Really, it wasn't that cold outside. With her running start, the cartwheels—standard, aerial—and the handsprings, both calculated and spontaneous, she was already warm again by the time she reached the equipment shed. Frisbee in hand, weighted briefly just for the sake of it, she tumbled into a backward somersault and ran to find a spot in the mostly empty field. Somehow, it wasn't difficult.
For a long moment, Yuffie stood still. She breathed. The air was sharp and her muscles didn't even burn. Good, that was—good. Awesome, actually. It was disconcerting—had been disconcerting—when such minor scrapes and bruises had actually hurt. And they'd hurt bad. Which wasn't good, she decided, throwing herself suddenly into a new routine, because when she moved she wanted to feel weightless. Or, well, not exactly. It was tough to explain, even in her own head. Move like the wind moves, Godo had told her, years ago. Move like fire moves. Move like water. And when in stillness, blah blah blah.
She kept herself on a tight leash, in an imaginary circle only so wide.
The Frisbee flew and she tracked it, caught it seamlessly, let it fly again. Sometimes she held it, moving through half-disguised kata. It was playful enough not to ping on Plucky's radars, Yuffie thought. Soft enough. Not sloppy, though, because that would be silly. Dumb. Exceedingly embarrassing, too, since these moments out on the field were almost (nowhere near) enough to be a pride and joy. She'd had a good day so far, and nothing was going to ruin it for her.
no subject
And that was that.
Really, it wasn't that cold outside. With her running start, the cartwheels—standard, aerial—and the handsprings, both calculated and spontaneous, she was already warm again by the time she reached the equipment shed. Frisbee in hand, weighted briefly just for the sake of it, she tumbled into a backward somersault and ran to find a spot in the mostly empty field. Somehow, it wasn't difficult.
For a long moment, Yuffie stood still. She breathed. The air was sharp and her muscles didn't even burn. Good, that was—good. Awesome, actually. It was disconcerting—had been disconcerting—when such minor scrapes and bruises had actually hurt. And they'd hurt bad. Which wasn't good, she decided, throwing herself suddenly into a new routine, because when she moved she wanted to feel weightless. Or, well, not exactly. It was tough to explain, even in her own head. Move like the wind moves, Godo had told her, years ago. Move like fire moves. Move like water. And when in stillness, blah blah blah.
She kept herself on a tight leash, in an imaginary circle only so wide.
The Frisbee flew and she tracked it, caught it seamlessly, let it fly again. Sometimes she held it, moving through half-disguised kata. It was playful enough not to ping on Plucky's radars, Yuffie thought. Soft enough. Not sloppy, though, because that would be silly. Dumb. Exceedingly embarrassing, too, since these moments out on the field were almost (nowhere near) enough to be a pride and joy. She'd had a good day so far, and nothing was going to ruin it for her.
[For Euphie.]