Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Wednesday May 8th, 2019
The exercise: Write about: an iron fist. In celebration of my finally finishing season 2 of Iron Fist. Which was just so, so much better than season 1. Now on to Daredevil Season 3!
It looks like the second season of Iron Fist was also the last, which seems a shame if it managed to improve so much. Still, I guess Netflix only has so much money with which to tell stories, so sometimes room must be made for new ones. [Ran over the word limit, sorry :( ]
Iron Fist The dojo was silent. Three rows of students lined the four walls of the dojo, each neatly dressed in steel-gray robes: loose fitting, soft cotton pants and a long gi, neatly tied with a coloured belt, over it. The students were lined up in order of age, so the belts formed tiny rainbows as the master scanned the room. He pointed to a student, whose eyes went wide. "You. Challenge me." The student stepped forward, looking nervous. They wore a green belt, had black hair and dark eyes, but still moved with the grace of a large cat. "Sensei," he said, bowing low. The master inclined his head, equivalent to a bow from someone of his level and status. The student watched the master for a long moment, then blurred. His fist shot towards the master's shoulder at the same time as his opposite leg shot towards the master's knee. Neither connected, of course, as the master moved out of the way. The master's movements were almost causal compared with the students, but if you hadn't been training here for a year already they were moving too fast to understand what you were seeing. The student allowed his momentum to pull him forward, turning a sprawl into a tuck and roll and bringing his leg up in a roundhouse as he corrected his position and turned to face the master. His foot hissed through the air above the master's head -- he'd dropped to a crouch, anticipating the student. With barely a hint of surprise the student dropped his foot in an axe-strike, but the master rolled fluidly to the side and the foot slammed into the mat with a thwack. The master's fist punched into the student's solar plexus and the student folded up, gasping for breath and seeing only tiny coloured pinpricks of light in his vision. "The Iron Fist," said the master. "An advanced move, taught only-" "-by playing Street Fighter," said a voice from the back.
The master frowned and stood up. He waved a hand and two students ran forward to pull the stricken student from the mat and take him to a corner where he could lean against a wall and drink water. "Challenge me," said the master. "You even sound like Street Fighter," said the voice. "I remember playing it in the arca-" "CHALLENGE ME!" It was more of a scream than a command. "Fine," said the voice. A young man dressed in black jeans, neatly ripped at the knees, a black t-shirt with the Hidden Hospitals logo on it and a bandanna round his head stepped out of the ranks. Around him there was an intake of breath; students shocked at this lack of discipline. The master's eyes tightened, and his fingers flexed, tensing fractionally, but he kept control of himself. The young man bowed so deep his forehead touched the floor, and while he was doing so the master leapt into the air and kicked. Somehow the young man must have been expecting the master to cheat for he stepped sideways, still bowing, and the foot swept past him so close that the master felt the tickle of cotton fibres against the sole of his foot. The master launched a stunning onslaught of kicks, punches, hooks, jabs and uppercuts, a flurry of action so precise and determined that it was obvious to everyone that the young man was going to end up so bruised that people would be refusing to believe he wasn't being abused for weeks. Yet the young man seemed to always be just slightly out of place for each attack, and when the master halted, breathing hard, the young man was untouched and standing at his shoulder. The young man pulled a nerf gun out from behind his back, that every student in the room would have sworn wasn't there, and pointed it at the master. The foam bullet popped against the master's chest, and Death smiled forgivingly.
Greg - well, that and Disney is starting their own streaming service and wants all their Marvel stuff off other services. So hopefully all these series' are born again - Daredevil and Punisher in particular.
Was not expecting Dee after the first installment. Needless to say, was pleasantly surprised to find him challenging the master in the second. Really enjoyed your description of the action here.
3 comments:
It looks like the second season of Iron Fist was also the last, which seems a shame if it managed to improve so much. Still, I guess Netflix only has so much money with which to tell stories, so sometimes room must be made for new ones.
[Ran over the word limit, sorry :( ]
Iron Fist
The dojo was silent. Three rows of students lined the four walls of the dojo, each neatly dressed in steel-gray robes: loose fitting, soft cotton pants and a long gi, neatly tied with a coloured belt, over it. The students were lined up in order of age, so the belts formed tiny rainbows as the master scanned the room. He pointed to a student, whose eyes went wide.
"You. Challenge me."
The student stepped forward, looking nervous. They wore a green belt, had black hair and dark eyes, but still moved with the grace of a large cat.
"Sensei," he said, bowing low. The master inclined his head, equivalent to a bow from someone of his level and status.
The student watched the master for a long moment, then blurred. His fist shot towards the master's shoulder at the same time as his opposite leg shot towards the master's knee. Neither connected, of course, as the master moved out of the way. The master's movements were almost causal compared with the students, but if you hadn't been training here for a year already they were moving too fast to understand what you were seeing. The student allowed his momentum to pull him forward, turning a sprawl into a tuck and roll and bringing his leg up in a roundhouse as he corrected his position and turned to face the master. His foot hissed through the air above the master's head -- he'd dropped to a crouch, anticipating the student. With barely a hint of surprise the student dropped his foot in an axe-strike, but the master rolled fluidly to the side and the foot slammed into the mat with a thwack.
The master's fist punched into the student's solar plexus and the student folded up, gasping for breath and seeing only tiny coloured pinpricks of light in his vision.
"The Iron Fist," said the master. "An advanced move, taught only-"
"-by playing Street Fighter," said a voice from the back.
The master frowned and stood up. He waved a hand and two students ran forward to pull the stricken student from the mat and take him to a corner where he could lean against a wall and drink water.
"Challenge me," said the master.
"You even sound like Street Fighter," said the voice. "I remember playing it in the arca-"
"CHALLENGE ME!" It was more of a scream than a command.
"Fine," said the voice. A young man dressed in black jeans, neatly ripped at the knees, a black t-shirt with the Hidden Hospitals logo on it and a bandanna round his head stepped out of the ranks. Around him there was an intake of breath; students shocked at this lack of discipline. The master's eyes tightened, and his fingers flexed, tensing fractionally, but he kept control of himself.
The young man bowed so deep his forehead touched the floor, and while he was doing so the master leapt into the air and kicked. Somehow the young man must have been expecting the master to cheat for he stepped sideways, still bowing, and the foot swept past him so close that the master felt the tickle of cotton fibres against the sole of his foot.
The master launched a stunning onslaught of kicks, punches, hooks, jabs and uppercuts, a flurry of action so precise and determined that it was obvious to everyone that the young man was going to end up so bruised that people would be refusing to believe he wasn't being abused for weeks. Yet the young man seemed to always be just slightly out of place for each attack, and when the master halted, breathing hard, the young man was untouched and standing at his shoulder.
The young man pulled a nerf gun out from behind his back, that every student in the room would have sworn wasn't there, and pointed it at the master. The foam bullet popped against the master's chest, and Death smiled forgivingly.
Greg - well, that and Disney is starting their own streaming service and wants all their Marvel stuff off other services. So hopefully all these series' are born again - Daredevil and Punisher in particular.
Was not expecting Dee after the first installment. Needless to say, was pleasantly surprised to find him challenging the master in the second. Really enjoyed your description of the action here.
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