Black Webs

Do Not Go Gentle

and you want three wishes:
one to fly the heavens
one to swim like fishes
and then one you're saving for a rainy day,
if your lover ever takes her love away.

xxxxx

you are roses
after the rain
a quiet grace that survives
though the whole raging world
may conspire
against it -
even now,
in the midst of this
savage inferno.
you thrive, alight.
you continue
to bloom.

- I hope you always do, Amrita C.

xxxxx

n i n e t e e n:

L y d i a

Glide. Thrust. Parry. Side-step. Traverse. Lunge. Glide.

Lydia was trapped in her own world, attacking imaginary enemies as Stiles stood by and watched her. Allison hooked them up with a training room for practice, she admitted it was where her father took her to train.

"I didn't just become a hunter overnight," she said as she jiggled the keys in their faces with a smirk.

It was an impressive space the size of a cinema hall situated in an empty office building plot her parents had bought. It was perfectly equipped too, complete with red and white targets, a boxing ring and an obstacle course.

Cut. Parry. Thrust...

Lydia frowned, "What comes after the thrust?"

Stiles strolled over to her, "Your death," he mumbled casually. "Unless you remember those moves correctly, anyway." Lydia groaned, kicking the air irritably and sauntering over to him.

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder." He simply stated. Lydia couldn't believe what a strict instructor he was; and it was only their fifth day of training. She was dressed in a sweatshirt and yoga pants, but she'd been at this for over two hours now and was pretty sure she was beginning to resemble a fish with all the accumulating sweat.

Lydia took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and unzipped her sweatshirt so she was only in her sports bra. She tossed the sweatshirt at Stiles, who caught it mid-air and tossed it to the floor. "You better dry clean that for me," she snapped, eyes glinting.

Stiles smirked, then without a word, he yanked her towards him and grabbed her by the neck, securing her tightly in a headlock. Lydia gasped in shock, her breathing ragged. "Try to break out of my grasp. You have five seconds."

"Are you insane?" Lydia groaned, struggling against his death grip, her eyes stinging and her limbs aching.

"Four seconds."

"I need more time!"

"Three seconds."

She tried her best to overthrow him, but it was practically impossible. He was too strong for her, even when he wasn't using his Spiderman strength. Her body slumped against his, and with his chest heaving against her spine, butterflies began to play the freaking Hunger Games inside her stomach.

Stiles sighed, dropping his arm. "You've gotta do better than that."

"Well... Maybe you've gotta teach better," she remarked, wiping an oncoming bead of sweat from her forehead and walking over to the lounge chairs and table on the left hand side of the room where they were taking their breaks for a sip of water.

"Who's the Yoda here?"

"You are," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she collapsed on the chair and took some long sips of much needed water. "That's right. Look, your attacker won't give you longer than five seconds to escape for your life, assuming he's trained, which he will be, he might give you even less."