Poem: "Technique, Timing, and Leverage"
Dec. 25th, 2025 09:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem came out of the June 4, 2024 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from siliconshaman and wyld_dandelyon. It also fills the "Family" square in my 6-1-24 card for the Pride Fest Bingo. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred. It belongs to the Big One and Kraken threads of the Polychrome Heroics series.
"Technique, Timing, and Leverage"
[Friday, June 3, 2016]
The past week had been hell.
Sightline had pitched in to help as
best he could, but the West Coast
was wrecked from top to bottom.
In the week since the Big One,
Sightline had done what he could
to assess the alignment of buildings,
roads, bridges, and other structures.
He couldn't get out of Cowlick Ecovillage
because all the teleporters were busy,
all the working vehicles were busy,
even the riding horses were busy.
Since he didn't have a whole lot
of actually practical skills beyond
his superpower, once the surveying
let up, he switched to security work.
His Optic Powers might not be
much use in combat yet, but
he was still a supervillain.
Also, the earthquake had
shaken loose a lot of lowlifes
who figured that it would be
easier to rob the refugees
than work for a living or
stand in line for handouts.
Today Sightline was guarding
the front gate with Nylah Raglin,
who looked more like a bit of fluff
than the serious kind of security.
Sometimes Miro or Kevon
would drop by, but they had
their own work to handle.
"What do you think?"
Sightline said. "If we
get trouble, where is it
most likely to come from?"
"Straight from the public road,"
said Nylah. "We know all of
our neighbors, we work together,
so none of them would bother us.
Word is that gangs are moving
around, hunting the vulnerable."
Sightline knew that the West Coast
was lousy with slavers, and he'd
damn well kill anyone who tried
to kidnap this cute teenage girl.
"Yeah, that's a credible threat,"
he said. "So we gotta keep 'em
from breaking into the ecovillage."
Nylah smirked. "This here's
all gravel, so if we get it red,
it'll wash right out with the rain."
Maybe she wasn't quite the fluff
that Sightline thought, after all.
He swept his superpower across
the parking lot with its garages,
the main gate, and the one that
led to the rest of the community.
Then he called off the distances,
just in case that would be useful.
Nylah shook her head. "Thanks,
but I handle things personal."
She was five-foot-nothing
and maybe a hundred pounds
sopping wet. It didn't add up.
Sightline was about to argue for
some distance when something
by the road snagged his attention.
"Movement," he warned his partner.
"I'm Nylah Raglin of Cowlick Ecovillage,"
she hollered. "If you're refugees, come
forward, we have aid supplies. If you're
looking for trouble, then move along!"
"Or you'll what, girlie, throw a tantrum?"
The man who stepped into view was
big and tall, Hispanic by the look of him,
and accompanied by at least three others.
There might be more unseen in the trees.
"Move or be removed," Nylah said.
"We don't want troublemakers here."
The two long-haired men in the middle
pulled knives. The leader and the one
on the far right aimed handguns -- not
bolt pistols but projectile weapons.
Sightline didn't want to risk heating
up a gun, but the knives were fair game.
He couldn't do more than make things
smoke, but glaring at the knives made
them too hot to keep holding onto.
The thugs yelped and let go.
"Freak bitch!" the leader yelled,
mistaking the source of the attack.
Then he charged right for them.
"Dibs on the biggest!" Nylah cried.
Turned out she's quite a firecracker.
Hell, that left Sightline with the rest
of them, if she could even handle one.
He flicked his vision across them,
and the two who had been holding
knives mistook that for laser sights,
so they broke and ran for the gate.
Sightline let them go, more focused
on the fucker who was trying to aim
for him with the damn handgun.
He heard a whump! of something
heavy hitting the ground, but
he couldn't see what it was.
He had to level the field, so he
took the risk of heating the gun.
His opponent screeched and
dropped it, then tried to hit him.
Sightline was plenty good
at brawling once he wasn't
outgunned anymore. He
grabbed the reaching hand
and twisted as hard as he
could, forcing the man down.
Once Sightline was kneeling
on top of his captive, he could
look to see how Nylah was doing.
The girl was unwinding her lean legs
from around the neck of her target,
who was out cold on the ground.
"The hell you do that?" Sightline said,
watching blood drip from the guy's nose.
"Yeah, I learned to fight," said Nylah.
"I've got three older brothers. Latrell
plays first table at chess tournaments,
Denzel turns into 6'6" of blubbering mess
at a sad song, and Sasha is only yay high
but absolutely rocks a cocktail dress
and stiletto heels. So, I had to get
used to fighting bigger opponents
than me, and I can't stand bullies!"
"I just ... wasn't expecting someone
so small to be so effective," he said.
"In Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, you always
assume that your opponent is going
to be bigger, stronger, and faster than
you," said Nylah. "So you learn to rely
on technique, timing, and leverage
rather than on brute strength."
"Well, you sure managed that,"
Sightline said as he stared at
the culprit. "He's fuckin' huge."
"Nah, he's not even as big as
Denzel," Nylah said with a shrug.
"Come on, let's throw these thugs
in a wagon and tow them into
the community. We can lock
them in a shed or something --
can't let them hustle other folks,
or someone might get really hurt."
Huh. Hers still hadn't woke up
and his was whimpering over
a blistered hand and probably
a broken wrist on that side too.
"Good idea," Sightline said. "I'll
stand watch, you get a wagon."
Nylah trotted off to fetch that
from one of the nearby garages.
Sightline knelt down to check
the unconscious man. Guy was
still alive but also still not budging.
"Is he dead?" the other one gritted.
"Nah, just out like a light," said Sightline.
"You dumbasses don't make more trouble
and we'll get you some first aid later."
Nylah came back driving a tractor
with an all-purpose wagon attached.
"Heave 'em up here," she said.
"I brought some rope too."
Sightline helped her tie up
the two men and stash them
in the wagon. Then he grabbed
the ride-along rungs on the tractor.
"I get what you meant about bullies,"
he said as Nylah headed toward
the path leading into the ecovillage.
"Where'd you find that kinda trouble?"
"My family used to live in a ghetto in
southeast Seattle before we moved here.
I remember as a kid being bullied, being
weird," said Nylah. "Given the behavior
of the 'normal' kids around me, I decided
that I would be proud of being weird. I
didn't want to be like them. They sucked."
"Bullies definitely suck," said Sightline.
"I faced a lot of them in foster care, before
I souped up. They liked to beat on me."
Nylah took a hand off the steering wheel
to pat his shoulder. "I'll protect you."
And damned if he didn't believe her.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes will appear elsewhere.
siliconshaman and wyld_dandelyon. It also fills the "Family" square in my 6-1-24 card for the Pride Fest Bingo. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with fuzzyred. It belongs to the Big One and Kraken threads of the Polychrome Heroics series."Technique, Timing, and Leverage"
[Friday, June 3, 2016]
The past week had been hell.
Sightline had pitched in to help as
best he could, but the West Coast
was wrecked from top to bottom.
In the week since the Big One,
Sightline had done what he could
to assess the alignment of buildings,
roads, bridges, and other structures.
He couldn't get out of Cowlick Ecovillage
because all the teleporters were busy,
all the working vehicles were busy,
even the riding horses were busy.
Since he didn't have a whole lot
of actually practical skills beyond
his superpower, once the surveying
let up, he switched to security work.
His Optic Powers might not be
much use in combat yet, but
he was still a supervillain.
Also, the earthquake had
shaken loose a lot of lowlifes
who figured that it would be
easier to rob the refugees
than work for a living or
stand in line for handouts.
Today Sightline was guarding
the front gate with Nylah Raglin,
who looked more like a bit of fluff
than the serious kind of security.
Sometimes Miro or Kevon
would drop by, but they had
their own work to handle.
"What do you think?"
Sightline said. "If we
get trouble, where is it
most likely to come from?"
"Straight from the public road,"
said Nylah. "We know all of
our neighbors, we work together,
so none of them would bother us.
Word is that gangs are moving
around, hunting the vulnerable."
Sightline knew that the West Coast
was lousy with slavers, and he'd
damn well kill anyone who tried
to kidnap this cute teenage girl.
"Yeah, that's a credible threat,"
he said. "So we gotta keep 'em
from breaking into the ecovillage."
Nylah smirked. "This here's
all gravel, so if we get it red,
it'll wash right out with the rain."
Maybe she wasn't quite the fluff
that Sightline thought, after all.
He swept his superpower across
the parking lot with its garages,
the main gate, and the one that
led to the rest of the community.
Then he called off the distances,
just in case that would be useful.
Nylah shook her head. "Thanks,
but I handle things personal."
She was five-foot-nothing
and maybe a hundred pounds
sopping wet. It didn't add up.
Sightline was about to argue for
some distance when something
by the road snagged his attention.
"Movement," he warned his partner.
"I'm Nylah Raglin of Cowlick Ecovillage,"
she hollered. "If you're refugees, come
forward, we have aid supplies. If you're
looking for trouble, then move along!"
"Or you'll what, girlie, throw a tantrum?"
The man who stepped into view was
big and tall, Hispanic by the look of him,
and accompanied by at least three others.
There might be more unseen in the trees.
"Move or be removed," Nylah said.
"We don't want troublemakers here."
The two long-haired men in the middle
pulled knives. The leader and the one
on the far right aimed handguns -- not
bolt pistols but projectile weapons.
Sightline didn't want to risk heating
up a gun, but the knives were fair game.
He couldn't do more than make things
smoke, but glaring at the knives made
them too hot to keep holding onto.
The thugs yelped and let go.
"Freak bitch!" the leader yelled,
mistaking the source of the attack.
Then he charged right for them.
"Dibs on the biggest!" Nylah cried.
Turned out she's quite a firecracker.
Hell, that left Sightline with the rest
of them, if she could even handle one.
He flicked his vision across them,
and the two who had been holding
knives mistook that for laser sights,
so they broke and ran for the gate.
Sightline let them go, more focused
on the fucker who was trying to aim
for him with the damn handgun.
He heard a whump! of something
heavy hitting the ground, but
he couldn't see what it was.
He had to level the field, so he
took the risk of heating the gun.
His opponent screeched and
dropped it, then tried to hit him.
Sightline was plenty good
at brawling once he wasn't
outgunned anymore. He
grabbed the reaching hand
and twisted as hard as he
could, forcing the man down.
Once Sightline was kneeling
on top of his captive, he could
look to see how Nylah was doing.
The girl was unwinding her lean legs
from around the neck of her target,
who was out cold on the ground.
"The hell you do that?" Sightline said,
watching blood drip from the guy's nose.
"Yeah, I learned to fight," said Nylah.
"I've got three older brothers. Latrell
plays first table at chess tournaments,
Denzel turns into 6'6" of blubbering mess
at a sad song, and Sasha is only yay high
but absolutely rocks a cocktail dress
and stiletto heels. So, I had to get
used to fighting bigger opponents
than me, and I can't stand bullies!"
"I just ... wasn't expecting someone
so small to be so effective," he said.
"In Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, you always
assume that your opponent is going
to be bigger, stronger, and faster than
you," said Nylah. "So you learn to rely
on technique, timing, and leverage
rather than on brute strength."
"Well, you sure managed that,"
Sightline said as he stared at
the culprit. "He's fuckin' huge."
"Nah, he's not even as big as
Denzel," Nylah said with a shrug.
"Come on, let's throw these thugs
in a wagon and tow them into
the community. We can lock
them in a shed or something --
can't let them hustle other folks,
or someone might get really hurt."
Huh. Hers still hadn't woke up
and his was whimpering over
a blistered hand and probably
a broken wrist on that side too.
"Good idea," Sightline said. "I'll
stand watch, you get a wagon."
Nylah trotted off to fetch that
from one of the nearby garages.
Sightline knelt down to check
the unconscious man. Guy was
still alive but also still not budging.
"Is he dead?" the other one gritted.
"Nah, just out like a light," said Sightline.
"You dumbasses don't make more trouble
and we'll get you some first aid later."
Nylah came back driving a tractor
with an all-purpose wagon attached.
"Heave 'em up here," she said.
"I brought some rope too."
Sightline helped her tie up
the two men and stash them
in the wagon. Then he grabbed
the ride-along rungs on the tractor.
"I get what you meant about bullies,"
he said as Nylah headed toward
the path leading into the ecovillage.
"Where'd you find that kinda trouble?"
"My family used to live in a ghetto in
southeast Seattle before we moved here.
I remember as a kid being bullied, being
weird," said Nylah. "Given the behavior
of the 'normal' kids around me, I decided
that I would be proud of being weird. I
didn't want to be like them. They sucked."
"Bullies definitely suck," said Sightline.
"I faced a lot of them in foster care, before
I souped up. They liked to beat on me."
Nylah took a hand off the steering wheel
to pat his shoulder. "I'll protect you."
And damned if he didn't believe her.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes will appear elsewhere.
