Ooh, could you do something where a assassin/antihero has to finish a job, but she either becomes sick or discovers a ~sudden allergy~ :) and the person she was supposed to âtake care ofâ ends up âtaking care ofâ her- lmho Iâm not creative, but-
HERE COMES THE WLW TRAIN! I HAVE WAITED SO LONG TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!
An unknowing caretaker and a wary assassin.
God, this is going to be awesome...
Ginger rubbed her eye with her finger, then put it dutifully back on the trigger.
The job was a simple, low-stakes one. Just take out an ex-girlfriend, then let the clean-up crew do all the work.
The target always went to the same spot in this national park, either reading or making flower crowns. Ginger would never tell anyone else this, but she wondered who on earth would hate that kind of person so much as to have them killed. Hell, why did they even break up with her?
It had to be some sort of mafia thing. The target probably stuck her nose in where she didnât belong.
Speaking of nose, Gingerâs was really starting to bother her. She knew the pollen counts were high, especially surrounded by all this flora and fauna. She even remembered to take her allergy meds. But they had long since worn off - it was almost noon now.
She rubbed her irritated nostrils on her sleeve. Now was not the time for little aches and pains. She had to focus.
After an hour or so, some nearby shrubbery parted, and the target walked through, clutching her sun hat in one hand and a large book in another. A picnic basket swung from the crook of her arm.
Ginger had only seen pictures of her target, and none of them were particularly high quality. But, now that she was closer, the assassin could make out every white mark on her dark-skinned face and arms, and the dimple she had on one side of her face, and her beautiful black eyes that seemed to glimmer like fireworks at every excitement.
They sat down below a tree and began to read, now only a few yards from Ginger. The target hummed a little, their eyebrows creasing a little as they scanned each page. The perfect opportunity had fallen right into Gingerâs lap.
She swiveled her muzzle and looked through the scope, the cross falling neatly on the targetâs temple. The wind began to blow, rustling their hair. As the target brushed a few locks aside, Ginger wrinkled her nose.
A small but incessant tickle branched put from her nasal passages all the way down to her septum. She sniffed, but that only caused the itch to turn into a fluttering burn.
Ginger tugged at her ear, but her breath was already catching.
Ginger gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. She was so close to her finishing her job, and her nose decided now was the time? She pinched her nose and rubbed her nostrils, but it was all in vain.
The wind blew harder, sending even more pollen into the assassinâs already trembling nose. She put her palm against the tip, her chest heaving. A trickle of sweat ran down her temple.
Ginger put her hands to her face.
She lowered her hands, blinked a few times, and sighed with relief.
Ginger put her hands back on the gun. Luckily, it wasnât to difficult to aim since her target was so close. The cross, again, was at their temple. Her finger pressed the trigger, but not hard enough to shoot. She wanted to be absolutely sure.
Suddenly, she gasped, her nostrils flaring.
âHUTCHâCHIIIEW! CHEW!â
Without the knowledge to stifle or the hands to shield, the full weight of Gingerâs sneeze echoed through the trees. The target looked directly up the scope, lifting the brim of her hat a little.
Dammit! Why didnât I take the shot when I had the chance?!
Ginger tried to move her body backwards with her feet, but she was caught in the wind-up of another sneeze.
âHSHâCHEW! Huh...HTCHâCHIEW!â
The assassin ended up on her back, propping herself up with one elbow. She used her other hand as damage control - the spray was becoming harder and harder to deal with. Ginger sneezed several more times. She realized all too late she was in the throes of a fit.
Ginger heard the crunch of boots on dry leaves, but couldnât stop sneezing long enough to open her eyes.
âAre you okay?!â she heard a voice cry.
The assassin tried to speak, but could only hitch in response.
The boots crunched away, then hurried back again. Ginger could only just open her swollen eyelids. She saw the target opening a water bottle and holding it towards her.
Ginger grasped at the bottle and brought it to her mouth. Cool, icy water streamed down her scratchy throat, taking the edge off the itching. Gingerâs desperation had caused some of it to stream down her neck and chest, soaking the neckline of her shirt.
âThe pollen is really bad today,â the target murmured, only half-talking to Ginger. âThey even said on the news to stay inside of your allergies would flare up.â
âD-didnâd doe they would...HSHâCHNX!â
âOh, believe me, I know. I have horrible allergies in the fall, and I never know when theyâre going to sneak up on me...â
The target rummaged through her picnic basket and took out a bottle of Benadrylďżź. The name Naomiďżź was written on the side of the bottle, with a little heart dotting the I.
âNaomi?â Ginger whispered, sounding it out. Assassins were almost never given the names of their targets. It was the same with both victims and stray cats - if they had a name, youâd get attached to them.
The target cocked her head. âHow do you...?â
She followed Gingerâs eyes to the bottle.
âOh oh! Yeah! Thatâs me. I have to write my name on stuff so my roommate doesnât steal it. Letâs see...two to three...â
Naomi gave Ginger a concerned side-glance.
She opened the bottle, took out the pills, and held them out to Ginger in a speckled palm. Ginger plucked them from Naomi and popped them into her mouth, washing the medicine down with a swig from the water bottle. The assassin sniffled, now laying completely on her back.
âYou look awful,â Naomi said, sitting down next to Ginger. âDo you want me to call someone to pick you up? That Benadryl is going to make you super sleepy...â
âDoe, Iâb fide,â Ginger said quickly. If she walked out of the national park with the target at her side - someone that should have been dead long ago - her employer would get the wrong idea.
The assassin closed her eyes, trying to think of an escape.
âYou arenât hunting deer, are you?â
Ginger opened one eye to find Naomi rubbing the muzzle of her gun.
âWoah, d-donâd teh...HTCHâCHIEW!â
Naomi put her hands in her lap with a sheepish look.
âSorry, sorry! My dad had some guns to hunt with, and I just...um...I sort of forgot they werenât mine. I was just trying to say that it isnât deer season.â
âIâm dot hunding,â Ginger snuffled. At least that was true. She was trying to come up with a good cover story when Naomi snapped her fingers and nodded knowingly.
âYouâre tagging them, right? They said they were doing that this week. You count them all up to see how many deer you have. The rangers said they would be doing that this week.â
Ginger blinked, then nodded, almost incredulous. She barely had to lift a finger to defend herself.
âI bet those sneezes scared off anything you would want to use that gun on...â
â...maybe you could ask to go home for the day?â
Ginger rubbed her full nose on her sleeve, leaving yet another translucent streak. She was starting to feel the effects of the medicine, and it was difficult to keep her eyes open. To combat her fatigue, Ginger pulled herself up and leaned her body against a nearby tree. However, the resulting dizzy spell only made the assassin feel sleepier.
âMaybe,â she mumbled, âwe could stay...â
Ginger couldnât even finish her sentence before dozing off.
Ginger snapped awake to find Naomi sitting next to her, licking her thumb to turn the next page in her book. The sun had already set, and the only light was a small reading lantern Naomi had brought in her picnic basket.
âWhad tibe...?â Ginger rasped, coughing dryly into her shoulder.
Naomi looked up from her book and frowned. âOh, honey, you sound even worse than you did before. I shouldnât have let you sleep here. You just looked so peaceful...â
Before Ginger could say anything else, her phone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and tried to read the messages through her bleary eyes.
Ginger opened her lock screen with a pounding heart. Had she been found out? Was the client coming? Was the mafia after her? She tapped on the texting app.
Ginger couldnât believe her luck. This had to be the first time a sneeze had saved someoneâs life. She sent the good news to her employer, using faulty equipment as an excuse - which, technically, wasnât a lie - then turned to Naomi, who was packing her things.
âI am taking you back,â she was saying. âYou canât drive like this! You could fall asleep, or get into a fit, or - !â
Ginger sniffed. âOgay.â
âOh! Okay! Just...tell me your address and Iâll put it in my GPS.â
Ginger shrugged, trying to act coy despite her discomfort.
âBy place is kind of a bess...â
Naomiâs eyes went wide, and her lips pursed into a nervous half-smile.
âI...I do have tea...â
âTeh...HTCHâCHNXâUH!â
This. Was. Awesome! To write, I mean. I know yâall tend to like my shorter ones more for obvious reasons, so I wrapped it up all nice and tidy for you.
Naomi has vitiligo, if that wasnât clear. I tried not to shove it in the readerâs face, but I may not have mentioned it enough. Tell me what you think!
Remember, if you hate the fic, Iâll rewrite it! Itâs the Hand Slipped Guarantee!