« on: February 19, 2006, 04:05:24 pm »
Another Marissa Sune vignette, this time a direct 'sequel' to the one that came before.
Tell me what ya'll think.
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Sparring
Student and teacher circled each other.
“Decided I might have something to teach you after all?” Her instructor asked. He was stocky, bald, and usually infuriating. His breath steamed in the cool air.
“Yes.” Marissa declared.
She hadn’t expected approval from this man. She had expected confirmation. The fist he threw at her caught her by surpise, her deflection clumsy. Other attacks followed, becoming faster and faster. She knew from painful experience that she wasn’t good enough to win. She stole a heartbeat with a single good parry and hopped away.
He didn’t follow.
“Running?” He sneered. Teacher and student circled each other warily.
“Controlling the fight.” She countered. She’d disagreed with him on the necessity of such maneuvers previously. The disagreement had led to argument, blows, painful personal assessment.
He nodded once. It was as close to praise as the man ever gave. She could’ve tested his emotions, stolen positive reinforcement directly from his mind, but Master Slask had forbidden it.
The next exchange was more controlled, more instructional. She countered, as he’d once instructed, without preplanned patterns. She let her instincts guide her. He nodded again.
“Less movement. The more you move, the more time it takes.” He ordered, ending the spar with nothing more than a shift in tone. “Show me how block, again.”
Slow motion punches, kicks, and grabs followed. She countered. He told her she was doing it wrong, correcting minor flaws in the way she moved, held herself, attacked, defended. It was old ground, but there’d been a pause in their instruction.
Marissa noted that she was listening to him. That was better than things had been before their disagreement. She had tried to make herself more accepting of his skill, his superiority as a fighter despite his lack of the force…tried to purge the Jedi haughtiness from herself. She cared more about that than punches and kicks despite her fondness for physical pursuits. It was unworthy of her.
Yet it remained, lurking at the edges of her mind. Jedi weren’t supposed to hate, but she hated her own sense of superiority. It wasn’t what she wanted. Worst of all, it didn’t feel like something that belonged to her. It was borrowed snobbery.
Still, she was listening to her teacher again. That was progress.
“All right.” The bald man said. “On the bag.”
There was a bulky punching bag hanging from a nearby tree. She’d be expected to hit the bag until she’d proven his corrections had taken root. She assaulted it.
She realized it was possible that her presumption, her prejudice, might never be completely eradicated. That angered her. She planned for it anyway. If such thoughts couldn’t be wiped out then they must be assaulted at any oppurtunity as well as guarded against. She could certainly do that.
“Don’t let up.” The bald man advised. Marissa’s fists continued to hammer the bag.
“Not going to.” She declared.
End
