[attr="class","APP3"]He found himself here, for another day, in the dojo. His first was met with a number of distractions, namely a young man who felt the need to interrupt him when he had gone out of his way to isolate himself from the others. It seemed, however, that his very presence was a sign of alarm and bred an unnecessary irritation as he asked Seiichi to disengage the dummy he struck. Fortunately, on this day, he had been here for hours and without distraction. In all of those hours he had remained consistent with his training as it was necessary for any master to not dull themselves in their art, to practice and hone the skills they hold prized 'lest they wish to watch them deteriorate. He could be seen, now, practice a fake-out with a low-body charge, striking overhand with his fist as his misdirecting movements would bring focus to the freight train of a torso should he be fighting an actual person. It was then that, with masterful footwork, he would twist around their frame and lift them from the side to bring them crashing onto the ground.
He couldn't practice that last part. These dummies weren't made for that. However, he certainly could get a better handle of those movements. It was about the confidence that they exhumed, the ability to carry them out without fear as closing into such closed-quarters left little room for error and even less for hesitation. It was in this spirit that Seiichi would practice without relent, his desire for improvement a capering flame that unfurled beneath his belly and tickled his heart. Countless hours he would spend refining his movement, on varying days, to make adjustments and eliminate errors he recognized. What fractions of time were shaved off of it would only benefit him, allowing his actions to translate to far more devastating movements. It was only natural that he worked on enhancing this as often as he did his striking, for his specialties lied in wrestling and grappling. A scramble on the floor, in fact, was an invited welcome as it suggested his opponent was familiar with the style and how to defend against it.
However, it wasn't the only thing he was to do that. After a while Seiichi would abandon the dummy, moving to the center of the room where a well-sized dohyo could be found. It was on top of that dohyo that Seiichi now practiced Kata, moving fluidly among various farms as he'd circle around himself to return to his starting position. Just as he had with his wrestling techniques, it was necessary to hone these basics as well and to recognize his own flaws in his transitions to correct them. It had been early in the morning and few had arrived and, of those few, none dared step in with that large karateka as he practiced. He wore little more than his pelt and gi, the arms ripped off to allow him more freedom and to address his comfort; although, he could do with getting another gi. Nomura Benkei
The hospitality upon arriving to Otogakure had been pleasant enough, but everything past that was bare. The kind of backup rations you'd give mid war relief, and bedding that might as well have been nails on a board. My own meeting with the locals hadn't gone as well as I wanted either, the faint swelling in my right arm stinging as I dressed.
I should go back. Only decent fun I've had since getting here. I grunted with the thought, and a stretch. Of course, I didn't expect Otogakure to treat us like royalty, but the conditions felt like a slap in the face. But there was no point in dwelling on it.
Picking up my Iai-Tachi as left the lodging, a wave at Makoto was the only signal that I'd be gone for the day. The dojo I'd found was nearby, maybe two blocks away - was a short walk to arrive, anyway.
The door slid open, a step forward revealing... One guy? My head raised in curiosity, another step forward as I slid the door closed behind myself. "You kill the rest of them?" I joked, hanging my cloak at the door. "Coulda swore there were people in here before."
[attr="class","APP3"]The number of bodies housed in the dojo were scant so early, the population of older men who turned to kata for consistency, exercise and a manner in which to stretch there bones was greater at this hour. Yet--even with that explanation--that led no more to a staggering number of four men, the youngest of them all tuning his movements between those stances which allowed the dissemination of more specific actions. Fortunately, with the sound brought on the friction of the sliding door as it opened, a younger man appeared. He was young and of a gentler statuesque. His cloak was removed and revealed a simple garb and hugging his waist was a sash with, what seemed, a sword woven into it-- katana, wakizashi? No, perhaps longer than those two? Despite the knowledge Seiichi imbibed across martial topics, swords were among his lesser known. Or, maybe he'd learn more if he stood still.
"Recovering," the man returned shortly after, now closer to the few final stances in the kata he had been practicing. With a few ending movements, the man found himself resuming his starting position before the new stranger had arrived. He settled out of it, adjusted his direction and was soon looking facing the new arrival directly. "If it's how you warm up, join me," the bear-pelted man invited the young man to join him. A live warm up could accomplished more than these fixed and mechanical movements and could iron out the manners in which he furthered erred if his foe could recognize them.
"Light contact. Only take downs are sweeps." Seiichi mentioned if the young man that just arrived joined him. It was then, coming closer to the center of the arena, that the jounin would stop short some paces from the center and bend slightly forward in a friendly bow.
"What do you go by? Call me Seiichi." It was a name worth committing to memory, if he hadn't already heard it.
A raise of my hand, stepping forward to the man as I shook my head. "Sweeps are good, but I've only practiced judo." Maybe not the best thing to say aloud in what could be potential enemy territory, but for now things were friendly - there was no need to sour the mood on it. Not here, not now. Particularly with this one.
It wouldn't take much of a glance past the man's initial few movements; practiced, well formed. Whoever the hell he was - Seiichi, apparently - he had more than a few spars under his belt. Should I even...? the thought trailed off, a faint sigh rolling underneath my tongue. "Call me Benkei. Benkei of the sword, if you like." A step over the threshold, moving towards the man.
Doubt continued to caress my chest, but what the hell, I wasn't going to let it be boring.
"So, bear pelt, Seiichi, are you from around here?" my head tilted forward, feet flattening to the floor as I took a stance. "I didn't know this was a hermit village." A continued quip, arm extending forward in a greeting motion. "Either way though, I'll play."
A bead of sweat down the middle of my back, the twitch of a finger, and we'd be off.
What an interesting soubriquet. Alas, in his experience, of the many no Shunshins or no Doragon he'd encounter few were seldom distinguishable in manners of skill or power. Perhaps it was that uniquely human trait of vanity that made it so, as harmless as the title was. Although, to the determined, to settle on a title and express it with confidence wasn't so bad. Many were late bloomers and, fortunately, could fake it until they made it-- granted, they live long enough for that sort of thing. Seiichi's gaze carried a peculiar weight, as if he could bore into a person's being with a look alone, but he was only assessing; it was unwise to rule out the possibility that, someday, this very man could surpass him in strength, martial ability, and even pettier things like prestige.
Seiichi gave a shake of his head, responding to the question. "Of Kumogakure, Benkei." It seemed he had made his choice, perhaps if he impressed him he'd take to the more gussied name. The man's eyes seemed cemented on him as, even know, he took account of what minor movements could reveal as he utilized his battle sense to steer the direction of their bout. "If you're to play, play to win." The voice of the bear-pelted man was naturally more stentorian than most, loud and powerful as if it were just another extension of his bloated frame. There was no denying, however, a particular sternness that backed his suggestion.
It also seemed, on that note, his words had sworn them into a bubble. It felt silent, a tension to it as it took command of the air around them. It was seizing, the signal that their match had begun as they both assumed their readied stances. It was then, as Benkai blinked, that Seiichi pounced in with a commanding speed. With his right leg forward, the experienced combatant would slide forward as he utilized mastered footwork. Seiichi would begin with the first attempt at contact with a straight punch to the face with his leading right hand and a quick hook punch to the shoulder using his left. They were delivered with a middling speed and as heavy as they may have felt, he pulled his punches. There was intention to this, so to gauage both the young man's reaction and durability; unfortunately, there was no fun and great harm in ending the bout with a single blow.
Unless he was intercepted, he'd slide backwards with the use of his backfoot and with his right foot he'd begin to encircle Benkei.
Long gazes, measures of character, merit - all of it bullshit. As much as I wanted to assume, to create an image of whoever the man in front of me was, I very much lacked the ability to do so. On the other hand, he seemed plainly capable. Kumogakure... The man's name clicked, not that I'd let the recognition show.
This was the right choice, looks like. The thought went quiet, my feet starting to inch around the mat. Slow toe curls accompanied the sidesteps, inching me closer to Seiichi. The question of whether or not I could even throw him was one I wasn't prepared to answer, but was going to have to. The size of him was... Detrimental, to say the least. But no time like the present.
Jumping forward, my right foot landed on the mat as my left swung under, hands reaching for the front of the man's gi with itchy fingers. A de-ashi-barai throw that would land him to my side if successful, using his own weight to drop him. Stick to the basics. Focus.
I had to turn this into a meeting of fate and opportunity, or it'd just be a waste of time.
Seiichi Koji | 199 words | the wheels on the bus -
Benkei had expressed nothing short of truthfulness when he revealed early on that he'd practiced in judo. Movement along the mat was telling as each second was another chipped away at their fated joining. Where Seiichi moved in quickly in a display of confidence, the genin took a slower approach that proved wise no matter how it had been dissected. It was, without a doubt, safer to observe from a distance instead of rushing into the enemy.
Suddenly, be it confidence in his technique or his incoming form, Benkei began on the offense. The genin countered forward with a strategic foot that granted him balance while his striking leg, the one that he would use to destabilize Seiichi in order to topple him, swung around to pull him over-- he'd allow it instead of powering through with his power, the technique performed in earnest against his giant foe. With the shift of his weight and the suggestion of his direction by way of the tug, the jounin would be pulled to his side and dropped onto his back where he was quick to catch himself with his elbows. It was a loud crash that shook to the the foundation of the building, his impressive bulk that weighted over four-hundred in pounds crashing onto the mat in a controlled fall.
"Two of three," the bear-pelted man suggested while on his back to the young man in the black hakama who surely would have fallen over with him. As if he'd mastered the art of falling, the jounin moved to pick himself up from the floor, moving to his starting position again with no viewable jarring or shock. Benkei, if he hadn't taken the single point and bailed, would be given time to return to his post and posture. After a brief stare down Seiichi began moving once more, feet sliding along the mat as he took steps towards the genin. While he had been no master judoka, he could recognize the sweep and throw from the varied form of mixed martial arts he had practiced in. Not only had it been one that would no longer work again, but he wouldn't give Benkei the final point.
His form drew closer still, allowing his junior an attempt to make the move before he committed to his own. Nomura Benkei
Last Edit: Oct 4, 2021 3:26:35 GMT by Seiichi Koji
Holy shit. The man felt like a brick shit house, even if I had managed to get him off the mat. The leg I had used to topple him felt sore, something telling me he had let it happen. Nonetheless, actually managing to get him off the mat was insane - a tightness swollen in my chest. Even if I ended up on the mat too.
A knee forward, an opposite arm pushing my face off the ground. Need to be more careful. A slow exhale, returning to my feet with a backhand wiping my brow. He's heavy. Narrow eyes turned to the man, slowly raising hands parallel. My toes began to itch as I focused weight into my heels, resuming the former pattern of encircling.
There was nothing I could pull from his stance. Nothing particularly orthodox, and his lack of any particular cleanliness led me to wonder; the faintest smell sticking to my skin. Self taught?
I almost moved forward, again. My left foot slipped backwards instead, creating a further gap between the two of us. My right leg straying further ahead, trying to position the man towards me. My posture slid backwards, trying to maintain the particular footwork and plan for a - hopefully - incoming assault. Even though I've only seen this in books...
