musubi | thirty-third breath ✧ voice/action

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luceti

thirty-third breath ✧ voice/action

[Today, Isamu makes a public post from a public place. That is to say that he's sitting with his journal open in the middle of the clothing store, up on one of the tables where he's moved aside a pile of assorted coats.

He looks serious, thoughtful, though he hasn't actually picked out anything yet.]

Those of you who work with the filial spirits here... How did you get them to work with you? Because I'm trying to figure out what makes them work with some people and not with others.

[For the longest time, the only one that would respond to him was Nala, and he feels lucky to have managed that much sometimes.

What this has to do with him sitting among piles of clothes isn't all that apparent.]

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[Of course he's just warming up. Isamu rolls his eyes, but is smiling when he starts walking toward the turtle.]

Showing off is more like it.

[Completely unashamed:] That too. Ready to lose?

I do see a good bit of losing in my future.

[He holds the staff in a ready position, trying to keep that confident look.]

You can quit whenever you want.

[But for now:]

Hajime.

[Oh it's on, isn't it? Isamu doesn't exactly feel prepared.

He takes a defensive stance, figuring that if he's going to end up on his ass, he can at least delay it an extra couple seconds.]

[Fine then, Don will attack first.]

[He strikes high, to draw Isamu's block, then quickly switches his grip and drops down to sweep his opponent's feet from under him.]

[If Isamu wasn't so out of practice, he might have caught the feint. As it is, however, it catches him.

And, as he'd predicted, down on his ass he goes. He does try to remain on his back, at least, keeping his staff up in the hopes of blocking any follow-up attacks.]

[Hey, Don doesn't attack guys who are already down on their ass. He steps back, waiting for Isamu to get up.]

[He's not above a little taunting, though.]

I was hoping you were a little better than that by now.

You just caught me off guard.

[Isamu is a bit red in the face from embarrassment when he gets back up.]

Let's try that again.

[Seriously, off guard? It's a sparring match.]

[Don lets the lame excuse slide for now, and starts again with the same attack.]

[Most of his excuses are lame. It's how he rolls.

Isamu successfully blocks this time, but he's still on the defensive, reacting rather than attacking.]

[Nicely done.]

[Don presses the advantage, challenging Isamu to predict his strikes and block them. They're all over the place, alternating height and side, but sometimes twice in the same spot to see if Isamu is "off guard" again.]

[The teen does his best to block. At first, the counters are rather desperate, but after a few he starts to fall into form a little bit better.

He's still struggling, of course, but not quite as badly.]

[Don continues the pattern until Isamu almost looks like he's good at this. Then, in one swift move, he disarms Isamu and knocks his hat off.]

[Just to prove that he's better.]

[He sputters a bit after that, just sort of staring and glaring at the turtle.]

...Now that's rude.

[Poor hat.]

You should have blocked.

[Isamu can only fume, face pink.

He was trying!]

[Being completely humiliated is part of training. Pick up your hat and your weapon, student, and take it like a ninja.]

[The teen grumbles something inaudible and does just that, trying to move quickly while keeping his eyes trained on the turtle in case he tries anything else sudden.

He shouldn't have worn the hat to training, honestly.]

Alright. Try that again.

[Yeah, probably not.]

[Don is impressed by Isamu's wariness, and happy to repeat the moves - pattern of strikes, followed by disarm and de-hat - to give the teen a chance to redeem himself.]

[He does a little better this time, managing to avoid being disarmed, but the hat still goes flying.

He sighs almost as if e expected this, blowing a few strands of hair away from his eyes in annoyance.]

[Don leans on his bo and gestures to the hat.]

Give it to me.

[After a moment of hesitation, and not looking pleased about it, Isamu does so.

It had better stay in one piece.]

[Relax, Isamu. Don just puts the hat on, fitting it awkwardly over his big head.]

Now knock it off. [...] The hat, I mean.

You'd better not stretch that.

[It isn't much of a threat. The hat's seen worse.

He takes a moment to think up the best course of action, finally trying the sort of feint Don had used earlier. Granted, his is far more clumsy.]

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