Underground (Jacob Frye X Reader)

|2|. Woman in the Factory♰

The chatter of pedestrians filled the bustling streets of industrial London along with the thudding of horse hooves against the cobbled roads. Smoke from factory chimneys hung thick in the air, casting clouds across the overcast sky and a train whistled in the distance. Strolling through a particularly busy street in the city of England's capital was (Y/n) Roux Sherris who was still in search of someone she could discuss Mrs Robins's issue with.

Part of the young woman regretted taking on the task but at the same time she knew she had far too much to be grateful for to have refused the fairly simple request. Biting the inside of her cheek, the (h/c) haired woman realised that if she wished to find someone to talk to, she would need a bird's eye view to get a better look at her surroundings due to the fact carriages and buildings obscured her view from the pavements. Her chin faced upwards as she scanned her surroundings, her (e/c) eyes landed on the very top of Saint Paul's Cathedral; an eagle flew in circles around the spire. No doubt it would be a laborious climb but it would most certainly save her some time.

Speeding her pace to a brisk walk, (Y/n) took the fastest route to her destination. The young woman brushed past men and women who were going about their business while dodging passing carriages that travelled through the streets.

"Miss (Y/n)!" A young boy's voice called out, the (e/c)-eyed woman turned around to find a young teenage boy with dirty brown hair and blue eyes, his face smeared with soot. She had encountered the young factory worker enough times. He usually offered her a flower picked from a garden as a way of thanking the (h/c) haired assassin for helping London's children for a reason other than her own benefit. 

"Good afternoon, Lloyd." The young woman flashed a polite smile, however, her face dropped to one of questioning when she saw the panic and urgency in the fifteen-year-old's ocean blue eyes.

"There was a woman trying to help us out of the mill, Miss (Y/n), someone spotted her and now she's outnumbered! They'll kill her if she doesn't get help!" The blue-eyed boy panted, he'd clearly been running as fast as he could to find help for this woman.

"Lead the way." The (h/c) haired young woman spoke in a serious tone before the teenage boy took off running once more, pushing pedestrians out of the way if he had to. He stopped at the outer gates of a cotton mill, the sound of knives clashing and guns shooting resonating from inside the large building, creating a tense and chaotic atmosphere. "Stay here and stay out of sight, I'll assist the woman." The (s/t)-skinned assassin spoke as she sharply pulled up her basil green hood in one fluid motion of her arm, the golden accents ran along the peak that now shadowed the upper half of her face. Unholstering her silver and black revolver, the (e/c) eyed young woman shot five Blighters that were all attacking the woman shrouded in black and red clothing, the fifth one dodged her bullet. Scowling at the missed mark, she thrust the sharpened end of her umbrella towards the last male standing, knowing that at their new proximity, a long-range weapon would prove less efficient. The hidden spear plunged through the male's brown eye, blood splattering out over his face as the life left his undamaged eye before he fell to his knees and collapsed against the floor. (Y/n) turned her head to face the other woman who wore robes in a similar fashion to herself. "Are you injured?" She spoke up.

"No; thank you for your help." The woman in black and red clothing spoke up, dusting herself off and examining a cut she earned on the back of her forearm from being slashed at by a knife. "Though, who are you might I ask?" She questioned. (Y/n) thought carefully about her situation as she scrutinised the woman before her. She was not dressed in green so she could not be one of these Rooks that had appeared around London. She wore red but she was fighting against Blighters so she could not be part of the oppressing gang. (Y/n)'s (e/c) eyes skimmed over the woman's peaked hood and gauntlet on her right arm, coming up with an assumption as to what her occupation was but not ready to make a conclusion on the woman just yet.