Amy Weston was not one to let a man take the initiative—no matter if they were wearing clothes or not. Pulling out her revolver, she leapt out of her side of the coach, sneaking around the back towards the other carriage. She wasn't about to ruin what little element of surprise they had. Peeking around the corner, she saw Lord Patrick step up to that bastard Compton's coach.

"What are you waiting for, Coachman?" a haughty voice from within demanded. A voice that Amy would never forget.

The driver cleared his throat. "Um...I'm sorry, My Lord, but the other carriage won't get out of the way."

"Well, then make it get out of the way," the hidden voice hissed. That voice...

Hand tightening on her revolver, Amy tensed, ready to attack at any moment.

Compton! Fabian Evander Compton!

Two thugs in footman uniforms leapt from the back of the coach and advanced on him.

"You heard him," one of them growled. "Out of the way for His Lordship, you buffoon!"

Not even glancing at the man, as if such lowly individuals were below his notice, Lord Patrick Day sent a stare at the carriage.

"Since when does the heir of a dukedom make way for a mere lord?"

Those words stopped the thugs in their tracks. Their hands, which had been travelling to their weapons, moved back uncertainly, their eyes flitting to their employer's vehicle.

Just the distraction Amy had been waiting for! Taking aim, she cocked her gun and...

Bam!

"Highwaymen!" Patrick shouted in what, Amy had to admit, was a brilliant stroke of inspiration. "Protect your lord!"

Instinctively, the thugs dashed past him to place themselves between their lord and the "highwayman"—leaving their back open to Patrick. Before Amy even had time to aim once more, he moved.

Thud! Thud!

With a dull sound, the butt of his gun collided with the back of the head of thug number one, then thug number two. Both of them collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"What is it, Coachman?" the arrogant voice from inside the coach demanded. "What's happening?"

Amy smirked. He had no idea what he was in for, did he?

Well, he'll soon find out!

The coachman, meanwhile, didn't seem quite capable of answering. He simply sat there, mouth wide open, staring wide-eyed at the peer of the realm committing assault in broad daylight and aiding highwaymen. He was in shock just long enough for Amy to make her move. Lunging out from behind Patrick's carriage, she grabbed the coachman by his lapels and tugged.

"Aaah!"

With a loud crash, he slammed head-first onto the road, instantly knocking himself out. The cacophony of sounds seemed to make it clear to even His August Lordship inside the coach that all was not well in pervertland.

"Driver!" A growl came from inside the coach. "What the deuce is going o—"

"Oy!" With a broad smile on her face, Amy pulled herself up to the carriage window and waved at the only passenger. The fact that her hand was still holding a gun was surely completely coincidental. "Surprise, Limpdick!"

"Who—" He abruptly cut off as his eyes widened and he recognized her. Or maybe it was because of the fist she planted in his face, who knew?

Wham!

"Aagh!"

"Hello ta ye, too, Lord Compton. So nice ta see ye again."

"Rrrg...you bloody bi—"

Wham!

"Now, dat's not very polite," Amy cooed. "And after we came all dis way ta see ye. We even brought a package for ye. Do ye want to see it? Or rather, see her?"

Grabbing the man by the lapels, she dragged him out of the carriage, slamming him to the ground next to his coachman. Apparently, the sound of a skull hitting gravel was enough to rouse a certain someone from her sleep.

"What...what's going on out 'ere?" came a little girl's voice, followed by a yawn. The door to Patrick's coach swung open, "I've bin out in da forest for days. Can't ye let me rest for—"

She abruptly cut off when she spotted the man on the ground. Her eyes widened for an instant—then narrowed when they fell on the luggage strapped to the pervert's coach. There were golden letters emblazoned on the various suitcases, spelling F.E. Compton.

Instantly, her eyes flicked back to the man.

"Is 'e..."

Amy nodded. "Aye."

The girl moved in a flash. Before Amy could even think of holding her back—not that she was planning to—the little imp was on the bastard, kicking and punching like a berserk gorilla kung fu master.

"So ye want me, do ye? Ye want ta get up close and personal with me, do ye? Well, I'll be 'appy ta oblige ye!" Wham! Thud! Wham! "'ow's dat? Still want a piece of me? Because I still 'ave dis!"

And she raised her foot.

"Oy, nuts!" Cocking her head, she smirked down at the man. "Say 'ello ta cracker!"

Thud!

"Aaaargh!"

Amy nodded approvingly and stepped closer to inspect Issy's handywork. She was certainly doing a decent job of turning the man into mince meat. Still...

Jumping forward, Amy slammed her foot down onto the hand that had been wandering under Compton's tailcoat, most likely on the search for a weapon.

"Mind if I join in?" she cheerfully asked the little girl.

Issy grinned up at her. "Be me guest!"

"Why, thank ye!" Such a lovely girl. Not all people were so gracious, always willing to share the good things in life. Amy decided she was going to have to take the little one under her wing. Someone who showed so much potential... It would be a shame to waste it. Yes, she was definitely going to take her under her wing. But as for now, she had other matters to take care of.

"'ello dere," Amy cooed, bending down towards the bastard on the ground. "Remember me?"

"Nnng—agh..."

"Not quite sure? Well, den let me give ye a reminder."

Wham!

"Rrx...!"

"Still not enough? Well, 'ere's another gentle reminder!"

Thud! Wham! Thud!

"Err..."

Amy heard footsteps approaching from behind. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Lord Patrick who was watching the scene with a sort of horrified fascination.

"Amy?"

"Aye?"

"You have an interesting definition of the word 'gentle'."

That made a grin spread over her face. "Ye've attended me language classes, 'aven't ye? I 'ave lots of interestin' definitions."

Thud!

"Apparently." He eyed the prone form of Compton for a moment or two. "And since we're on the subject..."

He hesitated.

"Aye?"

"Can I join in?"

Amy's grin widened. This fellow might be an aristocrat, but with a bit of work, he might yet turn into a human being. "I thought ye'd never ask!"

Lord Patrick stepped forward, a very unlordly sparkle in his eyes. "You know, Miss Amy...noble gentlemen have this amazing tradition called dueling. The participants take a few steps away from each other, and then shoot." Turning around, he strode a few steps away, then turned back to face the man prone on the ground. "I don't remember anything in the rules about both participants having to be standing."

In a flash, his hand came up with a dueling pistol held in a tight grip.

Bam!

Dust spurted up from a spot between Compton's legs roughly two inches away from his manly assets.

"Dnglwrx," the prone man croaked.

"Wow!" the little girl whistled. "That was badass! It's just such a pity ye missed. Just a few inches 'igher and...well..."

The grin spreading over her face would make the staunchest of men clench their legs together. Unfortunately for Lord Fabian Evander Compton, though, he didn't have that luxury.

"Is that so?" Lord Patrick enquired. "Well, who am I to deny a lady's wish."

In that moment, Amy felt as if she could have hugged the man to death. But, instead, she bent down and grabbed Compton's leg, holding him in place. The little girl seemed to instantly get the idea and, snatching a heavy suitcase that had dropped from the coach during the fight, slammed it onto the man's other leg and sat down on top of it. Lord Patrick, meanwhile, slowly stepped forward, taking his time to reload his pistol.

Batting her eyelashes, Amy smirked up at him. "Outings with ye are such fun, Yer Lordship. We'll 'ave ta do stuff like dat more often."

"With pleasure." Taking another step forward, Lord Patrick once more aimed his gun. "Now...shall we continue this?"

Amy was just about to answer when, suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats approached, coming down the forest path towards us.

"To me!" Compton suddenly shouted. "Men, to me! Kill those bastards! Kill them all!"

Crap! Amy slammed her fist into the man's stomach, making his shouts fade into a hacking cough. We should have realized he'd have more people somewhere!

Now it was too late to curse her lack of foresight. The forms of two riders were rapidly approaching, the only reason they weren't already upon her and the others being that the horses had to wind their way between the trees.

"Behind the carriage!" Patrick ordered. "Now!"

Normally, Amy wasn't really into playing the submissive girl. But right now, she felt obeying that order might not be such a bad idea. Leaping up, she whirled towards their own coach—then stopped in her tracks when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move.

"Oy! Ye ain't gonna go anywhere!" Grabbing hold of the sneaky bastard who was trying to slither away, Amy dragged Compton towards the coach. Patrick grabbed his other leg and, together, they towed him behind the cover of the vehicle.

"Not that I'm complaining about your sudden burst of humanitarianism," Lord Patrick panted, "but why the heck are we dragging him behind the coach? Is there any particular reason you want to keep him safe?"

"Not keeping 'im safe," Amy growled, giving another tug. "'olding 'im 'ostage! We can threaten ta cut 'is dick off if they don't piss off!"

Bam!

Jerking back, Patrick ducked just in time to avoid a bullet whizzing over his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...that sounds like a good idea."

"I know, right? I'm brilliant!"

"And I have been in your company for too long."

"Aww! Ye don't really mean that, P!"

He glanced over at her for just a moment. But that moment was long enough for her to see the look in his eyes. A look that tugged at her heartstrings.

"No. No, I suppose I really don't."

The sound of a sword being unsheathed reminded them both that right now, there were more urgent issues at hand. Cursing, Amy ducked lower behind her cover, dragging Compton the rest of the way behind the coach. And if his head slammed against a tree stump or two, that was surely just coincidental, right?

"You there!" a voice shouted from beyond the carriage. "Give up! You are surrounded!"

"With just da two of ye?" Amy shouted back. "I don't think so!"

"We are armed!"

In answer, Amy simply aimed her revolver into the forest and pulled the trigger.

Bam!

Amy didn't bother giving anything else as an answer. The message seemed to have gotten across: Ye ain't da only ones!

"So..." The little girl enquired conversationally, sitting safely behind a nearby tree stump. She didn't look as if any of this particularly bothered her, but then again, after everything that had happened to her, why would it? "What are we gonna do now?"

That, Amy had to admit, was a very good question. And also a very good moment to keep quiet if she didn't want to admit she had no idea how to answer the questions of a ten-year-old.

"Amy!" Patrick hissed, peeking around the edge of the coach. "They're trying to sneak closer!"

"Bugger!" This wasn't the time for answers. It was the time for ammo. Checking her gun for more bullets—Yes! Still loaded!—Amy raised it and took aim.

Bam! Bam!

Dirt sprayed up into the air, and one of the horses gave a frightened neigh, bucking and nearly throwing off its rider. Amy grinned.

"Aim at da 'orses! Bigger targets!"

Patrick gave a quick nod, then levelled his pistol at the approaching riders or, more specifically, their mounts. Moments later, more gunshots echoed through the forest. The horses neighed and bucked, trying desperately to dodge the projectiles.

The thugs were quick to catch on, however, leaping off their mounts and using them as meat shields to get closer and closer to the carriage. Amy snarled. So, they were ready to sacrifice even their horses? No surprise there.

Well, let's put 'em out of deir misery.

Once again, Amy raised her revolver.

Bam! Bam!

Finally, one of the mounts collapsed, riddled with bullet holes, while the other one dashed into the forest, searching for greener pastures. Smart fellow.

Amy, meanwhile, focused back on the two thugs who, by now, were hiding behind a couple of trees. They were taking turns shooting, covering each other while trying to advance towards the coach that hid their targets.

And da worst thing? It's working, dammit!

"Seems like we're going to have to use our trump card," Patrick grunted, dodging as some more bullets flew his way.

"Aye, seems like it," Amy agreed. "Lets snatch da bastard and—"

She reached out to grab Compton—only for her hand to meet empty air.

"Err...where is 'e?"

"What do you mean where is..." Patrick whirled around, only to see what Amy had already noticed: the distinct lack of Compton-ness anywhere in the vicinity. "Fiddlesticks!"

Bam!

"Couldn't 'ave put it better meself!" Amy cursed, ducking away from the renewed gunfire. "Where da 'ell...?"

"I'm here!" Her head whipped around just in time to see Compton, who had crawled underneath the carriage, dash out into the open, arms raised, running headlong towards his men. "I'm here, I'm—!"

Bam!

Amy stared.

Patrick stared.

The two thugs stared. Particularly the second thug, whose gun was currently smoking. That particular man was staring very, very intently at the new, red-rimmed hole that had suddenly appeared in his boss's chest.

There was only one word that fit the moment perfectly: oops.

-------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you are wondering about my use of the word "Badass" - it is not a word that was used back in the Victorian Age, but no matter how hard I searched, I was unable to find a Victorian equivalent. I suppose it is not the kind of thing Victorian gentlemen were known for ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob