Post by Deleted on Aug 13, 2015 23:12:08 GMT
i cherish my strength
The fact that there wasn't a single driving range within an hours drive irked Flint to no end. Indeed, since his earliest days at Ashford it had been a constant source of anguish. It was not that he minded, as he was doing now, standing at the top of a gently rolling hill, over looking the lake. It was more that he had no real way other than educated guesswork to judge how well his drive was coming along, and that he had spent far too much on golf balls over the years, an amount of money that disgusted even one as affluent as he. His indignation prickled at the side soft his mind, his power leaking out a trickle in no particular direction, as he placed a fresh ball on the tee, and lined himself up.
Golf was one of the true activities he chose to undertake that cleared his mind, rather than busy it. Normally, Flint was in a constant pursuit of knowledge, but even he understood the importance of taking time out to reflect, and be still. Today, however, he was not falling into a state of relaxation as quickly as he normally would. Beginning to line the shot up, he realised why – he had nothing to plan. It had been months since anyone had gotten in his way, and made a true enemy of him. Oh of course, there were people out there who pissed him off, mostly pretentious underlings with grand ideas about rebelling against the rich establishment, or disrespectful cretins unable to realise who their betters were. A flash of anger hit him, and again the edges of his mind prickled as a burst of Psionic pain fled him. Somewhere in the trees a few metres away, a bird screeched and fluttered noisily from the tree it inhabited.
Flint chose to blame this when he sliced the ball dreadfully, sending it to his left awkwardly with not a great deal of height on it. He cursed loudly, threw his club down, and sought the bird out in the sky. It was already far away, but not far enough.
Anger, black as night and cold as ice, pulsated in his mind, and he held it, nourished it, for the briefest of moments. He felt the creatures mind – simple, weak and feeble. He held it's presence for a lick of a second, before bringing the anger of his mind down on it, focusing into pain, like a hammer squashing a nut. Another shriek, and the infernal creature fell from the sky, a tangle of limbs and feathers. It landed maybe 50 feet away, twitched for a moment, and then nothing.
“That's better”, Flint sighed, contentedly. Reaching into his golf bag, he pulled out a fresh ball. He eyed it a moment, gave it a rub for luck, and placed it on the tee. “Easy this time”, he muttered as he lined himself up. “Through the ball. Shoulders straight...”
Golf was one of the true activities he chose to undertake that cleared his mind, rather than busy it. Normally, Flint was in a constant pursuit of knowledge, but even he understood the importance of taking time out to reflect, and be still. Today, however, he was not falling into a state of relaxation as quickly as he normally would. Beginning to line the shot up, he realised why – he had nothing to plan. It had been months since anyone had gotten in his way, and made a true enemy of him. Oh of course, there were people out there who pissed him off, mostly pretentious underlings with grand ideas about rebelling against the rich establishment, or disrespectful cretins unable to realise who their betters were. A flash of anger hit him, and again the edges of his mind prickled as a burst of Psionic pain fled him. Somewhere in the trees a few metres away, a bird screeched and fluttered noisily from the tree it inhabited.
Flint chose to blame this when he sliced the ball dreadfully, sending it to his left awkwardly with not a great deal of height on it. He cursed loudly, threw his club down, and sought the bird out in the sky. It was already far away, but not far enough.
Anger, black as night and cold as ice, pulsated in his mind, and he held it, nourished it, for the briefest of moments. He felt the creatures mind – simple, weak and feeble. He held it's presence for a lick of a second, before bringing the anger of his mind down on it, focusing into pain, like a hammer squashing a nut. Another shriek, and the infernal creature fell from the sky, a tangle of limbs and feathers. It landed maybe 50 feet away, twitched for a moment, and then nothing.
“That's better”, Flint sighed, contentedly. Reaching into his golf bag, he pulled out a fresh ball. He eyed it a moment, gave it a rub for luck, and placed it on the tee. “Easy this time”, he muttered as he lined himself up. “Through the ball. Shoulders straight...”
