Science/Fantasy Monday: 100th Post Celebration
This marks my 100th blog post since I began this blog last July! WOOHOO!
I admit that 100 posts doesn’t seem like enough in a little over a year. But it took me awhile to get the hang of this blogging thing, to find a good rhythm, a routine, a flow I could work with consistently. And I think I’m starting to get it down now. But whether its less than it should be or not, 100 posts is still a pretty cool milestone, and I say it’s time to celebrate!
So again: WOOHOO!!!
I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than with Jensen Ackles. DANCING. Like Michael Jackson. Yeah. ‘Nuff Said.
To further celebrate, I thought I would share one more little tidbit from my WIP Midnight’s Knife, because a few people at least showed some interest last week. This is a short one, especially compared the first scene I posted a couple months ago. But I think it’s a fun little scene. Also, as my current WIP is an Urban Fantasy, I’m telling myself that this post still technically fits into my Science/Fantasy Monday theme. (That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!)
This is a flashback scene. Therefore, Gabrielle (the MC) who is 20 years old in the story, is younger in the scene. Also, I am still undecided on how well this scene fits into the overall flow of the story. I may decide this particular flashback is ultimately unnecessary, in which case, this may be the only time anyone ever sees it. So, that’s kind of cool, yes?
Arm block, spin kick, punch to solar plexus, wrist caught by opponent, twist arm, duck under, turn into strangle hold, punch to kidney, grip on arm still tight, open-hand chop to side of neck, grip loosened, fall away, round-house kick to chin, spin kick again.
“Gabrielle!” Pearce yelled from across the room. “What the hell are you doing?”
Gabrielle froze, and her sparring partner backed away a few steps with an amused smirk. Looking down at her feet and shuffling nervously, she muttered, “I was just…”
“Don’t ‘I was just…’ me,” Pearce said sternly as he strode up to her. “What do you call that dance routine?”
Pearce looked down at her imperiously. “This is not a martial arts movie. Or an exhibition match. This is not about clean fighting, or graceful fighting, or ‘look how cool I am’ fighting. This is about life or death.”
Gabrielle nodded, embarrassed. Her sparring partner stood a few feet away, trying not to laugh. She threw a glare in his direction. Then Pearce crossed his arms and claimed her attention again.
“How old are you now?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“Thirteen…” she mumbled.
“In other words, too old for this nonsense. You could be on the streets hunting demons as early as next year, Gabrielle. Stop playing around and get your act together. Get it?”
“Got it,” she said sullenly, her eyes fixed on her feet.
“Good.” With that Pearce strode away again.
Gabrielle sighed glumly and pulled absent-mindedly at her braid hanging over her shoulder. Her dark hair was getting long, down past her shoulder blades now, and it was starting to get in the way. With a frustrated groan, she picked up the end of her braid and tossed it angrily over her shoulder.
“Well, I thought your dance moves were very pretty,” her sparring partner said with a laugh.
She turned to glare at him. “Oh shut up, Patrick,” she said, and stuck her tongue out at him.
He laughed again. “And if that braid is getting in the way, I’m sure we could find a pair of pruning shears and take care of that with one snip.”
“Can we get back to sparring now?” Gabrielle demanded. Patrick grinned and dropped into his fighting stance.
And just like that, they were back to business. Patrick Arrow, Pearce’s nephew and the current Sword of the Arrow family, was five years older than Gabrielle and eight inches taller than her. It was as mismatched a fight as Gabrielle could imagine. But she was learning quickly. And she found that with her long legs and quick reflexes she could hold her own against him for short amounts of time. But eventually his longer arms and superior strength would get the best of her. When Gabrielle finally end flat on her back with Patrick standing over her, he flashed her a thousand-watt smile, pushed his shaggy dark hair out of his darker eyes, and held a hand out to help her up again.
“You’re getting there,” he said warmly. Then he added with a teasing grin: “but you’ll never be as good as me.”
There it is, folks. I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to chime in on the comments. I can handle criticism, I promise. And I’ll see you all back here on Bookworm Wednesday!