-OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUT I JUST DISCOVERED TUMBLR OVER MY BREAK AND BLEHHH MY LIFE IS RUINED NOW so I guess this is a chance for me to promote myself as the-lady-of-france on that devil website in case any of your have accounts but I'm not trying to be selfish or anything okay maybe I am and that site has also encouraged me to talk in very long continuous sentences with no punctuation of any sort
-Also, I went and saw the Hobbit recently. Seriously, anything LOTR for me is like lighting a match in a tinderbox. So I'm trying to get rid of that annoying little plot bunny in another story, causing more delays.
-I just now realised that the outfit I have been envisioning for Jacqueline is weirdly similar to The Lady Maverick's in multiplayer, except with a more red, white and blue theme. Lol. So if you need to picture what I'm trying to describe, go check out TLM.
W'P
"But don't you come here and say I didn't warn you about the way your world can alter, and oh how you try to command it all, still, every single time it all shifts one way or the other." –First Aid Kit, "Lion's Roar"
-o-
The visit to Boston was the only event worth noting as months passed. It was a sunny afternoon when something once again happened, something of interest. A lot of the early summer was spent in a bored haze, waiting for some word that their exploits in the city had not just been wasted. For six months nothing happened. Life proceeded as normal on the Homestead; a huntress arrived in the meantime, a woman named Myriam, who was shot by poachers that Connor proceeded to murder.
It was on that sunny afternoon that two things happened. Jacqueline and Connor were sitting on the dining room table, legs crossed, facing each other. They were watching each other with silver irises, using the "second sight", as Connor called it. The topic they were discussing revolved around tailing someone in a crowd versus tailing on the rooftops, alternating languages between sentences. Practising Italian, Spanish, and Latin, though oddly enough Jacqueline kept her language to herself. Fair enough, as he was apparently doing the same with his. The "second sight" made the world turn dark, only illuminating important things. Sitting across from Connor, Jacqueline saw that he was glowing so blindingly blue that it was hard to look directly at him, like he was a small sun.
Their odd meditation conversation was interrupted when the front door to the manor slammed open. Jacqueline flinched on deep-rooted fear, but Connor simply got off the table. Kanen'tó:kon rushed into the manor, checking rooms as he went. "Ratonhnhaké:ton? Ratonhnhaké:ton!"
"Kanen'tó:kon? Why are you here? Has something happened?" Connor asked.
His friend saw them and walked closer. His face was sweaty and red, and he was panting slightly. Whatever had happened, it was urgent. "William Johnson has returned—with all the money required to buy our land. He meets with the elders as we speak. I have begged them to resist but I fear he shall have his way unless you intervene."
"How is this possible? We destroyed the tea." Connor asked to no one in particular.
"The Templars are nothing if not resourceful." Achilles appeared from thin air, as he was apt to do, and limped toward them. "You should have heeded my warning."
"We can still stop this, Ratonhnhaké:ton." Jacqueline said.
"Please, you have to stop him." Kanen'tó:kon looked between them beseechingly.
"Of course. Where are they meeting?" Connor and his friend walked out the door, talking quickly now in their native tongue, but Jacqueline lingered a moment with Achilles.
"What did you warn him of, Achilles?" She asked.
The old man sighed and leaned forward on his walking stick. "Of exactly what's happening. The boy is arrogant. He should have killed Johnson while he had the chance."
Jacqueline thought about that for a moment, and realized she was still looking through the second sight. Rubbing her eyes, she said, "I'll make sure he does this time. I doubt he will settle for another peaceful solution, anyway."
"Best you do, girl." Achilles gestured to the open door. "Now go, before he makes a fool of himself."
She nodded and jogged out to see Connor already on a horse. "Where is Kanen'tó:kon?" She called over.
"He has gone ahead to meet us near Johnson." He replied, steering the horse closer.
"I'll go get Blanche."
"No time." Now right next to her, Connor simply leaned over and picked her up, putting his hands under her arms. Jacqueline yelped in surprise, then crossed her arms as he set her in front of him in the saddle.
"Are we in that much of a hurry? It would have taken five minutes…" She grumbled.
"The deal could be signed at any moment. There is no time to lose." Connor spurred on the horse, and they took off into the forest.
He seemed to urge the poor beast on every few seconds, such was his anxiety to reach the meeting point in time. Fortunately it was summer; else the wind might have frozen her face. It was a rough ride, and she grabbed the nameless horse's mane to stay steady when it leapt over fallen trees and chattering brooks. The sound of the rapid hoof-beats were muffled in the spongy, humid soil and grass. There was stress in the air, certainly; she made sure that she carried her bow and arrows, her hunting knife and myriad other weapons, for blood would surely be shed. But she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. The air smelled of earth and sunlight, trees and the sweet birds. Behind her she could smell Connor, who emanated a strong aroma of sweat and somehow the forest, as though he were a part of nature himself, grown from the dirt much as the trees were and moved with the horse and the air like an element of the very planet.
The horse whinnied and snorted to a halt on a ridge. Kanen'tó:kon stood there, looking out and up. They were on a small cliff, and scraggly trees led a path down to a little inlet of swampy water and long, gold grass that poked form the water like straw from a pillow. A much larger cliff towered before them, looming over with rough white and gray stone, pale green moss and small birds. On top was a line of heavy emerald trees, and a clear path leading up.
Connor dismounted before the horse could come to a full stop and walked up to his friend. They spoke for a moment in that complex language; William Johnson's name was awkwardly mixed into a sentence. Jacqueline waited until they were done talking, and Connor came over to be her translator.
"Johnson is atop the cliffs, with the elders of my village." He said.
"I assumed as much. Perhaps we should split up and reconvene at the top." She squinted at the environment before them, scanning the landscape for vulnerable points. "The redcoats patrol the paths, so I suggest you take the cliffs. I can take care of the soldiers."
"It is heavily guarded."
"Je sais, but I can avoid them better than you can."
He nodded. "Very well."
"And Connor?" She called over to him, ready to take the first jump into the trees. He stopped and looked back at her, and she levelled her gaze with him. "Kill him this time."
He nodded again, and leapt away. Jacqueline sighed and also jumped into trees, although she went a different direction, left toward the angled path. The trees were brittle and nearly leafless, and she was glad she was wearing gloves for fear of the splintering branches. At the last tree before the water, she didn't hesitate before diving in. The summer day was hot and sunny, and even the dirty water was a welcome relief.
She didn't stay underwater, of course. Her eyes and nose remained over the surface, prowling. The long grass kept her mostly concealed as she drifted closer. At one point she had to stop when a redcoat turned her way, and she could feel little lipless fish mouths nibbling at her fingers. On instinct she grabbed out for them but only grazed their sharp scales and slippery, veil-like fins as they darted away in terror.
When she reached land, the redcoat on shore was not facing her. A quick blade to the side of his neck was for safety—they would not be there long. On the cliff to her right, she saw Connor smoothly scaling the craggy rocks. She walked along the path as casually as possible. When she saw a redcoat coming her way, she got a very devious idea. First, she wiped her hand, covered in the blood of the first soldier, on her neck. Then she cleared her throat, and started running breathlessly toward the soldier.
"Help! Oh, help, monsieur!" She wept, making her voice soft and soppy. "Please help!"
"Oh?" He grumbled, but did not raise a weapon. What sane man would raise a gun to a hysterical woman, alone, spattered in blood? "Wot's wrong, then?"
"I-I think I saw an assassin!" She stumbled closer to him. "He killed the soldier by th-the river, he's coming this way!"
"An assassin? Well now, best ya come with—"
He was cut off when she quickly stabbed him between the ribs, three times, quick as a flash. The body crumpled at her feet, and she stepped back from the blood that dribbled through the lush grass. She stepped over the body and, catching sight of a patrol rounding the corner, ran up into the trees.
The rest was easier than she thought. Connor had been right when he said it was heavily guarded, but she had to wonder if they were employing the blind, how easily she moved past them. Even her footsteps in the trees did not attract attention. Right over their heads she ran, leapt onto a short ridge and pulled herself up. The soldiers that she saw were facing the wrong way, so she simply walked past them. A house, or manor of some sort, was up on the top of the cliffs. She climbed the painted windowsills and looked down. At the front door stood Johnson, and around him was a half-circle of elderly Natives.
"War is not the answer!" Johnson preached to them, apparently unaware of the irony that was slapping him in the face. She listened to the protests of the Natives for a moment, keeping low so as not to be seen and pointed out.
A tile shifted behind her. "Will you kill him here?" She asked. "In front of all these people?"
"I do not have a choice now." Connor replied quietly.
Jacqueline turned around so she was sitting, facing him. "I have my bow and quiver. You could take him from here, no one would see you…"
"No. I want him to see my face." He cut her off with vehemence.
The background noise of Johnson talking was cut off. The Assassins on the roof glanced at each other, and then chaos erupted.
A series of gunshots rang out, and they ducked. Connor immediately leapt from the roof, and as Jacqueline blinked into the second sight, she watched him running after a red shape, which must have been gold to his eyes. Smoke began to fill the air, and she realized she needed to have Connor's back while he pursued Johnson. Jumping through the cloud of smoke surrounding the roof, she ran after the blue shape that could barely be seen through the leaves and gunfire.
Running down the path after them, she hit the ground when she heard the call to fire from a firing line. Bullets screamed past her head, so close that her ears were ringing when she got back up. Ahead, Connor was gaining on Johnson, but an officer was gaining on him. Still sprinting at full speed, she pulled her bow from her back and nocked an arrow. She ran to a tree stump and leapt off.
Time slowed. Jacqueline was nearly horizontal to the ground, but managed to shoot one arrow directly between the shoulder blades of the officer pursuing Connor.
Sharp pain cut along her face when she fell, as she couldn't stop her momentum. When she stood, wiping her sleeve across her mouth, there was blood running down her chin. About ten, twenty feet away, Connor was crouched over Johnson's body, speaking. Jacqueline turned to face the score of redcoats behind her, ready to defend him while Johnson died, but she felt a pull on her shoulder.
Connor tugged her along, and she took off running with him. They passed Johnson's body as they went; he was sprawled out, and his eyes had been closed. A wound in his neck bled out into the dirt. From there they went to the beach, and ran into the water. A few shots went way over their heads, and Jacqueline held her breath under the water.
Muffled, warbling, English yells echoed over their heads. After a little bit, and her lungs were straining with effort, the talking faded away. She clawed to the surface and gasped in the cooling evening air. Beside her, Connor wiped some hair from his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Jacqueline asked, treading closer to him.
He nodded, but looked somewhat dazed. She didn't know what the killing of Johnson had done to him, but she wasn't going to ask. They swam back to the shore they had started on, with the dry trees and rocky shore. For several minutes they sat in quiet reminisce.
"You have a cut." Connor said, breaking the silence. "Here." He reached over and touched her lip.
Jacqueline blushed and looked away, holding a hand to her mouth. "I fell." She stood and squeezed dirty water from her braid. "Let's get back to the manor."
-o-
"Ouch…" Jacqueline hissed and pulled back from Achilles and his alcohol-soaked rag. "That hurts."
"You should have been more careful." He chided tiredly, wringing the cloth out into a bowl of spent alcohol and water, tinged pink. "This is going to scar."
"Fantastique." She sighed, and flinched back at the cold, stinging touch. "Ouch!"
"Oh, shut up." Her mentor grumbled.
"Don't pretend you're not happy I'm home safe, old man."
"As long as you don't get killed, little girl."