Mini NoNoWriMo -- 578 words

There's a red circle spray-painted on the side of the shed. That's appropriate, Nancy thinks grimly, because she's starting to see red.

"It's simple," John says for about the fifth time, and Nancy grinds her teeth as he flicks his hand and his knife sinks into the weathered wood at the center of the circle. He hands her a knife from the side table he's set up a dozen feet from the wall and she stares at the target with fierce concentration.

It's no consolation whan it hits dead center, right next to the hilt of John's blade, because it hits pommel first, bounces off and falls to the dirt. Again. They've been doing this for forty minutes now, and although she's hit the circle almost every time---she was a decent softball pitcher, back in the day---it hasn't stuck once. Not once.

"Nothing wrong with your aim," John allows, sounding forced, "but look---it's all in the wrist." He tosses another knife, without seeming to aim, and with a flash of steel, it embeds itself beside its brother.

Trying to imitate his casual fling, she misses the target completely.

"You're a hazard to good knives," John observes. Hmph. She has good knives in her kitchen, too, but knows better than to say such a thing, because damned if she's going to ruin her good Wusthofs throwing them around like a fool. He's got it in his head that she needs training, and when it comes to the exercise part of it, yeah, he's probably right, but she's about over this nonsense.

When he stands close to her and tries to guide her arm, she's tense. "Move with me," he exhorts. "I know you can do that."

His tone of sexual innuendo is more annoying than seductive, given how irked she is already. It's on the tip of her tongue to say 'Fuck you, John Winchester', but she doesn't quite dare.

John stops. Lets her go. "This isn't going to work," he says flatly, and her stomach drops. Does he mean this silly-ass lesson, or does he mean...them?

"Show me again, please?" Nancy beseeches him.

He looks at her for a long moment, and she works hard to project an aura of total commitment. She's committed to him, and if that means turning herself into Annie Oakley with cutlery, so be it.

"Watch my arm," he tells her at last. There are four knives (of a set of twelve) left on the side table, and he scoops them up. They're obviously as familiar to him as her knives are to her. He settles three of them between the fingers of his left hand, holds the fourth by its tip. "Like this." Target. He draws the next one, and Nancy is sure that if she tried to hold double-edged knives between her fingers that way, she'd be wearing band-aids for a week. Target. He makes it look so easy, but then, he's been doing this sort of thing for a very long time. Watching him...damn, he looks sexy and dangerous and all controlled power...target.

He hands her the last knife, and waits while she replays her mental image of how he did it. This time, the knife hits one of the hilts protruding from the wall, and is deflected.

"You would've had that one," John says, and goes to retrieve his deadly toys. "That's a good note to end on. We'll do more tomorrow."

Mini NoNoWriMo -- 578 words

There's a red circle spray-painted on the side of the shed. That's appropriate, Nancy thinks grimly, because she's starting to see red.

"It's simple," John says for about the fifth time, and Nancy grinds her teeth as he flicks his hand and his knife sinks into the weathered wood at the center of the circle. He hands her a knife from the side table he's set up a dozen feet from the wall and she stares at the target with fierce concentration.

It's no consolation whan it hits dead center, right next to the hilt of John's blade, because it hits pommel first, bounces off and falls to the dirt. Again. They've been doing this for forty minutes now, and although she's hit the circle almost every time---she was a decent softball pitcher, back in the day---it hasn't stuck once. Not once.

"Nothing wrong with your aim," John allows, sounding forced, "but look---it's all in the wrist." He tosses another knife, without seeming to aim, and with a flash of steel, it embeds itself beside its brother.

Trying to imitate his casual fling, she misses the target completely.

"You're a hazard to good knives," John observes. Hmph. She has good knives in her kitchen, too, but knows better than to say such a thing, because damned if she's going to ruin her good Wusthofs throwing them around like a fool. He's got it in his head that she needs training, and when it comes to the exercise part of it, yeah, he's probably right, but she's about over this nonsense.

When he stands close to her and tries to guide her arm, she's tense. "Move with me," he exhorts. "I know you can do that."

His tone of sexual innuendo is more annoying than seductive, given how irked she is already. It's on the tip of her tongue to say 'Fuck you, John Winchester', but she doesn't quite dare.

John stops. Lets her go. "This isn't going to work," he says flatly, and her stomach drops. Does he mean this silly-ass lesson, or does he mean...them?

"Show me again, please?" Nancy beseeches him.

He looks at her for a long moment, and she works hard to project an aura of total commitment. She's committed to him, and if that means turning herself into Annie Oakley with cutlery, so be it.

"Watch my arm," he tells her at last. There are four knives (of a set of twelve) left on the side table, and he scoops them up. They're obviously as familiar to him as her knives are to her. He settles three of them between the fingers of his left hand, holds the fourth by its tip. "Like this." Target. He draws the next one, and Nancy is sure that if she tried to hold double-edged knives between her fingers that way, she'd be wearing band-aids for a week. Target. He makes it look so easy, but then, he's been doing this sort of thing for a very long time. Watching him...damn, he looks sexy and dangerous and all controlled power...target.

He hands her the last knife, and waits while she replays her mental image of how he did it. This time, the knife hits one of the hilts protruding from the wall, and is deflected.

"You would've had that one," John says, and goes to retrieve his deadly toys. "That's a good note to end on. We'll do more tomorrow."