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Entry tags:
Word 145
Title: Endgame
Fandom: Original
Rating: R for violence, mentions of torture
Author's note: A nod to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
squirrelmadness, without whom Nicolas would never have existed. This is tagged both original and game fic because, well...Nicolas is the son of an RP character of mine, but has never been played in a game. The setting is thus non-game specific, and might someday get expanded...but that, as they say, is another story.
The man had tripped, in his rush to get through the forest. Pathetic. Honestly, if the man spooked this easily, he didn’t deserve to be a professional. He had either come cheap, or had managed to build up a false reputation.
“Come now. You may as well cooperate at this point. You’re not going to outrun me.” Nicolas almost smirked, his well-regulated voice skirting a baritone as he jogged after his quarry, hardly breathing deeper than he would at a leisurely walk. He knew these woods and, unlike the man he was following, had a horse waiting at the edge of them. The man had no chance to escape, and both of them knew it.
The would-be assassin rounded in a small clearing, drawing a pistol and shooting as soon as he heard some brush move. Unluckily for him, Nicolas had anticipated the action and had thrown a rock so the man’s aim was wildly off. Before he could even begin to reload, Nicolas had raised his own firearm and shot the man in the arm with pinpoint accuracy, making him drop the weapon with a howl.
“Now. Put your weapons on the ground, and let’s talk about this.” The tall, aristocratic young man stepped out and watched with a mixture of amusement and contempt as the shaking man pulled out another pistol and a pair of knives and put them on the ground. Nicolas knew he had one more knife in his sleeve, but let him keep it; it would make things more interesting.
“So, I suppose my first question is, which of us were you after?” The smirk grew, though he never removed the revolver from its aim at the man’s heart. “Me? My mother? My father? Or were you so incredibly idiotic that you considered taking all three of us?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Wrong answer.” Nicolas forced the man to his knees. He went without more of a fight than an annoyed grunt. Still pathetic. Unless this man had a plan, he was not going to be very amusing at all. “You will tell me whatever I wish to know. Or I will rip off your fingernails, which I presume you would not enjoy.”
The man was trembling like a little girl. They just didn’t make assassins like they used to. “It’s true…you are monsters…”
“Oh, come now. Don’t you find it is a bit ludicrous that a man who murders others for money is squeamish about morality?” Nicolas dropped to a crouch, tilting the man’s chin with the gun’s barrel. “You kill for the highest bidder. And I…” Nicolas shrugged, standing once again. “I see that justice is done for free. So you tell me. Which of us were you hunting?”
His voice was dry, and he stuttered a little. “…I…the contract was for…Miss Evans…my employer…says she killed his son.”
Walking around the sun-filled clearing, Nicolas shook his head, regarding the man. “And how many sons have you killed, hm? I’m sure you’ve killed a good many innocent people, in your time. Sadly for you, I’m afraid my mother isn’t home, just at the moment. But on her behalf,” Nicolas raised his gun and shot the man between the eyes. He dropped silently to the forest floor, the suddenness of his death forcing him to meet it with dignity. “You weren’t even close, bucko.” Nicolas calmly put away his gun, and pulled out his cleaning supplies. “It’s too bad…cowards always taste slightly sour.”
Fandom: Original
Rating: R for violence, mentions of torture
Author's note: A nod to
squirrelmadness, without whom Nicolas would never have existed. This is tagged both original and game fic because, well...Nicolas is the son of an RP character of mine, but has never been played in a game. The setting is thus non-game specific, and might someday get expanded...but that, as they say, is another story.The man had tripped, in his rush to get through the forest. Pathetic. Honestly, if the man spooked this easily, he didn’t deserve to be a professional. He had either come cheap, or had managed to build up a false reputation.
“Come now. You may as well cooperate at this point. You’re not going to outrun me.” Nicolas almost smirked, his well-regulated voice skirting a baritone as he jogged after his quarry, hardly breathing deeper than he would at a leisurely walk. He knew these woods and, unlike the man he was following, had a horse waiting at the edge of them. The man had no chance to escape, and both of them knew it.
The would-be assassin rounded in a small clearing, drawing a pistol and shooting as soon as he heard some brush move. Unluckily for him, Nicolas had anticipated the action and had thrown a rock so the man’s aim was wildly off. Before he could even begin to reload, Nicolas had raised his own firearm and shot the man in the arm with pinpoint accuracy, making him drop the weapon with a howl.
“Now. Put your weapons on the ground, and let’s talk about this.” The tall, aristocratic young man stepped out and watched with a mixture of amusement and contempt as the shaking man pulled out another pistol and a pair of knives and put them on the ground. Nicolas knew he had one more knife in his sleeve, but let him keep it; it would make things more interesting.
“So, I suppose my first question is, which of us were you after?” The smirk grew, though he never removed the revolver from its aim at the man’s heart. “Me? My mother? My father? Or were you so incredibly idiotic that you considered taking all three of us?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Wrong answer.” Nicolas forced the man to his knees. He went without more of a fight than an annoyed grunt. Still pathetic. Unless this man had a plan, he was not going to be very amusing at all. “You will tell me whatever I wish to know. Or I will rip off your fingernails, which I presume you would not enjoy.”
The man was trembling like a little girl. They just didn’t make assassins like they used to. “It’s true…you are monsters…”
“Oh, come now. Don’t you find it is a bit ludicrous that a man who murders others for money is squeamish about morality?” Nicolas dropped to a crouch, tilting the man’s chin with the gun’s barrel. “You kill for the highest bidder. And I…” Nicolas shrugged, standing once again. “I see that justice is done for free. So you tell me. Which of us were you hunting?”
His voice was dry, and he stuttered a little. “…I…the contract was for…Miss Evans…my employer…says she killed his son.”
Walking around the sun-filled clearing, Nicolas shook his head, regarding the man. “And how many sons have you killed, hm? I’m sure you’ve killed a good many innocent people, in your time. Sadly for you, I’m afraid my mother isn’t home, just at the moment. But on her behalf,” Nicolas raised his gun and shot the man between the eyes. He dropped silently to the forest floor, the suddenness of his death forcing him to meet it with dignity. “You weren’t even close, bucko.” Nicolas calmly put away his gun, and pulled out his cleaning supplies. “It’s too bad…cowards always taste slightly sour.”