Hey guys! Decided to make a little area for all my little Assassins Creed Ideas ~ If you have a request, let me know, I'll be glad to do it! Sorry if they're a bit out of character ~
Another day at the bar.
Thomas Hickey was of course a regular, enjoying the intoxication of the alcohol in his hand.
Only difference, today a woman walked in and sat down two stools away. She seemed to be alone, and Hickey deemed her as someone beautiful. She really was – long black hair and blue eyes.
Making his way to sit next to her, he was going over something in his head to say that he probably thought was attractive or romantic, but really would come off as annoying and sleazy in his drunken state.
Smiling, he looked over at her.
"Hello, dear," He slurred out, a bit awkwardly.
The woman looked at him a moment, before looking away with no response.
Scolding himself, he slowly reached a hand over to set on her knee.
"I was wondering if perhaps-"
He was cut off as soon as his hand touched her, she flinched away too quickly and looked at him in distraught.
"P-Please sir, don't touch me…" She replied rather shakily, before making her way to the last stool at the end.
Blinking in shock, he went back to his drink and didn't speak to her again. He would have loved to continue to pursue, but something about how nervous she had seemed, how she had almost appeared … Afraid of him, shook him.
She too got a drink, and another, and another yet, until she seemed to be wasted. She laid her head on the counter, her eyes closed, she seemed to have some kind of pain – he recognized the look. The drinking the pain away, rather than facing it directly. He didn't want to admit it, but he was curious. What was it that troubled her so much?
She became a regular at this bar, and every time she came, she did the same thing – sat down at the last stool, ordered drinks until she couldn't drink anymore, and lay on the counter as if enjoying her time away from the pain.
"What's it with you, aye? Always here for a drink, some time away from pain, and then off you go. What troubles you?" He finally asked one day.
She looked up from her drunken state, blinking at him slowly.
"I'd rather not say. But Its nice, no, to escape sometimes?" She said with a small smirk, before laying her head back down and closing her eyes.
"What's your name?" She questioned with her eyes closed, surprising him.
He smiled a bit, sitting back. "Thomas. Thomas Hickey." He responded a bit proudly with a cool expression on his face.
She smiled a bit herself, adjusting her spot.
"Nice name, Thomas. I'm Charlotte Brookes."
A woman named Charlotte Brooks came to the bar everyday and drank by herself until she couldn't feel the pain anymore.
One day was a little different however; she came in with a bit more pain. Bruises on her wrists shown, which caught Thomas's attention. He blinked in concern furrowing his brows together. Going to her, he quickly pulled down her sleeve, showing scars, and other bruises, and a very shocked face from the woman.
"Where do these come from, eh? And don't lie to me!' He demanded to know.
She looked a bit terrified, before she looked at her arm. Then she looked back up at him, her expression unwavering while his was stern.
"My Husband gives em to me… I'm not a good wife…" She admitted honestly.
He pulled her sleeve back down gently, suddenly realizing it all went together. The drinking, everyday getting away from pain. Everyday escaping her husband.
"I'd say he's not a good husband." He said as he sat back down, taking another drink.
She didn't say anything in return, but didn't drink anymore. Just sat and thought, as she had been found out.
Another day came along, when she sat and drank, but someone came in angrily.
"Charlotte!"
Her head snapped up and eyes widened with fear as a man stood in the doorway. He walked over to her and stood by her stool.
"Roger, I –"
"So that's it then? This is what you've been off doing every day? What the hell is wrong with you?" He said angrily as he grabbed her wrist and began to pull her away from the place.
"Please let go, I-"
"Excuse me sir, a moment please?"
The couple looked over as a new voice spoke. Thomas was there with a smile, looking at Roger as he opened the door to the bar.
"Please come back in, I want to discuss something with you?"
Roger hesitated a moment, before letting go of Charlotte and looking back at her.
"Don't move." He ordered sternly before following Thomas back inside.
A few moments passed, and Charlotte wondered what could possibly be taking so long. Was everything alright? When the door opened again, Thomas came out with a bloody nose, walking to her.
"Goodness, are you alright? That looks awful…" She asked quickly, trying to clean him up a bit.
He laughed and looked down at her, shaking his head.
"Aye, not as bad as his broken jaw, I'd say." He commented.
She looked up at him and blinked in surprise. He had won the fight?
"What'd you do that for? Now he's going to be after me-"
"No. You can start over. He said the hell with you, and now I'm saying, why not try again?"
Thomas smiled a bit, looking at her considerately.
"What do you say? Want to try it again? I promise I won't do any harm, and his jaw will stay broken as long as I'm around." He offered.
She blinked a moment, listening to this whole absurd idea. Then she smiled, and nodded slowly.
"Alright, Thomas… I can try again."
And as he linked his arm with hers, he could tell this time would be different. This wasn't just another girl – but someone who needed true care.
And he would be that person.