Staff Training Sam and meditation weren't exactly friends. So she didn't arrive at the Dojo until later in the day, after she'd finished a few batches of her disgusting vodka. Instead of wearing her wig, she pulled her hair into a tight braid and fastened it across the crown of her head, covering the whole thing with a kerchief, so it couldn't be seen. As much as she couldn't bring herself to focus on inner peace, she was super into destroying people's outer peace, at the moment. Especially the Overlords, who she had a tendency to picture as her opponents as she practiced her maneuvers.
They all had mustaches.
Danny had given Sam a personal staff for the holidays and she was determined to figure out how to use it. She wasn't quite up to the challenge of sparring, but she continued to repeat each position she'd learned.
Over and over and fucking over again.
The Kindred were known for their ability to adapt fairly quickly. It was social Darwinism in an ever-changing world. And Sam was starting to get some elegance and grace to her form. She wasn't exactly Olympics-ready just yet. But still. Not too fucking shabby.
French Girls When she wasn't getting her ninja on--or maybe her Ninja Turtle--Sam stacked a few of the tumbling mats on top of each other and lay down on her stomach. She had her notebook open and was carefully sketching out the different positions for the staff. Or, more accurately, drawing pictures of Danny in each stance. At first, she'd just thought of it as a nice, quick reference. The problem was, Sam absolutely couldn't abide the idea of stick figures. So now it was an art project.
And each drawing got more and more detailed.
It hadn't exactly been her plan to draw Danny like one of her French girls, but these things happened.
At least she'd be able to stop annoying the instructors every three seconds to ask for a refresher on how to hold her hands. In theory, anyway.
Wildcard [OOC: Sam is just...around. Feel free to challenge her to a race or humiliate her in a spar or something.]
Samantha Moon | OTA
Sam and meditation weren't exactly friends. So she didn't arrive at the Dojo until later in the day, after she'd finished a few batches of her disgusting vodka. Instead of wearing her wig, she pulled her hair into a tight braid and fastened it across the crown of her head, covering the whole thing with a kerchief, so it couldn't be seen. As much as she couldn't bring herself to focus on inner peace, she was super into destroying people's outer peace, at the moment. Especially the Overlords, who she had a tendency to picture as her opponents as she practiced her maneuvers.
They all had mustaches.
Danny had given Sam a personal staff for the holidays and she was determined to figure out how to use it. She wasn't quite up to the challenge of sparring, but she continued to repeat each position she'd learned.
Over and over and fucking over again.
The Kindred were known for their ability to adapt fairly quickly. It was social Darwinism in an ever-changing world. And Sam was starting to get some elegance and grace to her form. She wasn't exactly Olympics-ready just yet. But still. Not too fucking shabby.
French Girls
When she wasn't getting her ninja on--or maybe her Ninja Turtle--Sam stacked a few of the tumbling mats on top of each other and lay down on her stomach. She had her notebook open and was carefully sketching out the different positions for the staff. Or, more accurately, drawing pictures of Danny in each stance. At first, she'd just thought of it as a nice, quick reference. The problem was, Sam absolutely couldn't abide the idea of stick figures. So now it was an art project.
And each drawing got more and more detailed.
It hadn't exactly been her plan to draw Danny like one of her French girls, but these things happened.
At least she'd be able to stop annoying the instructors every three seconds to ask for a refresher on how to hold her hands. In theory, anyway.
Wildcard
[OOC: Sam is just...around. Feel free to challenge her to a race or humiliate her in a spar or something.]