(no subject)
She wasn't actually juggling her daggers. It was more testing the weight of them, the feel of them. It'd been a while since she'd actually bothered to use them, but last month, the island had almost pushed it. The temple, the occasional tiger - that's what got Shady on the beach now, first flipping her daggers into the air one at a time before slipping them all back into place - and then silently, her feet leaving imprints in the dry sand, she started to move.
Up, down - leaping, thrusting, her eyes open even though she wasn't seeing a beach. It was Heartwood here, with the elf she'd trained with, who'd had 50 centuries under his own belt. It was Allenmere, the alleys and shops that offered so many avenues of escape when just this once someone'd noticed she'd walked off with their purse.
It was the swamp, where apparently she'd gone and gotten her ass handed to her with a tidy bow, considering the pack she'd found with the bloody shirts. She stabbed and swiped and ducked and rolled- all with invisible enemies, twisting her body out of the way.
It was a dance. A dance that she'd been improving for more then 300 years, and sober- Honestly, sober, she was probably as good or better then anyone else on this land in the middle of nowhere. She was used to the ego of humans (honestly, she had an ego of her own), and it made her laugh and shrug off the boastful claims. She considered, though, posting for challengers. Maybe she'd lost her touch. Maybe, because she was human now, things were different.
But her body still knew. The muscles corded under nut-brown skin, her hair heavy as she turned-
And stopped, her dagger an inch away from the person she just nearly stabbed. Her eyes flicked upward, and she raised an eyebrow, her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Lucky you aren't any fatter." Even though it wasn't luck in the slightest.
She didn't know if she believed in luck, anymore.
Up, down - leaping, thrusting, her eyes open even though she wasn't seeing a beach. It was Heartwood here, with the elf she'd trained with, who'd had 50 centuries under his own belt. It was Allenmere, the alleys and shops that offered so many avenues of escape when just this once someone'd noticed she'd walked off with their purse.
It was the swamp, where apparently she'd gone and gotten her ass handed to her with a tidy bow, considering the pack she'd found with the bloody shirts. She stabbed and swiped and ducked and rolled- all with invisible enemies, twisting her body out of the way.
It was a dance. A dance that she'd been improving for more then 300 years, and sober- Honestly, sober, she was probably as good or better then anyone else on this land in the middle of nowhere. She was used to the ego of humans (honestly, she had an ego of her own), and it made her laugh and shrug off the boastful claims. She considered, though, posting for challengers. Maybe she'd lost her touch. Maybe, because she was human now, things were different.
But her body still knew. The muscles corded under nut-brown skin, her hair heavy as she turned-
And stopped, her dagger an inch away from the person she just nearly stabbed. Her eyes flicked upward, and she raised an eyebrow, her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Lucky you aren't any fatter." Even though it wasn't luck in the slightest.
She didn't know if she believed in luck, anymore.