Killing Marshall Abel (Open)

"goodbye, My friend. I'll see you later."
Victor sipped his drink, and contimplated all that gas happened.
He checked his gear, and surveyed his surroundings.

The next morning found Torin half asleep and partially draped on a table in the local Black Smith's shop. Isaiah was starting his usual hustle and bustle, packing together the shipment. "Darnit, girl! I don' pay ya to slouch aroun' when there be work ya could be doin'!" The thick man bustled over to where she was tucked away and slammed down a crate of munitions over top the crude diagrams of the hidden blade she had worked on until the sun threatened to light the sky.

Tired and grumbling incoherently, Torin drew herself up as she glared daggers at Isaiah's aging face. He was a man in his early forties with graying hair threatening to swallow up the mop of short black hair that stuck up at odd angles. Already, he had his thick leather apron on and was trying to usher the girl from her chair by unceremoniously yanking it out from beneath her. "If ya gonna be sleeping in me shop, least don' go doin it with ya face in ink! Christ, girl. You need to try a bed one in a while. Maybe get yerself a man. Migh' help ye temper. Oh what am I sayin'? You couldn' even if ya tied him to the wall!" His exasperation was clear and even if he didn't sound like he was joking, both knew he was only half serious.

She didn't even bother trying to break her fall and simply gathered herself into a relaxed enough sitting position with her knees drawn up and her arms resting on them and shaking away the sleep she had been trying to get. "Stuff it, ya ol' mule. It is far too early for your squawking like a chicken... Is the shipment ready?" A dirty hand rose to rub her face, pulling away to find she really did have ink smudged on her cheek. Lovely.

The older man grinned down at her and patted the crate he had used to startle her to full awareness. "Last of it righ' here. You sure ya wanna go messin' with shady types like tha'? I can't go helpin' you if ya find trouble... I owe Matteo but not 'nuff to go get meself inta trouble savin' ya girlie." His grubby finger pointed her direction in warning to match his words. "Watch ya own back, ain' nobody gonna be watchin' it for ya." That was rule number two. With that said, he wiped his hands on his apron, almost like brushing her off as if she were the soot on his hands. Of course she had confided in the other smith, but not everything. She left out the strange words they used only once before clamming up, the odd symbols that didn't add up.

Being freshly covered with the dirt and soot of the forge from the apron didn't do anything to cheer Torin up. If anything, it made her mood worse as she picked herself up to her feet and tried to wipe away the grime. Knowing full well it was time to bathe, she assembled the fixed 'gadget' before wandering off to clean herself up before the potentially exhausting day and try to work out the kinks in her personality so she could pull on whatever mask was needed this day.

An hour later, she was refreshed and in clean clothes to match the rest of her. Her long hair was tied back out of her face with a piece of leather and the crates she moved to the front of the shop along with the wrapped 'gadget'. Sailors had been bribed for the day's coming events and she knew she would likely be on the boat waiting under the guise of testing some of her equipment, or rather the equipment she bribed them with. It was all to make sure those reckless men made it out alive. There was no real rhyme or reason behind her caring, but something told her she should care.

It was like this that she could be found, propped against the crates and dozing while standing just outside the Blacksmith's shop even as people went about their daily hustle and bustle around her. In the daylight, she had little care and little to worry about.

Victor Wakes up in an alley, Splattered in blood, and with a severe hangover.
"Scheiße, What happened last night?"
he shakes his head.
He gets up, and throws his jacket in a ditch.
He sees a drunken man, wearing a redcoat uniform.
He steals his clothes, and walks off.

Charles woke up in his improvised bed, made out of hay and his extended robes. He could sense a strong odor coming from him and his clothing. "Victor, do you have a shower I could borrow?" shouted Charles. No answer. "Victor?". He put on a white shirt instead of his robes and went to look for his friend. He could not find him anywhere. Victor stayed at the bar ´Maybe he is still asleep in the tavern´s table. I will look for him afterwards´ He left the apartment ,with his raggedy look, and went to the smith so he could find his gadget. He had a small sack with his robes inside it. "Bonjour, madame." said Charles as he saw Torin resting on some crates, "Is the gadget repaired?".

Victor walked into Torin's Shop.
"Hello. I know, I know, My clothes. It's a long story."
Victor looked around the shop.
"Wow, Impressive Scheiße. If I ever need anything repaired, I'll go streight to you." "

Benjamin comes striding up to the shop, pistols loaded and in their holsters, hidden blades oiled, throwing knives full and strapped to his thigh. He is ready for a fight. He spots the sleeping smith and chuckles to himself as he draws a throwing knife from its sheath. "Wake up!" he shouts as he whips a throwing knife into the crate next to his her. It sticks deep into the box with a solid, "thunk."
Benjamin is excited. if not unstable.

"Jesus man, Are you TRYING to kill 'er?"
Victor removes his Tricorne hat.
"So. What's the plan?"

A most un-ladylike snort came from Torin as Charles and then Dante broke her from her dozing. "Huh? Oh... Yeah. Your gizmo is fixed..." She dug the heel of her palm into her eye and blinked blearily. " I'm awake you derranged buffoon! Took longer than I expected, it did. More tiny pieces in the blasted thing than in any firearm I've built yet. Seems impractical, though." Reaching over the crates she had been leaning against, she pulled the cloth wrapped weapon to her and passed it with ease Before taking the throwing knife from next to her and testing its weight. She was confident she could build a replica of both items later with the notes she took; that mattered to her quite a bit. Plans like that were what made a blacksmith more than a simple metalworker.

A scowl marred her face and she actually straightened When she caught sight of Victor. She looked like she wanted to say more, but closed her mouth and a muscle in her jaw jumped. Openly analyzing him before gesturing to the weapon. "You can do whatever it is you do in here. Satisfy my curiosity a bit more. After all the darn thing nearly put a hole in my hand. Let me know what you think of it. I didn't alter it."

She gave a polite nod to Victor, the same scowl never leaving her face as the sound of a hammer ringing off metal came from the back. "Good to see you are early... though... Yes. Your clothes are cause for concern." the scowl faded to something akin to dark amusement. "You look like you are a target's bullseye. Though something tells me if the bullseye were as large as you, I wouldn't be such a terrible shot." she set the throwing knife on the counter instead of daring to try and throw it back at Dante. "Once you are done, load up. I will meet you on the water after you have finished and not a moment before. Plan is take the shipment in legitimately and on the way back out, deviate to do what you have planned. Escape to the harbor. I have a fishermen waiting for you. We are testing a new kind of net toady, apparently. The weights have to be just right. Convenient, no?" She dared any one of them to contradict her. She had a simple belief. She did not kill. Not if she could avoid it.

Charles stopped paying attetion right after Torin gave him the phantom blade. He put it on, tried it and proceeded to reload it. He saw it brighter than ever before. The gears, the mechanism, everything seemed to be good as new. "It is wonderful, madame. Merci beaucoup. Here, take this for any inconvenience." Charles extended a small pouch with gold coins to Torin. As he gave the pouch to Torin, he could sense he reaked of sewer. "By the way, does anyone knows where I can get a shower?"

Victor walked outside, and soon returned to his normal clothes.

"Sorry about that, I needed to blend in. anyway, how are we going through with this?"

Benjamin picks up the knife from the counter and smiles, slipping it back into its sheath. "What, the red coat is too obvious?" he asks with a chuckle. He takes the coat off and turns it inside out. It is now black on the outside with red on the collar. He pulls a dark scarf from his pocket and wraps it around his face, seeming to be a mockery of Torin. "Don't say I don't come prepared," he laughs.
"Now, before we start," he says becoming deadly serious, a dark shift in his mood, "I want to make one thing clear, Marshall Abel is mine. Is everyone clear on that?"

"Fine. Now can we please get some damn info on this jerk?!"
Victor turns to Charles.
"There's a bar across the street, you can use their washroom."

Brightening exponentially when she was passed the coin and praise, she gestured to the back At Charles' question. "Wooden tub in the back past the irate devil I call an associate. Avoid eye contact and you will be fine." Peeking inside the coin purse for good measure, she let out a low whistle. You didn't pay that much for  repair unless you were also buying silence and she gave a nod. "Pleasure doing business."

The back had Isaiah working furiously on what could have been large plates for something but if he was ignored, he gave the same in return after a few pointed insults typical of most smiths. The water wasn't the warmest, but it worked.

She went back to studying the other two before shaking her head t the antics of Benjamin, an obvious madman, and moving to load the crates onto a small cart they could move with ease. The typical one that the others of the past had used to move such heavy supplies. She didn't have to pay these men for the work, which was a relief as she expected they would need to buy a new cart anyhow. Though Torin paid attention to their words regardless. Benjamin was speaking of the part she wasn't getting mixed in with, though so she allowed the others to plan even as she snickered at the change from red clothes.

Charles went to the tub. In his way, he wanted to greet Isaiah, but a fierce grunt from his part made him step back. He took a quick shower, using his sleep shirt as a towel. He putted on his pants and started putting his first piece of the robe as he walked back to the group. He was still putting on his gear when he said "And what if someone gets him first? If someone is faster than you?" in a cocky challenging way to Benjamin.

Benjamin smiles, "That person should expect a throwing knife in the heel to slow them down then," he says. "I have waited far too long for this, if you get to him first, hold him for me."
Benjamin turns to Torin,"Let us know when you're ready to go, you have the lead until we reach the Fort."
Benjamin closes his eyes, trying to rein his emotions in. He knows he is volatile and that he is scaring them, but he needs to work through this on his own. This has been years in the making. He abandoned this mission when he came to America, when he fought for the British, not everything has come rushing back in a few days time.

Loading up the last crate with ease, she came back in and gave a chuckle. "It's ready to leave when you all are. Cart is loaded. I am ready to go. Hop in the back and try not to crush the boxes." She jabbed a thumb at said cart and moved to show them the path before she would break off and head to the docks. Oddly enough even with her scowl, her eyes shone brightly with mischief. Today Torin was looking more alive the she had in years.  

When they got on the cart, she moved to take lead of a nearby horse and hook it up. Guiding the creature with confidence to distract herself from anything that may or may not go wrong. "I will meet you on the southern side of the peninsula. If the fishermen are right, there should be a small personal dock for rowboats near a copse of trees lining the waters edge. It should give us cover as we won't be swift at first, but once we get out of firing range, we will be pulled in by the fishermen I convinced to lend me a hand last night. They will be your cover to get away and blend with the crowds again... What you do inside is not my concern however I can help some 'unfortunates' escape angry soldiers. Wouldn't be the first time..." She made a motion with her hand making it clear she bribed the men. Ah, good old war profiteering. Granted, Charles had passed her enough coin earlier that more than paid for the ship parts she had bargained off. Being in the weapons business was always good during a war even if your morals had to take a blow in doing so. Dare she think she might have made profit from these men? It was almost too good.

It was obvious she was planning to be where the designated escape was, in case they brought too much trouble. A good look at Benjamin had told her to expect the whole Fort to be in an uproar and possibly to be on the unfriendly side of cannons she had a hand in making. It wasn't a comforting thought, but again nothing of the situation was very comforting. Isaiah thought her reckless and insane for risking herself. She simply thought life needed to have exciting points and when they came, you took them and held on for everything you were worth. Honestly, the monotonous repetition in her routine had been driving her rather insane and a few delinquents looking for trouble (the assassins, though she didn't know it) were now her outlet.

Benjamin takes his place in thew cart and pulls the scarf up around his mouth. He is done talking for now. It is time to prepare. He buttons his coat closed, hiding his guns and knives beneath. He looks like a specter garbed in black. He closes his eyes and begins running through the night his father died in his again, reliving every detail, thinking about Atlas standing behind him and watching as he promised vengeance. Tonight that vengeance begins. As the cart begins to move Benjamin reaches out and pops a hat off passerby and plops it down on his head, completing his outfit and giving his face plenty of cover. The man he took the hat from begins to gripe, but Benjamin flips him a gold coin, immediately silencing him. The cart moves on. The show goes on.

(Imagining this song playing https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxIUxu7R9-U)
"So, once we get there, how are we taking this 'astard out?"
Victor threw his hood over his head, and quitely waited.

"Dunno. But it won´t be a fast death. We are making the bastard suffer." said Charles, as he iserted a dart in his phantom blade.

They pull closer to the fort, Torin grumbling to herself along the way as the men conversed silently behind her. She wasn't even trying for conversation with them when they rode past the four guards, the last one of them halting the cart for only a few moments. They were tense moments though.

"Halt! Who wishes to-" the guard had a sense of self importance that was clear in his tone and attitude. Torin practically growled at the man and cut him off. "You want your bloody supplies or not? I swear, they hire uneducated uncivilized-" The guard waved Torin through after his jaw clenched in fury. Once they were past, one guard leaned to the other muttering just loud enough to be heard. "Why does the Smith send that she-devil every time? Always bringing scamps with her... shouldn't be a woman's job... Let alone the job of a savage." The disdain was obvious and mutual even if Torin seemed outwardly unfazed by it as she guided the horse towards the destination dutifully ignoring the laughter of the men behind her. She knew she was a walking faux pas, the guards didn't need to constantly remind her of that fact.

"Help me unload, then be off with you. I hate these deliveries." She barked at the assassins in a rather clipped but angered tone. Her anger wasn't for them, they just happened to be in her way at the time even as she leveled a glare on the man guarding the munitions storage. "George." She greeted as she pulled out a ring of keys, ignoring the almost pitying look from the guard and sending a heated glare back at him as she unlocked the heavy iron door and began moving the heavy crates into the dry light less room.

The guard couldn't contain a chuckle of amusement at what he viewed as her antics. "Miss Fabian, why do you bring helping hands? It seems you only ever berate them and do the work yourself anyhow. Surely you could save yourself the irritation?" He was answered with a rather deadpan glare aimed at his back as he assessed the three men before she stacked the final crates, nodding to any who actually helped. They weren't light making even her break a light sweat. "George, just because I berate them doesn't mean I do not appreciate the company. You should know that." Turning to the men, she waved them off. "Get! I got this from here." Her tone left no room for argument even as she turned to continue her conversation with George. Unknowingly protecting him from what may have been his death.

When she was in lighter spirits, or a commotion was made, Torin watched as George locked the storage back up and shooed her away. Taking his advice, she turned and once out of sight, sent the horse and cart running. If they asked later, she would say the horse got spooked and she didn't wish to get in the way so left. It was logical enough given what she knew was going to happen. She made her way down to the dock where a decently sized rowboat waited behind the copse of trees she had been informed would be there. It had a single guard that she knocked unconscious easily enough and dragged off to the brush to keep him from being trampled. Her cutting off his airway with her arm in a submission hold should hopefully keep him down long enough as she pulled up her scarf to cover her face and pulled on her hood . Torin had to be careful though so she didn't crack his neck. That was how she waited, ready to knock the guard back out with a good blow to the skull should he stir.

Victor watched as that happened, slowly realizing what had to be done.
"So, are those the private docks you spoke of?"
Victor pointed to a small entrance, leading to a pier, with few boats in it. one of the boats was perticularly fancy, and victor figured it was Able's. it was dusk, and there were a few lanterns lit up, making for a target that stood out. the lanterns made an outline, that victor followed, with his eyes, to a single, wealthy, man.
"Is that 'im? Able? "