Nothing like publishing the next chapter before Halloween. I apologize for the hiatus, I actually forgot this was on here. Hopefully I'm here to stay for I have a lot planned for this story.
The sun is starting to rise by the time Constable Crane exits the constabulary. Turpin of course got to him before he could leave, and was glad to give him a stack of paperwork. He yawns, covering his mouth with his forearm as he finally exits the constabulary, realizing that it's almost been twenty-four hours since he last slept. No big deal, the Constable has pulled all nighters before and this time is no different. Anyways, he has no time to rest! He was lucky enough to receive one of the last shifts that doesn't end until six, and it's only four in the morning.
The case is definitely one of the stranger ones, and yet he reads over the letter a couple hundred times more, until his eyes are burning and the letters are all scrambled together. He stumbles into the street and for a good ten minutes, the only sound are his thick soled boots on the pavement and a few birds. It's calm and quiet and almost relaxing, which is almost a new feeling for the Constable. He cannot remember the last time his nerves actually settled, and this feeling would have stayed for quite some time if a woman didn't jump out at him. Well she was more of thrown out of one of the alley taverns, but it's still terrifying and Crane gives out a high-pitched yelp.
He stares for a few seconds, utterly confused and mildly frightened before crouching down and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She's dressed simply in a low cut dress, that is in faded brown and long brown hair is tangled and she seems rather limp. Good heavens! Is this woman dead?!
"Get yer 'and off a me!" She screeches like a wild alley cat, and pushes the Constable away. Crane backs away, his hands raised as if she's aiming a pistol at him and nearly trips. He's shaking and attempting to remain calm, despite having no control over this situation or this woman.
"W-well, I-"
"Shut yer mouth!" She hisses, also like a cat and without a moment's hesitation slaps Ichabod across the face. He inhales sharply, stumbling backwards even more and finally crashing into the brick alley wall. She stands and glares at him,her eyes are a startling blood red color and her skin is as pale as the snow that's starting to fall. The Constable shivers and it's unknown if it is from the dropping temperature or the cold look that this woman is giving him.
"M-Ma'am..." Ichabod weakly stammers, already growing terrified of her eye color and how she seems to be getting closer and closer to him, and how she is...Sniffing him?!
"Silence." Is all she says, as in one swift movement, she rips his cravat off. A dark red blush rises in the Constable's pallid cheeks as he strongly stands. He will not stand for being improper, especially in front of woman no matter what color her eyes or skin is!
"Ma'am! I-I say!" He declares, as she slams her palm into his shoulder, knocking him against the wall. To Ichabod's horror, her mouth opens and extends almost like a boa constrictor. Several inch long fangs extend and hover above his jugular vein . All the color drains from his face as his eyes widen to the point of pain, as she gets closer and closer, until there's a loud hiss and she falls over.
Sticking out of her back is an arrow and standing over her is a beautiful woman, clutching a crossbow to her chest. This woman looks rather unfazed by the cowardly constable and this demonic diva.
"J-Janice...?" Ichabod questions, not knowing who is who anymore as everything goes black once again.
The Constable comes to with a start, gasping for air and in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. Another horrid nightmare has plagued his mind and prevented him from sleeping. He's not surprised. It's common for his mind to continue to pester him, even after he's lost consciousness.
"I've never seen a man faint before." The woman says and Ichabod realizes that she's sitting next to him, sharpening a silver dagger. He stares in a mixture of confusion and fear at the woman, wondering why a woman is sitting next to him. She has long black hair, running down her back and light brown eyes, along with a dark green dress that looks as if it was woven out of grass. The material is most odd and Crane has to force himself not to touch it. That would be most improper and rather embarrassing. She notices the staring and smirks at him as she stands. She's strangely muscular and looks like she might kill him, if he dares looks at her like the other men of London do.
"I-I apologize if I-I've disturbed you, Ma'am..." The Constable mutters and manages to sit up, with the room slightly spinning. How unpleasant. She seems unfazed and looks a bit bored as if this happens everyday
"I've seen worse. Come with me." She commands and Ichabod realizes that her accent is different. It isn't like the English accents, it's more flatter and almost dull? Where is she from? He must know where this mysterious woman is from. Her house is decorated rather plainly and there seems to be an abundance of weapons scattered all over, as he is led to a small kitchen. The plot thickens as this mysterious woman yanks open a cabinet door and removes a clear bottle, with no label or marking on it. An amber liquid is poured into a glass and handed to the nervous Constable.
"Drink this."
Ichabod takes a large sip and immediately begins choking on the bitter and strong liquid. For several moments he can't breathe as she smiles slightly at his suffering.
"Haven't you ever had whiskey before?" She questions and takes a long swig from the brown bottle. He slowly shakes his head no as he watches her with wide eyes. How can a woman drink something so foul, so awful?! Somewhere along his life, Crane's life stopped making sense and he isn't sure it started when he stepped foot in Sleepy Hollow.
"God. Your're worse then the beggar children. Stop staring at me with them big ole eyes." She demands and takes another long swig.
"Y-yes, Ma'am..." He mutters as she suddenly grabs his shirt collar. His cravat is gone, ripped off by the abominable woman in the alley making it very easy to grab onto his shirt. Ichabod breathes sharply and begins trembling as she seems to examine him. What is with everyone grabbing onto him?
"You may be annoying, but you have a nice build. I would fuck you."
"P-pardon?!" The constable chokes out, his face turning a dark crimson color as he stares in horror at her. What vulgar language from a woman!
"Oh please. You're so...Delicate!" She says and takes another long sip from the whiskey bottle. Despite the bottle being half empty, she doesn't seem to be tipsy from it.
"I-I...I-I..."
"Whatever. I'm Jan." She says and drops him to the floor. He coughs several times and sits up, still shaking.
"Y-you...You wouldn't be...W-would you be Janice de Winters b-by any chance?" He manages to ask, fearing the answer a bit. She glances down at him with her chocolate colored eyes, and the fires of Hell itself seem to burn from her very soul. Ichabod yelps and immediately looks away, causing Jan to laugh slightly at his reaction.
"It's Jan." She barks in reply, and stomps out of the room, taking the bottle with her. Ichabod slowly looks up, not understanding at all what just happened.
This is Janice de Winters. This crude, strong woman who swears like a sailor is the woman that sent the letter begging for him. Begging for his help. What has the world come too?
"Mrs. De Winters!" Ichabod cries out as he stands and takes a nervous gulp. He has no choice but to follow her, which he game has only begun.
