Fiona By Diana the Valkyrie (c) 1997 A young Valkyrie just starting out in life When I was 12, my mother explained the Facts of Life to me, although I actually already had a fair idea. But the real surprise was when I was 18, and my grandmother explained to me the Facts of Life part two. "Fiona", she said, "you aren't like the other girls that you know". Well, I knew that there were some differences between myself and my friends, but she seemed to be trying to tell me something important. "It's genetic, Fiona. Physical characteristics often skip a generation, so the grand-daughter takes after the grandmother. Not always, not exactly, but I can see in you, how I was when I was eighteen. And I'm going to tell you what my grandmother told me when I was your age." I sat down at her feet to listen. "There isn't a real name for this tendency, so we've made up our own word. We call a woman with this genetic heritage a Valkyrie, although it probably has nothing to do with the Norse myth, even as expanded by Wagner. You see, there are subtle anatomical and hormonal differences - nothing great, but it adds up to a bigger, stronger woman with a particular outlook on life. And, Fiona, it's very clear to me that you've inherited these characteristics; you're a Valkyrie." She continued, "You're young, so you haven't reached your full growth yet. I can't really tell you what that will mean, because everyone's different. But just looking at you now, I can tell, Fiona. You're a lot bigger than the other girls your age, bigger than many of the boys, too. So how big are you?" I blushed. I gave up playing team sports a few years ago, after there was nearly a terrible accident which wasn't my fault at all, but I was so glad the boy wasn't badly hurt. And I stopped wearing revealing clothes when I got fed up with the stares and the remarks. "I'm five foot eight, 160 pounds." "Measurements, Fiona" "Twenty eight waist, and before you say I'm fat, it isn't true, there isn't any flab there, you can look" I pulled up my sweater to show her. "Don't be so defensive, Fiona. I didn't think there was any flab, I can see you're not overweight, just looking at you. That 28 inches, I would judge, is a normal teenager's 22 inches, and the other six inches is the belt of muscle that is so much thicker on a Valkyrie. That works out to be about an inch all round. That doesn't surprised me, Fiona, when you're fully grown that will be two inches, maybe." I sat down again to listen - this sounded very relevant to me, and she continued. "And you have big biceps and thighs, am I right?" I nodded. "They called me 'thunderthighs' till I started wearing long skirts. And I never let them see my arms, because I can imagine what they'd say." "Yes, Fiona, children can be very cruel, and will always pick on anyone who is different. So you've been trying to hide the fact that you're a Valkyrie. Well, now you're eighteen, that has to stop. You have to be proud of your genetic heritage, proud of your body, proud of your capabilities." I tossed my ponytail, and protested. "I'm not ashamed, grandma! I'm not hiding!" "Yes you are, Fiona. You're hiding your arms, your legs and your body. And what's worse, you're trying to hide your true personality, aren't you? What do you do when one of the boys calls you 'honey' or 'my dear'? What do you do when he plays grab-ass? What do you do when he sneaks a feel?" "I want to punch his lights out, grandma. Why can't they show me proper respect?" "So what do you actually do, Fiona?" "Nothing. Girls aren't supposed to fight." "Wrong, Fiona. Girls are supposed to fight, they're supposed to fight for what is right, they're supposed to fight to protect themselves, and most of all, they're supposed to fight to protect their loved ones. You should never, ever accept an insult without hurling one back, you should never refuse a challenge, and you should never refuse a fight. Fiona, you're a Valkyrie, and you don't take any bullshit from anyone. Not from a woman, not from a man, not from anyone." While she was talking she stood up, and from my position on the floor, watching her speak so emphatically, I could see the fire and the steel. Could I be like this? Could I be like my grandma, so strong and tough? Yes I could! If that's what a Valkyrie was like, then I wanted in! "Yes, yes! That's me, that's me, oh, grandma, you're right. Why should I take this stuff! I'm a Valkyrie, just like you, and I'll fight for my rights!" She grinned, and I imagined how she must have been in her prime, how a man must have felt seeing that wolfish grin, how he must have suddenly been slightly less sure of himself. "What do I have to do?" "Fiona, you should take a year out of your education now, and go out into the world and get to know yourself. Understand yourself and your abilities. Being a Valkyrie isn't all advantages; the displaced tendons that make you stronger, also make you slower." "Displaced tendons?" "Fiona, the muscles attach to the bones via tendons, and yours are further away from the joint than the average. That gives you a different leverage ratio, giving your more strength but less speed. It's a tradeoff, and you have to learn to use that extra strength without suffering from the speed disadvantage. So don't get into competitions where speed is crucial, always try for contests of strength." "What else, grandma?" "Fiona, the rest you have to learn for yourself, the rest is inside your head, and I can guess what might be there, but everyone is different, and you have to find out for yourself. Just this - be proud of yourself, be proud of your heritage, and don't take any bullshit from anyone." I knew she was right. I talked to Mom and Dad, and they thought I was crazy to take a year out of school and go wander round the country. "Round the world, Dad, I'm going to Europe for this." And for some reason they thought this was even worse. "Well, you can't and that's that. I forbid it." Well, he's my Dad and I don't want to get into a big fight with him, but like Grandma said, I don't have to take orders from anyone, I'm free, eighteen and a Valkyrie, and I do what I want. But how to explain this to a parent? Which gave me a clue - I got grandma in on the discussion. Not that I need help, a Valkyrie can fight her own battles. But what she'd taught me about respect, well, I had to respect my own parents, didn't I? Well, grandma was wonderful. She simply told her daughter to shut up and listen, and then she spoke to Dad, quietly but firmly, and by the time she'd finished he was practically a mess of quivering flesh, and I made little notes of how she did it, because I was seeing a Valkyrie in action. And at the end it was all settled. I'd take a year off school before college, I'd go round Europe, I'd phone home every other day if only just for five seconds to reassure them I was OK, and I'd write a long letter once per week. Grandma helped me to go shopping for new clothes. Low cut T-shirts that showed off my breasts and a good six inches of cleavage, a couple of bikinis (but we had to get the tops and bottoms separately, because although my bottom is a tight forty inches, my top is somewhat bigger. Short skirts, to show off my thighs, and grandma introduced me to five inch spike heels. Wow, instantly I was six feet one, and they did wonderful things to my calf muscles. And she told me that if I ever got mugged by a group of men, I shouldn't hesitate to use those spikes as weapons, but that in any normal sporting contest, it was very much a no- no. Well of course not, I mean I wouldn't want to hurt a man any more than necessary, would I? And as we walked back to the car park, me in my new outfit, I heard a squeal of brakes and a bang, and grandma stopped me and pointed, and said "Fiona, you just caused your first accident", and I giggled, and she laughed, and I noticed that the men were turning their heads to look at me, and I felt warm inside and proud that I was a Valkyrie. The first country I visited was England, because at least they speak the same language there. I arrived at Heathrow with my backpack, shot through customs and was out in the English countryside very quickly. It was June so it was nice and warm, so I didn't need to wear very much, just a halter top and a brief skirt. I stood by the edge of the road, thumb out, because when you only have $1000 to last you a year, you don't take taxis. I didn't have long to wait, I guess Valkyries are good at hitching rides, and a huge truck hissed and huffed to a stop. I climbed into the cab, and told the driver we'd both be safer if he faced in the direction he was driving. He laughed and we started off again. "You're a Yank, aren't you?" he said. I won't try to describe his accent, I could barely understand him. So I explained, yes, I was from the Big Country over the Ocean, and he took another look sideways, and said "My name's Fred. No offense, miss, but you don't get many of those to the pound." I glanced down and laughed, he wasn't being disrespectful, but you give as good as you get, so I pointed to his lap and said "You get quite a few of those to the yard, though." He went bright red, and apologized, and said he had a daughter my age, and I told him I didn't mind at all. Then we stopped at a "transport cafe", which turned out to be a diner, and he treated me to lunch, which looked like fried grease and soggy chips. As we ate, some big guy swaggered in, and shouted out "Any of you cowards want to take on Birmingham Bill, or are you all gutless yellowbellies." I looked up, and Fred said "Ignore him, he's just looking for a fight." "Well, let's give him one" I said, and stood up. "Fiona, sit down, he'll take you seriously." "Good," I said, and started walking towards him. Actually, I had two thoughts in my mind. Maybe if I got into a fight, I wouldn't have to find a tactful way to explain that the food was inedible, and just maybe this might be a way to make my $1000 stretch a bit further. I stood in front of him, looking slightly up into his eyes in spite of my five inch heels, and quietly said "I'll take you on, Bill. If you've got the bottle to fight a Valkyrie." He laughed, nervously. "I don't fight tarts, girlie. Go back to the kitchen." "I'm not a tart, Bill. Maybe you've never met a Valkyrie before" and I flexed my right arm to show him the bicep. His eyes widened, and he stepped back, looking me up and down. "Now put up or shut up, Mr. Birmingham Bill, because if you back out of this, you'll never be able to show your face in public again." The cafe owner came out from the kitchen, looking worried. "Hey, guys ..." he started, then stopped, looking confused. Bill turned to him. "What you want?" he growled. "Well, just, well, could you fight outside? I mean, there's plenty of space in the car park, I don't really want the cafe wrecked." I laughed, and said to him "Sure, sweetie, we don't want to do any damage, just a nice friendly fight for fun, OK? Outside then. And you can referee." The cafe emptied into the summer sunshine. I could hear the birds singing, smell the scent of new mown hay. A great day for a fight. On the way out, I slipped Fred a couple of hundred pounds, about half my money, and told him to back me, get the best odds he could. "You really mean this, don't you?" he said. "I'm a Valkyrie, sweetie, you just get that money down." The ref. banged a tin tray to signal the start, and Bill came out to the middle of the makeshift ring, his fists up, head down, looking aggressive. And at this point, I guess I ought to mention I've never boxed before, but I didn't want him to know that. I was relying on grandma's advice and my Valkyrie strength to see me through. So I just copied his stance and movements, and waited to see what would happen next. He flicked out a fist, which I took on my arm. Ouch! That stung. I guess a man's fists are like hammers, and any punch is going to hurt some. But a Valkyrie's fists are like hammers too, and I threw one of them at his head. And missed completely. And while I was all stretched out, his fist slammed into my stomach, and he discovered that one inch belt of muscle round my middle. It stung a bit, but from the way he was shaking his hand, that punch had hurt him a bit, too. So while he was off balance, I tried another fist to the head, and hit empty space instead. But this time, instead of over-reaching, I followed through and moved into the punch, so that when his counter arrived, I wasn't there any more. And I thought about his punch to my belly, and how it really hadn't hurt, not much, and how grandma was so right about htat. And I remembered what grandma had told me. My speed is like a snail, because of the way the tendons work, so I shouldn't get into any speed contests. But my strength is the compensation for that, and I needed to get into a position where I could use that. Obviously headshots were out, he could duck too fast. Maybe if I went for the body, he couldn't get out of the way so fast? And the other thing grandma had told me, is you can compensate for low speed, by using prediction. If you can see what he's going to do, you can start your counter before he starts his attack. So I tried the same head shot again, but only pretending, and he assumed I'd miss and follow through, and he aimed a punch at where I'd be, but I wasn't there because the head shot was fake, but the body shot with my left hand was real, and I put everything I had into it, and he staggered back, I could see I'd hurt him. And then the tin tray went for the end of the round. We retired to opposite ends of the circle, and someone gave me a bottle of water, and I drank a couple of sips, then poured the rest over my body, partly to cool down, and partly because I thought the effect might slow a man down a bit. A fair stratagem, I thought, because Bill looked quite dishy stripped to the waist, all muscle and bone. And I'd hurt this big strong guy with my punch, I'd hurt him a lot, I was really beginning to love this game. Then the second round started, and I just ran into him and started a slugging contest. No science, just brute force. And he accepted it, not knowing that he was playing straight into my advantages. I just ripped my bare fist into his side again and again while he just bruised his knuckles against the hard Valkyrie muscle belt around my middle. His side turned red from the assault until he couldn't take it any more, and started falling back. I knew I had him beaten, and followed to finish him off, and suddenly it felt like a thunderbolt hit my head. I have no idea where that punch came from, but it knocked me to the ground, and left me dazed and confused. The world seemed to shake and shimmy, and I dimly heard someone counting in the far distance, and knew that meant I had to try to stand up again. Roll over, onto hands and knees, push up, stagger. It takes more than one punch to finish a Valkyrie. The ref. checked my hands for grit and asked me if I wanted to go on, to which I answered "I'm a Valkyrie, sweetie, of course I do". So he stepped back, and I looked across at Bill, who looked pleased with himself. He won't do that to me again, I thought, you don't catch a Valkyrie twice with that thing. Oh no. And I started to advance on him, doggedly. His side was still bright red, and I knew I could still finish him off if I stayed away from that thunderbolt. We faced each other, circling warily. He didn't want my fist in his side, I didn't want another punch to the head. He feinted, but I knew it was a feint, and ignored it. I moved towards him, to get him within reach; he danced back, to take advantage of his longer arms. I moved again, and he lashed out with his thunderbolt, but I'd predicted it, and batted his arm so his fist missed my head. But as I did so, I moved closer in so he was within reach, and I could see my target, that big red patch on his side, and I swung my fist, a big, looping punch, out and around and in, like a sledgehammer aimed at the biggest target in the world, and he was too off-balance to avoid it, but he could see it coming, and I saw the anticipation of pain in his eyes, and was that just a trace of fear I saw? And then my fist sunk into the area I'd already damaged and tenderized, and he made just the slightest noise and crumpled to the ground at my feet. I stepped back, waiting, and the ref. began to count. Bill tried to stand, but the pain in his side was too great, his body simply couldn't do it. He tried again, and I heard the gasp of pain as his body informed him that it had had enough. And as he was trying for the third time, the referee reached ten, and it was too late. So then I helped him stand up, and he held my hands over my head and tried to shout "The winner!", but his side was still giving him too much pain. I helped him back to the cafe, and put a blanket round him to keep him warm, that's what you do for shock, and this wasn't shock, but I figured it couldn't hurt. And then I looked round for Fred, to find out how much I'd won. Fred. Fred? Where's Fred? I ran out to the car park, but his truck had gone, and with it half my money, the dishonest bastard. Just as well I had my backpack in the cafe. So I lugged it over to where Bill was sitting, together with a big mug of that hot sweet foul-smelling stuff they call tea, because I thought he'd need it, and I told him that he should count himself lucky, he hadn't just lost half his money. "I've lost more than that" he said morosely. "I've just been beaten by a girl, I'll never be able to fight again." I laughed. "No, Bill, that's just silly. You've been beaten before, I bet?" He nodded. "Well, it's no big deal, you just learn a bit and do better next time. Anyway, you didn't just get beaten by a girl, you got beaten by a Valkyrie, and there's certainly no shame in that." He looked up at me. "How much did you lose, Fiona?" "A few hundred pounds, half my money" I said glumly. "Listen, you beat me fair and square, no hard feelings, right?" "Course not Bill, it was a good fight, and I learned how to box." "You learned how to box? You ain't never boxed before?" I shook my head. "Well, you sure did good for a learner." He winced as he pulled out his wallet, it would be some time before his side stopped hurting him. "Listen, it's not right you should win but wind up poorer." He pulled out a bunch of notes and shoved the across the table at me. I looked at them, and looked him in the eye. "Valkyries don't take charity, Bill." "That's not charity, Fiona. That's an advance on earnings. You're going to be a professional fighter like me, and fight for cash, and I'm your manager. Deal?" I grinned at him, and said "Deal", and as we shook hands, he barely winced at all. Copyright (c) 1997 Diana the Valkyrie If you want to know more about Valkyries, you're welcome to visit http://www.TheValkyrie.com or send me email at valkyrie@TheValkyrie.com, or visit and chat with me in my chat room, I'm there quite often.