage trimmed in gold. However, behind her, Connor and William both stopped Thomas from following. William simply pulled up short while Connor whipped out an arm in front of him. A little more force and she would’ve ended up smacking him right across the chest.
“A blindfold?!” Thomas grunted in disbelief as Connor unexpectedly held up a black silk scarf William produced from his inner coat pocket. “Are ya bein’ serious, love? Or just pullin’ me leg?”
“I assume you ask if I am making a jest?” Connor flatly replied. Thomas rolled his eyes as she continued while pulling the scarf tautly between two hands. “I assure you that I am not,” she nodded in disagreement. Folding the slip of silk over on itself, she added “It is better for everyone that you are not aware of where we are headed.”
“What, ya don’t be trustin’ me, sweetheart?” he cooed. It caused both William and Dobby to exchange looks of confusion over Connor’s shoulder. Especially as the Native narrowed her eyes and rolled each end of the scarf in her hands over her knuckles. Almost as though preparing to use to it as a garrote. Thankfully she quickly released it, even as he added in a syrupy sweet voice, “After all we been goin’ through ov’er these last few days ta boot? A pity that be.”
“There are always alternative ways to ensure your silence,” she curled her lip with derision.
“Such as?”
“Knocking you unconscious,” she snit, “It would certainly save me further trouble for at least a few hours-”
“…and the blindfold it is then,” Thomas uncomfortably chuckled.
The carriage slightly shook with their combined weight as they all made their way inside. Connor sat next to William, Thomas across from her and Dobby next to him. William immediately drew the white silk curtains closed, shielding them from prying. Such wouldn’t be seen as unusual considering the crisp cold that threatened snow at any moment. Meanwhile, Connor ignored how his eyes lingered on her chest as he purposely leaned forward to let her blindfold him. Firmly pushing him back by the shoulder to sit, she kept her legs and feet as far away from him as possible. All in spite of how he utterly owned the space between them. Sprawled haphazardly across the seat, he attempted to throw an arm around Dobby’s shoulders. However, she put an instant stop to that, gingerly picking up his hand and dropping it in his lap. “Nice try, mate,” she casually replied, “Except I be doubtin’ ya want me to go accidently stabbing ya, eh?”
“Quite so, lass,” Thomas snickered.
Thomas heard William call out in French for them to be off. The sound of the two mares leading them clip-clopping along the stone road then filled Thomas’ ears, followed by the recognizable lurch of the carriage. The ride was jerky, as expected. But their transport was expensive, the standard jostling kept to a bare minimum. The heavily stuffed, black velvet pillows lining their seats went far in alleviating most it. All in all, it was obvious that the entire thing cost a fortune. He sure in the hell had no complaints. That was until he heard Connor and William whispering back and forth. Since it was in French, he could only pick up a few phrases here and there. Despite his inability to see their faces behind his blindfold, the strain in both their voices signaled the news wasn’t good.
“Oi there, mates!” he called out, “Wot do ya two be all furtive ‘bout?”
“You will have to excuse Mr. Hi…Thomas,” he heard Connor casually retort. Yet in spite of the slow pace of her words, the malice dancing at the edges of her voice was unmistakable.
“Ah, pardon?” Saint-Prix asked across from him, his voice ringing with his usual amusement.
“Unfortunately, he was, how do you colonists say it?” she replied. Thomas easily pictured her brow furrowing as she searched for the apparent translation. Along with the sneer etched across her face. “Oh yes, I believe it is quite obvious he was raised in a barn.”
Thomas chortled, shooting a smile in her direction. “Interesting that,” he shrugged, “Considering a barn ain’t that much different from one of them longhouses your people be lovin’ so much.”
He could only hear the hasty shift of body weight and the rustle of clothes. Feeling the air flutter in front of him, he laughed even more. Indeed, it was no surprise that it was summarily met by her solid kick to his shin. It admittedly sent him cursing and swatting a hand in her direction. Nonetheless by the abrupt creak of the carriage seats, Dobby’s quick sigh and Saint-Prix’s muttering in his own language, they likely had to physically restrain her. It was utterly worth the snap of raw pain shooting up his leg. Particularly as he snickered, “And I rest my case, ladies and gents.” Her accompaning snarl had him guffawing even more.
After a long while of hearing Connor brusquely continuing to mutter in French with William, Thomas felt Dobby her sink back down into the seat next to him. “We should be there in a tick,” she said at his left. Connor paused only long enough to grunt in reply, William acknowledging it also.
They rode through town for around twenty minutes or so. Despite feeling the cab sway back and forth around various corners, Thomas counted the turns to himself. It would be the best way to retrace his steps when he was released. Unless of course, the motley crew counted on him to do so and were purposely traveling in circles. While Connor might not necessarily contain such foresight, no doubt the other two were well familiar of such subterfuge. Once their transport didn’t bump quite so much beneath his ass, Thomas had to assume they were either on a dirt road or the smoother streets of upper-class districts that lay far from Boston’s center squares. Likely the latter, as he couldn’t imagine a man of William’s wealth living anywhere else. Plus, the sounds of civilization still carried on outside. So they couldn’t have left the city fortifications.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 24b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-06-26 04:05 am (UTC)(link)“Wot in the-?!”
“Checkpoint!” William snorted, interrupting Thomas’ question.
Shoving back the curtains and ignoring the icy knife of the wind battering his face, the assassin ducked his head out of the window. Luckily, they were stuck behind a long row of other wagons, carriages and riders. It bought them some time, as the checkpoint looked no different from one of the many the redcoats constructed all over town. Having captured Boston early in the war, it was still very much in British hands. Hence the need for identification papers if anyone wanted to move about freely.
Oh, Thomas knew there were other ways to traverse. However, those were usually utilized at night or in inclement weather and via various underground tunnels. Or by the roofs, if you were all poxy in head like these Assassin nutters. Or like Haytham, now that he thought about it. The thing was, he hadn’t been through a checkpoint in some time. Not with his new demotion and reassignment to the frontier. Which meant he wasn’t prepared and still dressed in his Continental uniform. Should he be discovered, it meant being tossed back into prison. And if these lobsterbacks were feeling particularly enthused? it could easily lead to a swift hanging on the spot.
At the same time as he began frantically unbuttoning his uniform Continentals coat, he felt Dobby’s hands starting to do so from the bottom up. Stretching and twisting, they both worked to get him out of it. “If ya wanted to go strippin’ me of me livery, all ya had do were ask nicely,” he jested when her hands then yanked apart the buckles of his baldric.
“Sorry boy-o, I ain’t drunk ‘nough,” she clucked he tongue, even as her fingers dropped to begin efficiently pulling off his belt. Considering it was clasped closed with the tell-tale, silver heraldic eagle of the Patriots, they’d have to hide that too. As he flung his coat and baldric to the floor, her felt Connor shove his feet out of the way with her hands. She’d silently maneuvered her way to floor. A couple of mechanical clicks hit his ears and he felt the shelf of the seat below hit the back of his legs where she apparently pulled it open. A swish of his coat, the scrape of his buckles, and his things were stuffed into the secret compartment.
Unexpectedly, the spicy smell of her soap wafted under his nose and he felt her hand snatch at his head. Before he could blink, his tricorne was removed. Likely due to the gold brocade that matched his uniform. “They will be returned to you shortly,” her voice skittered along his ear. The thud of his hat hitting the floor and then being kicked into the compartment swiftly followed.
“They’d better, lass,” he rejoined, “I don’t be takin’ particularly well to folks stealin’ me shit.”
“So says the smuggler and counterfeiter,” she shot back. A jerk of his head and the blindfold was roughly removed. For it wouldn’t exactly look innocent for them to be carting around an evident prisoner.
He couldn’t finish their tiff as a round, pale redcoat’s face peered into the carriage window to his right. He looked to be older than them all, judging by his salt and pepper five o’clock shadow. Thomas shot him a blank look, not risking his wrath by mouthing off. Thankfully, the soldier’s dark grey eyes flit past him to Dobby. She flashed him a surprisingly bashful smile while entwining her arm with Thomas’. During the previous kerfuffle, she’d also managed to yank out the ribbon tying back her hair. Now fluffed up, a few locks fell coquettishly over her eye. Likely, to hide the silver scar that cut along her right above her left eyebrow. The illusion was made all the more real she lightly pressed a cheek to Thomas’ upper arm.
Seemingly taking them for a couple satisfied the soldier, for he then turned to Connor. For once, she didn’t stare at him in challenge. If anything, she glanced down and began playing with her fingers in her lap. At the same time, she aimlessly swung her foot back and forth. She’d also scrunched herself down into her seat. Combined with her inexplicable lack of weapons and her hood shoved back to reveal her face and loosely braided hair, she looked like an older adolescent. Certainly younger than a woman of twenty years and full-grown. Her murdrin’ tools probably be hidden in that compartment Thomas thought.
“Who is she?” the soldier drawled, addressing William. He still appeared utterly bored and hadn’t slung his musket from off his back. Nor had he unsheathed his sabre or flintlock.
“My maid, the daughter of my housekeep,” William nonchalantly lied.
“She’s dressed like a boy,” the soldier’s gaze swept over Connor, who still didn’t look up at him.
“Today is wash day,” William shrugged while handing him a pass he’d conjured up from somewhere, “Not to mention this horrid weather; it’d be a shame if she fell ill due to it, considering her weak constitution.”
Thomas found himself rapidly blinking at the pristine, supremely upper-class accented English that fell from the Frenchman’s mouth without warning. While he kept his face utterly neutral, his gaze darted to Connor. She remained looking at her lap and ever innocent. Glancing to Dobby, he felt her hand tighten around his wrist in warning. He squeezed it back, causing her to arch a brow and smirk. Giving the barest of shrugs, she then slouched down in her seat. Like I be fuckin’ stupid ‘nough to sabotage this! he hoped his glare at her conveyed.
Watching as the soldier read through the pass, William leaned forward and offhandedly rested his arm on the windowsill. Grinning, he coaxed, “And how is your Sunday turning so far, my good man?”
The soldier’s hard stare softened into a slight grin. His shoulders relaxing as he continued inspecting the pass, he replied, “Alas, I find myself stuck on guard detail here.”
“A pity it is even necessary,” William winningly replied. “Markedly in such chilly weather.”
“If only such would end this damned rebellion,” the soldier shook his head. “Well ‘en,” he finished, snapping the papers in his hand, “These look in orde-”
“C’mon already, Cartwright!” a tipsy-sounding British soldier called out from about a few of yards behind the redcoat. Mounted on a grey and white speckled mare, the other lobsterback jerked the animal’s head in their direction. “Move ‘em along already! It be colder than a whore’s tit I ain’t paid fer out here and the line be backed up somethin’ fierce.”
Furiously blushing, Cartwright leaned back from the carriage and turned around, sharply snapping, “I suggest you quiet yourself, Sergeant Griggson-”
“Fuck off, ya blighter, I outrank you!” came the aggressive rebuke. The mare gave an impatient neigh as he continued, “The fuck, boy, they ain’t armed yeah?”
Poking his head back in the window, Cartwright only took another cursory glance around. “No, you are not,” he muttered mostly to himself.
“Well?!” Griggson demanded.
“They have no weapons,” he snarled back while pushing himself off the carriage window again. “Sir,” he sarcastically added.
“Thank you for your patience,” William cut in. His sympathy fully focused on Cartwright, he shook his head in supposed understanding.
“Huh?” Cartwright replied with surprise. “Oh, yes,” he swallowed, handing the pass back. “You are welcome. You may proceed,” he motioned them on.
As they pulled off, William tossed up a lazy wave to the harried soldier, who was forced to ignore them as his mounted commander began chewing him out again.
Before Dobby retied back on his blindfold, Thomas was able to swiftly take in the sight out of the window during the check. It was easy to make out that they were on the pastoral edges of Back Bay. Just west of Shawmut Peninsula, it lay on the far side of the city’s harbor. Which likely meant that they were on their way the neighboring, wealthy neighborhood of Beacon Hill. The smell of seawater and wet wood from the harbor proved especially strong. Helped along by the damp chill of the early afternoon air, the scent was carried downwind from the rich fops up on their hill…
The harsh crick-crack of gunfire suddenly exploded in the air. It sent all four ducking in their seats at the same time as someone squealed out a shout. All at once, the carriage jolted, the entire vehicle lurching at a near ninety angle to the side. Swinging up on two wheels, it hurtled forward for some feet before slamming back down onto the road.
Heaved into Thomas’ side, Dobby’s head smacked against his chin. It sent his teeth rattling so much that he nearly bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He winced, arms instinctively flying out. Mercifully, he caught her before her full weight slammed down onto his groin. At the same time, William was hurled on top of Connor, who’d pitched to the floor with a sharp thud. Followed by the panicked neigh, their transport staggered forward again before it crashed to a stop.
Shaking her head and cursing, Dobby frowned, “That was a solid bevy ‘o pistol shots,” as she pulled herself out of Thomas’ grasp.
“Aye,” he darkly retorted, dropping his hands from her and yanking off his blindfold. At his feet, William gracefully rolled off of Connor and popped back into his seat. She took his offered hand, using it to haul herself into her seat as well.
“An ambush, obviously,” William drawled, locking eyes with Connor. She tersely nodded in return. During her time on the floor, she’d popped open the secret compartments under the seats and hauled out everyone’s weapons. After passing them back around, she started checking her own while William peeked out the window from behind a curtain. “We’ve thrown into a tree along the edge the Back Bay marshland.”
“Hmph, someone be pickin’ a solid spot to go puttin’ us down,” Thomas sniffed.
“Hopefully no one coming to your rescue?” Connor asked, face clouding with suspicion as she tightened her bracers.
“Who would I tell?” Thomas snapped, “Even then, all them twists ‘n turns y’all took wouldn’t go makin’ it easy. Hell, they might ‘ave followed you out here.”
“Doubtful,” she huffed.
“And she got the nerve to be accusin’ me ‘o bein’ the cocky one,” Thomas inhaled in exasperation. Hastily pulling on his coat and buckling his baldric before holstering his weapons, he continued, “Between the mud ‘n the tide going in ‘n out from the Bay, the ground be soggy as shit. It’ll be fuckin’ hard to fight on.”
“Ain’t no redcoats about to go putting a stop to murder either,” Dobby narrowed her eyes. Reaching back, she quickly retied her back into its tight ponytail. Licking her fingers, she smoothed down its edges while saying, “Plus, they’d take a solid ten minutes or so to show up if anyone goes sendin’ word.”
“No matter,” William flexed his fingers. “I pray Mcguire fares well.”
“Who?” Thomas questioned.
“Our driver,” Connor replied. Running her fingers along the pouches on her belt, she felt reassured to find her supplies mostly full. She had less than handful of arrows on her, but the rope darts, throwing knives and dual, loaded pistols would serve as proper projectiles.
Palming a couple of smoke bombs, Dobby cast them a predatory smile as her hand flew to the door handle. “To cover our exit, yeah?” swirled the glinting silver spheres in her hand. “I mean, unless ya folks are lookin’ to get ya brains splattered as soon as we step out?”
“I will not argue that,” Connor nodded.
“I’ll usher Mcguire into the protection of the cabin first,” William dexterously twirled his dagger along his fingers before clutching it in reverse grip. “From there, we cut through whoever stands in our path.”
“No doubt they be havin’ horses we can go poachin’ to go makin’ an escape,” Thomas replied. “Together,” he pointedly added at Connor’s dark expression.
“Should the carriage be beyond repair?” William shrugged, “Oui.”
“Once we be gettin’ enough clearance, I’ll go taking Mcguire’s place in drivin’ it then,” Dobby squared her shoulders.
“Have a care with yourself,” Connor briskly warned William, “You are still a target and this could easily be a feint to separate you from the group.”
“I will make do,” William tilted his chin upwards in challenge. Smoothing down his neatly trimmed goatee, he thoughtfully added, “Overall, it is a rough plan.”
“Like we ain’t had to ever deal with worse,” Dobby chuckled.
“I take it you will not wander off?” Connor flatly demanded, dark gaze capturing Thomas’.
“Calm ya tits,” he jerked his head at her while cocking back the hammer of his flintlock and looking down the barrel. Ignoring her look of consternation, he shrugged, “We still be in alliance, girl.”
“Shall we?” William lightly declared.
“Gentlemen,” Dobby lobbed the smoke bombs out of the window, “And lady, ‘o course,” she jestingly saluted Connor.
The smoke bombs exploding in a cloud of grey and white upon impact, the four sprang from the cab. Met by a swarming circle of poorly clad but well equipped mercenaries, they began slicing a swath through their ranks. That they were outnumbered five to one meant little.
Overlooking the melee from the ridge many yards in front of them Eleanor Mallow wiped at her fading black eye and tightened the bandaged wrap around her sprained right wrist. Only a day had passed since she could finally breath without wincing, due to her bruised ribs from their last encounter. She didn't bother holding back a snarl at the sight of her hired help slowly crumbling in the group’s path. No matter, for there would be no escape for the assassin. Not for the turncoat and their conniving little allies, either.
No, certainly not this time.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 24b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-04 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 25/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-09 05:57 am (UTC)(link)A scream. A howl. A grunt. And then a fall.
Blood. Muscle. Sinew. And bone.
One…two…three…and four.
They staccato of her heartbeat. The flow of air through her lungs. The dance of her steps as she hacked and slashed her way through the ambush. The only cadence Connor ever swore by. No matter how the odds were stacked against her, it proved her constant. It thrummed through the dances and songs of her people. She slowed its pulse to concentrate when shooting game in the forests of her adolescence. Achilles pounded its rhythm into the floorboards as he took her through her daily training for hours on end.
One…two…three…and four.
Connor exhaled as she threw extra effort into extracting her tomahawk from right in between the third and fourth left ribs of the man she’d hacked. Blood spattering along her coat sleeves, she was forced to plant a foot on his thigh to yank the weapon out of his corpse. Lucky for him, he was dead before he hit the ground. To be expected, considering she’d driven her hidden blade through his heart from behind mere seconds ago. As his body dropped the snow-dusted, marshy wetland with a thud, Connor blinked and took in the chaotic scene.
A few yards behind her, William and Dobby fought next to the carriage, protecting McGuire and Harris huddled inside. Surrounded by five men, they cut a vicious swath through them. William fluidly lashed out with sword and stiletto knife, his movements elegantly lethal. Dobby, a fiercely unyielding brawler, struck and deflected using her hewing ax and throwing knives for distance. Far off in front of the duo and near the edge of the steep dip at the middle of the marsh, Thomas whirled and landed a punch to another mercenary’s gut. As he the other man let out a hoarse grunt and toppled over, he brought a knee up to his head. The crunch of his broken jaw snapping in the air, his scream instantly ceased when Thomas followed up with running him through with his sword.
The bodies were quickly beginning to pile up. Meaning they all had only a few minutes left to finish up before word spread of the disturbance and trigged a patrol of redcoats. They’d either arrest or kill them outright. It’d probably be the latter, considering the bloodshed. Despite that, Connor needed a mercenary alive to question. She suspected who sent them, but the boldness of the ambush was disconcerting. Only a madman or an imbecile would be so obvious in their strike. Either way, both methods of operation removed a lot of useful predictability they could use against their enemy.
Ending another man, Thomas paused, spun around and shot her a lazy smile. She shook her head and frowned in return. He only laughed at before he marching down the incline while reloading his flintlock.
Connor was exhausted, though more mentally than physically. Hickey’s sheer presence grated on her from the start. That much was obvious, considering they’d came very near to murdering each other at first sight. Unfortunately, it only seemed to become worse after that night in the cabin. It utterly frustrated her that she didn’t know whether it was all on account of him knowing how to goad her on. Or perhaps, her discipline was slowly slipping, thereby allowing him the slowly pry apart her defenses.
We never seek to control, only facilitate. For no one ever fully commands the circumstances of their existence. Yet you may rule your reactions to them, girl.
She ducked and twisted to the side, a pistol shot narrowly missing her neck. Hurling a throwing knife in retaliation, she hit her mark. The mercenary’s scream trickled to a rasping death rattle before he dropped his dagger and plummeted face-first into the dirty snow. She didn’t bother to retrieve her blade; over a half-dozen remained on her person and she didn’t have time to kick over the body to yank it out of his breast. Achilles’ words echoing in her head, Connor shuttered her conscious to all else, save the fatal flow of her movements.
One…two…three…and four.
A scream. A howl. A grunt. And then a fall.
Blood. Muscle. Sinew. And bone.
One…two…three…and f-
Black stars prickled against her eyes as the explosion of pain ripped through her right calf. A bullet…I am shot, she coolly evaluated while stumbling forward. Hopping on one foot, she sheathed her tomahawk for her flintlock. A close quarter attack would be sure to follow and a projectile would better suit. Yet it was impossible to stay upright. Not with the way her injured leg refused to bear any of her weight. Sheer will or not, it simply couldn’t handle the physical shortcoming of being without a solid limb to stand on. Collapsing to the ground was the only option at the moment.
“Well, well. What have we here?” came an irritatingly familiar, sing-songy voice from above. “A real, live Indian, eh? Masquerading as anything but the barbarian wench she is, too. How droll-”
Connor’s shot in her direction went frustratingly wide. All due to a combination of Eleanor Mallow’s training and the unexpected, seizing throb that rocked through the assassin’s leg. For her troubles, the Redcoat rewarded her with a brutal kick to her side that sent her ribs rattling.
“Always a Templar, Mallow,” Connor grit, raising herself to her hands and knees. Blinking away the sharp snap of pain ebbing through her calf admittedly took a few seconds. Judging from the reek of gunpowder wafting from the Redcoat’s direction, she’d fired the shot that brought her down. “But never a pleasure,” she tersely added. Mallow’s vicious punt to her arm had Conner wheezing out an grunt. “Hmph,” she panted, struggling to regain her breath, “So much for a civilized discourse.”
This time, the Eleanor squarely aimed her kick for her wound on her lower leg.
Connor choked down a howl at the impact, tears springing to her eyes at the raw spasm of agony that raced up her limb. Biting her lip so hard she drew blood, she pressed her forehead to the snowy ground. She balled her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms as she gulped down a few mouthfuls of the frigid air. The jolt of the cold filling her lungs forced her back to her senses. As well as the rather troublesome fact that the Templar now had the icy steel of her flintlock pressed to the back of her head.
“Another pithy word, Assassin,” the Redcoat threatened, “Just one more fucking utterance out of you, and I’ll be cleaning your brains from my barrel.”
“If you wished me dead, you would have done so by now,” Connor coldly retorted, turning her head to the side to take her in. She wore the same attire as their first encounter back at the tavern in the wilderness. That her immaculate British uniform lay stained and smudged with dirt and snow was a small comfort. “Or perhaps,” she narrowed her eyes at the yellowing bruises all along the other’s woman’s face and neck, “You wish me to balance out your visage with a matching left black eye?”
The ruthless strike to the top of Connor’s shoulder from the hefty, silver butt of Eleanor’s flintlock reverberated down her spine. It sent her sprawling back to the muddy, ice-slicked ground with a grinding gasp. “That,” she exhaled, nostrils flaring, “Was untoward.”
“Where is Grand-Prix, savage?!” the Redcoat spat as Connor winced and rolled to her back. She barely had time to take in the bloodied corpse of the mercenary she’d knifed just seconds before she’d been shot when her breath hitched at Eleanor’s boot connecting with her thigh. “I will not ask it again, you bloody cow!” Mallow barked while pressing her stacked heel into Connor’s lower abdomen. “Where. Is. The Frenchman?!”
Hands dropping to her side, Connor remained wholly silent. Dark eyes flitting over the Templar with defiant, calculation, it only served to raise the Redcoat’s ire. Winding up, she flashed the assassin a malicious smile as she struck out again.
But her gloating prevented her from taking note of how Connor skirted her fingers closer to the dead mercenary. Within a heartbeat, the assassin nicked his dagger from under his limp arm and punched upwards. Its edged steel met the Templar’s pistol dead on. Sending sparks flying as it slammed into the silver grip, the force of the collision knocked the Redcoat off balance. Connor then crossed her wrists to gain extra leverage. Thrusting skyward, she blocked the Eleanor’s follow-up in mid-air, whipping her weapon to slice deep across the other woman’s wrist. Reversing direction, she feinted a stab down, only to arc it up again. Regrettably, instead of burying the blade in Mallow’s shoulder as intended, it sliced through the layers of her clothes down to the skin. For she’d coiled and sprung away a split second earlier than anticipated.
Eleanor screamed in rage, the rush of blood spilling from her freshly cut artery and staining her garb. The only reason it wasn’t completely severed was due to Connor rolling away from her attempt to blind her by kicking up mud and snow into her face. Missing her mark, the Templar tumbled forward. While she didn’t completely overbalance and hit the ground, she still fell within the assassin’s reach.
“Your emotions shall always rule you to your detriment, Redcoat,” Connor flatly declared, seizing her by the shirt collar with one hand and mercilessly twisting against her throat. Eyes bulging at the sight of her about to sink the dagger into her heart, Mallow smacked out and backhanded her. The powerful blow to her chin immediately caused Connor to drop the knife with an annoyed mutter. Nevertheless, the Native swiftly reeled back and bashed her forehead into the other woman’s face. Dazed, the Redcoat hit the ground, her behind crashing into a large, icy puddle.
Unable to get to her feet as a result of her injury, Connor again snatched up the blade from the ground. While twirling it along her fingers to throw, she dragged herself backwards and away from her foe. Within a few moments, she reached a tree trunk some feet from their sparring. It allowed her to pull herself into a sitting position. However, the click of a hammer being pulled back caused her roll her eyes in exasperation.
“I don’t think so,” Eleanor sneered, stumbling forward to stand in front of her. Though she furiously blinked and the pistol in her uninjured hand slightly shook, it remained trained right at Connor’s chest. “Looks like you forgot that like any expert in my line of work,” she huffed, “I always carry two pistols.”
“To the contrary,” Connor calmly countered, gaze shifting to some spot just to the right of the Templar’s shoulder “I am constantly aware of my surroundings.”
Eleanor smirked at that, her gun still firmly aimed. At the same time, she pressed her other bleeding wrist against her stomach in a vain attempt to stop its flow. “I know English isn’t your first language, savage,” she jeered, “So what in the hell are you prattling about?”
“Pretty much me,” Dobby drawled behind her. Feeling a sword point immediately pressing between her shoulder blades, Eleanor’s face when ashen. “Drop it,” Dobby stonily ordered, “The gun of course, ya bint.”
Shoulders stiffening, for once, Mallow was rendered momentarily speechless. Yet her face suddenly twisted into a malevolent smile. “Do you truly think you can run me through before I shoot your precious comrade?” she mocked.
“Maybe. ‘O maybe not,” Hickey’s amused voice rang out at Connor’s rear. Despite the rivulets of blood trailing down his temple and a couple of bullet holes marring his coat sleeve, he still strolled into her view without missing a step. Then again, his flintlock pointed at her own head wasn’t hard to miss either.
“Sorry lass,” he chuckled with a shrug but still maintaining his unwavering bead on her. Considering he only stood only a few feet away, it didn’t prove particularly difficult. “But I never really thought that ya’d go an actually trust me. Frankly, I ain’t realized that ya had it in ya, considering how near to killin’ me ya was at first.”
“What in fuck all do he be talkin’ about?!” Dobby demanded, though her smallsword resolutely remained at Eleanor’s back.
“Well, color me surprised,” the Redcoat squinted at the scene in front of her, “But it appears that you blighters have a mole in your midst after all.”
Giving her a firm shove that nearly sent her to ground, Dobby growled, “Shut your gob!”
“Make me, you flea-ridden cun-”
“For fucks sake, Ellie,” Hickey interrupted, briefly rubbing a palm against his brow in irritation, “How ‘bout ya go ‘n button up that filthy mouth ‘o yours fer once, yeah?”
Lip curled with derision and cheeks crimson with barely repressed fury, Connor finally spat, “Forgive me, Dobby.”
“For what?!” the Irishwoman exclaimed, eyes darting between Hickey and Connor while her other hand surreptitiously removed a smoke bomb from the pouch on her belt.
“Apparently,” Connor swore, “I have made a terrible miscalculation.”
“Oh, if only ya knew,” Hickey shook his head in disagreement.
“I will not insult us both by feigning any sort of surprise at your treachery” Connor snorted.
“Well usually at this point, sweetheart,” Hickey leered, “Most people would be threatenin’ all sorts ‘o nasty revenge at me sellin’ ‘em upriver.”
Chest heaving, she grit, “I take it that William-”
“Be dead?” Hickey arched, “Naw, that ain’t occurred yet. Likely be soon, though.”
“It may not be today,” Connor darkly promised, grip tightening on her dagger, “But your life will end by my hand.”
“I ain’t got no doubts ya be a woman of your word,” he smugly saluted her. “Just like I ain’t got a doubt that ya rarely be missin’ ya shots. Be it from a flintlock, or even a nasty ‘lil knife for that matter. Hell,” his fixed his eyes her hand that clutched her weapon at her side, “Especially with a knife. Some might even go sayin’ that if the circumstances be all in alignment, bringing a knife to a gunfight actually goes workin’ out, eh?”
Without warning, he spun and raised his flintlock in Dobby’s direction.
“Your brain be addled, boy?” the older assassin snapped, “What in the seven hells do ya be playin’ at?!”
“The irony be this, poppet,” Hickey blithely replied, “I don’t ever be jestin when it comes to evening me odds ‘o survival.”
And with that, he pulled the trigger.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 25/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-09 08:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 25/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-13 07:01 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26a/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 02:51 am (UTC)(link)So who in the fuck just shot her?
Doubled over and sight swimming, she vainly reached for her sheathed dirk. However, she was shoved over to her back by the firm toe of someone’s boot to her shoulder.
“I’ll be takin’ that,” Dobby snorted, yanking the knife from her fingertips. “And may I say that this be a nice lookin’ flintlock too? Thank ya!” she grabbed it from the ground mere inches from Eleanor’s reach.
Craning her neck as the contents of the smoke finally dissipated, the Templar owlishly blinked at the blurry sight of that traitorous bastard pulling the Native to her feet. All as infuriatingly casual as can be, to boot. Then, instead of blowing the blighters’ brains out, Thomas frowned at the assassin as she slumped against him. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of his smoldering pistol. “You?!” she squawked. Her futile attempt to lift herself up using her uninjured arm only led to her crashing back down on the icy grass. Despite her heartbeat roaring in her ears and turning her head to the side cough up the blood gathering in her throat, she fixed him with a withering look. “You dare shoot me?!” she howled.
“Looks like that’s how it went down, Templar,” Dobby tossed out from behind her while marching towards the other two. Leaning down, she inspected Connor’s leg with careful fingers. Sighing in relief and moving back to her feet, she said, “It ain’t just a flesh wound, but it ain’t nothing too bad. No amputation or nothing like that,” she nodded at the other woman.
“That is better than I initially assumed,” Connor slowly said, readjusting her weight to balance between Hickey and the tree trunk at her back.
“Aye,” Dobby replied with a grin, “Lucky for you, lass.” Then, without warning, she lashed out and soundly slapped Thomas across the face.
Reeling back from the blow and cursing, he rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “Wot in the fuck be gettin’ into ya-?!”
“That be for putting a leanbh na páirte,” Dobby angrily exclaimed, pointing at Connor, “In certain danger!”
“I fuckin’ saved yer stonewalled arses, ya ungrateful ‘lil cailleach!” Thomas snit.
“Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!” Dobby scoffed in their shared, native Irish Gaelic.
“Oh yeah?” Thomas yelled, haphazardly shoving Connor into Dobby’s arms. As Connor snorted in surprised, he jeered, “Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!”
“You sonabitch!” Eleanor screamed out, causing both of them to pull up short from their verbal assault. “A bloody fuckin’ disgrace! You throw in your lot with this Indian cunt and her ‘lil mick whore?! A god-damned Frenchman as well? For what?!”
Hickey sneered, doggedly crossing the ground between them. Crouching down, he balled his fists in her collar before yanking her upwards. Ignoring how she grunted and clutched her side, the blood pouring from between her fingers and grotesquely staining the white snow, he growled, “You ‘n ya pop be betrayin’ us first! Ya went unleashin’ that sick fuck Hessian on the entire McCready family,” he railed. “He went murderin’ the mark’s wife ‘n kid-!”
“Such are the consequences of crossing a Templar,” Eleanor jeered.
“The ‘lil tyke had but seven years to ‘im!”
“Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis,” she fiendishly smiled, it made all the more savage by her scarlet-stained teeth.
“What in the bloody fuck do ya be squawkin’ bout?!” Thomas demanded, shaking her so hard, her head jolted back.
“Thus always I eradicate tyrants' lives," William quietly translated the Latin as he silently materialized behind the two.
“Shocking, his comprehension,” Eleanor drawled. “Though I suppose even animals may learn a few tricks for their betters’ entertainment,” her eyes slid to where the French assassin stood at her feet. “How tragic for the McCreadys,” she gurgled, coughing up more blood, “The family line ending in such an exquisite fashion, yes?” She only brayed even more as Thomas’ dirk suddenly pressed into her neck. Hard enough for a fine trickle of blood to begin flowing down her collar, it dug into her jugular. “You always were a pikey git,” she hurled at him, “Good for nothing but kissing Haytham’s arse and getting railed by that dead, Scottish prat, Johnson.”
Hazel eyes blazing with violent fury and reeling back for the strike, Thomas snarled, “Go to hell, ya demonic bitch!”
Yet his arm was yanked back in an iron grip. Fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave bruises, Connor’s exhausted voice pierced through his frenzied wrath.
“She baits you-”
“Ya think I don’t be fuckin’ knowing that?!” Hickey fumed, spinning around and fixing her with a murderous glare.
“She will be put out of her misery after questioning,” she quietly retorted.
“If I may?” William ventured, stepping between them.
Eyes flitting between Connor and the Frenchman, Hickey finally shoved Eleanor away, aggressively shook off Connor’s hold and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the Redcoat’s wheezing laugh, he stomped over to stand behind the assassin, grumbling under his breath all the while.
“I’ll go take McGuire back to William’s,” Dobby declared, handing off Connor back to Hickey despite her glare at him that mostly translated to, You’d better be real fuckin’ careful with her, in his direction. “I’ll swipe of them mercenaries’ horses since the coach still looks in decent repair ‘nough to bring y’all back to the house.”
“He needs a surgeon,” Connor breathed, “Sooner rather than later.”
“Of course.” With that, she stole back to the carriage and was off.
Meanwhile, though bloodied and bruised, William appeared without major injury. His dark eyes measuredly took in the Templar on the ground. A lessor person would’ve shivered at his predatory expression, utterly taciturn and devoid of all sentiment. Especially as he readjusted his grip on his double hooked blade and dropped to his knees over her. Instead, he paused, his weapon at his side rather than buried in her neck or heart.
“What, ya frog?” Eleanor smirked, pausing only to cough up the blood beginning to pool in her throat again, “You haven’t the balls to rip my throat out?”
“Alas for you, Templar,” his accented voice lilted along her ear, “We require information.”
She could only darkly chuckle in satisfaction as her bloody spit landed on his cheek. Cooling removing a white handkerchief edged in lace from his pocket, William studiously wiped his face.
Eleanor screamed her throat raw, convulsing as his double hookblade plunged into her shoulder. Stars exploded in front of her eyes when William gave it the barest of twists. Just as swiftly, it was over as he jerked it from her skin. Wiping its crimson end on the grass, he flatly commanded, “You shall give us what we seek. The sooner, the better for you, mademoiselle.”
Eleanor could barely register the sound of his voice above her ragged breathing. Combined with her fading vision, it was a pathetic struggle for her keep her senses. “Search her,” Connor’s voice warbled in her ears from above. “Not you,” she shook her head at Hickey as he moved forward, “William.”
“What, ya don’t be trusting me?” Hickey pouted. “Hell, it obviously be a feint back there when I had you the end of me flintlock.”
“As per usual, you acted out of turn-”
“To stop ya from gettin’ shot to shit!”
“And any one of us could have killed you at any moment!” Connor breathlessly replied, closing her eyes against the throbbing that sliced through her leg yet again.
Hickey guffawed, “Like ya would’ve been missin’ me.”
“That is not the point-”
“Oh-ho?” Hickey sent her a lazy, if somewhat lurid grin, “So ya would’ve been weepin’ over me handsome corpse at your feet then?”
“I did not relay such in the slightest-!”
“It was plenty inferred, love.”
“Quiet yourselves,” William brusquely ordered, batting away Eleanor’s shaking fingers and snatching a stack of tied letters from her inner pocket. Moving to his feet, he frantically scanned their contents. A hiss of annoyance escaping his lips, he grimaced at Thomas, “Your Hessian.” Shoving a letter into his hand, he disdainfully said, “He is already in the city.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Thomas huffed, sheathing his pistol as he read it.
“Likely, he’s aware of where I reside,” William rejoined.
“So we wait him out,” Connor instructed. “It is always to better to fight on familiar ground rather waste our time combing the city for an enigma.”
“I believe that will-”
The shouts and cursing of a group marching out of bushy the edge of the marsh caused William to stop mid-sentence. Glancing over her shoulder, Connor glowered, “Redcoats!”
“We gotta scram!” Hickey barked. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder with a grunt. “Again, girl...why do ya weigh so bloody much?!” he mumbled.
Too weary to reply, she settled for purposely digging her fingers into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Yet it was summarily forgotten as a bullet grazed Thomas’ other shoulder, ripping open his sleeve. Apparently the British regulars were trigger happy at the moment. That notion was reinforced as William dodged behind a tree some yards behind them. Narrowly avoiding a volley of musket fire, he swooped down to retrieve one of the mercenaries’ unused flintlocks. Balancing it on his forearm, he squeezed off a shot. Fired from such a long distance, it only managed to maim one soldier. But mercifully, the trio had the hilly terrain on their side as they wound their way around its perimeter. Still, they all would’ve welcomed a cleaner escape.
“Should’ve killed the poxy bint at first chance,” Thomas snapped before the carriage appeared ahead of them. “They likely be thinkin’ we went attackin’ one of they own.”
“I prefer to not have left any loose ends,” William rejoined, sprinting next to them, “Though she didn’t have many more breaths to take.”
“A pity, that,” Thomas sniffed, Connor nodding in agreement for once.
Reaching the coach first, William nimbly swung up into the driver’s seat. A few steps behind them, Thomas yanked open the door and shoved Connor inside. She nearly crashed on top of Harris. In spite of his stunned expression at the mayhem, the boy’s solid reflexes allowed him to dodge out of her way. Hauling himself in behind her, Thomas smacked the back of the carriage to signal William. A shouted command sent the horses lurching forward. Despite the coach groaning in protest, it shuddered into submission and hauled them back onto the road.
Fingers spasming, Eleanor labored to raise a crimson-stained hand in signal to the regulars. But even as the redcoats rushed to her side, their voices fell about her ears in garbled nonsense. Her chest heaved, lungs drowning in her own blood. No matter her efforts, her tongue couldn’t form the orders to go after the assassins. The last thing she recalled as the darkness fell across her vision was her whispered oath to end them all. Either by her own hand. Or that of whoever the Order sent to tread in her ruinous footsteps.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 03:20 am (UTC)(link)It wasn’t that she hadn’t been shot before. Rather, being hobbled at such a significant point in their current mission didn’t help them. Not to mention, the high probability of infection that could settle in, considering how filthy the colonists generally tended to be. Overall, her fellow assassins were some of the few who bathed on a regular basis. It was necessary, considering how much time they spent running about in the wild. Surprisingly, Hickey also took his personal hygiene seriously. Something he mentioned in passing with being in the army for so long and realizing that the more often he washed, the less ill he generally became. There also proved his quicker recovery from various injuries.
Shaking thoughts of him from her head, she slumped back against the carriage seat, closed her eyes and took a few aching inhales. Without warning, she felt someone gingerly take her leg, lift it and brace it against themselves. She cursed in her own language as they jostled her calf. Regrettably, it had to be done as they speedily sliced away the bottom of her trousers. However, they immediately noticed her discomfort and relaxed their hold, beginning to carefully feel around her wound.
“Bloody thing went straight through, but didn’t shatter no bone-”
“Excuse me?” she swallowed, eyes snapping open to find Thomas holding her leg in his lap. He didn’t seem to mind how she bled all over his trousers and coat. Or how she nearly kicked him in the balls as another stinging spasm shot through her. Attempting to yank her leg away from him didn’t work due to his firm grip on her ankle. If anything, it caused her to bite her tongue against the warbling ache and immediately stop her efforts.
She willed herself to stay still as he continued his inspection with careful fingers. “I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he quietly promised, meeting her eyes.
“Not in front of witnesses. Surely you would not be so obvious,” she retorted, sliding her eyes to where Harris furiously dug through her pouches she normally wore on her belt. Seated next to Thomas, he’d taken them from Connor after she settled into her seat. Distracting him for the moment, she instructed him to locate one of the many bandages she constantly kept on her person for precisely this reason.
“As you constantly be sayin’,” Thomas snorted, “I be lots ‘o things-”
“You are not brainless. No matter how much you attempt to appear such for the sake of deception,” she tiredly admitted, causing him to briefly arch a brow of surprise. “A lot of your other personality failings immediately come to mind, yes. But ‘stupid’ is most certainly not one of them.”
He chuckled and shook his head at her insult before focusing back on the task at hand.
As he probed her wound, she settled for biting the inside of her cheek. The taste of liquid copper filled her mouth again at how hard she bit down. Letting out a ragged sigh, she took in the sight of Harris frantically unrolling a bandage from her things. His dark hands shaking, he swallowed and tried to casually wipe at his tear-stained face.
“There is no shame in such feelings,” Connor quietly declared to him.
“It ain’t manly, miss,” he rasped, avoiding eye contact.
“Yet you are not a man full-grown” she assured him, “And even if you were, your reaction is not unbecoming. Now give him the bandage,” she nodded to Thomas.
Harris shook his head to the contrary. Squaring his shoulders, he insisted, “I’ll help ya. Ya helped me ‘n McGuire in that…ugliness.”
Connor nodded and closed her eyes, waving, “Do as you wish, Harris. I can always use an extra set of hands.”
“I be wrappin’ it tight ‘round her,” Thomas warned the boy, even as he stared at Connor. She was glad he didn’t explicitly say it was going to hurt, if only to save her pride. “So ya gotta go makin sure this wrap ain’t got no folds in it as I go, yeah?” Frantically nodding, Harris began stretching out the white cloth. “Atta boy!” Thomas ruffled the child’s hair, “Now, just make sure ya be stretching it out as I be goin’.”
Cracking one eye open at the Templar’s ease with Harris, Connor pressed her lips into a thin line of contemplation before saying, “Proceed.”
She purposely muffled her hiccups of pain in her throat as Thomas swiftly wrapped the bandage around her calf. In order to ensure her bleeding stopped, he had to nearly cut off her circulation for the time being. Upon its completion, Connor grit her teeth while taking in Harris’ bewildered expression. “Do not worry yourself,” she assured him while leaning back against the seat and opening her eyes, “I have been injured worse.”
“I...I’m sorry for it, miss,” he whispered, wringing his hands where they’d fallen into his lap.
“Do not be,” she assured him, “Niá:wenh ki' wáhi…you did well.”
Thomas still hadn’t let go of her ankle. Preferring to conserve her energy for the moment, she didn’t argue over his physical contact. Also, while she should’ve blindfolded him again, the curtains of the carriage were drawn. He made no effort to peek out, so there was no point in forcing the issue.
The trio rode in silence until the carriage came to a smooth stop over the graveled entrance way of William’s home. Leaning over, Connor brushed back the curtain. Biting back a sigh, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose at the sight that greeted her. For on the front drive lay the prone body of McGuire. His top half hastily covered with a horse blanket, Dobby knelt at his side. Face twisted with anger, she argued back and forth with a middle-aged man dressed in dark clothes. Connor assumed it was a surgeon. At least judging by the heavy, black leather bag sitting next to him.
“We have arrived,” she muttered.
“Good,” Thomas retorted, about to hop out.
Connor’s head jerking in disagreement, she stole a glance at Harris before yanking Hickey towards her by the forearms. “McGuire lies dead in the drive,” she frantically whispered into his ear, “Harris cannot be allowed to see him.”
Hickey blinked a few times before taking the boy by the arm and leading him out the opposite side of the carriage. Leaning out the window, Connor ordered Harris, “Head to the kitchens and have the cook give you a treat for your bravery.” Thankfully, he didn’t question her, leading Hickey around the back of the manor. The route allowed him to avoid the front drive entirely.
A few minutes later, Thomas returned. Connor shoving the door open, he essentially dragged her out. She initially pulled herself out of his grip once her feet hit the ground. Then again, finding her gait and balance nearly causing her to tumble, she didn’t push him away when he tossed an arm around her shoulders and hauled her flush against him.
“The water pump,” she panted, “Around the house. I need to clean my weapons.”
“Ya need a surgeon-”
“I need to clear my thoughts,” she insisted, shooting him a harried expression.
“Have it be ya way ‘en,” he nodded making his way there.
Their trudge to the pump allowed him to take in the magnificent home of Grand-Prix. The fop was a fucking wealthy one, of that, there was zero doubt. The mansion consisted of three stories. Built in the square, Palladian style and containing a sloped, triangular roof currently popular back in England, it was the height of architectural style. Of bold, red brick with double chimneys and black painted shutters along every glass window, white trim separated each floor. The trim matched the Doric-style columns of the front portico wrapping around the entire front of the house. While it lent the structure an open-air atmosphere, Thomas immediately noted that the long drive up from the street sat behind a massive, black, ten foot tall, wrought iron fence. Also, unlike most fine homes, there was no over-grown grove of trees lending the front lawn any sort of shade. Instead, various plants and shrubs lay the neat, organized rows along either side of the drive, no higher than knee height. It made a colorful litany. And likely served a dual purpose; essentially, no one could approach the house without immediately being spotted, while the crunch of gravel drive ensured that they couldn’t silently do so either.
As Thomas moved Connor along the side of the house, he snorted in disbelief at how far back the structure bled into property’s acreage. It was easily the equivalent of a half-block of townhomes down in the city. Along with the stables, smoke house, and greenhouse tucked away in the gardens at the rear, it seemed more palace than home.
“All this for one bloke?” he said aloud in awe.
Connor dipped her head in his direction as he unhanded her next to the water pump near the kitchen entrance, at the rear of the manor. “He is engaged to be married,” she shrugged.
“Oh, that be so?” Thomas leaned against the brick wall of the house, “Anyone I know?”
“I doubt you have been to France,” Connor dismissively replied as she washed her weapons, “So no.”
“It be arranged then?”
Connor didn’t reply. After a few more moments of her silence, Thomas knew that would be the only information he’d get out of her. Especially as she finished her task and holstered her sword, dagger and throwing knives.
“Your hands be bloody,” he pointed at them.
“What?” she distractedly replied, having pulled her bow from her back and retightening its string.
“Go ‘n clean your hands,” he reiterated.
Bringing them up to her face, Connor slowly nodded. Distantly watching as the water turned pink upon hitting her skin, Thomas remained silent. Eventually, he handed her the towel slung over the lip of the gate that separated the stables from the main house.
“Use to havin’ blood on yer hands?” he murmured as she dried them.
“And you are not?” she quietly replied, fiery gaze finally meeting his eyes.
Leaning back against the brick wall of the stable, he cast her a sideways glance. “Point taken.”
Staring at him for a long moment, she briskly said, “The less we speak in general, the better this will go. For the both of us.”
“So ya rather go actin’ like everything’s peachy?” he gave a mirthless chuckle. Seeing her confusion flash across her face in spite of her attempt to look placid, he clarified. “‘Peachy’ huh? It be meanin’ everything’s…normal. Which it sure in the fuck ain’t-”
“To the contrary, I believe it is,” she cut him off before turning her back on him. “Well, save the fact that McGuire lost his life despite having nothing to do with this predicament.”
“Man got caught in the crossfire,” Hickey shrugged. “It ain’t no surprise in our line ‘o business.”
“We always stay our blade from the flesh of the innocent!” she hissed. Despite clumsily spinning around to face him, the heated scowl and deep flush of her face proved enough to make Hickey begin backing up as she archly added, “Nor do we ever seek to drag them into our war with your kind. Then again,” she poked her finger into his chest, “You are a Templar. So I am not in the least surprised that have not a care for those outside of your wretched host.” Sidestepping him, she started limping towards the house.
Stunned at her outburst, Hickey marched after her. “Now ya just wait one fuckin’ minut-”
“Why?!” she sneered, whirling towards him again. Fists balled at her sides, her shoulders heaved with effort. “So that I may bend my ear to yet another one of your attempts to mitigate how the loss of one means little in the grand aim of your schemes? Perhaps I should have a seat for this one, yes?” she tersely waved around the yard. “No doubt your explanations will likely take the better part of day to explain in your vain attempt to justify them!”
“Sod off!” he scoffed, stepping in so close she was forced to rock back on her heel to meet his incensed gaze. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he demanded, “Listen, girlie, I ain’t never said any ‘o whatever insanity be fillin’ ya head-”
“Spare me your empty platitudes, Hickey,” she spat, shoving him away and again retreating towards the other gate separating the house from the yard. Dusting off her coat where he’d touched her, she growled, “Pardon me, but I have exhausted myself more than enough for one day.”
Clumsily hauling herself up, she swung her legs over the tall gate. She normally would have lithely dropped down to the grass on its other side. But with her injury momentarily forgotten during their exchange, she suddenly let out an uncharacteristic screech of pain as she hit the ground. Although she didn’t completely land on her compromised leg, the pressure was enough to incapacitate. Her breathe coming in wheezing, short spurts, her fingers dug into the grass in an attempt to steady herself. She didn’t move for a long time before grasping the gate. It took a couple of more minutes before she awkwardly yanked herself back to her feet with both arms, using the fence as an anchor.
Well familiar with her stubbornness and obvious denial of the extent of her injury, Thomas pretended not to see her wipe at her eyes. Nor did he make any move to assist her. Even as she began half marching, half dragging herself towards the manor house. “Ya know, somethin’ Connor?” he finally strolled after her, “Most women always be lookin’ to go prattlin’ on and on about they feelings and whatnot.”
“I am not most people,” she called out without bothering to look over her shoulder, “And neither are you, Hickey.”
“Yeah. You be touched in the head,” he shot back.
“And you seem to have the most experience with such.”
With that, she disappeared into the manor.
Translations
A leanbh na páirte – “My dear child” in Irish Gaelic
Cailleach! – “Old hag” or “Witch” in Irish Gaelic
Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat! – “May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat!” Insult in Irish Gaelic
“Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!” – “May the devil take you with him!” Insult in Irish Gaelic
Niá:wenh ki' wáhi – “Thanks a lot” in Mohawk
William's house is somewhat based on Drayton Hall, a historic plantation in Charleston built around 1745 in the Palladian/Georgian style popular in England and that was heavily en vogue in the colonies as well. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drayton_Hall for more info.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 06:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 06:45 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 06:39 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-10-16 01:57 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-10-24 06:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 26b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-10-24 10:55 pm (UTC)(link)Random!anon has to say, you're amazing, A!A.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27a/?
(Anonymous) 2014-12-23 07:48 am (UTC)(link)Upon entering William de Saint-Prix’s home, Thomas immediately took note at the lack of servants. Considering the size of the manor, over the last few days he’d only met the aging housekeeper, stumbled across a couple of young maids and was waited on in the mornings by William’s valet. As he wasn’t allowed to freely roam about alone and his room sat right next door to Connor’s, he saw nothing of the outdoor servants. Well, save already meeting the late McGuire and the coach boy, Harris. The finely manicured the grounds, the existence of the greenhouse and stables pointed to the assassin maintaining a groundskeeper, a crew of gardeners and stable hands. In any case, he never saw them.
McGuire’s body released to the undertaker and Connor’s leg freshly sewn up by the surgeon, the late lunch with the assassin trio swiftly descended into an awkward affair. From her seat directly across the table, Dobby stared daggers at him the entire time. Tearing into on her food, she looked as though she wished it was him her teeth currently ripped to pieces. At his left, Connor half-heartedly shoved her food around her plate. Yawning seemingly every few minutes and thoroughly silent, she appeared half-asleep. Likely, from the draught for the pain the surgeon gave her earlier that afternoon. Admittedly, William continued his pleasantries from his seat at the head of the table. He easily engaged in the type of trivial conversation that gave nothing away of himself. The smooth ebb of his voice would easily captivate any normal sort of folk. His lighthearted witticisms and harmless gossip about a ball he recently attended proved amusing enough. Yet Thomas found himself increasingly unnerved at how easily the banal string of sentences flowed from the Frenchman’s mouth. Frankly, he’d only witness such calculated charisma from, well, Haytham.
What a crazy bunch of fuckin' loonies.
After dessert, William directed them all to the front parlor to retire. However, he disappeared for the moment. Dobby didn’t stay around much after dinner either. Some vague mutterings about needing to deal with things down in the city proper.
Meanwhile, Connor lay asleep in the plush, purple and gold upholstered chair on the other side of the glass coffee table from where Thomas sat. Her injured leg braced on the matching ottoman in front of it, her breathing was deep and nearly inaudible. Since the other three remained awake and on guard for their enemy, she had the luxury of a few hours rest. A mottled black, white and ginger calico cat that insisted on following her around as soon as they set foot in the house also sat sleeping on her lap. It looked no older than a couple of years old . It also didn’t appear to take much of a liking to Thomas. Evading all his attempts at petting, it either ignored him or swatted at his ankles with extended claws. While it didn’t avoid William or Dobby entirely, it mostly remained at Connor’s heels.
She’d better not fuckin’ die on yer watch, boy-o, the Irishwoman suddenly warned him. They'd only settld in for roughly ten minutes or so before she jumped to her feet and buckled on her bracer. Releasing its blade with a flick of her wrist, she held it up to inspect it. The fading sunset reflecting though the windows, the light sliced across its glinting steel in warm reds and golds.
Thomas knocked back a long chug of gin directly from the crystal decanter he’d liberated from silver tray of the drink service sitting by the window. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he shrugged, I ain’t her bloody keeper-
She trusts you ‘nough to bring you around us, Dobby cocked her head to the side. That girl’s had plenty ‘nough ugliness in her life to never go puttin’ her faith in a single soul. But here ya be. Here we all be.
Like I be knowin' fuck-all 'bout that, he darkly chuckled. Maybe she got shitty judgment.
‘O maybe you do, mate, she curled her lip in the beginning of a snarl. Hopefully, it’ll stop short of making me have to go rippin’ your balls off before I run you through. You know, should ya decide to screw her over any. With that, Dobby gave him a sarcastic salute from her temple and marched out of the room. He could only assume left the manor entirely, considering he hadn’t seen for the rest of the evening.
“You are thinking too hard.”
“Wot?” Thomas retorted, mind reeling back to the present.
“I can discern it from your expression,” Connor sluggishly replied from her seat on the opposite side of the dining room table from him. Awake at an ungodly, early hour on the third morning of their stay, she added copious amounts of sugar to her tea.
While on the road, Thomas assumed she insisted on waking up at the arse-crack of dawn for sake of sheer belligerence. Along with a pathological need to piss him off. But since staying at the manor, it looked as though all assassins enjoyed popping out of bed at an insane hour. The sun barely up, it was now just after seven or so in the morning. Then again, the decadent breakfast laid out in front of them was a sight to behold: multiple types of both fresh and dry fruits, a steaming, silver serving bowl of porridge with plenty of butter, soft boiled eggs, slices of cheese, toast, bacon and sausage, chocolate pastry tarts from last night’s dessert, a carafe each of coffee and two types of tea (lemon and some new concoction of tasting of orange and bergamot he’d never had in his life. Eh, it wasn’t half bad), cream and sugar. The spread almost made up for everything else.
Almost. His hangover from partaking in a few bottles of fine wine at last night’s dinner and in the parlor afterwards still pounded at his head. It sure in fuck didn’t help that breakfast was always over by eight am. So he had no choice but to drag himself out of bed hours before he was used to. Well, at least when on leave from the army.
Thomas tiredly blinked against the watery, yellow hue of dawn’s sunlight falling through the window behind Connor. Admittedly, he appreciated how it made her freckles stand out in stark contrast to her bronzed skin. It also cast her eyes strangely golden as she narrowed them.
Picking at her plate for a long moment, Connor palmed a piece of sausage. The calico cat lounged in the chair next to her, appearing asleep. But seeing her extended hand, it perked up. Nosing at her fingertips, the feline let out a small, pleased meow before eagerly swallowing down the offered food. Thomas snorted back a huff of surprise when Connor followed up with a few scratches behind its ears. His eyes widened even more as the animal purred and then leapt into her lap. Using one hand to eat, Connor continued petting the little mouser.
“You are plotting…something,” she tiredly said.
“Right in front ‘o ya face?” Thomas sniffed at her accusation, “Gimme a break, love.” For once, it wasn’t a lie. Nevertheless, she didn’t buy it. Not judging by her jaundiced look over the rim of her bone china teacup. Like everything else in the house, it screamed expensive. Its interior pale blue, the outside matched its saucer. Swirling gold bordered the lip, a spray of pink flowers painted along the outside. The set of them on the table was easily worth a quarter year of his army salary.
“So you say,” she muttered. “So you say,” she slowly repeated.
Ever since she’d been taking the surgeon’s proscribed medicine, her usual, deliberate speech pattern sounded even more measured. It annoyed Thomas that her current state preoccupied his thoughts. He refused to entertain the notion that it hinged on anything other than his own mercenary concern. Frankly, he preferred not getting his arse killed as a result of her reduced reflexes when the Hessian finally decided to make his appearance. He certainly didn’t give a rat's ass at how she constantly appeared half-asleep. Or painfully hobbling about. Nor did he pay any sort of attention to the way her expression fluctuated between sedate and and utterly blank. Nope, he didn’t find it unsettling in the slightest. It wasn’t as though she painted a hypnotizing picture of lethal grace whenever they found themselves in yet another round of fisticuffs.
Nah, nothing like any of that at fucking all.
"I suggest you cease staring at me as well,” her husky voice interrupted his thoughts again.
“‘Cause ya be lookin’ a right mess this mornin’,” Thomas groused.
“Pardon me for not measuring up to your arbitrary expectations,” she dismissively waved. Without further ado, she wolfed down more toast and sausage.
In truth, she appeared as neat as ever. Dark locks tightly braided back in two, she’d wrapped them around her head in a crown-like fashion. It made her appear like some young, stern, German fraulein. For now, she forwent her coat and waistcoat. It left her in a double set of loose tunics, her trousers and scarlet sash with the fancy, silver “A” clasping it closed, the animal skin wrappings around her legs and her moccasins. Nevertheless, she wore her hidden blades around each wrist. Her holster also hung on the back of her chair. It held her pistol, French cutlass, a brace of throwing knives and a pouch of smoke bombs. She likely also had some weapons hidden away on her person. Yet without her foreboding hood, she appeared bizarrely innocuous.
Sitting at the head of the table in between them, William casually read the morning newspaper. Legs crossed at the knee, save a smirk, he didn’t respond to their bickering. Although he attended only a casual breakfast, the assassin still dressed in full livery. His goatee freshly trimmed against tanned skin, he’d swept back his straight, black hair into a tight ponytail. The yellow ribbon binding it matched his golden colored waistcoat. Embroidered with white vines sprouting dark blue flowers, it was buttoned over a crisp, white tunic. White breeches and tall, brown dragoon boots completed the ensemble. Sheathed about his waist sat his cutlass and dagger. On his right arm, one of those bracer blades so similar to the ones Connor, Dobby and that frontier wench, Emily Burke, bore. After all, they were all on high alert for the Hessian to attack them any hour now.
Regardless of being only a couple years older than Connor and well over a decade younger than Thomas, William appeared a prince holding court. His distant laugh as the other two continued exchanging barbs kept him occupied. It gave Thomas the distinct impression that as long as he and Connor didn’t come to blows, the Frenchman could entertain himself all day with watching them.
What a bizarre little trio they made. Well, all four of them, if you included the cat. Which was currently staring at him across the table with haughty, emerald green eyes. Yawning after a while, it turned its nose up at him and dropped its head onto its front paws to settle back down into Connor’s lap.
It appeared that assassin cats, much like their owners, were condescending ‘lil bastards.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27b/?
(Anonymous) 2014-12-23 07:51 am (UTC)(link)Apparently, not all prisoners lived in cells with metal doors and bars on their windows. Or irons clapped on their hands and ankles.
“All these fuckin’ servants?” Thomas scowled from his seat on the settee chair. For another maid he’d never seen been before was in the process of setting up the tea service in one of the smaller parlors on the first floor. Actively ignoring him, she finished and curtsied at William. Nodding back with a polite smile, he sent her on her way before pouring Thomas a cup. “They’re bloody everywhere,” the soldier grumbled.
“I’m surprised you’re so aware of them, considering they tend to move about with relatively ease,” William daintily sipped his tea from his seat on the rococo style, canapé couch. Positioned perpendicular to Thomas, it was edged in dark wood. Its deep green silk lay swept with a damask of white embroidered flowers matching the design of the settee. Like everything else in the house, it appeared absurdly posh.
“Ain’t like most folks be affordin’ an entire staff to be comin’ and goin’ at they beck and call,” Thomas snorted.
Not bothering to look up from the page of some book he’d taken from the shelves lining the far wall from floor to ceiling, the Frenchman shrugged. “A valid observation,” he intoned, “Many of us aren’t so lucky.”
“Lucky?” Thomas huffed, snapping open the afternoon newspaper, “It’s called bein’ rich as fuck. Somethin’ I aim to be as well, mate. The sooner, the bloody better.”
“How…honest of you,” William chuckled.
“I’m just bein’ straight with ya.”
“No wonder she trusts you-”
“Despite that you ain’t doin’ no such thing?” Thomas challenged, even as he kept his gaze glued to the newspaper.
“Come now, of course I don’t trust you,” William smirked. “I however hold Connor in the highest esteem,” he nodded at where she lay dozing next to him on the couch. Stretched out and head resting on the sofa’s opposite arm, her injured leg sat propped up on a couple of pillows next to his thigh. Arms crossed over her chest, she appeared a soldier in the field taking a quick nap. Well, save the way the calico cat lay resting on her belly. Barely awake, it purred and flicked the end of its tail every so often. “So if she finds a reason to place her faith in you, I am not one to question her decision,” William continued. “Otherwise, I know nothing of you, save my instincts.”
“And what do those be tellin’ ya?” Thomas grinned, eyes flitting upwards to take in the other man.
“That if not for Connor, you would not be alive in my presence at the moment,” William titled his chin upwards.
“Wot's that then?” Thomas grunted, pouring himself a second cup of tea, “You mean ya would’ve gone ‘n killed me?”
“Likely, Templar,” William smoothly replied, “Unless you happened to end my life first.”
Thomas shot him a predatory grin around the teacup. Taking a long sip, he couldn’t help savoring the explosion of orange and bergamot signaling its high quality. “Sooooo,” he purposely drew out the word, “How exactly did you be surmisin’ who I be?” he arched a brow, setting down the cup on the gold gilded, oval shaped table between them.
“I am not at liberty to reveal conversations told to me in confidence,” William waved at Connor.
“Well‘en,” Thomas shrugged, “I ain’t gonna deny it.”
William let out a brittle laugh at that. However, his suddenly icy, sapphire gaze caused to Thomas freeze before he reached out and snatched a sandwich from a plate on the tea service. “At least you make no attempt to justify yourself,” William inclined his head.
“I ain’t so florid ‘n fancy with me words as the others be.”
“Despite that you convinced Connor not to slit your throat at the first opportunity?”
“That don’t mean she didn’t go tryin’,” Thomas muttered, “A whole damn lotta times, mind ya.”
“If she was determined to do so, it would have been done,” William briefly grinned, “Likely without you realizing it. Well, not until she’d already opened up your neck from ear to ear and you were choking on your own blood.”
Swallowing as he smothered the bread of his sandwich with butter, Thomas huffed, “Ain’t gotta go tellin’ me twice.” Quickly letting the knife harmlessly clatter to the table as William’s gaze darted to it, he stuffed the sandwich in his mouth. Hickey contemplatively chewed for a few moments before shrugging again. “Good thing it ain’t come to that.”
“Not yet,” William declared with aplomb, gracefully shifting in his seat as Connor stirred.
Sleepily blinking, she rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Thomas snickered at how she appeared more child than adult for the moment. Messy strands of hair escaped her braid while she loudly yawned and stretched with a tired groan. The cat stirred as well, meowing a bit before walking up her chest. Nuzzling at her shoulder for quick scratch behind the ears, it leapt to the floor and pranced out of the room to attend to its own business. For once without a cautious glance around for impending danger, Connor accepted the steaming cup of tea William handed her. He also set a plate piled with a couple of scones and a handful of sugar cookies on her lap as she sat up straighter. As Thomas witnessed since they arrived, she hungrily tore into it. He figured the only explanation for how she was able to scarf down so much was her constant expenditure of energy. Evidently, viciously murdering folks took work.
“This is delicious,” she sighed. Her eyes fluttering closed, she let out a surprising moan of pleasure. Combined how her cheeks lightly flushed and the way her tongue darted out lick at a bit of tea along the corner of her mouth, Thomas found his eyes going wide. Along with the tell-tale carnal itch along his skin and the heat whipping through his gut. “Darjeeling?” she thoughtfully said to William while balancing the plate of treats in her lap.
“Your favorite, of course,” William easily replied, “With enough sugar added to incapacitate a small child.”
Connor smirked at that before downing most of the tea. William poured her another as she shot a glance to Thomas. Brows furrowing at his flushed face and bright eyes, she murmured, “You appear peaked-”
“That be like your fifth cup ‘o the day, considerin’ breakfast,” he babbled. He forced himself to look away as she licked the sugar off of a cookie before popping it into her mouth. The fact that she was in no way purposely being seductive only made it worse. He needed to get a hold of himself…
“Hmph, that’s odd,” William shook his head in dismay, his eyes flitting across the entire tea service, “It seems that the kitchen staff forgot to include the cream for the scones-”
“That be ‘cause he murdered the milkman to break in,” a terrified, high pitched voice said from across the room.
Thomas spun around in his chair, only to widen his eyes and snarl, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” as he scrambled to his feet.
Hand snapping to his pistol, he had only the blink of an eye to jerk himself in the opposite direction. Dodging the hurled shortblade aimed at his heart, a combination of sheer luck and his unexpected speed resulted in it scraping past his upper arm. Unfortunately, it slashed close enough to rip through the cloth of his coat before thudding in the polished wood panel of the wall behind him. At the same time, the thunderous clap of a shot rang out. Had not William thrown himself off the sofa and rolled to floor from his seat, his chest would have taken the fatal shot. Roughly snatching Connor with him caused her to pitch to the floor right the bullet ricocheted off upholstery less than an inch from her hobbled leg. Unfortunately, her movement proved sluggish. Left on her knees and leaning an elbow on the table, her fingers weren’t fast enough to snatch her own flintlock out of its holster from where it hung on the arm of the couch. A flick of her hand did manage to unsheathe her hidden blade. Trouble was, it would do no good from her position across the room from their assailant and his hostage.
Harris looked utterly terrified. Then again, no one blamed him, considering the Hessian’s flintlock pressed to the boy’s temple. A fresh bruise also bloomed across his cheek. Blood trailing down his split lip, it stained his ripped collar where the Hessian had it twisted in his meaty fingers against his neck.
“He will not hesitate to kill him,” Connor hissed behind to the other two men. Glancing back at her, Hickey flinched at her expression of unadulterated hatred directed toward the mercenary.
"No shit!" Thomas sneered.
“Oui,” William tersely replied, gazed darting between their enemy and Harris.
“H-he got me on the stoop of the kitchen house. I just…I just wanted some milk with me tea,” Harris’ lip quivered. Big, brown eyes wide and rapidly blinking, he stammered, “But the milkman…he…he went ‘n bloody sliced open the milkman!”
“Shut your mouth, boy,” the Hessian coldly commanded, shoving him further forward into the parlor.
“F-forgive me,” Harris babbled on. Voice rising with hysteria, he hiccupped, “I didn’t wanna tell ‘im where you was. Didn’t even go saying anythin’ when he went hurtin’ me. Then he…he said he’d go killin’ anyone in his sights if I kept it up! I-”
“Do not worry yourself, Harris,” William soothed, voice light despite that his raised hands. “It is not as though anyone expects a grown man to terrorize a child.”
“A traitorous drunk, a crippled half-breed and a decadent Frenchman?” the Hessian’s thick accent disdainfully curled his mouth. Eyes clinically sweeping over them, he spat, “Barely worthy of my troubles to kill you all.”
“An endeavor that you will fail in,” Connor promised.
“Wretched woman,” the Hessian glowered. “You are nothing but a mere thorn in my side that I will enjoy breaking before you draw your last breath. After I kill the other ones in front of you, ja?”
“I waste no time for such theatrics,” she methodically replied, expression now sparing nothing in way of emotion. It made Thomas inwardly shudder as she continued, “For all I require is my blade within your throat.”
The Hessian gave a grim smile. However, his weapon was no longer pressed to the boy’s skin. Nor was his finger still on the trigger. His looser grip on his collar also allowed Harris to slump forward, the balls of his feet dragging along the floorboards. A dangerously small opening, Thomas mused. Then again, nothing of that sort ever seemed to daunt the assassin. After all, the most lethal and unpredictable adversaries were always those defending their pack. He witnessed the grisly results of it time and time again when facing off against their shared enemies out on frontier…
It took Hickey a few seconds to process the inexplicable hiss of air racing past his ear. So he couldn’t help but wince as the largest porcelain plate of the tea service narrowly avoided slicing his head only to smash into the Hessian’s lower arm. Mercifully, it did so with enough force to cause the mercenary to wildly fire in their direction versus at Harris. A ring of metal on metal met them rather than the bloody thud of contact with flesh. For the bullet glanced harmlessly off the silver tray William snatched in front of himself when Connor hurled her improvised weapon. Thankfully, Henry smartly fled the room, the blur of his dark blue livery disappearing out the door the only remnant of his presence.
“Nuh-uh, mate,” Thomas tsked while training his pistol on the Hessian’s chest. The soldier’s hand froze only a few inches from to his hip where his other flintlock remained holstered. “Don’t even fuckin’ try it,” he barked, “Not ‘specially after that there slimy-arsed stunt with the kid.”
“I’m afraid that dinnerware was one of a set that is no longer manufactured,” William grinned, palming his pistol from his belt and unsheathing his double hook-blade.
“I see you continue to care for the most critical concerns at hand,” Connor rolled her eyes, eliciting William’s laughter. On her feet now, she drew her pistol from her holster. Her other hand clutched her tomahawk.
“A discussion saved for after this settled,” William shrugged from his position in front her and next to Hickey
“Right-o,” Thomas retorted, eyes never moving from where the Hessian remained frozen in front of them, “‘Cause I sure in the fuck ain’t dyin’ today.”
His gaze burning with loathing, the Hessian flatly countered, “Proof that your faith is firmly placed on the wrong end of your situation.”
“‘Cept I got the pistol now, mate,” Thomas jeered. “And fancy that, there ain’t no more kids hangin’ around that you can go murderin’, neither.”
The shot of both Hickey’s and William’s flintlocks echoed in the cavern of the room. But both bullets only harmlessly ricocheted off the Hessian’s chest with a tinny clank. One bounced off the polished floorboards while the other rebounded and nearly struck Hickey in leg.
“De tout ce qui est saint!”
“Wot in the fuckin’ bloody hell-?!”
“Armor, you imbeciles,” the Hessian dangerously smirked, rapping a fist on the apparent metal plate beneath his clothing on his chest.
“Regardless, your head is not impervious,” Connor scowled as Thomas snatched out his second flintlock and aimed dead-on.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t nearly fast enough as the Templar snarled and lunged forward, his meaty hands clamping around his throat.
Vision already darkening, Thomas landed a solid punch to the mercenary’s jaw. In spite of the tell-tale crack of bone that signaled he’d broken it, his foe’s fingers continued to tighten. Never mind being strangled, the horrid burn and compression of his windpipe made him swiftly realize that his neck was about to be snapped. Especially as the Hessian suddenly used one hand to snatch him by the chin and twist his head in the opposite direction.
Ugh, what a shitacular way to go.
Well, fuck that.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27c/?
(Anonymous) 2014-12-23 07:53 am (UTC)(link)All at once, the pressure disappeared from his neck and he tumbled to the ground. His head slamming into the wooden floorboards, his vision swam with flashing dark spots, signaling more damage to his hard head than he’d prefer. He would’ve cursed at his ill luck if he could just catch his fucking breath. Shakily rolling to his side, Thomas hacked and coughed, eyes wet with pain. But even as he wrestled to get air back into his lungs, his hand flew to the spare blade in his boot. Yanking it out and frantically scooting backwards to sit with his back to the wall, he willed himself to focus. For in front of him, Connor managed to leap on the Hessian’s back and drove her stiletto into one of his shoulders while hacking at his other one with her tomahawk. Well, that certainly explained why the mad German so quickly unhanded him.
Yanking her knife out at the Templar’s roar of disbelief, she attempted to slash her ax across his neck. Regrettably, his goret was flung around it as he yawed backwards and spun, vainly trying to dislodge her. Gritting her teeth against the blaze of pain from her injured leg, she securely locked her ankles around his waist. Regardless, the metal of the name plate still prevented her from landing a clean cut. Ever the improviser, she braced her arm across his throat, forcing his chin into the crook of her elbow. Effectively immobilizing him, she then plunged her weapon into where his shoulder met his neck.
Seizing and howling like a feral animal, the Hessian floundered into the wall with a thud. Had he not been so powerfully built, his unconscious action of driving Connor square into marble mantle of the fireplace probably wouldn’t have hurt her much. However, her injured leg fell from around his waist, causing her body shift. It resulted in her taking the full impact of collision between a hefty foe and unyielding stone. Head lurching back, it collided into the corner of the mantle with a sickening impact. Only by Providence did she not fall directly into the flames as she slumped to the ground with a rasped groan.
Spinning around, the Hessian ripped her dagger out of himself with a vile squelch. Flipping the weapon about, he braced it reverse grip while advancing on William.
Slashing out, his strikes arced far too swiftly for Thomas to see. Anyone else would be sliced to ribbons. But William elegantly ducked, dipped and twisted out of every reach. Thomas thought him insane as he purposely backed closer into the corner of the room. Then, he abruptly launched himself off the wall, a vicious knee connecting with the Hessian’s crotch. Scrapping and brawling in the back alleys of London's Whitechapel in his youth, Thomas learned long ago that no man, no matter how much he boasted of his prowess, could take a solid whack the family jewels. Such was the case for the Hessian, who doubled over and clutched at his groin. William’s immediate roundhouse kick hurled their enemy across the room.
The Hessian vainly attempted to regain his footing, but it was to no avail. Toppling backwards, he smashed into the table in the middle of the parlor. His weight and the sheer force of the impact split its glazed glass into dozens of razor sharp shards. Letting out a stunned grunt, he attempted to twist out of the fall. It only caused him to over-spin and slam into the floor, face first.
Thick, jagged lumps of glass ripped his uniform, waistcoat and tunics beneath it to shreds. He should have bled in nearly a dozen place from the damage. But he wore another metal plate on his back. Eyes wide and head lolling to side in stunned disbelief, he shakily propped himself up one arm.
“C-connor!” Thomas rasped, stumbling to his feet. She remained lying adjacent to the fireplace, still as stone. And less than arm’s distance away from where the Hessian clawed at the floor. Despite his other arm limply hanging at his side and one of his legs appearing unable to move, the mercenary wheezed and dragged himself towards her with morbid determination.
From nowhere, a dark form hissed and seemed to drop out of the air, landing on the Hessian’s arm. The German roared as sharp little teeth pierced the soft flesh between his index finger and thumb. Claws latching on to his wrist, the cat scratched deep lacerations into the skin of his hand. Even as the Templar flung his arm back and forth, the animal fearlessly refused to budge. That was until he reached over with his other hand and snatched the cat by its scruff. With a gargle of annoyance, he tugged and yanked, finally ripping it from the meat of his arm. Hurling the calico into the opposite wall, he ignored its yelp as it connected with the hard surface.
“Merde!” William grit at their enemy's relentless press forward. But as the Hessian’s grasping fingers snatched Connor’s ankle, William surged forward and dove for his legs to avoid the shards on his back. Grabbing Connor's stiletto from where it'd landed on the floor, he heaved the Hessian over to his back. Surely, slicing open his throat would do him in once and for all.
With nary a warning, Connor sprung back to life. Heaving herself upward, she planted her back against the pillar of the hearth while at the same time maneuvering her body to clutch the Hessian's head between her knees. A flurry of red found her yanking her crimson sash from about her waist. Abruptly knotting it about the mercenary's neck promptly made it into a primitive noose. Both of Connor’s hands then wrapping around either end of it, her fatal intent as clear as day. Yanking upwards while planting her feet on the Templar’s shoulders, she viciously thrust him down to slide along the floor. The effect used his own weight against him as she put her makeshift garrote to its grisly use.
The bastard didn’t even give them a satisfaction of a scream as the unmistakable, grotesque shrick of his neck snapping echoed in the air. An eternity seemed to pass before the Hessian’s legs finally stopped flailing and jerking. Combined with his sightless stare at the ceiling and rigid form, he had to be dead. Not to mention getting stabbed multiple times, having his spine rearranged and then being strangled.
“Fucker’s got nine bloody lives!” Thomas breathed, collapsing to sit on the floor. “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he raggedly coughed as he closed his eyes and drew his knees up.
“So it would seem,” William replied with surprising alacrity. Chest heaving, he wiped his brow and took in Connor. Seeing her eyes fluttering open, he let out snorted chuckle that was more akin to relief. “And Connor has ten.” Sliding down the wall to sit next to her, he grabbed her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
“Ain’t gotta go tellin’ me twice,” Thomas painfully nodded in agreement. Gingerly touching his neck, he winced at the feel of the bruises forming. “Hell, we all do.”
“For the better,” Connor rasped, her expression lacking its usual irritation.
“Or worse, in your case,” William smirked at Hickey.
“Frenchmen’s got fuckin’ jokes,” Thomas groused. It took longer than he liked to pull himself to his feet. However, he crossed the room on a few strides to meet the other two.
At the same time, the cat stumbled out of the corner. Save shaking its head a few times, the animal didn’t appear worse for wear as he moved forward and lightly licked along Connor’s cheek. Feeling along the back of her head, William slightly recoiled at Connor’s growled exasperation when he hit a tender spot. Bringing his fingers up to find them bloodied, he started murmuring various questions to test the extent of her injuries. Things such as her age, the current year and day, who he was and so on.
The duo’s distraction allowed Thomas to toe at the Hessian’s shoulder before he crouched down and unwound the makeshift garrote from around his neck. He couldn’t stop from wrinkling his nose at how its edges actually cut into the arsehole’s neck, Connor’s strength evident. The blighter was as dead as a doornail though. About fuckin’ time, he thought to himself. Glancing back to William and Connor still babbling, he surreptitiously removed the Hessian’s Templar ring and pocketed it before inquiring, “So who be gettin’ the fun job ‘o dumpin’ this mongrel’s body?”
“We shall sort that out after attending to her first,” William insisted, shooting Thomas a look of admonishment as he opened his mouth again.
“Suits me,” Thomas shrugged. Glancing downwards, he took in the cat twining around his legs. “Wot?” he asked the feline. Shockingly, the animal didn’t reach out and swat at him. Instead, it settled for rubbing its cheek against his ankles. Taking it as a sign of an unspoken truce, Thomas leaned down and cautiously ran a hand along its back. Arching into his touch for a few moments, it strolled away. Though not before turning tail to hiss at the Hessian’s corpse. “Yeah,” he tiredly smiled, “He be a right proper bastard, boy-o.”
Meanwhile, William slowly drew Connor to her feet. She could already feel her thoughts swimming, her limbs becoming heavy and her speech beginning to slur as she repeated herself. “Do not trust,” she trailed off. Her tongue felt like cotton, loose and dry in her sandy mouth. Hand flailing, she reached out to grab William by the collar. “You cannot trust him,” she huffed, “He…is…a liar. Deceiver. Save for my threats, he would betray us. No hesitation-”
“I know, mon Cherie,” William worriedly grinned. “I know,” he clasped her hand in both of his. “Now, stop struggling against the sleep. You need your rest.”
“Hmph,” she drowsily exhaled. After a while though, it was impossible to stay awake. And so Connor finally allowed the darkness to claim her.
Notes:
"Oui" - "Yes" in French
"Ja?" - "Yes" in German
“De tout ce qui est saint!” – “Of all that is holy!” in French
“Merde!” - "Shit!" in French
“tea…some new concoction of tasting or orange and bergamot he’d never had in his life...it wasn't half bad” - Basically, this is a description of Earl Grey tea. While it existed, it wasn’t specifically known as that blend until about 50 years later. Named after the 2nd Earl Grey, the British Prime Minister in the 1830s, Lord Grey received the special blend of tea as a gift. It became hugely popular afterwards and the rest is history. In this case, I like to think the ever-refined William is ahead of his time.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27c/?
(Anonymous) 2014-12-24 05:24 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 27c/?
(Anonymous) 2015-02-18 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)