Of Kunai and Other Pointed Objects [open training RP]

[Hashiwa Risako]

“Likes me, likes me not, likes me, likes me not…” sang Risako near a growing pile of discarded flower petals.
The method was awkward, but she felt confident that it would help her resolve a serious impasse in her life as a ninja in training.

Finally, Risako stayed her hand, holding the last petal with a powerful grip, as if drawing upon a lifeline.
Yes, the answer was yes.

Grinning from ear to ear, Risako got off the ground and dusted off the brittle stony dirt common to her new home.
She walked towards the object of her affections and grasping all her courage, she pressed on,
bringing her lips towards his shining glare, sealing their bond with a vow never to let go.

The Kunai fell harmlessly against the target board with a loud metallic thud, leaving the paper bullseye target quite unmarked.

“Traitorous Bastard!” shouted Risako, clenching her drawn-out fingers into a fist, either oblivious to the fact that she had broken faith with the blade first or otherwise incapable of forming a connection between a promise made and a promise kept. The student marched on the discarded training Kunai, ignoring the dozens of its brethren that lay forgotten between her and the practice target. Her hand seemed to reach out for the fallen blade, but it then seemed to pause in midair and made an unlikely twist towards the target, delivering a punch directly to the dead center. Paper and plywood buckled but held against her strike. Risako withdrew her hand from the target with a cry of both pain and frustration, revealing a red soreness and a few light cuts, but otherwise little damage to tissue. So weak had been her strike, she could not even cause serious damage to herself.

Weak, she was still weak. She had seen the experienced Ninja practice in the training grounds and she could not find any correlation between their abilities, and whatever mysterious potential that was supposedly equally present inside her too.

How many days had it been? She did not know. Time seemed to both fly and crawl at the same time ever since that man turned his back on her with a suitcase full of cash. Taking a deep breath, and then a few others to calm her nerves, she gently picked up the Kunai and started to walk back towards the throwing line. Once she reached her destination, she closed her eyes and tried to remember what that man said, how he had moved his hands and feet, and what her own limbs felt like as he corrected her stance.

“A capable Shinobi never relies on the first strike. In battle, always assume something will go wrong and plan your contingencies…oh, that’s what you should do if your first plan didn’t work out. Say, you are throwing a Kunai, one of those black daggers; your enemy will see you doing that and ether intercept it or move out of the way. It’s the second and third Kunai you should really count on. An enemy will probably think the same way, so, if you can do something unexpected with your first strike, and use the second and third as the diversion, your enemy will probably not see that coming”.

Eyes still closed with concentration, her limbs glided into position, her legs assuming a slight curvature, her right hand moving out of the way to her side, while her left hand's fingers assumed their throwing position. With a quick look towards the target, Risako angled to her right and let the blade slip away.

For a moment, it seemed as if the blade would miss the target again, but when it hit, it formed a deep gash on the right end of the bullseye; far from the dead center, but none the less a hit, and quite possibly a mortal one if inflicted upon flesh and blood.

“If you can do something unexpected with your first strike, your enemy will probably not see that coming.”

Risako smiled, she had not struck the bullseye, and she still did not think she could.
But this time around, it had not been what she was aiming for at all.

Word count: 697-Opportunist core ability request​

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

[spoilername=".yad.retteb.a.eb.lliw.yadoT"]Everyday the intricacies of the World continued to ebb and thrust, details that seemed so concrete would slip away under the mask of a jittering world of shifting white and black, rapidly shifting violently like a fury of ants covered in shadow and light, consuming the mundane and leaving curious caricatures, each senselessly repeating the words of those of the past, trying to eat away at him, to erase him. He passed through worm eaten furniture, stale bread, fingers gently caressing dust caked stonework as hard cold dig sharply into the arch, pad and heels of his feet as he stared out a sundered hole in the wall, seeing the dismal gray streets of a sun avoiding the town of the dambed, there in front of his ghoulhaunted foundry as the scene below him reflected off of glass lenses.

Today will be a better day.
Today.Will.Be.A.Better.Day.
TODAY_WILL_BE_A_BETTER_DAY___[/spoilername]

Bones bound of flesh were in high concentrations this day as he passed through them, ivory steel covered eyes watching over the anxious looks, Sukejuro felt invisible plumage bristling with shame and a hint of annoyance, envy perhaps, that an impenetrable sphere felt present at all times, seperating himself from the rest due to what they might consider, questionable attire. Hands rested in his pockets, bent arms felt like resting wings that mirrored broken light and the carelessness of mass consciousness that yawned to display infinite weakness of comfort.
Blood simmered for many reasons but it always ended the same, he was not nor would he ever be one of them. Cursed by the gods for disobeying kin, he was doomed to suffer himself and bring it. It got easier to think that way everyday as he occasionally examined stalls for general good and luxuries that he deprived himself day after day. He always watched the merchants recoil, children fled, but somehow there was a point of bliss in it all when this putrid world he was corrupting began to bellow a ringing sound from the seams of reality, coming from no where.
Need to escape.
Too many people.

A voice cried out from his left, but as he turned there was no one, the voice was his own. Guilt lashed out again, pulling him from his sleep deprived state of disassociation as he navigated out, humming of the very throbbing nerves of the village to the swallowing void where sounds ceased and he would be…

Alone

Society as a whole always got under his skin, forcing it's fingers under the skin, peeling it up to expose the frailty, cartilidge, muscle and bone to the world and- what was that sound? Like a songbird cutting through air, to meet an abrupt halt. Step after step he made his way further from the labyrinthine knots of urban knots where people thrived. Clarity started to form, fog of static began to thin, hushing the scream of the void as the physicality of blade meeting wood perked his interest. It was a girl, frustration resonated with feelings that were filed away, from the distance she was about his age when…

No matter.

The stationary target seemed to be the object of this fascination, training as students and shinobi engaged. Many throwing kunai lay dead and bare as life that never had the chance to breathe. She deserved better, this one, stationary targets that bore no resemblance to her future quarry, quietly he would raise, pronouncing his silhouette gor a moment, hoping to wait until she inevitably contorted her form, poised to strike before he would push himself into the trajectory of her throw and allow it to strike wheresoever she had aimed, to let the blade sink into his body.

“Hello, young one. How are we today?” Sukejuro would greet the young girl, with ignorance to his wounds as he stood there, hoping his best pleasantries would suffice.

 

[Hashiwa Risako]

Satisfied with her success, Risako plucked out the Kunai from the target and walked back to the throwing line. Once again, arms and legs assumed their throwing positions, eyes sealed shut as the body struggled to recall the muscular memory of this action and record it for future uses. The blade left her fingers and sailed true to form towards the target. A second kunai quickly entered her fingers was made ready, but as she moved to throw it, the first blade struck something which clearly wasn't wood and paper.

A humanoid figure stood before her in the path of the firing range, armoured and cloaked beneath a veil of black fabric. A white mask covered the area that should have been the figure's head, leaving nothing to view and everything to the imagination. Risako's psyche quickly conjured the coming of some demon, flexing her hands into a shaky defensive posture around the drawn-out kunai. After a second of blind panic, Risako's eyes drifted to the figure's left arm and noted her thrown kunai sticking out form its flesh and slowly drawing out blood towards the stony gravel of the training ground.

No demon Risako had ever heard about could do something so human as to bleed from a wound caused by the weapon of a mortal, and thus, primordial fears receding, the girl understood that the figure that which stood before her was a man.

Her hold on the kunai relaxed, but she kept her defensive posture, ready to either defend herself or make a run for it. It seemed likely that the man was a ninja, for she had yet to meet anyone on the academy grounds who didn't have at least some degree of training. The speed and silence of his approach seemed to add credibility to her assessment, but his injury was an anomaly. Any shinobi worth their salt could have evaded a rookie strike such as this, but this man hadn't only failed to do so, he had entered a firing range while it was in use, an action that suggested an intent to be harmed.

“Hello, young one. How are we today?" said the man, apparently unconcerned with his injuries. Risako eyes narrowed in thought, was he a crazy loon or was he testing her?

"All events, both small and great, test our character". The words of that man once again made themselves heard, and as if answering a command, her hands slipped out of their defensive stance, leaving the kunai in the loose grip of her left hand. Contemplating her reply, Risako grinned at the absurdity of the situation and her barely controlled inner terror. It was an old habit, formed out of the multiple lessons of etiquette in the Hashiwa household. The famed smile in the face of terror that could grin down a Bear.

The man in front of her, for all his potential might, still bled from an injury caused by her own hand; did that not count for something? The terror faded away, and was replaced by a sense of empowerment. The nervous grin grew into its full Bear country namesake, and before she knew it, Risako's cheeky lips spoke words she would have been hard pressed to contemplate had she not taken a momentary leave of her senses.

"I am fine, thank you for asking, would you be so kind as to return my Kunai?".

Word Count: 567, post 2

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

A sharp sting had snapped him from the dreamlike sensation of blasting sand striking every inch of his numb being. No even he was certain his intention, lost between the impulsive bravado of a child and some inner need to stop dreaming and see the world for what and where he was. It sank deeply in the center of the underside of his left forearm, tip peeking out as thick blood pushed from the occupied incision. There was a pause as he made a sound “Eeh?” he chimed in half concern as blood ran bright, telling more of scar littered textures marring moon pale skin, thickening and darkening as it quenched the soil with himself.

“Oh such a good unintended blow, it has…been so long since I'd felt this pain.” he'd cocked his head. Armed with a pair of highly mechanical tekko-kagi climbing claws strapped behind his hips he approached. “Kekeke, it's been so many years since I've been here. What is you're name, steel blood? Are you so attached to many daggers?” he'd ask as the bleeding almost slowed it's dripping, fingers twitching, clenching and relaxing despite damage to the cartilidge. The pain rake, he hated the pain as his blood boiled and festered with a rage that awaited so patiently to take delight on traitor's and enemies to Kumogakure.

But not towards her. Should she patiently wait for his approach, he'd arrive, should she not, he would not. Her reaction though, it spoke to him in ways none other had. It was difficult for the turbulent cells of his body to decide. “Have you drawn blood with a kunai? With your own hands~?” he drew closer, and with it the grizzly details of her knifework even if accidental. Every motion slide the blade over bone, faceless mask gave an impression of imperviousness as he reveled and raged at the enlightening feeling. To see light again.

“I’m a Chuunin, Sukejuro's the name though. Wonderful day, no?” he'd ask the girl “How is your training going?”[/b] he inquired, blood had ran down his elbow, ran over his legs and feet, he would find a step as he stared right at the girl and tugged out the weapon, dropping it at her feet.

“This is why I gave up on ranged weapons. Kekeke…” he laughed as the blood came forth faster but clearly had a thicker quality as the incisions narrowed by the seconds. “Hey, who are you? Such a polite girl with a throwing arm, your not one of those show offs, are you?” he asked, his delivery lacking any attempt of humor or amusement as he stared in anticipation of a response. Waiting long enough he turned to himself, pulling a spool of frayed string he'd cobbled together, tied to a senbon with a crude hole punched through the bottom “Say, have you ever sutured flesh before~? I can teach you, it’s a nice skill to have.” he's explain as he started the self mending process.

 

[Hashiwa Risako]

Pain. He actually felt pain. Risako's teeth seemed to creek against each other as her desperate grin sought an increase in completion that was impossible to provide without disfigurement. He felt pain, but it did not seem to be quite as inconvenient as a knife embedded between several nerve ends was conventionally considered to be. He was then aware of pain, but unconcerned about it, did he therefore actually perceive that pain as, well, painful?

His giggling and casual walk down creepy lane said no.

What would Risako do? A freaky go wonder around and get stab Ninja was coming towards her, dripping an important liquid Risako was responsible for drawing out of his bloodstream. Her mind was just as blank as that boar caught by the fire jutsu that man unleashed for his latest fry them while you hunt them scheme. Motionless, the body decided to take over and do...

"This session of the council for bodily functions while the brain is PANICKING is now in session", decreed the authoritative voice of the heart.

"Mr, Beater, delegates of the central nervous system, honored cells", started the representative of the fleshy ends of limbs collectively known as feet. "As our Lord and master is currently overbooked in meetings of the representatives of pure terror, I suggest we convene to discuss our approaching possible demise. I recommend that collective action is taken to immediately cease the unauthorized strike in the legging department and proceed to contribute their resources to the motion to move mother body to a place of safety. Thank you".

"Mr. Backbone, do you have anything to say about the words of Mr. Left Toe?" Asked the heart.
"Mr. Backbone?" called the heart.
But Mr. Backbone wasn't present.

...Nothing at all.

"Haa....haaashiwaaaaaa...Risaaaaakooooo", said a voice, or maybe the bastard cousin of a voice, since it was spoken slowly and with enough interruptions to open a railway service. Hashiwa's mind slowly returned to service, the grin etched on Risako's face edged to the extremes of bodily tolerance as her lips struggled to make out words.

Something in Risako's terror-filled mind suddenly snapped. "Bang!" shouted the girl, aiming an apparently deadly pair of fingers against the upcoming form of the man in red. "Bang, bang, bang!" she repeated, oblivious to the ridiculousness of her behavior. The fog of war lifted, Risako retreated the form of her pointed fingers and replaced them with a drawn Kunai, which was quickly thrown towards the forgotten paper target. The knife impacted with an accuracy brought on by the advent of fright clearing the way to pure instinct. "They do seem to be more effective then shooting bang", she answered to the question posed about her interest in knives, grinning again, if she ever stopped doing so while she banged away.

Have you drawn blood with a kunai?

The man drew in closer.

With your own hands?

What a scary bloodstained jokester.

The blade fell before her feet, still full of the blood of her unintended target.

A name was spoken, but no face was provided for attachment. Her head registered all these words but the lips remained frozen open in their happy pursuit of lifeyness.

Question: Did Risako disagree with the man that it was a wonderful day?

Answer: No comment.

Question: How was Risako's training?

Answer: No comment.

Question: Who was she?

Answer: No comment.

Question: What Risako a showoff?

anse..."You aren't going to kill me, are you? Not that there is anything wrong with wanting to kill someone. Even I have wanted to kill a few people, but I am a bit new to this whole not dying thing, so I don't know if I am supposed to be running away screaming just about now. If you could tell me if you are going to kill me, it would help a great deal." Said Risako, seemingly in one breath, but with most of the appropriate punctuation.

Risako ducked down to lift up her blooded kunai, bringing the blade close to her eyes for inspection. A few droplets of loose blood scattered against her outstretched hands, causing the young Shinobi hopefull to pause and inspect the liquid as it run down her finger.

"Well, it would appear I have drawn blood now, it is quite an... educating experience", mumbled Risako, who was growing somewhat uneasy with her growing fascination with her new favorite color. She recalled the blood of her relatives and their murderers running down like lakes from their bodies as they died. She could still see and feel blood as it escaped her body because of that man's teaching philosophy.

Never had she seen blood drawn out of a body she'd injured. Why had all these previous cases scare that little girl in the kimino, when this experience felt like so much like art?

The thought of learning to mend wounded flesh broke the girl away from her unhealthy line of thought. Risako brought her eyes straight towards what she supposed to be the similar ocular nerves of the beholder present before her. A firm nod greeted his preceptions, making no other sounds, but offering a recognition of the worthy offer of instruction, made with apparently nothing requested in return...

...other then her tendency to breath regularly and eat chicken.

Words: 882​

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

Drip.
The vision of his own life force pouring out brought precious little concern as droplets began to run down the blades of green, grass being painted by the ferrous oxide of the blood cells which could no longer contain the cells in comfort along preordained paths, watching the red flow reminded him of various literature he’d read which furthered his idea that humanity was like the circulatory and nervous system of the human body, so utterly programmed and doomed to a pointless end. Staring at this girl, his display didn’t seem to cause him to flinch in the slightest as he’d given up on trying to fit in long ago.

There were some born in this world doomed to stand under the eyes of many due to their dogmatic and will to live comfortably while others suffered so long as they did so quietly which made it difficult to not turn towards anarchism or simply fall to apathy. By now, how much blood had passed? He realized the girl was struggling with the circumstances at hand, were they not so simple? Eyes scanned her roughshod kimono and wondered from whom or where she had come even as he heard her name.

Names were many, rarely did titles, lineages, or names perk his interest. We were all human, we all bleed, we all seek affirmation for all things we do, and we die. This is how he considered things but he wouldn’t let himself get lost in the tide of howling thoughts because he couldn’t drown in mental tides whilst in the midst of something truly curious. “Haaashiwaaaaa Risaaaaakooooo? What a wonderfully long name.” He chirped with enthusiasm, without hesitation or doubt, he simply cared so little for grammar or language that he would judge her ultimately on her mannarisms, mind creating some cosmic amalgamation or archetype based on her reactions and so far, the clay looked promising.

“Nothing says you can’t say it before you throw them. Who’s going to judge with a kunai in the ole ocular socket, am I right?” H mused, trying a play at humor as he still bled, though the wound could have been noticeably smaller. Instead he just watched her, was h trying to be supportive? Was he appraising her? Was he lost in his own world? Sukejuro himself had a hard time considering this himself as he basked in the dull sunlight, deriving some guilty pleasure from lazing about here as this young girl plied her craft and did so well.

As she suggested he’d kill her and her fledgling ideas of morality, it pulled him from the self-loathing stat of crippling anxiety and self-fear as he had that oh so rare opportunity to enlighten someone so young. ”Kill you? No, killing is a waste, it’s the gravest cruelty on can suffer is to die, to feel neither the pull of crushing agony or the sweetest glimpse of joy. What is happiness without pain, loneliness, suffering?” he’d warmly explain as he planted a hand on her head.

‘Okay, she’s real right? Not some warped figment…of myself? No, not the same, no.’

“Red in psychology is the color of alarm, it indicates harm, poison, generally bad stuff. You’re staring at it though, you’ve seen it before. You’ve been…hurt?” He’d ask, concentrating on her fixation of the fluid as his stream of consciousness taking a pivot as her responses were far more informative than she had intended to let on. He wondered, what she suffered, he remembered his own trauma everyday, for years, in isolation but he wondered had it been the only way sometimes? As far as he was concerned…

His mother’s lessons of his aberrant and disgusting existence clung deep to his mind. Thus she shouldn’t suffer like he did, against all the fierce white voices that cried out unintelligibly. “We may be allies one day, I don’t want to see you suffer for lack of proper knowledge of things, Risaaaaakoooooo~, I will guide you through it and you tell me about yourself. Consider my pain a cost to learn yours~” He’d warmly chirp as he would present the crimson stained forearm for her to proceed with the senbon needle presented itself.