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The Delicate Art of Thunder


Lord Fell

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Pompadour stepped out of his corner, in a reasonable approximation of a boxer's bounce. Half a dozen tendrils of hair spread out before him, twitching back and forth like snakes. Without much ado, one of those tendrils snaps out and tags Thunder. To his credit, Pompadour doesn't drop his guard after delivering the hit.

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"Nice shot!" Thunder noted appreciatively, resolving not to be caught flat-footed again.

Suddenly, she was airborne, doing some kind of spinning flip that left Pompadour with no idea where the heck she was going to land. Which she didn't. Instead, she lightly kicked him in the shoulder and used the nearly imperceptible force of the attack to send her flipping head over heels, only to finally touch down off to Pompadour's left side.

Her forehead creased slightly in surprise at how easily she had tagged him in return. Perhaps that first hit was just a lucky shot.

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Pompadour stepped forward to meet Thunder's attack, and then backpedaled when she went airborne, and then turned rapidly when she flashed out of his line of sight -the wrong way. The solid blow to his shoulder clued him into her true whereabouts. I think some distance would be good here... Pompadour skittered across the ring on tendrils of hair, not unlike a big spider.

Rapidly reorienting himself, he launched a wave of hair at Thunder, but aimed to low to connect with the soaring fighter.

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The two combatants continued to circle around the ring, trading 'tags' for almost 10 minutes. Mostly Thunder tagging Pompadour, but that was to be expected. It became apparent to Thunder that Pompadour had the fighting skills of someone with good reflexes and who watched a fair bit of Pro-Wresting or a few chop-socky movies. A lot of natural talent, and a long way to go.

Later, with a towel over his shoulders and sports-drink in hand, Pompadour listened to Thunder outline an exercise an training regiment. He nodded and seemed agreeable, but remained elusive about setting a time for his next appointment.

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