(no subject)
Pineapple #10. Well, When You Put It That Way
and Flavor of the Day 7/12/2011 - Assay with Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1275
Word Count : 987
Malt Prompt : Summer 2010 - Everyone learns faster on fire
Word of the Day : Assay - to examine or analyze; to attempt or try
Continuing bulldozing my half-finished brownies, because I need a fresh start. This one is seriously something like 2 years old - from when some of us were contemplating doing peanut butter brownies (this was to be fire: life lessons from Lyssa). I have the beginning and the end but not the middle, so here's the beginning.
Mara settled back on her heels, the wooden training sword hanging from her hands like it was lead. Not ten paces before her, Mother strolled back and forth across the lawn, playfully twirling her own weapon in the air.
Mother slowed her pace, dragging the toes of her boots in the grass. With a smirk, she tapped the flat of her blade against her shoulder. “Tired?”
Mara scowled and prayed she couldn’t hear her ragged breathing. How a woman who spent half her time passed out drunk on the floor could move so fast, she hadn‘t a clue. “No.”
“Good then.” Mother tossed her sword into the air and caught it, one hand snapping about the hilt. She let it fall back to her side. “Come at me again.”
Mara gritted her teeth and hefted her sword. On the balls of her feet, sword braced before her, she readied herself. She lunged and swung. A sharp clack sounded, of wood on wood. The blow jarred her arm and sent her stumbling back.
Mother yawned. “Come now,” she said, as Mara retreated a pace to size her up once more, “put some fire into it.”
Mara winced. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to do that.”
“Don’t want you to burn me,” said Mother. “A little passion. You’ve got to want to hit me.”
“But it’s just practice.” Mara chewed her lip as Mother made another pass across the lawn, wooden blade bouncing against her shoulder.
She paused, sword cocked, to shoot her a look over the blade. “And you should be practicing winning. If all you know how to do is go through the motions enough to get me off your back, what good is that going to do you when the fight is for real?”
“As if I’m ever going to see the real thing.”
Mother flashed her a grin that made her stomach turn just a bit. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. She brought the blade back down, planted her feet, and let it swing about her hips. “Now, come at me again.”
Mara raised her sword. She swung, the blades clacked together. “Like you mean it,” said Mother, and she flicked the blade aside with her own. Mara bounced back, hopping from one foot to the other, not letting the deflection of the blow slow her down. She swung again. The blades met with a sharp smack and enough force to send her staggering on the rebound. “Like you want it,” Mother said, her own weapon falling into a leisurely sway at her side.
Mara scowled, pacing in the grass, sword poised before her. “You want to beat me,” Mother went on, sword dangling from her hand like a sack of groceries. “I know you want to beat me.” Mara clenched her jaws and charged. “I know just how you’d feel if you did.” Mother watched her approach. “And you want it.” Her blade snapped into place at the last possible moment, holding Mara’s at bay. “Oh, do you want it,” she said as the two stood firmly planted, staring each other down over the locked blades. She gave a shove and Mara lost her footing and stumbled back a pace. “So show me.”
She caught herself after just a step and pushed herself back into the fight. Blades clacked together, swung apart and met again. “They think you’re nothing,” said Mother, her blade descending on Mara’s, “‘cause you’re mine? They’re wrong, you know.” There was a fire in her eyes, that light they took on when she was telling stories of the old days, of battles and monsters. “You’re everything.” Swords clacked, wood ground against wood. “Because you’re mine.” Mara pulled free and heaved her blade up for another swing. “You could take them all on.” She caught the next attack with no more effort than the last, but her tone said she meant it. “One at a time, all at once, doesn’t matter. You just have to want it.” She knocked her back again. “Might beat me someday.”
Enough with someday, she’d beat her today. Mara whipped the sword through the air with all the force she could muster and brought it crashing down on Mother’s. When Mother pushed, she pushed back and Mother took a step this time. Mara pressed her, with quick, short blows that forced her to turning her blade this way and that, shuffling back across the yard and grinning like a fool.
It was too easy. She was advancing on her, each swing a little broader, each blow a little harder. She was in control. Her heart raced, sweat clung to her flesh, and like Mother, she was grinning like a fool. She was winning. She was driving Mother back, ready to aim a final blow. She was…watching her sword go flying across the yard.
“That,” said Mother shoving damp red locks from her face as she fought to master her breath. “That is more like it.”
“But I lost,” said Mara, frowning at the training blade where it lay in the grass.
“But you tried,” said Mother, still with that infuriating grin. “What? You thought you’d beat me the first time you put some real effort into it?”
“Well, no. I…”
“You know,” she said, stooping to retrieve the fallen sword, “that goes for more than swords. You let these girls walk all over you.”
“I do not,” said Mara, a bit more forcefully than she might have liked.
Mother cocked a brow and Mara’s eyes fell to her boots. “They’re no better than you are. Only difference is that you think they are.”
“But-”
“No buts.” The blades clacked together as she balanced them both on a shoulder. “You want something, you don’t make excuses.” A hand struck Mara across the back and she stumbled forward. “You fight for it. You got that?”
Following quietly after as Mother headed for the gate, Mara nodded.
and Flavor of the Day 7/12/2011 - Assay with Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1275
Word Count : 987
Malt Prompt : Summer 2010 - Everyone learns faster on fire
Word of the Day : Assay - to examine or analyze; to attempt or try
Continuing bulldozing my half-finished brownies, because I need a fresh start. This one is seriously something like 2 years old - from when some of us were contemplating doing peanut butter brownies (this was to be fire: life lessons from Lyssa). I have the beginning and the end but not the middle, so here's the beginning.
Mara settled back on her heels, the wooden training sword hanging from her hands like it was lead. Not ten paces before her, Mother strolled back and forth across the lawn, playfully twirling her own weapon in the air.
Mother slowed her pace, dragging the toes of her boots in the grass. With a smirk, she tapped the flat of her blade against her shoulder. “Tired?”
Mara scowled and prayed she couldn’t hear her ragged breathing. How a woman who spent half her time passed out drunk on the floor could move so fast, she hadn‘t a clue. “No.”
“Good then.” Mother tossed her sword into the air and caught it, one hand snapping about the hilt. She let it fall back to her side. “Come at me again.”
Mara gritted her teeth and hefted her sword. On the balls of her feet, sword braced before her, she readied herself. She lunged and swung. A sharp clack sounded, of wood on wood. The blow jarred her arm and sent her stumbling back.
Mother yawned. “Come now,” she said, as Mara retreated a pace to size her up once more, “put some fire into it.”
Mara winced. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to do that.”
“Don’t want you to burn me,” said Mother. “A little passion. You’ve got to want to hit me.”
“But it’s just practice.” Mara chewed her lip as Mother made another pass across the lawn, wooden blade bouncing against her shoulder.
She paused, sword cocked, to shoot her a look over the blade. “And you should be practicing winning. If all you know how to do is go through the motions enough to get me off your back, what good is that going to do you when the fight is for real?”
“As if I’m ever going to see the real thing.”
Mother flashed her a grin that made her stomach turn just a bit. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. She brought the blade back down, planted her feet, and let it swing about her hips. “Now, come at me again.”
Mara raised her sword. She swung, the blades clacked together. “Like you mean it,” said Mother, and she flicked the blade aside with her own. Mara bounced back, hopping from one foot to the other, not letting the deflection of the blow slow her down. She swung again. The blades met with a sharp smack and enough force to send her staggering on the rebound. “Like you want it,” Mother said, her own weapon falling into a leisurely sway at her side.
Mara scowled, pacing in the grass, sword poised before her. “You want to beat me,” Mother went on, sword dangling from her hand like a sack of groceries. “I know you want to beat me.” Mara clenched her jaws and charged. “I know just how you’d feel if you did.” Mother watched her approach. “And you want it.” Her blade snapped into place at the last possible moment, holding Mara’s at bay. “Oh, do you want it,” she said as the two stood firmly planted, staring each other down over the locked blades. She gave a shove and Mara lost her footing and stumbled back a pace. “So show me.”
She caught herself after just a step and pushed herself back into the fight. Blades clacked together, swung apart and met again. “They think you’re nothing,” said Mother, her blade descending on Mara’s, “‘cause you’re mine? They’re wrong, you know.” There was a fire in her eyes, that light they took on when she was telling stories of the old days, of battles and monsters. “You’re everything.” Swords clacked, wood ground against wood. “Because you’re mine.” Mara pulled free and heaved her blade up for another swing. “You could take them all on.” She caught the next attack with no more effort than the last, but her tone said she meant it. “One at a time, all at once, doesn’t matter. You just have to want it.” She knocked her back again. “Might beat me someday.”
Enough with someday, she’d beat her today. Mara whipped the sword through the air with all the force she could muster and brought it crashing down on Mother’s. When Mother pushed, she pushed back and Mother took a step this time. Mara pressed her, with quick, short blows that forced her to turning her blade this way and that, shuffling back across the yard and grinning like a fool.
It was too easy. She was advancing on her, each swing a little broader, each blow a little harder. She was in control. Her heart raced, sweat clung to her flesh, and like Mother, she was grinning like a fool. She was winning. She was driving Mother back, ready to aim a final blow. She was…watching her sword go flying across the yard.
“That,” said Mother shoving damp red locks from her face as she fought to master her breath. “That is more like it.”
“But I lost,” said Mara, frowning at the training blade where it lay in the grass.
“But you tried,” said Mother, still with that infuriating grin. “What? You thought you’d beat me the first time you put some real effort into it?”
“Well, no. I…”
“You know,” she said, stooping to retrieve the fallen sword, “that goes for more than swords. You let these girls walk all over you.”
“I do not,” said Mara, a bit more forcefully than she might have liked.
Mother cocked a brow and Mara’s eyes fell to her boots. “They’re no better than you are. Only difference is that you think they are.”
“But-”
“No buts.” The blades clacked together as she balanced them both on a shoulder. “You want something, you don’t make excuses.” A hand struck Mara across the back and she stumbled forward. “You fight for it. You got that?”
Following quietly after as Mother headed for the gate, Mara nodded.