Ameya’s face remained impassive as he continued to practice his combat techniques. It was odd to see no expression on the face of someone who jumped high and ducked low, spinning and kicking, flipping and twisting.
In the light of the clear moon in the crisp night air, one could look closely and see that when he stretched his arms or legs rather far, slender bits of matter would extrude. It was a rather impressive display, if Ameya did think so himself. And he did.
The infamous ball of hair that resided upon his head seemed to be bigger, for the hair that would normally fall down his back had been twisted into it. One would think that it would cause him to be clumsier, or at least weigh his head down. But it did nothing of the sort. It was as if the five feet of thick wavy hair didn’t even exist.
Front split, twist, jump, air-twist, diagonal axis-flip, summersault, left-foot land while right foot kick out, right foot stomp, left foot spin kick, twelve arm strike, front flip, double-foot land, arms extend to the side, needles extrude, poison inject, power-down.
Ameya’s face remained impassive and blank, his dark skin absorbing the full moonlight and letting it outline his facial and bodily contours. His hair shined, nappy and tangled as it absorbed the sweat that could not get past it and onto his head. He inhaled and exhaled as easily as if he’d been simply strolling down the lane.
“Would you be a dear and play the willing volunteer?” he called, voice not as expressionless as his face, but betraying nothing of his feelings. “I sure could use someone to try a new toxin on,” he joked, though one could not tell from his face.