Not a Child Anymore: Ch. 1
Info: OUAT | Peter Pan
She gripped the sword in her hand as if her life depended on it. She swung it confidently, forcefully, moving her feet deftly as she circled around her opponent. He simply jumped back swiftly, laughing a little, his own sword casually held in his right hand. He recovered from her attack, stepping in rhythm with her, his magnificently green eyes piercing hers, never wavering. She sucked in a breath before raising her sword to meet his, and again, and again, and again. She twisted her body as she turned into him to knock the sword out of his hand. The boy simply grabbed hold of her waist, flipping her over his shoulder. She landed on the ground, her back thudding and stinging in sudden pain. The wind was knocked right out of her, and she gasped to regain her breath.
Just as the boy began to lower himself onto her to hold her down, she lunged towards her sword and kicked herself back up. She turned back to him, glaring thunderously, a growl deep in her throat. “That’s the last time you’ll be doing that,” she snarled, leaning forward, sword pointing straight as an arrow.
The boy leisurely stepped towards her, sword hanging loosely by his side. “Oh yeah?” he raised his eyebrow. Could he be any more cocky? she thought angrily. He smirked and faked lunging towards her, but withdrew. She jumped back instinctively, annoyed that he was just trying to get her to jump in a fright and make her look foolish. She played right into his hands. Frustrated and worked up, she was slow to react when he lunged again, this time nicking her arm by flicking his sword upward. It stung, but she refused to wince. Without sparing her arm a glance, she took advantage of his overconfidence, and swung her sword with so much force and speed it knocked his right out of his hand, earning a look of surprise out of him. She twisted her sword in her hand, taking hold of the hilt with one and the tip with the other, driving it under her opponent’s chin. She forced him back into a tree, holding the sword against his neck, pushing just enough for it to hurt him, but not cut him.
“You shouldn’t let your guard down so easily, Pan” she quipped triumphantly.
“And neither should you yours,” Pan laughed, sweeping his foot against her, causing her legs to buckle and her to lose her balance. She stumbled, lowering her sword, giving him enough time to push himself off the tree, grab her shoulders, and swing her around so this time she was pinned against the tree. He looked at her with such fierce intensity, eyes blazing, but she lifted her chin stubbornly. She pointed her sword against his chest this time.
“Deadlocked,” Pan conceded.
“No. My sword is pointed at you, and…” she looked around with exaggerated mockery. “You have — hmm — you don’t even have a sword at all. You have no weapon, I win.”
Peter rolled his eyes with a mix of anger and admiration. No one had ever bested him before. He considered giving in, but he so wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face. So he roughly grabbed her wrist suddenly, wresting the sword out of her grasp and into his, using his other hand to keep her firmly planted against the course bark scraping her back. He tossed the sword aside, and returned his gaze back onto her, planting each of his hands by her head.
“Peter Pan never fails. I win.” His face was dangerously close to hers, and she could feel his chest rising up and down, his breathing hot and heavy, and his voice low. She glanced away timidly, rather surprised at his close proximity and the intensity of his gaze, which was so full of victory. Before she could wrest herself free, he pushed his hands off the tree and turned away.
She took a step forward, annoyed he beat her once again. Expecting him to gloat, she clenched her teeth and braced herself. He surprised her yet again.
“How did you get to be so good at sword-fighting anyway?” Pan chuckled, turning her way.
She looked at him surprisedly, before simply shrugging. “My father is a pirate… He’s hardly at home, and it’s just me and my mum, so he taught me how to defend myself. I’ve held a sword in my hand for as long as I have quills.”
Peter raised his eyebrow again, amused. “How thoughtful of him,” he mused. She knew Pan’s history with pirates, and it wasn’t a good one.
She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Not really. He wasn’t doing it out of kindness,” she paused and then added, “Though I know you don’t think pirates capable of kindness anyway. But don’t think I’m defending him. He didn’t give a crap about me or my mom. He did nothing for us, nothing,” she spat bitterly, shocking herself with how much hatred she still held in her heart for him.
She suddenly began to breathe heavily, as images of her careless drunk of a father swarmed in her mind. She kept herself up by clumsily placing her hand against the tree, as her body shook and her vision blurred and her mind clouded.
She woke up shaking.
Peter Pan lurched out of bed, flinging his covers off of himself. He shot up, anxiously beginning to pace around his treehouse. “Cece?” he whispered.
Cecily shook in her bed, drawing her blankets up to her shoulders and wrapping them around her in an attempt to keep out the biting cold. She felt the wind blow mercilessly into her room, causing papers to rustle, the drawings on her wall gently swaying. Shivering, Cecily jumped out of bed in a rush to close the window — she paused. I don’t remember opening this window in the first place… she thought. She never opened the window, not unless she wanted to sit on the roof. Then, she would open the window and crawl out onto the roof; she often sat there when her mother was wailing to herself, and when she was younger, when her parents were fighting. It was on the roof she escaped… the roof and —
Suddenly, another gust of wind shook Cecily, pulling her out of her thoughts. She hugged herself and leaned forward to close the window, when a hand shot out and held the window back. At first, Cecily stubbornly pushed back on the window, oblivious to the hand holding it in place. But when she looked closely, and saw a figure standing on her roof, she yelped and jumped back in fright. She backed away, staring, transfixed, as the hand pushed the window back open and the face of a boy popped in, one elbow propped up against the window, the other resting on the sill.
Word Count: 1,157 // This is the first writing piece I’ve posted so far! I write a lot and try to do it quite frequently, so this definitely is not my first time writing. However, it’s my first time writing anything Peter Pan related. I’m trying to stay away from the clichés and OUAT quotes unless requested… just to keep it original and unexpected and fun. (: I’d LOVE to hear feedback. Interested in a chapter two? Let me know!