Writing: Kadin

    I love being able to find a spare minute to scrawl out a post real fast, especially in the madness that has been my family's Christmas season this year.

   There isn't very much to tell about the bit I'm posting. Most everything is explained in the contents of the scribble, so you should be able to figure it out without an extensive explanation about the background events. Though, I will tell you that Kadin's father used to be a fighter as well before he was injured badly in a fight that put him in a wheelchair.

   Sometime after the injury, he lost part of himself in anger and the want for vengeance, so he's driving Kadin hard to try and get back at the man who paralyzed him through her.

   Yeah, it's messy.


     Kadin knew she was off her game in the moments following her mistake. She’d flinched right when she’d caught the glinting fist aimed for her head and had pulled up her guard to catch it, leaving her left side wide open.
     A hiss of pain escaped her when the robot landed a heavy blow to her midsection, and she knew that that wouldn’t be the end of it, because the automaton was programmed to press any advantage it received, to go straight for the knock-out.
     In a way, it was far more fearsome than any human opponent was, because, while she might be able to call a timeout, until the time that she did, it would not stop.
     Gritting her teeth, Kadin took two rapid steps back to try and regain her footing before he threw it off all together, bringing her hands up into a defensive position just in time.
     The silvery fist was just beginning its descent to try and catch her underneath her guard when Kadin felt a familiar buzz in the back of her skull.
     “Timeout!” She shouted, telling herself to not feel too relieved.
     Saved by the call, the young woman mused as the robot straightened and developed what she’d titled “standby mode”, which he’d remain in until she was ready to continue their spar.
     Kadin ducked down between the ropes surrounding the square fighting ring, pushing the hair that had escaped her tight ponytail out of her eyes as the buzzing continued in her head.
     Dash, dash. Pause. Dash, dash, dash. Pause. Dash, dash.
     A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Mom. She clicked her back teeth to pick up the call via the device embedded deep in her ear; an upgrade her father had designated necessary.
     “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” Kadin said in greeting, taking a seat on the bench near the ring and grabbing her towel.
     “Kadin! It’s so good to hear your voice,” her mother sounded relieved, as she usually did when they hadn’t been in touch since that morning.
     “It’s been maybe ten hours since we talked last, Mom,” she reminded, wiping the moisture of her brow and then glancing around for her water bottle.
     The silver exterior was beaded with condensation from the cold contents, and it felt good in Kadin’s hands.
     “I know, but I worry about you. Did you eat lunch? Actually, no, I’m focusing. I want you to come home for dinner.”
     The fighter paused mid-swig of her water, then lowered the bottle. She can’t have possibly asked Dad. There’s no way he’d approve of this. “I’m kind of busy, Mom...” Kadin said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
     “No, you’ve said that every night for the past two weeks and I won’t take it anymore. You can tell your coaches or your friends or your sponsors that you’re having dinner with your parents tonight.” The older woman sounded far more heated than Kadin was used to, but she took it in stride.
     Her voice was quiet as she replied, “Mom, the nationals are next week, and if I don’t qualify for the worldwide—“
     If I don’t qualify, Dad will—I don’t know what he’ll do, but I don’t want to find out.
     Aloud though, she said, “It’ll be another two years before I get a shot at this if I don’t make it this round. I’ve already failed once.”
     And she could still see the bruises on her Mother’s wrists from that failure.
     “Kadin, sweetheart, you’re amazing. You know you can do it. You practice all day, every day, and if you’re not doing that, you’re talking strategies with the Barton’s. All I want is to see my baby girl at the kitchen table and getting a full meal under my supervision. Just this once, please.”
     The young woman swallowed back the emotion that threatened, looking at the walls of her boxing gym. I don’t care what he’s going to say. I have to do this for Mom. “Alright, Momma. When do you want me to come?”
     The relief on Marina Evans’ voice was clear as she said, “Whenever you finish up for the evening.”
     “Give me an hour then,” Kadin leaned back, looking up at her sparring pal who still stood in standby. “I need to finish up this round then get cleaned up.”
     Despite the unease roiling in her gut, it felt good to hear her mother’s cheer coming through the connection. The older woman closed the link after a few more moments and several good-byes.
     Kadin sat for another moment when silence fell, contemplating the wisdom in her decision. Dad wouldn’t be happy, the Barton’s wouldn’t be happy, but her Mom would be, and that was her sole wish. Keep Mom happy... and safe.
     She was just rising when the buzzing in her head came again, this time the pattern spelling out A. Barton. Great.
     “Hey,” the fighter greeted, wandering up the steps and ducking back into the ring. “I was just going to call you.”
     “Glad I beat you to it,” Antonia said with dry humor.
     Victor and Antonia Barton were some of the hand-fighting world’s most renowned coaches... and some of its greatest legends.
     They’d both fought in the ring before they got married, but it was after they did that they’d made their names known. There were singular, duo, and tri fights. Kadin specialized in singular, much like her father had. The Barton’s were “Dryads”, two fighters who went up against other two-member teams.
     That, however, hadn’t been where their success came from. It was when they qualified for two-on-three fights that the news had exploded with news of them and sponsors had been lining up to help them.
     The Barton’s had taken on the world-reigning Triad team, almost seven years ago now. It had been them against three of the best men the globe had to offer.
      And they’d won.
     “What can I help you with?” Kadin asked, perching on the ropes and eyeing her sparring automaton critically. Was that some wear and tear on his left leg?
     “It was about tonight’s meeting. Our reservation got thrown out the window by some bigwig who apparently outranks a couple of hand-fighting coaches, so Vic suggested I actually call and ask if you had a place you’d rather eat at,” her female coach said, sounding quite intent to get this all figured out.
     They’d only been her instructors for the past year, a relatively short time in the fighting world, but her father had had a specific goal in mind when he’d hired them as her trainers. Along with ranking at the top of the singular, mixed fights, he expected her to dominate in the two on one matches as well. The Barton’s purpose in her life was to teach her how to fight when she was outnumbered.
     “I actually can’t make it tonight, Antonia. Something came up just a couple of minutes ago and I’m busy. We’ll have to try for breakfast or something tomorrow.”
     There was a long silence and then the woman drew out, “I... see. You realize the nationals are in a week, Kadin?”


   This bit was the perfect example of how most my bits work. I got halfway through the next sentence and then didn't ever write anything else for it. Aherm.

   I hope you liked this small scrawl and thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave feedback, should you have any to give. I'd love to hear it.

   On another note, I might be posting more of Nuada sometime, if I can get together my brain to write something more substantial. She's been very active in my head, and I'd really like to flesh out the rest of the characters, so. Be on the look out for that, and otherwise I'll probably have some other scribbles... sometime. We shall see.

   Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties.