Assassin's Creed Imagines, Preferences, Theories etc.

Imagine #1: Jacob

A/N: I know my last chapter was also about our dearest Mr. Frye. The internet is so filled with Syndicate fanfiction that I can't help it.

The brawl was over in a few minutes and you and the rest of the fellow Rooks you had spent time at a pub with burst in laughter as you watched the remaining few Blighters run away towards the dark alleys and disappear into the late night. With a smile plastered on your face you let go of the shirt of the man you were holding before his passed out self fell onto the wet and cold cobblestones, blood running from his broken nose. You looked at him and his also fallen friends and spit on the ground next to them. They would wake up a few hours later, with severe headaches and probably to realize they were beaten by a group half their size... If they could remember that.

You put your cap back on and turned to look at the rest of your group. There were of course some injuries but they were nothing compared to what you had done to the poor gals of the other gang. One of your closest friends, Jamie wiped the sweat from his forehead and sniffed.

"Ya up for another round of beer?" you asked and waved to the direction of the crowded pub. It was quite surprising that only a few people had noticed what was happening, but now they had also returned to their drinking, leaving you, your gals and the wiped out Blighters alone on the street. 

One of your two remaining companions shook his head. "The polis will be there sooner or later and ol' Fred's stocious." he explained "Frye will be nuts if he finds out our poor asses brawled without 'im"

He and Jamie laughed and you simply rolled your eyes. "Alright then... I guess we call it a night..." the latter stated and turned to you "Ya okay for walking home alone? It is dark out here..."

You rolled your eyes again. " I'm not just a bit o' jam... I can take care of myself... and if I see things go wrong, I'll just sleep at boss's train..."

He gave you a concerned glare, but respected your choice. He knew you hated being handled as weak.

"Al'ight then... We'll see y' around"

The three of them waved at you again, before they turned on their heels and went on to go around a corner, Fred having to be constantly held by his two companions.

You decided to spend a while longer roaming the pubs and take advantage of the bartenders being tired and dizzy in order to get cheaper, or even free drinks. At this time of the night, the people at pubs were so many that the owners did not even realize the costumers were not always paying for the drinks they had.

But you decided to leave this place, as you did not want any other Blighters to see the brawling victims and you knew there was another pub a few blocks away. In order to avoid any policemen or, worse, more red-wearing gang members you decided it would be a better idea to avoid the big streets and you found yourself wandering in the dark alleyways. The stench was awful but besides a few homeless and beggars here and there you were alone, just you and the cloudy night.

And then you heard it...

At first you thought it was a rat, or some stray cat or dog, but as the sound grew louder you knew you should have never left the lighted streets.

"I tell ya if I find that whore and her fellow drunk friends she'll beg meh to kill' er..."

You recognized some of the Blighters at the pub and sweared, moving backwards. If you could just sneak back, the policemen would be the last thing to worry about. As five men were standing around a tin heater, trying to keep warm, the red colour of his frocks being shown just round the corner. You hoped your green coloured clothing wouldn't betray you. For the first time since you remembered your 19 year old self, you were scared. Your heart was racing, sweat was forming clogs on your forehead, despite the low temperature. Even if you felt powerful while being next to the Rooks, you realized you were a dynamic character, reckless and usually aggressive, but still a woman of average height and easy to attack when on her own. And you hated it. As a young girl you would always beat the shit out of your peers and were skilled at using weapons. You would have so much potential, if the world didn't see you as a naïve creature who could be used for anything but things you enjoyed.
You started to take careful steps back, try to escape the alleyway and mostly the Blighters ahead. There was no way you wanted to risk being seen. It was no secret you could be killed by the opposing gang more easily than a kid in the factories of Lambeth.
"For fuck's sake... It's freezing... Can't we get to a go'amn pub at last?"
Blame it on the frozen dirt under your boots, blame it on the fear that had consumed you, blame it on the sudden loud voice of the Blighter that made you lose your concentration, at that moment you slipped. And with a cry you fell head first onto a barell left on the alley and then on the hard ground, mud splashing on you and your surroundings. You could feel blood running from your forehead and down your face, its metallic smell filling your nostrils and the pain making your head spin.
"What the fuck was' at?"
You laid on your back, despite the complaints of your aching body and observed as the Blighters came your way.
There were now four of them, but you knew that wouldn't make the situation any better. One of them was holding a lamp and their faces filled with hate. Sadistic smiles on their faces, as they saw who they had to deal with. The oldest one, probably in his fourties kneeled next to you, hands on his thighs.
"A Rook, I see." He smiled with some broken teeth. "We heard about our poor friends at 'Prince Albert''s pub. And somebody has to pay about it"
While the oldie was speaking, the Blighter holding the lamp was staring at you searchingly. "Aye, folks, that's one of' em troublemakers at the pub" You silently swore.
A hand got a fistful of your hair "Well, let's giv' er a more valuable lesson, shall' e?"
You looked at them through your own blood, eyes big as plates.
"No, please, you are mistaking me for someone else"
You knew that would not help you, but your head was so clouded and you didn't have the courage or strength to fight against four bloodthirsty men.
The oldie raised his hand and punched you in the face, before you even had the chance to realise what he was doing. More blood ran out of your nose and they left your head fall into the mud again.
They punched you once again sending a new wave of pain across your body. At one point, they started kicking you and the more they did so, the more blood you lost.
"If your bastard friends and the Fryes ever mess with us, you will be dead before ya know it. Understood?"
You looked at the man holding the lamp, unable to react.
He kicked you in the guts once again. "UNDERSTOOD?" he screamed and this time you nodded your head.
He spat on you, just like you did to the others at the pub just a while ago.
At last, they just left you there, probably expecting you would die from blood loss sooner or later.
You stayed there for what seemed like hours, unable to even breathe properly. You were cold, bleeding and some of your ribs were certainly broken. You had to move, before they returned to finish what they started. For the first time in your life, you prayed to make it out alive, before trying to stand up.
Every single part of your being was aching, but you finally made it to your feet. You thanked God it wasn't raining and set off to the Fryes' train. It always stayed at Whitechapel during the night and on that spefic night you couldn't be more thankful...
It took you an eternity to reach the quiet train station and you hoped someone in the train hideout would see you and offer some help, but everything was so peaceful you could hear the rats running on the roof.
You made small steps to the carriages until you reached the entrance, with any power you had left. You took a look inside and surprisingly the only person in the pub-like wagon was... Frye, currently having a drink at the empty booth. He had his coat, armory and hat off and it was the first time he looked less like a legendary gang leader and more... human.
"Mister Frye..." you spelled and collapsed on the wooden wagon floor, the pain being unbearable.
The poor man probably got a heart attack as he saw you there on the floor, covered in blood and dirt from head to toes, but he stood up and came to you, helping you take a seat on a nearby chair.
"It was the Blighters, weren't they?"