of his back and then he was toppling over. The force of his own weight carried him down and to his knees.
~ * ~
Cleese’s body fell past Chikara as soon as she stepped under and to the side of his anticipated combination. The push on the back was done not for any effect other than to let him know that she was there; to know it and to also know that she could have done a lot more damage than just give him a simple push. He may have had strength and size on her, but that didn’t always win the ball game. As she saw the all too familiar look of exasperated indignance appear on his face, she almost had to laugh.
With an annoyed
'What is the matter, Tough Guy?' she said giggling. 'You need to take a break already?'
~ * ~
Cleese smiled to himself and looked down at the mat. He felt like an asshole after all that mental pontificating to have made such a rookie move. He slowly climbed back to his feet and turned back toward her, his face now a slightly deeper shade of red than before.
'Careful…' she said and she wagged a castigatory finger at him, 'you do not want to let emotion cloud your thinking, now do you…
Cleese grinned and took several abrupt shuffling steps forward. He threw a punch high, aimed just above her head, and then quickly went to grab her arms. His blood was getting hot now and, even though he was beginning to have feelings for this woman, he was not about to let her—or anyone else—get the best of him in a fistfight.
As he bore down on her, she firmly stood her ground. At the last moment, he noticed her stance change ever so slightly as she braced for impact. His thick arms came toward her and a beatific smile lit up her features. It was not unlike the look martyrs got on their faces just before they died. It was a look of utter peace and complete contentment.
Of course, it was all orchestrated bullshit.
As his arms again closed on thin air, he heard her voice speak from over his shoulder, 'Our flow cannot become disrupted by our feelings. We must stand to one side of our emotions: anger, fear, hate, wrath… Emotions can only cloud the clarity of our thinking.'
Cleese stumbled to a stop and spun around. He shook his head and quietly chuckled.
'You sure do talk a lot. You sure you weren’t a teacher in another life?'
A forlorn look momentarily passed like a shadow over her face and then her features reset into a firm resolve.
'We must rely on our training,' she continued matter of factly. 'We
Cleese sighed and decided it was about time to cut the chivalry and passive courting. It was time to remind this fighter of the physics of their relationship. He lunged forward and, as expected, she glided to one side. As he reached where she’d been standing, he pivoted on one foot and leaned into her. He felt his back bump against her chest. His heart fluttered just a bit when the soft point of her breasts came in contact with the meat of his back.
'The problem with sticking to any plan is…' he said and quickly threw his right elbow back and then the left. The blows, while light and without much force, rocked her head to and fro and still succeeded in scrambling her attention. He bent at the waist and, reaching between his legs, grabbed both of her ankles. Then, by simply standing up, her feet came up and off the ground. Once her stability was compromised, the rest of her body dropped to the mat with a slap that echoed through the Training Hall. Now that she was on the ground, Cleese simply dropped to his knees, sprawled back, and trapped her torso to the mat with his body weight. With his bulk covering her, she was more or less pinned. Her arms and legs thrashed wildly beneath him, but it was clear to them both that she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Lying across her, he felt her breath on his neck as she panted near his ear. Her turned his head and looked into her now very pissed off eyes.
'…that sometimes Life doesn’t give a shit about your plan.'
Beneath him, he felt her wriggle and attempt to throw him off.
'What was it Woody Allen once said, ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans’?'
'Maybe it’s you who should’ve been a teacher,' she groaned, crushed under his mass.
'I actually thought about that…' he said and now it was his turn to sound wistful, 'once upon a time.'
'Ok… point made,' she grunted. 'Now, d’ya mind getting the hell off of me?'
Cleese stretched and put his hands behind his head like a man relaxing in a hammock. He then wriggled his body back and forth, settling in and pressing his weight down even further. He heard her moan and then give up a strangled giggle.
'No, seriously…' she said still laughing. 'Get off me. You weigh a ton.'
Figuring she’d had enough, Cleese rolled over and onto the mat smiling.
Once she’d gotten her breath back, Chikara slowly got to her feet.
'Jesus, I think you broke one of my ribs,' she gasped, holding her side.
'Ok, Smartass, I’m not
'The hell you’re not.'
After a brief moment of rest, it was time to get back to business. They both stood to their full height and again squared off with one another. Chikara fell into her relaxed stance, legs slightly bent, arms hanging loosely at her side; an old school Aikido stance. Cleese came up onto his toes, chin tucked, with his hands open and in front of him; in a bastardized street fighter-meets-Muay Thai form.
'Ok,' Chikara continued, looking relaxed, 'your point aside, I still say that proper training can and will counter any anomaly.'
She tossed a sharp left jab followed by a quick cutting oblique kick toward his inner thigh—both he expertly batted aside.
'Look…' he said as he returned to his stance, 'any training that is too structured, by definition, doesn’t leave room for variation.' His hands dropped from his en garde position and his attention became fixed on his explanation. 'Bruce Lee said, ‘All fixed set patterns are incapable of adaptability or pliability. The truth is outside of all fixed patterns’ and he was right. A fighter needs to adapt to the fight and not expect the fight to adapt to him…' He bowed slightly, '…or her.'
She dutifully bowed back.
'You can argue the point all you want,' he continued, 'but nothing’s going to change what is.'
Seeing Cleese caught up in his thought process, Chikara came on strong. Three quick steps and she was within arm’s reach of him. A flurry of left jabs and right crosses followed, some of which landed, but most didn’t.
Cleese stumbled back to avoid the onslaught then planted his foot and, redirecting his energy, surged forward. He rolled with her last strike, turned and spun and ended up standing directly behind Chikara. Almost as an afterthought, he wrapped his arms around her at her waist, trapping her limbs against her sides. Bending back, he lifted her off her feet. He thought briefly about slamming her body to the mat, but decided against it as he knew it would undoubtedly hurt her; maybe even break one of her ribs for real.
She wriggled and thrashed in his arms; her legs kicking futilely. Holding her this close, he couldn’t help but be aware of the feel of her flesh in his arms. Her skin was smooth and soft, but underneath lay musculature that was firm and supple and very well defined. His face pressed into the base of her neck. His nose was buried in her hair that was damp with the sweat of her exertions. The smell of her was intoxicating; a delicate mix of jasmine and wild honeysuckle.
It had been a long time since Cleese had smelled anything as amazing as that.
'See there…!' he said trying to clear his head and calm the stirrings coursing throughout his body. 'Despite all your Zen posturing, you have a habit of being so committed to your plan—of slaughtering what’s right in front of you—that you end up leaving your back exposed. You gotta think in
He quickly let her go and she dropped back to her feet.
In a conscious act of pure self-preservation, he took two giant steps back and away from her. As he did so,