Bad Melody (Seven Deadly Sins #3)

Chapter One: Fandoms are Life

I sat forcing all the menace in my body to rise up and project itself onto my face. It was truly a Herculean effort as my Green Lantern t-shirt and khaki shorts didn't exactly scream 'badass.' Still, the air was thick with tension as I silently willed a crack to appear in my enemy's cool façade. So far I'd been unsuccessful in my intimidation tactics, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I felt myself on the precipice of victory - like Rocky facing off against Ivan Drago.

Breaking the icy standoff, I spoke in my best Russian accent, "I must break you."

My shrewd opponent blinked.

I hit her again.

"You will lose...I win for me. For me!" I pounded my chest for emphasis.

Recognition slowly dawned in my enemy's eyes.

"Have you been watching Rocky IV again, Miss Eliza?" Spring Dawn guessed. "You promised to call me when it was on the television again."

Oh...she was good. Using movie guilt in a pathetic attempt to distract me.

I pulled out the big guns in my arsenal of verbal firepower.

"I pity the fool, and I will destroy any man who tries to take what I got!" I replied in my best Mr. T impression.

"Apparently Rocky III as well," Dante's voice filtered down the steps as he descended the wrought iron staircase that led from the upper shop level to the main floor. "Your Clubber Lang is way better than your Ivan Drago incidentally," he added.

The young ghost girl nodded her head solemnly. "I have to agree. Your Russian is not very good, Miss Eliza."

She wore the same white ruffled dress she'd died in, and her hair was gathered in a long braid that fell to the middle of her back. She had a sepia-like hue that gave her appearance a dreamlike quality, and emphasized her Creole/French background. Thankfully, this also downplayed her haunted house factor, which I really appreciated. I never saw below her waist so I couldn't tell what sort of shoes she wore - or if she'd worn shoes at all.

Spring Dawn continued in her shy yet openly frank manner, glancing down at the chessboard between us as she spoke, "You sure do like them fighting movies."

"They're only some of the most inspirational sports movies of all time," I sniffed.

"And violent. Don't forget that," Dante pointed out.

"Academy Award winning violence!" I defended.

"I enjoy the music," Spring Dawn interjected.

"The music? The music!" I repeated, clutching my chest as I nearly went into apoplexy. "Okay, so yes, the soundtrack is amazing, and yes, the films themselves are a little bloody," I said throwing Dante a pointed look before going on, "but the Rocky movies are more than just a collection of awesome gym tracks and training montages."

"Is that so, Roger Ebert?" Dante asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was dressed all in black today - no surprise there. "And all this time I thought there were just boxing movies," he stated simply.

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you even call yourself a movie watcher?" I whispered harshly. Turning, I focused my attention back to Spring Dawn, who though older than I was by a good hundred years, still had a lot to learn about the modern era.

"What Dante has failed to realize from Mr. Stallone's legacy is the fact that Rocky I, II, and IV are all about the underdog winning against impossible odds - the sort of odds that can weigh a body down until nothing is left of the person you once were or might've been. Rocky III, on the other hand, is a cautionary tale. A tale of the severe cost of forgetting your roots and letting fame cloud your passion. A real champ can never forget there is always someone else out there, hungrier and ready to take your dreams if you lose sight of who you truly are," I said, getting to my feet as I felt the inspiration wash over me all over again. Closing my eyes, I could practically hear the Rocky theme song in my head and it filled me with an unexpected need to go for a long run in drab sweats until I ended up on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and fulfilled my impossible dream of rising up out of the streets and being someone. "Even Balboa, though a highly under appreciated work, is a film about taking your last shot at something bigger than yourself...at those dreams of youth that refuse to die even as time marches on. The skin may sag, and the muscles may no longer be as big as they once were, but a champion's heart never truly fades away."