Okay, prologue! First ever Robber/Redcoat fic. That's Fillian McCarthy/Eleanor Mallow here.
Enjoy!
Prologue
"Stupid Assassin scum." The Templar snarled.
Fillian was actually quite surprised that she'd even made onto the rooftop, let alone almost match his own free-running prowess. Maybe Templar training was improving...
"'s a shame you're a Temp, darlin'. I admit you're definetly on the nicer side o' beauty." he pronounced boldly.
He wasn't lying, she really was pretty : blue eyes, dark brown hair and a body no sane man in London would pass up. A shame indeed...
His train of thought was promptly interrupted as the razor sharp spadroon, a type of sword he had seen many times on the city's military patrols, sliced through his left sleeve. It left a shallow cut.
"You dare flirt with me, dog? Enjoy it, for today will be you last! You will die with my blade in your gut."
"Nope," the young man smirked. He moved backwards to avoid a wild horizontal slash, dangerously close to the edge of the roof. "Have we met, by the way? Do I know any other crazy bitches? Hmm..."
"Aagh!" The female Templar cried.
She jumped forward, brandishing her blade. This would've been fine, good even, for the Assassin, who was rather quick on his feet. Unfortunately, one of the aforementioned feet caught in the bunting which had been stretched from that roof to one of the lamposts below. His head just missed the roof, hanging off it.
"Finally," the dark-haired beauty smiled, a terrible ,evil smile. "You'll be first kill, my initiation to the Order."
Well, that was new. He certainly hadn't expected that when she had surprised him earlier that evening, whilst he had been helping a certain contact close his stall.
And then he remembered that a blood-thirsty woman had a sword to his throat.
He glanced around frantically: all he had was his hook and the clothes on his back. He hadn't been expecting a fight. His foot ached from where he had tripped over the nail onto which the bunting was attached.
The bunting!
The Assassin smirked."'s been a pleasure, Miss Templar. But I'm afraid that this is the end of our lovely meeting. Kiss, kiss." And then he laughed, a full-blown laugh.
And with that, he leaped off the roof, ripped the grappling hook from his belt, grabbed onto the bunting with it whilst praying it would hold his weight and sped down to the street below. He couldn't resist one last cocky wave from under the lamplight.
Needless to say the next roar shook London and the next day many workmen would remark that it sounded distinctly like an angry wife.