Swordtism 006

Long after supper, when Alex was passed out drunk hugging Patricia on a large couch, Mihawk was outside on the beach under the moonlight facing the ocean. 

A small, barely perceptible wisp of energy coated his form as he slowly went through the katas, and moves that he knew. 

Form I: Shi-Cho Ordinary Slash 

A sharp horizontal slice of air spread throughout the area, making the gentle waves in front of him slightly split. Taking a deep breath, he executed the technique again and again until his shoulders were sore. 

Taking some leftover food he had packed into a cloth, Mihawk devoured a half loaf of bread, then wiping the crumbs off his chin, resumed his training, reinvigorated. 

Form II: Makashi Fools Parry 

Imagining the incoming waves as an opponent, he repeatedly advanced and retreated as if an attack were coming right at him. Form II's entire ethos was about maintaining a central line, and reading the opponent. His bright yellow eyes remained fixed upon the water, never blinking for an instant. Every pattern or location was seen a millisecond in advance, and he stabbed when the water retreated, then parried when it advanced. For a time he repeated these two actions until the moon was at its apex. 

Form III: Soresu Still as the Mountain

Jumping up a nearby palm tree that was swaying violently in the wind, he tried to maintain his balance. However it was quite difficult, and he fell down. Unfettered, Mihawk repeated this process several more times. At some points, he lasted but five seconds, other times, he could maintain perfect poise for an entire minute. Although it wasn't perfect, he had been testing his stamina, and ability to remain on his feet. In a fight one of the worst things to happen to a combatant was to fall on one's back. Here, he truly was trying to be ‘still as a mountain.’ 

Form IV: Ataru Speed is My Life

Running across the sand, he deliberately moved across uneven clumps, and worked upon terrain that was unfavorable to him. Several times he tripped up, or just barely caught himself from face planting. In the future, he would be fighting upon ships, in storms, and all sorts of places. Ataru wasn't just straight lines either, and he did plenty of jumps, kicks, mid-air pivots, and pole vaults. He also jumped from left to right repeatedly as fast as he could, and even ran into the shallow sections of the water for additional resistance. 

Form V: Djem-So Power Slash

Finding some weights in a nearby training shack, Mihawk tied them to his arms, and shoulders, then faced the ocean. Breathe in. Slash. Exhale, accumulate power. Breathe in. Slash! Each chop was slow and meticulous. With Form I, he had gone for repetitions in as wide a circle as he could attack. This time, from the angle of his blade to the level of power each movement was measured. As if he intended to end everything in one decisive, world ending blow. As if he wanted to control the tempo of the ocean itself! 

Running through this gauntlet of exercises took about an hour in total. After a break, he did this two more times. By around midnight, he had finished all his training, and was staring up at the brightly lit sky, looking at the moon in a trance. 

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Elena asked, pulling up beside him. 

“Pulling and pushing, the moon is responsible for the ocean currents. Without it, life as we know it, would not exist.” Mihawk remarked. 

“My people call her Mwezi, the life giver. Yet this is knowledge I did not possess. My father and brothers will dance when I share this with them. Thank you, Hawkdancer.” Elena said with a slap on the back. 

“You saw my training then? What did you think?” Mihawk turned to her and asked. 

Although he thought he was pretty good, Elena was a bonafide fighter. Her and Alex would certainly have insights that he could use. 

The dark-skinned barely clothed beauty placed a finger on her cheek as she stared up at the sky, deep in thought. 

“Hmm. Well, I think that fourth maneuver of yours is lacking in grace. You move how you say, mn, stiff! Yeah, that's it!” Elena clapped her hands, happy that she thought it through. 

Mihawk furrowed his brow, yet didn't rebuke her as constructive criticism was actually quite difficult to receive in the modern era. Here, she specifically pointed out his issue. Back on Earth, guys would just say you're an idiot, or much worse, then move on. 

“Aiee, don't frown!” Elena pouted, and then put her fingers on his cheek, making him ‘smile.’ “I can't comment on your other forms, but I can help you get into rhythm with your spins, kicks, jumps, and lunges.” 

The silver-white haired woman flashed him a peace sign as if to say ‘totally, dude!’ 

Mihawk stood barefoot at the waterline, his sword resting against one shoulder as he regarded. “Let's begin.” 

Elena wasn't the type to ask something sarcastic like ‘what, not even a thank you?’ and instead got right down to business. Humming a tune, she began circling him, sniffing at the air, and poking various parts of his body like a little girl touching a jellyfish at the aquarium. 

After doing this several times, she nodded repeatedly, her head vaguely resembling a bird feeder. “You’re thinking too much.” 

Mihawk narrowed his eyes, saying nothing. 

Elena slipped behind him, close enough that her breath stirred his hair. One hand settled upon his shoulder while the other pressed lightly against his back. Her warmth pressed into him, yet Mihawk was not thinking about anything untoward. At this moment, his mind was solely focused on how she could help him. 

However, he sent her a sideways look, as if asking ‘what are you doing.’

Elena didn't even look up from her task, practically in sync with his thoughts. 

“I need to feel your rhythm.” She explained while squatting down and squeezing his calf. 

“Feel away.” Mihawk shrugged his shoulders. 

Elena laughed brightly, then, taking a step back, she began tapping her heel against the damp sand.

Upon each tap, a faint pulse traveled outward into the surroundings. This soft touch was less a sound, and more like a pressure Mihawk felt through the soles of his feet. The Beat-Beat Fruit had turned Elena’s natural sense of rhythm into something physical. The sand trembled beneath her steps, and she gained something almost akin to seismic communication, or in other words, she could both make her own beat, and feel the beat of others. 

“Every fighter has a rhythm. Breathing, footwork, attacking, recovering. Most people never notice their own. They take eating, sleeping, standing or sitting for granted.”

Mihawk lowered his sword, and met her eyes. 

“You have one of the worst rhythms I've ever seen. It's as if you're unaccustomed to being so tall…fascinating!” Elena clapped with an excited smile, as if she had solved the world's most difficult math problem. 

His yellow eyes narrowed in contemplation. Considering he'd only been in this body for a grand total of two days, she was spot on! Instead of taking offense, he was actually quite happy that she pointed out this problem of his. 

“You aren't weak.” She added quickly added, waving her hands rapidly as if afraid she'd anger him. "You're just…rigid. You move like every step has been decided before you take it. Calculating where to go.” 

“Can you help me?” Mihawk asked openly, unafraid of the truth. 

Elena moved in front of him and raised her hands. Her long legs shifted easily over the sand, and she started to stretch like an Olympic tier aerobics athlete. Once she had warmed up, she jumped up, spread her legs, and touched her toes. 

“Whew! Watch this.”

She stepped toward a wave that was retreating towards the ocean, and right as the next one gathered, she pivoted her body in a fluid, graceful spin, completing a 180 on the spot with the water lapping at her heels. Her entire body followed the motion-hips, shoulders, arms-without any part appearing hurried or unnatural. 

Dashing forward, the wind rustled as she practically floated from the ocean to Mihawk's side. A burst of compressed sound punched a shallow trench through the sand as she departed. Then cartwheeling into a sommersault, she landed in front of him like a happy seal performing at a water park. 

Mihawk watched without blinking, his special eyes didn't miss a single detail. Although the movements seemed rather exaggerated, he could tell that there were no wasted movements. 

She then approached, and shifted one of his arms, then nudged his elbow inward. When that failed to satisfy her, she pressed herself against his back and physically turned his shoulders.

Mihawk allowed this with a solemn level of patience, idly noted that Elena wore no perfumes, but she had a strong, refreshing earthy smell, like the world after a spring rain. 

“Loosen up a little more.” She instructed.

He silently followed her orders, but she merely shook her head, and clucked her tongue. 

“You feel like a ship’s mast.” She said. 

‘You're damned right I am!’ He thought to himself. “Perhaps I could loosen up a bit without you breathing down my neck?” Mihawk suggested. 

Jumping backwards, she placed her hands on her hips as he adjusted his posture. Elena beamed, apparently counting his altered stance as a personal achievement. 

She then began to tap a slow beat against his shoulder.

“One, two, three, move.”

Mihawk stepped then stopped. 

“Again. One, two, three…”

Elena’s foot swept toward his ankle at the count of two. Mihawk lifted his leg before she could hook it, nearly stumbling at the same time. 

Eyes going wide, he never expected Elena to have a mischievous side like this! 

“Good! You learn fast. I probably tripped my brothers thousands of times before they became almost as good as me. Here, let's speed things up.” 

She changed the tempo. Her heel struck the sand twice in rapid succession, paused, then struck again. Mihawk moved with it, advancing and retreating while keeping his sword low.

After an hour of this-where she would stand just behind him directing his beat & adjusting his posture-Elena stopped holding back, and came at him without warning.

Her first palm passed beneath his chin, to which he belatedly leaned away, feeling a vibrant compressed air whoosh by. Her second hand slapped the flat of his blade aside, and her knee rose toward his ribs. Mihawk turned with the impact rather than bracing against it, and the strike grazed him, its force traveling past his body.

“That!” Elena cried. “Do that again.”

She attacked faster this time. 

Mihawk listened-not merely to her posture relying upon his unique eyes as he always had-but to the shifting sand, the pull of her breath, the soft clap of her hands as she changed direction. He began to understand. Rhythm wasn't some crazy or secret idea. It was recognizing the pattern of yourself, your opponent, and the world around you! 

He passed beneath her arm, pivoted behind her and placed the edge of his sword beside her neck. At the same time, she had spun around in a dance, her incredibly long leg had curled behind her back, and one of her big toes was resting just an inch from his temple. 

For a moment, there was only the sea, the moon, and two warriors appreciating one another's craft. 

Then Elena broke the sacred moment by twisting around his blade, and wrapped both arms around him. Her sweat stained shimmering skin and earthy smell were particularly potent as he was practically smothered by the long-limbed, lightly clothed dark-skinned beauty. 

“I knew you could do it!” She beamed. 

Mihawk remained still, sword held safely away from her.

“Bold of you to assume that we are finished here.” Mihawk said, a flash of competitive spirit glinting in his eyes. 

She leaned back just enough to look down at him, her smile as bright as the moon. “You're on.” 

Mihawk stared up at her, and decided they were closely matched, just like the fight against Alex was barely won. Before he sparred with her for real, he'd up his skills. 

Batman, Shredder, Zorro (the original masked vigilante), Jet (Avatar), Conan the Barbarian, Inigo Montoya (Princess Bride), Jack Sparrow, Aragorn (LOTR), and Maximus (Gladiator) were all on the menu. 

~~~~~

AN: YK, I usually write tsundere, serious, crazy or edgy love interests. It's kind of fun to write one that is just genuinely happy to be alive, and shares that positivity with everyone else.