#colonel monro

[cippicat]

Happy 10th Anniversary to AC Rogue

Assassin's creed Rogue was released 10 years ago.

You know my opinion on this game. I don't like it. It's uncomplete, with a lot of bugs, glitchs, and with a rusty fighting system.

The major flaw is the plot, along with the characters' development.

Ubisoft had 6 years to show us the other side of the coin, but they failed.

[drawn-twogether]

Happy Shay Patrick's Day! 🍀

I've been working on trying new art styles for more detailed drawings to try to challenge myself and I love drawing the different Assassin's Creed characters and I'm still really proud with how Shay turned out as he's probably my favorite character 😍

And even though bar crawls/hopping wasn't really a thing until the 1980s, you cannot tell me that Shay and Gist wouldn't plan a tavern crawl 🤣

--SciFiBeatlesGleek

[megantronusprime]

Look, I love Colonel Monro as much as the next person, but I do think that, while he does genuinely care about Shay, he does kinda show his hand at one specific moment as someone who is truly also trying to manipulate him to get a specific outcome.

It’s that line after Shay kills Hope and he kinda tells the Colonel in an indirect way that he’s having a moral crisis, and Monro says: “When I am issued new recruits burdened with regrets, I tell them the surest way to lose them… is with gunpowder.”

Like ??? No colonel what are you saying that’s terrible advice. I think it’s right here that you can tell the Colonel is basically saying, “hm? Oh man, that’s a bummer. Anyway, come along, my efficient killing machine.”

Like, you can make the argument that the Colonel has been through his own trauma by serving in the military that makes him have a “grin and bear it attitude,” plus it��s not like mental health was supported, but c’mon. A sensitive, kind man like Monro knows better. I understand he’s a Templar and they’re very black and white, but I feel like I could also imagine him sitting down and asking more questions of Shay and talking him through it

But idk, those are my thoughts. (Plus Shay following up with “You’re right, Colonel.” ??? No, babe, he’s not. You’re just severely traumatized.)

[tea-potato-gt]

A Borrower at the End of the World part 8

Previous / Next / All Chapters

Word count: 2700ish

***

Now…

The Brig consisted of several dark jail cells. Each contained two wooden beds, a sink, and a filthy toilet.

The soldiers placed both children inside the same cell, locked the door, and left. 

It was a dark, dusty cell. The only light came from the little lamp in the corner on the other side of the bars. The only window was above the wooden beds. It had no glass, just metal bars, allowing the chill from the night air to enter the room. If the kids stood on the wooden bed they could see out to the street, which was at the same level with their window. One of the kids could stick their arms out and grab tuffs of grass or dirt.

Once Briar was sure the soldiers were gone, he popped his head out of Jace’s bag, only to quickly realize he was suspended high above the ground with no safety net. The soldier carrying Jace’s bag put it on a hook directly across the jail cell that held the kids. They had a clear view of each other. 

“Jace? Layla? Are you hurt?” Briar yelled across the chasm to the cell that trapped the kids. Briar never wanted to see another person he cared about locked up. Now he saw both children behind bars, it made his anger boil and he became sick to his stomach.

“That bastard twisted my arm,” Jace grunted as he tested the limits of how high he could lift it and flexed his tender muscles. “Still hurts, but nothing permanent.”

Briar turned to the little girl, hugging herself in the darkness. “Layla, are you alright?”

Layla just stood there, silent tears streamed down her face and she shook her head. She was shivering, the boys couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or fear. Or both. Briar and Jace locked eyes. 

Just like I showed you. Briar nodded. 

Jace bent down and checked Layla for injuries. He stretched her arms out and bent it slightly, watching for resistance or pain. He turned her head and checked under her shirt for any injuries. 

Briar spent weeks teaching the kids how to check each other for injuries. He taught them first aid, like how to stop bleeding or how to set a broken bone with two sticks and a shirt. Briar had to guide the pair through it with only his voice and using an old doll as an example. Briar couldn’t ever hope to administer first aid to either child himself, given their drastic size differences. A single cut on one of them could produce more blood than he had in his entire body.

“She’s fine, just a couple of scratches.” Jace finally said. 

“If you’re not hurt then why are you crying?”

“I’m scared, Briar.” Layla pressed her round face into the bars. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She stuck her hands and arms through the bars in a futile attempt to reach the borrower.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure a way out of this.” Briar wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them and comfort her. Have her hold him close to her chest, tell her everything would be alright, but this wasn’t the time for flowery talk. He needed to take action and figure a way out of this nightmare.

Jace pressed himself against the metal door. It was made of thick, rusted metal that he couldn’t dream of opening without a key. “M-maybe you can pick the lock?” Jace sounded hopeful. “You told us once you opened a locked rat trap your cousin was in.”

“Yes, but that took hours,” Briar rubbed his hands over his face. “I doubt we’ll be given the luxury of time before those Beans come back.”

The Borrower spat the word ‘bean’ with complete and utter disgust. He said it in a way that made Jace very uncomfortable.

Briar had never thought highly of beans, but after watching the way these particular ones treated Layla and Jace, it brought forth the ire and pain felt by generations of borrowers before him. 

“Do you have any better ideas, boss?”

“No.” Briar sighed. “Maybe… Maybe I could climb down, get a better idea of what to do. Get a lay of the land.” He grabbed his borrower bag and wrapped his rat skinned cloak around his neck. 

“Please hurry,” Layla whined.

“Alright, I’m coming, sweet girl.” Briar took out the ‘rope’ (string) attached to his waist, tied it to the broken backpack zipper, let the string drop to the ground, and tugged on the knot to ensure it was secured.

Then he jumped up and over the zipper of the bag. And began his descent down the string. Hand over hand and scooting and squeezing with his thighs. Nearly half a century of practice allowed the borrower to safely scale down a dozen story (to him) drop. 

The distinct sound of jingling keys turning at the brig door sounded as loud as an explosion to Briar's ears. Alarm bells screamed at him: A bean is coming.

Briar and Jace cursed at the same time.

Creeaaaak. 

Too late. Both the children and Briar froze.

The borrower had only made it halfway down the string. He couldn’t climb back up into the backpack without being spotted. And dropping had its own risks, but staying still was probably the worst option. Indecision might seal Briar’s fate. The three prayed the new beans wouldn’t spot the little man swinging in mid air.  

The children’s eyes were locked on the man standing at the door. He was intimidating, even by Bean standards. He was huge, very tall, and very muscular. Wearing a heavily decorated uniform with several stars and badges across the shoulders and chest. He took up most of the door frame and had to duck a little to enter the Brig. Close behind him followed Colonel Johansen. 

Oh, joy. 

“Good evening, children.” The new man spoke in a deep voice that, though soft, commanded respect. Jace couldn’t get a good look at his features because of how tall he was. No matter how close or far he got from the lamp light, his face seemed to always be swallowed by shadow. At his side, he carried a black briefcase. “I am the General.”

Neither child spoke as the General made his way towards their cell, his heavy combat boots thumped on the ground. 

“My men tell me, you put up quite the fight while they brought you here.” The General stood before the cell, he studied Jace with dark eyes, looking for something. “Now, I’m very curious. How did two children survive alone in a town crawling with Razors, for three years? Hm?” 

Jace stood up straighter, trying to appear bigger than he really was. Over the years of hunting and borrowing, Jace had gained some muscle, not enough to be useful in hand to hand combat against this brick wall of a man. 

“I would very much like to know who helped you… and where they are hiding, right now.” The General bent down to the level of the kids. When his eyes landed on little Layla, she felt herself shrivel up under his intense gaze. The aura that came from this man made the air thick and unbearable. Alarm bells were ringing inside her head to run away. 

Jace stepped in front of his sister, blocking her from view. The teen glared at the General, a clear sign: No. Not her. Don’t you even look at her.

The General’s jaw ticked, “I’d be careful who you aim that glare at, son.” Only the man’s cold eyes moved to meet Jace’s. 

Jace pulled Layla closer as they backed away from the bars and the men standing on the other side. Even though there was still a row of solid metal between the children and the General (and the Colonel), he knew that could change very quickly with the turn of a key.  

“Not much of a talker, ey?” The General set his heavy suitcase down with a thud. “That’s fine. I can work with that.” He began to fiddle with the locks on the side of the briefcase. 

Elsewhere in the room, Briar swung in mid air. Still caught between a rock and a hard place. Or Two beans and the floor.

He was desperately trying to figure out what to do. Right now, he was still halfway down the rope. Two giant beans were between Briar and the children. Briar could only see the General’s back, he was so large it blocked the kids from view. And the other bean, the Colonel was standing a ways away from the cell, but still watching the intimidating display the General put on. 

Normally, Briar wouldn’t want any bean to ever even look at the kids, the very thought set his anger ablaze. But now was not the time to tell off giants and curse their entire bloodlines. Now he needed to get down as quickly as possible and hide. If he was out of sight he might think of a proper plan to get them all out. Right now, being exposed, his fight or flight was in overdrive and he couldn't really think properly.

After much deliberation, he realized his only choice would be to have a controlled free fall down the string till he got to the ground and could hide in the shadows. Easier said than done.

The beans are distracted now is not the time to get scared, Briar scolded himself. On the count of three. One. two. Three—

Briar let go of the string, except for his left hand, which he used in an attempt to at least control the speed of his descent. His stomach did flips as the ground came up faster than he would have liked. As he got closer, he began to squeeze the string with his left hand, causing terrible, painful rope burns on his palm and fingers. 

Even though Briar slowed down a little, he still hit the ground harder than intended. He involuntarily let out a soft cry of pain as he made impact. His world spun dizzyingly. Maybe he still had his mild concussion from hitting his head and blacking out earlier that day. Ugh.

The General’s ears perked up at the soft sound. A sound most beans would ignore, but this man was not like most beans. The giant's hair stood on end, something wasn’t right. His shoulders tensed and he began to turn around. 

“W-WHAT!” Jace started loudly to gain the General’s attention, he didn’t know what Briar was doing, since the General blocked the small man from view, but Jace knew he had to keep the men's attention. “What are you going to do to us?” The teen eventually gained control of his volume as he continued talking, but his voice still shook. 

“Ah, so you can speak.” The General’s tone of voice sounded amused, but one look at the man’s face made it clear he was anything but. “Well, that entirely depends on you and how cooperative you will be.”

The General took out a set of metal keys jingling at his hip. He placed a rusted metal key in the door to the cell that held the children. The man turned the key with deliberate slowness. 

Briar quickly got to his feet and ran. Or limped, might have be more accurate. Ugh. Everything hurts. 

Briar rushed into shadows. In the dark he was safe. He avoided running out into the middle of the hallway, deciding to instead stick close to the wall. He made it pretty far into the darkness of when–

BANG.

Layla shrieked and covered her ears as the loud sound of a gunshot echoed through the small space.  

The Colonel held a smoking gun aimed at the floor, “Damned rats.”

“What did you do?!” Jace yelled. He pressed himself against the bars, desperate to see if Briar was hurt or worse.

The bullet hole in the floor still had a bit of smoke rising from it. He has to be okay, Jace thought frantically, we just got him back! 

“Missed.” The Colonel sighed as he reholstered his pistol.

The relief Jace felt was almost palpable.

The General watched the boy with great interest. 

Briar scurried back on his hands and knees and easily slipped between the bars of the cell next to the kid’s. His heart pounded and his chest heaved, That Bastard-of-a-Bean just tried to shoot me?! 

Briar got up on his shaking feet, his mind continued to race as he ran to the wall that borders the kid’s cell. He just had to find a crack or a weak point to get to the other side. 

What the hell is wrong with that idiot Colonel?! Shooting a gun in such an enclosed space! That bullet could have ricocheted and really hurt someone! He could have hurt Jace or Layla?!

There! In the corner, a drain connecting the two cells. It was three inches high, short for even the borrower, but not impossible. He ducked down and pushed his way through the wall. 

See kids, THIS is why I hate beans! They always shoot first and ask questions later. Well, good luck asking me questions if I’m DEAD!

When Briar emerged on the other side of the wall, his heart stopped. Three pairs of long legs rose up like thick tree trunks. Those trunk eventually led up to torsos, arms and heads of three beans who didn't know that Briar was in the cell with them. That in itself was concerning, but the real problem came when those legs started moving unpredictably. The borrower could easily be knocked down by a heavy footstep or crushed under a shoe. Leaving nothing more than a stain on the floor to be forgotten by time. 

The General opened the briefcase he brought into the cell. Briar could hear the metal tools clinking in his hands. 

The case held several instruments of torture. Carefully curated and chosen by the General to be used to get information. He pulled out a metal clamp, it looked like a crude a nutcracker. It still had dried blood caked on from its last unfortunate victim. One good squeeze of this contraption could easily break the fingers on a grown bean. If the General got his hands on a borrower, Briar could easily be snapped in half. He gulped at the thought of this painful, horrible end. 

Then his mind switched back to the danger that currently faced the children.it pissed him off, the way this bean tried to purposefully intimidate Jace and Layla. The General was letting his intimidating stature and muscular build do most of the work.

The kids had an intense fear of this unpredictable entity before them, threatening them. Fear began to consume the pair to the point they both were shaking.

What does this bean gain from torchering two children?! What could be so important out there that this man would hurt Jace or Layla over it?! No amount of information in the world is more important than them! Briar’s face grew hot as anger festered in his chest. If the borrower wasn’t afraid himself, he would march over there and give this General guy a piece of his mind. (In fact, if they were the same size, Briar probably would’ve given the General a good kick in the teeth.)

“Last chance, son,” The General took a frighteningly slow step towards the children, steadily clicking the contraption in his fist as he walked into the dim light. Jace stepped back, pulling Layla closer. She whimpered. “Tell me. Who are the people who helped you?” The man spoke slowly, putting emphasis on every word as he bent down to the level of the kids, “And where are they hiding?”

Neither child moved. Or spoke. Or dared to breathe. 

What could they possibly say to this man?

If they told the truth— that they had been living with a man the size of a hand for the past three years. That is man taught them how to survive out in the wilderness— The General would either not believe them and think they were making up creatures called borrowers, and they were stalling or hiding the truth. That path would just lead them back to where they are now, but locked in a cell with a much angrier man. 

Or worse, the General would believe the children and try to hunt Briar down. The number one rule of living with a borrower: Never reveal the secret to anyone. 

“Still not talking, eh?” The General cracked his knuckles and took a deep, steadying breath. He held up his instrument towards the light and watched as the rusted metal glint with such fascination, before coldly bringing his eyes back to Jace. “Well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

Jace’s eyes went wide and all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. His heart sank, but not from fear of what waa about to happen right then. A memory of a man pinged in his mind. A man he used to know a long, long time ago.  

Time slowed down as Jace looked at the General’s face. Even in partial shadow he recognized him. That fraise. That voice. The intimidation. His face. Jace knew this man all too well.

Jace’s voice shook as he spoke. He didn’t know it at the time, but his life, his sister’s life and Briar’s life would change with one word:

“F-father?”

***

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[bobabisch]

I think it is very interesting that the writers of RDR2 chose to have the Arthur become more involved with the storyline of the Native Americans at the time that they did.

I feel this for many reasons, but mainly because what Colonel Favours' destructive and insecure nature is doing to the native people directly mirrors what Dutch's own insecure and destructive nature is doing to the group. On the first mission Arthur does with Captain Monroe, the Captain tells him many things:

1) That Colonel Favours destructive/insecure/angry nature has corrupted his men, I quote, "There is a culture now in his [Colonel Favours] regiment, the rot has traveled down the trunk". The Captain is stating that the horrific ways the Colonel has been treating the native people has prompted his men to treat them the same. The rotting tree metaphor is easily applied to Arthur's current situation with Dutch and the group (at this specific time especially). After Molly's death the whole vibe of the camp becomes unstable and dreary; nearly everyone has been prone to anger, Arthur included. This attitude in the camp is not unlike the new personality Dutch has begun to show since he returned from Guarma. This corruption can also be seen particularly well in Micah--as he thrives in the chaos in the camp and in Arthur's disintegrating relationship with Dutch--and in Bill's newfound anger/resentment with seemingly everything and everyone.

2) Captain Monroe tells Arthur "He [Colonel Favours] didn't have a very good war so he's trying to start another one." This one seems pretty much obvious, but as Arthur states during a few missions prior to this one (mainly the one with Eagle Flies and the mission where Dutch kills Cornwall) the past few heists/jobs have not gone well. Arthur significantly understates this; rather the last few heists/jobs have gone horribly, terribly wrong. All of Dutch's previous heists/jobs have led to death: I.e. Mac, Jenny, Sean, Hosea, Lenny, and Molly. It's clear Dutch has been feeling lost and inadequate since Blackwater and his recent failures and the recent deaths have only put more pressure on those insecurities, and with Micah in his ear those insecurities have only become more prevalent and dangerous.

3) Captain Monroe also tells Arthur "I think he's taking some of these actions more to protect himself now. If he can incite more retaliation maybe he can prove a stronger defense." Like Colonel Favours has decided to wage his own war with the native people in an attempt to alleviate his insecurities, so has Dutch decided to "wage war" as well, using the conflict with the native people and the army so he may "make noise" (as Dutch calls it) to reassure himself that his insecurities have not become reality. The more "noise" Dutch makes easier it is to claim he is defending the groups honor. Dutch uses people a lot, he used Angelo Bronte, he used the Grays, he used the Braithwaites, but the difference between Dutch using them and Dutch using Eagle Flies and the native people--as well as the army--is that he no longer does it for the reason's that he was doing it beforehand. With the former groups of people, Dutch truly was using them to help the group, to protect those he views as family.

Moreover the former groups of people were not good people in any way shape or form meanwhile the Native Americans are entirely blameless in this situation. "We help those who need helping, feed those who need feeding, and kill those who need killing." It's something Dutch says to Arthur on the very mission they take with Eagle Flies which puts not only the native people in a more precarious position than they were already in, but also makes the situation Dutch's gang are in more dangerous. Dutch has stuck by this motto for what seems like his whole life, but now even it has lost its meaning. He no longer helps those who need helping as he refused to rescue John Marston from being hanged, and he no longer kills those who need killing as he unnecessarily murdered Cornwall and actively urges the native people and the army to kill each other. In this light it is undeniable that just as Colonel Favours is prosecuting the Native Americans to save his reputation, Dutch has taken all of these new measures to save his own reputation and to placate his troubled mind.

4) Captain Monroe's final statement about Colonel Favours hits the hardest however, "A failed man is often the most dangerous." Arthur has come to know this as true, as he watches Dutch slowly descend further into madness, finding new enemies in anyone who is not his "yes man" and actively seeking out his old enemies who have wronged him so horribly in the past, all at the risk of the family which he claims he is trying to protect by doing all of this.

I think it is so clever of the writers this situation with the Native Americans play out as all this is happening with Dutch. Although Arthur probably does not fully understand the parallels, I'm sure being directly involved in such a similar situation helps Arthur to realize at least on some subconscious level just how far gone Dutch truly is.

[deadfileinthecabinet]

I know Crane is back but right now, I am obsessed with sexy Monro from Assassin’s Creed Rogue. Sorry Crane, another old man has my attention now.

[playlists-in-fall]

- bluegrass & old time ; mountain-centric

note: a lot of bluegrass is composed of standards, i’ve just chosen some of my favorite versions of these songs

appalachian joy - ricky skaggs

bile them cabbage down - don stover, b. lilly, and chubby anthony

black eyed suzie - ricky skaggs

buckin’ mul - the dillards

coal tattoo - hazel dickens

cornbread and butterbeans - carolina chocolate drops

the crawdad song - doc watson

cripple creek - flatt & scruggs

don’t think twice, it’s alright - flatt & scruggs

dooley - the dillards

foggy mountain breakdown - flatt & scruggs

going across the mountain - frank proffitt

hog eyed man - the ebony hillbillies

i’ll never see my home again - bob scott & stone ridge

ida red - lonesome river band

little liza jane - otis taylor

little sadie - doc watson

over yonder in the graveyard - ola belle reed

polly vaughn - the dillards

pretty polly - ralph stanley

rain crow - rhiannon giddens, justin robinson

raccoon and possum - peggy seeger

rocky top - the osborne brothers

roving gambler - the country gentlemen

ruby, are you mad at your man? - carolina chocolate drops

salty dog blues - flatt & scruggs

shady grove - laura love

sourwood mountain - carolina chocolate drops

there ain’t nobody gonna miss me when i’m gone - the kentucky colonels

there is a time - the dillards

tom dooley - doc watson

walk on boy - doc watson, richard watson

wayfaring stranger - bill monroe & his blue grass boys

wolf man - alison brown

[cippicat]

The fandom named Shay's son "Liam Monro Cormac", after his best friend and his mentor.

That's a real stupid name

tbh I kept crying that whole morning when I woke up and heard the news from my friend. My precious Shay became a grandpa. However since the story took place in 1863,  I guess he didn’t have much time with his grandson Cudgel Cormac.

But hey, how about a father and his son?

[cippicat]

They found an agreement

@shaycormac-templar Liam doesn't seem impressed XD

Credit to @pluma-azurea

[s0larine]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 [𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐂 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑]

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought. 

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate 

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly. 

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[nthspecialll]

Could you talk a bit about the wapiti tribe? I am not there yet and I doubt I will since every time I boot the game a wave of sadness hits me as my Arthur cough reminding me of his unchangeable fate and my aim is worst that a blind drunk out of his mind but I come to really like Eagle Flies and would love to know more about him

(Sorry for bothering, I should just play the game instead of bothering you with ask. Feel free to ignore)

Oh yeah of course, I will give a general idea without too much spoilers and then some more heavy spoilers underneath the cut.

Since you are mentioning Arthur's coughing I am guessing you are in chapter 6 or at least past chapter four where you help Eagle Flies steal information from Cornwall Tar and Oil company.

The general plot with the tribe is one that has been seen many times in real life, the army wanting to move Native Americans from their land and onto a reservation (or a rez, which I have seen some Native American now a days call them on tikok, idk how I ended up on Native tiktok but I get to see some beautiful powwows and regalias). The problem with the tribe is that they have moved onto a reservation but they are now told to move again because they have been told there is oil in the area.

The army isn't allowed to just move the tribe but need proper reason and what Colonel Favours has resorted to is framing the Natives as mean or foul. He makes a bunch of contracts and deals, then says the Natives doesn't keep and thus he can hold back medicine, food and vacines. But the truth is, they do hold up their end of the deals, it is the army who doesn't, but who would believe them.

Rains Fall, the chief, tries over and over to take political and lawful action, peaceful action together with Captian Monroe, a part of the army who was sent to make a report on the situation but is in truth helping the tribe the best he can. Meanwhile Eagle Flies gets more and more angry because he can see the army doesn't have any interest in holding their end of the deals, so he acts out.

Dutch is also introduced to Eagle Flies and pushes him to do more and more, to attack and fight. He tells Eagle Flies to humiliate the army, Eagle Flies ends up captured and tortured, meanwhile Dutch draws attention away from the gang and "people will blame everyone on the Indian situation" (his words), aka he pushes his crimes on the natives.

HEAVY SPOILERS UNDERNEATH

Not to mention the mission where Eagle Flies dies, when they attacked the Oil Company, that was Dutch's idea, he encouraged it! And what did the Natives gain? Nothing, meanwhile the gang gained a shit ton of money.

Rains Fall says to Arthur in A Fine Art Of Conversation, which is after their sacred spot was burned down by drunk army men: "when we find out medicine and surplies are being deliberately withheld, how can we not see it as something personal? When they destory our sacred sites? How can I convince Eagle Flies and the others not to fight back?" to which Charles replies "Maybe that is part of why they destory these things, they want you to fight back." Which is pretty much what the army wants.

After Eagle Flies and a big part of the tribe is killed, Rains Fall gives up and moves to Canada with the help of Charles, though even more of them are murdered in Wvyoming by the army. They will make it to Canada but as nothing but "Just a few families", Rains Fall will come back in the epilouge where you can meet him after he visited his son's grave.

And sadly all of it was for little, the reservation did not hold oil.

[tea-potato-gt]

A Borrower at the End of the World part 13: Family Portrait

Word Count: 1900ish

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***

Now…

“Let me show you to your rooms.” The General stood up and began walking out of the kitchen without looking back to check if the kids were following him. The kids quickly got to their feet, Jace muttered an apology to Briar for the rough ride as he ran after General Monroe. The kids followed the man up a grand staircase, several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling high above them. 

They walked down the hall and entered a bedroom. The entire room was painted white, including the bed frame, desk and drawers. There was one bed in the corner by the window, white curtains hung on either side. There was dust on the desk and floor. It looked like the room had never been used before.

“This is where Layla will stay.” Said the General. “My room is next door, in case you need me.” He looked down to the girl who stood by her brother. She scooted closer to Jace, but nodded.

Soon, Colonel Johansen followed them upstairs with Jace’s bag and handed it to General Monroe. “Had a couple of knives and canned food from the outside. I left them in your office.” He eyed the kids from the other side of the door. “Lots of trash too at the bottom of the bag, looked like the boy was making doll house furniture for his sister.” Though, the Colonel didn’t seem too convinced of his own deductions. 

Jace and Layla and Briar stiffened. In one of the pockets lay a bunch of furniture Briar fashioned out of trash for himself. They kept the furniture in Jace’s bag because Briar had grown weary of needing to constantly make new chairs and beds every new place they moved. Jace just offered to keep them in his bag to travel with. It’s not like it would take up too much space, Jace argued and Briar conceded. Though he was very irritated by that remark, Briar knew he was small and thus so were his things, but he still didn’t like to draw attention to it. 

The General took the bag, “Very good, Johansen. You are dismissed.”

The Colonel gave a curt nod. He briefly glared at the kids and left. Those left in the bedroom remained silent till they distantly heard the front door slam closed. 

The General opened Jace’s bag without asking permission. Jace stiffened, thanking his lucky stars Briar wasn’t still in that bag, but instead safely in his pocket. The teen was very concious of the small weight against his leg, every time Briar moved or twitched, Jace felt it.

When opening the bag the first thing the General saw was a brown teddy bear looking back at him. Or at least partially looking back at him, since the bear only had one eye. He gently pulled it out and into the dim light. It had several stitches in various places after being lovingly played with for years. The General recognized this bear. 

He knelt down next to Layla, she froze. When he was on his knees he was still taller than the little girl. He grabbed her small hand and placed the bear in it, “I can’t believe you still have this. I remember when I gave this to you.”

Layla looked at her bear, Mr. Ursa, he smiled back neither confirming nor denying what the General just said. She didn’t remember when she got this bear. She’d always had it, as long as she could remember. It had been her constant companion, other than her brother after the world got scary. 

“Yeah, it was the day you left.” Jace remarked. 

The General’s jaw ticked, “I didn’t leave, Jason.” The return of that icy glare to the man’s face caught Jace off guard. “I was deployed.”

On Briar’s part, he felt the sudden ridged posture from the boy and the cold tone of voice the General quickly adopted. 

This was definitely a tender subject for both involved. Jace never talked about his father and Briar never pushed him. Neither of their pasts really mattered. Who they were and the lives they lived before the world ended didn’t matter. What was important was the now, who they were and what they chose to do with the time given to them. 

Briar gave one swift jab into Jace’s leg to tell him to knock it off. One poke usually meant a negative reaction from the borrower, “no’s” and “stop.” 

You never want to pick a fight with a bean bigger than you and you definitely never wanna piss one off, Briar advised once a year or so ago. 

Jace got the message and quickly corrected course. “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

The General’s features drifted back into his calmer shape, “It’s alright, Jason.” He nodded and returned his attention to the bag. At the bottom he found something made of hard wood and glass, he carefully pulled it out. What he held in his hand made the General lose his breath, he had to sit on the ground next to where Layla stood. Or he might have fallen over.

The glass was cracked and had a bit of water damage, but the picture within was still in relatively good condition given the circumstances. 

The picture showed five beans, in a time long since past. Three adults and two young children.

***

Ironically, if Briar stepped next the the frame, all the people looked Borrower size compared to him. 

A snapshot of a time before Briar had even met the kids.

When Briar first saw this picture he almost didn’t recognize Layla and Jace. He had seen photos before, and had a vague understanding of how cameras worked, but he never paid them any mind as he borrowed from a bean house. It never occurred to him that the people encapsulated inside the frame were real.

The two children in the picture looked like warped images of the Jace and Layla he knew today. Briar could tell it was the kids, but their faces were off, large eyes, chubby cheeks and smaller bodied. They were frozen in time. So much hope for the future in their eyes. A life before the world went to hell. 

A life before Briar ever came into the picture. 

If the human world hadn’t ended, would Briar have ever met these kids? What would their lives have been like? Briar tried not to think about things like that, life was just the way it was, there was no point in wondering what might have been.

But then he keeps thinking, Layla and Jace would still be in school. Jace would probably write a novel and Layla might open a bakery or something, she loves sweets after all. 

And where would I be? Stuck traversing the walls in some random bean’s house, hating every moment of staying in the darkness. Hidden from the sun and the outside world, all in the name of staying safe?

Even as a child, Briar hated living like everyday might be his last, surviving from one day to another. Staying out of sight and ensuring he left no trace of his existence. So many borrowers have died without ever living. So many borrowers never left their homes, including some of Briar’s own family. Being born and dying in the same place. 

Since living with these bean kids, Briar had seen more of the world than any borrower could ever dream of. Traveling such long distances was easy. He didn’t have to waste a week of planning for a trip and maybe another week of actual travel, instead it took a day of walking by Bean pace.

These two dumb bean kids had given the borrower so much, he was living a life free of fear and out of darkness of the walls.

***

The General studied the picture with great interest. He recognized each figure, especially the tall man glaring back at him. This picture was taken before all the scars that marred his face and body today. Ernest Monroe didn’t have a pleasant expression on his face, though at the time the photo was taken he wasn’t exactly happy. He wore his military uniform, decorated with badges of honor and rank. He stood tall, at attention, looking directly into the camera. 

The General’s eyes wandered to Little Layla, at the age of two, clinging to her mother’s neck. The girl’s bright red hair was put up in two little pig tails on either side of her head. She had a big smile that showed most of her baby teeth. 

Their Mother, Amanda, was standing in a side profile as she held her daughter in her arms. She had long red hair that matched her two kids, but she had green eyes. She had a stray lock of hair in front of her face, the General caressed the photo as if attempting to push that stray hair from her otherwise perfect features. She smiled back at him with a knowing glint in her eyes.

To the right of Amanda was the kid’s maternal Grandmother, Helen, she was definitely old. (Older than Briar had seen any Borrower get to. It was rare for Borrowers to grow old, most dying in some horrific way too young. If Briar was honest, he never thought he’d make it past 25, but here he was sitting at 44 winters under his belt.)

Between Amanda and Ernest was little Jace, though only reaching waist height compared to his parents, stood tall. He was imitating his father’s erect stance. Hands behind his back. Chin up. Eyes forward starting directly into the camera. The only difference, Jace wore a smile across his face that showed the large gap in his front teeth. 

***

Jace mentioned to Briar this picture was taken right before their father left. It has been over six years since they had last seen their father. Jace was 8 while Layla was 2. Now Layla was 8 and Jace was 14. Too many years of pain had gone by in their father’s absence. Jace remembered he’d ask his mother when their father would come home. She’d always say soon. Three years of active service and three years of apocalyptic hell. No matter what they had hoped, their father had to be dead. Along with their mother and grandmother.

This was the last picture they all took together as a family. Probably the only existing photo left and Jace carried it around everywhere they went. 

***

The General spent quite a very long time taking in every detail of the photo, memorizing it. Without looking up the General spoke softly, “Tell me Jason, What became of your mother?”

Jace froze and looked to his sister, he still hadn’t officially told her what happened to their mom. But Layla wasn’t stupid, she had long since given up on making Jace leave notes to their mom on where to find them. It had been three years since they got separated. She didn’t know what happened, but she felt in her gut her mommy wasn’t coming back. 

Jace cleared his throat, “C-can we discuss this somewhere else.” He gestured to his sister with his eyes, hoping the General would get his meaning. 

“Ah, yes of course. Let me show you to your room Jason.” The man turned to Layla, “You’ll stay here tonight, the bathroom is down the hall first door on your right. There are clean towels in the closet.” He kissed the top of the head, “Good night.” He stood and left the room, once again expecting Jace to follow.

Jace gave his sister a rushed goodnight as he chased after the General, Briar was just along for the ride, leaving the 8 year old all alone in the big room.

Layla didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. She hadn’t said a single word since they left the Brig. She stood there alone, in an unfamiliar room, unsure of what to do. She held Mr. Ursa close. She didn’t want to be by all herself.

She wished Briar was with her…

***

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[shaycormacaroni]

Well guess who's falling back into the Colonel Monro/ Shay PIT

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1964 Mistral Spyder

Diana Dors bought the brand new Mistral Spyder in 1964 when she saw it at Earls Court Motorshow while in the throes of bankruptcy.

In 1964, the Maserati range was at its most diverse, with the Mistral and Quattroporte joining the Sebring, 3500 GT, and 3500 GT Spyder. Maserati was building upon the success of the 3500 GT and Sebring when it commissioned Pietro Frua to design a new body to be placed upon an updated Tipo 109 chassis. The new two-seat coupé was named “Mistral”, after the strong winds blowing from the Mediterranean coast in the south of France, at the suggestion of Colonel John Simone, the French Maserati importer. The Mistral was sold directly from the Motor Show stand to its first owner, Diana Dors, the English screen icon frequently known as the “English Marilyn Monroe”. She is said to have fallen in love with the car after seeing it first-hand at the motor show. Dors, one of the earliest English stars to court the press, and gain notoriety in the process, was famously the youngest person to own a Rolls-Royce, despite the fact that she was not even old enough to drive at the time

With a 3.7-litre engine developing 255bhp, the Italian sports car was capable of 0-60mph in just 6.2 seconds with a top speed of 160mph.

[scotianostra]

12th January 1777 saw the death of Brigadier-General Hugh Mercer, the Scottish-born American revolutionary general.

Hugh Mercer was born in 1726 to Ann Monro and William Mercer, a Presbyterian Minister, near Rosehearty Aberdeenshire. He earned his doctorate in medicine at the University of Aberdeen and, later, served as a surgeon in the army of Charles Edward Stuart, a during the Jacobite uprising of 1745, Mercer became a fugitive in his own country. He managed to flee Scotland for the American colonies, where he settled in Pennsylvania and established a medical practice.

In 1756, Mercer, like many Jacobites, was serving the same army that had been his enemy only a decade earlier. During the Seven Years’ War, he received a commission as captain of a Pennsylvania regiment that accompanied Lt. Col. John Armstrong’s raid on the Indian village of Kittanning. Mercer was wounded during the raid but managed to escape through the woods, wandering injured, alone, and hungry for days until he reached Fort Shirley. He was subsequently promoted to the rank of colonel and, as a result, became close friends with fellow colonel George Washington.

In the early days of the Revolution, Mercer took command of a small force of Virginia Minute Men from Spotsylvania, King George, Stafford, and Caroline Counties. Eventually, he rose to the rank of brigadier general in the Continental Army, and in the winter of 1776 accompanying his old acquaintance, George Washington, in the New York City Campaign, and subsequent retreat to New Jersey.

Following the Patriot victory at Trenton, New Jersey, Mercer led a vanguard of 350 soldiers toward Princeton, New Jersey with orders from Washington to destroy the Stony Brook Bridge. On January 3, 1777, Mercer met a larger British force at Clarke’s Orchard. The struggle between these two forces quickly turned into a race to secure the strategic position on the heights of a nearby hill. During the struggle, musket and rifle fire turned to hand-to-hand combat with bayonets. Unfortunately, an overwhelming majority of Mercer’s men had no bayonets on their muskets. As his men began to fall back, Mercer stepped forward and desperately rallied his men with the words “Forward! Forward!” His command was met by the forceful thrust of British bayonets to his chest, and he fell to the ground.

Finding Mercer still alive, Continental soldiers removed him to a nearby oak tree, which would later bear his name, and finally to the field hospital in the Thomas Clarke House, where he died of his wounds on January 12th, 1777. The Patriots ultimately succeeded in driving the British from Princeton, and the legacy of General Mercer’s courageous efforts became a rallying cry for American troops.