In which the hurt/comfort genre is redefined as "hurt/sass"

[lifescratched]

It had been sloppy work, in retrospect. Reckless, Achilles would say. Which was why he was now sitting, bent double, behind a pile of crates in an alley, trying to stem the bleeding from his wounds. His head was throbbing, he had a bruised eye that was quickly becoming swollen, a shallow -- but bloody -- blade wound across his chest, and what had been either a bullet or grenade shrapnel that had grazed one of his arms. Connor was a mess, and he felt every inch of it.

The fight had been totally unplanned. He was passing through New York on business, intending nothing more than to run a few errands. No assassinations. But when he'd spotted a group of tax collectors harassing a poor family and threatening them with eviction, he couldn't help but intervene in the only way he could: with force.

What he didn't expect was for a regiment of soldiers, including Hessians, to join the chaos that ensued. Connor managed to escape with his life, but there was little now that he could do for that poor family. Yet another property would be appropriated to the Crown, and he'd botched his attempt to stop it.

Wincing, he struggled to his feet, one hand pressed over his chest. Somehow, he had to slip out of the city before he was discovered...

Comments

[lifescratched]

For all that Connor had tried to give off the impression his wounds did not bother him, he hissed through his teeth and had to resist the urge to jerk his arm away as Haytham poured water over it, leaving the wound stinging. Then he closed his eyes, apparently ignoring Haytham's diatribe against Church. Connor knew physicians himself -- Jamie, but getting into contact with him would mean turning back around to New York -- or Dr. White, which would mean a long journey to the Homestead. With Haytham in tow, both options were out of the question.

"Hickey... was little better," Connor finally replied, opening his eyes and fixed them on his father. Did he need to elaborate? The ideology of the Templars concerned Thomas Hickey even less than they had concerned Church. He had been loyal because of the money, but could have just as easily become a turncoat to a higher bidder.

Haytham really needed to work on his recruitment processes.

As he began to tear up the sash, Connor pressed a hand to his chest with his good arm, trying to stem the bleeding as much as possible until the makeshift bandages could be applied.