Notes: Well, this is my second posting. I actually wrote this for my
Advanced Composition class, and decided to put it here as well. I apologize
for any inaccuracies, especially those regarding weapon care, since I
wasn't sure exactly how one takes care of a sword. Hopefully, the title
makes sense. I'm also open to any constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: I don't own Methos or anyone else from Highlander, more's the pity.
1 Refraction
Refraction: the turning or bending of a wave when it passes from one medium into another of different density
The room appeared midway between light and shadow. Sunlight had begun to stream in through the window, but the vague lump underneath the sheets of the bed was doing its best to ignore that fact for at least another quarter of an hour. The sunlight persisted, remaining cheerfully bright and intruding, like a somewhat elderly busybody neighbor who doesn't know when to leave. As the room began to brighten further, some form of highly irritating bird joined in with a "song" that made further repose impossible. Sighing, Methos flung the covers off and rolled out of bed.
If one who usually moved with such grace could possibly trudge, Methos did so as he headed toward the bathroom. After performing the necessary tasks one does in the bathroom, he came back out into the main room of the apartment. Reaching down, he picked up the previous day's mail, all addressed to Adam Pierson. The pile consisted of three bills, two pieces of junk mail, an invitation to join the Beer of the Month Club, and a notice to all Watcher Researchers. He paused to think about joining the club, then read the memo.
After tossing out that particular piece of bureaucratic drivel, he rose to begin the rest of his morning routine. He retrieved his sword from its spot underneath the bed and grabbed his sharpening stone and a cloth. The motion of stone on sword was almost hypnotic. After he taken care of the sword, he quickly saw to his daggers, then set them down to clean his gun. When he was finished, he rose and began a series of simple stretches in the middle of the room's open space. The stretches effortlessly flowed into a basic kata. He could not recall its origins, but it had been a part of his practices for as long as he could remember. He supposed that someone must have taught it to him in that hazy period before his first kill. Perhaps he himself had made it, he didn't know.
After completing the exercise and performing another with his sword, Methos stretched once again, then went to throw on some clothes. He hadn't exerted himself enough to really work up a sweat, just enough to warm up his muscles. A baggy sweater went over his head and proceeded to disguise the defined muscles. Jeans and hiking boots completed the ensemble. Once again, he picked up his sword, then inserted it into the compartment hidden in his trench coat.
As he pulled on the coat and retrieved his keys from their spot near the door, a transformation occurred. Suddenly, his face seemed younger and less self-assured, and he became a little shorter. Methos quickly looked over the apartment to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He opened the door, and Adam Pierson left his apartment.
Disclaimer: I don't own Methos or anyone else from Highlander, more's the pity.
1 Refraction
Refraction: the turning or bending of a wave when it passes from one medium into another of different density
The room appeared midway between light and shadow. Sunlight had begun to stream in through the window, but the vague lump underneath the sheets of the bed was doing its best to ignore that fact for at least another quarter of an hour. The sunlight persisted, remaining cheerfully bright and intruding, like a somewhat elderly busybody neighbor who doesn't know when to leave. As the room began to brighten further, some form of highly irritating bird joined in with a "song" that made further repose impossible. Sighing, Methos flung the covers off and rolled out of bed.
If one who usually moved with such grace could possibly trudge, Methos did so as he headed toward the bathroom. After performing the necessary tasks one does in the bathroom, he came back out into the main room of the apartment. Reaching down, he picked up the previous day's mail, all addressed to Adam Pierson. The pile consisted of three bills, two pieces of junk mail, an invitation to join the Beer of the Month Club, and a notice to all Watcher Researchers. He paused to think about joining the club, then read the memo.
After tossing out that particular piece of bureaucratic drivel, he rose to begin the rest of his morning routine. He retrieved his sword from its spot underneath the bed and grabbed his sharpening stone and a cloth. The motion of stone on sword was almost hypnotic. After he taken care of the sword, he quickly saw to his daggers, then set them down to clean his gun. When he was finished, he rose and began a series of simple stretches in the middle of the room's open space. The stretches effortlessly flowed into a basic kata. He could not recall its origins, but it had been a part of his practices for as long as he could remember. He supposed that someone must have taught it to him in that hazy period before his first kill. Perhaps he himself had made it, he didn't know.
After completing the exercise and performing another with his sword, Methos stretched once again, then went to throw on some clothes. He hadn't exerted himself enough to really work up a sweat, just enough to warm up his muscles. A baggy sweater went over his head and proceeded to disguise the defined muscles. Jeans and hiking boots completed the ensemble. Once again, he picked up his sword, then inserted it into the compartment hidden in his trench coat.
As he pulled on the coat and retrieved his keys from their spot near the door, a transformation occurred. Suddenly, his face seemed younger and less self-assured, and he became a little shorter. Methos quickly looked over the apartment to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He opened the door, and Adam Pierson left his apartment.