Eleanor may have been trained by the best swordsmen money could buy. Nevertheless, as Thomas could easily see, she was quickly turning into no match for Connor’s approach. Obviously incensed now, the assassin’s technique boiled down to mostly using her cutlass as a bludgeon to beat the ever-living shit out of her enemy. Sure, Eleanor technically landed more hits with the point of her double-edged spadroon. Hacking at Connor’s torso definitely caused her light infantry coat get slashed into a few pieces. Regardless, Connor retaliated every single strike. An unanticipated ram of her shoulder or a well-aimed kick to her lower half after nearly every thrust of her cutlass constantly sent the General’s daughter either brutally flying into the wall or stumbling against the ground. If not for Eleanor’s fancy footwork, she would’ve been dead in the matter of a few minutes.
Connor’s growing aggravation was becoming more and more evident. For most, it would signal increasing negligence in her form and missed hits. Then again, Thomas knew better by now. Especially when she hastily swapped out her sword for her trusted tomahawk and hidden blade. Thinking she had an opening as Connor traded weapons, Eleanor gracefully lunged and sought to strike the hilt of her spadroon into her opponent’s forehead. As Thomas had witnessed in dealing with her in the past, this would usually allow her to take advantage of their break in defense. Snatching them by their shoulder and stabbing them through their stomach always finished them off.
Of course, Connor was having none of that. Shifting her weight to the balls of her feet at the last possible second, she slid to the side and nimbly twirled about. The feint left her foe punching out in a completely opposite direction from where she assumed Connor would land. In turn, Connor had an almost laughably wide opening. So she settled for solidly backhanding Eleanor square across the face.
Her head snapping back with a painful groan, blood spilled down the Templar’s mouth. Staggering away, she retreated from Connor’s reach in stunned shock.
Thomas had never heard Connor curse. Well, not in English. However, judging by her implacable glare and the way she skillfully looped the handle of her tomahawk along her fingers, he could only assume she was sending a silent, “Fuck you” in the other woman’s direction. Alright, so he couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as the assassin casually rocked back on her heels. Looking on as Eleanor spat out a glob of blood, she waited for the Templar to recover. It only seemed to make her adversary even more incensed.
Wiping at her mouth, Eleanor’s livid gaze slowly looked up from her bloodied hand. “You don’t threaten me!” she snarled.
“I have done no such thing,” Connor flatly replied, flexing her fingers before tightening her grip on her hidden blade, “For threats are futile. Markedly, when made in lieu of promises. For example?” her stare darkened with admonishment, “You threatened to kill me and you have failed so far. Apparently, Miss Mallow, you fare poorly when it comes to keeping your word.”
Chest heaving with barely repressed rage, Eleanor scoffed, “Leave it up to a vulgar cunt like you to act in such a wretchedly uncivilized fashion!”
Thomas flinched at the expression of unbridled hatred that flew to Connor’s face. Nonetheless, despite the rush of blood tainting her cheeks and how her shoulders stiffened, she remained silent. “Oh, so you’ve no words for me?” Eleanor sourly smiled, whipping her sword through the air with a flourish, “I am not surprised. No doubt, your command of the English language is wanting, to say the least, barbarian.” He could hear Connor’s growl, low and deep in her chest in all of its wolfish rapacity. Still, she remained rooted to the spot, patiently waiting for an attack.
Screaming in frustration, Eleanor sprinted forward and somersaulted behind her nemesis in less time than it took to let out a breath. Yanking her rival by the collar in midair, she aimed to drive her sword clean through her neck. At the same time, Connor refused to be deterred. Throwing all of her weight backwards, she reeled back and smashed her head right into the Templar’s face. A crack reverberating in the air could only signal a broken nose. Judging by the Red Coat’s screech of agony, it looked to be so. In spite of it, Eleanor smartly tossed her spadroon to her other hand and whipped it downwards. Kicking out, Connor parried the sword blow meant for her thigh with her ax. Twisting the edge of her weapon so hard against the Templar’s blade that sparks flew, she punched Eleanor in the gut at the same time.
Her expression painted with venomous threat as the Eleanor doubled over and went careening to ground, Connor pressed her foot into the Red Coat’s wrist, keeping her weapon at bay. “Yield,” she ordered, looming over her and raising her tomahawk in warning.
“You rotten ‘lil bitch!” Eleanor hissed. Her breath ragged and painful, blood poured down her lips and chin from her nose as she yowled, “How dare you!”
“I will not ask you again,” Connor demanded, eyes bright with deadly intent. Leaning more weight into her foot along Eleanor’s wrist, her gaze hardened at the other woman’s frayed, guttural gasp. “You know as well as I do,” she impassively added, “Only a little more pressure and your bones in your wrist and arm shall begin to break.”
“Well then,” Eleanor viciously sneered, hand dropping to her coat, “I hope you appreciate my artistry.”
“What are you-?”
A shot roared in Connor's ears, causing the assassin to brace and flinch. Yet she didn’t feel the tell-tale sting of a bullet hitting her flesh.
“Are ya shittin’ me?!” Hickey’s voice painfully rang out behind her.
Panic rising, Connor spun on her heel and fixed her sights on him. It didn’t make any sense, he didn’t appear injured in the slightest. In fact, he frantically gesticulated at the ground while spewing out a litany of curses.
At her back, Eleanor started screaming and begging, crying out for help. Connor’s awareness shifting back to the Templar, she jumped and twirled around to find her on her feet again. This time, she made no move to engage Connor. Snatching up her weapons and retreating in the opposite direction, Eleanor sing-songed, “Enjoy dealing with the patrol, you mangy dogs!” Letting out a few more screams of false distress, she paused to add, “I don’t believe they’ll take two kindly to an indolent drunk and a filthy savage murdering one of their own, yes?” Without further ado, she took off skittering up the side of the building.
“The fuck you waitin’ for?!” Hickey bellowed as Connor dashed over to him. Calling heed to yet another patrol closing in on them, he snapped, “We gotta scram!”
“I assumed she shot you!” she exclaimed, scrutinizing him for any sign of injury.
“Naw,” he shrugged, “She put a bullet in ‘im,” he pointed at the ground. Lying at his feet was a dead redcoat, his lower neck torn away by the bullet. Dropping to her knees, Connor checked for his pulse along his chest, though she knew it was futile.
“Ain’t nobody got time for that, love,” Hickey lugged her to her feet by her upper arm. Focusing her attention on the patrol of soldiers rushing towards them, including one mounted on horseback, he shunted her down to the other end of the alley way. “Looks like me snoggin’ ya won’t be distraction ‘nough this time neither,” he winked at her as he broke out into a run, “A damn shame that be!”
“Thank the gods,” she sniped back, right on his heels.
This group of soldiers wasn’t nearly as forgiving as the previous others. The open terrain here at the very end of town and their mounted officer didn’t help either. Not to mention, they were far more infuriated by the murdered redcoat they stumbled across after the two fled. As a result, Connor and Hickey found themselves crashing through a cornfield and deeper into the landscape. The rush of the river somewhere ahead of them, they both headed in its direction, plunging into the forest. Normally, they’d easily give the slip to the authorities by separating again. Then again, splitting up and having to regroup would only result in a waste of time…
“Whoa, look sharp 'ere, girlie!” Hickey yelled, grappling out and nabbing Connor by the hood of her coat mere seconds before she went careening over the side of the cliff in front of them. “Fuck all!” he cursed as she windmilled her arms, only to crash into him and send them both sprawling to forest floor him in a heap. “Omph!” he painfully gasped, “Why in God’s name do ya be weighin’ a helluva lot more than ya be lookin’?!”
“Muscle, I may only assume,” she distantly replied. Nimbly rolling off of him, she leapt to her feet and reached down a hand. He took it without question, dragging himself upwards.
“No shit,” he exhaled, staring over the wooded precipice they stood on and took inventory. Not like it was much, admittedly
Forced to jump back as clumps and dirt and rock broke away beneath his feet and went tumbling down into the ravine, Hickey shot her a look of vexation. A solid thirty foot drop down the sheer side of the overhang and into the river greeted them. While the water wasn’t moving particularly fast, its temperature could prove disastrous considering it was mid November. Nevertheless, with the patrol closing in some yards behind them, they didn't have much in the way of options.
Mouth pressed into a thin line of determination, Connor uttered, “I hope you have the ability to swim-”
“Sure, but-”
“Feet first and run into the jump,” she interrupted, already backing away from the bluff. “It is relatively flat along its side, so you should not hit your head. Swim to the other bank and then we shall double back for our supplies and horses so that we may make camp and dry off. Otherwise, we may find ourselves in poor health from the cold.”
Eyes widening in unreserved alarm, Thomas stammered, “Ya be outta ya fuckin’ mind!” Frantically waving out to the empty air in front of them, he exclaimed, “Ya have no flippin’ clue how deep it be. What if we go hittin’ our legs on the bottom? Or me head cracks open like a rotten melon against them rocks?” he pointed at the opposite shore.
“Judging by the patterns of the current, the water gives way to plenty of depth," she shrugged. "We will have ample room to dive.”
“How in the bloody hell-?!”
They both hurled themselves to the ground at the sound of a volley of bullets blasting around them and thudding into the trees. Looking up from where he lay and meeting her stubborn gaze, Hickey gaped as she resolutely replied. “It is our only option.”
“Ya fuckin’ daft in that ludicrous head ‘o yours!”
“Am I?!” she snorted, jumping to her feet.
“Why can’t ya just go fightin’ ‘em off?" he bellowed, getting to his feet as well, "Ya know, go ‘n murder the shit outta ‘em like ya usually do?”
She furiously nodded in rebuke, “The ground is quite unstable here," she stubbed her toe into the crumbling earth, causing more to break off and sift down over the lip of the ledge. "We are also far too close to the edge-”
“That you want to FUCKING JUMP OFF OF?!”
“All the better to control the angle-”
“Ready!” the redcoats thundered behind them.
Head whipping around, Hickey could easily make out their uniforms through a thin grove of trees only about twenty feet behind them. A fuckin' rock and a hard place, that was how this was playing out. Absolute bollocks to put it in laymen's terms. “I most certainly ain’t gonna go hurling meself off a bloody mountainside!” he vehemently denied, throwing his hands up to the heavens for emphasis, “No fuckin’ way, no fuckin’ how!”
“Aim!” the ranking officer on horseback screamed out the order.
“You are willing to die for that notion?” Connor ground out.
“Hell to the fuckin’ no. Just-”
“FIRE!”
He shouldn’t have been surprised when she took charge. For again, she moved far too fast for him to track. So all he could discern was her tightly hooking her arm around his and launching them both off the cliff top as the bullets danced around them. Using her momentum and his stunned disbelief at her latest, maniacal gambit, she sent them hurtling over the edge. Nauseatingly weightless and arms flailing, the chilly air whistled past his ears.
At least he had the wherewithal to not go screaming like some pathetic coward, he could give himself that.
Thomas didn’t recall much as his feet slammed into the frigid water. But he did make an oath on the minuscule scrap of what little was left of his soul; God and his angels on high as his fucking witnesses, should he drown or otherwise perish, he’d haunt balmy git for the rest of her god-damned life. That was final.
Author’s Notes
“I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery.” – Quote by Aeschylus (c. 525/524 BCE – c. 456/455 BCE), an ancient Greek poet and author of tragedies such as the Oresteia trilogy. Considering Eleanor Mallow’s background, it can be assumed she received an excellent education, which would have included study of the great Greek and Roman ancient plays and authors.
Spadroon – Eleanor Mallow’s weapon of choice per canon. It’s a light sword that was popular with military and naval officers, though more during the 1790s versus the Revolutionary War era.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 16b/?
Connor’s growing aggravation was becoming more and more evident. For most, it would signal increasing negligence in her form and missed hits. Then again, Thomas knew better by now. Especially when she hastily swapped out her sword for her trusted tomahawk and hidden blade. Thinking she had an opening as Connor traded weapons, Eleanor gracefully lunged and sought to strike the hilt of her spadroon into her opponent’s forehead. As Thomas had witnessed in dealing with her in the past, this would usually allow her to take advantage of their break in defense. Snatching them by their shoulder and stabbing them through their stomach always finished them off.
Of course, Connor was having none of that. Shifting her weight to the balls of her feet at the last possible second, she slid to the side and nimbly twirled about. The feint left her foe punching out in a completely opposite direction from where she assumed Connor would land. In turn, Connor had an almost laughably wide opening. So she settled for solidly backhanding Eleanor square across the face.
Her head snapping back with a painful groan, blood spilled down the Templar’s mouth. Staggering away, she retreated from Connor’s reach in stunned shock.
Thomas had never heard Connor curse. Well, not in English. However, judging by her implacable glare and the way she skillfully looped the handle of her tomahawk along her fingers, he could only assume she was sending a silent, “Fuck you” in the other woman’s direction. Alright, so he couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as the assassin casually rocked back on her heels. Looking on as Eleanor spat out a glob of blood, she waited for the Templar to recover. It only seemed to make her adversary even more incensed.
Wiping at her mouth, Eleanor’s livid gaze slowly looked up from her bloodied hand. “You don’t threaten me!” she snarled.
“I have done no such thing,” Connor flatly replied, flexing her fingers before tightening her grip on her hidden blade, “For threats are futile. Markedly, when made in lieu of promises. For example?” her stare darkened with admonishment, “You threatened to kill me and you have failed so far. Apparently, Miss Mallow, you fare poorly when it comes to keeping your word.”
Chest heaving with barely repressed rage, Eleanor scoffed, “Leave it up to a vulgar cunt like you to act in such a wretchedly uncivilized fashion!”
Thomas flinched at the expression of unbridled hatred that flew to Connor’s face. Nonetheless, despite the rush of blood tainting her cheeks and how her shoulders stiffened, she remained silent. “Oh, so you’ve no words for me?” Eleanor sourly smiled, whipping her sword through the air with a flourish, “I am not surprised. No doubt, your command of the English language is wanting, to say the least, barbarian.” He could hear Connor’s growl, low and deep in her chest in all of its wolfish rapacity. Still, she remained rooted to the spot, patiently waiting for an attack.
Screaming in frustration, Eleanor sprinted forward and somersaulted behind her nemesis in less time than it took to let out a breath. Yanking her rival by the collar in midair, she aimed to drive her sword clean through her neck. At the same time, Connor refused to be deterred. Throwing all of her weight backwards, she reeled back and smashed her head right into the Templar’s face. A crack reverberating in the air could only signal a broken nose. Judging by the Red Coat’s screech of agony, it looked to be so. In spite of it, Eleanor smartly tossed her spadroon to her other hand and whipped it downwards. Kicking out, Connor parried the sword blow meant for her thigh with her ax. Twisting the edge of her weapon so hard against the Templar’s blade that sparks flew, she punched Eleanor in the gut at the same time.
Her expression painted with venomous threat as the Eleanor doubled over and went careening to ground, Connor pressed her foot into the Red Coat’s wrist, keeping her weapon at bay. “Yield,” she ordered, looming over her and raising her tomahawk in warning.
“You rotten ‘lil bitch!” Eleanor hissed. Her breath ragged and painful, blood poured down her lips and chin from her nose as she yowled, “How dare you!”
“I will not ask you again,” Connor demanded, eyes bright with deadly intent. Leaning more weight into her foot along Eleanor’s wrist, her gaze hardened at the other woman’s frayed, guttural gasp. “You know as well as I do,” she impassively added, “Only a little more pressure and your bones in your wrist and arm shall begin to break.”
“Well then,” Eleanor viciously sneered, hand dropping to her coat, “I hope you appreciate my artistry.”
“What are you-?”
A shot roared in Connor's ears, causing the assassin to brace and flinch. Yet she didn’t feel the tell-tale sting of a bullet hitting her flesh.
“Are ya shittin’ me?!” Hickey’s voice painfully rang out behind her.
Panic rising, Connor spun on her heel and fixed her sights on him. It didn’t make any sense, he didn’t appear injured in the slightest. In fact, he frantically gesticulated at the ground while spewing out a litany of curses.
At her back, Eleanor started screaming and begging, crying out for help. Connor’s awareness shifting back to the Templar, she jumped and twirled around to find her on her feet again. This time, she made no move to engage Connor. Snatching up her weapons and retreating in the opposite direction, Eleanor sing-songed, “Enjoy dealing with the patrol, you mangy dogs!” Letting out a few more screams of false distress, she paused to add, “I don’t believe they’ll take two kindly to an indolent drunk and a filthy savage murdering one of their own, yes?” Without further ado, she took off skittering up the side of the building.
“The fuck you waitin’ for?!” Hickey bellowed as Connor dashed over to him. Calling heed to yet another patrol closing in on them, he snapped, “We gotta scram!”
“I assumed she shot you!” she exclaimed, scrutinizing him for any sign of injury.
“Naw,” he shrugged, “She put a bullet in ‘im,” he pointed at the ground. Lying at his feet was a dead redcoat, his lower neck torn away by the bullet. Dropping to her knees, Connor checked for his pulse along his chest, though she knew it was futile.
“Ain’t nobody got time for that, love,” Hickey lugged her to her feet by her upper arm. Focusing her attention on the patrol of soldiers rushing towards them, including one mounted on horseback, he shunted her down to the other end of the alley way. “Looks like me snoggin’ ya won’t be distraction ‘nough this time neither,” he winked at her as he broke out into a run, “A damn shame that be!”
“Thank the gods,” she sniped back, right on his heels.
This group of soldiers wasn’t nearly as forgiving as the previous others. The open terrain here at the very end of town and their mounted officer didn’t help either. Not to mention, they were far more infuriated by the murdered redcoat they stumbled across after the two fled. As a result, Connor and Hickey found themselves crashing through a cornfield and deeper into the landscape. The rush of the river somewhere ahead of them, they both headed in its direction, plunging into the forest. Normally, they’d easily give the slip to the authorities by separating again. Then again, splitting up and having to regroup would only result in a waste of time…
“Whoa, look sharp 'ere, girlie!” Hickey yelled, grappling out and nabbing Connor by the hood of her coat mere seconds before she went careening over the side of the cliff in front of them. “Fuck all!” he cursed as she windmilled her arms, only to crash into him and send them both sprawling to forest floor him in a heap. “Omph!” he painfully gasped, “Why in God’s name do ya be weighin’ a helluva lot more than ya be lookin’?!”
“Muscle, I may only assume,” she distantly replied. Nimbly rolling off of him, she leapt to her feet and reached down a hand. He took it without question, dragging himself upwards.
“No shit,” he exhaled, staring over the wooded precipice they stood on and took inventory. Not like it was much, admittedly
Forced to jump back as clumps and dirt and rock broke away beneath his feet and went tumbling down into the ravine, Hickey shot her a look of vexation. A solid thirty foot drop down the sheer side of the overhang and into the river greeted them. While the water wasn’t moving particularly fast, its temperature could prove disastrous considering it was mid November. Nevertheless, with the patrol closing in some yards behind them, they didn't have much in the way of options.
Mouth pressed into a thin line of determination, Connor uttered, “I hope you have the ability to swim-”
“Sure, but-”
“Feet first and run into the jump,” she interrupted, already backing away from the bluff. “It is relatively flat along its side, so you should not hit your head. Swim to the other bank and then we shall double back for our supplies and horses so that we may make camp and dry off. Otherwise, we may find ourselves in poor health from the cold.”
Eyes widening in unreserved alarm, Thomas stammered, “Ya be outta ya fuckin’ mind!” Frantically waving out to the empty air in front of them, he exclaimed, “Ya have no flippin’ clue how deep it be. What if we go hittin’ our legs on the bottom? Or me head cracks open like a rotten melon against them rocks?” he pointed at the opposite shore.
“Judging by the patterns of the current, the water gives way to plenty of depth," she shrugged. "We will have ample room to dive.”
“How in the bloody hell-?!”
They both hurled themselves to the ground at the sound of a volley of bullets blasting around them and thudding into the trees. Looking up from where he lay and meeting her stubborn gaze, Hickey gaped as she resolutely replied. “It is our only option.”
“Ya fuckin’ daft in that ludicrous head ‘o yours!”
“Am I?!” she snorted, jumping to her feet.
“Why can’t ya just go fightin’ ‘em off?" he bellowed, getting to his feet as well, "Ya know, go ‘n murder the shit outta ‘em like ya usually do?”
She furiously nodded in rebuke, “The ground is quite unstable here," she stubbed her toe into the crumbling earth, causing more to break off and sift down over the lip of the ledge. "We are also far too close to the edge-”
“That you want to FUCKING JUMP OFF OF?!”
“All the better to control the angle-”
“Ready!” the redcoats thundered behind them.
Head whipping around, Hickey could easily make out their uniforms through a thin grove of trees only about twenty feet behind them. A fuckin' rock and a hard place, that was how this was playing out. Absolute bollocks to put it in laymen's terms. “I most certainly ain’t gonna go hurling meself off a bloody mountainside!” he vehemently denied, throwing his hands up to the heavens for emphasis, “No fuckin’ way, no fuckin’ how!”
“Aim!” the ranking officer on horseback screamed out the order.
“You are willing to die for that notion?” Connor ground out.
“Hell to the fuckin’ no. Just-”
“FIRE!”
He shouldn’t have been surprised when she took charge. For again, she moved far too fast for him to track. So all he could discern was her tightly hooking her arm around his and launching them both off the cliff top as the bullets danced around them. Using her momentum and his stunned disbelief at her latest, maniacal gambit, she sent them hurtling over the edge. Nauseatingly weightless and arms flailing, the chilly air whistled past his ears.
At least he had the wherewithal to not go screaming like some pathetic coward, he could give himself that.
Thomas didn’t recall much as his feet slammed into the frigid water. But he did make an oath on the minuscule scrap of what little was left of his soul; God and his angels on high as his fucking witnesses, should he drown or otherwise perish, he’d haunt balmy git for the rest of her god-damned life. That was final.
Author’s Notes
“I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery.” – Quote by Aeschylus (c. 525/524 BCE – c. 456/455 BCE), an ancient Greek poet and author of tragedies such as the Oresteia trilogy. Considering Eleanor Mallow’s background, it can be assumed she received an excellent education, which would have included study of the great Greek and Roman ancient plays and authors.
Spadroon – Eleanor Mallow’s weapon of choice per canon. It’s a light sword that was popular with military and naval officers, though more during the 1790s versus the Revolutionary War era.