2025-07-23: The Scent of Rain
- Log: The Scent of Rain
- Cast: Umie Akabane, Shiryuu Ryouhara
- Where: Shibuya Station - Underground Mall
- OOC Date: July 23, 2025
- IC Date: June 14, 2012
- Summary: Umie feels like someone is watching her. This time, it's not just paranoia, as someone has a grudge to settle, just not with her.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Umie has a feeling, like someone's been watching her.
Counterpoint: this *is* Shibuya Central Street, arguably one of the busiest parts of Tokyo. It's packed with people depending on the time of day, especially when you work at a convenience store. There's going to be people looking at you.
Counter-Counterpoint: Umie has every right to be paranoid. Between the NWO likely piercing her lousy attempts at a disguise sooner or later the moment they decide she's worthy of attention, her meddling in various affairs, a young man that is likely *still* smarting over her refusal to his proposal at her graduation, and who knows what else, there's got to be a point where it all catches up with her.
Getting off her evening shift, Umie ducks into the back to change into her casual wear. Leaving, she waves her goodbyes to her replacement, and steps into the warm June late night air.
.... And again, she has a feeling, like someone is watching her.
Ducking into the underground mall, she stops by the pharmacy for her prescription, grabbing a few supplies: toothpaste, mouthwash, shampoo. Normal things.
Some shops have shuttered themselves by this time, making the flow of traffic that much easier to sort out. Just go into this aisle here, down this way, past the sign, there. A dead end.
She'd like to be direct and nip this nonsense in the bud. She doesn't have time for a stalker.
".... Okay." Umie turns around, her pale windbreaker fanning out as she spins on one heel, a wry smile on her lips. "You can come out now. Or do you get a kick out of following young women?"
Hopefully, this'll encourage her stalker to come on out, and they can come to... some sort of understanding.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
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"I wouldn't say it's like Me-Mania or anything like that..."
The area is properly desolate, and it's harder to stay melded with the crowd in a situation like this. Around her, the stalls and shops are mostly shuttered, with some boarded up and open for sale to the next renter, with remnants of remodeling supplies and old commercial furniture stacked haphazardly behind glass doors. The dim lights of the few all-nighter shops nearby are haunted with the stale scent of booze, and old melodies about the one that got away.
Warm light licks across blue silk as he parts from the crowd.
When that boy shows, it's hard to believe one could lose him in the crowd to start with -- a silver-haired boy dressed in a loose haori with Shinto embellishments and a very suspicious-looking bundle on his shoulder tends to attract attention no matter where he's going or who he's following. But there's something about him that is just disquieting enough that being told 'he's not here' is easier than the alternative. Nobody looks up. Nobody cares.
Saa. That's the nature of these sorts of things, isn't it?
Shiryuu takes a single step into the cozy little adjunct she'd picked out for herself. His target doesn't drag an entire all of his attention, honestly, that privilege belongs to the styrofoam cup in his hands, from which he is folding out long lines of noodles on the ends of steel chopsticks. A tiny, muted sound slithers through the alley as he breathes in the scent, slurping up noodles with his absolute best attempt to be quiet.
It's extra spicy beef, for the record. Mm.
"But then.." Between bites, the young man starts to think aloud -- and away from the bustle of the fight, away from the chatter of the crowd, his voice carries very, -very- differently.
A droplet of dark in the pure silver light.
"You seem to be the type to enjoy getting into trouble."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Alas, Shiryuu's knowledge of Satoshi Kon's filmography goes unappreciated.
Umie's far too focused on the peculiar boy in front of him.
For some reason, she never suspected it would be the boy with the bridge persona from Sumaru City, but then again, who else would it be? With just a flimsy white mask, a baseball cap, and a ponytail, Umie didn't even try to hide her hair color, assuming it'd blend in well enough with countless others who've bleached their hair in similar ways.
It's the same color of hair, just now done up in two buns on either side of her head, accenting the reddish brown of her eyes with two ties holding each in place.
The mystery boy's style and dress is certainly unusual, but somehow, it's heightened by the smell of extra spicy beef noodles that he's slurping down.
Even stalkers get hungry, Umie supposes.
The bundle, however, reminds her of Tatsuya's. At the time, she refused to question it, but now, she's beginning to question both his and Shiryuu's. That must be where he kept his katana, so this must be...
Her weapon lies safe within her jacket, but it's not going to be good in a close fight.
She'll just try to avoid that.
Umie plays dumb, coyly splaying her fingers over her chin as she turns, slightly. "Ara? What sort of trouble?" Her hand drops from her chin, shifting over to accept the bag of mundanities from the other. "Sorry, I'm not much for cosplaying. I will say I'm flattered, though."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
%r The chopsticks raise, just as his head drops. He's trying to avoid being rude and dropping the next bite, but..
"--mmm. Gonna stop you there."
It takes Shiryuu a minute to finish, long enough for the moment to become awkward, to let the silky sound of steaming noodles speak for itself. But he just had to interject when the coquette tries not to let on what she knows.
He breathes outward, after a quick, nimble swallow, tucking his chopsticks into the same hand that holds the steaming cup, only to wag an accusing gesture -- somewhere between a wave and a pointed finger -- at Umie. "Ahh. I'm told every girl has already picked out cosplay and a wedding dress in their heart, so that's sad.... anyway. I don't like owing people things, so you were lucky for a few days. But 'their' records are really thurough. And I'm good enough to fill in the gaps. So you still want to say that stuff from before?"
His expression is a cold, icy mien, as dispassionate as eating ramen at a funeral. The moment strings along, tight as corset laces as he watches her. The onmitsu makes no secret of it.
"So... here we are, the sakura howling in the night wind. What are we going to do..."
He sighs quietly. If he notices that she's armed, he makes no indication of it, instead crouching close to the ground, resting his weight on the soles his fine designer shoes. The styrofoam clicks quietly as it sets there, the chopsticks laid carefully acrosss the cup.
"Now, senpai.... You're going to have to tell me which of you is dating that stylish-looking guy cop. And how many of those cops have 'it.' That asshole shot a cat at me, and I'm not having it. Anyway, I'm going to have to pick them off one by one either way, but.."
He rests his elbows on his knees.
"Do yourself a favor. If the number is 'six to be eliminated,' don't be foolish and make it seven. I admit, I -am- holding a grudge against you, but I'm willing to make that a quarrel for another day."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'Gonna stop you there.'
Umie does as she's told, glancing awkwardly around.
Slurp, slurp.
"... You done?" Guh... she's hungry now.
"..." Her gaze and silence are more incriminating than any gaze. Then, with a sigh, she glances aside, waving a hand. "Fine then." She redirects her gaze back at Shiryuu, her wry smile turning razor sharp. "I apologize... for disappearing from your sight, using your own abilities against you, pinning you while you squirmed, and *then* spearing you through. In front of your companions, no less." She raises her shoulders once more, donning another performative shrug. "But you got me good too, didn't you? And that wasn't enough, so that you decided to look through my files. Let's see, were they police files? Oh no, I don't have a police file, I've been a good little girl." She taps her chin as she idly paces, one sneaker in front of the other. "Were they school files? Ah, but those... I was a boring kid, wasn't I? The sort of senpai who'd tutor you, but would never be on the top of my own class."
She turns on one foot. "So inform me, what files *were* those? And how did you find them, if you didn't even know my name? Ah, but I don't even know your name, either."
Wait, she was trying to settle this without violence.
Ah, well. He deserves it, for reminding her how fruitless it could be to run away from a record.
He's set down his cup, and balanced his chopsticks atop it.
'... is dating that stylish-looking cop.'
".... gh?!" If Shiryuu was trying to throw Umie off, he's succeeded.
'Oho. Well, you have to admit, you *did* notice Takkun's brother early on~' Not *now*, Mai-chan.
"If you're wanting me to be exact, you're going to tell me exactly what 'it' is. Besides, that file of yours... shouldn't it say something about that already?"
Which means... Katsuya...
oh no. Oh no. He really is an honest cop, through and through. And his little brother *hates* him.
_Are all brothers really like this??_
She kneels down, mirroring Shiryuu's pose. "Let me be real with you. You... are the first person I've ever had to fight. Would it be in my best interest if I folded, just from that?"
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Companions?" Shiryuu asks plainly, calmly.
He never does explain why he asks, but his tone implies that he really has no idea what she's talking about. Either he's an amnesiac, or he doesn't see anyone from that night as his companion. The chastisement that drips into his voice is from something else entirely.
"You've got a vivid imagination," he remarks, politely scandalized.
A moment passes for them. The boy lowers his head, sending wisps of silver tumbling over his brow and teasing the suggestion of his eyes watching her in the dark, eyes so brown that they might as well be black. Well, that's not the case for *both* of his eyes, is it? One is very slightly mismatched to the other. A much warmer, more welcoming brown, if one were so inclined to anthropomorphize colors. Only a few shades off, but it's enough, right?
"The files," Shiryuu finally explains, "kept by people that only a novice would name in free air." You wouldn't think he's a novice, do you?
"Relax," he tells her. "Your secrets are safe with me. I'm good enough to intuit the rest. And besides. Leaving a few details in the dark leaves more of you in the open for me. Besides..."
He raises a finger slowly as she matches his movement, two. He makes a 'brushing' gesture, testing her commitment to following his movement. She will feel where he pokes, where he tests, where he prods, both with his words and actions. "It's in your interest to share. And what use is that information to you, compared to 'the loyalty' you feel towards your first?"
A low, cunning smile. The onmitsu slowly, and with great theatricality, lifts those same two fingers to his temple, pressing them there, with a thumb cocked. He drops it, as he bucks his hand to mimick the recoil, silently pursing his lips. "Persona," he says, slowly and pointedly.
Luckily, the world doesn't twist up in a knot when he does.
"And, if I'm your first, let me be kind; there are those in this world addicted to bleeding for a cause that has nothing to do with them. This is just the first in many junctures of which you decide who you're going to bleed for. What kind of person you're going to decide to be..."
He dusts off the knees of his pants as he rises. She'll notice they're tied up at the ankles, giving his expensive shoes very clean definition as he lifts one, to absently tap the toe against the ground.
He settles easily into her energy, and his grim expression. "You get to be.. how did it go? You get to be a crippled boring kid..."
He smirks. These southerners are always such deviants.
"Or you get to be my good little girl."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Interesting. Shiryuu apparently has access to these files, but does not consider the people he fought alongside his companions, even if all Umie has to go off on is body language.
Umie's eyes lid. "Perhaps that was someone else," she allows.
Closer, now, and she can see that the boy's eyes are slightly mismatched, as difficult as it may be when viewing them through his bangs. One is dark enough to be black, while the other is a lighter shade, closer to Umie's own.
"Ah." Ones only a novice would name in free air.
Technically, Umie *did* say the NWO's name, but this was in a safehouse. What is a safehouse that isn't safe? Then again, what about the people there? Katsuya, and that nun, Mio, seemed to know better, but what about that SEES high schooler, Yukari? _Did she just endanger a high school student with forbidden knowledge_?
She should really start thinking more about other people, instead of just herself.
But there are reasons to be selfish, too.
'Relax.' Umie is regretting getting into this position already; her devotion to following his movements seems to start and end with mirroring his sitting pose.
".... My first what." Umie's tone drops into a deadpan. "I'm not sure I'm the one with the vivid imagination here."
".... Persona," she echoes, and rises to her feet. "Is that it..."
She listens to Shiryuu's words and speech intently; while she shows a nonchalant face, she is slowly beginning to feel the extent of danger the young man poses, even in this space.
Like.... a true, actual.... ninja? Do they actually exist?
'Or you get to be my good little girl.'
Umie's expression falls flat. "... You lost me."
She considers, her expression serious now, rather than the forced coyness she displayed earlier.
"How about I choose a third path: I tell you 'I don't know'. I was following him because I was suspicious of him. However, what happened that day, combined with what you've told me know, proves one undeniable fact about the man."
She raises a finger.
"I was completely wrong about him, and I likely will have to apologize to him one day."
Umie throws her hands in her pockets. "So, in truth, all I can say is 'one', and you fought him. If there are others... I couldn't tell you. Sorry to be a party pooper, but it's the truth. I'm not bleeding for something you already know."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
'My first what.' "You said so yourself," Shiryuu points out, momentarily very, very cavalier.
That mockery of a gun fades, the suggestion unwound in favor of more indecisive body language. The boy scritches his temple thoughtfully, as if undecided as to what to do, as if in thought. "Ano. I suppose you're right," he admits, "I come from a place where it rains all the time, so our imagination could get away with us."
"Ah." He pulls a red cord from behind his head, and the configuration of the bundles and packs on his back changes a bit with the motion.
For one blissful moment, it's Shiryuu who mimicks her, his hands tucking his haori aside to slip his hands into his pockets. A tight, trim smile is shown -- the barest sliver of a white-edged crescent to the gray-haired boy to contrast her utterly flat, unimpressed expression. None of this manages to slow him down. "Ah. Senpai, be careful. Don't lose your interesting will now. You can still talk your way into whatever you want."
"...but..."
Shiryuu's expression wanes to something colder, something finer. Something much sharper, and something more on brand for him. If there is truthfully anything playful in the boy's heart, it's being strangled right now as the two speak.
"In the interest of 'making a commitment to you' ... I will tell you that everything that man comes into contact with... is now going to be cursed by me. Ah." He lifts a hand again, a finger raised. "I know. I know. In this moody world, there's far worse things to be cursed by.." His foot taps one last time on the ground.
"...but I'm no slouch, ne?"
The steam stirs on his cup noodles, left right where they were, steel chopsticks and all. It takes less than a breath, the crack and stir of wind being the only sound he leaves when he moves. The boy crosses the space between them effortlessly and in one long, floating step that .. infuriatingly, doesn't actually seem to be any sort of magic at all.
He's just that fucking fast.
She has an instant, a second to respond, before the flat of his blade 'seals' her movement. If she was paying attention, she would realize that a large part of what he does is theatre, that the elaborate invocation of Persona and the suggestion of kneeling. All to shift the configurations of his bags in just the right sequence to loosen his blade. The moment that red cord was loosened, he'd made his decision.
Bonds of Black is a miserably gloomy sword, razor sharp and familiar black steel unsheathed with a bone-jarring silence. She has that second to respond as he alights in front of her, to lay the flat of his sword on her shoulder, the curved edge theoretically too close to her neck. To see him though, there is no 'aggression' in him, a creature who is all vicious intent. To him, they are simply and still talking.
"...I want to say 'I believe you,'" Shiryuu intimates.
"That you're trustworthy. That you wouldn't mislead me. But you haven't yet made the decision about the type of person you'd like to be. Wouldn't it be easy for there to be a third path? But I enjoy you... so I'm going to give you a chance."
Brown eyes blink once. It might be the first time.
"Repeat after me. 'I aspire to know more.'"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'You said so yourself.' ".... Oh," replies Umie, taken aback. He meant himself. The first guy she fought with her Persona. Right.
And then, like that, he's suddenly just a boy (though his age is indistinct; he has to be a bit older that Tatsuya at most, which'd put him... closer to her age?)."... Down south?" she casually suggests, in a tone that betrays a hint of surprise. "... My hometown was like that, but... it's way north of here." Wait, why is she being nice to him?! Damn it, she needs to be mean. Stop trying to be liked by people!
She was doing so much better earlier, before he insinuated that she was dating a man half a decade older than her.
The red cord draws Umie's attention. "Hm?" She tilts her head, her eyelids lowered. "... You have better things to do than mess with a single cop."
The kyoketsu shoge makes her feel confident, up until the point that Shiryuu strikes. If this where one of the supernaturally charged areas in Sumaru City, this would be a fairer fight.
In Shibuya, she's just achingly, distressingly normal.
The two pronged blade barely has enough time to try to meet Shiryuu's; up this close, it's clear that this is more to its true purpose, rather than as a stabbing weapon.
However, that hand is pinned in place; she can't move it to misdirect Shiryuu's blade away from her neck.
The bag spills as she tries to move back; out spills a prescription packet, an azure blue bottle of mouthwash sticking out of one of the holes.
'You already know the best way out of this situation. Go on.'
Even if Umie screamed for help, one cut and she'd die far more quickly that this boy might realize.
"...." Umie's nostrils flare at Shiryuu's direction.
The words come out, with grudging, slow, speed; whether she wanted to or not, being asked to do so seems to be exactly the thing that makes it painful. "I. Aspire. To. Learn. More."
She's... still trying to direct the blade away.
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
Make no mistake -- he knows exactly how fast someone dies when their throat is cut.
"Hm.."
The sound of his voice is sharp, smooth, dark as night. An awful kind of perception slips along the gleam of her bifurcated blade as it interjects between the two. The long black blade and razored curve of Bankasoujin quarrels with the blunted little shinobi tool, and the steel fittings rattle like an angry snake.
"It's been awhile since I last saw one of these in the wild," Shiryuu notes. There is currently no danger of her getting cut, as though the flat of his blade lays comfortably on her shoulder, the mantis-winged clash leaves the shinobi's other hand at his side, draped in the hang of his voluminous dark blue sleeves. He doesn't .. exactly .. use his strength against her, more content to lean into the motion, his hilt above his hip and his body weight resting comfortably on the end of that blade, until a tenuous balance is reached. It's a little bit like resting on a perch..
"There is a problem in society," Shiryuu explains neatly. "The concept of the icy slope. A poisonous idea when left to its natural conclusion, will end in ruin for all involved. The solution, if you believe the mainlanders, is in 'heaven's net, vast but inescapable.'"
Shiryuu breathes outward slowly. The method is intentional; his center of gravity changes, just so. Makes it that much harder to stand.
"Senpai. Surely you can agree that no allowances can be made. There is no room in this world for lawful people who dabble in the occult."
She says the words, forced, hissed through teeth. And as she does so, his sword rolls like a key in a lock, encouraged at the wrist until the spine rests on her shoulder. "You're too pretty to be such an agreeable girl," Shiryuu commends her absently, as the weight lifts from her shoulder, as the center of gravity migrates back over his heels. Just so -- he holds her kyoketsu in that bind for a moment, two more.
The blade lifts from hers, an inch at first, instructively, before the steel is tapped, flat to spine.
"The trade will be this. 'Find out more information about Suou for me.' And I won't consider you an enemy. You can be my 'senpai' still. Understand?"
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
It's been a while since he's last seen one of these in the wild.
This close, he may notice the braided cord, or the markings along the straighter blade of the two. Like many ninja weapons, this one is handmade from normal household tools.
Umie hears his words, and is comprehending them, but her attention is still tied to the weight of the blade on her shoulder.
'You're too pretty to be such an agreeable girl.' Umie's cheeks flush slightly as she glowers at him; as he pulls away, it feels far too slow. It's insulting.
And his trade offer? Even more so.
Her friends have been so few; she's kept it that way. She has friends, acquaintances, and co-workers, but they don't know about her persona. That's only changed recently, but Katsuya Suou? Just who is he, to her?
An enforcer of the law, that actually seems to mean it. An example of an official that *isn't* tied to some secret organization or another. An imperfect person, a little too honest, a little too good-hearted. Someone who, through her bungling of her own secret identity, his investigations, her positive experience with the Suous in general, (albiet in a casual setting) still just feels... normal, despite what he's been exposed to. Will this change? Possibly, if someone doesn't protect that part of him.
... someone she could consider an ally.
And his brother, perhaps, much of the same, even if he could be at the opposite end of things. To snoop on one is to snoop on the other, given their ties to one another.
And most importantly...
She'd just be under the heel of another NWO operative, even if he seems to consider himself separate from them. Even to agree and then just simply not do feels like an insult to her pride.
".... You're the one with the files," she says, softly. "How about you do your own homework?"
She's already turned from him, extracting the full length of rope and hoop from her pocket. "If you're one of 'them', I'm not working for you."
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
"Much nicer, senpai."
The resistance seems to please him. There is an odd tonal dissonance. The light candor he takes with her never reaches his face; where one would imagine another person smiling brightly, the suggestion of good cheer never reaches past his throat -- it stops at his collar, and his expression is flat, calm, measured. Only the lightest air of interest gilds his mood; a slightly raised eyebrow, a light lick of the lips to wet them.
The black blade makes surprisingly little gleam under the light as the onmitsu shoulders it by the mune -- the spine rests partway against his shoulder, partly against the scabbard, still wrapped and held longwise at his back. The curve only catches the light when he shifts just so, when he turns and takes a slow, methodical step.
She asks why he doesn't do his own homework, and it's a point he ignores for the moment with that easy stride. "I'll come to you in -- oh, say a month's time. And then we'll see what you know. It's sort of a lost cause trying to resist it, you know?"
His lips purse, the cupid's bow knotting just long enough for the boy to breathe outwards, as if soothing his own nerves from some imagined anxiety or urge. "It's in the nature of any ill-futured person to seek out more about their bonds. And what self-respecting girl wouldn't work on finding out more about her crush? Look at it like that. I'd be jealous, if these May-December things ever actually worked out.."
The ease of his stride idles thoughtfully for a moment, stopping as she flatly rejects him. The onmitsu's expression doesn't change. After all, what kind of person would he be if a little refusal ever stopped him? But something she says just ... rubs him the wrong way. He breathes outward, and with how still and put together he normally is, it's the small vagaries that stand out. "Huh. A pretty big assumption to make," he notes. "...You should really thank me."
The blade lifts slowly off of his shoulder. A notion, an 'inclination,' drives the low tap of the spine against the bundle at his back. His eye twitches. ".... I wouldn't ask you for something banal, like 'working for me.' But I am going to visit you in a month's time. Because, I'm really looking for a reason not to hurt you, senpai."
"Because, in all this ill world..."
He looks at her back, and she can feel the weight of his attention, the same as that sword.
"There's not a single person that would do well with being my enemy."
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
'Much nicer, senpai.'
In her mind's eye, Umie can see and hear Mai-chan's childish, delighted laughter at Shiryuu's response.
Umie tries to keep the shock out of her expression, holding the hoop in one hand, her bifurcated blade in the other as she takes a step around, cautiously making a path around him. Her weapon's weakness is that it requires time and space to wind up, making it perfect for long range combat, but not... this.
She's never considered this this kind of situation. It's like this person is... WAIT.
"Wait." Umie squints at Shiryuu. "Don't laugh at this, but." Her chin rises slightly, like assessing Shiryuu from a new angle would make her next question feel any less outrageous to ask, in modern day 2012. "Are you a ninja? An actual one."
And again, with that accusation! "For the last time, he's not--" Now it's Umie's turn to purse her lips, in order to calm herself. Don't volunteer information that's not yours to give.
Turn it around, instead. "Or maybe," she says, with a scythe-like smile, "you're the one with the crush?" Her voice intentionally loses its caustic, cynical edge, becoming softer and sweet. "All of this is just an excuse, or otherwise, you would have come to him first."
But he insists.
Umie sighs, her tone regaining its usual delightfully sarcastic tone. "Sure, fine." She'll let it be a problem for future her to handle; she waves a hand in the air. "A month, whatever. And I'll tell you exactly whatever I know."
It's likely a better deal, than to agree outright. She needs to make a call, the moment she can guarantee she won't be watched.
But where, exactly?
<Pose Tracker> Shiryuu Ryouhara has posed.
The little back and forth is a dance Shiryuu seems to settle into easily. There is a bit of heat to him in these sorts of exchanges -- like a beast stretching muscles long left underused and aching. She can see it in the way the boy seems to think, the way even the most planned of idle motion stops as he listens to her. The light tap of his sword slows, and then stops, mortally.
Having someone's whole attention is a rare thing.
"....'Shinobi no mono,'" the boy states aloud.
"A class of underestimated servants, who lived a hard, bitter life in the name of their masters, leaving their homes and lands to journey far afield and perform acts most would consider unforgivable. They are those who keep watch, no matter how red the rain gets."
The boy slowly raises a hand to his lips, nibbling at a nail performatively, thoughtfully. "But even during the Bakumatsu period, they said that the ninja no longer existed. By the time the Boshin War's last bits of powder burned, it was said that the 'ko ryu' arts had faded away, secrets lost to irrelevancy, all of the greatness of the ancient families and their arts withered down to the anemic little kitbashed steel hung from a Battotai's hip. How could anyone be a ninja in today's day and age? They don't exist."
His sword taps on his shoulder. "....right?"
There's an unabiding silence that follows, and for the moment, Shiryuu lets Umie's discomfit with being branded as Katsuya's paramour drift into merciful quiet, watching the cattish thing and her scythe smile avidly. "Heh." The point of the blade lowers to his ankle, turning at a flicked angle as the young man idly sights down the edge of the blade. Him and Suou? Him and her? He recognizes the question as intentionally vague. "Ohoo. You'd love to be a fly on that wall, wouldn't you?" he asks. "But... unfortunately, Suou couldn't handle me if he had both hands." Silver hair tilts, as the collared boy's eyes lift from his sword's edge, slowly lifting to point at the grinning little demon.
"Could you?"
Now you see him smile.
The sword flips neatly, twirled by the hilt at his hip through one whole rotation, before he slips it back, snapping it into its sheath easily. He doesn't seem to mind that she's still armed, as he turns away and steps, alighting back to gather his cup of soup. It's gone a little warm, but it should still be fine. "Hmn," he says, kneeling to gather his effects.
"Seems like it's going to rain." Who really can tell from here? "Anyway ... it's good. One month, right, senpai? Do me a favor first, though."
Shiryuu gives Umie a genuinely nettled look. It's easily the most put out she's seen him.
"Polish up that fucking shoge, please."
And then he's gone.
<Pose Tracker> Umie Akabane has posed.
Shinobi no mono.
"..." Now *this* is something that clearly has Umie's attention now, as Shiryuu begins; Umie can't even disguise it.
It's easier to dismiss and idolize a concept when you think it's mostly illusion, a fairy tale you wrap yourself in because it made you feel like there was some part of this 'History Boom' you could use as armor. Something nebulous, that can't be seen or judged, emphereal as her paper cranes. "They don't. Not in the historical sense. But neither do samurai. Or knights. Just things we use to name something that can't be explained otherwise." The hooped end of her weapon swings like a pendulum, while the hand gripping is white with tension Umie doesn't let reach the relaxed angle of her neck and shoulders. "But when you have those same things appear over people's shoulders, it makes you wonder if there's certain things we just can't let go of. History is one thing, definition is another. What definitions shape you, and what do you do, to shape those definitions?"
The hoop swings up in a vertical arc, looping on an semi-outstretched hand like a lazy trick, the first simple fold in a piece of origami.
"That's your lesson from your senpai, in exchange for yours." Is he a dog of the NWO, then?
Perhaps that's an angle.
Meanwhile Shiryuu leans in on his own angle, catching Umie off-guard by turning her own coy remark right back at her. ".... No," Umie says, caught off guard. Is it because she sees Katsuya in a brotherly light, because that's how he was introduced to her?
.... Is that what this is all about? Trying to protect an image?
'Could you?' And that smile.
The sword flips, and Umie's body language sharpens, expecting the next second be with that sword at her throat, a cute remark followed with a cut of red.
But there's just the scent of rain and the sound of blood still in her ears.
Shiryuu's irritation feels like a joyous sight, after that, as is his leave, with a single remark.
....
Umie blinks, then looks at her shoge, turning it over in her hand with a frown.
.... What?