What the teenager had mistaken for weapon blows were actually bruises caused by bare fists. Eleanor had, like her idol Rasana, killed the beast with her bare hands. She stood a ways away from Hoss, hunched over and panting, covered in cuts and bruises – albeit rapidly healing ones. The last thing she needed was to be screamed at by some petulant teenager.
Yet that was what happened to her. In between impotent, entitled protests, Eleanor caught her breath and looked at the strange, tattooed girl. "Well, I killed it first," she said, through gritted teeth, "so you're just going to have to live with that."
She folded her arms. "And just who do you think you are, anyway? This contract was mine, and the reward is likewise mine. And you'll just have to live with that." Eleanor tried her best to smirk through the pain, to no avail – something in her leg gave out, and she staggered down. Focusing her mana on so many places at once was proving difficult, even for someone of her caliber.
Once her leg had healed, she staggered back up. "As I was saying, the kill was mine. And you'll just have to live with that."
