#simcoe imagine

You didn't even know the time, let alone who, if anyone- was inside the room with you. It all occurred faster than you could keep up with, first wading through flooded woods, disoriented to the events that led you here. It wasn't until you reached the foot of a hill that two men jumped out from their hiding spots, wielding weapons that only made your heart leap to your throat.

"They're awake?" A voice drawls just outside, and you can tell a hand is on the door, because the sliver of daylight that you had just shifted, as if someone was about to open it.

"Yes, sir." Someone replies, clearing their throat. "Last I checked, at least."

You screw your eyes shut, fiercely struggling against the ropes, praying that whoever entered through that door was nicer than the first two men.

"Good,"

The door rattles, and all at once it flies open, your gaze flitting to the newcomer. His silhouette fills most of the doorframe, heels clicking against the wood as one hand holds the door at bay. Once you are faced with blinding light, and unable to adjust, your eyes tear away, only finding comfort when the cabin is enveloped in darkness once more.

"I do hope my men were courteous to you."

His voice almost sounds cynical, and somehow you can feel his stare without seeing his eyes. Part of you screams to not reply, but the sarcasm bubbling in your mouth beats any sensibility you had accrued.

"I'm having a blast, thanks." Something akin to a glove being peeled off startles you, and it's all at once you realize that he is the one in control here. Immediately, a hand darts past your head and settles on the back of the chair, tilting you so far back, that the chair only rested on two legs.

"My, my, no need to be such a smart ass." He hums, and you squeak, feeling the sensation he is right in your face, and you have no idea how close he really is. Abruptly, you drop back to the floor, eliciting another scream from you, when a tarp is ripped off one of the windows, flooding the room with natural light.

Blinking rapidly, you shake the feeling of confusion from your brain, then take a chance to look up at the man who was presently holding you hostage.

Before you could even take a bated breath, a cold hand grabs your chin, yanking it up so you can stare directly into the eyes of your capturer.

"You have about three seconds to start explaining," He snarls, and your eyes bounce briefly to the flintlock cradled to his waist, his unoccupied hand resting heavily on the hammer.

You stutter, visibly shaken at what you were face-to-face with, eyes wide with surprise and doubt.

"John?" You're treading on dangerous waters, chin beginning to ache with just how much his grip tightens. Swallowing thickly when some recognition crosses his features, you press fowards.

"John Graves Simcoe?" It comes out embarrassingly slow, and it's not for dramatic effect. You were presently in disbelief, unable to process what was occurring right in front of your nose.

"Well," He starts, tilting your head this way and that.