Chapter Text
Robert usually kept to himself while he was working. He usually ignored most passerby's conversation and turned a blind eye to most of the somewhat shady characters. That was, until Abraham Woodhull. That man had forced his hand in taking a side, and now he could not allow himself to ignore anything.
Now he had to listen to every whisper he could catch, every piece of gossip, examine everyone that came into Rivington's establishment. Whether he wanted to or not. There were too many things he needed to keep in mind; codes, secrets, lies he had told. All of it to hold up the mask he- no, Abe had forced him to wear. It always made his jaw clench when he remembered the despicable way Abraham had convinced him to take a side. In fact he almost quit when he found out how he had orchestrated the entire thing; burning his father's barn and socking him in the face.
But the desperation needed to do something like that, just to sway one person? It was hard to ignore the drive Abraham had for the cause. Though he was quietly impressed and irked by the scrappy farmer, he still wished to have never met him. Now he was cleaning cups and serving drinks while trying to weasel his way into any information he could get his hands on.
And today is no different, Robert thought as he filled his pitcher with ale, walking around his bar toward a table near the center of the room. There sat the always overdressed and somewhat plump man; James Rivington. Usually he wasn't one to judge aloud, but ever since he became a spy he noticed that he judged people in his head more often than not. He was always stuck in his thoughts, but now more than ever.
The man sitting across from Rivington was a man he had heard of much more than he had seen. Though now he was a regular at this coffeehouse, much to his luck and dismay. This man was Benedict Arnold. A statuesque figure that stood over many, and no doubt his reputation found a room much sooner than he himself did. A lion in red fur, he was a domineering figure.
"And did Hercules Mulligan show any signs of sedition? Perhaps he spoke to you of something, off the cuff?" Arnold asked sternly. Townsend didn't need to see his face to know that his gaze burned into Rivington like he was a scamp; liable to run his mouth in order to save himself. Robert tried not to worry himself over the arrest of his fellow spy only the day before. Rivington scoffed a laugh at the turncoat's question.
"Sedition? The only seditious sentiments Mr. Mulligan ever made to me were those encouraging defection from my beloved barnyard." Rivington was overly relaxed while talking to the General. Robert had a close eye on his posture and body language; talking with his hands and waving his mug of ale around. James talked to this traitor as if he was just another patron. Well, that was true for him. But to Robert this man was a threat, someone he needed to be wary of. Someone he couldn't ignore.
Townsend looked down at Benedict Arnold's notes as he leaned in close to fill his drink, seeing nothing of importance. Some of them were questions, likely to remind himself of what to ask. Not that he was disappointed by this, no news was good news. Especially in this place, where headlines of Rebel failures sold like cheap ale on a Friday. Robert steeled his gaze on Rivington's cup of ale, just in case someone caught him looking where he shouldn't. He circled the table, still listening in to the conversation.
"I reminded him that this was a holy fr-" Rivington started up again, his tone cordial and overall appealing to most. A trait he no doubt wanted to boast about, while sporting the same voice. Though, it seemed Arnold was unaffected by this.
"My inquiry is not a joke, sir." The traitor reminded Rivington, venom on his tongue. Townsend had to steel his nerves as he heard the turncoat speak so firmly. The fact that he wasn't the one under scrutiny gave him comfort. James doubled back on himself, almost sheepish as he remembered that he was being questioned, not writing a line for his own paper.
"No, it's very important. It's very necessary." Rivington said meekly, defending Arnold's point. Robert had to hide a smile at the thought. That was something the ruthless newsman didn't do often. Though he was silver-tongued, his articles were often scathing. Rivington turned and pointed to Townsend, as if he were trying to draw him in as part like a crowd as he began speaking again. Robert tried to ignore him, pouring his drink.
"Do you know who you should be investigating? Hugh Gaine. The man is a secret patriot, everyone knows it. I am convinced he is sending secret messages to the rebels through that unreadable tabloid of his." The newsman's words faded into the rest of the ambiance as Townsend walked back to his bar. One of Rivington's many attempts to get rid of his competition. Townsend could only hope that Arnold was smart enough to know that his word on anything was presumptuous at best. Not that he cared of course. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that he and his fellow spies stayed well away from the vice-like clutches of Benedict Arnold, Spy-hunter General.
Robert thought he would be able to relax and get back to cleaning glasses as he returned to his bar, where he could be free to grip the counter in order to steady himself and his thoughts. He hardly got the chance to set his pitcher of ale down before he heard the door to the coffeehouse squeak open. A lofty voice rose above the groan of the door, piercing through the thick ambiance like a needle through canvas; sudden and sharp. Townsend could feel the back of his neck prickle with dread. He barely looked up at the doorway and already he knew who was waiting there.
"Lieutenant Colonel John Graves Simcoe. I'm the commander of his Majesty's Queen's Rangers." The green-clad beast hissed. Robert swallowed, a million thoughts racing through his mind as he saw Simcoe. A man he had been warned about many more times than he had seen. He could only remember seeing him a few times, but each instance was more terrifying that the last. Townsend stifled a shudder as he remembered the way Simcoe's glacial eyes had burned into his skin on Thanksgiving, trying to pry Roger's location from his mind.
The fact that God could even begin to create a man as horrid and evil as Simcoe, well- frankly it made Robert question why the Good Lord felt the need to torture everyone else. The way he had roared in fury, demanding names and threatening to raze Setauket. How could any being be so driven to destroy? Surely, Simcoe was a monster made not by God, but the Devil. Robert could only hope that Simcoe wouldn't see him while he slipped out of the coffeehouse and back to his room.
Townsend began to take a small folder of bills out from under a book. He needed to find any excuse to not be in the same room as the merciless Colonel. Someone who he was certain could see right through the mask he had been building for over a year now. Though Simcoe might not have been the best at capturing Rogers, he was very good at coming to conclusions. Some wrong, some correct. Robert didn't want any part in the Colonel's assumptions or his stare. The Quaker began to retreat, hand on the swinging door that was disguised as a shelf behind the bar. The beast's lofty voice stabbed through the air again, making Robert freeze.
"The barman knows me, I rescued his life last Thanksgiving." The green-clad Colonel declared, audibly butting past the bouncer at the door. The force of it was enough to show that the beast had much more strength than he appeared to possess. He was tall, slim, pale, and had a mane of unruly auburn hair that glistened red in the sunlight, almost like copper. But, again, one of the most off-putting parts of this man were his eyes. He had the displeasure of meeting his gaze once, and he had hoped to never experience it again. But now he was forced to look at him. He turned to face the beast, somewhat alarmed to see him so close to his bar. He was sporting a forced smile, one that was no doubt unnatural for the ruthless Colonel.
"Hello, friend. Good Quaker fellow." The monster's lips were curled into that faux grin, one that almost seemed painful for it to wear. As soon as he had put it on, it was already starting to fade. This was an act, Townsend knew, but why was he trying to stay here of all places? The Quaker tried to get into his head, but he was also afraid of what he might find there.
"You know this man, Mr. Townsend?" The bouncer asks, cocking an eyebrow. Robert had to remind himself to remain neutral in his demeanor. If only to reflect any suspicions this demon might have about him. Townsend's gaze flickered between Tommy and the imposing monster that claimed to be a man.
"Yes, Tommy, I do." Robert responded. Unfortunately, he thought. "Welcome to Rivington's, Colonel Simcoe." The Quaker greeted him, walking closer while still having the safety of his bar between them. That was one of the only things that allowed him to stay away from patrons while in this room. If only to distance himself from searching eyes, gossip, and now Simcoe. The demon's smile continued to fade as he replied, the bouncer returning to the door.
"Thank you, Townsend. How does your father?" By his second sentence, any resemblance of a grin had faded to complete neutrality. The lack of any expression on his brow or lips was unnerving, something Townsend had never seen before. An icy chill began to slither up his back as he walked out from behind the bar to lead John to a table, hopefully as far away from his bar as possible. And facing away. He hated the lack of a barrier between him and almost certain discovery. This man had killed who knows how many people. Robert just hoped not to be one of the many he had slain.
"In poor health, I'm afraid. May I show you to a table?" Robert asked, looking into the beast's eyes for only a moment to see if he approved. The Colonel gave a slight nod, and Townsend didn't skip a beat as he continued on his path toward the other side of the coffeehouse. He had only made eye contact for one moment, and he felt as if he might have turned to stone had he looked for a second longer. He gasped as Benedict Arnold suddenly rose from his seat, blocking his path.
"Ah, Townsley, I was just coming to inquire of you. Do you have a moment..." Arnold began, his intense stare drifting up to the Colonel before Townsend could realize that it had. Robert's heart began to flutter as he realized the traitor wanted to interrogate him. He began to reply, avoiding the General's eyes until he realized who he had seen. "Or am I interrupting?" The turncoat asked, addressing the Colonel this time as he idly fiddled with his notes.
"Not at all." The Colonel replied. Townsend looked back to see Simcoe talking to Arnold. Robert could feel fear weighing in the pit of his stomach. He was trapped between two forces, a green-clad demon, and a lion with a red coat. He felt cornered, even more so as John closed the distance between them. "Lieutenant Colonel John Graves Simcoe, Queen's Rangers." The devil introduced himself, his tone and expression as neutral as ever. Robert swallowed, wishing he could just shrink and disappear.
"General Benedict Arnold, American Legion." The turncoat returned the gesture, clasping his hands behind his back as he listened to the green-clad Colonel speak.
"Yes, I'm a great admirer of your field tactics, General." The demon was clearly as versed in the man's reputations as everyone else was. Though why Simcoe didn't want to kill this former rebel right here was beyond him. Then again, maybe he did. Robert thought he saw his chance, starting to turn to leave. He would just leave these two predators to their talk of cat and mouse and he would be on his way.
"Oh, really? Well, pray then, won't you join us?" The traitor invited, and Townsend was forced to freeze again, realizing that the General still wanted to question him. The Quaker questioned his luck and his God for the umpteenth time that day, turning to face the two British officers once more. "That is, if you don't find talk of snakes and spies too distasteful." The General made a lighthearted jab, watching in approval as the Colonel nodded, the slightest hint of a real smile slipping onto the demon's face. This smile only made Robert want to retreat into his thoughts, to a happy place where there was no threat of war and he could still enjoy the pleasant buzz of alcohol, instead of using it to mask the toxic and always thorny thoughts tumbling in his head. That smile was cold and sinister, yet the beast may have meant it as genuine and kind.
Townsend swallowed, praying that neither of them could see his nervousness as he walked over to the table Arnold had been sitting at moments before. He circled it, taking a seat where Rivington had been. He looked up at the two British officers, watching them sit across from him. Simcoe's eyes never seemed to leave Robert, watching him like a hawk. Townsend made a point to avoid looking at him, instead turning his attention to Arnold. It wasn't pleasant to be watched by the traitor either, but it was less unnerving than the beasts fixed gaze.
"So, Townsy... Did Mr. Mulligan come here often? And if you know, I'd like to know why he might have stopped here of all places." Arnold looked up from his notes, grasping his pencil tightly. Robert glanced down at it, realizing that everything he said would be written down. He hated to think that his words might be used against a fellow spy. He needed to take utmost care in forming his words, something that he was and was not accustomed to. His wit was sharp, and his tongue even sharper. But in situations like this, he felt like a hatchling thrown off a cliff.
"Mr. Mulligan comes in two to three times a week, to have a drink or to have something published in the Gazette. He is a loyal customer." Robert began, holding the General's gaze even as he looked down to write in his notes. Townsend hoped that anything he might have accidentally insinuated couldn't be turned against his partners in crime. Arnold's head tilted back up to look at the Quaker, his eyes threatening.
"Loyal, yes. But to whom?" The turncoat asked, his brow furrowed with stern intensity, as if he was a parent staring down a disobedient child. Townsend tried not to shrink away from his gaze, knowing that avoiding him would only raise suspicion. Robert could still feel the beast's gaze on him, so he glanced over to check. A cold pit began to form in his stomach as he saw Simcoe staring at him.
No emotion. No indications in his demeanor that might hint at what he was thinking. The man was impossible to read, something that Townsend wasn't used to. His face was framed by the light in such a way that he appeared too pale, like a ghost. And yet he cast a looming shadow on the table, very much solid and animate. Robert tried to avoid looking directly into his gaze; dark and not illuminated by the sun outside. The Quaker wasn't sure if the man had blinked in a while.
"I had heard some gossip of some Whiggish leanings before the war." Townsend admits, still seeing the green-clad monster staring at him out of the corner of his eye. Benedict urged him to continue with a soft; "And?" Robert was quick to respond, not wanting to come off as too defensive of Mulligan. "It was just that. Gossip. Which the good Lord counsels us to ignore." Townsend reasons, praying once again that his mask as a Quaker would save him from too much scrutiny. Arnold set his pencil down, as if he realized that notes from Townsend wouldn't do him any good.
"Yes, of course. Gossip is a sin. And it is also the tool of a spy." Arnold began, his gaze drifting off for a moment. As are knives, vials of invisible ink, and masks, Townsend thought wryly. Robert used this moment to glance at Simcoe, as if his mind was being consciously pulled back to him by the beast himself. He didn't want to see the Colonel staring, but there he was, unmoving. Like a statue. And yet deep breaths filled the monster's chest, one of the only things that indicated he was alive. "I would imagine that this coffeeshop would be the perfect place to spy upon military officers. Perhaps that was the reason behind his frequent visits." Arnold's voice was the only lifeline Robert had to pull him back to reality and the present, away from the hypnotic and disturbing demon beside him.
Townsend's jaw clenched as he reminded himself to stay calm, and take a deep breath. He was being interrogated, and he needed to answer whether he wanted to or not. Arnold's words couldn't have been more true. This place was perfect for spying, which was why he was here; it was why he had chosen to come here. But again, he needed to act like he didn't know that.
"I had not considered that." Townsend lied, his brows jumping up only slightly as if to act surprised. He could only hope that the demon couldn't spot his deception. "But Mr. Mulligan was never here long enough to engage in any such activity. It was always one drink and gone, really. He always seemed to me a very busy man." Robert explained, shaking his head. Again he could feel the beast's gaze trying to pull him back in, and he desperately tried not to get sucked in, like the undertow of a great ocean was pulling him down. Townsend felt like he might drown after being swept away by the waves, like he might stumble with his words or make one move out of place. He was on a sinking ship, and this monster was going to drag him beneath the surface to the icy depths, toward the cruel bottom that waited below.
"Busy with his shop on Queen street. But anything is possible, I suppose." The Quaker reasoned, watching as Arnold nodded curtly, meeting his gaze with an intensity he preferred over the Colonel's dead stare.
"Everything is possible. Thank you, Townsends." Again the General said his name wrong, but Robert didn't have the nerve to correct him. He forced a slight smile and prayed that neither of them would notice his mask.
"You are quite welcome, sirs." Robert reluctantly returned the sentiment, knowing that he would be free to leave the table since the turncoat's questions were finished. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief yet, allowing his gaze to flicker back to the Colonel.
Mistake.
Robert realized that the beast hadn't been looking him in the eye before now. The monster's gaze peered through his mask as if it didn't exist, prying away any semblance of distance Robert had formed between him and it. There was no table separating them, no bar, no friendly smiles, no air. Townsend felt as if great the pressure of the ocean was pressed against his chest, making it impossible to breath. He couldn't possible swim to the surface at this depth; ice freezing in his veins the longer he stared. Though the eye contact had only lasted a second at most, it felt like an hour, a year, a millennia. Time had frozen just so that this demon could look deep into his soul; where all his sins and ugliness tried to hide. This thing staring at him was no creation of God.
"If you will excuse me." Robert forced his voice to remain calm, though his heart began to race after stopping from the Colonel's stare. He prayed that the beast couldn't tell as he rose from his seat. He walked slowly toward the door that led to a hallway, and his room. He held his breath for fear of that infernal monster hearing him panic. His hand grasped the doorknob like a lifeline, trying to steady himself as he entered his room and shut the door behind him. He took a deep breath as he leaned against his door, as if to keep the demon out.
He felt too hot and too cold all at the same time. He'd never been truly afraid like this before, sweat prickling at his forehead and clamming his hands. The neckerchief hiding his throat felt like a noose, so he reached up and tugged it loose, pulling it off and haphazardly tossing it to the floor. He swallowed, trying to find his wits about him as he looked around his room.
His mind suddenly jumped to the fact that he had seditious objects in his room, hidden to evade plain sight. But the beast in the other room was certainly more clever than his half-hearted attempts at concealment. Robert rushed to his desk, pulling out a small drawer on the left side and reaching into the space behind it to grab the vials of invisible ink and the reagent he was given.
If he was going to survive this war, or even the day, he needed to destroy his mask of a spy. If Simcoe realized he was wearing one, he would surely rip it off and expose it for everyone to see. Townsend took this and the small collection of papers he had containing information on Abraham; or what was going on with his side of the Culper ring. He went to the fire blazing in his hearth, uncorking the vials and dumping the fluid on it. The fire blazed hotter in a sinister green-blue hue, as if it had been disturbed by what it was burning. Robert backed away for only a moment in surprise before tucking the papers and glass vials where the flames burned brightest.
Robert reached up to the mantle, gripping it to try and steady himself again. He squeezed the wooden ledge, attempting to get the beast's eyes out of his head. But those glacial eyes wouldn't leave, only boring deeper into his mind as he pictured them. The acrid smell of the burned reagent stung his nostrils, and he felt his breath catch as he tried to take a breath. He wanted to curl up on his bed and pretend sickness for the rest of the day. Damn that demon for breaking me! Townsend thought bitterly, his anger getting the better of him as he grabbed the nearest item and flung it at his desk. The unfortunate candlestick hurtled through the air and crashed into an hourglass on top of his desk, sand and shattered glass falling to the floor in an unceremonious shower. Men laughing outside Robert's room caught his attention, and he looked over to make sure that no one had opened his door.
His heart sank as he saw his door slowly opening, pale fingers wrapped around the edge. Robert swallowed and slowly backed away as the green-clad beast entered, filling the doorway. Townsend hadn't forgotten the sheer size of this man, though he wished to have not been reminded. His thoughts raced as he watched the ghostly demon look around the room, his piercing gaze searching everything. His eyes drifted over the organized mess and the pulled out drawer on Robert's desk, along with the shattered hourglass beside it. Simcoe saw the neckerchief on the floor, and finally his stare came to rest on the Quaker. Robert felt a strange pressure in his chest, making his breath seize.
The Colonel tilted his head, like a predator eyeing it's prey. Townsend knew he could smell the malodor caused by burning the reagent, which smelled like piss on it's own. Robert watched with dismay as the beast closed the door behind him, stepping further into the room. For once, the Quaker wished the Colonel would say something, instead of remaining silent and staring at him. His glare was digging under Robert's skin, making it crawl as if there were hands where there shouldn't be. He felt uncomfortable in his own body.
"I heard something break." John's lofty voice rose above the crackling fire, slicing through Townsend's scattered thoughts like a scythe through grass. Robert didn't know what to say, finding himself at a loss for words at the worst possible time. Think damnit, the Quaker tried to demand his mind to work. Instead, Robert stood there, mouth slightly agape. The monster switched gears, stalking closer.
"But you must know that's not why I came in unannounced. Apologies for the sudden invasion." The Colonel's voice indicated that he wasn't sorry in the slightest, and his expression stayed blank. Townsend again had trouble trying to get his words into motion, tripping over his tongue as he attempted to speak. It's no trouble, really. That's what he wanted to say. But somehow he couldn't force his lips to move. He felt paralyzed, only able to swallow as he fidgeted with his hands. His mask was slipping, and he knew that it wasn't long before this beast figured him out. Perhaps it was already too late.
"Though, I think you'll agree that your intrusion here is far more rude." The beast's lips curled over it's teeth in a bitter snarl, anger brimming in his voice. Townsend took a deep breath, attempting to regain his footing as he reminded himself to stay firm.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean. You came into my room without knocking. If anyone is intruding, it would be you, sir." Robert had the nerve to hold his ground, trying to maintain any control. He was grasping at threads, trying to steady himself; earn his mask back. The green-clad Colonel couldn't hide the impish smirk that curled his lips, sending another wave of despair down the Quaker's back.
"Don't play games with me. I know you've been hiding something. Perhaps you'd care to hear my reasoning? Then maybe you can prove me wrong." Simcoe began, walking over to the fireplace and examining the paper that was burning to ash. However, the glint of glass caught his eye, and he turned back toward the Quaker. Robert's heart was racing faster, and he felt as if he might faint. The back of his mind was prickling with terror.
"I knew the moment you looked at me while Arnold was questioning you. Over and over you checked to see what I was doing. But at the same time, you wanted to avoid looking me in the eye. Why would you do that? Unless, of course, you have something to hide?" The Colonel said wisely, walking over to the Quaker's desk and examining the drawer that had been taken out. He scoffed. "I must say, it's an impressive cover. A Quaker in a coffeehouse that's famous for gossip and headlines. Much like a mouse in a cupboard." The beast hissed, starting to rummage around the contents of the Quaker's desk; sorting through papers and searching for any incriminating evidence, besides what Robert had obviously destroyed.
"Well, I don't know why you broke the hourglass, but I know you were burning something you didn't want to be found..." The Colonel muttered, hunched over the desk as he sorted through it all. Townsend knew that this demon was aware of his treachery, wondering why he was bothering to snoop about his room. To prove a point? A sinister idea slid into his mind.
What if he were to strike the Colonel hard enough to knock him out, and flee? As far as he was concerned, that was his only way out. Robert swallowed, the cold pit in his stomach only spreading through his gut as he carefully backed up to the mantle. The idea of hurting someone was a sin, and killing a British officer was both that and a crime. Even so, the only way he was getting out of this ordeal alive was to escape and live undercover until this war was over.
Townsend wasn't adept at forming plans. He left that to Abraham and his friends. But for once, he felt like he could do this. He reached back and wrapped his fingers around the handle of a candlestick on the mantle, clenching his jaw as his gaze locked on the back of the monster's head. Auburn hair would do little to soften the blow, the Quaker hoped. Though Townsend possessed strength enough to strike down a man like this, he hardly ever used his might to his advantage. His wit was always sharper than his skills in combat. No, he reminded himself, this is no man; this is a beast. Robert took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he lunged toward the Colonel, arm raised high.
In a blur of green, the Colonel suddenly turned and caught the Quaker's arm, teeth bared as he used his momentum against him, forcing Robert down against his own desk. Townsend grunted in pain as Simcoe twisted his arm behind his back, forcefully prying the candlestick out of his hand and tossing it to the floor carelessly. Robert was shocked at the beast's strength, so effortlessly pinning him down as he squirmed.
All the years of helping his father with his farm, lifting kegs of ale, all of that meant nothing against Simcoe. He was bigger, stronger, and clearly had more skill in combat if he had known to watch his back. He had expected me to attack, Townsend thought. Robert still struggled however, like a rat in a cage. Though he knew he wasn't getting out of this, he still wanted to fight for that chance.
"You have no proof against me." Robert growled, futilely trying to wriggle out of the demon's grasp. His hold was a vice, squeezing his wrists tighter with every moment, like a snake's coils wrapping around it's prey. Townsend gritted his teeth as Simcoe twisted his arm higher, bending it in an awkward way. Much farther, and it would break. The monster leaned in closer to Robert's ear, hissing.
"Actually, I do. You burned that evidence, and the glass vials are still intact. Besides that, you attempted to knock me out with that candlestick. And I'm sure you're aware that if I kill you, Arnold will back me. Perhaps reluctantly, but he will." The Colonel whispers, holding Townsend down with one hand while he used the other to unsheathe his bayonet. Robert jolted as the sharp hiss of metal made a chill race up his back. Townsend swallowed, going still as the blade pressed to his throat. He closed his eyes, his life flashing before him as the cruel metal pressed into his flesh, threatening to cut. The Colonel was right, he would only get a slap on the wrist for killing someone out of turn if they were a spy, and he was. The Quaker just hated that he would never get to do so many things, and that he hadn't done more.
"Wait just a moment, please. If you are going to kill me, there's something I'd like to do first." Townsend requested, shaking with fear as the beast hummed thoughtfully. He wondered if the monster even cared about his last wishes or words. Probably not. Simcoe chuckles softly, not loosening his grip on Robert.
"Do, or say? If you have any last words, I suggest you speak them now." The Colonel said. Townsend could almost hear the smirk on his lips; he was excited to kill him. The dreadful thought passed by that the beast might slit his throat before he was done speaking.
"A request. I've never gotten the chance to make love to anyone. And I would like to have the opportunity to do so before you... kill me." Robert explains, letting out a soft sigh as he felt the bayonet press harder against his neck. Townsend shivered, the icy grip of fear slithering down his back. He could be dead in a moment, or two. But, Simcoe seemed to hesitate, slowly lessening the pressure of the blade on his throat.
"Well, I suppose that makes sense. You don't seem like the type of Quaker that would have a woman..." The Colonel reasoned, going quiet as he thought for a moment. Robert swallowed, praying that the beast wasn't going to give him a second smile. "Does it matter who you have relations with?" Simcoe asked quietly, taking his bayonet away and moving a step back. Robert relaxed only slightly, turning slowly to face the relentless Captain. Townsend swallowed as he saw an odd gleam in his eyes, something more predatory than usual. If that was possible. The realization that the Colonel was suggesting himself as his partner made Townsend's stomach turn, even so... What choice did he have? He could die in a few moments, or have a slim chance of survival after losing his virginity.
"Well, I suppose not. No one will ever know, since.--" Robert's brow furrowed as he raised his hand to his neck and rubbed it to make sure there weren't any lasting marks. Not that it would matter. Simcoe nods, sheathing his bayonet and walking over to Robert's bed.
"Come, take a seat." John invites, a slight smile curling his lips. Robert swallowed, an odd feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was fear, or something more primal. Townsend knew that the beast's smile was supposed to be friendly, but he wanted nothing more than to shrink away and flee. After all, this was incredibly sudden.
“How do I know you’re not going to kill me as soon as I get close?” Townsend asks, warily glancing down at the bayonet still in the Colonel’s hand. The beast hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the blade and decisively walking over to the mantle of the fireplace. He set the blade down, where a candlestick used to be. An accursed heirloom, Townsend thought.
“That should be far enough, yes? Ah- mustn’t forget this…” Simcoe took his pistol off as well, an odd smile curling his lip as he carefully set his gun down on the floor. Presumably so that Townsend would have to bend down and pick it up, costing time. “There. Perfectly safe.” The Colonel tried to assure him, but all it did was send a chill up the Quaker's back. Townsend felt in constant danger from this man, even just looking at him was enough to make him want to run out of the city and hide in the woods. Again, the beast motioned to the bed alluringly.
The Quaker felt as if he was signing his soul away to the devil himself.