The Hitwomen. (Fargo Fanfiction)

Chapter 1.

The pitch black vehicle that housed the brunette and raven haired women slowly died down. The engine stopped roaring like a lion and the soft guttering frame came to a sudden hault as a result. No words were uttered to shatter the silence that constricted the passengers in an intense grip, no words were necessary. They were too pissed off.

Their usual routine was royally fucked up by their boss, Fargo (Yes, he's still here. And I'll refer to him as Fargo for the sake of convenience!). He decided to drag them away from their usual routine of kill, relax, repeat. They didn't need any help. They never accepted any help. But now they had no choice but to accept the help of two completely random hitmen they had never met in their lives. No amount of words or anger fueled rampages could describe how they were feeling at that time, but maybe that was for the best.

So the raven haired one of the two, who was the driver, hit her brunette friend roughly on the arm with no consideration. That earned a quick scowl by facial expression followed by the shifting of the car, caused by the sudden shifting weight. She soon followed and almost as if rehearsed, they slammed their doors shut at the same time with a collective BANG.

That was enough to catch the attention of the the two men that waited idly by their own car, both men's arms folded across their chest in anger and boredom whilst leaning against the car. Not catching a good look of their "Colleagues" they straightened their posture and took two small steps forward in a lazy attempt to greet them. But what they didn't expect was what they saw.

Women.

They held their shock in as they approached, the brunette walking side by side to her friend, arms almost touching but enough space to allow comfortable arm movement. The soft crunching of snow under body weight dissipated when they stopped about a meter away from the two men and stared up at them.

Not what would be considered a weird stare, but a stare that signaled they didn't want to be there and curiosity. The men stared right back down at them with the same aspect. Maybe more curiosity, but same nontheless. The more they stared, the more the meaning changed.

The two black haired people stared with a soft yet intense gaze. Their eyes intense, but meaning nothing more than the sake of having a first look.

The brunettes, however, were completely different. Intense and serious stares met one another with no other meaning than intimidation and to make it clear they wouldn't get along.

The two black haired beings noticed that and the man decided to pipe up before it got worse.

"I'm Mr. Numbers. This is Mr. Wrench." As Numbers gestured to Wrench, wrench didn't react.

"I'm El Pensador. This is Pancake." Pensador gestured to Pancake, but with the same result.

A soft sigh left Pensador's lips before a sudden soft and alerting strike landed on Pancake's left arm, indicating her to do something. Instead of giving a nod in the form of a greet she partially turned to her friend and began;

'I don't like this one.' She signed, sending a glance to Wrench after.

'What?' Pensador signed back, not fully understanding.

'I don't like this one.'

'What..?' Pensador took a glance to Wrench before returning her gaze to Pancake. 'What about him don't you like?'

'I just don't like this guy. Feel like I'm going to get my skull caved in any minute.'

'Wouldn't be the first time.'

'Wouldn't be the last.'

They snickered.

Wrench and Numbers were beyond confused at that point. Did they know sign language thinking nobody would understand them? Or was Pancake hearing impaired like Wrench? Maybe that was why Fargo set them together.

Wrench sent a confused glance Numbers' way, but Numbers simply shrugged in response.

'This is Mr. Numbers and Mr. Wrench.' Pensador signed before her gaze shifted to Numbers.

"Your friend doesn't talk much."

A reference to Wrench that Numbers noted.

"Your friend doesn't either.--" Before Numbers could continue, Wrench tapped him on the arm.

'What are their names?' He signed without a glance to the females in question.

'Pensador and Pancake.' Numbers gestured to them with his head as he named them.

'Pancake?'

'Don't ask me.'

"Yes, he's deaf. That's probably why he doesn't speak much." Numbers sent a toothy grin to Pensador.

"She's mentally retarded."

Now that caught Numbers off guard. His grin dissipated and his brows furrowed. The serious stare that Pensador sent to him made her claim more believable.

But that wasn't true. Pancake was deaf, much like Wrench. At birth.
Growing up wasn't easy.

"Well... Onto why we're here." Numbers began.

Pensador hated the idea. If she could she would tear the idea up and drag it to hell. But she couldn't. She was stuck. They were stuck. All those thoughts began to get to her, as did a frown.

"We're supposed to pull off a hit on multiple people. Apparently it's too big of a job for two of us. Hence why we're all here. Did you get notified of that?" Pensador spoke in a serious yet relaxed manor. A strange combination, no?

"Of course we did. We just didn't expect women. No disrespect there." Numbers replied in his usual, some might say care free, tone of voice.

"Hm. So, what's the plan?"

"Well," Numbers began, pausing to lightly hit Wrench around the right arm to grab his attention. "We've gotten a name that we managed to pinpoint to a location."

'The map.' Numbers then signed to his partner.

Wrench, without a sound, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded up map. He then offered it to Numbers, in which he took it with silent thanks. The sound of the map creasing open prompted Numbers to start speaking;

"Daniel Grassland. Lives in a small town up in Fargo. Supposedly he'll have information useful to us. Finding him might be the problem."

"It always is." Pensador stated before she turned to Pancake.

'In a town up in Fargo, a man has information that's useful to us. He might be hard to find, though. His name's Daniel Grassland.'

'Daniel Grassland? Sounds like a hippie.'

'He might be.'

The two girls returned their focus to the two waiting men.

"We should start going. We'll decide something on the way." Numbers finally spoke after a minute or two of silence.

Pensador simply nodded in agreement, walking to the passenger side of the car. Numbers sat in the driver seat, meaning the two deaf people had to sit together.

Great.