Patrick or Little Paddy as his mother affectionately called him, an affection he remembered despite all the abuse and neglect. It hadn't always been like this, Paddy remembered being a boy, smiling, being rocked in his mother's lap, and the stories and strong lessons his father taught of what it was to be a man. Too bad he too would see what happens to those that have been beaten, trod upon, and broken by the world around them. It was not an easy life for an Irish immigrant in America, so many had fled their precious Emerald Isle over the last century, and the Nicholls were no different.
Though Patrick was born in Ireland he was too young to remember it, but his mam always said that he was fearless and hardly cried the entire voyage across the Atlantic ocean. They had come with hope and new aspirations to the land of the free, little did they know that only extended to those of a certain class, background, and race. They got by as they always had, they were used to starving and surviving on little, it was a tight-knit community with so much discrimination, and then there was Prohibition.
With bars and clubs shut down where were struggling musicians to play? His parents were already prone to reach for the bottle, but it hadn't become destructive till then. Like most Irish immigrants of the time, they had few options their father started working for a crime syndicate, and the drinking got worse, then came the abuse. It was their mother at first, it started small, but it got worse, and she to turned to drink, trying to work at any speakeasy that would let her sing.
Only a few years after they landed on American soil their mother's belly started to swell once more, while their father was mostly absent it was left Pattrick to care for his mother. So at the ripe age of 7 Patrick was forced to be a man, he heard them fighting, he heard the slap, and he was just sleeping on the floor next to them in their one-bedroom shack. He didn't wake crying not this time, he woke up angry, and lept upon his father's back like a wild animal. He felt a moment of gratification, the feeling you get when you know you're doing the right thing, protecting those you love. It didn't last long as he received perhaps the worst beating he had gotten to this day, he swore his arm was broken, but there was nothing they could do about it, they surely couldn't afford a doctor.
After that their father was even more absent, and when he did come home his sights were set on Patrick, who found himself oddly eager for the abuse. Not for the pain, or that look in his father's eyes, but because if he took it no one else would have to, he still loved his mother back then, and he had a sibling on the way.
That too changed with time, after Amara was born their mother became despondent, with no prospects or hope, and the only she had left with her booze. Buying cheap black-market booze quickly ruined her voice, and she sunk into a deeper darker depression and started to neglect her young daughter.
It was Paddy who skipped school during the day to work in a factory, it was dangerous and one of his friends had already lost two fingers, but he had little choice. His father wouldn't return home for days and was always drunk while their mother had sunk into such an alcoholic depression she was hardly even a person any longer. It was enough to at least keep Amara fed, though often their mother would shake him down for money for booze, and when he refused it was her turn on her only son. He stood there the first time she struck him and took the slap, but it crushed his soul, and he knew from that moment forward there was only one person in his life, and every bit of his attention and care went to his little sister.
There were many times he thought of and even tried to run away with her but she was too young, their mother was mostly useless, but she at least would make sure Amara didn't hurt herself, change her diapers once in a while, and at least feed her if she remembered. Most of that fell on Patrick which he did without complaint, she had become his world, his Precious little Ruby in rough, that would one day outshine every pitiful person in this family, himself included.
Though Patrick was born in Ireland he was too young to remember it, but his mam always said that he was fearless and hardly cried the entire voyage across the Atlantic ocean. They had come with hope and new aspirations to the land of the free, little did they know that only extended to those of a certain class, background, and race. They got by as they always had, they were used to starving and surviving on little, it was a tight-knit community with so much discrimination, and then there was Prohibition.
With bars and clubs shut down where were struggling musicians to play? His parents were already prone to reach for the bottle, but it hadn't become destructive till then. Like most Irish immigrants of the time, they had few options their father started working for a crime syndicate, and the drinking got worse, then came the abuse. It was their mother at first, it started small, but it got worse, and she to turned to drink, trying to work at any speakeasy that would let her sing.
Only a few years after they landed on American soil their mother's belly started to swell once more, while their father was mostly absent it was left Pattrick to care for his mother. So at the ripe age of 7 Patrick was forced to be a man, he heard them fighting, he heard the slap, and he was just sleeping on the floor next to them in their one-bedroom shack. He didn't wake crying not this time, he woke up angry, and lept upon his father's back like a wild animal. He felt a moment of gratification, the feeling you get when you know you're doing the right thing, protecting those you love. It didn't last long as he received perhaps the worst beating he had gotten to this day, he swore his arm was broken, but there was nothing they could do about it, they surely couldn't afford a doctor.
After that their father was even more absent, and when he did come home his sights were set on Patrick, who found himself oddly eager for the abuse. Not for the pain, or that look in his father's eyes, but because if he took it no one else would have to, he still loved his mother back then, and he had a sibling on the way.
That too changed with time, after Amara was born their mother became despondent, with no prospects or hope, and the only she had left with her booze. Buying cheap black-market booze quickly ruined her voice, and she sunk into a deeper darker depression and started to neglect her young daughter.
It was Paddy who skipped school during the day to work in a factory, it was dangerous and one of his friends had already lost two fingers, but he had little choice. His father wouldn't return home for days and was always drunk while their mother had sunk into such an alcoholic depression she was hardly even a person any longer. It was enough to at least keep Amara fed, though often their mother would shake him down for money for booze, and when he refused it was her turn on her only son. He stood there the first time she struck him and took the slap, but it crushed his soul, and he knew from that moment forward there was only one person in his life, and every bit of his attention and care went to his little sister.
There were many times he thought of and even tried to run away with her but she was too young, their mother was mostly useless, but she at least would make sure Amara didn't hurt herself, change her diapers once in a while, and at least feed her if she remembered. Most of that fell on Patrick which he did without complaint, she had become his world, his Precious little Ruby in rough, that would one day outshine every pitiful person in this family, himself included.
October 18th 1939
As the siblings grew they grew together, it was the two of them against the world. Patrick couldn't give his Ruby much, but he would give her everything he had, and when working wasn't enough he would steal. Soon Patrick too got mixed up with organized crime, working as a messenger, or delivering parcels. It was easy to work and paid well, but he didn't fully understand the ramifications of his actions, what it meant to be tied into an organization like that, and the demands they would have for him as he grew older.
For the first time, they actually had something though, Amara was eating three square meals a day, and their parents thought, they only got worse. Patrick could protect Amara from their father's wrath, but not from the soul-crushing agony that came from watching your parents devolve into a life of addiction. Had it only been the liquor perhaps things would have been different, but when they couldn't find booze they turned to anything they could get their hands on, practically wasting away while Amara was spent caring for them when it should have been the other way around.
They often disappeared leaving Amara alone with a kindly older widow that lived next door, when they didn't return for a few days Patrick thought they were dead. Somewhere in the back of his mind he almost hoped they had, they had become a burden, they meant little to Patrick by now, and wanted his little sister free of them.
It was then at the ages of 7 and 14 that Patrick made her, her first bow. It was simple and crude, but it had a string and sorta worked with the little makeshift arrows he made her. It wasn't uncommon for Paddy to bring her or make little toys out of wood, or scrap he stole. This was not a toy though this was something for adults, and something of their past their heritage.
So on her 7th birthday, her parents had all but forgotten Patrick hadn't picked her up for an elderly neighbor they returned home where there was what was left of a stolen pie, and her present wrapped in an old newspaper.
As the siblings grew they grew together, it was the two of them against the world. Patrick couldn't give his Ruby much, but he would give her everything he had, and when working wasn't enough he would steal. Soon Patrick too got mixed up with organized crime, working as a messenger, or delivering parcels. It was easy to work and paid well, but he didn't fully understand the ramifications of his actions, what it meant to be tied into an organization like that, and the demands they would have for him as he grew older.
For the first time, they actually had something though, Amara was eating three square meals a day, and their parents thought, they only got worse. Patrick could protect Amara from their father's wrath, but not from the soul-crushing agony that came from watching your parents devolve into a life of addiction. Had it only been the liquor perhaps things would have been different, but when they couldn't find booze they turned to anything they could get their hands on, practically wasting away while Amara was spent caring for them when it should have been the other way around.
They often disappeared leaving Amara alone with a kindly older widow that lived next door, when they didn't return for a few days Patrick thought they were dead. Somewhere in the back of his mind he almost hoped they had, they had become a burden, they meant little to Patrick by now, and wanted his little sister free of them.
It was then at the ages of 7 and 14 that Patrick made her, her first bow. It was simple and crude, but it had a string and sorta worked with the little makeshift arrows he made her. It wasn't uncommon for Paddy to bring her or make little toys out of wood, or scrap he stole. This was not a toy though this was something for adults, and something of their past their heritage.
So on her 7th birthday, her parents had all but forgotten Patrick hadn't picked her up for an elderly neighbor they returned home where there was what was left of a stolen pie, and her present wrapped in an old newspaper.
October 18th, 1939
Amara Nicholls, Ruby as she would become known, never had an easy life. Her parents were Irish immigrants to America, and often left her alone. This meant she was raised by her brother, Patrick, who always went out of his way to provide for her. She couldn’t do much, being a small child, but the young redhead was learning how to steal. It was becoming essential, between her parents always running off to some distant show, or running off after some drug, that she learned that it would forever be just her and Patrick, surviving together on the edge of the world.
Ruby loved her brother more than anyone, but she could see the toll it was taking on the young teen to take care of them. Using her small cuteness, she learned to pickpocket, although this didn’t have to last long as Patrick seemed to get a much better job. The morning of her seventh birthday, she was dropped off with the kindly older lady next door, who made sure she ate, but as the poor child sat there, learning to read the book, her heart ached for attention.
That attention, as always, came in the form of Patrick, but even he was late today. Worried, and curious, the little one slipped out of her neighbour’s house to return to hers. She got there moments after her parents, who were already eating her pie. As always, they shook the little girl down, taking anything she had of value before they tossed her aside with a kick of their boot, and left her alone in the corner, crying. Luckily, though, they had no interest in Patrick’s present, which Ruby clung too, and cried for Patrick to come home.
Eleven Years Later....
Thwack, thwack, thwack, came the succession of arrows from Ruby’s bow. The eighteen year old was standing out in the forest, practicing at the makeshift target. She was beautiful in her execution and deadly. She could shoot a target from a long distance, and had a heart of stone. Except when it came to Patrick, and her new boyfriend. He didn’t get along with Patrick, but Ruby was trying hard to make Patrick understand how much she liked him. And he had saved her life from that creature that attacked.
Ruby had passed out in his arms out of shock, but her boyfriend had cared for her, bringing her back to the Slaughterhouse, as it was called, and waited for her to wake up. When she had, she heard a loud argument in an unmistakeable voice. She then joined the argument, trying to not only understand what was going on, but why Patrick was here. But for the first time, he refused to explain, and it hurt Ruby, who had stormed out. That was how she wound up angrily shooting arrows in the forest.
She knew Patrick would be along eventually, he always was, but the snap of the branch still spooked her, and she turned, bow poised to release. She sighed when she saw him, and lowered the arrow. Sassily, she spoke in that thick accent she’d never lost. “Don’t ya know not ta sneak up on a lass with a weapon, Paddy?”
Amara Nicholls, Ruby as she would become known, never had an easy life. Her parents were Irish immigrants to America, and often left her alone. This meant she was raised by her brother, Patrick, who always went out of his way to provide for her. She couldn’t do much, being a small child, but the young redhead was learning how to steal. It was becoming essential, between her parents always running off to some distant show, or running off after some drug, that she learned that it would forever be just her and Patrick, surviving together on the edge of the world.
Ruby loved her brother more than anyone, but she could see the toll it was taking on the young teen to take care of them. Using her small cuteness, she learned to pickpocket, although this didn’t have to last long as Patrick seemed to get a much better job. The morning of her seventh birthday, she was dropped off with the kindly older lady next door, who made sure she ate, but as the poor child sat there, learning to read the book, her heart ached for attention.
That attention, as always, came in the form of Patrick, but even he was late today. Worried, and curious, the little one slipped out of her neighbour’s house to return to hers. She got there moments after her parents, who were already eating her pie. As always, they shook the little girl down, taking anything she had of value before they tossed her aside with a kick of their boot, and left her alone in the corner, crying. Luckily, though, they had no interest in Patrick’s present, which Ruby clung too, and cried for Patrick to come home.
Eleven Years Later....
Thwack, thwack, thwack, came the succession of arrows from Ruby’s bow. The eighteen year old was standing out in the forest, practicing at the makeshift target. She was beautiful in her execution and deadly. She could shoot a target from a long distance, and had a heart of stone. Except when it came to Patrick, and her new boyfriend. He didn’t get along with Patrick, but Ruby was trying hard to make Patrick understand how much she liked him. And he had saved her life from that creature that attacked.
Ruby had passed out in his arms out of shock, but her boyfriend had cared for her, bringing her back to the Slaughterhouse, as it was called, and waited for her to wake up. When she had, she heard a loud argument in an unmistakeable voice. She then joined the argument, trying to not only understand what was going on, but why Patrick was here. But for the first time, he refused to explain, and it hurt Ruby, who had stormed out. That was how she wound up angrily shooting arrows in the forest.
She knew Patrick would be along eventually, he always was, but the snap of the branch still spooked her, and she turned, bow poised to release. She sighed when she saw him, and lowered the arrow. Sassily, she spoke in that thick accent she’d never lost. “Don’t ya know not ta sneak up on a lass with a weapon, Paddy?”
October 18th, 1950
Patrick had all but forbade her to go out alone, she was an adult now he knew that she had her own friends and her own life now. She was always his little Ruby though, and Patrick had all but planted friends for her. Those he knew he could trust those that would look after her, fellow Executioners.
What was -NOT- supposed to happen is his little sister falling for one of them. He had tried to all but forbade it, but every time he pushed she would grow more stubborn, a losing battle indeed. So when she wanted to go out on her 18th birthday what could say, he knew he would join them later, after all, he hadn't missed a single birthday yet.
Patrick and a few others were on the hunt, little did they know their prey was stalking them back. So while Amara and her new friends were out partying they were attacked and thought she was safe. Patrick was furious, she was supposed to be kept out of this, he had promised her. Amara would hear enough of the conversation to get the idea that Patrick knew way more about her boyfriend and friends than she realized.
So once he calmed down Paddy he did indeed follow the sound of those arrows whizzing through the air with that familiar thwack of each arrow landing right on target. "Aye Sis, ye'd only be puttin' me outta me misery," Paddy says with that usual lopsided but genuine smile of his.
Wordlessly he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ruby pendant on a silver chain. It wasn't much, they couldn't afford much, but the ruby was bright and clean and shaped like a tear. More importantly, it was no ordinary pendant it was a ward, not a very powerful one, but it was all he could do. She had been forcefully brought into his world, and he -needed- to know she was safe.
"Ah, how 'bout a hello or a thank ye? Did ya really think I forgot yer birthday?" He says letting the pendant say below his finger that splayed it for her to see, beckoning her over. "Come here and try it on, and give your big brother a hug." He says with that beaming grin she would remember from their childhood, the one that lit up the dark room they grew up in.
Patrick had all but forbade her to go out alone, she was an adult now he knew that she had her own friends and her own life now. She was always his little Ruby though, and Patrick had all but planted friends for her. Those he knew he could trust those that would look after her, fellow Executioners.
What was -NOT- supposed to happen is his little sister falling for one of them. He had tried to all but forbade it, but every time he pushed she would grow more stubborn, a losing battle indeed. So when she wanted to go out on her 18th birthday what could say, he knew he would join them later, after all, he hadn't missed a single birthday yet.
Patrick and a few others were on the hunt, little did they know their prey was stalking them back. So while Amara and her new friends were out partying they were attacked and thought she was safe. Patrick was furious, she was supposed to be kept out of this, he had promised her. Amara would hear enough of the conversation to get the idea that Patrick knew way more about her boyfriend and friends than she realized.
So once he calmed down Paddy he did indeed follow the sound of those arrows whizzing through the air with that familiar thwack of each arrow landing right on target. "Aye Sis, ye'd only be puttin' me outta me misery," Paddy says with that usual lopsided but genuine smile of his.
Wordlessly he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ruby pendant on a silver chain. It wasn't much, they couldn't afford much, but the ruby was bright and clean and shaped like a tear. More importantly, it was no ordinary pendant it was a ward, not a very powerful one, but it was all he could do. She had been forcefully brought into his world, and he -needed- to know she was safe.
"Ah, how 'bout a hello or a thank ye? Did ya really think I forgot yer birthday?" He says letting the pendant say below his finger that splayed it for her to see, beckoning her over. "Come here and try it on, and give your big brother a hug." He says with that beaming grin she would remember from their childhood, the one that lit up the dark room they grew up in.