[ She's already too late— the frustration is evident ("Eleanor you must mask your emotions, steel yourself if you want any chance of being anything worthwhile among us" they'd said).

But when the assassin mocks her, well, it's a bit too late for that. ]

You're awfully cocky for someone whose organization is little but a group of self-involved ruffians.

[ Her hand instinctively, hovers over the hilt of her rapier. She keeps her eyes on the woman. ]

I don't need luck to deal with the likes of you.