weird dreams omgz
The notes of the formal challenge echo off the cliffs surrounding the bay; applause rises from the beach below, and I realize abruptly that we have an audience. The party guests are watching, which means this this battle must appear to be nothing more than a choreographed performance on the silks. That makes this both harder and easier, depending on the music we choose.
My opponent strikes her initial pose and makes her costume transform, the long ribbon of silk uncoiling from her hand and attaching itself to the latticework of the bridge we stand on. As the swirl and sparkle of transformation fades, I see that she has chosen the Witch-Queen's costume, and I hesitate for a few long beats, confused. Why has she chosen this performance, of all the pieces she could have taken? It's never used for battle; it isn't ambiguous at all. It's strictly scripted, and what's more, she's chosen the villain's role, giving me the Phoenix.
I can't wait any longer. The audience is going to start wondering why I'm not taking up my part. I trigger my transformation. As the magic wraps me up, I catch my opponent's satisfed smirk, and realize suddenly what she's done. She's not planning to lose at all. She intends to change the drama so that the Witch-Queen wins, and do it smoothly enough to pass in front of a civilian audience, and she's blatantly insulting me by taking the traditionally more difficult part of the performance. And now I've locked myself into the role of the Phoenix, and the music has started. It's too late to try to change it.
This is a real battle rather than a stage drama; it's far more dangerous, and more difficult for one flyer to defeat the other safely. The danger is multiplied this time by the arena my enemy has challenged me in: a decorative curved latticework bridge that arches high over a rocky ocean cove. Appropriate for the piece, but it's going to take a lot of skill to beat her without killing her. She plans to kill me. I'm certain of that.
The Phoenix enters the stage first. I spread my arms wide in the Wings of Glory and dive off the bridge, feeling the sparkle of magic trailing from my arms as I fall. The audience murmurs appreciatively over the sound of the waves. I grip my silk and turn my dive into a controlled tumble, using the fabric to slow my fall and turn it into a long, elegant arc, rapidly assessing the arena as I move. The support pillars of the bridge are intricate and well placed for this, offering places to latch my silk and leaving plenty of room for me to fly. As I push off a pillar to change my arc, the crowd murmurs again. The Witch-Queen is in the air.
She's placed me at a disadvantage with this piece. I must follow the script and wait for her to deviate; as the heroine of the piece, I will lose face if I attack prematurely or appear to be fighting dirty. For a few exchanges, the battle goes as choreographed; we arc around one another, coming together and pushing apart again in brief brushes of hands and feet, performing the classic silk dance rather than truly fighting. Then she strikes.
As I swing towards her in a smooth arc, her trajectory changes suddenly, arcing dramatically upwards far too early. I swing through the spot where we would have clashed. I release my silk and hastily cast it forward, refiguring my arc; I have only a moment to glance up and back to check her location, but I see what she's done when I do. Her familiar has entered the arena, cloaked in the shape of the Witch-Queen's bat-eagle - her familiar's first form. The familiar is catching at the silk, altering its pivot point. She can now move much more freely than I. There is applause from the audience; traditionally, the Witch-Queen's familiar hovers over the stage and sings harmony to the music until the Phoenix's familiar enters, but my opponent has changed the piece creatively and dramatically. I will have to work hard to match the complexity of her maneuvers.
The triumphant swell of strings in the music lifts my heart; this is where the Phoenix's familiar should enter. But he's nowhere to be seen. Instead, my opponent's familiar lifts her silk so that she can perform a dramatic spin and lift to match the music. As I fly a wide arc around her, I catch sight of my familiar's jeweled earring in her hand, and my heart skips a beat. What has she done to him? But I have no time to wonder or speculate; she reaches the top of her arc and re-casts her silk, aiming this time for my latch point. She intends to tangle my silk and come to close quarters.
I re-cast quickly, performing a long, low arc dangerously close to the water, and begin a strategy of evasion until I can figure out a way to counter. For the moment, I must play a series of difficult, angled moves, risking wrapping and catching my silk. Without my familiar I must use the pure mechanics of the bridge supports and the cast of my silk to perform my flight. I must also keep the audience in mind; I alternate flying complex tricks with wide, rapid arcs, as my opponent swoops and darts, almost as though she can truly fly without support. My performance is too predictable, and she is striking me, her feet and hands hitting hard, stealing my energy.
Her magic peaks and bursts into the glittering shower of the Witch-Queen's second form. A swell of applause comes from the audience. When the performance is reported, no doubt the reporter will praise the effects. I have to struggle to raise the magic to perform my own transformation. She has very neatly put me at a loss, planning her ambush well. But the transformation gives me a second wind; in this form I can control my silk more precisely, feeling it latch on as though it were an extension of my body. With the magic running along the silk, her familiar can't grab it anywhere but at the latch, or it will risk hurting its master.
With the change, she changes strategy, switching to long perpendicular arcs. I match her motions. This is the most difficult part of the performance; as the Phoenix, I must appear to be losing the battle even as the flights grow more dramatic, my light fading and my arcs becoming lower as she strikes me. No doubt she intends to make that part of the performance into truth. Her familiar transforms overhead, becoming a shining green serpent; it plunges straight down, arrowing into the depths of the bay.
If I am to win this battle, I need to change the course of the dance. I swing through a wide arc, allowing my silk to catch on the bridge's lower edge, then unlatching. The change in trajectory launches me into the air, unsupported, and I use the momentum of my extra height to latch onto a lower point and repeat my stunt. I am flying now, truly flying; I intercept my opponent's arc, striking her hard. She cries out and loses some of her momentum, and I quickly draw away some of her magic. She pushes away, hissing a curse at me. The audience is murmuring. I must be very careful. Even in the ugliest of exchanges, the battle must look graceful from the cliffs, and we are improvising now, changing the script of the performance.
I'm tiring too quickly; she stole more of my energy than I could afford in the early stages of the battle. Desperately, I recalculate my arc and cast my silk as she unlatches to soar again. My latch strikes hers, sending her silk soaring away from her; as mine falls, it latches again, and she plummets towards the water, missing her cast. I arc upwards and soar again, waiting and praying. She does not surface for long moments. Have I killed her?
She breaks the surface of the water, flying upwards in a shower of sparks, gracefully recasting at the apex of her arc. I almost miss my cast. How - but then her serpent familiar rockets up out of the water, arches beautifully over the bridge, and dives again. Of course. It propelled her back into the air. My shock gives her the moment she needed, and I feel her latch knocking mine off course an instant too late to do anything about it.
Her serpent is in the water. I remember, far too late, that I have no partner, and this piece requires one; when the Phoenix falls, the Monkey-Prince is there to catch her and turn the tide. With no familiar and no partner, I have no chance against the serpent waiting for me under the surface. My boyfriend is on the cliffs, but he knows nothing about the real battle hidden by the silk-dance performances. Nobody is here to save me. I cast my silk again, though I know it is out of range of any latch point.
It catches and holds, and I am almost too surprised to control my arc as I skim just above the water. Above me, hanging from the side-railing of the bridge by one hand, is the Monkey-Prince; he has cast his silk and caught mine just in time. The audience applauds and cheers. Above them, I hear my opponent screeching in frustrated shock. As I swing upwards, the Monkey-Prince winks and grins at me. His familiar dives towards me on mechanical wings, a ball of energy in its forepaws. Maybe I can win this battle after all.