#fugitive!au

He's done things he's not proud of, but he's trying to believe that being a doctor will eventually absolve him of his sins.

So I heard in the preview that Crockett’s accent just,,, doesn’t exist, and so:

- Crockett Marcel is not a real person.

- He spent a long time involved with organized crime, and in the state of New York, is wanted for first degree murder, second degree murder, felony murder, first degree rape, stalking, kidnapping, false imprisonment, sexual abuse of a minor, possession with intent to distribute, and fraud. 

- In his early twenties, he wanted out. Things just kept getting worse and worse, and he couldn’t continue to help his buddies hurt people, especially after they “tested his loyalty” and it reminded him of what happened to his sisters. and when he wound up being tricked into killing a woman who was carrying his daughter, (which he didn’t know), he had to leave.

- Crockett has moved around a lot, and got a medical degree that allows him to feel like he can try to make up for all the things he’s done.  He usually doesn’t stay anywhere longer than a couple years, but he kind of likes Chicago because people care, but they don’t care too much. And there’s another doctor he may be falling for.

He knew this would happen eventually. All their meticulous planning, all the careful secretive meetings. And yet it still wasn’t enough. Somehow, somehow, Rommath’s worst fears finally came to light as he got word to be summoned to Sylvanas herself on the grounds of fraternizing and involving himself with the enemy. He was now a traitor in the eyes of the Horde and Windrunner held all the proof against him. Of course he knew it was all true thus there was nothing he could do to dispute the proof nor the claims against him.

Rommath was demanded to speak for his actions, a trial to be held mere days after he’d gotten word he was to be apprehended. Knowing Windrunner and her tactics, of course mercy would not be likely. In the meantime awaiting his trial, a small group of her personal Deathguards had came for him. A fool’s errand, they should have expected he wouldn’t go quietly.  When they appeared to his home, a well placed spell had sent one guard sprawling backwards in a bout of ash and flame. Certainly, the guard wouldn’t be reporting for the next shift.

The others had charged him after his attack on the other guard. As skilled and quick as he was, Rommath knew the likelihood of himself coming out at least unscathed from this was less than likely. With no other option, there was only one thing he could do. He had to find Nanthis. If he was being pursued by the Warchief surely her own people weren’t taking too kindly to their situation either. 

At the last moment before the Deathguards reached him, Rommath had vanished into a portal, leaving the guards dumbstruck. In his last moments before his disappearance, he at least had the common decency to leave them a gift. In the few seconds it took for his portal to close, he could at least relish in the fact the small mana bomb he left in his wake had disoriented the shambling corpses of Forsaken crashing into each other senselessly.

On the other side of the portal, he at least managed to stumble out in front of her. Somewhere in a place he could not recognize though judging by the high walls and stained glass, a cathedral. With a quick glance around to make sure there were no prying eyes or ears, he grabbed her by the wrist and led her quickly away. Thankfully it seemed the place was empty for the most part. A few souls here and there but ultimately easy to get by undetected until they had found a small empty room. Locking the door behind them, Rommath turned to her in a panic.

The door was unlocked, and he was so thankful for it. Carefully, Hiccup slunk into the dark apartment and looked around. Astrid was either gone or sleep. Maybe he would just leave a note. 

    His feet were beginning to fail him.      The tapping of his shoes against the white, marble floor sounded like a thunder with every step he took in the overwhelming silence. His cape fluttered behind him as he ran, ran ahead, without so much as glancing behind. He didn’t even have enough time to took his rapier along when everything started tumbling down on him again, his safe world that he’d been building up until now crumbling beneath his feet.      It has happened again.       Somehow, right inside the very walls of his city, of his palace… there had been a rebellion stirring. There had been people unhappy with his ruling, right under his nose, when he so deeply believed that this would never be the case again. Who started it? Who thought to rise his people against him?                      What was it that he’d done to anger his people so…?     All this and more and more was occupying his mind as he dashed through the halls, sweat beading up on his forehead. He’d still been so far from any exit, and he could hear the footsteps approaching from behind. The pursuers were catching on to him. He barely managed to slip through their fingers after they attempted to slice his throat in his bed, the blade ever so briefly catching onto his cheek. Richard was just hoping he wasn’t leaving a bloody trail behind…

     There were no guards, no servants in the dead of the night… only him and whoever was chasing him, wanting him dead.      

Malik was on one of his fairly regularly visits to Barona, spending what was probably a too late night at Tactics, when someone had suddenly burst into the pub, shouting about the supposed commotion that was taking place at the palace.

He hadn't wasted a second.

It might have been nothing, a horrid rumor; he couldn't imagine why the people could ever turn on such a benevolent king as Richard. But he couldn't take that chance. He'd been part of such a heinous rebellion against the throne once before, once of his life greatest regrets, and he couldn't sit by an allow his dear friend to be harmed again. If it wasn't already to late.

In reality, Malik wasn't positive what he could even do, how he could even find his friend, or even breach the palaces defense to try, but those unknowns did not deter him. Perhaps luck was on his side in this endeavor, because he'd nearly reached the castle district when he heard labored breathing and footsteps coming from a side street. 

He turned down it to find exactly the man he was looking for, bleeding, and with another quickly approaching from behind. He hurled his bladerang, connecting with the face of Richard's assailant and returning it just as quickly to his back. Then he rushed to Richard's side, supporting him with an arm to help him walk.

"Come on, Your Majesty, let's get you out of here."

Russia had been a mistake. Mexico had been a mistake. Hell, even her mess up in South Africa had been just a mistake. But this? This was so much more, causing her, once one of the most dangerous women in Europe, to become nothing more than a second-rate fugitive. Could be worse, at least she had company.

"Shit, c'mon Damien, I swear I will leave you behind if you don't keep up," she hissed down at him, as they weaved their way in and out around the crates down at the Docks. The ferry would be there soon, they would at least be a little safer in France for a while... at least until they worked out their plan. 

Still running she came to an abrupt stop as she heard voices around the corner, crouching and panting whilst she took ginger looks around.