The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights.
I waged a quick and dirty internal discussion with myself about the benifits and pitfalls of reacting to the hands that had grabbed me. My eyes weren't covered so I had a good look at the brawny stinky fellows who were dragging me further behind the bushes. Horde. I decided to play possum and let myself go limp and inconvenient like a two year old having a tantrum.
I slid abruptly to the ground and when the first guy started dipping down to grab my legs I went into "whatfor," mode. Knee connected with jaw and foot with chest as hand reached. The hatchet was yanked right off of his belt, with his body's momentum. Before, I was deadly. Now I was armed and deadly.
I would have prefered a sword. I liked the way swords feel in my hands. I liked the elegance of ritual they represent, even when being used for death's purposes. But as Xena taught me, anything can be a weapon, and I wasn't one to deny the principle. I experimented with the weight of the sharpedged tool, twirling it to get a feel for angles. I was standing, feet planted, body pliant and pulsing with the power of my knowledge. I felt their surrounding presence. Their brutal hostility and I chuckled, quite unintentionaly.
In that moment I felt all the frustration I'd been dealing with for years flow into my arms and those men who had so innocently, or rather, unwarily, grabbed me, were going to suffer for the pain that I, as Bernie, had been through.
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