Writing Prompt: Day 121

121 (2).pngDay 121 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: A fight scene using unusual objects as weapons or a fight scene using magical powers.

Erin: “The babies are so calm today,” Mary pointed out looking into one of the cribs.

“Yeah, what is up with that,” I questioned also taking a peak.

“They have been sleeping all day,” she pointed out.

“That’s impossible,” I concluded placing my hand on little Abigale. She wasn’t even doing her little baby snore. I took a moment to scan the room. I spotted a couple eyes and grabbed the first rattle I could reach. I let out a violent shake releasing the rattle as my aim went to the head of the intruder.

The toy bounced off his head and he immediately grabbed for the baby powder. I covered my head with a diaper before the powder could enter my eyes. Before I knew it, there was baby blanket being tied around my legs and arms. Then a pacifier was forced into my mouth. I tried to shout but couldn’t form any words with my mouth full.

“Get off of our babysitter,” I heard what sounded like a baby speaking perfect English.

Shannon: “Remind me again why you sent me in here without at least one last resort weapon,” I spoke out loud, speaking to my mentor who was watching the chaos play out on my body camera.

“You don’t need a last resort,” Hugh advised. “I wouldn’t send you in if I thought you needed a last resort. If I ever give you one it means I don’t trust you’ll make it out alive. You’re good kid. I have complete confidence in you. You’ll be fine. The weapons are all around you, remember your training and I’ve got your back.”

I let out a laugh. “You’ve got eyes on my back, you don’t really have my back,” I corrected his wording. “I’m still the one who has to do all the dirty work.”

“Yeah, yeah we’ll see if you’re still singing the same tune by the end of the night,” he sounded so calm but my adrenaline was just kicking in.

There were six of them and I had to narrow them down, quietly. They hadn’t spotted me yet. I was hiding behind the bar to scope out my next best attack points. I found a bottle of vodka under the table and poured it into a glass. The first one to snoop around to my side was in for a rude awakening when I threw it in his face, temporarily blinding him. I covered his mouth before he could yell and took him down in a headlock until he passed out. One down.

The next target was pacing back and forth in front of the abandoned band instruments. This should be fun. I snuck around to the back and hid behind the gong. One of the cymbals looked about right for a sneak attack. The second his back was turned to me, I grabbed it and quickly ran and swung, knocking him out. Two down.

His buddy saw me calling the others as he lunged at me with a knife, which I deflected with the cymbal shield. I did a twist move with my wrist, successfully knocking both of our weapons out of our hands. He picked up a trombone and started swinging it at me, and to avoid it I fell backwards landing on a chair next to a bassoon. That would work. I picked it up and wielded it like a pole. After a sword-like fight I took him down too.

Three down, three to go.

Pick your character’s weapon of choice?

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 121

  1. I sauntered in through the solidly-manufactured oak door and glanced around at the murky bar, trying not to look too obviously nosey with my gaze, though I was pretty damn sure everyone already knew who I was. Just last week I arrived at the Polar Airport, which also doubled as Santa’s lift-off point when he couldn’t pry the deer away from stupid ice hockey games that were always broadcast when they should already be in the air, and was greeted with snowballs to the face. Yeah, happiest place on earth my butt, more like the most spectacular let-down of the century.
    At any rate, I’d been testing the deeply disturbed waters with the working elves here and was hearing some pretty tough-to-swallow stuff about their treatment by the big man. I mean, I always figured it must be a pretty crummy job building things for ungrateful kids around the world with no real salary, but I had no idea what really went on. It had been a tough week all around; Mrs. C left on her annual mid-November Retreat in the Himalayas. Just by looking at the woman, you wouldn’t know her for a devout Buddhist, but apparently a few centuries with a husband who basically worked hard one day of the year will do stuff to you I couldn’t begin to describe.
    When she went away, the big man apparently went off the rails a bit; he drank too much nog’n’rum and whipped the elves if they weren’t working the skin to the bone. Cruel and unusual punishments weren’t uncommon when the missus went away, so I wasn’t surprised there were some less-than-kosher ways the guys got out a bit of that steam. One was to drink enough that you forgot who you were, but the other was to have fighting matches in the middle of this particular bar. Well, technically it was the only bar, but that’s semantics.
    I’d been sent to cover the general injustices in the red-light district of this frozen arctic hellhole, but once I actually spoke to some of these guys, my story changed. Obviously I still have to write about the behind-the-scenes horrors on the public side of the community, but that could wait until the New Year; this story was gonna make me rich. That’s why, at about nine in the evening, I was scrunched in a tiny booth in the farthest corner of the darkened bar I could find sipping sickly sweet liquid from a frosted glass while the bartender eyed me suspiciously.
    Since I arrived, there was a sense of dread hanging in the air like a cloud that rubbed off on every solid surface it could find, including the living. Leaning against the back wall, shrouded in the deepest darkness that could possibly exist in the “happiest place,” was a mountain of a man whose eyes glowed like a cat’s; the reigning champion. No one acknowledged his presence, but at the same time, no one stepped on his toes or shifted into his line of vision as he stared at the snow-slicked floor. According to my overly-eager informant, who was nowhere to be seen in the shade spot, a new challenger had put their name forth to do battle against the mammoth elf. Personally, I felt kinda sorry for the sucker, but whatever I witnessed here would definitely be the jumping-off point for my article.
    After my third glass lay abandoned with icebergs resting in a trickle of pearly liquid, the door swung fully open and banged dangerously against a post, shaking loose some old dust, which floated in shimmering moats. Wind-blown snowflakes mingled with the light dirt and stuck to the rough wooden surfaces as the storm blustered into the bar. From the whiteout stepped a dark-hooded figure who sauntered in without appearing to notice the icy stares of the patrons on their unseen face. When the door slammed shut, the light fixtures swung dangerously and the whole bar fell silent and still as death.
    One thing you have to know about elves; they’re just as magical and powerful as those woodland ones you always hear about gallivanting and being all proud. These ones here were mostly born into the trades they practise, but they still have wicked powers over the elements. So, I wouldn’t want to cross them, my friend, I would not.
    At any rate, this tall figure didn’t look too tough compared with the champion in the corner, though abilities tended to depend more upon a person’s determination than their size. But when the champion pried himself from the wall and thumped his over-sized boots toward the challenger, you couldn’t help but imagine him literally pounding the weakling into the ground. To this day, I still have now idea how they knew this guy was the challenger, but they were right.
    A solid oak table had been sitting in the center of the room, untouched by any of the other patrons, and with the brightest available light shining on it. When the champion stood behind his chair, I watched in awe as his burly muscles rippled and the tavern was rocked with whooping and applause. He raised his meaty hands, his dirty grey clothing pulled taunt against the bulges, and the crowd went even more insane. Truthfully, I nearly chuckled despite myself.
    Nodding to his opponent, he tilted his square-jawed head and waited for the challenger to remove their hood. When they did, the entire bar went gravely still and it didn’t return to full-scale craziness again. As the hood dropped, the figure let the cloak fall off their shoulders, exposing a full had of wavy auburn locks attached to a pointed, feminine face that wore a sly smile like someone who knew something no one else did. The dark coat had been hiding the customary red-and-white striped leggings and bright green tunic that made her stunning features look rather childish, and as out-of-place as you could get in the seedy dive-bar.
    They sat without a word to each other and held out a hand, pinkies extended. As soon as they linked pinkies and tightened their grips, the room exploded in flashes of brilliant colours that didn’t belong here. Stormy grey-blue clouds hovered dangerously over the champion before flurries and lightning and rain pelted his masculine body while the challenger’s face remained serene. All around us, her icy shades sparkled in the air and flames whooshed about, chasing red rockets that were obviously the champion’s magic of choice. When I turned my scrutiny to him, his boxy features were twisted and contorted as he concentrated on the elf before him; it was plain to see he was going easy on her.
    After the whole thing was over, the giant laid his head on the cool table in defeat, but the female elf looked defiant in the silence from the crowd. They didn’t clap or anything for her, so she simply walked to the bar, pointed aggressively toward a top-shelf bottle and brought it over to the table. As she poured her opponent a drink, he raised his head and took a tiny sip of the burning alcohol. She puzzled me; having won a meaningless fight, she treats her defeated opponent to a drink amid a silent audience. This really was going to be an interesting experience.


  2. Starry Knight runs around the corner, stopping at a heavily painted section of wall. He looks back at the corner, waiting for her to come around it.
    But she then drops down on top of him. Starry is pinned on his stomach, one arm under his chest at an odd angle, the other stretched out. He feels a blade on his neck. “Where’s your gifted friend?”
    “Which one?” Starry asks. He can feel where the wall meets the sidewalk with his fingertips. ‘August told me not to use my abilities around her. But she might kill me.’
    “The shapeshifter. Where is she?”
    Starry gulps as the sword presses closer, “I don’t know. Not like I’d tell you.”
    “Gifted like her scare the rest of us. They are a danger.”
    “Like normal people aren’t?” Starry asks.
    “They are more so! Law enforcement can handle the common criminals, but those that can break walls? Phase through them? Those that can change what they look like and are stranger than steel? Bullet proof?” Bronze asks, “They can’t be stopped unless by others like them. But I’m here to change that.”
    Starry knows what August told him, but he can’t stand by, “Change is scary.” He presses his fingertips to the wall. A swirl of color comes off the wall, hitting Bronze and knocking her off him. He feels a cut on his shoulder, but stands up. The extended swirl fades away, leaving a blank spot where the original was on the wall.
    Bronze looks at Starry, horrified.
    “Believe me, I know.”
    Bronze runs at Starry, her sword up. He touches the wall again and a few rough pictures of animals come to life, as well as a skeleton. They attack Bronze, but they are sliced into pieces. They fall like concrete chunks, then crumple into paper pieces before disappearing completely.
    “Malea and I-!” Starry says, taking a sword picture and using it to block the next attack, “-we’re helping people! Doing good!”
    “And how long before those powers are turned against the public? How long until they fight you, or you learn how people will always be scared of you?”
    Starry’s sword disappears and he throws more squiggles and symbols at her. She falls back, trapped. Starry then runs down the street. He turns down an alley and goes up the fire escape. At the top, he draws a wall on the ground. He animates it, so it covers him. He holds his breath as Bronze passes the fake wall.
    ‘August is going to kill me if she doesn’t find me,’ Starry thinks, ‘but death by ninja is better than whatever she has planned.’


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