Oh no, another author's note? But the world ended last chapter, so this must mean the end of the universe.
Well, either which way, I wrote my first drabble/ficlet/short-short/whatever you wanna call it. I really enjoyed writing it, so I hope others like it. Yes, Every Day Is Real-Boutish is still being written. I just have a lot on my plate with other things to write (you know, the stuff that gives me an income), college, and the like. Plus, I'm rewriting what I had. I have a horrible problem with pacing, and it's becoming more apparent with each class I take, so I'm working on that. This is not only a nice little short, but a promise that Every Day is what I will be updating next, so hopefully I'll have something soon, for those of you who follow it (in its glorious whole three chapters).
Anyhow, this is a long enough author's note, I think. Yeah, just a little short. I hope you enjoy. Review, and I might catch my muse faster. 3
See, the universe really is ending? I just begged for reviews for my first time. o.O And I wrote in first-person. Expect Uriel's arrows and Gabriel's horn, people.
Sweat beaded off Ryoko's form as she moved about the empty dojo. Her brown bokken clenched tightly in her hands, the samurai girl moved as if in a dance. The sword seemed like a mere extension of her arms, moving with a grace that should never have been embedded in but a plank of wood.
Bare feet slapping on the ground, Ryoko twisted and turned, lunged and feinted, attacked and defended. Hers was a performance not meant for battle, not meant for the eyes of another. This was not about swordplay. This was not about becoming a better fighter, or growing stronger, or even about Tatsuya or Shizuma. This was about her, the strange combination she represented, the woman and the warrior.
This was Ryoko Mitsurugi, and it was for herself.
Deftly moving her toned body, heedless of the constrictions placed on her by the impractical school uniform clinging, damply, to her body, the woman, the warrior, merely moved. She had nothing planned for this. Her heart did not move her body, her mind did not move her body, her body did not movie itself. She moved, and that was it. Each part influenced another, and it created a perfect balance.
She did not notice as her breath began to force itself out in heaves, as her ponytail sagged, as her arms grew sore, as she nearly slipped for the sweat covering the dojo's floor. Her physical surroundings did not matter to her, only movement did.
Only the movement, only the dance, only the sword, only the-
Ryoko fell flat on her face. Her sword clattered to the ground beside her.
"Dude. I thought ya could manage a little more grace'n that, Ryoko."
Heaving and snarling, Ryoko snapped her gaze up. "You… you… YOU DAMN MONKEY!" She was back up on her feet within moment, shinai soon in hand once more, and she lunged at the intruder. All thoughts of grace vanished. All sense of honor fled. Ryoko Mitsurugi, what she was, still remained.
Just a different part.