“Fear is a powerful tool, more powerful than any weapon. It can disarm your enemy, or yourself, so wield it wisely. Anger and hate, on the other hand, can tap into your impulses, your inner thoughts and desires. Why not let the rage build inside of you? You are clearly a threat with it,” Trixie trails off, thinking about Phoenix’s potential.
“But it’s dangerous, I don’t have control over my actions,” Phoenix replies, raising her voice slightly, the dwarves and Django looking over at her, then back at their cards.
“You won’t, if you take steps to manage it like my old friend did,” Trixie says, turning to Phoenix, her voice returning to its normal calm demeanor. “If you’re anything like him, you bottle the anger when the situation is too dangerous, you release it when the odds are in your favour. Your subconscious will do the rest. The mind is more powerful than a blade. There is something inside of you, Phoenix, something that burns. I can’t tell ya what it is, except it exists. I’ll help ya find it, and use it to your advantage.”
Phoenix nods in understanding.
“While there is such a thing as fate,” Trixie goes on, “do not forget you can mould it and attempt to choose your own fate, make it your own,” Trixie says.
“What we need to do,” Trixie says, “is train your subconscious so it’s ready for when you do see red.”
“And how do we do that?” Phoenix responds, the salty tears from her blue eyes now dried and smeared into her freckled face.
“Slapsies,” Trixie stares at Phoenix, smiling a devilish grin.
“Sorry, what?” Phoenix asks, puzzled.
“You heard me: slapsies, or red hands, it’s a game,” Trixie repeats. “Come on, let’s play!”
“Why’s it called red hands?” Phoenix asks.
“You’ll see,” Trixie replies, grinning.
Trixie takes the hand of a perplexed-looking Phoenix and guides her out of bed.
Phoenix reluctantly follows Trixie to the table. Trixie shoves her into a chair a little harder than necessary and steps onto Phoenix’s knees, then scoots onto the table. She sits on the table, turns to face Phoenix and holds her hands out in front of her, palms together, facing the elf.
Phoenix stares blankly at the little green goblin in bewilderment.
“Oh come on, you tellin’ me ya never played slapsies before?!” Trixie screeches.
The goblin takes Phoenix’s hands, pushes them together and moves them outwards, then does the same with her own, so that Phoenix’s hands are in a praying position but tilted 90 degrees down, thumbs facing up. Phoenix’s fingers are opposite Trixie’s and lightly touching one another.
“Okay, I’ll go first,” Trixie explains. “When I try to slap you with one hand, you have to move your hands out of the way and avoid the slap. Do that three times, then it’s your turn to slap me. But if you move your hands away when I haven’t properly swung, then I get a free slap.”
Phoenix smiles and nods. She says: “Oka-”
Trixie swings out at Phoenix’s left hand with vigour. A loud slapping noise fills the room.
“Ow!” Phoenix frowns. “I wasn’t ready!”
“There are no rules in combat, kiddo,” Trixie says sarcastically, looking into her eyes. “Ya don’t take turns. Ya just fight.”
As she finishes the sentence she takes another sudden swing, this time Phoenix moving her hands out of the way.
“Okay that’s one, well done, well done,” Trixie says.
Across the table, the two dwarves and the troll have stopped playing their game of cards and are now watching the elf and the goblin with interest, with humour.
Trixie looks into Phoenix’s eyes and tilts her head forward slightly, grinning slyly.
Phoenix stares back with focus, keeping the palms below in her lower peripheral vision.
Trixie continues to stare, the tension growing.
Phoenix smiles back with uncertainty.
This continues for half a minute. Trixie holds the same silly grin, unblinking, causing Phoenix’s smile to widen.
Phoenix eventually breaks. “What are you doing?” she barks playfully.
As Phoenix speaks, Trixie jolts her hands upwards an inch - and stops. Phoenix swings her arms up so fast she almost hits herself in the face.
“Thank you for gifting me a free slap,” Trixie winks. “I didn’t swing - but you moved.”
“Shit,” Phoenix mutters under her breath, holding her hands out.
Trixie swings her right arm out wide and firmly slaps her palm into the outside of Phoenix’s left hand.
“Oooh,” a collective groan comes from the dwarves and troll at the table.
Phoenix’s hand stings. She opens her eyes wide in shock as if to say to Trixie: ‘How could you?’
Trixie simply smiles back, smugly, flicking her hair to one side.
“Okay, no more games,” Phoenix says with intent. This time she avoids Trixie’s silly gaze and stares down at the goblin’s deep green hands, watching them carefully.
Trixie makes a few dummy moves; Phoenix remains unflinching. Trixie makes three dummy moves quickly in a row and follows up with a sudden swing.
Phoenix glides her hands away with ease. Trixie’s eyebrow raises as a small cheer comes from the table.
Others have gathered around to watch the game now. Falkor is sitting on Seven’s shoulders, smiling, listening to the sounds of people having fun from his disfigured earholes. Seven looks less hesitant and more relaxed.
The slim, pale-looking elf, Thirteen, is standing next to Seven, leaning against a wooden beam and eating some bread. He is watching Phoenix and Trixie, half-amused, half with a look that could be construed as jealousy.
Trixie suddenly swings again - and Phoenix evades.
A larger cheer comes up from the group around them and Django and the dwarves start banging their hands on the table and their feet on the floor. A look of surprise falls across Trixie’s face.
“Ha hah hah,” Django laughs. “She’s good, Trix!”
Trixie looks around sheepishly and composes herself, moving towards the edge of the table and resting her boots on Phoenix’s thighs, digging one in ever so slightly to remind Phoenix who’s boss.
Phoenix smiles proudly and blushes, suddenly aware of the small audience around her.
“So it’s my turn now?” Phoenix asks Trixie, looking into her eyes. Trixie nods and Phoenix makes a brief, lightning-quick slap to the goblin’s left hand.
“Ooh,” goes the crowd.
Trixie raises her eyebrow playfully, trying to distract Phoenix with humour.
But the elf is focused, and pauses for ten or so seconds, staring down at her hands. She makes a quick dummy and Trixie pulls her hands away.
The crowd cheers again.
“Go on, hit me,” Trixie says, rolling her eyes.
Phoenix throws a mild slap.
“That wasn’t very hard!” Trixie protests.
Phoenix shrugs. And makes another slap. But Trixie evades it at the last fraction of a second.
Another “ooh” comes from the group of misfits around them.
The game continues for a short while, with Phoenix, Trixie and the gang enjoying the moment. By the end of the game, Phoenix’s left hand is like raw salmon. But Trixie is impressed.
“Now ya know why we call it red hands,” Trixie winks, leaping off the table.
“I suppose I do,” Phoenix smiles down at her.
“There’s nothing wrong with your reactions,” Trixie says. “The next part is combat training, confidence training, and tricks. The tricks of our trade.”
Trixie stands and addresses the room.
“Everyone,” she suddenly yells, stamping her right boot on the floor and circling to grab the attention of all around her.
“We are to meet the Steelfeathers now, to pay off this girl’s debt and see if we can get her mother back. Then she joins us. I do the talking, Django you stay by my side. Seven, you carry Falkor. Henry and Harris, as usual.
“Thirteen, I want you looking after Phoenix,” she says, peering round to the slim, pale elf with gangly features.
He chews a piece of bread from the other side of the table and looks back at Trixie, silent.
“You’ll get used to our grumpy git soon enough,” Trixie says to Phoenix, loud enough for Thirteen to hear.
“Right, what are we waiting for?” she says loudly to the rest of her crew. “Out! And don’t forget to leave a minute’s gap between each of you when heading back to the hideout,” Trixie booms, her small frame managing to produce a loud, commanding voice.
The gang move towards the ladder. Django is the first to head up.
A thick, hairy hand taps Phoenix on her back.
“Nice slapsies game, lass,” Henry compliments Phoenix, smiling.
“Oh, thank you,” she says shyly.
“Didn’t feel I had the chance to properly introduce myself last time,” he states, holding out his hand.
“Pleased to properly meet you then,” she replies, shaking his hand.
“I’m sorry you have to meet this idiot too,” he adds, his voice becoming a raspy growl as he turns to his brother.
Harris pulls a silly face and half-sings: “He’s the idiot, not I, he’s the idiot, oh my.”
Phoenix lets out a quiet giggle; Henry sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t take anything he says seriously,” Henry mutters before turning to the ladder.
At that moment Thirteen brushes past Phoenix and she opens her mouth to say hello, but he’s already moved past her, ignoring her.
Trixie pats Phoenix on the side of her leg.
“Now, redhead, let’s go and get your mum back.”
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