Fight Club Goes Wrong

"Are you certain about this?" Evie was winding a length of cloth wrapping around her hand. She was sat on a barrel in the shadow of a wharfside warehouse overlooking the Thames, methodically going about her usual preparations in advance of the fight to come. Robert Topping was gripping his lapels in a gesture of practiced calm, though there was an undeniable thread of nervousness running beneath it all, she could see it in his eyes. "Certain as certain can be, Miss Frye. I've made all the necessary arrangements, and I've collected a lovely bit of insurance from your opponent's superiors."
"The Templars," she said. "You're putting your faith—and mine by proxy—in the word of Templars. You can understand my apprehension, I hope?"
"Naturally, Miss Frye." Robert stepped around to stand in front of her. "Which is why I took the liberty of pilfering some of their, er...assets. As I said: insurance."
Evie finished applying the wrapping to her right hand, inspected it briefly, gave a satisfied nod, then clicked her fingers. A nearby Rook quickly came up and supplied her with another length of cloth, and she began repeating the process on the other hand. "You stole from them? Haven't you had your fill of angering Templars already? You've seen the...unkindness they're capable of already, courtesy of Sir David Brewster."
Robert smiled thinly. "All too true, Miss Frye, which is why I made sure to make them an offer they couldn't refuse with the most capable female bare-knuckle fighter in London as my proxy in all of this. With your remarkable skill in unarmed combat, I daresay they'll not get the chance to show me any unkindness at all."
"How flattering, that you would place your faith in me so utterly." She replied, rolling her eyes. "So, who is this Templar-sponsored opponent I'll be facing in the ring, then?"
"Hm? Oh well that would be—ah! Here she is now!" He turned to look at a gaggle of men in red suits walking up to the warehouse, led by a burly-looking woman with her hair braided into a single, thick plait and wearing a long brown duster. "Eudoria Trench!" Robert called out, by way of greeting. The woman, Eudoria, caught sight of him and made a beeline across the yard toward him, flexing the muscles in her neck and cracking her knuckles menacingly as she approached. Evie gave every appearance of paying little attention to her, carrying on for all outside appearances with the business of wrapping up her hand, but the entire time she was watching her from the corner of her eye, studying this Trench woman and her physique. A strong one, by all appearances, possessing the incorrigible arrogance of all Templars, but seemingly also the strength to back it up. From experience Evie knew that strength often brought with it slowness, a trait she'd long since learned to capitalise upon in her many exploits across the city; she saw no reason this situation should be any different. So the Templars had supplied a woman to act as a potential challenger to her recent dominance of the fighting circuit; so what? She would put the Brotherhood's training to good use and put Miss Trench down in record time, before returning to the train for a much-needed bit of rest and relaxation. Simple.
"Miss Frye?" Evie finished fastening the wrap and looked up to see Robert looking expectantly down at her, Miss Trench looming over him like some ghastly bird of prey, already staring down at her with a suitably predatory expression. "Yes, Robert?" She sighed. "Is there a problem?"
"N-no, not as such," Robert gulped and looked over his shoulder at Eudoria. "It's only that Miss Trench has informed me she would sooner see the fight come to a sooner start than a later one."
Evie nodded and pushed herself off the barrel and onto her feet, sizing up Eudoria Trench in the process. The woman stood a foot or so taller than herself, important to note, she thought. "On that much we can agree, Miss Trench."
Eudoria regarded her silently for a few moments, then nodded. "I look forward to ruining the reputation of the young Assassin hussy who has been such a thorn in our side as of late."
Evie blinked, her expression neutral. "Assassin? Yes. Hussy? I should think not, Miss Trench. If I might recommend we keep the blows both physical and tied strictly to our time in the ring?" She motioned to the open warehouse, where the ramshackle construction of wooden panels in circular formation that passed for a ring waited. "I should like to show you what the Brotherhood is truly capable of, you will find it most...instructive, I think."
Eudoria Trench smirked, then nodded again. "Yes, I think you will find our bout similarly...enlightening. Overconfidence is often the domain of youth, I should like very much to show you a path to greater...humility." There was something peculiar in the way she said that last word, though Evie couldn't quite identify what. She scrunched up her nose slightly, temporarily making a creased hillock of the field of freckles that spread horizontally across her inner cheeks and the bridge of her nose, then turned and started walking into the warehouse. She would show this one what for, oh yes indeed...

Ten minutes later, Evie was clad in her customary fighting gear—white cotton underclothes serving as a shirt, short-sleeved, black, form-fitting trousers cinched at the waist with a red cumberbund and black leather belt, under the shirt a dark grey corset, supportive of both her bosom and her modesty. All in all, a respectable enough outfit that would ensure both mobility and adequate coverage, just the way she liked it. Eudoria was already in the ring, having cast aside her brown duster to reveal a set of long-johns worn under a short, faded-looking black dress; all the while, she was sucking on an ice cube, and had a bowler hat perched at a jaunty angle atop her head. Evie looked over at Robert, who was lingering at the edge of the ring opposite Eudoria's 'side', his eyes darting this way and that. "Chin up, Mr. Topping!" She clapped him lightly on the shoulder, lifting one leg to begin climbing into the ring. "I should think this will make quite the spectacle, when all's said and done!"
Robert glanced at her briefly, nodding curtly. "That's...of course you're right, Miss Frye. There's always a spectacle when you're involved!" He smiled but there was no life in it, and it went as quickly as it came. Evie shrugged his strangely flat affect off and hoisted herself fully into the ring, landing lightly on her feet on the sawdust-covered floor. If he had lost his nerve now, he was sure to regain it once she was done with Miss Trench. She checked her hand-wraps one more time, then took a few steps forward. "Are you ready, Miss Trench?"
Eudoria's only response was to reach up and toss her bowler hat into the crowd behind her with a flick of her wrist. Evie took that at face value, and Robert took to introducing the fight in his usual fashion, taking several deep breaths to better puff himself up in advance of the announcements. "Ladies and Gentlemen! I am your illustrious Master of Ceremonies Sir Robert Topping, and this is another bout of the London Bare-Knuckle Fighting League!!!"
Evie tuned him out, focusing in on her opponent, who was still lazily leaning against the boundary wall of the ring. Simple enough, she told herself. Just do it like Father taught you...

The fight was proving a trifle more difficult than Evie had expected. Eudoria was a fearsome opponent, bestowed with every bit of strength she had and more besides, but also shockingly fast, able to meet and counter each of her blows with what seemed to be relative ease. Once or twice she tried to come in close and get at the woman's extremities, but an elbow to the ribs or the underside of a palm to Evie's jaw soon put a stop to that. Finally, in mounting desperation, she skipped past a flurry of Miss Trench's punches and attempted to initiate a pin...and that was when things well and truly went sideways. Far from managing to use her weight against Eudoria, Miss Trench instead grappled her gripped Evie by the shoulders. This wasn't right! Where had this one managed to learn such technique? It was unlike anything she'd seen, unlike anything she'd...
"Do you intend to surrender, Miss Frye? Granted, there would be shame in it, but not moreso than the kind you'll experience if you don't."
"Surrender? To you?" Evie scoffed. "I've no fear of any Templar, least of all the likes of you!"
Eudoria smiled and, leaning closer, whispered in her ear. "As you wish, Miss Frye." She placed her knee into the small of Evie's back, her hands coming round to her front up under her arms. "Knuckles aren't the only thing you're about to bare," she hussed, before quickly and smartly whipping down Evie's shirt, and tearing away the topmost section of the corset beneath. Evie's eyes widened as, in front of Topping and the fighting league's assembled spectators, her breasts tumbled free. They were lovely and buoyant, bouncing heartily in the springy, supple manner of all young ladies' endowments. Pretty things indeed, and of a most pleasing, rounded shape, bearing a strong resemblance to a pair of hefty white pearls as they sat there upon her uncovered chest, relatively uniform in colour save for the small, tight circles of her nipples—themselves the colour of peonies, signifying, in the language of flowers, beauty and elegance. Around the circumference of young Evie's nipples, meanwhile, a line of light freckles to match those on her face seemed to stand watch over her 'peonies' in the manner of a fairy ring, providing a healthy, alluring contrast between the light pink of the teats and the faint brown of the freckles. "M-my word!" Robert exclaimed, agog at the sight (along with every other man, and, curiously, one or two of the ladies present) Evie Frye's freckled cheeks blushed the colour of the rose, and moved at once to shield her chest from the numerous eyes now upon it. Eudoria Trench had other plans, however, drawing her into a half-nelson that pinned the Assassin's arms behind her back, and forcing her to thrust her chest out; Evie's pretty pearls jiggled, nipples receding into the comforting embrace of her areolas in the bracing autumn air, rendering them little more than curved bumps centred upon them. "Un...unhand me!" She shrieked, the blush only intensifying the more she looked and saw spectators' gazes fixed upon her breasts. "Where's the fun in that?" Trench asked, rocking Evie's body back and forth to inspire a renewed round of quivering upon her breasts, ensuring all present would remain unable to tear their gazes away from those soft, milky jugs. She had to stop this, had to get free, if Jacob caught wind of this she would never live it down, to say nothing of Mr. Green. Blinking as a strand of loose hair fell down into her eyes, she winced as a bit of breeze from across the Thames wafted through the warehouse and played coolly over her chest, gooseflesh rising all over them, and her blush deepened.