Ted felt the impact, knew his hellfire walkers had won the clash, then
enjoyed his own descent so much he nearly forgot to land properly, righting
himself 180 degrees as he touched ground. He humbly resisted the urge to
bow like a matador as imaginary roses and cheers assailed him.
But he was smiling and panting. He had time to catch his breath now; time
for the adrenaline to relent and present normalcy to his senses. In a way,
he wish he could play spectator to his own fight. The marvel of the
life-fibers made him do impressive feats, surely, but he could not help but
take them for granted. Was there a way to retain one's humility even while
leaping like a grasshopper and kicking like a mule? Would every fight, by
necessity of its immediate practicality, be numbed to its own art? He had
to imbibe Vyers' spirit, and never let combat become prosaic.
Caught up in philosophical reveries, he was a while in responding. "Oh, ah,
relieved, I supposed. That was...almost too novel for comment" By his
breathing, it took more out of him than it let on. A moment of rest
revealed his exhaustion. "Well, I'm shaken, but not stirred. I owe my
victory to all of you, and many more who aren't here, but ought to be."
This was shouted to his audience of three.
He took stock of his body; a rare inventory. His limbs stung a bit for
going up against 'Hard' Man, and his back was sore from taking a pair of
exploding fists. Otherwise, his airy feet and monkey agility had done the
trick of keeping him out of harm's way. It'd be but a minute before he was
ready for his next and final opponent. "All right, Star, do your worst. The
day is still young!"
no subject
Ted felt the impact, knew his hellfire walkers had won the clash, then enjoyed his own descent so much he nearly forgot to land properly, righting himself 180 degrees as he touched ground. He humbly resisted the urge to bow like a matador as imaginary roses and cheers assailed him.
But he was smiling and panting. He had time to catch his breath now; time for the adrenaline to relent and present normalcy to his senses. In a way, he wish he could play spectator to his own fight. The marvel of the life-fibers made him do impressive feats, surely, but he could not help but take them for granted. Was there a way to retain one's humility even while leaping like a grasshopper and kicking like a mule? Would every fight, by necessity of its immediate practicality, be numbed to its own art? He had to imbibe Vyers' spirit, and never let combat become prosaic.
Caught up in philosophical reveries, he was a while in responding. "Oh, ah, relieved, I supposed. That was...almost too novel for comment" By his breathing, it took more out of him than it let on. A moment of rest revealed his exhaustion. "Well, I'm shaken, but not stirred. I owe my victory to all of you, and many more who aren't here, but ought to be." This was shouted to his audience of three.
He took stock of his body; a rare inventory. His limbs stung a bit for going up against 'Hard' Man, and his back was sore from taking a pair of exploding fists. Otherwise, his airy feet and monkey agility had done the trick of keeping him out of harm's way. It'd be but a minute before he was ready for his next and final opponent. "All right, Star, do your worst. The day is still young!"