This story, unlike many of my others, is NOT a reply to an ask (connorfemway on tumblr), but a story I've written in the same universe.
Because this is not a reply to an ask, it was not proofread other than a quick glance-over for spelling errors (and even that was minimal), so don't expect the usual polish of my other stories.
But do expect some references. Those are always fun.
Enjoy.
There are three orphans who stand on the corner of the street, just down the way from the Boston courthouse.
The first of the three is a blue-eyed boy with bright spirits and a charming smile.
The second of the three is a brunette with scars and bruises and a darker complexion.
The third of the three is a boy with the darkest, brownest complexion, who is the tallest and the shyest.
Every day the three stand upon the street corner, palms held open. They are a talented lot - they sing and dance for those who pass, all in the hope of a coin or two. Their dirty clothing and bare feet are something to be pitied by most people.
Every so often, when there is spare money to give, Connor stops to watch the boys sing and dance for her. By now the three know what the Assassin's attention means - she's ready to hand over coin. The three sing and dance and jump around the native's legs, grabbing at her sleeves and hands. Never once has she spoken a word to them, and never once have they asked questions of her.
But once they've bounced about and worn themselves out by swinging on her arms or dancing or singing their lungs out, the Assassin reaches into her pouch and draws out three, sometimes six, and on the best days nine, coins. A coin or two or three is placed in the palm of each boy before she leaves to carry on with her business.
They were a pleasant part of the day when she had the money. It was unlike Connor to be amused with such people - the poor children were more than likely suffering on these streets. It was a delight, then, when she could stop to hand over some of her own money to them. To spy them eating food soon after handing over the coin filled her gut with a fond feeling. The children deserved better, but she would do her best when she could.
A piece of paper is handed over.
"Those mongrels one might call 'boys' might be able to assist you with this task," Benjamin Franklin turns his glare on one of the men who sits not far behind him. Samuel Adams is the next to turn around, eyebrow raised with indignation. Connor's lips thin.
"Do not mind him," Adams waves his hand as he turns back to the Assassin, "But he carries a point. Those boys might be of help."
"I've nothing to pay them."
"Who says you need to pay them?" Franklin huffs, adjusting the ruffles on the front of his dress shirt, "If I recall, you have given them far too much in the way of coin over time. Wouldn't you agree, Samuel?"
"As much as I despise saying it, we cannot afford charity right now, Connor," the politician frowns with his own disapproval.
A deep breath is sucked in through parted lips.
The night air is crisp with the stink of the heavy rain. On the way out the door, Connor takes a coat from one of the racks.
Not a soul resides on this street. The paper is tucked away beneath the safety of the Assassin's overcoat. Boots fall into puddles with not so much as a flinch from the cold of it.
Around the corner, down the street a few paces. Connor stands at the entrance to the alleyway, coat clutched in one hand.
A pair of dark brown eyes appear in the dark from beneath a makeshift shelter - a large, decrepit crate covered in some old curtains. Upon Connor's approach, the boy hides in the crate, drawing the curtains closed. Whispering finds a pair of inquisitive ears past the drum of the rain. Droplets fall from the beak of her cowl onto her nose once she kneels down in front of the crate.
For several moments she waits, as the boys deliberate (rather loudly) about whether or not to talk to the woman. Their antics are nothing more than childish in essence, a fact that draws the beginnings of a smile to the Assassin's lips.
Finally, three heads poke out from a part in the curtains.
"Sir?" the blue-eyed boy, the leader of the troupe, inquires.
"I need your help," she says to them, and all three eyes pop open at once. The blonde boy claps his hands over his mouth.
"I ain't known! I'm sorry!" he begins to blabber, but Connor raises a finger to her now smiling lips. The giggling from the second boy has ceased.
The third boy reaches out a hand to grab at the beak of the cowl. All three boys peak beneath the hood when it's lifted up enough to reveal Connor's face. A simultaneous "ohhhh" leaves their lips.
"Whatcha need, ma'am?" the second boy speaks up with a high voice.
"I need some help finding someone. Will you?" she tips her head to the side, not removing the third boy's hand as it plays with the beak of the hood.
"That depends, ma'am," the blonde boy raises his voice, lifting the curtain a little higher to show off the way he puffs out his chest, "Whut's innit fer us?"
A chuckle leaves Connor's lips.
The first and second boys walk ahead, sharing the cover of the huge coat provided by the Assassin. Stuck to her side is the third boy who takes shelter from the thundering rain beneath the length of her overcoat. He holds tightly to her gloved hand with both of his own.
"How come you getta go in front? I can't see," the second boy mumbles, following in the footsteps of the first boy.
"Awh shut it, Porty!" the first boy stops on the path, causing the second to run into his back and nearly knock him over.
"What'd ya do that for, ya lobcock?" the second growls, and their pause and bickering have let Connor catch up to them.
"Boys," she taps on both of the coat-covered heads with her unoccupied hands. The third boy presses his cheek against her belly to try to see around the Assassin without the tails of the overcoats falling off.
"Atty's tha one who started it, ma'am," the second boy, Porty, lifts the coat a bit to reveal a mouth, teeth, and a nose to try to speak. Before he can lift it up more, Atty grabs it and pulls it back down over the two of them. A groan of agitation is heard and the coat ruffles up as the two hit each other with tiny fists.
"Boys..." Connor sighs, tapping again on their heads, "Sort it out before I must."
"Yes ma'am," Atty mutters, and eventually the two come up with a compromise - holding the coat in a way where both can see forward and walk side by side. They set off once again, bickering at each other and trying to stomp on each other's muddy bare feet as they go.
Connor shakes her head, following after the two with the third in tow. He seems partial to Connor - he clutches tightly to her hand and often presses his cheek to her side.
She might be distrusting of the boy being so close on other occasions - but since they had a reward to work for, she doubted the kids would try to steal from her. If they did, she would know, anyways.
"Wha's yuh name, ma'am?" the third boy speaks up after a minute or so of walking. They walk alongside the docks, the two other boys walking farther ahead.
"Connor."
The boy's face twists in confusion. His little nose wrinkles.
"Tha's a boy's name, ma'am."
"Have you a better idea?" the Assassin snorts with the humor of the comment.
The boy has gone silent with thought, and the Assassin wonders if she should regret asking such a question. She hadn't meant it seriously. Not around children often, sometimes it was easy to forget that they weren't that partial to sarcasm.
"I'll think o' somethin'," he eventually concludes, once he's taken enough time to think on it and can find no conclusion.
"What is your name?" she asks the boy, making a mental note of each name (or nickname, as she assumes) and matching the names to the faces of the three boys.
"Awwy," the boy says, offering a smile that is missing some teeth, "Tha's what Atty an Po'ty call me, so you can too, ma'am."
Up ahead the other two boys have stopped again to bicker. One boy tugs the coat one way while remaining under it, and the other boy tugs the other way.
"It's this way, Porty ya twit!"
"Nuh! Nuh-uh!"
"Where are we going?" Connor raises her voice to the two, reaching out to push the two boy's heads back together. They turn around and poke their faces out of beneath the coat, looking sour.
"Porty dunt know what he's talkin' bout, ma'am!" Atty shakes his head hard, "The bloke's place is over there."
His finger, attached to a short arm, pops out from beneath the cloak to point inland.
"I tink Atty's righ, Po'ty," Ary's little voice pops out of the drum of the rain, "Where you goin', there's only tha big ol' sea."
"Shut yer face, Ary," Porty sticks his tongue out at the other boy, "There's otha buildings 'long the docks, ya know."
"Tell me what he looks like," Connor opts for this option instead, figuring it would be better to avoid the boys getting much more upset than they were. Ary's hands release hers, and he opts instead to coil his arms around her right thigh while the other two boys look thoughtful. Connor settles her hand upon his head.
Suddenly both boys begin to throw out their descriptions of the man. Once the third boy has joined in, Connor wonders what a good idea would possibly be with these three. They had a way of overcomplicating things.
Then again, what was she to expect. These were only children, after all.
But the blabber that lasts for several minutes on end gives her a sort-of clear picture of the target's appearance. He would be by these docks, certainly. But, where?
At the base of a home, the third boy is pulled gently from the leg onto which he has seemed to glue himself. He is shifted quickly beneath the cloak, in between the other two boys.
"Stay here until I return," she says to them, with an assured nod.
"Where ya goin'?" Atty squints an eye at the woman, wiggling his toes in the puddle at his feet.
"To find our man's hiding place."
All three boys stare with large eyes as Connor climbs her way up the side of the building. She disappears once she has reached the top, out of sight while on top of the roof.
The rain makes it dangerous to traverse these rooftops, so Connor exercises extra caution as she roams.
The smuggler would be here, she was sure. The district was right, from the looks of the paper. The orphans had provided a good description of the man that was not provided in Samuel's report.
Below, at ground level, the three boys scurry along as a single mass beneath the coat they use to hide from the rain. As the Assassin leaps to the rooftop across the way, the three boys turn their heads up to watch. Their small feet scurry to keep up, and their bickering is endless as they go. Connor turns her eyes downwards to the streets with disappointment.
She had actually expected them to stay in place? That was rather foolhardy, she now thinks.
The noise they were making was alarming though. In fact, they were starting to draw some unnecessary attention. At the sound of a yell, Connor whips around and moves back over to the edge of the rooftop from whence she had come.
The Assassin gets low where she resides on the rooftop as the three boys are confronted by three men and a half-stripped barmaid who hangs on one man's arm.
"That's a nice coat ya got there," one of the men nears the boys and grabs a hold of the cloak. He tries to pull it away but their combined strength barely holds it in place. The man was drunken as well, adding to the lack of proper strength.
"It's not yours!" Atty barks, and a moment later his bare foot launches out from beneath the cloak's cover. The boy ends up hissing and nearly falling after his failed attempt to kick the man in the leg. The only thing it's done is anger the man.
But Porty has other ideas - from his side, unseen to Connor, the boy pulls a short sword. The boy fearlessly digs the blade into the man's leg.
Connor digs through a pouch at her side, eventually producing three small throwing knives. With only the flick of her wrist, the man was yowling with pain. One blade buries itself into the man's closest thigh, another in his abdomen, and the final in the upper arm. The two men and the woman who had been laughing in the background have stopped. Their eyes move up to the rooftop where Connor pulls her decorated pistol from her side.
At the sight of the glimmering weapon the cowards turn and run, afraid they will end up like the man who now lays on the ground bleeding and writhing. The children laugh at the man and step on him. Connor growls her frustration as she descends from the rooftop.
"Stop it," she says gently to the boys, grabbing the main assailant, Atty, up by his shirt to pull him off the man.
"Tha's wha ee gets," Porty grins, holding up his short sword in victory. Atty wriggles out of Connor's grip, pulling more of the coat over his own head. From beneath the same coat Ary's wide eyes shine with fright. When Connor gets close enough, the boy pushes past his two friends to take his place back at her side, clinging far too tightly to her hand.
The Assassin hadn't thought she'd be having to babysit for this assignment. She begins to regret enlisting the boy's help.
"Boys, I need you to be quiet," she forces her tone to be a bit more stern, giving each boy a glance to match.
"I recognize this place! We're close!" Atty's voice rises and suddenly he's dragging Porty and the coat down the road, carelessly stepping on the bleeding man who now lies unconscious. Connor regrets having to leave the man there, but when she takes a closer look at him she notices he's a redcoat and feels slightly better.
"Come here," since the boys have rushed ahead, the Assassin opts to catch up rather than fall behind. Ary, the tallest yet youngest of the boys it seems, is slow moving. The Assassin yanks the sparse coat off of the dying man and wraps Ary in it.
"Your friends are troublesome," she says to the boy as she takes his hand again, "Run with me, okay?"
"I can try, ma'am," a nod and a toothy smile from the boy.
Together they run after the pair of boys, a floating, wriggling coat from a distance. Connor must run more slowly to accommodate the boy's slower steps, but picking him up would make her no faster so she must be patient.
The boys have stopped outside of a warehouse near the area where ships are under construction. Connor pats Ary's back once they've caught up, the boy coughing with the exertion.
"It's he-" Atty's voice is far too loud, and Connor doesn't reserve her hand. She stifles his words with her only open hand, shushing the three.
A back is bent, and three sets of ears are pulled in closer.
"I must go inside and talk to the man. I need you three to complete a very important task for me."
Three pairs of eyes light up at once. From her side Connor removes a short sword and hands it to Atty, who takes it with eager hands. From her other side Connor removes her tomahawk and hands it over to Ary, who holds it awkwardly but with enough know-how to not accidentally slice himself open.
"Stand out here and keep watch for me," she holds up a finger to the boys, "if any redcoats come this way come inside and find me. Above all else, defend yourselves. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the three say in unison. Porty bounces in place, short sword clutched in his hand. Sloppily engraved on the blade is the name 'Baliz'.
The three stand close by the door to the warehouse. Connor's hand cradles the lock on the door. It is an older lock, heavily used.
A fist is clenched tightly and brought down hard upon the lock. It splits apart and falls to the ground with a loud clatter.
"Stay attentive," she says to the three as the door is pushed open, creating a gap large enough that she and the boys can fit through. All three orphans stand poised with their respective weapons, too excited for their own good.
The warehouse inside reeks of mold and gunpowder. As her eyes adjust to the darkness and as lightning lights up the sky through the windows of the place, crates are found.
One crate is opened, and beneath her fingers Connor feels the dangerous cold of metal. It is the barrel of a musket.
There are several inside of this crate. The Assassin grimaces.
It was just as Samuel had said - a place full of weapons for the wrong side of this war.
Connor moves about the darkness with care, taking note of the other things Samuel had said might be contained within this places - gunpowder, muskets, materials for explosives, cannonballs. Every now and again her eyes move to the crack of the door. She can see only Porty's back. Watches him bounce on the balls of his feet.
A torch is found within the area and carefully lit. The sight she beholds is grim. The amount of weapons and supplies here is immense. At the back of the place the Assassin comes across food storage. A crate is pulled down from a higher shelf and eventually slid out the door to the three boys. None of them look, too involved in scanning the area for anyone who may come along.
How long would it take for this place to explode? The area all around here was mostly abandoned except for the workers who came during the day. This warehouse was too far from any other buildings to spread the fire in this rain. The Assassin is confident about the best way to eliminate this problem.
"Oi!" Atty sticks his head in through the door, "There's some nasty buggers wanderin' the docks!"
Connor moves over quickly and pokes her head out of the door to examine the area.
"Those are beggars," she says to the boy, taking a hold of the back of his shirt to turn him back around, away from the warehouse, "I said redcoats, not beggars."
"Oh."
Time passes as the Assassin figures out how to time the plan she has come up with. It would be best to send the boys off earlier that way she would not have to haul them away before the warehouse exploded. It would be best to set up a match, or a rope, then, so she would have time to escape and make sure the boys were a safe distance away and hidden before the smuggler and his men showed themselves.
Perhaps in the semi finished boats. Besides the beggars, it would be free of other people.
The Assassin begins her work with tedious speed, growing uneasy at the thought of the explosion caused by such a store of explosives and gunpowder. It would likely wake the whole of Boston.
As the line is slowly finished, the three boys run in through the door, all looking frantic. Connor stands up from the floor where she had kneeled.
"There's a-" Porty begins, but is hushed by the Assassin as she moves over to the door and slowly looks out.
A troupe of redcoats are making their way this way. Connor knew full well that they didn't do many patrols at this time of night. Their numbers are large, something Connor wouldn't be able to combat without risking the boys.
The door to the warehouse is slid closed after the torch is discarded, landing with a dull plop in the sea water not far from the door. The rain thunders outside, masking the loud noise of the door closing. The next thing she attends to is scattering the beginnings of the rope she had set out to be the fuse for the explosives. A blanket is grabbed from a crate.
"It's so dark!" Ary squeals, but the three boys are gathered up close to the Assassin who herds them into the back corner of the warehouse among sacks of potatoes and other products. She gets in front of them and kneels down, throwing the brown blanket over top of them. Gently she shushes the three boys who mumble and whine, clutching their weapons in anticipation.
"Quiet now," she takes the shivering Ary into one of her arms, pressing her cheek to his forehead. The other two boys get on their knees and clutch onto Connor's robes, eyes wide and unseen in the darkness. They look all about despite being covered.
If only she could handle this situation with more grace. Taking those men out would be easy alone, but now she ran the risk of the boys being too close to these explosives. The redcoats were not reserved with the firing of their muskets. One misfire would send them all sky high.
Outside the door, the rain muffled voices of the men reach the Assassin's ears, but she cannot understand what they say.
The door is slid open. The orphans and their guardian grow completely still and silent as footsteps echo.
"Some bloke fergot to lock up," a man says. Crates a few rows over are rummaged through. Metal hits metal, causing the boys to flinch in Connor's grasp.
Some bickering ensues. The boys tug at her shirt nervously.
The door is closed, and a pit settles in four stomachs.
The blanket is thrown off as a lock snaps into place on the other side of the door. The Assassin jumps up, whispering firmly to the children to stay. She maneuvers through the darkness up to the door, listening as footsteps disappear in the thunder of the rain.
Feet take steps backwards. A hard surface is knocked into, and suddenly Connor can't breathe. Cold metal presses up against her neck, and she's forced back against a torso.
"I knew it!" the man hollers past Connor's choked noises and her feet kicking at the dirt floor. Not far away a torch is lit, revealing several other malicious faces.
"What've we 'ere?" one man grins a yellow grin, "A lad sneakin' through stuff that dun belong to 'im?"
The Assassin's hands struggle against the metal of the musket held to her neck to choke her. When there is no way she can find to remove the weapon's force, she flicks her wrist and twists her arm around, burying her hidden blade into the man's side. A hollow cry echoes in the warehouse as the force of the musket is released. The Assassin tucks her chin then flings her head back, a flurry of stars shooting into her vision as she cracks her head against the assailant's.
Connor stumbles away and leans against the wall near the door, coughing and choking for air as her airway works its way open again. The men around the room, seeing reason to be more cautious, ready their own weapons.
This situation was not good, in any way. Lightheadedness sets in as Connor rights herself, removing her pistol from her side to hold in her unoccupied hand.
"Surrender now, lad, or ye'll regret it," another man speaks up, glancing between the woman dressed in white and the man bleeding red on the floor, "Yer outnumbered an outgunned."
The explosion of a musket sends many of the redcoats veering away from the man who spoke. This same man falls to the floor, head a bloody mess. Connor's eyes widen exponentially, then move to the boy who holds the musket - Ary.
In this moment of surprise and confusion, Connor charges the remaining redcoats. The first man is thrown to the ground with the force of her bladed hand, the second man succumbing to her pistol's power. The third man falls to the ground with Porty's Baliz buried in his leg. Atty moves up to the man, short sword in hand.
"I'll do it, goddam it," the boy says, shaking his head and holding the sword up to the man's neck, "One move an yer dead, ya hear?"
The man, however, doesn't appear frightened despite his pain. When he reaches out for the boy, Connor stomps on the man's arm, crushing it beneath her weight. The man's cry is cut short by the blade dragged across his neck.
A breath of relief is taken. Connor looks to the three boys and is glad to find they are unharmed. She reaches out and sets her hand on Atty's head.
"Thank you," she says to them, with an assured nod, "You did well."
This earns her three different smiles.
Connor works at the door for a long time before conceding that there would be no breaking the lock from the inside. It made no sense - why lock those men in here with her, then? How would they have gotten out? It makes the native woman believe not everything is as it seems in here.
Exploration is taken up as the kids roam about the dead bodies, looting them for coin and other useful items.
An unpleasant smell finds Connor's nose.
The lit torch that she had forgotten about sits against a wall by crates of gunpowder. The Assassin stares at this for several moments, noticing the way the flame licks up the wall of the warehouse.
There was no time to think - Connor's jumping up onto crates up to one of the high windows.
"C'mon!" she yells to the boys as she breaks the glass of the window and pokes her head out to see the landing. A pile of soaked hay sits below. It would have to do.
"What's goin' o- hey!" Atty is the first to ascend the mountain of crates, moving slowly but scooped up under the arms halfway up by the native.
"Trust me," she says to the boy as she cradles the boy in her arms, holding him out the window for a brief moment. Before the boy can contest this, he is dropped. He lands with a yell into the hay pile.
Ary and Porty are picked up at the same time by the rushing Assassin, whose eyes watch the flames make their way up the opposite wall of the warehouse. The flame would not be suppressed by any means Connor knew of - there was no stopping it, only running.
"Ma'am, please, I'm scared of hei-" Porty tries to argue, but a moment later he is dropped out of the broken window that is just big enough for Ary to fit out of.
"Run!" she yells to the boys. Atty stands just as Porty falls into the hay, "Run, now!"
"But Conna aintchu gonna come?" Ary clings to Connor's arm as she moves him to drop out of the window.
"I'll be right behind you," she assures him before he is dropped into the hay below. Once the three boys are together they begin to run, towards the edge of the dock.
The window is far too small for the Assassin to fit through without getting shredded by glass. She tries to knock the leftover shards out by many do not budge, and end of slicing her hands.
This situation was beginning to look dire very quickly. The Assassin turns her eyes upwards.
The rope dart is slung around one of the high rafters and Connor pulls it tight to be sure it's secure. Once she's sure, she presses her feet against the wall and begins to ascend with the aid of the rope dart. Once in the rafters, the Assassin uses her hidden blade to carve out a part of the roofing which is rotten with the rain.
A moment later the Assassin is falling, the wet hay pile her landing.
Feet splash through muddy puddles, and she catches up to the boys who have turned round and began to run to the unfinished ships in the distance. Along the way she scoops all three up, a difficult but necessary task.
As they've almost reached the ships, the three boys screaming at the top of their lungs, a deafening explosion is heard from behind them. Connor has the three boys on the ground and huddles over them, shielding them with her body as the shockwave passes them, flinging debris their way.
In his hands, Ary clutches the only remaining crate - the small crate of food placed outside earlier.
As the ringing in Connor's ears dies down, she finally opens her eyes to observe the three boys. Luckily, none of them have fallen on their weapons, and all stare up at and past Connor with bulging eyes.
A nervous chuckle leaves her lips.
"I ain't ne'er been on no ship before, Miss Connor," Ary, Porty, and Atty all lean over the edge of the deck, eyes on the ground where Connor herself focuses. Her bow is poised, bow arm straight, arrow shivering with the tension of the string, "Can we put it on tha water an go sailin'?"
"Course you can't do that, Ary. This ship ain't yours," Atty barks at his friend, wiping off his face with his dirty palm, "How would ya move it anyways?"
Connor closes one eye, focused on the people who begin to crowd around the wreckage below. A target has been found, and she focuses on him, awaiting his approach. Their single crate of food sits at the bottom of the ship.
Once the burly man's eyes have settled on that crate, Connor knows she's got this assassination in the bag.
"Quiet boys," she says to them, nudging Porty with her leg hard enough to bump all three boys at the same time. They grow silent with anticipation, eyes wide.
The arrow is sent flying, cracking the air with a sharp 'whisp' sound. All the boys' mouths drop open as the target falls to the ground, arrow through his forehead.
"That was wicked," Porty mutters, smiling a silly smile. Connor replaces her boy upon her back, adjusting the hood over her head.
The rain falls lightly now, helping to subdue the licking flames below.
In the morning, the skies are cleared. Large puddles mar the street. Tiny feet tromp through the puddles, but before they enter the door they wipe their feet on a rug.
Three bodies make their way into the packed courtroom, tiny feet echoing on the wood. They wear coats as capes, and chase each other through the rows as politician's eyes follow the children. Some men smile while yet others grimace. In behind the three boys walks the grown woman, who makes an a-line for the front row where Samuel Adams and Benjamin Franklin sit. Two rows behind them another familiar face resides, but it is one Connor would love to and prefer to ignore at all costs.
"Connor?" Samuel Adams wipes at his nose with the back of his hands, eyes moving between the hollering boys and the Assassin who wears a tiny smile on her lips, "What is this?"
"Your task is completed," she says to him, nodding her head, "I believe you owe these patriots compensation."
At these words, the three boys run up to Connor's side, grabbing onto her overcoat and hands, expectant eyes on Adams. The politician, despite himself, wears a small smile.
Franklin, on the other hand, looks greatly disturbed.
"What are you doing with my coat, boy?" the man turns his gaze on the boy, but then turns it to Connor instead. The Assassin's smile has widened.
"What do you speak of, Franklin?" she says to him, "Did you not ask me to take a coat to these boys as a token of your gratitude?"
Samuel has to cover his mouth with the back of his hand to avoid the laughter. Franklin eyes the Assassin before him with an unreadable expression. It is as though he cannot believe what has just happened.
"Say your thanks," Connor turns her gaze to the boys, who say a large "thank you" in unison, but their eyes have hardly left Adams.
"Well then. What do you propose, Connor?" many pairs of eyes are on them as Samuel speaks. He straightens up in his chair, examining the boys with fascination.
"I believe a full meal and some shoes would be proper compensation," she nods her head once, her hands coming to rest on Atty and Ary's heads. They smiles toothy grins, apprehensive and anxious.
Samuel looks between the boys and Connor, wearing a look of amusement on his features. He licks his lips and chuckles.
"I do certainly trust your judgment, Connor... Alright then, I believe we can do that," the man nods, and is suddenly overwhelmed by the three boys with their barrage of "thank yous" and excited laughter. Behind Adams, Franklin shakes his head, exasperation showing through in his features.
Heads shake and laughter echoes throughout the room from the many politicians who sit about. George Washington is the next target of the boy's courtroom game, and he distracts their attention as Samuel speaks to attendants to make preparations for the boys.
"I hardly understand you," he admits to Connor as they stand together at the back of the courtroom.
"You said that we cannot afford charity at this time," the Assassin picks some dried blood from beneath her fingernails, "I see nothing wrong with compensating patriots."
The politician works hard to keep the smile off of his face.
There are three orphans who stand on the corner of the street, just down the way from the Boston courthouse. As folks pass by, they tap their new shoes upon the stone street and sing songs about the glorious meal they once enjoyed and dance with the woman dressed in white, who stops to hand them coins every so often.