We Sing, We Fight, We Kill Things
A twilight martial arts fanfiction by Calliope Sylvers (aka yuanzhe!)
Summary: Edward's the human; Bella's the vamp. Edward lives in California and trains Botista Kajukenbo but he moves to Forks.
The phone rang, and Edward answered the phone, knowing instantly who it would be.
"Yo, Edward, you got your brown belt yet? Cause I did."
"Congrats, man! How are you? How's Pittsburgh? I've missed you," Edward said into the phone.
Edward jumped out of his bed, his agile feet landing on the tainted wooden floor. His eyes darted from place to place, methodically absorbing his dark, wooden room for one last time. Then he grinned. He ran to his ivory drawer and pulled on a faded pair of jeans (always the ones with the holes on the knees). He threw off his sweaty t-shirt and through on a black T-shirt that said, in crimson red ink, "OMG Kajukenbo." Edward Mason was an honorary member of the Pittsburgh Kajukenbo group – the scarce group of people who found humor of jujitshoes, registering at a restaurant as "Death", mass killing, zombies, et cetera. Edward knew about it all.
Now, saying as he was an honorary member, it didn't mean he didn't train: he sure as hell did train, and he was a green belt in Botista Kajukenbo. He didn't train with his friends, that was the only difference, and none of that mattered anyways.
"Edward! Wake up already!" his mom called frantically. Edward grinned: leave it to sporadic Renee to not hear the phone ringing.
"Hey mom! I'm up!" Edward called. There was humor in his voice.
Edward ran down the rickety staircase and popped a whole-wheat bagel into the toaster. His bronze hair was wild. Tangled strands of hair violently descended over his dark green eyes. His pale, angled face looked sharp in this particular angle of light: one of the kitchen light bulbs burnt out weeks ago, but the other light bulbs glared sharply at Edward.
"Brush your hair, Edward," Renee said. Edward turned around and grimaced.
"Are you serious, mom?" he said, but soon there was a smile on his face. Because of course she wasn't serious; Edward's hair was like this every single day and it wasn't about to change the day Renee and Charlie finally decided to get back together. Edward didn't really mind moving to a completely foreign city for his junior year of high school: not if it meant if his parents, so desperately in love, were officially getting back together.
The toaster made a subtle TSWAP sound and Edward's bagel flew up in the air, crisp and slightly brown around the edges. Edward grabbed it and shoved it into his mouth.
"I'm going downstairs to practice, mom, okay?" Edward said.
"Yeah, fine, just make sure you're ready in three hours," Renee said. Edward grinned. Sure, he would miss the huge basement-turned-dojo, and would not look forward to Forks' damp, murky weather, but something in his bones told Edward to just go along with this. Because why not?
Edward flew down the stairs and grabbed the crumpled black ball – or, that is, what would seem, to the untrained eye, as a crumpled black ball. What it really was, was Edward's wrinkled, unwashed, black gi pants. Edward pulled down his jeans and slipped on the dirty gi pants.
Edward went through several pinyons (A/N: the equivalent of a karate kata). His eyes were fierce, focused on the invisible opponent that was threatening his sanity. Turn around, grab him, then the leg bends with amazing power, pummeling into his ribs and ricocheting back and landing silently on a ground. Not a sound, silent warrior, that is until its time to kiai.
The Prophecy: that's what they say; they all do this because of a prophecy; right about now Edward wants to laugh. There is no fucking prophecy. Just a bunch of men and women who want to destroy things without being seen as deviant. Snap the belt and pour the energy into the mind and body, that's how it goes.
Edward ran through the sixth pinyon and then worked on basic movements up and down red and blue matt: front kicks, side kicks, punches, elbow strikes, back knuckle strikes. Edward had everything in the bucket. This ain't your ordinary bag of tricks. Because man, it ain't no trick.
Edward proceeded to do knuckle pushups on the area of the basement floor that was hardwood. He had conquered the pain a long time ago, knowing that building strong bones was an important factor in martial success. And then there was his brother back in California – they were like brothers, that is, even if they weren't really brothers. Always obsessed with those knuckle push-ups. Not a damn thing wrong with it, either.
Two hours later Edward ran up the staircase, still grinning like a maniac, and jumped in the shower. He would only shower for five minutes; he didn't need that much more of that liquid water. After washing his face, Edward bounded out of the shower and threw his OMG Kajukenbo shirt and holed-jeans back on. He threw his gi into his bag. He ran downstairs and folded up the matts. He sat in that huge basement for the last time, staring at the odd angles of the room with forlorn nostalgia. That blotchy stain on the wall over there, most likely it was dried blood. Edward stared at it with soft green eyes. He finished up folding the matts and flew up the stairs ('never look back, never look back') and threw them in the back trunk of Renee's bright red car. Most of the boxes had already been sent to Charlie's house in Forks; what couldn't be packed would be left for Phil, the man that was buying the house Renee and Edward were (forever) leaving behind.
"Are you ready, Edward?" Renee asked.
And of course, he thought he was.
Always Mr. Danger, that's Edward. Everyone had a nickname in Kajukenbo. Consider it initiation ritual. Nothing painful. Not that pain can't be a good thing. Always depends on the way you look at it.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
Edward slid into the shot-gun seat and stared out the window, watching as Phoenix's dry desert land flew backwards, out of their sight. And then their car sped into a wonderland. Metaphorically, of course.
He didn't know that he'd really find her wonderland. But it wouldn't be her wonderland, either. She would redefine wonderland; someone would have to write a whole new book, make a new movie. Redefine wonderland, hmmm.
'You're not so fragile now, kid.'
He never was.
To Be Continued….
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