"Well ain't that fuckin' rude!" Thomas groused, splitting off in the opposite direction. Regrettably, there were only just over a dozen or so homes and barns to use for concealment here along the outskirts of town. Also, the moon was three-quarters full above. So sticking to the darkness was that much more difficult. Luckily, this was far from his first brush with the authorities.
Retracing his way back to the inn, he elbowed his way through a cadre of couples lounging, drinking and getting handsy with each other along one of its walls. Bordered by the stables on the other side, it formed a confined alleyway. Catching his breath, he slumped back against a stack of crates about midway through the alley
His fingers snaked to the dagger sheathed next to his sword as a hand hitched him to the ground by his coat sleeve. Naturally, she slapped away his strike. Hard enough for him to lose his grip and allow her to pluck his own weapon from him. Mercifully, Connor only handed it back to him without a word.
"Jesus bloody Christ!" he sniped as she wrenched him down into a crouch beside her, "How in the hell did ya be findin' me?!"
"Practice," she flatly replied, swiping a finger in front of her mouth and signaling for him to remain quiet. Holding their breaths, they waited for a couple of minutes. Finally popping her head up over the crates, she saw no soldiers in the vicinity.
"Look 'ere, love," Thomas muttered.
"You were saying?" she asked, cautiously moving from their hiding spot. Dusting herself off, she slightly rocked back on her heels as he hauled himself to his feet.
"I know how much ya hate bein' touched-"
"By strangers," she corrected, adamantly pointing at him as he turned to face her.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he waved, frantically looking around before closing the space between them.
She took a step backwards, only to find her back hemmed in by the wall. In spite of it, no sense of threat itched along her spine. Nor did she feel specifically trapped. "You are not exactly a friend," she deliberately replied, "Far from it, in fact."
"Still, ya ain't gonna stab me then?" he flashed her a distantly vexed grin.
Opening her mouth to reply only to shut it again, she cocked her head to the side, gaze flashing a bit. "That depends on your next actions-"
Both their heads whipped around at the dreaded noise of redcoats cursing and bellowing out to search the alleyway. Most of the drunks cursed them as they were shoved to the ground and into the wall. The sounds of muskets being loaded and boots tramping along the road promptly followed. Summarily taking in that the end of the alley was too far away to flee to without arousing suspicion, Connor let out a rumble of aggravation before craning her head upwards.
"Up!" she gestured, "We go over the rooftops-"
"'Cept I can't fuckin' climb, sweetheart!" Thomas whispered in exasperation, already slipping down the alleyway, "Well, not half as suicidal 'n bedlam-y as ya always be want to do, ya nutter!"
Head twitching in disagreement, she began pulling herself upwards and setting her feet along the crevices of the bricks. "So," she sniffed, glancing down at him, "What do you propose, Hickey?"
"That we be-"
"Over there!" a redcoat thundered.
"Oh, for the bloody love of Christ!" Thomas rolled his eyes. Snatching out, he yanked her down from the bricks by the waist of her breeches. Not expecting resistance, she flailed for a second. It allowed him the drop her on her feet, grab her by the shoulders and spin her about to face him. As he manhandled her scrambling form up against the wall, he barely ducked her instinctive punch to his chin while jerking his hips away from her knee to his crotch. "It don't be makin' no sense if we split up!" he hissed, "So stop movin' 'bout so bloody much!" "
Growling, she bared her teeth until the sound of trashcans getting knocked over and a stray cat yowling in protest hit their ears. As the patrol closed in, he dropped his hands to her upper arms "Don't ya fuckin' go shankin' the shit outta me for what I'm 'bout to do, poppet!" he ordered.
Her eyes widened at the feel of him suddenly pressed up to her. His calloused thumb dropping to her chin, she argued, "What are you…mmph!"
Oh.
So that was why he insisted on telling her not to kill him.
His mouth claimed hers, though not nearly as rough, sloppy or frankly as utterly dreadful as she assumed he would be. If anything, he simply pressed his lips to hers. It was also rather difficult to ignore how his other hand languidly trailed down her back. Instinctively leaning up into him, she strived to match his cues. For like in all things, she absolutely refused to let the challenge go unanswered. He apparently approved as she parted her lips and opened to him. Pulling her closer, his other hand tangled in her hair. Her own hands limply hanging at her sides, she didn't know whether to feel gratified or dismayed at how his startling moan sent a strange sort quiver tingling along her skin.
She'd been kissed before, back in her village. When she and Kanen'tó:kon were but silly youths, pawing and groping at each other in the usual, teenage explorations that came with the confusion of maturity. Thankfully, they promptly realized they preferred their deep and abiding friendship to all else. Besides, he viewed her more as a brother than a potential marriage prospect. She thought the same of him, thoroughly content in their enduring bond.
But this was miles different from whatever she'd done before.
Feeling herself start to slide along the wall, she reached out and fisted her hands into the collar of his coat. He responded by firmly bracing his legs on either side of hers and lightly pushing his hips forward. His fingers moving from the small of her back, he dipped beneath her long coat and lightly stroked up her side. Thumb coming to rest along her ribcage, he began drawing random little circles along her waistcoat. Her breath hitched at the unexpected spasm of ticklish pleasure, allowing his tongue leisurely slip against hers. He tasted of gin and apples, heady and wholly singular.
Withdrawing for a tick only to lean back in and lightly nip along her bottom lip, he let out low chuckle, deep in his throat.
"Connor?" he repeated again.
"W-what?" her dark eyes snapped open, pupils dilated. Freckled cheeks practically crimson, her hands somehow found their way up to his neck. Not to strangle him this time. Far from it, in fact.
"They be gone," his voice danced along her cheek, thumb still trailing along her side. "We should go 'n get the fuck outta here, yeah?" His other hand tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and beneath her hood, he lingered.
Snapping out of her trance, she twitched away from him with a jerk of her chin. A solid bump of her shoulder into one of his sent him pushing himself off the wall. At the same time, she narrowed her eyes and swallowed, "That…would be best."
"Um-hmm," he gave an exaggerated bow. Gesturing with a flourish of his hand, he motioned for her to lead to way. Inwardly cursing at how wobbly her legs felt, she was thankful for the darkness. It allowed her to use the excuse of feeling along the wall to explain away why she moved so slowly. Then again, the handful of redcoats that abruptly appeared behind them at the opposite end of the alleyway created an excellent distraction as dwell.
Too bad they had their muskets pointed straight at them as they ignored everyone else milling about..
"Duck and run!" she hissed.
"Don't 'ave to go a tellin' me twice!" he grunted.
Bobbing and eluding the gunfire, they sped out of the passageway and into the dirt streets. Swiftly scaling a barn, Connor lost the patrol's line of sight within a few moments. Tailing Hickey from the rooftops as he ducked in and out of the faint moonlight, she had to admit her approval at finding him able to lose his pursuers almost just as quickly. It created less trouble to deal with on her end. Doubling back on his path, he ducked into some stables. Waiting for a bit, he popped back out into the open again. At the same time, Connor deliberately let herself drop into view from the roof of a home right in front of him. This time, he didn't startle at her unexpected appearance.
Instead, he cocked his head to the side and smirked, "So ya all in one piece?"
"Decidedly so," she nodded in agreement. Ignoring her primary need to shrilly ask what in the hell he thought he was pulling back there in the alley, she forced thoughts back to the task at hand. "So," she cleared her throat, willing her voice to sound thoroughly neutral, "What did Miss Mallow have to say for herself?"
"Perhaps that 'I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery,' should suffice?" a vicious, familiar snarl hit Hickey's ear out of the shadows to his left.
Anyone else, and he would've found a couple of his teeth knocked out by her strike to his jaw. Thankfully, he evaded the hit, dashing backwards into the alley and reeling back for an assault. But without warning, a flurry of white zipped in front him, causing him to stop short. For Connor hurled herself right into the Red Coat's midsection. The force of it sent both of them to ground in a painful flurry of kicking, scratching and punching.
Neither of them seemed to land a solid hit, rolling and scrabbling around in the dirt. Suddenly, Eleanor sent up an infuriated howl. Jumping back off of her, Connor rapidly unsheathed her French cutlass. Strangely, rather than attacking, she waited. Patiently tapping the glinting, silver blade against her thigh, she also unsheathed her dirk. Their finely honed metal sparkling in the moonlight, it was evident both weapons cost a pretty penny.
Clambering to her feet, Eleanor's hand went to the back of her head. Eyes slitting to dark threat, she hissed, "Your 'lil minion ripped out my hair, Thomas!"
"Your failed attempt to do so with me first is all you have to blame," Connor nonchalantly replied, in spite of her glower.
"And since when did you start getting your lurid jollies from fucking the forest fruit, my dear Tom?" Eleanor sharply replied, ignoring Connor.
"I firmly suggest that you shut your-"
"Come'en now, ladies," Thomas shot the General's daughter an enticing grin as he passed a hand in front of Connor, cutting her off. "Ain't no reason for things to go and gettin' all ugly up in 'ere."
"I do not require you to defend me," Connor grit her teeth, advancing on the Templar.
Eleanor snickered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Ah, I see, she's quite the insolent one." Eyes flicking over the Connor in apathetic evaluation, she shrugged and unsheathed her spadroon and parrying dagger as well. "Hmph," she curled her lip with derision, "You've always had a particular appreciation for the impertinent, presumptuous types that never seem to know their place. A pity," she whirled her weapons in her hands before testily cutting her sword through the air, "I always thought you considerably loyal to old Kenway. Then again, here you are, prancing about town with an actual assassin."
"Ya don't know the half 'o it," he sneered, baring his teeth in warning.
"Don't I?" Eleanor raised an elegant brow of question. "No matter how tight the quim, nor how much she enjoys being on her knees in front of you, I doubt your betrayal to the Order will be worth it."
Connor's malicious grimace of rebuke making his eyes going wide, Thomas cracked his knuckles and barked, "Now, ya just wait one fuckin' minute, 'ere-!"
"Stand and deliver, Miss Mallow," Connor boldly commanded, going into an offensive stance and shoving Thomas out of the way.
"Oh my, the Indian mongrel knows the rules of a duel?" Eleanor exclaimed with false surprise. "Too bad that I shall have to kill her, Tom. A supposedly civilized savage could be worth its weight in gold. Particularly back in the cities."
Connor lashed out first, diving forward with flawless balance and arching her blade upwards. Yet Eleanor effortlessly met her strokes, winding back and crossing her blade with Connor's. A handful of flicks of her wrist and she pressed the assassin backwards. Connor slamming into the brick wall of the alley, it allowed the Red Coat to slice off one of the buttons of her long coat.
Looking down in exasperation, the assassin clenched her jaw. Letting out a loud exhalation of boredom, the Templar rolled her eyes and taunted, "You are so amateur! At least endeavor to keep me awake whilst I end you, eh?"
Well, she certainly didn't take too kindly to the flash of Connor's dirk suddenly grazing her cheek. Mouth dropping open with a gasp, Eleanor reached up to feel a line of blood starting to form along her face. "Nice try," she scowled, wiping it away, "Except you missed."
"Hardly," Connor sniffed, "Do you really think my aim so poor that I could not take out your eye at a mere five paces?" Looking over her shoulder for a brief moment, she arched a brow at Thomas, taking in how he casually leaned against the wall.
"Ain't me fight, darlin'," he drawled. "Hell, ya be the one who be callin' her out," he shrugged and crossed his arms at Connor's scowl.
"Why am I not surprised?" she droned.
"Yeah, don't go feelin' so bad," Hickey shook his head in agreement from where he stood a good distance away from them. "If I be a bettin' sort, which I very well be, me pounds be goin' on you, frankly. Sorry, sweetheart," he winked at Eleanor, who fumed in disbelief, "Nothin' personal. 'Cept ya haven't gone 'n had the privilege of seein' that maddenin' one in action," he indicated at Connor. "No matter the asinine odds, she don't never be backin' down, 'tis all."
"Enough of this mindless chatter!" the Red Coat bellowed, stomping her foot in indignation. "En garde!" she charged headlong, swinging her blade with efficient, deadly aplomb.
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, he 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 Connor 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 shatterin' 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. Jerking his head 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," she huffed. "Besides, you should be grateful that I choose not shove you from the precipice in repayment for your kis...what you did back in the alley-"
"Oh, that?" he smirked, tilting his head to the side in his usual irksome manner, "Well 'en, miss, you certainly didn't go rippin' me face off ov'er it."
Shaking her head in vehement disagreement, she sucked her teeth, "Do not make me rethink my patience-"
"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. Still...
"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 taitors, 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.