“Hey-o, sweetheart?” Hickey’s voice inexplicably cut through the anxious silence, somewhere behind her and to her left.
“Yes?” she snorted, grip still firmly on the bottle in spite of her rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t as though she was going to risk taking her eyes off of the remaining two sailors to directly address him.
“Ya mind if ya duck a bit? It’d be real fuckin’ helpful right ‘bout now.”
Without hesitation, she did as asked, only to see the flash of the first man’s fist barely miss her head. Out the corner of her eye, a heavy wooden fanorona board swiftly snapped into view. A blur of speed saw Thomas wielding it with ruthless, calculating grace. Creating a breathtaking display of brutality, he first snapped its edge into the first man’s throat, only to spin it about in his hands and then smash it completely into the other side of his face. Her attacker hit the floor like a ton of bricks. Clutching at his throat, he gurgled for a few nauseating moments before falling unconscious.
“Well, that seems to have solved the issue at hand-”
She had no time to finish her astonished exclamation before all hell broke loose.
The crowd roared for blood as the remaining two sailors charged Connor from either side. For a normal person, the two thugs going up against a lone, quiet spoken, 20 year-old woman would prove a disaster. However, Connor was no stranger to standing her ground. Admittedly, the encounter lasted less than a couple of minutes or so. But as Thomas witnessed it, it seemed to play out in spectacular slow motion. It was made all the more absurd by the fact that the musicians in the corner of the tavern abruptly struck up a frenzied tune that seemed to match the ferocious action of the fight.
Easily ducking the first sailor’s punch, Connor shoved him away by the shoulder while fluidly side-stepping the second one’s attempted kick to her shins. A flash, and her fist connected with the first sailor’s chin. Dazed, her opponent wildly lashed out, which only resulted in Connor catching his fist in mid-air. Effortlessly bending back his wrist at a sharp angle resulted in a sickening snap that seemed to reverberate off the walls around them. A moan of horror from the crowd filled the room, mingling in bizarre harmony with the sailor’s howl of agony. Tears streaming from his eyes, he doubled over. It proved an unfortunate reaction for him, as it easily allowed Connor to knee him in the head. Effectively breaking his nose and sending him toppling over, Connor then grabbed him by the neck only to slam him down into the table next to her. The sailor and the table collapsed to the floor in a bloody, screaming heap.
Assaulting her from behind, the second sailor landed a lucky punch to Connor’s left side. “That’ll teach ya, ya red sonofabitch!” he crowed in triumph as the Native stumbled backwards. A follow-up punch caught Connor on the side of the jaw.
Yet the assassin regained her footing in less than a blink of eye. Gracefully throwing her weight to her other foot, she spun about and snatched the sailor by the shirt. His eyes widening in horrified astonishment, he vainly tried to duck out of range. Regrettably for him, his luck had run dry. Connor’s speed allowed her reach easily overmatch his own. Bobbing another attempted punch, Connor viciously twisted his collar hard enough to cut off his supply of air, leaving him clawing at his throat. Without further ado, she flung him into a support beam behind her. He hit the solid wood with horrifying precision, a loud snap of something on his body breaking (his back?! Thomas’ mind raced). A pathetic wheeze and the sailor crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.
Thomas couldn’t deny a rather large, primal part of him found this wanton play of destruction violently striking. Well, except when the sailor that Connor cuffed in the crotch apparently recovered enough land a punch to his face and then make a running leap onto his back. He barely flinched, shrugging it off easily enough.
Letting out a venomous growl, Thomas threw himself backwards to shove the sailor into the wall next to Connor. Nearly toppling over on her, the battered man stumbled to his feet. He only had time to let out a single, rattling gulp before he was knocked to the ground by a chair Thomas hurled right into him. Striking with him so hard that it split into a near dozen pieces, the bar stool was rendered utterly useless. Well, except for a rather large piece that lodged itself straight through the man’s forearm. Never one leave anything unfinished, Thomas stalked across the room and ended his hysterical shrieks of terror with one final backhand to the face, completely knocking him out.
Scrambling forward to avoid stepping on the four bloodied sailors, Connor was left speechless. Particularly as Thomas swiftly yanked her up against his side and dragged her behind him by the wrist. “Alrighty, so I be thinkin’ it be best if we get fuck up outta ‘ere,” he hummed.
“What about Mallow-?”
“I gots wot we be needin’,” he cut her off.
Glancing around at the destroyed table, wrecked chair, a few shattered liquor bottles and the blood-spattered floor, Connor nodded, “It seems best that we, uh, leave.”
The angry silence of the patrons didn’t help either. Not when they were quickly making their way to the front door in what she could only assume was an attempt to block their exit. Fortunately, Thomas’ sheer size and her own air of menace managed to stop them from completing the task. Regardless, she grimaced as a couple of them yelled out various foul racial slurs against her. Luckily, they cleared the door and made it outside before anything escalated into a second fight.
“So,” Thomas chuckled, thumping her on the back, “Ya just beat the ever-livin’ shit out of that lot.”
“Yes,” she stiffened at his touch.
“Three men-”
“Only two,” she retorted, “You stopped the first one when you smashed the fanorona board into his face. The fourth one made the grave mistake of leaping onto your back.”
“Huh?” he shrugged, “I believe ya be right. Still, ya probably up ‘n killed one of ‘em-”
“Hardly. Though they will all likely suffer some permanent injury,” she replied, sounding utterly nonplussed. He let out a loud guffaw at her apparent apathy.
Stopping in his tracks so quickly that she collided right into his back, Thomas suddenly spun about to face her. By now, they were a good distance away from the tavern. But one could never be too cautious. Especially as he spotted a group of soldiers marching towards them. “Aw, shit on a stick,” he declared in irritation. Grabbing Connor by the forearm, he whipped her around and shoved her into the alley on their rights. Her back sharply hit the brick wall, causing her to wince at the impact. “Sorry ‘bout that ‘en,” he murmured as he fluidly shielded her with his body with his own. Bracing his hands against the bricks on either side of her head, they appeared as though lovers taking a private moment to a casual passerby.
Connor certainly found herself fully aware of the solid expanse of his chest pressed to hers. It was made all the more evident as he unexpectedly let his head fall to rest on her shoulder. Not to mention the heat radiating from him in the frigid night. His breathing slightly hitched and white in the icy air, it tickled the side of her neck. Yet the acrid smell of sweat, ale and blood littering his overcoat from the earlier fisticuffs wafted beneath her nose as well.
Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Connor hissed, “What are you doing-?”
“Shut it,” he hushed her, causing her to let out a snort of disagreement, “And stay.” Placing a hand to her arm, he turned her so that she see could the soldiers marching by. Thankfully, they paid no mind to the two, continuing onward.
“Well then,” she breathed, “That makes sense.” Thomas said nothing, outside of giving her a quick nod.
By now, the adrenaline had run its course through both of them. Connor found herself tiredly slumping against him, her hands limply hanging at her sides. His head still upon her shoulder, Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you badly injured?” Connor murmured, feeling him take a deep sigh against her ear.
“I should be the one askin’ if they fucked ya up any,” he replied. Leaning out from the alley and checking one last time for any soldiers, he pushed himself up off the wall. Gaze sliding to her face, he stopped on the mottled bruise on her right cheek, just to the side of her nose. Eyes narrowing, he reached out to take her by the chin. However, he stopped short and abruptly dropped his hand. “Considerin’ your face-?”
“I have tangled with far worse,” she huffed, fingers gingerly touching her bruise.
“Yeah,” he sniffed. Bridewell he mused as Connor silently shook her head in agreement. “Still,” his eyes flashed with mischief, “Ya didn’t fuck up too bad. Fightin’ that bunch and ya not murderin’ ‘em counts for somethin’.”
“They were but drunken troublemakers,” she adamantly replied, “Certainly nothing worth ending their lives over. Teaching them a lesson will suffice.”
“Still,” he rejoined, “Ya came out with a couple ‘o punches and a bit ‘o bruisin’.”
“No worse than you,” she steadily replied. Without thinking, she reached up to inspect his injuries. Fingertips breezing across the bruise on the underside of his jaw, she lightly brushed his injured lip as well. “That should not have happened,” she said at seeing him wince. Rocking back on her heels, she shook her head in dismay and frowned, “I should not have dragged you into that group back there.”
“Hell, it was a bit ‘o mad fun,” he insisted with a crooked smile. “‘Sides, I haven’t had the pleasure of a right proper bar fight in a bit. Gets the blood all riled up and goin’, wouldn’t ya know?” he suggestively waggled his brows.
“Oh, come now-”
“Ya never know, sweetheart,” he cut her off, moving to exit the alley, “Ya should go mixin’ it up like that more ‘n more. Maybe go coolin’ ya bloodlust down a bit-”
“You two ‘lil heathens! On them!”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Connor spun around and slit her eyes at the earlier patrol they avoided now doubling back. This time, tearing along the dirt road and screaming bloody murder at them. Somehow, she could only assume word of the bar fight seemed to have spread.
Without hesitation, she scrambled up a barn and out of sight.
“Wot in the bloody-?!”
“Flee, you fool!” he heard her hiss above him. A shadow along the skyline and she was gone.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 15b/?
“Yes?” she snorted, grip still firmly on the bottle in spite of her rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t as though she was going to risk taking her eyes off of the remaining two sailors to directly address him.
“Ya mind if ya duck a bit? It’d be real fuckin’ helpful right ‘bout now.”
Without hesitation, she did as asked, only to see the flash of the first man’s fist barely miss her head. Out the corner of her eye, a heavy wooden fanorona board swiftly snapped into view. A blur of speed saw Thomas wielding it with ruthless, calculating grace. Creating a breathtaking display of brutality, he first snapped its edge into the first man’s throat, only to spin it about in his hands and then smash it completely into the other side of his face. Her attacker hit the floor like a ton of bricks. Clutching at his throat, he gurgled for a few nauseating moments before falling unconscious.
“Well, that seems to have solved the issue at hand-”
She had no time to finish her astonished exclamation before all hell broke loose.
The crowd roared for blood as the remaining two sailors charged Connor from either side. For a normal person, the two thugs going up against a lone, quiet spoken, 20 year-old woman would prove a disaster. However, Connor was no stranger to standing her ground. Admittedly, the encounter lasted less than a couple of minutes or so. But as Thomas witnessed it, it seemed to play out in spectacular slow motion. It was made all the more absurd by the fact that the musicians in the corner of the tavern abruptly struck up a frenzied tune that seemed to match the ferocious action of the fight.
Easily ducking the first sailor’s punch, Connor shoved him away by the shoulder while fluidly side-stepping the second one’s attempted kick to her shins. A flash, and her fist connected with the first sailor’s chin. Dazed, her opponent wildly lashed out, which only resulted in Connor catching his fist in mid-air. Effortlessly bending back his wrist at a sharp angle resulted in a sickening snap that seemed to reverberate off the walls around them. A moan of horror from the crowd filled the room, mingling in bizarre harmony with the sailor’s howl of agony. Tears streaming from his eyes, he doubled over. It proved an unfortunate reaction for him, as it easily allowed Connor to knee him in the head. Effectively breaking his nose and sending him toppling over, Connor then grabbed him by the neck only to slam him down into the table next to her. The sailor and the table collapsed to the floor in a bloody, screaming heap.
Assaulting her from behind, the second sailor landed a lucky punch to Connor’s left side. “That’ll teach ya, ya red sonofabitch!” he crowed in triumph as the Native stumbled backwards. A follow-up punch caught Connor on the side of the jaw.
Yet the assassin regained her footing in less than a blink of eye. Gracefully throwing her weight to her other foot, she spun about and snatched the sailor by the shirt. His eyes widening in horrified astonishment, he vainly tried to duck out of range. Regrettably for him, his luck had run dry. Connor’s speed allowed her reach easily overmatch his own. Bobbing another attempted punch, Connor viciously twisted his collar hard enough to cut off his supply of air, leaving him clawing at his throat. Without further ado, she flung him into a support beam behind her. He hit the solid wood with horrifying precision, a loud snap of something on his body breaking (his back?! Thomas’ mind raced). A pathetic wheeze and the sailor crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.
Thomas couldn’t deny a rather large, primal part of him found this wanton play of destruction violently striking. Well, except when the sailor that Connor cuffed in the crotch apparently recovered enough land a punch to his face and then make a running leap onto his back. He barely flinched, shrugging it off easily enough.
Letting out a venomous growl, Thomas threw himself backwards to shove the sailor into the wall next to Connor. Nearly toppling over on her, the battered man stumbled to his feet. He only had time to let out a single, rattling gulp before he was knocked to the ground by a chair Thomas hurled right into him. Striking with him so hard that it split into a near dozen pieces, the bar stool was rendered utterly useless. Well, except for a rather large piece that lodged itself straight through the man’s forearm. Never one leave anything unfinished, Thomas stalked across the room and ended his hysterical shrieks of terror with one final backhand to the face, completely knocking him out.
Scrambling forward to avoid stepping on the four bloodied sailors, Connor was left speechless. Particularly as Thomas swiftly yanked her up against his side and dragged her behind him by the wrist. “Alrighty, so I be thinkin’ it be best if we get fuck up outta ‘ere,” he hummed.
“What about Mallow-?”
“I gots wot we be needin’,” he cut her off.
Glancing around at the destroyed table, wrecked chair, a few shattered liquor bottles and the blood-spattered floor, Connor nodded, “It seems best that we, uh, leave.”
The angry silence of the patrons didn’t help either. Not when they were quickly making their way to the front door in what she could only assume was an attempt to block their exit. Fortunately, Thomas’ sheer size and her own air of menace managed to stop them from completing the task. Regardless, she grimaced as a couple of them yelled out various foul racial slurs against her. Luckily, they cleared the door and made it outside before anything escalated into a second fight.
“So,” Thomas chuckled, thumping her on the back, “Ya just beat the ever-livin’ shit out of that lot.”
“Yes,” she stiffened at his touch.
“Three men-”
“Only two,” she retorted, “You stopped the first one when you smashed the fanorona board into his face. The fourth one made the grave mistake of leaping onto your back.”
“Huh?” he shrugged, “I believe ya be right. Still, ya probably up ‘n killed one of ‘em-”
“Hardly. Though they will all likely suffer some permanent injury,” she replied, sounding utterly nonplussed. He let out a loud guffaw at her apparent apathy.
Stopping in his tracks so quickly that she collided right into his back, Thomas suddenly spun about to face her. By now, they were a good distance away from the tavern. But one could never be too cautious. Especially as he spotted a group of soldiers marching towards them. “Aw, shit on a stick,” he declared in irritation. Grabbing Connor by the forearm, he whipped her around and shoved her into the alley on their rights. Her back sharply hit the brick wall, causing her to wince at the impact. “Sorry ‘bout that ‘en,” he murmured as he fluidly shielded her with his body with his own. Bracing his hands against the bricks on either side of her head, they appeared as though lovers taking a private moment to a casual passerby.
Connor certainly found herself fully aware of the solid expanse of his chest pressed to hers. It was made all the more evident as he unexpectedly let his head fall to rest on her shoulder. Not to mention the heat radiating from him in the frigid night. His breathing slightly hitched and white in the icy air, it tickled the side of her neck. Yet the acrid smell of sweat, ale and blood littering his overcoat from the earlier fisticuffs wafted beneath her nose as well.
Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Connor hissed, “What are you doing-?”
“Shut it,” he hushed her, causing her to let out a snort of disagreement, “And stay.” Placing a hand to her arm, he turned her so that she see could the soldiers marching by. Thankfully, they paid no mind to the two, continuing onward.
“Well then,” she breathed, “That makes sense.” Thomas said nothing, outside of giving her a quick nod.
By now, the adrenaline had run its course through both of them. Connor found herself tiredly slumping against him, her hands limply hanging at her sides. His head still upon her shoulder, Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you badly injured?” Connor murmured, feeling him take a deep sigh against her ear.
“I should be the one askin’ if they fucked ya up any,” he replied. Leaning out from the alley and checking one last time for any soldiers, he pushed himself up off the wall. Gaze sliding to her face, he stopped on the mottled bruise on her right cheek, just to the side of her nose. Eyes narrowing, he reached out to take her by the chin. However, he stopped short and abruptly dropped his hand. “Considerin’ your face-?”
“I have tangled with far worse,” she huffed, fingers gingerly touching her bruise.
“Yeah,” he sniffed. Bridewell he mused as Connor silently shook her head in agreement. “Still,” his eyes flashed with mischief, “Ya didn’t fuck up too bad. Fightin’ that bunch and ya not murderin’ ‘em counts for somethin’.”
“They were but drunken troublemakers,” she adamantly replied, “Certainly nothing worth ending their lives over. Teaching them a lesson will suffice.”
“Still,” he rejoined, “Ya came out with a couple ‘o punches and a bit ‘o bruisin’.”
“No worse than you,” she steadily replied. Without thinking, she reached up to inspect his injuries. Fingertips breezing across the bruise on the underside of his jaw, she lightly brushed his injured lip as well. “That should not have happened,” she said at seeing him wince. Rocking back on her heels, she shook her head in dismay and frowned, “I should not have dragged you into that group back there.”
“Hell, it was a bit ‘o mad fun,” he insisted with a crooked smile. “‘Sides, I haven’t had the pleasure of a right proper bar fight in a bit. Gets the blood all riled up and goin’, wouldn’t ya know?” he suggestively waggled his brows.
“Oh, come now-”
“Ya never know, sweetheart,” he cut her off, moving to exit the alley, “Ya should go mixin’ it up like that more ‘n more. Maybe go coolin’ ya bloodlust down a bit-”
“You two ‘lil heathens! On them!”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Connor spun around and slit her eyes at the earlier patrol they avoided now doubling back. This time, tearing along the dirt road and screaming bloody murder at them. Somehow, she could only assume word of the bar fight seemed to have spread.
Without hesitation, she scrambled up a barn and out of sight.
“Wot in the bloody-?!”
“Flee, you fool!” he heard her hiss above him. A shadow along the skyline and she was gone.