A Letter a Day <Tag: Chord>

[drake]

Drake was exhausted. He had just intercepted a message earlier that day between two Loyalist governors, in which one told the other that a battalion of Redcoats would be sent into New York by the next week, to quell any moves made by the Patriots. Drake wondered if any secrets of the Patriots had been stolen yet, no doubt they had. The entire war effort laid on the shoulders of those who worked in the darkness. The Revolution. People in the future would probably remember them as a huge success, or a pitied failure. Either way, they would remember the bloody battles fought, one one side, men fighting for independence, and on the other, men fighting for rule. But what wouldn't be remembered, another war. A war fought only in the shadows. A war in which one side captured the secrets of the other, and used it against them. Drake always found calm alone in his thoughts, but had a certain feeling that he had to "stay in character". Drake was to gather as much information as possible, anyway. He walked through the busied streets of Boston, and stopped at "The Compass", a tavern, which was a hive for Loyalists. Perhaps he could gather more vital information? 'Perhaps,' Drake thought.

He opened the door, and scanned his new surroundings. The tavern was filled with men and women wearing expensive clothes, and speaking with chipped English accents. He picked a few Redcoats out of the crowd, also. No doubt he would hear, and perhaps, see, something here. Drake walked towards the bartender and cleared his throat, preparing his "performance". "Hello 'ere, glass of ale, please," Drake kept in character, as he wanted. He spoke with a higher-class sounding accent, and attempted "noble" mannerisms. Even though he was wearing his normal attire, who could tell? The bartender nodded and quickly prepared Drake's glass. A few moments later, the bartender put the glass, now filled with liquid, on the counter. He extended his arm, and waited for Drake. Drake responded by handing the man a few coins. He then took his glass, and set himself at a table in the middle of everything. He was able to hear most of the people in the tavern, save for the few people in the back. Most of the voices he heard were speaking about the state of the Revolution, how "Our jolly military will crush the Yanks!", and "The Rebels can't hold out much longer, let a year pass and the colonies will be back in our hands!" Drake let his eyes scan the bustling tavern, once more. He sighed, crossed his arms, and let his ears open up to any loose talk, or perhaps, even better, covert interactions occurring in the very room Drake sat in.

OOC: Hope this was a good set-up!

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The Compass tavern was certainly busy for the time of day, and the staff were constantly to-ing and fro-ing with glasses for their customers, most of whom were British. Most of the conversation from the people was about the Revolution, a majority of the people appearing to not pay much attention to what others were saying.

A group of three British soldiers were sat at a table, glasses of whiskey in their hands. Two of them were deep in conversation, while the other distanced himself as he studied his surroundings.

"Matthew, are you ok?"

The blonde was brought back to the present as his name was mentioned, and he smiled at his comrades. "I'm fine," he responded automatically. The other two just shrugged and went back to their conversation.
"When are you going to deliver that letter?" One asked, raising an eyebrow at Matthew. The blonde just shrugged. "I'll get going soon - they didn't specify a set time to have it delivered by."
"Military documents tend to be labelled 'ASAP' automatically," the other two laughed and again turned their attention away from him and back to their own talk.

Matthew's hand remained in his pocket, resting protectively on the letter there. It wasn't an overly important document, but he doubted his commanders would be pleased if it fell into the hands of traitors. Matthew glanced back at his companions, who'd both drained their glasses. He stared at his own full one and sighed.
"You look sick," one of the other soldiers pointed out blunty, his upper lip curling in disgust slightly.
"I have a lot on my mind," Matthew answered them, forcing a smile again, but soon went back to frowning round at the others in the tavern.

I should probably get going if this letter's going to be delivered, he thought to himself as he drank the alcohol in his glass, wrinkling his nose at the bitterness of it.
"I have to go now," he nodded to the other two redcoats, who simply lifted their hands and went back to their conversation.

Matthew got up, eyeing up the other customers in the tavern cautiously, hand still in his pocket. He noticed another man sat on his own, a glass of ale in his hands; he seemed to be observing his surroundings, too, or at least listening to others' conversations. Matthew narrowed his eyes skeptically, glaring at him as he walked past. He nodded in thanks to the bartender as he opened the door and stepped outside, straightening out his uniform before setting off.



OOC; Yay first roleplay! And you set the scene fine. Eh...my post is a bit lame...sorry.

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[drake]

Drake smirked at the Loyalists who were heartily saying obscenities about the Patriots. 'They'll be laughing when our dagger is at their throat,' He thought. Drake closed his eyes for a moment, as everything was starting to blend together. He took a deep breath, then began listening once again. He heard some men who sounded like soldiers behind him, so he turned slightly. Drake let his eyes scan the three Redcoats up and down before turning back to his full glass of ale. Two of the soldiers were engaged in conversation, whereas the third, a blonde fellow, was deep in thought.

"Matthew, are you ok?" Drake listened as the soldier spoke to the blonde one. "I'm fine." he responded. Drake focused his ears on the three entirely as they spoke about the blonde soldier delivering a letter. 'A letter... Well, I ought to get as much information as possible, no?' Drake thought, as the man 'Matthew' stood up. Matthew seemed to eye all the people in the tavern, perhaps paranoid about the security of the letter he was delivering? Drake, out of the corner of his eye, saw Matthew glare at him for a few moments, nod to the bartender, then walk out of the establishment. Drake took out a vial of poison, then poured it into the ale. 'Thirty seconds to catch up to the messenger, ten seconds after giving them one of the redcoats the drink, and finally, losing any and all suspicion.' He nodded to himself as he thought about his strategy, then stood up, and walked towards the soldiers. They looked up at him suspiciously. "Oy, what's your business?" one of them asked. "I'm sorry mates, jus' can' drink n'more. The wife's going ta get worried 'bout me... Take it." Drake said. The two men seemed to believe him, and the one on the right took the drink. Drake then turned and quickly walked as he heard the two agree on the drink. "I can't drink this all, so, here..." The soldier on the right took a big gulp, then handed it to his comrade. He also took a drink, and the glass was empty. Drake began fastening his pace away from the tavern as he heard the two beginning to gurgle, and seconds later, the first few yells.

He then caught up to Matthew, and bumped into many civilians as he followed him. "Ey, watch it!" one yelled as Drake shoved him away. Drake's eyes were on Matthew and they weren't leaving. He wouldn't fail, not if something intervened...

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew hissed insults at the other people around him in the bustling crowd, shoving some of them out of the way when they refused to budge. Others easily moved away from him, glaring at his scarlet uniforme with a mixture of malice, curiosity and fear. He was far enough away from the tavern to not hear the shouts coming from it, unaware of tge situation back there. Matthew had to jump out of the way of a group of children running past, and he shook his head.
"Watch it!" He snapped after them. They ignored him, so he simply moved on, sighing exasperatedly. Things were certainly different here...for example, the children in England at least looked at you to acknowledge you scolding them. But this was America - Matthew and his allies weren't exactly welcome here any more.

"Buy an apple?"

Matthew stared blankly at the adolescent girl confronting him. In her arms was a basket of apples.
"I'm in a hurry," he huffed and pushed her aside.
"Where are you off to sir?" She called after him.
Matthew's hand instinctively flew to his pocket to check the letter was still there, and he breathed a sigh of relief to find that it was.
The soldier didn't bother answering the girl - no doubt others in the crowd would want to know where he was off to in such a hurry, too...and most of them probably wanted the information for all the wrong reasons.

Matthew stopped at the town square, and took a brief moment to observe his surroundings again.
He scowled when he noticed the man from the bar moving through the crowd too, and quickly made an on-the-spot decision to take another, less used route to the building he was delivering too.

The road he headed down was quieter with less crowds to push through, so he could pick up the pace a little. 
"Stupid Americans," he grumbled to himself bitterly. "Maybe Sam got the right idea, buggering off back to England. Some of the people here really do spew such nonsense from their mouths..."  

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[drake]

Drake did his best to blend with the crowd, watching the messenger's every move. Drake watched as a group of kids ran past the crowd, and heard the messenger yell. "Watch it!" The children ignored the Redcoat, undoubtedly making fun of his uniform. 'He sure is in a hurry...' Drake thought as the Redcoat was approached by a girl holding a basket of apples. "Buy an apple?" the girl asked the Redcoat, to which he responded, "I'm in a hurry." The girl, curious, asked him where he was off to. Drake watched as he ignored her completely and quickly walked away. Drake pushed through the crowd and approached the girl. "Hello Amelia, how are ya t'day?" he asked her. He thought about the many times she had helped him in the past with his exploits.

Amelia sighed. "Fine, Drake. The Redcoat has something in his pocket. Seems to be a letter to his commanding officer, or somethin'." Drake nodded, and handed her a coin. "I know. Been followin' him for a lil' bit now. I must hurry now, take care. You know where to find me." he said as he took an apple from her basket and jogged away. As Drake reached a safe distance away, he began walking again, just as the messenger saw him. The Redcoat scowled, and began walking towards a quieter route. Drake stood there in the city square, waited a few moments, then broke into a sprint. He climbed up a building, then pulled himself up onto the roof. Drake was used to climbing, and it was much quicker and quieter than just running up to your target. He sprinted, then leapt onto another building. His heart was pounding. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Drake enjoyed the feeling, as he believed it gave him a sense of confidence, a guarantee that he would succeed.

Drake was now ahead of the Redcoat, and as he looked back at the messenger, he skidded to a stop on the roof, then ran at the soldier. He leapt off the roof, and landed right in front of the British soldier. "Where ya headed in such a hurry, eh?" His arms were loose, his hands, relaxed. If Drake had to fight, so be it. It would only take a moment to draw his daggers and plunge them into the man's body.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The redcoat soldier still watched his surroundings cautiously as he walked, still convinced he was being followed. This route was definitely quieter - the further down the road he walked the less crowds there were, and any people continuing to walk past steered well away from him.

Matthew failed to notice the figure on the rooftops ahead of him, more concerned with trying to work out how to find his way to the correct building. Now he'd changed his route, he wasn't overly certain on which way to go, and tried not to look too lost as he continued to walk.
Well that was smart idea, to change course, eh? Matthew thought to himself. There was no one around, so he stopped to try and work out where he was.

Being lost in thought allowed his follower to catch him by surprise, as if jumping off a building wouldn't surprise him enough.
The soldier leapt backwards, eyes wide in shock at the sudden appearance of the other male.
Matthew stuttered, still trying to work out where the other had come from.

Suddenly, he recognised him.

"You've been following me!" The Brit hissed, his hand going to his belt where he had a small knife and gun fastened, just in case.
"Get out of my way," Matthew narrowed his eyes, moving to push the other male away so he could continue trying to find the correct building.

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[drake]

Drake smirked at his surprise. 'All Englishmen are the same...' he thought. The Redcoat hadn't seen him coming at all, and as he landed, the messenger leaped back, his eyes wide in shock. Drake had the advantage, and he waited to see what the shocked Redcoat would do. "You've been following me!" exclaimed Matthew. Drake raised an eyebrow. "Took ya long enough, mate. List'n, if you're gonna do somethin' 'round these parts, do it quietly, eh? Drake watched as the Englishman narrowed his eyes and said, "Get out of my way," Get out of his way? Who the hell does this guy think he is? Drake laughed when the man attempted to push him away, and go about his business. It wouldn't be that easy for him. Yet, still, why did he think that just saying something would get Drake to move? Things were moving fast, and Drake held his arm out, attempting to stop any movements made by the British soldier.

"You're not goin' anywhere. Alive, that is, unless ya give me that letter you've been holdin' in your pocket this entire time, Lieutenant Matthew!" Drake was steaming. He let his right hand take hold over the hilt of the dagger in his baldric, and his left hand gripping the dagger at his left hip. He was ready to get a fight going, in fact, he wanted to have a go at the Redcoat. Drake quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was. The road was deserted. Just the way he liked it. Drake licked his lips as he drew the daggers and pointed them at the messenger.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

A growl escaped the Brit's lips when the American stuck his arm out, preventing him from moving forwards.
"I'll have you arrested," he snapped, glaring at the Patriot. He wasn't really dressed like a Patriot, as such. But then, Matthew figured it was probably a disguise.

When the other man spoke up again the redcoat narrowed his eyes furiously, placing his hand on his weapons as well. His eyes widened slightly when the American addressed him, and he almost choked back a 'how do you know my name', but he realised that if this man had been following him then he probably knew a lot more about him, too.

Matthew shifted uncomfortably. There was no way he'd hand over tge letter -he'd rather burn it so no one could have it.
The soldier watched in stubborn, defiant silence as the Rebel checked his surroundings before drawing out two blades and pointing them at him.
Matthew clicked his tongue and pulled out his own knife, which was certainly smaller than his opponents. But the gun, still in his belt, he hoped would give him the upperhand...certainly from a distance. Though he hoped he wouldn't have to use them - the last thing he wanted was to get into a fight, since even if the American did lose and end up arrested and/or injured, Matthew would still end up getting hell from his superiors for allowing such a thing to happen in the first place. 

Matthew put his hand in his pocket again, both to check the letter was still there and to pull back his red coat slightly to reveal the pistol on his belt.
"Snap," Matthew smirked arrogantly, still convinced the American would give up and leave him alone. However, the Brit's expression darkened as his fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of his knife.

"Now, piss off," he hissed furiously, grinding his teeth together in frustration. 

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[drake]

Drake raised his eyebrow as the Redcoat seemed to choke back a remark. He had experienced this many times before, he would show up in front of his target, let a clever remark slip from his lips, then ask what he wanted - harshly - then somehow incorporate the target's name into the demands. The Brit had a hard time, but managed to escape from uttering the oh-so familiar sentence. Drake, still gripping his daggers, watched the man's every expression and movement. The messenger shifted slightly; a sign that he was thinking - quickly, at that - of ways how to avoid giving up the letter. He watched as the Englishman pulled back his coat a little, to reveal a pistol in his belt. Drake shook his head, and let a smirk draw across his face.

"Snap," said the Englishman, arrogantly. Drake looked him up and down as he said it, and pondered for a moment. How much arrogance could fit into this soldier's body? Was he that assured that he could best his opponent? Drake saw that the Redcoat's manner darkened, quite a bit. "Now, piss off," the messenger hissed. Drake shifted, attempting to feel something stuffed into the back of his belt. 'Good,' he thought, 'My own pistol's back there, so I can probably put a bullet in his chest before I can stab him...' The Redcoat was grinding his teeth, all the while. Drake shrugged. "Go ta hell! You and all your pathetic people! You English bastards don' b'long here, it's not your land no more!" he retorted. Drake knew he would hit home. A moment after letting the insults roll off his tongue, he chose to strike. Drake would be merciless, he would show the arrogant messenger know who was in charge of the situation. He would let him know who would win the war. Drake ran at the Redcoat, daggers ready, and as he neared him, he leapt. If he were to miss, he would make a rolling land. This fight was his.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The insult hit Matthew like a punch to a stomach, and his defenses flared up at the knock of his pride.

"How dare you!" Matthew snapped, his body language changing dramatically from confident to down-right aggressive. 

If the Yank wanted to fight, then so be it. It wasn't just a matter of messages any more - to Matthew his pride had entered the equation, too. All ideas off trying to run off or - somehow - get back up were thrown out of the window.

"Without us you'd all still be sat in tipis with no trade or culture whatsoever!" The Brit spat back, not caring that the American now knew he'd pushed a sensitive button.
"But I suppose that's all very well, isn't it?" Matthew hissed. "You're all a bunch of prattish morons."

Matthew was surprised at how many insults he'd managed to fit into such a short space of time. He barely had time to prepare himself as his opponent leapt for him, aiming his daggers for him. Matthew tried his best to get out of the way, but inhaled sharply in pain as one of the Rebel's blades caught him in the side.
The Brit almost lost his balance, but somehow managed to use his stumbling to push the American away from him, trying to put as much force into the shove as possible. Matthew regained his balance, not bothering to check the small, bloody wound in his side.

A small crowd had formed to watch the skirmish, most of the onlookers being children. Their faces watched the two men, eyes wide. 

Matthew tried to figure out his best course of action- he could run, but the thief would probably be faster than him. The soldier willed for some form of ally to intervene - at least distract his opponent so he could make a move for him. 
Matthew started to back away, knife still clenched tightly in his fist. 
"You bloody savages ought to learn a thing called diplomacy," he spat, glancing down at the growing blood stain on his shirt. Great. That's just really ruined my day.

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[drake]

As Drake was in mid-air, everything seemed to be in slow motion. He heard, just as he foot hit the ground and prepared his leap, the Englishman spout out a few meaningless retorts. "How dare you!" Matthew snapped at him. "Without us you'd all still be sat in tipis with no trade or culture whatsoever! But I suppose that's all very well, isn't it? You're all a bunch of prattish morons!" Was he really trying to push it? Drake let the insult slide off, he was in his own world now. As he fell towards the Englishman, he brought the dagger in his left hand down. It hit the messenger square in the side, and blood spurted out of the wound, no doubt it would slow him down, thought Drake.

He was preparing another strike, a plunge of his dagger into the Brit's throat, but the damned Redcoat lost his balance and began staggering, putting Drake off balance, as well. The messenger was a few steps away, and Drake took a second to take a look at the crowd that was forming. He decided that the Englishman wouldn't strike in this time, and he watched as he clenched his much smaller knife in hand. "You bloody savages ought to learn a thing called diplomacy," the Redcoat spat. Drake spread his arms out and looked at the crowd, which was made up of mostly kids. "Take a look at this, people of Boston! Look at the weakness of the British! My friends, to arms! The oppressors must be stopped! Drake shouted. He felt like a gladiator, liberating the colony from British rule. Of course he was really just putting the beat-down on a Redcoat, but nonetheless, he was sending a message of hope.

Drake then turned to his opponent, and drew out the pistol which had been rammed into his belt. He loaded it, then pointed it at Matthew. "Last chance, mate. Hand over the damned letter..."

[Chørd]

`Matthew

It was childish, he knew, but all Matthew wanted at that moment in time was for his older brothers to run in and back him up - just like the old times, when they'd all been well and healthy. The memory of Sam, Matt's favourite brother, brought the current situation back to his attention, and added an extra spite to his motives.

The American was now addressing the crowd, doing what all Patriots did best; babbling crap about liberty and the unjust British ways. Sod all if they thought freedom from the British would get them anywhere - America's people would never be satisfied; they would have debts after the war, and no doubt their own, new government would impose taxes on them as well.

"Most of the crowd are children," Matthew spat. "They won't understand half of what you said, and I doubt they even care."

Nevertheless, the crowd started murmuring. The few adults present began guiding their young ones away, suspecting the fight to get worse. And like hell they were going to have their children around should the redcoat army decide to make an appearance.


Matthew turned back to Drake again, who had pulled his pistol out. Matthew's hand flew to his own gun, whilst trying to work out where the American had produced the weapon from. At the mention of handing the letter over, again, Matthew narrowed his eyes.

"Absolutely not," Matthew snarled, watching the American's every move. "And I am not your 'mate'."

Matthew tried to work out if it would be of any use to whip out his own gun, which was already loaded. However, considering the American already had his pistol trained on him, Matthew figured he'd be shot before he could even point his at his enemy.
 

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[drake]

Drake, just as he pulled out his pistol, heard as the messenger began to speak. "Most of the crowd are children, they won't understand half of what you said, and I doubt they even care." He was somewhat right, Drake thought, as the adults, who seemed to agree with Drake, led the children away. This wasn't a good place or time to be, seeing as if Drake didn't act quickly and harshly, the entire Redcoat army in Boston would reign down upon the road. Now, he had his firearm aimed at the Redcoat's chest, and watched him with great intent. He seemed to be losing hope, but it could've been a ruse, or the pain. Nevertheless, Drake would make this Englishman feel real pain. The Redcoat spoke up after Drake had finished his threat.

"Absolutely not, and I am not your 'mate'." Drake watched as he reached for his pistol. He wouldn't dare attempt to fire, because if he did, a chunk of his breastbone would be flying off his body, along with a geyser of blood. "Well then, so-called Lieutenant Matthew Chord, let's see how you appreciate having the letter taken from your cold, lifeless body, eh? And maybe, just maybe," Drake continued, "I'll send your corpse to your family, where they'll mourn your pathetic excuse for a life!" Drake hadn't felt such passion in a while. He often yelled at Loyalists when his cover was blown, but he didn't speak with a fire, no, an inferno in his eyes. He began to wonder whether it was really worth it waiting for the messenger to respond. He took a few moments to think about what to do after he acquired the letter.

'Perhaps I should send it to one of our many allies here...' he thought. The possibilities were endless, and whatever was on the letter, was extremely vital, in addition to the one he mugged earlier that day. He blinked and focused his eyes on Matthew. "Sorry, mate..." Drake said, with a sarcastic grin. He discharged his pistol. Things, once again, seemed to conduct themselves with such slowness. He heard the shot, then watched the hammer come down and the barrel fire up. He didn't know where he would hit the Englishman, hell, if he even hit him. Drake quickly shoved the pistol into his belt and once again took out his daggers, ready to pounce on a perhaps resilient enemy.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew could hear his pulse hammering away in his ears as the American didn't relent, simply spat more threats in his direction.
Every word he pronounced Matthew felt himself wince at, and he knew the colour had drained from his face by now. It wasn't the promise of death that scared him, but the fact his family was brought into it. No doubt his parents would have heart attacks, and his brothers would be literally tearing themselves apart over it. His family was small, sure, but they were very close. The last thing Matthew wanted to do was cause them pain through his own stubborness.

Maybe it would be best to just cooperate...or at least pretend to.  

Matthew wondered whether or not he should nod or make some verbal indication that he was willing to go along with everything, or whether he should simply drop his - quite frankly - useless knife and put his hands up. Before he had a chance to make a move, however, the American spoke again.

Everything seemed to happen so slowly, yet Matthew barely had time to react as the gun fired. He did the only thing his body would let him do, even if it was just out of reflex; he covered his head with his hands and ducked. Had he not moved, the shot would have caught him solidly in the chest, so as Matthew felt it skim his ear he breathed a sigh if relief, stumbling slightly as he stood back up again as a wave if dizziness flooded over him.

However, before he could mentally celebrate how close that had been, or even come to his senses again, the thief was already armed with his daggers again, preparing another move.

Matthew put his hands up, holding one over his ear to check for blood, pulling his hand away and staring at the tiny stain of blood on his palm. He was lucky the bullet only nicked it - it could have been far worse...fatal, even.

"Wait," Matthew cleared his throat, hoping his opponent would stop before attacking him again. The Brit kept his hands up, though his knife was still clenched in his hand. He wouldn't drop it unless instructed to.

For Heaven's sake, where is the army? He thought, frowning slightly. Matthew sighed exasperatedly; surrendering was one of the harder things he sometimes had to do as a soldier - it made him feel and look weak...but if it bought him some time, then so be it.

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[drake]

The sound of the pistol shooting still rang across the street. It began to echo, and as the small cloud of smoke dissipated, Drake saw that his opponent was on the floor. But he was at least nicked somewhere, but nothing fatal at all. As the Redcoat stood up, his face, drained of color, yet his voice, was still normal. "Wait," Matthew said. The messenger held his hands up, showing surrender. Drake's mind was now racing. Was it a ruse? Would the knife, still clenched in the Englishman's hand, be plunged into his body? He quickly jogged towards Matthew and sheathed the dagger in his right hand, and held the other at the Redcoat's throat. "You are wise, Englishman." snarled Drake. Should the soldier make a move, his throat would be slit, and Drake would have possession of the letter. Drake had the upper-hand in the situation, as he often did in similar situations. This man was lucky; most of the soldiers had a stronger sense of arrogance and pride, and died in vain for it.

Drake looked deep into the Redcoat's eyes. He was truly weak and exhausted by the little skirmish. He was probably wondering where his mates were. Then it hit Drake - was it all a trap? Were they all waiting for Drake to round the corner, then five men wearing red coats, handling rifles, would shoot him to dead? Drake kept these thoughts to himself as he put his right hand into the messenger's pocket. He fished out the letter, then took the dagger away from the redcoat's neck. Drake didn't bother to speak with him; he ran away, quickly. He had to get to shelter, then he could ponder his next move on the British. Long live the Patriots, eh? He silently thought as he ran through busied streets, the letter in hand.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

The Briton was relieved when the American sheathed one of his daggers. That, at least, meant he was at least considering Matthew's surrender. As the thief jogged towards him, Matthew edged back slightly, wrinkling his nose as the remaining dagger was held against his throat.

"Screw you," Matthew hissed at the Rebel as he fished through his pocket. Matthew smirked to himself; at least his stab wound had been on the side if the letter, and as the thief pulled it out he couldn't help but smile smugly at the blood stains over it. With any luck, it would make reading it harder. 

Without another word, the American ran off. Matthew instinctively ran in the opposite direction, heading to the place he should have run to in the first place. But, of course, now he didn't have the letter he could remember the way to the Govenor's house.

The redcoat ran as fast as he could, shoving people out of his way as he joined back onto the main street. He stared at the houses - the further down the road he got, the bigger they got.

Matthew could barely breathe by the time he reached the building, his hand clutching his side as he near-dragged himself up the steps to the front door. He knocked on it, trying to figure out what to say whilst trying to catch his breath again.
When the young servant opened the door, she only just bit back a yell in surprise.
"Is the Governor in?" Matthew forced a polite smile, grimacing again as another throb of pain ebbed through his side.
The said man appeared behind the servant, who was still in slight shock from the state tge unannounced visitor was in.
"Sir," Matthew cleared his throat. "I had a letter to deliver to you, but it was stolen by a Patriot moments ago."
The Governor stared at Matthew with the same expression the servant had.
"Was it important?" The Governor asked, fiddling with the silly wig on his head.
Well I was held at knife point for it, does that answer your question? Matthew wanted to snap back, but instead just nodded in reply, leaning against the door way.
"Which direction did he head in?" The Givernor pressed. Matthew stepped away. 
"In the opposite direction," he muttered. "Follow me."
The Governor furrowed his brow at the young redcoat at his door, who was still struggling to catch his breath back. "If he headed up the road then there are already a group of soldiers in the town square," the older man explained. Matthew laughed with hysteria, but soon shut up as the Governor glared at him.
"Two soldiers were killed in a tavern, so the troops are on high alert."

Matthew stared blanky at the Governor, finally piecing together that the two soldiers may possibly have been the two he'd sat with for a drink. 
"Are you injured?" The Governor's lip curled in disgust as he looked Matthew over. The young redcoat removed his hand from his wound and huffed in amusement at the large patch of blood all over his uniform.
"I'm fine," he replied. "I shall head to the town square, then."

The Governor nodded as Matthew left, still giving him a strange look.

Matt couldn't help but smile manically. Well, his day had just been total shit - it, quite frankly, could not get any worse at all.   

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[drake]

Drake raced through the streets of Boston, yelling at people to get out of the way, shoving them, to many annoyed shouts. "Ey! Watch it!" "What the devil?!" "Damned youngster, slow down!" came many cries. Drake's mind was running as fast as his legs; no doubt the British were on high alert, and they'd be waiting for him, somewhere. Drake took his time to circle around and go back to where he was when he was following the damned Redcoat. Amelia was still there, selling her apples and other foods. She nodded at him when he approached her. "Did you get it, Drake? No, of course you did," she said with a smile. "So what do you need me to do?" Amelia asked, always one to offer assistance to everyone in need. Her father was a Patriot, killed in battle. She found it right to help the cause, and she became one of the many covert ears in Boston.

"Yes, I got it. But the damned Redcoats are going to be in over my ears. I've gotta run for it, take the letter." Drake said, trying to figure out a way to escape. He would perhaps have to leave the city, if the letter was that important to the Brits. He handed her the blood-stained letter, and she took it, glanced at it a moment, then put it in her dress. "Shall I take it to Gregory?" she asked. "Yes, take it to him, this is his speciality, no?" Drake said, with a grin. Gregory was another agent in Boston. He specialized in deciphering coded letters, finding ways to bring out the invisible ink, and even cleaning ink that had been spread by rain and rendered unreadable, the same - in this case - with blood.

"I'll see to it that this is delivered to him, Drake. You know where to find us." Amelia replied, not bothering to pick up her goods on the tabled. She still held the basket of apples as she walked away, though, near to her chest so no one could snatch the letter. Drake had to move quickly - the Redcoats were mobilizing and they would soon be looking for one man, and one man only; Drake Stewart. He ran up to a house and began to climb up the windows, until he reached the roof. Drake reached up and pulled himself onto the roof, and then began running from rooftop to rooftop. He would soon get to Gregory's in a matter of minutes, it was only a few streets away.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew didn't care about the strange looks he was earning himself, more interested in getting to the town square. At least then there was safety in numbers; it would calm the growing paranoia in his mind that more Patriots were going to jump out at him.

He stopped when he saw the large mass of soldiers in the town square, stopping every passer by to check them and question them. Many just shook their heads or retaliated, only earning them harsher treatment.

What on earth has been going on...? Matthew thought as he approached. He felt left out; the only soldier in a sea of red without his musket. No one seemed to pay him much attention as he pushed his way through the crowd, making notes on who was present and who wasn't. Sure, he wasn't very good at remembering names, but he could remember faces very well.

As far as he could tell, the two soldiers he'd been with earlier were nowhere to be seen - just as Matthew had grimly suspected.

"Lieutenant!"

Matthew whirled around, straightening himself up when he saw the Colonel confronting him.
"Sir?" He nodded.
"Was the letter delivered?" The Colonel raised an eyebrow, his expression slowly darkening when Matthew looked away.
"I uh...was attacked," the redcoat muttered. "I think a Patriot spy got hold of it, Sir. But he was running in this direction, I believe."
The Colonel massaged the bridge of his nose then turned away from Matthew to address the rest of the troop.

"Alright you lot! Start searching for a letter! Stop everyone you find, whether they are British or not!"

Matthew stared at his feet, knowing full well that the Colonel had turned back round to glare at him again. The young Briton couldn't help but wince as another wave of pain throbbed in his side.
"I'll start searching," he excused himself, and headed off, hand still on his side.

Matthew was careful to watch for people avoiding the crowd - if anything, they were to be checked out first; if they had a reason to run, then there must have been something wrong.

He narrowed his eyes when he noticed the girl from before heading away from the troop, clutching her apple basket close to her. Matthew made his way through the masses of soldiers towards her, having to run slightly to catch back up with her without making it look obvious he was following her.

"Where are you going?" Another redcoat called after him. Matthew turned around and waved him over. "I'm going to search her," he nodded in the direction of where the stall-girl had headed in. "I was confronted by her before, and I don't doubt that she's in on whatever's been going on."
The other Brit nodded, frowning. "I'll be sure to send some men after you if you don't return soon."
Matthew hesitantly took the musket held out for him.
"Take it," the other soldier instructed. "You probably need it more than I do."

Matthew nodded once then hurried after the girl, struggling to keep quiet as possible whilst run, hold the gun, and keep pressure on his wound at the same time. He only hoped he was wrong about the girl, or that she didn't give him any trouble. He'd had enough trouble for one day, and he didn't want another fight...

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[drake]

Drake was so close to Gregory's house when he looked back at the town square and his eyes found Amelia - and the Redcoat as well! 'She can take care of herself... She can take- Oh damn me.' The Lieutenant was approaching Amelia, who was clutching her apple basket. She was a great actress, so she could create quite the ruse. Drake, still on the rooftops, crouched, then began to silently inch closer and closer to Amelia. He made it until she began walking under him, and she glanced up for a moment. Drake nodded, and mouthed a few words, "I've got your back." Amelia winked and began on her way, glancing back only to see the messenger running up to her. "Hello, good sir. Changed your mind on that apple?" she said to the messenger, flashing him a cute smile and pouting prettily. Amelia had practiced this many times before, and it got her out of many run-ins with the British troops. What kind of man would lay a finger on such a peaceful little angel?

Drake loaded his pistol silently, watching her approach the now-running Red. His mind began racing with options; what to do, what to do? The square was filled with British soldiers, questioning citizens, searching them, to many annoyed retorts and unhappy glares. The Patriots of Boston would soon liberate them from the clutches of these English tyrants, no doubt, thought Drake. He then returned his thoughts to the situation at hand, as he shoved his pistol back into his belt. Drake's daggers were ready, and one aggressive move by the Redcoat and he would be leapt upon, and stabbed many times in the abdomen. Drake took one last glance at Gregory's house, which was oh-so close. He returned his gaze to Amelia, and he placed his hands on his blades. Drake was, once again, ready to fight, this time for the safety of his partner.

[Chørd]

`Matthew

Matthew managed to catch up to her, though kept a distance between as he slowed to the same pace as her. He glanced around him, making sure there were no more thieves and God-knows-what-else hiding in the shadowy pathways between the buildings.

He was slightly surprised when the girl turned around and greeted him cheerily, her charming smile making his stomach tie itself in knots. The Brit shook his head to clear his mind of the thoughts racing through it, and clutched his musket tighter. He glanced at the basket in her hands at the mention of the apples and narrowed his eyes. He hated apples; he was far more interested in why she was holding the basket so close to her.

"No," Matthew answered her, unable to hide the light blush on his face as his gaze flitted back to her pretty face. "I need to search you. It won't take a moment, if you cooperate."

Matthew glanced over his shoulder back at the town square, making sure to not take his eyes off her for too long. He'd seen before his friends - even his brothers - tricked by a pretty face. It seemed to be a thing every man fell for...one bat of the eyelids and an adorable little pout, and any woman or child would be deemed harmless and innocent.

Far from it, Matthew thought to himself. The only girls I've ever encountered have been complete whores. Seems some people really would give their bodies for this petty revolution of theirs.

Still...no matter what their motives were, Matthew couldn't help but admit that all the girls that had approached him had definitely been quite the angelic head-turners, and this lass was no different.

Matthew tried to keep a straight face as he watched the girl, his weapon prepared should she dare attack him. He was readily armed this time, so should she even dare to make a swing for him he'd quite happily acquaint her with the bayonet on his musket.

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