Continued from here
There was a rhythm to be found, in this as well as all things. A balance. A beat. Once it was captured, once you could match the frantic energies of your body with that sustainable, repetitive staccato, it was just a matter of keeping pace. And spurring on the music.
No music in a brawl, though.
Kasoria ignored the cynical little voice and focused on the training dummy before him. His fists moved at quarter-speed, one pulling back as the other snapped out and smashed into the cloth- and rope-wrapped boards, showering the inanimate enemy with blows. Beyond the man and mannequin was nothing but an empty yard and a handful of slowly blinking, every judgmental felines on the wall surrounding it. Beyond the walls was a city bustling and heaving with life and commerce, and Kasoria paid no attention to it.
Half speed.
The punches grew faster. Doubled their pace. Up and down, his knees bending as his punches hammered lower: ribs, kidneys, crotch, then-
-jerking back up with a creak in his joints as a right hook crashed into the thing's jaw and as he drew back his left was jabbing out into its chin-
-and the dance began again, the rhythm refreshed and redoubled. His face shone and he bared his teeth, but his limbs did not slow. He knew that much of his drive was pride. Proving that he wasn't the aging shell that his mind whispered he was becoming. Every arc that passed, he seemed to grow a little slower, a little weaker, and those he faced were just a mite faster, and stronger, and younger. So did that mean he called it a day and started looking elsewhere?
No, he reminded himself as his hands became a blur, pair pf body blows shaking the mannequin and bruising wood and knuckles almost in the same trill, it means you push harder, and for longer, and stop whining about it.
Elbows, now. A new instrument. The little man's arms seemed to invert, hands curled and almost touching his breastbone as his elbows swung out instead of his fists. His hips twisted and pivoted with each blow, speed and power of each one making his lower body twinge but still he kept moving, sweat running down his brow and around his mouth, echoes of the strikes against the wood clattering off the stone walls-
Full speed. Dummy shaking and vibrating constantly with a rain of strikes.
-getting down to one knee with a drop and a thud of one leg against the stones, elbow smashing into the side of one "knee", then the other, imagining the target stumbling down to one knee from the strikes, then rocketing back up-
It was basically an uppercut, only with an elbow instead of a fist. Kasoria went from kneelign to standing in one furious burst of movement, elbow swinging up as he did, the crescendo to this particular number and-
-winced as he felt a pain that told him he was but mortal, and his blow had connected-
-dummy swinging and swaying as it was lifted half a foot of the ground, at least, then bobbed crazily as the little man stood there, watching it. Had it been a real man, that jaw would be shattered and he'd be unconscious. He knew from experience. But doing it once was not the trick; it was being able to do it whenever it was called for. He stood there, panting, sweating and his body craved-
No. You earn water, remember?
The man smiled softly, just for a moment. A wisp of mirth across a face cowled and hidden by hair and shadow. He remembered where he'd learned that. Remembered the voice and the face growling the words. They were still right, still true, even after more than a quarter of a century. So he paced the yard for a bit, glancing hungrily at the pitcher of water by the door, but not partaking... and then began the dance again.
There was a rhythm to be found, in this as well as all things. A balance. A beat. Once it was captured, once you could match the frantic energies of your body with that sustainable, repetitive staccato, it was just a matter of keeping pace. And spurring on the music.
No music in a brawl, though.
Kasoria ignored the cynical little voice and focused on the training dummy before him. His fists moved at quarter-speed, one pulling back as the other snapped out and smashed into the cloth- and rope-wrapped boards, showering the inanimate enemy with blows. Beyond the man and mannequin was nothing but an empty yard and a handful of slowly blinking, every judgmental felines on the wall surrounding it. Beyond the walls was a city bustling and heaving with life and commerce, and Kasoria paid no attention to it.
Half speed.
The punches grew faster. Doubled their pace. Up and down, his knees bending as his punches hammered lower: ribs, kidneys, crotch, then-
-jerking back up with a creak in his joints as a right hook crashed into the thing's jaw and as he drew back his left was jabbing out into its chin-
-and the dance began again, the rhythm refreshed and redoubled. His face shone and he bared his teeth, but his limbs did not slow. He knew that much of his drive was pride. Proving that he wasn't the aging shell that his mind whispered he was becoming. Every arc that passed, he seemed to grow a little slower, a little weaker, and those he faced were just a mite faster, and stronger, and younger. So did that mean he called it a day and started looking elsewhere?
No, he reminded himself as his hands became a blur, pair pf body blows shaking the mannequin and bruising wood and knuckles almost in the same trill, it means you push harder, and for longer, and stop whining about it.
Elbows, now. A new instrument. The little man's arms seemed to invert, hands curled and almost touching his breastbone as his elbows swung out instead of his fists. His hips twisted and pivoted with each blow, speed and power of each one making his lower body twinge but still he kept moving, sweat running down his brow and around his mouth, echoes of the strikes against the wood clattering off the stone walls-
Full speed. Dummy shaking and vibrating constantly with a rain of strikes.
-getting down to one knee with a drop and a thud of one leg against the stones, elbow smashing into the side of one "knee", then the other, imagining the target stumbling down to one knee from the strikes, then rocketing back up-
It was basically an uppercut, only with an elbow instead of a fist. Kasoria went from kneelign to standing in one furious burst of movement, elbow swinging up as he did, the crescendo to this particular number and-
-winced as he felt a pain that told him he was but mortal, and his blow had connected-
-dummy swinging and swaying as it was lifted half a foot of the ground, at least, then bobbed crazily as the little man stood there, watching it. Had it been a real man, that jaw would be shattered and he'd be unconscious. He knew from experience. But doing it once was not the trick; it was being able to do it whenever it was called for. He stood there, panting, sweating and his body craved-
No. You earn water, remember?
The man smiled softly, just for a moment. A wisp of mirth across a face cowled and hidden by hair and shadow. He remembered where he'd learned that. Remembered the voice and the face growling the words. They were still right, still true, even after more than a quarter of a century. So he paced the yard for a bit, glancing hungrily at the pitcher of water by the door, but not partaking... and then began the dance again.
Thanks for Jade for the template
