[ She's not the only one to have grown up with stories. Jacob's heard them too, how the Templars will stop at nothing to consolidate their power, how above all else they desire to see humanity meek and subservient to their rule. He wishes he could say that in his experience that was wrong, but he also knows that isn't the full picture. There are scientists amongst the Templars who want to discover the world's secrets and he knows that there are scientists who side with the Assassins who want the same. The problem is what each side would do with the knowledge.
The fact is, Jacob doesn't much like either side. He wants his freedom, the freedom to choose his own path, and not be dragged into an ever-lasting war. Maybe that's what Angel is after too. But they need to cut the chains that tie her to the Order before she can spread her wings.]
I've heard of Wilhelm. Fantastic fighter, they say. Doesn't leave a man standing. I'm sure I can take him.
[ That's said with a bright, charming grin, a Frye Special. Jacob honestly believes he can, and will, take the guy down. After all, he's not failed yet when it comes to killing a target. ]
Is there a place I'm most likely to find him? A base of operations?
[ She nods, adjusting her shawl, short enough her feet didn't reach the ground and swing below her as she talks. The crinkle of material is a give away for the little movements. Bubbling about her soft and white like sea foam.
Because the difference when she has work to concentrate on is remarkable. The fear trickles away, chatting on with minimal fidgeting. Looking up at him in some moments, then out of the garden.
He does, but it moves around. Sometimes he likes to be stationed in Camden, other times in York. I will get the final confirmation in the next few days when he's next coming to London. But when he's here, he always likes to drink of the corner of Piccadilly station.
[ He knows the corner she means, knows the pub she means. He's had a pint there himself. He's had a pint in most places in London. At least one pint, in truth.
But that area is busy. He's fairly sure that he can get in without being recognised, and get what needs to be done done.]
You can pass that information on to me? When he's going to be there? Don't much fancy going all the way up to York if he's going to be in my neighbourhood.
[ She nods - and for all she has been afraid, is afraid - there is something of that reputation there. There is a surety to her, of what she can do, what she knows how to do, and how unerringly she can move pieces when she needs to. ]
I will send a runner when I know. I won't be able to come myself, Jack will...
[ There doesn't have to be an elaboration there. ] Where is the best place for them to meet you?
[ Jacob nods, the answer an obvious one. Somewhere busy, somewhere convenient, somewhere that will get him to Picidilly quickly, as soon as he gets word of Wilheim being in town. ]
Under the clock at Waterloo station. Sometime around dusk.
[ He pauses, considering her again ] If you are in London, and you need me, you send for me, alright? A plan is all well and good, but if you need me, the plan goes out of the window.
[ Because something about this girl worries him. Not about her, despite her reputation. He knows that she's dangerous, this could all be a trap but if it isn't? Then her blood is on his hands. All she wants is out.]
[ It catches her off guard. She doesn't expect people to care about her. She expects men to want her, they always do. The way you put a special ornament on the shelf. She expects other women to not pay much attention to another woman on the circuit. She expects Templars to be proud of their weapon, and Assassin's to want her dead.
She doesn't expect Jacob Frye to care about her. To want to more than what is best for him and his own. Angel would be as naive as Jack accused her of being if she really didn't know what he probably thought of her until this moment. ]
Oh -
[ Paused, it's different to when he'd crept out of the shadows, or Jack's voice startling her - her eyes are wide, and in the dim light, her too white skin goes steadily pink.
Gallant, she thinks again and realises she is being silly, as the smile spreads on her face - until it's suddenly blindingly earnest. ]
[ Jacob would love to believe her. He'd love to have enough faith to believe that if that man hurt her, she would fight back, that she would defend herself with every skill and breath she had. But he's seen the way she cowered in his presence, shrunk away from his touch. She'd let that man kill her before she did anything to stop him, Jacob is sure of that.
He's sure too that telling her that his father was a bastard won't help. For a start, he doesn't seem as bad as hers, by a long way. It won't help, it will just add insult to injury.
No, best not. ]
Alright. The offer is there. Always.
[ And with that, he touches the brim of the top hat, and leaves via the thick undergrowth, mulling over the strange revelations of the evening.]
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no subject
The fact is, Jacob doesn't much like either side. He wants his freedom, the freedom to choose his own path, and not be dragged into an ever-lasting war. Maybe that's what Angel is after too. But they need to cut the chains that tie her to the Order before she can spread her wings.]
I've heard of Wilhelm. Fantastic fighter, they say. Doesn't leave a man standing. I'm sure I can take him.
[ That's said with a bright, charming grin, a Frye Special. Jacob honestly believes he can, and will, take the guy down. After all, he's not failed yet when it comes to killing a target. ]
Is there a place I'm most likely to find him? A base of operations?
no subject
Because the difference when she has work to concentrate on is remarkable. The fear trickles away, chatting on with minimal fidgeting. Looking up at him in some moments, then out of the garden.
He does, but it moves around. Sometimes he likes to be stationed in Camden, other times in York. I will get the final confirmation in the next few days when he's next coming to London. But when he's here, he always likes to drink of the corner of Piccadilly station.
no subject
[ He knows the corner she means, knows the pub she means. He's had a pint there himself. He's had a pint in most places in London. At least one pint, in truth.
But that area is busy. He's fairly sure that he can get in without being recognised, and get what needs to be done done.]
You can pass that information on to me? When he's going to be there? Don't much fancy going all the way up to York if he's going to be in my neighbourhood.
no subject
I will send a runner when I know. I won't be able to come myself, Jack will...
[ There doesn't have to be an elaboration there. ] Where is the best place for them to meet you?
no subject
Under the clock at Waterloo station. Sometime around dusk.
[ He pauses, considering her again ] If you are in London, and you need me, you send for me, alright? A plan is all well and good, but if you need me, the plan goes out of the window.
[ Because something about this girl worries him. Not about her, despite her reputation. He knows that she's dangerous, this could all be a trap but if it isn't? Then her blood is on his hands. All she wants is out.]
no subject
She doesn't expect Jacob Frye to care about her. To want to more than what is best for him and his own. Angel would be as naive as Jack accused her of being if she really didn't know what he probably thought of her until this moment. ]
Oh -
[ Paused, it's different to when he'd crept out of the shadows, or Jack's voice startling her - her eyes are wide, and in the dim light, her too white skin goes steadily pink.
Gallant, she thinks again and realises she is being silly, as the smile spreads on her face - until it's suddenly blindingly earnest. ]
Thank-you. I'll be fine, I promise.
no subject
He's sure too that telling her that his father was a bastard won't help. For a start, he doesn't seem as bad as hers, by a long way. It won't help, it will just add insult to injury.
No, best not. ]
Alright. The offer is there. Always.
[ And with that, he touches the brim of the top hat, and leaves via the thick undergrowth, mulling over the strange revelations of the evening.]