Otto26
Inconsistent
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2006
- Posts
- 1,519
OOC: A little 18th Century style privateering action. Open to a female character at the moment. PM me if you have an idea for another character.
The girl appeared out of nowhere, thrust into his path by the market crowd, and there was nothing he could do. He ran her down, then he stopped and turned, casually elbowing a couple of people aside to clear some space so that he could reach her. He scanned the crowd around him before bending over to offer her his left hand.
“No harm done, lass?” he asked.
She shook her head silently and looked at him with fearful eyes before hesitantly accepting his hand and pulling herself to her feet. She was perhaps ten years old and thin as a rail, an obvious street waif.
“Do you know where you can get a meal with ten pennies?” he asked quietly.
She nodded warily and he dropped ten pennies into her hand.
“Then get yourself some food,” he told her, “and say a prayer for the soul of Donovan Simms for so long as the money lasts.”
Her hand closed in a death grip on the small coins and she darted glances about her, fearful that a bigger fish in the crowd would dart in and steal her sudden fortune. She smiled once at him and then vanished into the crowd. Donovan watched her go and then dismissed the incident with a sigh and set out, again, for his destination.
Away from the market the crowds thinned out considerably and the streets became darker. He was aware of someone following him and, for once, unsure how to deal with the problem. His pursuer was either very inexpert, or was making no effort to conceal himself. He looked around for a place where he might work unobserved and noticed a patch of darkness where there shouldn’t be one. His hand, hooked into his belt, came out holding a death blossom even as the assassins started to move. The small torsion powered weapon in his right hand threw a cluster of darts at the first attacker as he turned his body to bring a second weapon in his left hand to bear on a second attacker. He discharged the weapon into the face of the second attacker and dropped to a knee as a third attacker tried to grapple his upper body. He used the spent weapon in his right hand to hook behind the knee of the third attacker and drove the palm of his left hand hard into the attacker’s left hip. The man fell to the ground and Donovan drove for his throat, smashing it with his forearm. He rolled off and away, scrambling to his feet when he felt a wall he could keep at his back. He scanned the street for the fourth attacker, the one he had spotted following him, and saw him standing where he had last seem him. The rest of the street was rapidly emptying as passersby sought to rapidly be far away.
The figure shrugged helplessly, revealing a woman’s profile, and struggled for words. She settled for, “Looking for a good time?”
Donovan laughed as he realized she was just a whore looking for a trick to turn.
“Not the blade I was intending to slip you, lass. Another time, perhaps?”
The piercing sound of whistles told him that a better citizen than most had encountered a watch patrol and cut off his laughter, which had threatened to become a semi-hysterical vent for the energy coursing through him.
“Hell!” Donovan swore. He had no desire to spend the next several hours or days answering questions and trying to bribe his way out of gaol. He turned towards the far end of the street and heard another whistle coming from that direction. A quick look down the alley showed it to be a dead end, blocked by a warehouse. He looked for a window, but found none not shuttered from the inside.
The girl appeared out of nowhere, thrust into his path by the market crowd, and there was nothing he could do. He ran her down, then he stopped and turned, casually elbowing a couple of people aside to clear some space so that he could reach her. He scanned the crowd around him before bending over to offer her his left hand.
“No harm done, lass?” he asked.
She shook her head silently and looked at him with fearful eyes before hesitantly accepting his hand and pulling herself to her feet. She was perhaps ten years old and thin as a rail, an obvious street waif.
“Do you know where you can get a meal with ten pennies?” he asked quietly.
She nodded warily and he dropped ten pennies into her hand.
“Then get yourself some food,” he told her, “and say a prayer for the soul of Donovan Simms for so long as the money lasts.”
Her hand closed in a death grip on the small coins and she darted glances about her, fearful that a bigger fish in the crowd would dart in and steal her sudden fortune. She smiled once at him and then vanished into the crowd. Donovan watched her go and then dismissed the incident with a sigh and set out, again, for his destination.
Away from the market the crowds thinned out considerably and the streets became darker. He was aware of someone following him and, for once, unsure how to deal with the problem. His pursuer was either very inexpert, or was making no effort to conceal himself. He looked around for a place where he might work unobserved and noticed a patch of darkness where there shouldn’t be one. His hand, hooked into his belt, came out holding a death blossom even as the assassins started to move. The small torsion powered weapon in his right hand threw a cluster of darts at the first attacker as he turned his body to bring a second weapon in his left hand to bear on a second attacker. He discharged the weapon into the face of the second attacker and dropped to a knee as a third attacker tried to grapple his upper body. He used the spent weapon in his right hand to hook behind the knee of the third attacker and drove the palm of his left hand hard into the attacker’s left hip. The man fell to the ground and Donovan drove for his throat, smashing it with his forearm. He rolled off and away, scrambling to his feet when he felt a wall he could keep at his back. He scanned the street for the fourth attacker, the one he had spotted following him, and saw him standing where he had last seem him. The rest of the street was rapidly emptying as passersby sought to rapidly be far away.
The figure shrugged helplessly, revealing a woman’s profile, and struggled for words. She settled for, “Looking for a good time?”
Donovan laughed as he realized she was just a whore looking for a trick to turn.
“Not the blade I was intending to slip you, lass. Another time, perhaps?”
The piercing sound of whistles told him that a better citizen than most had encountered a watch patrol and cut off his laughter, which had threatened to become a semi-hysterical vent for the energy coursing through him.
“Hell!” Donovan swore. He had no desire to spend the next several hours or days answering questions and trying to bribe his way out of gaol. He turned towards the far end of the street and heard another whistle coming from that direction. A quick look down the alley showed it to be a dead end, blocked by a warehouse. He looked for a window, but found none not shuttered from the inside.
Closed for myself and ChaosDAmore for the moment. Maybe open for other characters later.
