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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 22, 2012 16:24:35 GMT -5
It was a tragedy and a plea that brought Francis to the slums. One of his spies, one of his best, brightest, and most beautiful, had been taken by the scarlet fever. Her last words were in ink, delivered directly to his hand: to care for the young daughter she left in the city outskirts before she passed.
She will be waiting at the last corner of the last street of the city when the full moon is highest.
Francis had to find her daughter before he could allow himself to feel her loss. It was how he came to be in the worst part of the city in the plainest, darkest attire he had, darting between buildings and avoiding the moonlight.
Just around the next corner...
A scream pierced the heavy silence. It was a shrill, small sound, but sharp and chilling. A girl's scream.
Francis knew immediately that that was his ward-to-be's voice. Abandoning his strategy of hiding from the light, Francis ran to the corner with as much speed as he could muster. From the distance, he spotted thin, flailing limbs overshadowed by a large silhouette.
His momentum allowed him to slam into the silhouette. The shadow staggered, and Francis scooped up the girl in his arms. She cried out and hit his arms weakly.
"Shh," he whispered. "I'm here to protect you. Your mother sent me."
He took off with the girl in his arms. When he heard the heavy footsteps behind him, Francis realized, with cold dread, that the assailant was following them.
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Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Apr 22, 2012 16:35:30 GMT -5
Captain Arthur Kirkland had a reputation. Throughout Granor, particularly in the aristocracy, he was thought of as a bloodthirtsy, heartless killer. Of course there were some rumours that he actually cared for the homeless and the poor, a sort of Robin-Hood esque figure, so to say. There were many, many rumours about Captain Arthur Kirkland, which was to be expected of so mystifying a figure.
However, such rumours must have a bane of truth in them.
This particular assailant was one of a group, of which the rest was currently being tracked by a certain pirate. He'd heard, he's seen the sorts of things this particular mob got up to. Call it... decomtamination, what he was about the to. Or rather, attempt.
Before the blonde could do anything, they start running at the sound of a girl's scream, somewhere off in the distance.
Frowning, he quickly shadows them.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 22, 2012 16:50:34 GMT -5
Francis zigzagged through the alleyways, but no matter how sharp his turns or how unlikely the path he took, the heavy footsteps trailed him. As his desperation grew, he feinted right before he meant to take the left, but the man must have sensed it.
The next thing Francis knew, a great weight bore down on him and he crashed to the ground, the girl spilling out of his arms. Squirming, Francis kicked the man and reached out for the girl. But a hand caught his ankle, dragged him down, and pushed his head onto the ground.
Black spots swam before Francis' eyes. With what strength he could gather, he landed a blow to the man's jaw. He did not look back to see the man's reaction and clasped the girl's hand, pulling her to him.
Then there was a glint of steel and Francis' stomach dropped. The man had pulled out a thick dagger.
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Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Apr 22, 2012 17:03:18 GMT -5
A few moments later and three other men arrive, surrounding the two victims.
One of them grabs Francis and slams him against the wall, and cracks his jaw with his fist; repeatedly.
Arthur just manages to view the scene as there is a horrible bloodcurdling scream, and the girl slumps to the ground, as blood begins to pool.
The dagger is roughly wiped against her dress as the murderer stands up, turning towards the mob. The thug gripping Francis ceases his attack for the moment, looking up at the other.
He holds up the dagger. "Let's get 'im next. Who knows what 'e can do."
A moment later, and an arrow pierces through his neck.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 22, 2012 17:23:38 GMT -5
By the third blow to his face, Francis sank into unconsciousness. His limp body was shaken about as he was propped up for the final kill. But the scream from the man hit with the arrow jolted him back.
Under the white moonlight, his bleary eyes followed the trickle of black liquid. A pool of blood. The girl on the ground, a large black stain on her grimy dress.
Something exploded in Francis' chest.
"What have you done?!" he screamed, crawling to cradle the girl's body. "What have you done? She was just a little girl!"
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Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Apr 22, 2012 17:36:16 GMT -5
Francis' movements seem to bring the rest of them out of shock, and he is quickly grabbed by his collar and yanked back, some sort of knife raised above his head.
"Oi, fuckin no---"
There's a slash, and his head topples off, the body falling to the floor.
The remaining members tense up and look around warily, unsure how to respond, unsure of where exactly this was coming from.
A moment later and Arthur materialises in front of Francis. He's holding a blood soaked dagger. Luckily, he has his back to Francis for the moment.
Eyes usually abudant, are lacking awfully in colour.
"Kirkland -- " one gruffs, but he's already on the two of them. He's outnumbered, technically, but he slips past a lunge and kicks the attacker, sending his knife through his fellow thug. With a horrified expression, he's too distracted to move out in time as Arthur slams him into the wall, and onto a spike sticking out of it.
Silence falls on the alley, and it's only then Arthur realises he's panting. He slowly looks down to his hands, which are covered in blood, and turns around to let his eyes settle on Francis. They widen, settling into that familiar and soft tint.
Crap...
For the first time in eight years, he trembles, and Arthur starts to cry. He backs away.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 22, 2012 17:53:26 GMT -5
Francis pushed the hair from the girl's face gently, and the shadow that fell on him made him look up.
Arthur. How was he here?
But in the blur of the next few moments, all questions flew out of Francis' mind. All he could do was stare at the pirate, spattered and streaked with the blood of the bodies and parts that littered the ground.
Something inside Francis warned him not to move, say anything, or even approach Arthur - if the bloodied man before him was even Arthur. But when he saw the tears stream down the pirate's face, the feeling left him. It was Arthur again who stood before him, closer to the sweet man Francis found than the killer Francis just witnessed.
No, that was wrong. Both of those...they were all Arthur.
Francis shifted slightly and his arm stretched out towards the pirate, but he was too far for Francis to touch.
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Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Apr 22, 2012 17:57:17 GMT -5
Arthur shakes his head, backing away from the other.
"N-No... g-go .. g-go a-away... I-I'm a-a monster..."
He looks like he's about to start running, but he simply turns away and sinks to the ground, clutching himelf as he sobs. He's shaking.
He never wanted Francis to see him like that. Never...
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 24, 2012 6:59:20 GMT -5
"N - no..."
Francis winced; his jaw was badly bruised, and perhaps dislocated, causing him great pain from a single word. But he had to reach Arthur, pull him back from whatever depths were swallowing him.
The girl's body was still in Francis' arms because he couldn't let her go yet. He was still responsible for her. With great effort, he steered himself toward the coiled pirate.
"Not true," Francis whispered raggedly. He placed a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeezing it slightly to alleviate the pain from speaking. "You - you tried to protect her."
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Post by Cpt. Arthur Kirkland on Apr 24, 2012 15:53:43 GMT -5
He's trembling. Arthur sniffles, shaking his head. He refuses to look at Francis.
"N-No... y-you... y-you weren't meant.... meant.. to see... that....."
That side of him. That horrid, twisted, monstrous side of him. He was happy for Francis to stay thinking he was this soft man who put on faces to face the world. Not the fact he could actually cause it.
He sobs.
*.... N-Need... an... e-effin' drink..."
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