KingTony

Seeking female for mature PM ideas

I have multiple ideas that I would like to discuss in private message. If you are interested in a mature roleplay, send me a private message.

Writing partners for whom I seek:

• Will post almost every day, once or more per day.
• Posts do not need to be long. They can be as short as one line, so long as they move the story forward for the other involved characters.
• Spelling, grammar, and punctuation checks are required. Mistakes are expected, but so is proofreading.
• Obviously, no "god moding" or "power plays". If you think your actions may intrude upon the plan for my character, you are required to first clear the act with me. Courtesy, people. Courtesy and cooperation will make this a great.

"When your past catches up to you."

From behind a downed tree, William and the Sergeant studied the Tyler Farm. In the midst of about an acre of cleared land stood a log cabin flanked by a pair of barns. Redcoat sentries patrolled the perimeter while a small group of their compatriots worked to assemble the Howitzers that history had correctly recorded would be here.

"What are you smiling about?" the Sergeant growled quietly. When William looked to him, the squad leader asked, "If you are thinking about alerting the Redcoats in the hopes of--"

"No, Sergeant, I have no intention of alerting the British," William said, looking back to the farmstead. "I'm just ... excited."

"About...?"

"The Covington Letters," William answered. When the confused looking Sergeant asked what that meant, William only told him, "Some doubted their authenticity ... said they were fraudulent ... an attempt by the Captain to excuse his failure. But I never did."

William turned and slid down to sit on the soft ground. Without saying anymore about the Letters and instead claiming that the knowledge came from his now ended employment with the British, William filled in the Sergeant on all he could remember from Covington's writings. Scouts sent out to encircle and survey the farmstead returned to report that William's information was spot on.

The Sergeant left sentries to watch the farmstead, then pulled the rest of the unit back down the road. While they waited for the Lieutenant and the Assault Squad, William thought about the events of the previous evening, which had been one of the strangest in his life. Keziah had told him she couldn't be with him in the way that his body language had apparently been speaking loud and clear. Then, she'd surprised him by saying that he could sleep next to her in the bed. He'd initially said he didn't think that was a good idea, but after he'd caught one of the Guards outside with his face to the window glass checking on the married couple, William had relented and made his way to the bedroom.

Only the foot of the bed was within view of the main room's windows, and the bedroom's windows were well draped; so William had only to shed his coat and boots before slipping under the top blanket. There was still a blanket between he and Keziah, reminding him of that scene from Mel Gibson's movie The Patriot in which his adult son was bound up in a cloth cocoon before laying with his fiancée for a night of sexless bed time. Still, William couldn't help but suffer some excitement down below the belt of his Patriot uniform.

He'd laid there just staring at the underside of the split log roof, contemplating the future ... but ... not for long. William had been far more exhausted than he thought, and in no time at all he'd fallen asleep. He awoke with a start at the increasing illumination of a nearby gas lamp, looking up to find the Sergeant smiling down at him. The man's humor became obvious when William realized that an arm was draped over his chest.

"It'll be dawn in two hours," the Militiaman whispered. "Time to go."

William pulled his head back a bit to focus on Keziah's face. She looked so peaceful, which was ironic because prior to rolling over and finding peace against him, she'd been having a fitful sleep. William reached a hand up toward Keziah's face, intending to caress it lovingly. But he stopped, fearing that he would wake and -- possibly -- embarrass her. Instead, William slipped Keziah's arm from him and slid out to prepare for the day ahead.

...........

It was close to sundown when the Lieutenant arrived with his squad, but instead of twenty Militiamen he'd brought thirty-eight men. After conferring with the Sergeant and the Sentries -- recalled to make their report -- the attack was initiated. It was a sneak attack, a guerilla action, unlike the battles of which most 21st century Americans knew, where the opposing forces faced one another across an field and fired as one before charging with bayonets fixed. The Militiamen -- surrounding the farmstead in small squads -- fired from cover in the forest, dropped their discharged muskets, picked up and fired their second weapons, then charged with their third rifles, upon which bayonets were fixed. For the most part, the fight was over in less than 90 seconds, and when the shooting, stabbing, and clubbing was over, the Massachusetts Second Regiment was in control of the Tyler Farm, 14 Redcoat prisoners, and the whole of the British Force's arms and armament.

William had watched the horrific battle from behind the tree, under guard per the still suspicious Sergeant's order. He'd been shot, not that he remembered it; and he'd seen other men who'd been shot as well. But this was the first time he'd actually watched an active battle and witnessed the damage that could be done by a musket, some of which fired the same .75 caliber ball of shot his ancestor's rifle had. Once the fight was over, his guards escorted William up into the farmstead, and he found himself surrounded by dead and dying soldiers, mostly British but including some Patriots as well. He was almost to the log cabin, where the Lieutenant was being reported to by his Squad Leaders, when the carnage finally got to William and he doubled over to puke.

It was embarrassing -- he was, after all, supposed to be a veteran Hessian mercenary -- but then that wasn't William's main concern right now. Once he'd emptied his stomach and rinsed his mouth from a nearby trough, he made his way -- still under guard -- past the now fully assembled Howitzers to the Lieutenant to ask, "Have you found the powder?"

"We did, sir," the officer said, returning to talking to his subordinates about his own immediate concerns. When he realized William was seeking his attention, he said, "Thank you for your information ... and your service. I will make a recommendation to the Colonel that you be considered a trustworthy asset to the Cause."

"How will you destroy the Howitzers, Lieutenant?" William asked. When the assault's Commander asked why they should destroy the cannons, William said, "That's why we came here. To destroy the gun powder and the cannons. To prevent an attack on the Second."

"We've done that, sir ... we've prevented the British attack," the Lieutenant agreed, giving orders to a couple of men before turning back to William and informing him, "And now we have two eight inch Howitzers ... with which we will devastate the British defenses at the Boston Bottleneck ... enabling us to invade the City from the south ... and end this war."

"But..." William began, stopping when he realized he had no idea what to say to the Lieutenant's plan. What was he going to say: But that's not how it happened. You don't take Boston for another year. You can't do this. When the Lieutenant asked William But what? all William could say was, "Nothing. I ... I just thought we were going to destroy this stuff and get back to..."

He got about that far and began to realize that he sounded ridiculous. Why would the Patriots intentionally destroy two cannons that were more powerful than anything they had back at the camp. William had glanced around the Second Regiment while he was there, and he'd realized that they possessed no heavy weapons at all. Muskets and a few small cannons that fired grape shot ... essentially a shotgun on steroids. They could defend themselves against an infantry attack with the weapons they had, but they couldn't get through fortified and heavily manned wall that guarded the Bottleneck without big guns. And now, thanks to William, they had them.

..........

The Patriot victors had remained at the Tyler farm over night, so it was nearly noon before William had safely returned to the house in which he and his wife were living. He stripped off the Patriot uniform -- now bloodied from helping the Tyler Farm's wounded -- and was standing naked in a half-barrel filled of warm water from the fire place washing himself off with a soaked cloth when he realized he'd heard sound and turned to find Keziah standing in the doorway.

"When your past catches up to you."

"What are you talking about? There's no road there. It's just swamp!"

William clenched his teeth tightly together, rising up away from the map spread out over the table to contemplate the Lieutenant's correction. They had been at this for almost three hours, and the frustrations had only been increasing as time passed. The 21st century Boston in which William had been raised was nothing like the Boston of 1775; and William's extensive historical research over the years -- for his personal interest and for the Doctorate on which he'd once been working but then abandoned -- was proving not to have been as accurate as he'd hoped. Either that or he'd just been a horrible student and wasn't remembering what he needed to remember for shit!

"Here," he said, pointing to a spot on the map that had been hand drawn on the inside of a Militiaman's deer hide jacket, to hide it from the British should he be stopped for questioning. "About half a mile north of the narrowest--"

"Swamp," the Lieutenant cut in again. Tapping his own finger on the map, he described what he knew to be in that location before looking to the Colonel, who had only just moments entered the room to check the progress of their Hessian defector. Standing more rigidly, the young officer said in a formal tone, "Colonel, it is my belief that this man is a fraud. I don't believe that--"

But the Lieutenant went quiet at the Colonel's gentle stop gesture. The camp's Commander took a moment to study William -- who was appearing a bit nervous at his repeated mistakes and subsequent fear of what would happen to him -- then looked to his subordinate and asked, "Has he told you anything that we know to be accurate, Lieutenant ... something he couldn't have known unless he was who he claims to be?"

The Lieutenant hesitated, then answered, "Yes, sir."

The two Patriot officers discussed William's three or four revelations, after which the Lieutenant -- now eager to support his earlier implication that William was a waste of skin -- said with a firm belief, "But none of this is of strategic value to us, Colonel. We knew all of this already. And he ... this Hessian traitor ... he could have learned this by--"

Again the Lieutenant went silent at his superior's gesture. William could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, and -- stupidly, probably -- he was wondering whether the muskets being held by the dozens of Militiamen scattered around the camp outside the HQ were accurate enough to shoot him down as he fled in a zigzag pattern for the nearest swamp. He wouldn't flee, of course: every time he thought of escape, he remembered the threat the Colonel had made about shooting Keziah if William did try to split this madness.

"Give me one thing of value, sir," the Colonel said firmly to William. "One thing of actionable value ... to prove to me that you are more than my Lieutenant here believes you to be."

William considered the Colonel for a moment, then looked to the map. One thing ... just one thing that will prove to them that I am who I say I am. William chuckled involuntarily, then -- seeing the officers' reaction to him laughing -- forced himself quiet. Thee humor that had suddenly taken control of him was a result of William's brain quizzing him, Who exactly the fuck ARE you? He was a 21st Revolutionary War reenactor ... emphasis on the last two syllables of that last word ... act-or. This wasn't his war. Hell, this wasn't his century! So, to answer the Colonel's question William had to answer his own: Who are you?

As he stared at the map, the answer came to William: I'm a history student who knows enough about this time period that I should be able to find at least one thing of value, of important, of action ... to save my skin... His skin crawled with goose flesh as that thought continued, ...and Keziah's skin, too. William had asked about his wife several times over the passing hours, and each time he'd been told that she was fine, that she was working, and that he needed to concentrate on his own work.

"There!" William said suddenly, pressing his finger to a little slash of a line on the map where a wandering line indicated a stream. When one of the Sergeants -- who had not only been fighting in the Bottleneck but who had grown up there as well -- pointed out that it was just a bridge over Carlson Creek and unimportant, William quickly said, "No! It is important."

"It goes no where," the Sergeant countered. "The road dead ends at the Tyler farm--"

"Which is the current location of several wagons filled with muskets, shot, powder..." William smiled broadly as he looked to the Colonel before adding, "And two eight inch Howitzers."

The Sergeant laughed loudly, decrying William's claim as ludicrous. "Why would the British take that kind of weaponry up a road to a farm of no military consequence."

"They didn't," William said, looking back to the Sergeant. He traced his finger on the map -- from northeast to southwest through the what was in this time a combination of river, creeks, swamps, and bay but what would in his time be the Fort Point Channel -- and countered, "They didn't move this stuff north to the farm by land ... they brought in in from the south by sea."

William had been searching for something, anything, that might get him a leg up with the Colonel. Then he'd remembered "The Covington Letters". A British Captain named Harmon Covington had led a unit that arrived undetected by sea at the Tyler Farm, which had belonged to a Loyalist family prior to the Siege of Boston. The plan had been to attack the Second Regiment's position from its vulnerable eastern flank, from across the Carlson Creek Bridge. But there had been an accident -- still unexplained even in the 21st century -- that had led to a fire, which in turn had led to the explosion of the unit's gunpowder supply. With the loss of almost all of their powder, Covington had his cannons destroyed -- to prevent their use by the Patriots -- and withdrew his force, knowing that any attack against a fortified Massachusetts army would result in his men's slaughter. The Captain was chastised for his failure, demoted, and sent back to England in disgrace, but in "The Covington Letters" -- which were only discovered in the late 1990s -- Harmon declared that he felt no regret for having saved the lives of his men.

"If you send a small detachment of men up the road to attack and destroy the force's gunpowder reserves," William instructed after explaining all about Covington's unit. He knew he wasn't risking a change in history because the destruction of the gunpowder had actually happened. He continued, "Then you can prevent the attack on your east ... and save many Patriot lives."

William stepped back a bit to let the officers mull over the concept. They spent the next several minutes planning strategy while the Sergeant continued to question whether or not William could be trusted. Finally, the Colonel declared, "Lieutenant, you will led twenty men to the Tyler Farm to destroy the Redcoats ability to attack. Sergeant you will lead a scouting party first, to check the bridge ... ensure the unit can proceed without detection."

The Sergeant didn't look to pleased about that order, but after a moment he smirked broadly and suggested, "Sir! I think the Hessian should accompany the scouting party."

"What?" William said in surprise almost before he realized his mouth was even opening. "Me...? Why me?"

"Because if this is a trap," the Sergeant snapped back before any of the officers could make a similar inquiry, "then you will get killed as well ... or if you're captured..." His smirk widened as he continued, "...in a Massachusetts Second Regiment uniform, you'll be jailed and likely executed. Either way, you die with me. And ... if the British don't kill you..."

The Sergeant looked to the Colonel with a suggestive expression on his face. The Regiment Commander understood the look. He glanced at William, then back to the Sergeant. "Yes, you may take the Hessian with you. And yes ... if it is a trap, you may execute him."

William felt his face go cold as the blood rushed from it. He made a half-assed attempt at talking his way out of going -- mentioning his wife and how she'd need him and all that -- but it was to no avail...

......

"How do I look?" William asked Keziah as he entered his and Keziah's little honeymoon cottage. The expression on his face was about as fresh as the Massachusetts Militia uniform he was wearing: it was torn in a couple of places, had a darker spot of fabric around the mended bullet hole in the shoulder, and was obviously two sizes too large for him. As she studied him, William explained, "I'm being sent out on a mission with the troops ... to a farm north of here, where..."

He didn't finish explaining, his stomach turning over as the fear and anxiety rushed through him. He just knew he was going to get killed out there tomorrow. He was going to get killed, and he'd never get back to his Boston. Or ... if he was never to get back to his Boston and he was here permanently, then the result was that he'd never get back to Keziah's Boston ... and to Keziah ... to his wife...

And suddenly, down below the loose fitting belt of his real Revolutionary War uniform, William felt a stirring that was entirely inappropriate considering all the drama happening around them.

"When your past catches up to you."

The tossing around of husband and wife and married very nearly caused William to smirk in humor, even laugh. How he and Keziah thought alike to have made up the same lie: it was incredible, and -- by the reaction of the Colonel -- plausible, because other than scrutinize the two of them as they talked, he said nothing to show his doubt about their claim. And he could have, very easily in fact. Before Keziah had entered the room, the Colonel had grilled William about his recent history extensively: when did you leave the Colonies for Europe, when did you get back, when were you betrothed to the lady with whom you travel, and more. William hadn't been sure whether the Colonel was more interested in William's story about being a recently arrived Hessian deserter or Keziah's true spouse.

"You will be afforded the safety, security, and the hospitality of the Essex County Second Regiment," the Colonel said in a formal and firm tone after a long moment of simply studying the two. He looked first to Keziah. "You my lady will tend to the Regiment's wounded..." And with a more solemn tone added, "...who never seem to diminish in number." He looked to William, cleared his throat, then continued in his commanding voice, "You, sir, will provide my Lieutenants with all you know of the British Forces ... those occupying the City of Boston and those beyond, should you know anything of them as well." He glanced between the pair as he continued, "You will reassure me that you are worthy of the Regiment's time, energy, and trust ... of the Continental Army's time, energy, and trust..."

William understood that to be the Colonel's or else threat without actually using those two words. As he'd listened to the man laying out his own personal assignment, William should have been contemplating how he was going to help the Patriots without possibly altering the future. Would his actions change things to come? What was that word ... paradox? What about the Butterfly Effect? William didn't even know whether he was in the same time line from which he came. Could he have been in a different time line, a different dimension, a different...? Fuck! Suddenly, he wished he'd watched a few less documentaries on history and few more on science and ... quantum whatevers.

Regardless of all that, though, the first question out of William's mouth for the Colonel was, "But Keziah and I--" He hesitated a moment, then corrected, "My wife and I ... we remain together, yes? You aren't splitting us up?"

The Colonel studied the pair another moment, then responded by calling in a soldier from beyond the door, telling him, "Find an empty house for the gentleman and lady. Something comfortable ... one of the now empty Loyalist homes. If there are troops in it now, evict them. They can sleep in a tent."

"Yes, sir," the man said, turning and leaving quickly.

The Colonel looked back to the pair, once again took a moment, then stressed to the Sergeant who had been in the room throughout the interview. "Put Guards on the home. And have them escorted every where they go. If one of them attempts to flee ... shoot the other."

Without hesitation, the Sergeant barked back, "Yes, Colonel."

"My name is George Hardison," the Colonel told William and Keziah, "but you will call me Colonel or Colonel Hardison in the presence of my men. If there is anything you need--" He glanced to the enlisted man, "Sergeant Taylor will see to the need as best he can."

"Not Part of the Plan"

Accompanying a woman somewhere for sex the night of their first date was not a new thing for Paul. As far as that went, accompanying a woman somewhere the night they’d first met wasn’t new either. And, just like this evening with Kat, most of those evenings -- or even afternoons or mornings for that matter -- had been more about work than pleasure. They had been meant to get Paul into a building to which he otherwise didn’t have access; or get him close to a target to whom the woman at hand was close; or, often, simply give him a place to spend a night that didn’t involve him having his name or credit card number recorded in a ledger or on a bill.

But with Kat, there was a very big difference. This wouldn’t be a one night stand or even a short, wild weekend of sex that ended when Paul slipped away to put a knife through some mark’s neck or -- from a greater distance -- a bullet through his head. No, if he played his cards right and impressed Kat -- which of course would be a pleasure to attempt -- Paul would be seeing her often over the weeks to come.

Just as it was with Kat, it had been a long time since Paul had what anyone would call a relationship. That one, as with the prospective one with Miss Malloy, had begun as a business ploy. Paul had been able to keep that one professional, leading the woman on for just short of a month while he searched for a way to get to his reclusive billionaire target. He got the kill, of course -- making it appear accidental, as the Client had requested -- then told his standard break up lie about having a wife and child who needed him to come home.

With Kat, though, Paul would simply disappear. He and his nearly $29 million would just vanish into thin air, reconstituting as a newly born, full grown man with no past of which to speak, on an isle in the South Pacific where his former life would soon be forgotten.

Slipping up behind Kat, Paul placed his hands softly upon her hips, leaning forward to kiss the flesh of a bare shoulder, then the other. He pulled her hair from one side, moving his warm, wet mouth to her neck to kiss it as well. As his lips explored, so did his hands: the right one caressed its way to Kat’s belly, then upwards until his fingers gently curled around a young, firm breast; while the other slipped to Kat's upper back, where it found and began to lower the zipper holding her dress tightly to her shapely form.

“I've wanted you from the moment I saw you on the boardwalk,” Paul whispered at her ear, nibbling gently at its lobe. “And every moment with you has only strengthened my desire for you.”

It may have sounded a bit corny, like something from a romance novel with a cover upon which an open shirted, muscular man was seducing a sexy, leggy woman with a lacy dress wafting in the wind. But Paul’s tone was sincere, because -- honestly -- it was actually true.

"Not Part of the Plan"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Paul said after their lips had parted and Kat gave her assessment of the kiss. He smiled, then chuckled lightly. He leaned in for another shorter though no less passionate kiss, then a bit of a wet lipped peck as he whispered, "I like kissing you, too."

Paul was good at a lot of things: squash, chess, snow skiing ... killing. He was good at kissing, too ... or, at least, he'd been told he was often over his adult years. For his looks and confidence, most people wouldn't believe that he'd been a late bloomer when it came to women. But he'd learned quickly, and one of the biggest lessons he'd learned during those first few relationships was that the way your current partner did it -- whether it was dancing, grinding, groping, fucking, or just kissing -- that was the right way if you wanted to continue doing it. Paul had sensed that which Kat had been looking for in a kiss, and the result was a passionate kiss that he hoped had made her as hot inside as he was hard down below.

"Sound like a couple of teenagers standing out front of the house, 'fraid daddy's gonna turn on the porch light and interrupt the fun," he said, kissing her once more before pulling back with Kat's hand in his, pulling her away from the railing. He walked backward a couple of steps, eying her hungrily before finally turning while keeping his eyes on her. After a few steps he stopped short, turned to pull Kat to him again, then said without shame, "I would like to take you to my room, Kat Malloy." He gave her just a moment to contemplate his next words, then added, "I would like to make love to you."

Seeking 1 player for table top fantasy adventure (very basic D&D type game)

This is on hold for a few days as my first "applicant" for Adventurer deals with some RL issues.

I will PM those who expressed interest if it opens again or, if none of them are still interested, post a "bump" when we are ready to try this.

Thanks for the interest, folks. :)

"When your past catches up to you."

When his head was clear enough to make sense of things, William found himself conflicted about Keziah's presence. He had hoped she'd escaped their captors, yet if she had, he wouldn't have known whether or not she ultimately was safe. At least now, with her sitting beside him -- apparently unharmed except for some signs of having struggled against their captors -- William knew that she was safe.

The ride continued for what seemed like hours and dozens of miles. In reality, he could have counted the miles traveled on his fingers. It was sometimes hard to imagine the differences between modern and ancient warfare sometimes. In William's time, drones and jet aircraft flew thousands of miles to attack their enemies on distant continents; but in this day and age, sometimes foes could be within sight of one another and still be out of firing range. Hell, in 40 years when the World War One battle lines were drawn in France, the Allied and Germany troops would sometimes be close enough to one to sing together yet not a single shot was fired for hours, days, even weeks sometimes.

They were finally tossed into a cellar jail cell, where William quietly -- mostly non-verbally -- reassured Keziah that she would be okay. He was conflicted about this as well: how much interaction should he show with Keziah? In the eyes of the Patriots now holding them, he was the enemy. Did he really want them thinking that he and Keziah were friends? As far as he personally, did he really want them to continue to think he was a British-employed Hessian? Would they believe him is he claimed otherwise?

In the end, William kept pretty much quiet, except -- when possible, without eavesdroppers -- to reassure Keziah again that all would be well. When they took her away, he just stared, unsure of whether to speak out or not. It was quite a while later that another Militiaman -- the Sergeant who had visited the one armed man back at the cabin -- came in to get William and lead him away to a house that now bore a hand written sign, 2nd Essex County Militia Regiment. Inside, a distinguished looking man in a Colonel's uniform gestured William to a chair, then relieved the guards with the exception of the Sergeant, who stepped back to stand at the door.

"Can I offer you anything, sir," the Colonel asked. "Water...? Food...? The lady of the house makes a meat pie to die for ... figuratively, that is."

William simply stared, unsure and -- quite honestly -- a bit scared.

"My men tell me you are a Hessian deserter, a British mercenary," the Colonel continued when it was obvious that William wasn't going to respond. "They tell me that you have information about the British occupation of Boston." He hesitated for a reaction from William but again got nothing. He continued, obviously threatening William though vaguely and without a harsh tone, "Information that might make keeping you alive something to consider."

William took a moment while the Colonel finished carefully pouring steaming water into a delicate tea cup that obviously belonged to the lady of the house and not an Officer on the move through the countryside. When the man looked back to him, William announced with a firm voice and an obvious lack of German accent, "My parents came from Massachusetts ... but were of Prussian descent. We -- my parents and I -- traveled to Hesse-Kassel, to the family estate on the Fulda River, when I was but 9 years old. My father had been led to believe that he'd inherited some family property, but ... after we'd arrived, we learned that that was, in fact, not true. I was forced to train for the military, becoming what you describe as a mercenary for the Hessian Army."

He hesitated to let the Colonel absorb the information, then continued, "I assure you, Colonel, I did not join the Hessian Army by choice. I did not come to America ... to the Colonies, to aid the British Army in defeating your noble cause by choice. I am, as you say, a deserter. I wish to apply for asylum in the United--"

William hesitated, realizing he was getting ahead of history. He began again, "I would ask that you allow me to either join your fight against the British ... or free me to become a citizen of the great--" He paused again: State wasn't a used word yet, so should he say Commonwealth? Or Colony? No, the people of Massachusetts were fighting to no longer be a colony. He continued in the simplest manner, "I wish to be a citizen of Massachusetts again, as I was when I was young."

The Colonel seemed to be hanging on and considering ever word from William's mouth. And after he'd had a moment to sip at his tea and sit behind the wood plank table that now served as his map desk, he declared to William, "You will be taken to Continental Army headquarters in--" The Colonel hesitated, as if the location of the HQ was a secret. He continued with a firm voice that showed pride for simply being able to speak of the man, "You will be interrogated by none other than the Commander of the Continental Army, General Washington ... and ... if he decides that you are worthy of such benefits, you will get your wish." He sipped at his tea again, his gaze firmly upon William, then said, "And if not ... I'm sure that you will find yourself hung high as a traitor ... and returned to the soil of your native Massachusetts ... as a corpse."

The Colonel gave the Sergeant a knowing glance, and the latter man -- bigger and stronger than an ox -- moved forward to easily lift William from his seat. William quickly and desperately asked, "And what of the woman I was brought in with?"

"What of her?" the Colonel asked casually, again sipping at his drink.

"What's going to happen to her?" William asked, struggling against the Sergeant's attempts to move him toward the door.

"What do you or I care?" the officer asked, again casually as if entirely unconcerned.

"She's my wife!" William spat out suddenly, before he'd even realized he was going to say it. When the Colonel gave him a slight look of surprise, William continued, "We'd been betrothed to one another as children ... and when I returned, I searched for her ... I found her, and we got married."

"You got married...?" the Colonel asked doubtfully. "Between arriving to lay siege to and occupy Boston ... and today ... you located your long lost promised ... and got--"

"We were getting married," William corrected. He was scrambling for anything that might keep him and Keziah together at this point. "When I found her again ... when I found her, we were planning to escape to the south ... to get married ... to join the revolution. Please, Colonel. She's a nurse. I'm a soldier with information about the British. I beg you. Let us stay together, and I promise you ... you will gain benefit from our union."

"Not Part of the Plan"

The two of them fit together like properly adjoining jigsaw puzzles: when Paul gently laid his hand upon the small of Kat's back, she in turn wrapped her arm around his waist; as they strode around the restaurant to the boardwalk, his typically long stride synched with her shorter, high-heel steps; and when the cold air caused Kat to chill and she pushed closer to him, Paul pulled the beauty in closer with just enough comfort to be intimate and not creepy.

Anyone peeking their direction might have thought the pair was on their third or fourth date or perhaps even out after an anniversary dinner. They would never have known that Kat was enjoying her first true intimate date in a long time or that Paul was getting personally close so that professionally he could pop her grandfather and a bunch of his crooked Syndicate cronies.

Of course, while he would have scoffed at even the thought of it now, Paul's relationship with Kat would become far more personal to him than he professionally wanted. The thought of it didn't even enter his mind now, as they walked under the light of the full moon and he recalled his fictitious history as a wannabe novel writer turned failed screenplay writer turned online news hack.

"You know, I was in the Navy," he told her after he'd initially described in boring detail what he did now for "Good People". "I enlisted as a PH ... a Photographers Mate. I wanted to take colorful, stunning pictures of ships rising and falling in rough seas ... up north in the vast Pacific, waves coming over the bows and being blow aft while a storm raged ... somewhere off the coast of Kamchatka or Kodiak, like something you'd see in one of those reality fishing series like "Dangerous Catch" or in "Master and Commander" ... or maybe jets zooming off the decks of aircraft carriers down south ... in the Caribbean, under a warm sun while we waited to get into port ... someplace exotic, like Puerto Rico or St Maarten ... or maybe the South Pacific, where the drinks are bottomless and the beach babes are topless."

He laughed, pulling at Kat playfully before continuing, "Instead ... I spent my first year taking grainy, black and white pictures of exhausted, culture shock stuck boot camp enlistees standing in line for immunizations ... or running around the track for PT. My second year I got a promotion, yeehaw--" He spoke that last word with obvious sarcasm. "I finally got to the ship, to the Abraham Lincoln ... big ship, wow. But instead of taking dramatic pics of storms and jets and such ... I was sitting in a windowless room reviewing video recordings of aircraft take offs and landings, looking for safety violations or signs of broken equipment or material fatigue."

They stopped at a railing, and Kat turned to face Paul. He smiled broadly to her as he stepped a bit closer. After studying her for a moment, he said with a genuine though obviously suggestive tone, "But I wouldn't change a moment of it, of course. That job led to another ... then to another, and another, and -- finally -- to this one ... and to you."

He moved closer, until their bodies pressed together just enough to assure Kat of what he was going to do. He looked into her eyes, then glanced to her painted lips, then back to those sparkling orbs as he said softly, "And I'm very happy for that."

He leaned in and down slowly, intending to kiss her as his hands reached forward toward her hips...

FILLED

Bump. I made some changes to the first post above. I changed the age range of the characters, lowering it just a little bit from 18+ to 15+, which will obviously effect whether the story has intimate/sex scenes in it. As discussed in the very first post we must abide by the site's rules on sex. I'm not going to get myself booted.

And I also added that I would be okay with writing this in private message. I typically didn't like to do that on my previous role play site because the private messaging was very awkward but the private messaging on this site seems like it would work pretty well with role play.