[attr="class","APP3"]Seiichi swore to himself at that very moment that he would find the secrets to immortality and steal them. He understood, quite well, that the cackling and the quips of Makoto Inuzuka were destined to follow him to the after life, haunting his unconscious spirit for what remained of Eternity and thereafter if chose not to act any sooner. There was no peace with this woman, yet he knew this as a portion of her nature and he still interacted with her. He kept to the breathing she mocked, reminded of the terms expressed to him before his departure. She spoke of action, preaching to the young man that one's focus should be invested into dynamic movements fueled by the unconscious instinct of survival.
". . ."
Silence befall that mountainous shinobi, his form towering alongside Makoto when she had gone to stand besides him in her abrupt explanation. It was legitimate in its own context, certainly, but undoubtedly would plateau in the face of greater challenges-- it was the lack of adaptiveness and the abandonment of technicality that Seiichi recognized as critical faults. "One does not sustain themselves on a single, great blaze," he began, his focus on Koma. "No, they learn to tend to a fairer flame for nurture and warmth." He likened their approaches to a fire, the analogy distinct enough to separate their two ideologies; surprisingly, there was a wizened man beneath that calloused carapace bulk that was flesh. Theirs's was a divide that naturally existed, considering the distinctness in their disciplines: Seiichi had been born with no great name and no greater expectation to be held to and, on the contrast, she had been born an Inuzuka and would draw her very last breath as one. A thought crossed the jounin of Kumo's mind and a creased line mounted his forehead, terse with an unspoken annoyance: had her ninken been present, there would have been no better opportunity to put on display the contrast in their approaches. However, Seiichi knew well that it was in the timelessness in the relationship of her companion that she could draw her finest strengths.
". . ."
"You shouldn't hear anymore on the matter," that great and grizzly voice of his began, an attempt to bring closure to the subject as the jounin's eyes shifted to Makoto with a narrowing glare, perhaps an all-too-familiar look. "Make a pillow of the words you've heard and sleep on it. Find me when you've found the balance in that duality," he issued his new expectation. "Now that you've heard it from us both, it's up to you to make it your own." His assignment was amended, updated with terms that regarded Makoto's outburst with some degree of respect. The shinobi looked onto Koma and, despite a stoic expression much unlike the youthful glimmer in a genin's eyes, Seiichi could recognize that subtle change. Should he live long enough...
"Now go. I'll take your appreciation as a promise."
With those words he would send the young genin off, a boy from a different village and perhaps an adversary come the test of time. What remained was to dissect what drove Seiichi to afford the young man the advantage of knowledge, the very bane of fear and nightmares. Was it out of sympathy? Was it born of his own selfishness? Given his nature, it was bound to be a secret that would join him in the grave.
"There's something about that boy..." Something 'off', though he wouldn't go as far as to disclose his full thoughts on the matter. All this was only mentioned if the genin had left.
Last Edit: Sept 17, 2021 2:38:01 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Like a fire unwilling to yield, he continued to wage a war against his oncoming attrition despite the the aches and throbs in his core that begged for inactivity and respite. He stood strong in the face of exhaustion, combating the adversity that was the undertow of his overexertion, prepared to trample the shinobi and swallow him whole. He subjected himself to the experience of the burning that roared beneath his flesh and the fire that waged in his lungs, forced to to endure the brutish tenor he exposed himself to as every breath and every punch was a commitment to the next. A guarantee, he told himself. Despite the outward explosiveness of Seiichi's technique, much more had been performed behind the scenes: each breath taken was metered and thoughtful, the air taken in to stoke the dregs that quaked in his core to as to reignite them with life, if only for that passing moment before he was required to do the same once more. It was in practicing this more principled method that he could continue to nurture his improvement, despite the great strides he'd already commanded in speed and power, that backed his martial art.
Seiichi Koji paid little attention to time and Her consequences, his resolve nigh unshakable as every fist forward cut through the air perceivably faster than the last, breath forced sharply beneath his teeth as he exhaled and then inhaled in a quick motion. His mighty frame beaded with sweat, the clothing he wore on the precipice of being drenched with it. A pool had collected beneath his feet, encircling him in a ring of sweat as its creation came at the cost of measurable hours in this wilderness he called home. Tireless he went on, striking with enough restraint to practice his technique: come the impact of his punch, would Seiichi rely on a tightening of his muscles to improve the conclusiveness of his blows, developing the practice so far that it was clear that the intent behind each punch was to break bones. What good was a threat if he rendered it immobile with a precise and unforgiving strike? How could on respond reasonably to their shins splitting beneath their knees or the arms attached to the cuffs of their shoulders made limp by a crippling blow?
Though, after sometime, Seiichi changed gears. He parted from his place before a stone he had been practicing on, each punch unfurled by his tenured arms and experienced fists aimed to smooth it. It was a marvel to behold, really, as such was the control of his flow that he made nature bend before him, smoothing the natural planes of a rock with his hands alone as it soon took on a more unnatural shape. Despite his progress, however, even the Jounin realized there was a way to go. How could confront this limiter? Through meditation, of course. It was his job to focus on the internal art and develop it further, perhaps awakening something greater in his progress. His goal was to retune him in this process, to restore a greater portion of his vitality with a more indebted thoughtfulness to his breathing. Seiichi aimed to harmonize the 'emptiness' he brought into him, improving his 'inner alchemy' as masters had explained it to him before.
There was a silence that enveloped him, but not an element of this tranquility was possessive as a deafening quality. In the practice of improving this internal martial art, Seiichi reaped from it numerous rewards as his understanding moved beyond natural plateaus. To a degree he could feel the flow of his blood and, in the process, the jounin of kumogakure felt nerves that were terse by activity unwind and free themselves of duress. It was that flow of power and, within his own person, he directed it. He came to feel more connected to extremities, all weapons that were extensions of himself. The more gentile among the animal kingdom would come approach him, regarding him inanimate as not a hair on his neck rose or a muscle on his well hewn form twitched. Birds abandoned their perches to settle upon himw with curiosity, small beaks interested on what secrets resided in the fur of the pelt he wore over his shoulders. Then, in time, the saltiness of his flesh was sampled by the bravest of fawn and doe.
And still he remained, stalwart and unwavering like the finest ramparts roused for war.
Last Edit: Sept 16, 2021 11:37:20 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]The jounin felt no obligation to chase the moment Koma sprung to life at their actions, his advance to end abruptly. He was alert, to say the least, and was a proud enough owner of his own senses to not stay in one place too long. Makoto's sudden intrusion of his personal space had signaled off one flag and the deathly tension further propagated by the large steps of Seiichi's natural gait was to raise another. The jounin watched for footwork and looked to the boys undeveloped shoulders, measuring those actions as if he were attempting to predict his next movement. It was a talent he had developed over time as he had always been the purveyor of battles and, naturally, had been in quite the number of them. It was becoming clear that the boy meant to run off if he felt pressured any further, which in itself was a fair response -- but ultimately futile if either of the vetted shinobi felt lusted for the hunt.
Seiichi shot a glance to Makoto, her opinion having the most value considering the decades their exchanges had crossed. There had always been tension and conflict between their nations and, in that time, they had both witnessed their growth as individuals; funnily, this had been the closest he had ever gotten in praise from the kunoichi, despite another quip to follow as surely as the sun was to rise in the east and set in the west. There was no doubting that Seiichi, as commanding as his presence was on the field, also looked for trouble as he slipped deeper than he ought to when lines were drawn by the enemy. Still, with no lost of limb or life, he found his way out of those situations.
". . ."
He took a breath. It was languid and without hurry, his broad chest to expand as he remained where he stood. "Your breathing is poor." He mentioned after a while, a curious thing to point out. However, to truly understand taijutsu, one needed an understanding of elements that supported it-- it was, indeed, more than just punching rocks harder. His stance loosened and his attention remained focus on Koma, who was crouched. "Relieve your tension. It has no place in what I'm about to tell you." Then another breath followed.
Then his hands moved before him. There was an ornateness to their movement, a fluidity that seemed alien to his large and bulky frame.
Slowly and with purpose, acting as if they brought the air in and guided it to his core, sinking to the level of his abdomen before rising and performing those steps in reverse as he exhaled. "It takes finer things to control rougher things," he broke his silence. "Do as I did -- the same to you, Makoto, it may keep you from rotting further on the inside." If they obliged his free lesson, he would perform the steps once again. "It is air that controls the fire and it is air that shapes the earth-- the finer thing over the rougher thing." He brought his lesson around to where it began. "Learning to control this air will teach you to control your flow of power. You'll recover faster. You'll strike harder." There was no truer manner for him to speak, as he spoke from his very own experience. Regardless of form, it was the development of this 'internal power' that improved one's martial art.
"Develop this. When you do, you may find me again."
Last Edit: Sept 16, 2021 3:13:57 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Seiichi looked the moment Benjiro's voice rose what seemed an octave in alarm. It raised out of surprise that someone would act so brashly, while also serving to notify the two men he had left at the balcony about the abrupt event. The assistant had a fancy trick, suspending hidden kunai with hidden strings, though the jounin was neglected the opportunity to see them in action when the Raikage's at-ease demeanor called for a cease in the dark-haired man's fire. Benjiro left them once again, but with new found company in the shape of a figure Seiichi only recognized by appearance. He was older-- much older and had bore what seemed to be a distinct distaste for living or--perhaps--for the situation he was living in.
It wasn't long before the man looked back to the Sarutobi. With no measure of alarm in his voice, the Raikage proceeded to lament to them a tale, recanting an experience long past. It was a story of his stealth and cunning, with an educational ending which reminded that one's mission must be seen through. Despite their tenure as shinobi together, Seiichi himself knew little, if nothing, about this. If there were any patchwork of knowledge that he had about the tale itself, it was out of being in earshot of another retelling the story. Ever the conspirator, the jounin believed firmly that there was a greater reason he chose to recant that tale, save for alleviating what boredom came about reading documents and deciding whether or not they were fitting of his signature.
The bear-pelted shinobi eventually shook his head, expressing that he had never told Seiichi about the tale. "It's a fair reminder: we shouldn't become attached to the roles we play," he mentioned what stood out to him the most in that gravelly voice, loud despite not intending for his words to carry so far. "Why do you mention it now, Raikage-Sama? Ghosts of your past mean to haunt you?" The jounin then probed, wanting to get behind the meaning of such an old tale retold today.
Last Edit: Sept 16, 2021 2:01:03 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Seiichi found himself with no distraction or obstruction for a grand span of time. In his solitude, the man was allowed to further refine his fa jin. Each strike, monitored in breath and release, was a faultless repetition of the last as he engrained the motions. In all his time, the sand bag that he struck at never failed to returned to him, as if it were on a string attached to the large shinobi. It was a war of attrition the he waged in, attempting to make the conscious movements unconscious ones with the time he committed to it.
Then he was prodded on the shoulder, approached as some wild animal.
The jounin had paused, his arms returning to slide slowly to his sides. If it weren't for the interruption, there was no telling how long Seiichi would go on; in fact, at this point, he was a man covered in beading sweat, with a pool of it around his feet as it the mat lazily absorbed it. The stick could not bend him, his frame did not give to the peculiar sensation-- it was difficult to discern whether he'd poke a man or a wall. A deep breath could be heard and he filled with air. His massive shoulders rose and, for a moment, it seemed as if he'd widened in mass and grown in height as his upper back rolled back and then forward, a cacophony of cracks filled the air. Then he turned around:
死
Shi
His form exhumed an energy that could only be described a malicious miasma, its careless contempt only perpetuated by the jaded haze that lifelessly fogged his eyes as Seiichi peered down to the smaller man with an undiscernible visage of stone. In fact--far more forebodingly--it seemed that even the lifeless lenses attached to his pelt glowed with some inhuman rage. Surely this wasn't the case, though, as it could have been disregarded as the overheard fixture of light glinting off of them. Time seized operation in that stare down, the weight of his glower so intense that that any who shuttered a breath were bound to feel it rot in their chest in anticipation for the man's next move.
". . ."
He simply nodded as he exhaled, in total understanding. Despite the man's crass approach on the matter, Seiichi knew well that he was only borrowing this space in the calm of what was bound to be a vicious storm.
Then he moved. . . but just a space down. It was an insulting act, one that spat in the face of the other man. Without asking, it was difficult to discern whether or not he'd done it maliciously.
And, as it were in protest, he prepared to practice on the dummy he now faced. The calloused pads of his feet could be heard dragging on the mat as as his frame shifted, sliding into stance. Then, with a single strike, he committed himself to hours of dauntless focus unless he were disturbed once more.
[attr="class","APP3"]The Jounin had little to wait on as Benjiro tore himself from his more bureaucratic tasks. He nodded, his short response upon being greeted by the narrow-framed, dark haired man. He had passing familiarity with Benjiro, mostly on account that the man who had been effectively acting as an extension of the Raikage's own authority. It was--as decided by Sarutobi himself--he who worked in the Raikage's stead when engaging activities of a more mundane nature. Having shared a birth year with the Sarutobi--while growing up alongside the man in the times where he hadn't secluded himself to train-- he knew a great deal more about his leader that he could care to admit. He knew that Izuna had never been a paper's man, though most certainly a people's man.
". . ."
A brow rose and a crease mounted his forehead, resetting the demeanor of his stony visage. The jounin had seldom changed, being ever difficult to gauage any disappointment to Benjiro's response brief response. An exchange occurred and not a noise left the Jounin, despite the visual flare of his nostrils as he drew a metered breath, filling his lungs. That voice had belonged to none other but one man. Seiichi nodded, as it naturally followed, and soon tailed the homely man as he led him beyond the doors. Not much had changed, saved the acquisition of finer art -- perhaps a relic he hadn't recognized before? It didn't seem implausible that it was an object exchanged in good tidings with Otagakure and her Hokage. Their stay here was only a brief excursion as the rich scent of fine tobaccos permeated into the room, growing bolder the closer they moved to the second sliding door.
". . ."
He took a breath. "Greetings, Raikage-Sama," Seiichi Koji returned, greeting with a bow a quick bow that had been performed shortly after; despite his unkempt appearance, the Jounin was no deliquent or knave. Seiichi moved as if Sarutobi's gesture were a command, briefly to stand upon the pillows before settling to sit, crossing his legs in a similar fashion to the Raikage. He seemed to be distracting himself from something, briefly observing the messy stack of papers and quill pleasant, and now the Jounin served furth to distract him -- was this his intention all along? "I will make time, Raikage-Sama." Seiichi responded, in truth caught off guard by this interaction. The man's attention was now outward. A slow breath filled his lungs as sea-green eyes were greeted with a numbering of sights, much of the village exposed to him from where he sat. "Was there something you were wanting to talk about?" He had asked, despite not feeling particularly moody, it was hard to explain his glare cast over the balcony as anything other than a glower.
Last Edit: Sept 15, 2021 4:17:57 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]If it weren't on account of an order shaped by the very lips of the 'Shadow of Thunder', Seiichi may have never found himself in these foreign lands to begin with. It wasn't unlike the shinobi to seclude himself from the open cage of society and her stalwart walls, instead opting to set the another day aside for practice. What could a man of Seiichi's proportions be possibly practicing in the woods, the massive shinobi already seemed to be pushing two and a quarter meters if one could approximate his overwhelming height -- had he been out there, consuming the wildlife?
Simple, really:
He conditioned his form, as he was doing now. The sound of flesh crashing into a sandbag could be heard beyond the dojo's sliding doors, signaling at least one other had been in the dojo come this unusual hour into the evening. Closer inspection would find a man who had remained after all the rest, tirelessly practicing techniques that clearly strained even his impressive statuesque; sweat beaded his flesh, drenched his gi, and had puddled on the floor around him as he stood stalwart and unyielding. Another strike could be heard as the sandbag swung back into him, and naturally another as his execution of form was dauntless in the face of what exhaustion was to come on. What drove a man to such lengths?
Simply, really:
He was conditioning, still. Despite not utilizing his full strength with every blow, 'lest he risk draining his funds during his mandated excursion to Otogakure, his entire concentration was put forth as he was meticulous with the finest details of his blow. He focused on his breathing, drawing vigor in timed and powerful breaths while each strike was tightened just as impact occurred. It was a strengthening of his joints, really, exposing them to the grueling task of consistency as the blown-back sandbag always returned to him after every tight-fisted blow. It was difficult to determine how long he had been here and, even if he were probed for an answer, the Kumo Jounin was bound to fall short of anything reasonable in response. He was mixed along the training dummies and sand bags and the claws that he carried with him, typically on a hook woven into his belt, was laid against the wall as to not interfere.
And that sound continued. It was a rending sound, a brutish one, that sounded as if skin exploded on each impact.
There was no telling how long this would continue, were he left undisturbed. In the things that Seiichi fell short in, it was no doubt that he could overcome those shortcomings with such an impossible indominable will.
Last Edit: Sept 14, 2021 11:33:11 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Seiichi Koji was never one for these excursions. In fact, the Jounin of Kumogakure often made efforts to be less present in this massive structure, a crowning jewel shamelessly dwarfing the structures that surrounded it and then those that stretched beyond the sight of his mundane eyes. It was a fitting marvel, considering the exports grown in his country, and proved a reasonable expression of what commercial feats Kumogakure had achieved. Although, that was the extent of his knowledge in business as where he knew much of discipline and even more in fighting, his knowledge was purposefully lacking in commerce -- chiefly for his distinct lack of care for it. Despite his patchwork of knowledge when the intricacies of trade, he recognized the high threat these delicate lines were under. Be it on dry land while the the vessel is docked and unloading its cargo or upon the turbulent waters being accosted by another cheap, the rewards were never less than the risk involved.
There was a heavy pat on the floor as he moved beyond the doors, his casual steps were often lacking in grace and quite loud due to the heavy padding beneath his feet. Seiichi found little reason to change clothing, even in these more 'special' occasions. Despite the audience he could be before, he often did little-to-nothing to improve his common routine: a pelt had sat atop his crown, the muzzle of a slain bear to extend beyond his nose and its arms cast over his shoulders as it remained understandably idle and a gi, one of the few he wore often, was worn torn at the shoulders and with considerable dirt on it.
"Pirates -- have there been reports?"
Seiichi asked as his longer-than-average stride allowed him to close the distance from the door to the desk fairly quick. He seemed intent on taking a mission and understood what was commonly requested and paid for. "What rank?" He pressed on in that gravelly voice of his, deep in its rumble and stentorian in its presentation; alas, he spoke quickly and gave little room for a response to his first question. The jounin waited patiently for a response, attention on the receptionist. He wshed for a higher payout so, naturally, the rank and the danger followed an upwards curve with payout.
What could he possibly be needing the money for? New shoes?
Last Edit: Sept 14, 2021 4:46:13 GMT by Seiichi Koji
Rumbled the giant, the expression to roll in his massive chest like the roar of thunder in the distance as it tossed and turned in a gloomy cloud. The rampaging bear, running clear from his direction in fear of the apex predator that had dominated it twice over, revealed more to Seiichi that he had expected. Specifically, the location of something that now hid in the shrubbery that had been observing him. There had been a distinctly unique color that stained the palette of this gloomy den, far from sharing anything kin in tone with the browns, grays and greens which colored the woods extensively; in his time here he had not even seen flora, even the poisonous sort, that dressed so brightly in this den of death.
". . ."
His approach continued, undeterred by what possible threat lived in the shrubbery just above the forest floor, littered with the dearth and decay of countless decades: the canopies of the forest were on constant refresh and resupplied with new green for each season to come. Seiichi moved forth with his natural bravado, each step a to sap the distance from between him and the Usagi which hid. At that moment, when the rampaging bear revealed their location in its barreling of fear, the Kumo Jounin recognized where they initially hid as a stringy bean of an individual hid themselves fruitlessly from his view. No other sound or noise exhumed from the shinobi, save the miasma of death that aura of his could produce. It was a curse as it was a blessing and it was made no better by the accessory that donned his crown, the pelt of a slain skin with its skinned paws limp over his shoulders. To the most fearful, if not paranoid, it could have been anyone's skin. If that observing figure, the petite one with the colors that so plainly stood out in this gloomy underworld, hung around any longer they'd soon fine Seiichi before them, gazing down with a deathly stare that spoke a volume in its silence: it was the prelude of death that they expressed.
Then he stood there.
His disposition was frightful, fearsome and ever aromatic with the foul stench of death--even the lifeless eyes on his pelt seemed to harbor some malicious glow as they caught a ray of light that broke through the canopy--and it made any thought of leaving this situation live fizz out from existence. He drew a breath, slowly, as he soon was a meter from him him unless the Usagi moved and from their idleness in a fear. His chest swelled with air, expanding as trunk-like arms shifted to fold beneath it as to support their muscular weight. "You've nothing to fear, girl, there are no beasts here." It was out of accident, of course, that he misgendered the male rabbit. He knew no better, unfortunately, as there was little about the small Usagi that could convince the man otherwise, given his colorful and well-fitted robe and the faux rabbit ears worn proudly on their head.
"You need to move on -- we need to move on. This is no place for a small girl to be lost in." He insisted with that deep voice, that stentorian boom struggled to be contained despite how he tried, genuinely holding back his quaking voice for the sake of his ears. He was ignorant to their shinobi status, but not out even ill-harbored intent. He knew nothing of this stranger. "The sun will set on us soon. Give it anymore time and you'll only be able to follow the shine of their eyes." Seiichi, that titanic man who had yet to squash Hikari, mentioned. It, too, turned out that he had yet to recognize they were blind; alas, it seemed he only excelled in physical strength as he lacked unforgivably in manners.
@hikari
Last Edit: Sept 13, 2021 23:56:48 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]She was right: It was a long, long walk. It wasn't unlike a road he hadn't known, though, as it was often in his own musings that he found tranquility.
Seiichi could not approximate just how long he'd been on the road since his outset from the behind the forest's wall, breaching out and trekking along the venerable paths worn by locals and traders alike. The jounin eyed her, curiously, with those sea-green lenses peering beneath the shadow cast over a portion of his face by the muzzle of his pelt, an accessory that only intensified the air of trepidation that he exhumed that was not unlike that miasma of death. He wasn't sensitive to this treatment as it was a familiar caution that seized the breath in their breasts and stilled their beating hearts. It had been this way in the more remote regions of his home country and, at times, in his own village. There had been seldom a time that the jounin had been perceived as anything other than frightful-- he was the will of man left unchecked, overgrown and mutated into something beastly and nigh unrecognizable. Many muttered among themselves and those whispers of caution were due to bubble over and rise, crashing upon him like a great tsunami of discontent meant to wash him out into the open and far away.
". . ."
That was, until she stepped out and took steps of an inconceivable weight towards Seiichi as the laborer's watched in astonishment, stomachs churning and hearts sinking in fear for the young woman who so boldly approached him. The jounin knew instantly that there had been no stronger being there than this nameless woman, the one with those bright and caring eyes that lulled him in and bade that his tension be released and put to ease. Her words came to him as song, a spell woven with sincerity and catered to him. The unease and cruelness of man was not present as from between plush tiers came smooth and gentle tunes that dissuaded contempt and undid terror, perhaps reminding him that he was not the monster he seemed. It compelled the great goliath to move forward, the action beyond his own volition as if he were drawn by some magnetism he could not comprehend. Had she known him so well that she could act so carelessly in his presence? After all, they were served well by their fear as a single swipe from the meaty paws, akin to the blunts of the heaviest mauls, could author the bloody and final page of someone's existence. He spoke not and, perhaps, it was in his silence that he said so much.
". . ."
He lumbered towards the greatest sun, the brightest light those jaded eyes had ever witnessed as in the serenity of her gaze could she stir a rapture; perhaps if he stared long enough the haze in his own eyes would fade. That small distance of four meters had shrunk and soon they were an arms distance from the other. He moved past her a few paces, approximately two meters as she granted him entrance into this small camp still in its earliest stages of preparation; there were bound to be many like Seiichi in the weeks to come. His wound was more obvious now that he moved past her: it was a cut, fairly long and measurably deep and performed with a tool honed to such an edge that it rend his tough flesh with ease. It was adrenaline that allowed him to ignore the consequence of receiving such damage, but to rely on something so finite left him more vulnerable for the crippling it caused. It made no natural progress in healing itself, ruining the gi he wore in the process as it now appeared before her in some odd coloring of dust and blood.
"OK."
His voice, despite being constrained, was still a stentorian rumble as it rolled in his chest like the brontide of from distance clouds that rumbled and roared. It was fittingly deep for such a behemoth and was spoken in such a way that, if he hadn't spoken anymore, one could perceive he little of the mechanics to speaking. Seiichi was at her command, overwhelmed by a peace so serene he did not know how to respond; the rataplan in his chest, this beat in his heart, was unlike one he recognized.
Last Edit: Sept 13, 2021 15:33:03 GMT by Seiichi Koji
[attr="class","APP3"]Without speaking, Koma had expressed himself in volumes with is uncommon measures of silence and metered responses, a rare discipline and restrain exercised at every opportunity. It raised an air of suspicion, expanding itself to an atmosphere of uneasiness as to what made such leaned behaviors in a youth so possible. There was no denying the tact behind each action, a critical amount of care and forethought weighted against his every thought as it levied from him his own identity, the boy little more than the name that slipped coolly from between youthful lips. The jounin recognized that, to this point in his life, he'd never quite met another like Koma and felt--immediately--that he never would again as the world did not work i patterns and would not propagate the ingredients to rear a boy such as himself for millennia to come.
"Useless answer,"
Seiichi returned in that firm voice of his, no less commanding in attention than the rest of his uncommon statuesque as those powerful arms remained folded beneath the other as his deep and languid breaths were drawn through his nostrils and further expanded that mighty chest. "If you hadn't failed in your stealth, then there would be no need to reassure us as you are." His point was a fair one, for if Koma had exercised further care in his stealth then this conversation would have never come to fruition anyway. Those stalwart eyes remained on the young man, sea-green lenses that found little reason to peel away from Koma as he let those words sink it. The lesson he taught was a difficult to wrap one's head around and there was seldom a kinder manner to express his words, but Seiichi had never been known for his poise or his etiquette.
". . ."
Seiichi's unfolded those impossibly large arms and he began moving forward without an announcement, his footsteps to unsettled the water of the stream. It was clear that following its path would bring him before Koma, who stood in her waters and allowed the stream to curl around the slender shape of small legs. Seiichi made no mention of what he prepared to do as he drew closer, the gap between him and Koma had been seized. The Kuma of Kumo was soon in front of the boy when suddenly he attempted to push him over, his leg utilized in the process. No consequence was spared of him as it was a forceful push, should it connect. Enough force was put behind it that Koma would be forced onto his backside in the stream, splashing into the water and wetting himself. It was meant to shock, it was meant to embarrass. Seiichi intended that this consequence would remain with him, a reminder that this was the least worst it could be and far danger rewards were earned on more unforgivable erring's.
"Don't allow me to find you, next time."
His words fled between his lips as if they were a warning, a promise of action should he fail to oblige his request. If Koma had taken a fall, Seiichi offered no hand to stand back up. He could act for himself. He looked to Makoto, who he assumed stepped away several paces on Seiichi's approach. The jounin did not send him away, he did not vanish him.
". . ."
It was a hard-learned lessons, but a great one altogether. With his own strength, Koma would never suffer that again.
"Stand yourself back up."
Would he just knock him down again?
Last Edit: Sept 13, 2021 4:36:58 GMT by Seiichi Koji
