Disclaimer: I own none of this story except for the storyline, which tie into another storyline that I'm working on. The characters, except for Stunner and Spitfyre belong to Hasbro and whoever else owns them.
"Snake Eyes, you have got to be kidding! I can't spar with this little girl; I'll hurt her. She's too perfect to mess up anything about her." Grand Slam complains about his sparring partner for the morning. Snake Eyes stands there motionless, appearing apparently totally uncaring as to what might happen to either participant.
Off to his left, a small, slim, petite girl, not quite five foot tall (actually, she's only four foot ten) stands there, watching Grand Slam with silver-green eyes. She twirls her long dark auburn braid around her fist and then twists it back on her head, pinning it in place with a couple of bobby pins that she had taken out minutes earlier.
She had only been a member of the team for a couple of weeks, but she already had managed to get onto Beach Head's bad side. Her natural agility and suppleness lended her an air of the supernatural. Add to that her dark hair, and the color of her eyes such a light shade of violet they were almost nonexistent, and there was a lot of whispering about what kind of abilities she might have had as a witch or something worse.
She wasn't very close to anyone, since she was new there, but there was also an air of mystery surrounding her. No one knew her real name, and not much of anything else was known.
Grand Slam sees a blur from the corner of his eye, and the next thing he knows, he's flat on his back looking at the ceiling, with the girl planted squarely on his midsection.
"This would have been interesting under other circumstances," he thought.
"Rule number one in dealing with me: never underestimate your opponent. Always keep them in sight. Rule number two: the biggest blasts come from the smallest packages. Rule number three: I don't put out, so don't even ask." She levers herself up from straddling his body and holds her hand out to help him up, and he takes it, pulling her and throwing his weight behind it, trying to pull her off balance. She rolls with the force and flips her body, landing on her feet like a cat.
"Wow, you're pretty good!" he exclaims as he pulls himself up, "Where'd you learn to tackle like that?"
"Being small does have its advantages at times. I used to play mud football all the time with the boys in the neighborhood, growing up. They used to think I was a pushover, too."
Up close, he notices something that he had missed when he'd appraised her before their admittedly one-sided fight. Around her eyes were tiny scars, and her nose wasn't as straight as he had thought. She'd had it broken once or twice in her life. He also notices that she is trembling badly.
"Tolliver! Telephone!" somebody yelled.
"Keep your pants on, I'm coming! Be there in a second," she yells back. She looks at Grand Slam and Snake Eyes and shrugs. She then turns and hikes across the dojo to the office, where she takes the phone call, privately.
When she comes out, Grand Slam can see that she is paler and trembling worse than she was when she'd squared off with him earlier, and realizes that something is wrong. He goes over to her to offer his assistance.
"What is it, little one? What's wrong?" He reaches out to her and places his hand on her shoulder.
She turns her head and looks at him without really seeing him, as if she's looking through him. "She's escaped. Ain't nobody around here safe now."
"Who? Who's escaped?" he asks her.
"My worst enemy. The one person y'all have no defense for." He watches as her eyes widen and she tackles him again.
"Get down!" she yells. There is an explosion in the dojo near them and she takes the brunt of the concussion blast, and is knocked backwards onto a pile of weightlifting equipment, skin shredding and bone cracking as she hits.
The attacker turns and rushes for the door, disappearing before anybody in the room can get their thoughts together.
Grand Slam slowly rolls to his knees, shaking his head to clear away the fuzziness and crawls over to Spitfyre, whose small body lies unconscious amid the rubble, bleeding heavily. He strips his shirt off and presses it to the worst of the wounds, keeping pressure on it, and using what was left of her shirt and whatever else he can get his hands on to try to staunch the rest of the bleeding.
Someone called the infirmary and it wasn't until the stretcher got there that any of it really sank in to everyone that one of the smallest, most innocent of their own had been injured by an outsider.
When the stretcher arrives, Grand Slam relinquishes care of Spitfyre's body to the medics, but he stays near. For some strange reason, he feels like this attack was his fault, and that he should protect her because she was so small and innocent.
As he was tending her wounds, he discovered that the nearly unnoticeable scars on her face were not the only ones that she had. She had been through hell and back, according to the massive scars on her back and torso.
"No wonder she never wore short sleeves or shorts. She was covering up her past. She probably thinks she's ugly now, and this is most probably the reason," he thinks.
"Snake Eyes, you have got to be kidding! I can't spar with this little girl; I'll hurt her. She's too perfect to mess up anything about her." Grand Slam complains about his sparring partner for the morning. Snake Eyes stands there motionless, appearing apparently totally uncaring as to what might happen to either participant.
Off to his left, a small, slim, petite girl, not quite five foot tall (actually, she's only four foot ten) stands there, watching Grand Slam with silver-green eyes. She twirls her long dark auburn braid around her fist and then twists it back on her head, pinning it in place with a couple of bobby pins that she had taken out minutes earlier.
She had only been a member of the team for a couple of weeks, but she already had managed to get onto Beach Head's bad side. Her natural agility and suppleness lended her an air of the supernatural. Add to that her dark hair, and the color of her eyes such a light shade of violet they were almost nonexistent, and there was a lot of whispering about what kind of abilities she might have had as a witch or something worse.
She wasn't very close to anyone, since she was new there, but there was also an air of mystery surrounding her. No one knew her real name, and not much of anything else was known.
Grand Slam sees a blur from the corner of his eye, and the next thing he knows, he's flat on his back looking at the ceiling, with the girl planted squarely on his midsection.
"This would have been interesting under other circumstances," he thought.
"Rule number one in dealing with me: never underestimate your opponent. Always keep them in sight. Rule number two: the biggest blasts come from the smallest packages. Rule number three: I don't put out, so don't even ask." She levers herself up from straddling his body and holds her hand out to help him up, and he takes it, pulling her and throwing his weight behind it, trying to pull her off balance. She rolls with the force and flips her body, landing on her feet like a cat.
"Wow, you're pretty good!" he exclaims as he pulls himself up, "Where'd you learn to tackle like that?"
"Being small does have its advantages at times. I used to play mud football all the time with the boys in the neighborhood, growing up. They used to think I was a pushover, too."
Up close, he notices something that he had missed when he'd appraised her before their admittedly one-sided fight. Around her eyes were tiny scars, and her nose wasn't as straight as he had thought. She'd had it broken once or twice in her life. He also notices that she is trembling badly.
"Tolliver! Telephone!" somebody yelled.
"Keep your pants on, I'm coming! Be there in a second," she yells back. She looks at Grand Slam and Snake Eyes and shrugs. She then turns and hikes across the dojo to the office, where she takes the phone call, privately.
When she comes out, Grand Slam can see that she is paler and trembling worse than she was when she'd squared off with him earlier, and realizes that something is wrong. He goes over to her to offer his assistance.
"What is it, little one? What's wrong?" He reaches out to her and places his hand on her shoulder.
She turns her head and looks at him without really seeing him, as if she's looking through him. "She's escaped. Ain't nobody around here safe now."
"Who? Who's escaped?" he asks her.
"My worst enemy. The one person y'all have no defense for." He watches as her eyes widen and she tackles him again.
"Get down!" she yells. There is an explosion in the dojo near them and she takes the brunt of the concussion blast, and is knocked backwards onto a pile of weightlifting equipment, skin shredding and bone cracking as she hits.
The attacker turns and rushes for the door, disappearing before anybody in the room can get their thoughts together.
Grand Slam slowly rolls to his knees, shaking his head to clear away the fuzziness and crawls over to Spitfyre, whose small body lies unconscious amid the rubble, bleeding heavily. He strips his shirt off and presses it to the worst of the wounds, keeping pressure on it, and using what was left of her shirt and whatever else he can get his hands on to try to staunch the rest of the bleeding.
Someone called the infirmary and it wasn't until the stretcher got there that any of it really sank in to everyone that one of the smallest, most innocent of their own had been injured by an outsider.
When the stretcher arrives, Grand Slam relinquishes care of Spitfyre's body to the medics, but he stays near. For some strange reason, he feels like this attack was his fault, and that he should protect her because she was so small and innocent.
As he was tending her wounds, he discovered that the nearly unnoticeable scars on her face were not the only ones that she had. She had been through hell and back, according to the massive scars on her back and torso.
"No wonder she never wore short sleeves or shorts. She was covering up her past. She probably thinks she's ugly now, and this is most probably the reason," he thinks.