Don't chase the rabbit!
Age 7
Seven year old children had no interest in the finer points of international business agreements so Marianne was left sitting underneath the peach trees in the middle of the splendid mountain compound, legs kicking restlessly as she faced the prospect of a long, boring wait for her mother to finish talking to the Chiba people about knives or some such.
Marianne had not wanted to make the trip to Johto…in fact she had not wanted to do anything other than stay in her room and glance out the window at the passing ships in the harbor. But Henrietta de Lacroix was a woman who, sooner or later, always got what she wanted and before she knew it, she was entertaining her daughter’s sullen silence on a private jet to Ecruteak City.
If Marianne wanted to sit and do nothing all day, she could sit and do nothing while her mother brokered a deal with a kitchenware manufacturer.
Three months ago, Marianne might have been up one of the trees already or exploring the lush, wooded paths that snaked their way through the mountain. Now she hardly felt like embarrassing herself with the slow, wobbly way she walked since the “incident” as her mother tactfully called it. Marianne’s balance had yet to recover and she felt like a waddling duck or some lame-
THUNK!
Marianne turned and jumped at the sudden noise of something striking hardwood only to hear it again and again coming from around the corner behind a side house. Marianne glanced around before slowly pushing herself to her feet, carefully edging around the side of the house to get a look at whatever was making that noise.
A tall, dark haired woman struck at a wooden test dummy with an ornate straight sword, slicing and cutting in a whirlwind of steel. Her purple tail fluttered behind her like a ribbon tied to a kite caught in a twister as she bent, thrusted, and struck her inanimate opponent from all angles. Marianne was transfixed at the effortless grace and brutality the woman moved with, so much so she didn’t realize that the woman was staring at her until she glanced up, meeting a pair of eyes as hard and silvery as her weapon.
Marianne flattened herself against the wall, face burning red as she peeked back around the corner, coming face to waist with the woman’s armored midsection.
“Can I help you?” The woman said in a soft, even tone that didn’t look like it belonged to a woman who could probably reduce a person to shredded ribbons before they ever lay a hand on her. A woman like that could protect herself; she didn’t dream of grabbing hands and sneering faces, and sharp, ripping knives tearing into her-
Marianne shook her head, looking back up at the woman.
“I…no I was just um…sorry miss I was waiting for my mother and I…uh…” Marianne trailed off, flushing under the woman’s unreadable gaze as she caught Marianne’s eyes fixed on the hilt of her sword.
“Do you fight with swords as well?” The woman asked, drawing her weapon soundlessly from its sheath and presenting it to Marianne who flinched back a bit, glancing between the woman and the hilt with an unreadable expression. “What is wrong?”
“I…uh…” Marianne said, eyes shifting anxiously. “I’m not very graceful…”
“No matter,” The woman said, shaking her head. “You do not need to be fast or graceful to be skilled. Come; I will show you.”
An unspoken force drew Marianne forward, stumbling a little as she pursued the woman who, for her part, waited patiently for Marianne to pull herself up. It was a welcome change from her parents or Helmsworth shadowing her every move and waiting for her to trip and fall.
The woman pressed the hilt of the weapon into Marianne’s hand, shifting her hands until she held it with both hands, a little awkwardly but well enough that the woman looked pleased.
“Strike,” The woman said simply, stepping back and watching as Marianne hoisted the surprisingly light blade and let it fall on the dummy’s head with a satisfying thunk.
“Strike.” Marianne’s arms raised again, putting more pressure on the downstroke as she hit the dummy again, watching it jerk a little on the end of its supporting chain.
“Drive with your legs,” The woman said. “Cut through the target.”
Marianne envisioned her blade slicing clean through the wooden dummy, driving into it with more force as she built up a clumsy stream of strikes. She grit her teeth, feeling a savage thrill rise up within her as her arms hefted and lowered the blade again and again. She imagined herself a whirlwind of steel, driving through anyone who thought to hurt her, cutting down those boys and their girlfriends before they could flee her reach. Again and again she struck with savage abandon. So focused was she in the whirlwind of her own creation that she didn’t notice her mother, standing some hundred yards away with watery eyes and one hand supporting herself on the side of the building.
Three days later, Marianne left Johto with a shiny wooden sword bumping in a sheath on her back and a promise that next time Marianne visited, Marianne could spar with her new teacher’s son who was about her age…that was the last time Marianne ever saw the woman.
Three weeks later, she and her husband were murdered in their Goldenrod City home and it would be eleven years before she would meet her first sensei’s surviving son.
