Nyx..
Cassandra..
Halai..
Sudden Storm..
Jessadriel..
. . . . . .
Walks away with a very satisfied look on My face, wiggling My toes to get the circulation back into them.
Now knowing what "nards" are, having seen MSR scratching His in living color last night. I remove My slippers and pull on a pair of old boots*
*Walking around My target, getting a feel for height and distance...stopping in front of it, taking a step backwards, looking at it, a puzzled frown creasing My brow...kneeling in front of it to peer more closely...looking up at the P/people around Me.* I don't think I can do this...it doesn't seem to have any nards to kick...*sighing as I rise*... I guess I'll just have to kick in the general vicinity...
*Balancing on My left foot, raising My right one and pressing it lightly in the appropriate area...holding it there for balance while I scootch My left foot a bit to get the distance just right, so that My target is 6 to 8 inches short of the full reach of My leg*
*Bringing My right foot back, settling into a T-stance, left knee slightly flexed for balance...Drawing My right leg up until My foot is even with My hip, chambering the kick...turning My hips slightly then lashing out with My foot, the power of the kick coming from My hips... *
: *Connecting to My target with a loud
THWOCK!!!!!
*leg snapping back into the chambered position, then lowering it demurely to the floor and making My way back to My chair*
*Removing My boots and putting on My slippers, tossing the boots into the fire to destroy the cooties they picked up...*
Psyching Myself up... as though in defense of My Home Stone.. I kick up hard and fast with the right boot.. making the eyes of the WEASLE fare stream rather than lightly water.. the steel cap connecting with a painful accuracy.. a cry erupting from His mouth.. then without even a blink of My eye, with a flowing grace, right foot down.. elegantly pivoting upon ball of foot, and with lightning speed, slam in and up with the left boot.. watching the eyes of the STUD protrude beyond His comfort.. seeing Him quickly groping for some support..
: then.. strolling back to take off My 'working' boots and slipping My feet once again into My soft kaiila ones.. giving a 'wink' to the Jarl.. the 'wink' to be passed back to Lady Nxy..*G*
the Expert
*walking around You, appraisingly. Noting a distinct lack of spine, and deciding to correct the situation with a bit of re-internalized support, I haul my Women's size 11 foot back, bending the ankle into an appropriately angled curve, and come in tight and fast, driving Your nards in the direction of your spine, figuring that all the hot air in them might do a bit of inflating of that spine* There...now let's see how You do with THAT lesson!
How should a Free Woman answer such insult/ Thus offered in place of the courtesy due/ To one of her rank? Oh, her Brothers were angry, /But, heeding the Law, there was naught they could do./ Nor did her quiva (the gift of a Tuchuk/ To honor her poetry) fly to his throat,/ Nor venomed black knife end his life in convulsions/ (Another friend's gift - an Assassin of note)./ No - she in silence, with one slender hand,/ Merely gathered her full velvet skirts from the ground,/ Turning away from the Stud, as if leaving him, Then, with a striking larl's swiftness, spun round./ Strong, the straight leg of a Champion's Daughter! / Heavy, the weight of the boot sung by Bards! / Skillful, the spinning back-kick that struck solidly,/ Catching the sneering Stud right in the nards.
Down, with a bellow of agony, fell he,/ As gasping and retching he writhed in the dirt,/ Still he said nothing when softly she asked him/ With fitting politeness, "Oh my... did that hurt?" / So she departed beside her tall Brothers, / They roaring with laughter, a smile on her face, / To watch talmit-winnings and other amusements,/ Patting her golden hair back into place./ No wergild was levied, no blood-feud was started, / The Lawgivers granting that what the Law said/ Was that at a Festival MEN were forbidden/ From fighting, and that there could be no blood shed,/ And also agreeing the blow was struck fairly /In answer to insult: a warning to all/ That manners do count, and a Free Man of courtesy / Always replies when a Woman says "Tal".
