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 Freedom II [Closed]

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wildenomad
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PostSubject: Freedom II [Closed]   Mon Jun 13, 2016 9:54 pm

[Con't from Freedom [Open] with Nodine and The Guillotine.][/size]

The solitary march was blessed with little activity for the native walking in the continued brisk and windy winter of the frontier. It was sunny now, the rays golden and shining warmth onto her pink-tinted cheeks. The closer she gotten to Boston the more the atmosphere changed.

Her sensitive nose picked out perfumes from passing carriages going to and from the buzzing city. The pack held a familiar weight as her eyes raked the surroundings: children ushered outside in the warmer weather, men bustling about, cursing of work or having no work at all. British soldiers was an eyesore for her so with a quick pull of her scarf she felt a little more safer. Ayashe was still a bit paranoid of that non-existent bounty on her head.

Trudging through the empty gates pulsed odd memories for her. Before breaking contact with Ratonhnhake:ton and Achilles the Mohawk Assassin and she would ride here for many different reasons. But two usually pinned them to business; targets and contacts. Now that she was here alone with hardly a penny to her name she felt more like a ghost, purposeless for the time being.

Ayashe inclines her head, eyes darting to a small group of men and women rallying for liberty and freedom.

"-again and again they rape us of our hard earned coin with taxes! For a King overseas we will never live to see! I say: freedom! liberty!" they began to cheer, fists pumping in retaliation.

She shook her head, frowning some as she continued heading to the busiest parts of the city. First on the list was an old friend: Mr. Henry Burkes. Ayashe received word from an distant ally while shopping for fruits in the market that Burkes wanted to see Ayashe again. To meet at a tavern near the Boston Neck.

That was a month ago. She could feel her stomach flutter just at the thought of it. But it had to be done. Burkes was a familiar face, away from all this, one of many Father's connections throughout North America.

"I'm surprised he's still alive." she mutters, keeping to the sidelines, each step just as careful in the woods. Step on someone else's shoe and that might be the end of it!

Alas, some time passes and she could only guess the sign swinging in the chilly wind was the right one.

"The Green Dragon." She looks up at it with melancholy. But with one final breath, and for the sake of her achy legs, she adjusts the pack one final time and strides in the warmth of the tavern.

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Nodice
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PostSubject: Re: Freedom II [Closed]   Wed Jun 15, 2016 11:17 am

The noise and smell of the sick pressed on her like a physical weight. She had been up since dawn, but there was still so much to be done. A girl who looked almost as pale as the patient on the hastily-erected platform in front of her pressed forward again.

"Is he alright? Ma'am, ma'am please say he'll be all right!"

She didn't have the energy to manage a comforting reply, not that there was one she could offer in good faith. The man -- she neither knew nor cared if he was Colonial or British -- had taken shrapnel to the leg, and the little fool had pulled it out. The clumsy bandage had slowed the bleeding, but he had collapsed the day before and been hauled to her. The girl nervously made as if to touch the wound packed the remaining store of gauze, and Cornelia shoved her back with an outstretched arm.

"Don't touch that; do you want it it fester?" She plunged her sticky hands into a vinegar solution to clean them, and moved to the opposite side of the patient. Taking pity on the girl, she softened her tone. "Can you help me carry him? Good! Now on three. There we are!"

The girl began to push her beau away in the same wagon she had brought him in, and it was abruptly quiet, or at least as quiet as a city could be.

Resisting the urge to sink onto a chair, Cornelia took stock of her makeshift clinic. Water and vinegar she still had in plenty. There were few blankets, but she could always beg more off those who brought patients. The medicines were the real problem: most were all but gone. There was nothing to be done about the woundwort, which she had just used the last of, but she would stretch her coin further on strong liquor than on special painkillers.

Where do all those supplies go! I see ships enter daily, yet there is never anything at the markets. The redcoats tell me they are low as well.

Leaving the wounded briefly to her companions, she headed for the nearest tavern, weaving in between clusters of red uniforms.
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PostSubject: Re: Freedom II [Closed]   Sat Jun 18, 2016 1:14 am

Damian and Timothy were sitting in a tavern near to where Cornellia had run off to - from the way she had described her self earlier, she must be giving medical aid to the ill or sick.

They both had drinks to themselves, sitting at a relativitley small table. Damian took a drink, and said, "Y'know, gotta give it to 'er, for figurin' it out all on 'er own. Though, being one herself, woulda imagined it bein' quite simple, ya know?". He put his drink down for a second, then picked it back up a bit quickly.

Timothy merely nodded, not saying a word at all. The two remained in silence for a bit, then Damian said, "Y'know, I actually miss the West Indies a bit. The warm weather, The colorful cast of people - and, especially, the rum. Quite nice when I was young. 'Course, you wouldn't know - moved a bit north when you turned four. Your ther's idea, of course. ' want his son to grow up the same way. Still turned out to be quite good lad, yeh did."
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PostSubject: Re: Freedom II [Closed]   Wed Jun 22, 2016 10:37 am

Cornelia squinted through bright sun, trying to decide the patrons of which tavern were quieter drunks. A burst of noise and the smell of stale beer announced an exit from the westerly door, and Cornelia headed for the other with a sigh. The burst of air from the swinging door set the dragon on the sign in temporary flight.

It was loud, certainly, but the usual chaos of a tavern was unnaturally muted. The cause was quickly obvious near the bar: a knot of red uniforms. The soldiers were too many to have arrived without orders, but they seemed to be making ample use of the tavern all the same. Mugs, half-empty, littered the tabletop and were ignored by the harried barmaid. She was busy trying to evade multiple pairs of grasping hands, some in officer's gloves.

She knew their type, she though with a sneer. Happy to throw their authority around, and quick to pounce on an opportunity to do so. Approaching the bar -- and the redcoats -- would start the kind of extensive questioning she could ill afford. Instead, she chose a seat within eavesdropping distance. Maybe the drunken sots knew something about the missing supplies and this trip wouldn't be a complete waste. The door clanged open again, and she glanced up.
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