A hay wagon rolled heavily into the village, wheels screeching. A lanky girl with beads in her hair jumped down, and gave the horse pulling the cart a big apple. She laughed as crumbles landed on her cheek. The beads clinked as she turned to greet the driver goodbye, a big smile glowing on her face. An hour later, and the girl would be found at the edge of a bustling market, a cross-legged ragtag vagabond wasting precious sidewalk space among the brilliant colors of her paintings. A single glimpse on the ground or nearby bench would make one risk slipping away into three different countries, from the colorful rush of a reef to the muddy, muted tones of a drying oasis, from waves crashing against a ruined lighthouse to motes of dew trapped in a spider-web. The common element, in all of them, was ‘water’. It endlessly fascinated the travelling painter how many shapes it could take, in how many forms it could twist light. She hoped that it would never cease to. As she waited, her paintbrush slid against the paper, sketching the delicate white petals of a magnolia blooming in a water saucer in her front. Ironically, she always painted in oil.
What the Fire Country had meant for Suzuri was botanical drawing. She’d always had a knack with color, but now, following an inadvertent meeting with a stubborn noble lady, Suzuri had begun to feel more confident about tacking ‘shape’ too. The old aristocrat had taught her much that she’d unconsciously suspected, how to see shadows and bend them into three dimensions, how even the most complex shapes in nature could be reduced to combinations of simple geometry. What this meant for Suzuri’s drawing was a newfound joy of experimenting close-ups, from a dead ephemerid in a pond to a seedling sprouting in a drop of water. It also did wonders for her landscape work, as her most recent painting, of a farmer running through the rain to cover piles of golden hay with waterproof cloth, would prove.
Overall, she hadn’t made much money. Her detailed paintings were an oddball among the unsophisticated stands of root vegetables, meats and hot food; besides, the girl had the business sense of an orange. But that didn’t bother Suzuri, just like the invitation to paint flower-patterned screens, coming from a highly-ranked oiran-courtesan, didn’t fill her head with perspectives of fame and money. Painting was a way of expressing herself; she would have given her creations away for free to anyone who cared to have them, were it not for the fact that she needed new trousers.
A few more patches, and people would mistake her for a jester.
((Ooc: I am rather dissatisfied with this opening post, but there is only so much I can do after repeatedly writing opening posts.))
[Graded]The painter [Open]
[Graded]The painter [Open]
OOCShow
I'm sorry that you aren't having any luck here. If the thread is still ongoing, would you mind me joining in? We can discuss plot points amongst ourselves through PM's for a better expererience.
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
((It's...an open thread. Please go ahead. I apologize for sounding negative, I only meant it as an excuse. On average I believe that I might write better than this))
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
Is that the last of it? Gene asked, his attention fixed to a tall man clad in black garbs - a merchant who had been but one of many clients to the Hidden Leaf Shinobi forces. With the last of his materials loaded on the back of a carriage pulled by a horse, the man nodded in approval of a job well done. Another satisfied client for the books and a mission completed under Gene's resume. When the man and his entourage departed Gene waved and turned around to head back for the Hidden leaf via an old dirt road that had been unlisted on the maps foreign to the Land of fire's high council - Gene being one for short cuts and the like, held no qualms about taking the leisure route.
Of course, while the route was shorter it ran through a small village that up until now, remained unexplored by the young Genin. A part of him was apprehensive about entering but it was the only option if he wanted to forgo a longer journey. The road ahead was clear for the most part, felled branches here and there from trees that had long since lost their strength & had now been on the verge of toppling over, green blades of grass outlined the dirt road of which he walked on - all in all the view was nice. Suppose that was one of the reasons why Gene loved the Land of fire so much but then again, he had yet to venture anywhere else.
Roughly twenty minutes into the walk Gene found himself weaving through countless villagers who either ignored his presence or stared incredibly hard at his headband which shone Konoha's signature leaf brightly under the hot sun. Some even whispered amongst themselves "that boy is a Leaf ninja? He looks young." Though such comments were disregarded almost as soon as they were recognized - a true ninja knew that deception was key so Gene hardly cared that they questioned his stature. Still, it was weird being spoken of in a place where he had not been familiar with; it put him on edge but more importantly, caused him to notice that there was one other who had been spoke of in an almost similar manner. A girl, much older than he, could be seen sketching diligently an image that Gene couldn't help but be curious about.
It wasn't the best idea that he had but he decided it would be nice to pick up something to remember this place by seeing as how he probably wouldn't be found here again. So he approached her but kept a safe distance away and spoke out to her, Hey. Do you have any finished paintings for sale? His auburn colored eyes radiated under the sunlight and for a moment, caused his entire face to actually glow. As far as first impressions went, Gene looked rather handsome but still maintained a youthful outlook. Even as he spoke his voice was mellow, soothing almost - but that was beside the point. His interest was in her art work, Gene was certain that his mother would have loved one of these paintings.
Of course, while the route was shorter it ran through a small village that up until now, remained unexplored by the young Genin. A part of him was apprehensive about entering but it was the only option if he wanted to forgo a longer journey. The road ahead was clear for the most part, felled branches here and there from trees that had long since lost their strength & had now been on the verge of toppling over, green blades of grass outlined the dirt road of which he walked on - all in all the view was nice. Suppose that was one of the reasons why Gene loved the Land of fire so much but then again, he had yet to venture anywhere else.
Roughly twenty minutes into the walk Gene found himself weaving through countless villagers who either ignored his presence or stared incredibly hard at his headband which shone Konoha's signature leaf brightly under the hot sun. Some even whispered amongst themselves "that boy is a Leaf ninja? He looks young." Though such comments were disregarded almost as soon as they were recognized - a true ninja knew that deception was key so Gene hardly cared that they questioned his stature. Still, it was weird being spoken of in a place where he had not been familiar with; it put him on edge but more importantly, caused him to notice that there was one other who had been spoke of in an almost similar manner. A girl, much older than he, could be seen sketching diligently an image that Gene couldn't help but be curious about.
It wasn't the best idea that he had but he decided it would be nice to pick up something to remember this place by seeing as how he probably wouldn't be found here again. So he approached her but kept a safe distance away and spoke out to her, Hey. Do you have any finished paintings for sale? His auburn colored eyes radiated under the sunlight and for a moment, caused his entire face to actually glow. As far as first impressions went, Gene looked rather handsome but still maintained a youthful outlook. Even as he spoke his voice was mellow, soothing almost - but that was beside the point. His interest was in her art work, Gene was certain that his mother would have loved one of these paintings.
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
The girl gestured widely with the paintbrush, encompassing the colored papers nearby. Her chin rose high, and her stiff neck cracked backwards against her gently pressing fingers. A pleasant lightness spread through her back. There was white paint on her cheek.
“All you can see.” Suzuri answered. Her accent vibrated with an almost sing-song whistle, an accent from that frozen South that many didn’t even knew existed. Her eyes scanned the kid cautiously, like two walnuts uncertain if they are facing a squirrel. She’d had bad experiences with ninjas. Not significantly more than with people from other walks of life, though. A traveler could only ever rely on herself, far away from the safety of her family and crew. Still, she could only feel warmth towards somebody even briefly distracted by her creations. “I don’t sell frames, though. Would be difficult for me to carry.” The older girl explained.
Meanwhile the paintbrush sketched shadows and highlights, and a scented petal burst from the paper. Suzuri took in a deep breath. She let the potential customer take his time; if anything, as a merchant, she sinned through her detachment rather than insistence. If the boy hanged around, she would continue:
“I guess each would be about…two hundred, four hundred ryo?” The inexperienced seller mused. She scratched her brow with the end of the paintbrush. “Would depend on size, I think,” she said, stealing a glance towards the paintings ranging from postcard to office paper-sized. All of them were highly detailed, a complexity that spoke of days or even weeks of work. Undervaluation? There were oil paint prints that sold for that much. There existed paintings by similarly nameless authors that sold for ten times that. But Suzuri didn’t know. And she wouldn’t cared much. She’d have no idea how to deal with more money than what she needed.
“Are you here to sign a contract?” The travelling painter asked, rising her eyes towards the ninja boy. She mostly kept to herself, but being friendly with customers was a learnable skill. “With the spirits.” Unsettled, Suzuri fidgeted and hurried to explain. “I was told that the old forest to the south is inhabited by spirits. Apparently it’s deathly dangerous to pass through.” There was a quick glint in her eyes, like the spinning metal ball of roulette. “I imagine that rain shines beautifully in an old-growth forest…”
There was the smallest hint that Suzuri was among those people who, when they were told ‘no one can do it’, heard ‘I will’.
Unbeknownst to her, directly south was the Village Hidden in the Leaves.
“All you can see.” Suzuri answered. Her accent vibrated with an almost sing-song whistle, an accent from that frozen South that many didn’t even knew existed. Her eyes scanned the kid cautiously, like two walnuts uncertain if they are facing a squirrel. She’d had bad experiences with ninjas. Not significantly more than with people from other walks of life, though. A traveler could only ever rely on herself, far away from the safety of her family and crew. Still, she could only feel warmth towards somebody even briefly distracted by her creations. “I don’t sell frames, though. Would be difficult for me to carry.” The older girl explained.
Meanwhile the paintbrush sketched shadows and highlights, and a scented petal burst from the paper. Suzuri took in a deep breath. She let the potential customer take his time; if anything, as a merchant, she sinned through her detachment rather than insistence. If the boy hanged around, she would continue:
“I guess each would be about…two hundred, four hundred ryo?” The inexperienced seller mused. She scratched her brow with the end of the paintbrush. “Would depend on size, I think,” she said, stealing a glance towards the paintings ranging from postcard to office paper-sized. All of them were highly detailed, a complexity that spoke of days or even weeks of work. Undervaluation? There were oil paint prints that sold for that much. There existed paintings by similarly nameless authors that sold for ten times that. But Suzuri didn’t know. And she wouldn’t cared much. She’d have no idea how to deal with more money than what she needed.
“Are you here to sign a contract?” The travelling painter asked, rising her eyes towards the ninja boy. She mostly kept to herself, but being friendly with customers was a learnable skill. “With the spirits.” Unsettled, Suzuri fidgeted and hurried to explain. “I was told that the old forest to the south is inhabited by spirits. Apparently it’s deathly dangerous to pass through.” There was a quick glint in her eyes, like the spinning metal ball of roulette. “I imagine that rain shines beautifully in an old-growth forest…”
There was the smallest hint that Suzuri was among those people who, when they were told ‘no one can do it’, heard ‘I will’.
Unbeknownst to her, directly south was the Village Hidden in the Leaves.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
Gene's eyes ran across each painting before him and evaluated them on critical levels, if he were going to come out of pocket for something then he wanted it to be worth while. However, he'd have been a fool to miss the artist's discerning gaze - what was she thinking? Young and greatly inexperienced in the ways of dealing with out of village merchants; Gene while receptive to her pricings, remained apprehensive in their authenticity. It wasn't uncommon for paintings like these to be stolen and sold in far away lands where the buyers knew nothing about the orgins of where they'd bought their art work from. To prevent that, the young Genin figured it would be best to ask a series of questions regarding the paintings but - before he could fix his lips to do so, the woman continued on.
Are you here to sign a contract? She asked, but Gene couldn't see anything portraying her to be of Shinobi origins - how did she know about contract sealings? Before he had opened his mouth to reply, Gene opted to look at the paintings in greater detail all the while waiting to see if the girl would continue on, and eventually she did. I was told that the old forest to the south is inherited by spirits. Apparently it's deathly dangerous to pass through. The pressure that began to build up in Gene's chest quickly faded away, this girl, was she referring to the Hidden Leaf? "Spirits eh? Gene remarked, lifting up one of the smaller portraits that seemed to capture the morning skies in vivid detail. "Sounds troublesome. Too troublesome for me."
Half-turning to his left, Gene faced the girl and upheld the portrait. "I'll take this one."
Are you here to sign a contract? She asked, but Gene couldn't see anything portraying her to be of Shinobi origins - how did she know about contract sealings? Before he had opened his mouth to reply, Gene opted to look at the paintings in greater detail all the while waiting to see if the girl would continue on, and eventually she did. I was told that the old forest to the south is inherited by spirits. Apparently it's deathly dangerous to pass through. The pressure that began to build up in Gene's chest quickly faded away, this girl, was she referring to the Hidden Leaf? "Spirits eh? Gene remarked, lifting up one of the smaller portraits that seemed to capture the morning skies in vivid detail. "Sounds troublesome. Too troublesome for me."
Half-turning to his left, Gene faced the girl and upheld the portrait. "I'll take this one."
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
“Very well.” The painter girl nodded. She placed the brush on the thin wooden palette near her knees, but after several attempts of it to roll away, she stuck it behind her ear. “Two hundred ryo, please.” She smiled oddly, not at the boy but at the painting, looking as through a window, remembering the nip of the wind on her cheeks, the scent of the forest wrapping around her like a blanket the day she’d painted that. Sometimes she deplored being unable to convey more of her experiences in painting, but mostly she treated it like writing. A necessary imperfect copy of the world, real or not, forced people to interpret and imagine.
“Wait. I’ll wrap it for you.” Suzuri said, reaching for her bag. The colorful paper she took out was of different types, wrapped around each other and tied in two places in the manner of a gigantic candy. She removed a rubber band, wrapped it around her wrist, and struggled to get out a glazed sheet of paper with patterns of clouds. A professional traveler knew better than to sneer at free things, and the rustling gift wrapping had been just one of those lucky occasions.
She pulled with more force, and the sky pattern finally budged. Something clinked on the pavement.
It was pink, Suzuri noticed first, her eyes growing big. The size of a pigeon egg. It sparkled. It wasn’t the cheap sheen of plastic, or the cold glisten of metal, but a sharp sparkle that cut through your retinas, a high-end spark that could make even the dust under it look like the finest black velvet. It had hit the pavement with the clear sound of a crystal glass. Its shape, of an approximate inverted cone, made the first word that jumped into one’s mind be ‘diamond!!’. Including the exclamation marks.
‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
Suzuri’s first reflex was to throw the wrapping paper over it and jump to her feet. Her parted lips suggested that she’d screamed, although so high that it could only be perceived as a mute discomfort in the eardrums. Her fists clenched, her muscles tensed, and her eyes sought the ones of the boy. Hoping that he hadn’t seen anything.
“That’s not mine!” She exclaimed. Then, realizing her fumble, she gestured with her fists and mumbled. “I mean, I didn’t do it.” ‘I didn’t steal it’, she meant, but her mind was leaping away in fear.
It may look strange for a young woman close to entering adulthood to be so defensive with someone so much younger, not to mention shorter and a boy, instead of the socially accepted manners of taunting. But he wore the headband, and the headband meant power and, to some extent, law.
If they locked her up for theft, away from the sun and rain, they might as well kill her.
“Wait. I’ll wrap it for you.” Suzuri said, reaching for her bag. The colorful paper she took out was of different types, wrapped around each other and tied in two places in the manner of a gigantic candy. She removed a rubber band, wrapped it around her wrist, and struggled to get out a glazed sheet of paper with patterns of clouds. A professional traveler knew better than to sneer at free things, and the rustling gift wrapping had been just one of those lucky occasions.
She pulled with more force, and the sky pattern finally budged. Something clinked on the pavement.
It was pink, Suzuri noticed first, her eyes growing big. The size of a pigeon egg. It sparkled. It wasn’t the cheap sheen of plastic, or the cold glisten of metal, but a sharp sparkle that cut through your retinas, a high-end spark that could make even the dust under it look like the finest black velvet. It had hit the pavement with the clear sound of a crystal glass. Its shape, of an approximate inverted cone, made the first word that jumped into one’s mind be ‘diamond!!’. Including the exclamation marks.
‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
Suzuri’s first reflex was to throw the wrapping paper over it and jump to her feet. Her parted lips suggested that she’d screamed, although so high that it could only be perceived as a mute discomfort in the eardrums. Her fists clenched, her muscles tensed, and her eyes sought the ones of the boy. Hoping that he hadn’t seen anything.
“That’s not mine!” She exclaimed. Then, realizing her fumble, she gestured with her fists and mumbled. “I mean, I didn’t do it.” ‘I didn’t steal it’, she meant, but her mind was leaping away in fear.
It may look strange for a young woman close to entering adulthood to be so defensive with someone so much younger, not to mention shorter and a boy, instead of the socially accepted manners of taunting. But he wore the headband, and the headband meant power and, to some extent, law.
If they locked her up for theft, away from the sun and rain, they might as well kill her.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
*Tink, tink tink.* One would have had to be deaf or just plain stupid to miss such a distinct noise coming from a dropped item. Gene was no exception as his eyes were instinctively drawn to the cause - a diamond? What was a painter doing carrying such a thing around willy-nilly? Odd... Gene thought to himself but the girl's flustering made him slightly uncomfortable. She had been getting worked up over nothing; Gene had his suspicions of course, but that wasn't enough to go throwing out assumption about her. Furthermore, even if he did have the necessary grounds to indict her Gene was not one who particularly enjoyed putting work into things. In his mind, her having a Diamond in her profession was practically harmless to those back in his village and merited no cause for concern. Karma would do its worst if she did prove to be a terrible person down the line anyway so all in all, it was a moot point.
For pete's sake just pick it up and put it away. I'm only here to purchase a painting I don't much care to dabble with anything else. Gene remarked, nipping the situation in the bud before it could grow into a wild fire of events. However, that didn't mean that Gene would be letting her off the hook entirely - someone would be keeping a close eye on this traveling painter in the near future - to snuff out any other "hidden" talents she may have been keeping a secret.
Gene folded one arm over the other and patiently waited for the girl to finish wrapping his gift. The sun was starting to get low which meant that he was running out of time.
For pete's sake just pick it up and put it away. I'm only here to purchase a painting I don't much care to dabble with anything else. Gene remarked, nipping the situation in the bud before it could grow into a wild fire of events. However, that didn't mean that Gene would be letting her off the hook entirely - someone would be keeping a close eye on this traveling painter in the near future - to snuff out any other "hidden" talents she may have been keeping a secret.
Gene folded one arm over the other and patiently waited for the girl to finish wrapping his gift. The sun was starting to get low which meant that he was running out of time.
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
If Suzuri had overreacted upon finding a gem among her possessions, the ninja child seemed to reply with a stunning lack of intensity. The girl stared, mouth slightly ajar, until she managed to swallow her silence and reply. In a way, they were similar, her and him, both blind to the tantalizing sparkle of greed that precious stones often inflicted.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
She clung to shopkeeper stock phrases like one would to a rope. With quick and controlled movements, she wrapped the painting in gift wrap paper, and sealed it with a blue paper ribbon. “Enjoy,” she smiled, and it was all perfectly normal.
But her fists clenched, knuckle-white.
She didn’t wait for the boy to leave until she started wrapping up. The unsold paintings were carefully placed back in the drawing block; the lid on the used solvent bottle was tightly screwed on. Travelling artists were often described as careless bums, but there was little space for carelessness if your solvent of choice was a poisonous mixture of hydrocarbons that would burn skin from the inside. Oil painting was dangerous like that. Normally she would have waited for a while longer, but the diamond in her back made her hands itch. Soon, all that was left outside her backpack was the magnolia painting.
The girl raised it to her lips and gently blew over it, then drew her fingertips over the flower to make sure it had dried. She didn’t know that part of the magic was the wisps of chakra that she exhaled then. They were faint, subtle, unremarkable, and dangerously real.
“I’ll investigate.” Suzuri spoke to herself, determination buzzing in her voice like a string under tension.
Adrenaline rushed silently through her veins. Still frightened, the girl was starting to get angry too. She could be kept for uncomfortable questioning by any law-enforcer who found the diamond in her bag. Perhaps she was lucky – perhaps it was a fake. But if it wasn’t, what could she do? How dare people go around losing diamonds and getting her into trouble! Her eyebrows frowned.
A part of her wanted to return the stone to its rightful owner. Another was all-too-conscious of the blood and murder that often splattered a precious gem’s travels, too aware of her own frailty. But, for the most part, Suzuri was curious. If the gem was worth anything for her, that was a question. How did it get thrown in the trash, among the gift wrapping?
Next, she only needed an answer.
The girl headed for the stand of the florist, exchanging pleasantries and offering the unfinished magnolia along with an apology. She had offered to paint it as a trade, but the events had precipitated before she could be satisfied with it. The stocky lady grinned widely, and shouted at her husband running a food stall on the other side of the path to prepare a snack for the girl.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
She clung to shopkeeper stock phrases like one would to a rope. With quick and controlled movements, she wrapped the painting in gift wrap paper, and sealed it with a blue paper ribbon. “Enjoy,” she smiled, and it was all perfectly normal.
But her fists clenched, knuckle-white.
She didn’t wait for the boy to leave until she started wrapping up. The unsold paintings were carefully placed back in the drawing block; the lid on the used solvent bottle was tightly screwed on. Travelling artists were often described as careless bums, but there was little space for carelessness if your solvent of choice was a poisonous mixture of hydrocarbons that would burn skin from the inside. Oil painting was dangerous like that. Normally she would have waited for a while longer, but the diamond in her back made her hands itch. Soon, all that was left outside her backpack was the magnolia painting.
The girl raised it to her lips and gently blew over it, then drew her fingertips over the flower to make sure it had dried. She didn’t know that part of the magic was the wisps of chakra that she exhaled then. They were faint, subtle, unremarkable, and dangerously real.
“I’ll investigate.” Suzuri spoke to herself, determination buzzing in her voice like a string under tension.
Adrenaline rushed silently through her veins. Still frightened, the girl was starting to get angry too. She could be kept for uncomfortable questioning by any law-enforcer who found the diamond in her bag. Perhaps she was lucky – perhaps it was a fake. But if it wasn’t, what could she do? How dare people go around losing diamonds and getting her into trouble! Her eyebrows frowned.
A part of her wanted to return the stone to its rightful owner. Another was all-too-conscious of the blood and murder that often splattered a precious gem’s travels, too aware of her own frailty. But, for the most part, Suzuri was curious. If the gem was worth anything for her, that was a question. How did it get thrown in the trash, among the gift wrapping?
Next, she only needed an answer.
The girl headed for the stand of the florist, exchanging pleasantries and offering the unfinished magnolia along with an apology. She had offered to paint it as a trade, but the events had precipitated before she could be satisfied with it. The stocky lady grinned widely, and shouted at her husband running a food stall on the other side of the path to prepare a snack for the girl.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
"So where are you off to in such a hurry? Gene asked, the painter seemed in a rush now that one of her misfortunes had found its place in the open for Gene to see. This made him more curious about her due to the fact that anyone making an honest living wouldn't have needed to scurry off in such a manner, she could have easily diffused the situation by saying something along the lines of "it was a gift from my late Grandmother before she died" or something along those lines, but she didn't. Now, a situation that could have been avoided was not forcefully thrown into the open.
It wasn't his style but - if this woman did in fact, turn out to be a criminal. Well, he would have to do the right thing and bring her in. As troublesome as it may have seemed letting a con woman go free would be just the same as letting someone get away with murder. He may have lacked drive but Gene was still a Shinobi of the Hidden Leaves, protector of those in Konoha and the people of the Land of fire - to a lesser extent.
It wasn't his style but - if this woman did in fact, turn out to be a criminal. Well, he would have to do the right thing and bring her in. As troublesome as it may have seemed letting a con woman go free would be just the same as letting someone get away with murder. He may have lacked drive but Gene was still a Shinobi of the Hidden Leaves, protector of those in Konoha and the people of the Land of fire - to a lesser extent.
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
It was always more amusing to be the villain.
Suzuri had thought that outright suspicion would break her. It wasn’t so. A safety bubble was difficult to craft when you were a lone vagabond in a faraway land; but a bubble is, by definition, a cage. She turned her head towards the boy, chin slightly tilted and eyes suddenly more alive than the art-merchant had ever had. His words stirred something within her, adding to the burning frustration of finding the gem among her possessions. She opened her mouth to apologize, then bit her lip. It must’ve been something in the way her brain was hardwired, twitching in fright at the smallest concerns. It meant that a tangible threat finally set her free.
She felt strength rushing into her veins. For the first time she was able to see the ninja as he really was: not just as the mysterious representative of a tradition of sharp knives, but also as a young and probably inexperienced kid. More of a reason why she should dodge him, before embarking on her dangerous investigation. If possible. Or she may have to actually involve him.
Her fingers landed lightly on his shoulder, her right hand on his right arm.
“Don’t do things half-heartedly.” She spoke. “It is more trouble to fix them afterwards. If I am an enemy, you just warned…-“
“-me.” Suzuri gasped, from a few meters away. She’d tugged on his shoulder to build momentum for her sprint, using that blank psychological moment when the mind filled in the gaps. She hadn’t stopped to speak, or check whether her action had sent him tumbling to the ground. That would have been pointless. Perhaps that ninjas had perfected the art of rambling during fights, if she was to believe the comic-books, and perhaps she didn’t have their flashy style of blinking in and out when running.
That didn’t mean Suzuri couldn’t be fast. Inelegant, nearly rasping her nose on the pavement when taking the curve, but fast.
However, since she didn’t know how much faster the little ninja could be, the logical girl stopped after turning twice left, behind a tree, clutching at its rough bark with her fingernails and trying to quiet her heartbeat. Around her, the quaint village with its cabbages growing silently behind wooden fences seemed disconnected from her wild race. A gaggle of geese raised their heads from the green grass, gossiping in goosetongue about the unexpected human.
Suzuri had thought that outright suspicion would break her. It wasn’t so. A safety bubble was difficult to craft when you were a lone vagabond in a faraway land; but a bubble is, by definition, a cage. She turned her head towards the boy, chin slightly tilted and eyes suddenly more alive than the art-merchant had ever had. His words stirred something within her, adding to the burning frustration of finding the gem among her possessions. She opened her mouth to apologize, then bit her lip. It must’ve been something in the way her brain was hardwired, twitching in fright at the smallest concerns. It meant that a tangible threat finally set her free.
She felt strength rushing into her veins. For the first time she was able to see the ninja as he really was: not just as the mysterious representative of a tradition of sharp knives, but also as a young and probably inexperienced kid. More of a reason why she should dodge him, before embarking on her dangerous investigation. If possible. Or she may have to actually involve him.
Her fingers landed lightly on his shoulder, her right hand on his right arm.
“Don’t do things half-heartedly.” She spoke. “It is more trouble to fix them afterwards. If I am an enemy, you just warned…-“
“-me.” Suzuri gasped, from a few meters away. She’d tugged on his shoulder to build momentum for her sprint, using that blank psychological moment when the mind filled in the gaps. She hadn’t stopped to speak, or check whether her action had sent him tumbling to the ground. That would have been pointless. Perhaps that ninjas had perfected the art of rambling during fights, if she was to believe the comic-books, and perhaps she didn’t have their flashy style of blinking in and out when running.
That didn’t mean Suzuri couldn’t be fast. Inelegant, nearly rasping her nose on the pavement when taking the curve, but fast.
However, since she didn’t know how much faster the little ninja could be, the logical girl stopped after turning twice left, behind a tree, clutching at its rough bark with her fingernails and trying to quiet her heartbeat. Around her, the quaint village with its cabbages growing silently behind wooden fences seemed disconnected from her wild race. A gaggle of geese raised their heads from the green grass, gossiping in goosetongue about the unexpected human.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
What could and should have been a simple question & answer situation quickly found its way spiraling into something more - troublesome. Even before she spoke Gene could see the wheels turning in her head, the trademark intensive stare soon followed by an attempt to vocalize what didn't need to be said. It hadn't been a secret that since the beginning she'd been acting strangely for a painter but up until now Gene didn't have the gumption nor proper grounds to speak up about it which changed the moment she'd attempted to reach her arms out to him.
The next moment seemed to pass in an instant; when she tugged his right arm forward in an attempt to jerk him, Gene's opposite arm shot up toward her throat so fast that the insinuation of inexperience and ignorance had all but completely been washed away. The limb curved inward acting as a wedge between them to which his forearm at this point may have slammed into her throat. Simultaneously, Gene's left foot swung forward almost perfectly in tune with her first step aiming to kill any momentum she thought she was going to get and instead, throw her off balance for the final finish.
If all had played out how it was supposed to then the girl would find herself lifted off the ground by literally an inch or two which would be just enough for the Genin to throw his body weight forward pushing himself and her to the hard ground they'd once stood so high upon. Gene did not know if she had been using the full capacity of her strength but as it stood - he was stronger. From the ground up if she were paying attention to his Auburn colored eyes, there radiated something unlike before. His aloof gaze had been usurped by something else, something...somewhat frightening to be possessed by a boy so young.
Intent was everything and while Gene had been trained endlessly on the ways of restraint, his brain had been hardwired into self defense mode which in her case: Meant that he was just barely hovering on the thin thread of gouging out her jugular with a well placed Kunai and hearing an explanation. It may have been an extreme to some people but - for those fortunate and unfortunate enough to become Shinobi every encounter large or small could mean the difference between a prosperous life or an early grave. Gene simply could not allow himself to become a product of the second option and therefore, from the training to the sheer mental fortitude - this current situation was born.
His eyes screamed to the heavens of wanting to end her life but his body showed great restraint. However, the pressure against her neck would grow progressively more panic inducing if she chose to spur him on further. Gene may have been young but by no means was he inexperience when it came to dealing with foreign disturbances. "Okay," he spoke while bringing the arm that wasn't up against her neck upward into the half ram hand seal. "Talk. You'd better have a damn good explanation."
The most frightening fact of all this was that even as he spoke, even in the face of a potential enemy, Gene's heart rate never once jumped. He was calm, focused and ever anticipating of the next move.
The next moment seemed to pass in an instant; when she tugged his right arm forward in an attempt to jerk him, Gene's opposite arm shot up toward her throat so fast that the insinuation of inexperience and ignorance had all but completely been washed away. The limb curved inward acting as a wedge between them to which his forearm at this point may have slammed into her throat. Simultaneously, Gene's left foot swung forward almost perfectly in tune with her first step aiming to kill any momentum she thought she was going to get and instead, throw her off balance for the final finish.
If all had played out how it was supposed to then the girl would find herself lifted off the ground by literally an inch or two which would be just enough for the Genin to throw his body weight forward pushing himself and her to the hard ground they'd once stood so high upon. Gene did not know if she had been using the full capacity of her strength but as it stood - he was stronger. From the ground up if she were paying attention to his Auburn colored eyes, there radiated something unlike before. His aloof gaze had been usurped by something else, something...somewhat frightening to be possessed by a boy so young.
Intent was everything and while Gene had been trained endlessly on the ways of restraint, his brain had been hardwired into self defense mode which in her case: Meant that he was just barely hovering on the thin thread of gouging out her jugular with a well placed Kunai and hearing an explanation. It may have been an extreme to some people but - for those fortunate and unfortunate enough to become Shinobi every encounter large or small could mean the difference between a prosperous life or an early grave. Gene simply could not allow himself to become a product of the second option and therefore, from the training to the sheer mental fortitude - this current situation was born.
His eyes screamed to the heavens of wanting to end her life but his body showed great restraint. However, the pressure against her neck would grow progressively more panic inducing if she chose to spur him on further. Gene may have been young but by no means was he inexperience when it came to dealing with foreign disturbances. "Okay," he spoke while bringing the arm that wasn't up against her neck upward into the half ram hand seal. "Talk. You'd better have a damn good explanation."
The most frightening fact of all this was that even as he spoke, even in the face of a potential enemy, Gene's heart rate never once jumped. He was calm, focused and ever anticipating of the next move.
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
The response had been brutal, swift, sudden. As Suzuri flew through the air, the sky rolling across her eyes, she had to admit that she had been taken aback by the propensity to harm or someone so young. Her muscles twitched, screeching to get away from the imminent pain and capture. She could cling to her opponent and push herself to the side…
And then what?
The answer came to her in a brief moment of clarity as the ground hit her, rasping superficial skin layers off her palms and forearms: ‘He would counter’. They would fight, and people might get injured, not in the least the villagers a stone-throw away, probably right now gawking from what they wrongly assumed to be a safe distance. And for what? Pain bubbled on the inside of her arms and splashed to the tips of her fingers. It would have been worse, hadn’t she actually prepared for the fall. No, if there was to be a fight, Suzuri would play it her way.
Or so she thought, until gentle pressure reminded her of their relative positions, and a single suffocated word was torn from her throat.
“…thrips.”
Her hazel eyes lost focus, crow’s feet wrinkles deepening in the corner of her eyelids. She desperately swallowed a gulp of air just before her chest started jerking in painful spasms. Her nails dug in the cracks between cobblestones. Sanity was drifting away and soon she would be helpless, just a ball of fried nerves reflexively curling up. Was it her imagination, or did the forearm on her neck press down a little bit more? The daughter of a pirate that used to dive for oysters wouldn’t have trouble with a few mere minutes of lacking air, if it wasn’t for…A breathless, staccato sound crawled out of her throat.
Suzuri was laughing.
“Stahp!” She yelped, arching her neck backwards. “Staha-aha-ha…No…not’ribs! Not…th’…ribs!”
She punched the ground in frustration, body twisting left and right as she laughed, forced to exhale the little oxygen she had by the merciless (if, by the looks of it, completely accidental) ticking of her ribs. Those damn things were absurdly sensitive, to the point that even an accidental touch would set them off. The immense risks she took by simply moving couldn’t be considered, not when – ahahaha! – more basic instincts were at stake.
When finally settled into a position that allowed the laughter to subside, Suzuri spent a minute just breathing. Her face slowly regained its color, but the twinkle in her eyes only grew brighter. Eventually she spoke:
“Not bad…at swiping a girl off her feet.” Her voice was a raspy hiss with plenty of in-your-face. “But don’t try that when you’re older or people might get the wrong idea.”
She winked.
‘Not to mention my knee would have been better placed to hit if you were taller.’
A proper pirate, her mother said, is never caught off-guard, never caged. Then she laughed, gulped down her ale with the little umbrella between her pinkie and ring finger, and said that she ain’t ne’er seen a proper pirate in her life. The important thing to remember was not to stay down.
And who needed violence to fight, when she could simply be a smartass? Her grin went wide, her eyes calling the boy on his bluff. Here where everybody could see, even a madman would have more to gain by listening to her than by snapping her neck. She doubted that indiscriminate murder got one brownie points towards graduation.
“A mystery story requires at least three roles, of course.” She said, savoring the words. “The victim. The criminal. And the detective. I thought I’d play the later. You didn't seem interested. You could still join in, if you wish. But…” A theatrical sigh escaped Suzuri’s lips, “…you’d have to do better than that handsign, though. You’re not that good.”
‘You’re not good enough to cast magic one-handed.’ It was a gamble, but Suzuri would bet on it.
Even if she was gambling her life.
Her injured palms pressed against the pavement, suddenly forcing her body up with a twisted motion while her neck muscles tightened. If it all went right, she’d land on her feet while the little parasite would be pushed aside. It’s not that she doubted her reasoning, not that she left fear overwhelm her…But she quite enjoyed competing with this kid.
It was like having a younger brother.
And then what?
The answer came to her in a brief moment of clarity as the ground hit her, rasping superficial skin layers off her palms and forearms: ‘He would counter’. They would fight, and people might get injured, not in the least the villagers a stone-throw away, probably right now gawking from what they wrongly assumed to be a safe distance. And for what? Pain bubbled on the inside of her arms and splashed to the tips of her fingers. It would have been worse, hadn’t she actually prepared for the fall. No, if there was to be a fight, Suzuri would play it her way.
Or so she thought, until gentle pressure reminded her of their relative positions, and a single suffocated word was torn from her throat.
“…thrips.”
Her hazel eyes lost focus, crow’s feet wrinkles deepening in the corner of her eyelids. She desperately swallowed a gulp of air just before her chest started jerking in painful spasms. Her nails dug in the cracks between cobblestones. Sanity was drifting away and soon she would be helpless, just a ball of fried nerves reflexively curling up. Was it her imagination, or did the forearm on her neck press down a little bit more? The daughter of a pirate that used to dive for oysters wouldn’t have trouble with a few mere minutes of lacking air, if it wasn’t for…A breathless, staccato sound crawled out of her throat.
Suzuri was laughing.
“Stahp!” She yelped, arching her neck backwards. “Staha-aha-ha…No…not’ribs! Not…th’…ribs!”
She punched the ground in frustration, body twisting left and right as she laughed, forced to exhale the little oxygen she had by the merciless (if, by the looks of it, completely accidental) ticking of her ribs. Those damn things were absurdly sensitive, to the point that even an accidental touch would set them off. The immense risks she took by simply moving couldn’t be considered, not when – ahahaha! – more basic instincts were at stake.
When finally settled into a position that allowed the laughter to subside, Suzuri spent a minute just breathing. Her face slowly regained its color, but the twinkle in her eyes only grew brighter. Eventually she spoke:
“Not bad…at swiping a girl off her feet.” Her voice was a raspy hiss with plenty of in-your-face. “But don’t try that when you’re older or people might get the wrong idea.”
She winked.
‘Not to mention my knee would have been better placed to hit if you were taller.’
A proper pirate, her mother said, is never caught off-guard, never caged. Then she laughed, gulped down her ale with the little umbrella between her pinkie and ring finger, and said that she ain’t ne’er seen a proper pirate in her life. The important thing to remember was not to stay down.
And who needed violence to fight, when she could simply be a smartass? Her grin went wide, her eyes calling the boy on his bluff. Here where everybody could see, even a madman would have more to gain by listening to her than by snapping her neck. She doubted that indiscriminate murder got one brownie points towards graduation.
“A mystery story requires at least three roles, of course.” She said, savoring the words. “The victim. The criminal. And the detective. I thought I’d play the later. You didn't seem interested. You could still join in, if you wish. But…” A theatrical sigh escaped Suzuri’s lips, “…you’d have to do better than that handsign, though. You’re not that good.”
‘You’re not good enough to cast magic one-handed.’ It was a gamble, but Suzuri would bet on it.
Even if she was gambling her life.
Her injured palms pressed against the pavement, suddenly forcing her body up with a twisted motion while her neck muscles tightened. If it all went right, she’d land on her feet while the little parasite would be pushed aside. It’s not that she doubted her reasoning, not that she left fear overwhelm her…But she quite enjoyed competing with this kid.
It was like having a younger brother.
SpoilerShow
*[Taijutsu • Spin]
D-Ranked Taijutsu
Utilized when the user is vulnerable on the ground, this technique allows him/her to get up easily while expelling nearby weapons and people. To perform Spin, the user swings their legs around above them, causing them to spin around. This subsequently knocks away the objects and people in their proximity at a strength equal to the user's while allowing the user to get to get up.
D-Ranked Taijutsu
Utilized when the user is vulnerable on the ground, this technique allows him/her to get up easily while expelling nearby weapons and people. To perform Spin, the user swings their legs around above them, causing them to spin around. This subsequently knocks away the objects and people in their proximity at a strength equal to the user's while allowing the user to get to get up.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
Her attempts to rile him while ineffective did prove amusing, Shinobi were trained to never allow their emotions to take hold during serious altercations with Gene being no exception to this crucial decree. She could have insulted his mother right now and at best the only thing that would have come from the young Mitsurugi would be a cold stare. Moreover, her sudden motion had put him on edge - he was prepared for the worst case scenario while still hoping for the best.
Based on what he'd learned thus far this woman was undoubtedly a criminal with years of thievery under her belt but without proof there was simply no way he could bring her into the Konoha police force with a clear conscious. But then again, there were several highly trained interrogation specialist back at the village who would have enjoyed to deal with just this sort of thing. There was no need to play her game, the cards weren't in her favor - not now.
With her struggling to free herself came a flux of power from within Gene, the kind that had been brought about with training & years of learning how to effectively store aggression only to release it all on an enemy. Rather than go against the motion Gene flowed with the wild swinging her legs which resulted in him rolling over the top of her rather than being pushed aside. An opportunity that he used to cuff his left forearm around her jawline and tighten while hooking over the center of her neck just under the jugular applying pressure. A rather unorthodox hold that would see to it that her momentum would be stopped as if she continued to kick and twist like a woman possessed, Gene threatened to inflict damage to not only the neck but spinal joints behind the neck and along the sides as well.
"Don't screw with me." Said Gene in response to her remarks, "How did you get that jewel?"
Based on what he'd learned thus far this woman was undoubtedly a criminal with years of thievery under her belt but without proof there was simply no way he could bring her into the Konoha police force with a clear conscious. But then again, there were several highly trained interrogation specialist back at the village who would have enjoyed to deal with just this sort of thing. There was no need to play her game, the cards weren't in her favor - not now.
With her struggling to free herself came a flux of power from within Gene, the kind that had been brought about with training & years of learning how to effectively store aggression only to release it all on an enemy. Rather than go against the motion Gene flowed with the wild swinging her legs which resulted in him rolling over the top of her rather than being pushed aside. An opportunity that he used to cuff his left forearm around her jawline and tighten while hooking over the center of her neck just under the jugular applying pressure. A rather unorthodox hold that would see to it that her momentum would be stopped as if she continued to kick and twist like a woman possessed, Gene threatened to inflict damage to not only the neck but spinal joints behind the neck and along the sides as well.
"Don't screw with me." Said Gene in response to her remarks, "How did you get that jewel?"
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
OOCShow
This thread was graded as incomplete, however they have decided to continue the thread. I’ve removed the points and renown given and allowed them to continue.The Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
Two detectives of the same caliber rarely found their way in the same story, which Suzuri thought it was a pity. They could have complemented their distinct skill-sets, for instance insight and observation, psychology and detail. Who knows, ignoring fighting, what useful talents the boy could have? Most often the second detective was an assistant, a mediator between the readers and an impenetrable sleuth. Sometimes it was a Lestrade – a law-enforcer with more brute enthusiasm than subtlety, which seemed to be the case here. Sometimes, the second one was the true detective.
In other words, the first detective was the criminal. Which Suzuri knew for a fact not to be the case. But the ninja boy didn’t.
And there was one more case, she realized as her chin rasped the sidewalk. Her struggle had changed little, besides placing her face-down and tightening his grip on her. His forearm grasped her neck as surely as a metals string. The second detective could be the criminal. As the thief, he could have teleported the stone among her belongings with ninja magic. He wouldn’t get to keep it, but framing an elusive Phantom Thief would earn him graduation kudos, shinobi brownie points or whatever currency his village used. It wouldn’t be a crime, no, not in his eyes, to remove a human speck in order to further his ambitions. He might even think that this benefits his village in the long term. Where the boy rested against her back, she felt chills. A vagabond had no one to guarantee for their good character. There would be a confession, of course. You heard rumors about that. Once you got in the hands of people who knew what you did better than yourself, they used all the…means…to convince you.
Shinobi knew much about human nature. Particularly its breaking point.
“How could I tell you, when you don’t want to listen?” Suzuri’s voice rose from the ground hurt, and confused. Her elbow jabbed him in the ribs, with just enough force to break a piece of paper.
It was a reminder she could harm, not harm in itself. Children’s bones were fragile. At that age, no matter how much training you put it, a punch to the left of the sternum could stop your heart.
The ground was close. Through waves of dizziness, she could see the cobweb cracks in a cubical pebble just under her nose, and the springy weeds sprouting between paving stones.
And there was one more possibility…She caught a single blade of grass between middle and forefinger. There could be…an accident…
A bit too much force…It happened to the best of us, really. A displaced vertebra. She’d resisted arrest, hadn’t she? She was a criminal…The blade of grass tore in her hand.
No one would ask questions if she was no more.
Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, the travelling painter crawled her way upwards, first to her elbows, then to her hands and knees, pulling herself up to her shaking feet by sheer force of will. Her fingers dug in the slender arm clamped around her neck, trying to ease the pressure on her throat. This was her fight. And if the boy didn’t let go, she would be a man and go on with her plans nevertheless.
“ ‘eavy…” She gasped, staggering a step forward. With her a palm taller than the ninja boy, that meant all his weight was pressing down on her shoulders. If only he’d been a little chubbier, she wished, because fat weighs less than muscle. ‘Stop training so much, brat!’
“ ‘ll go…’n’estigate…your…’riginal…q’estion.” She staggered slowly, a step at a time. A yelp escaped her lips when her knee clanked on the pavement, only to somehow still find resources to stand up again.
If mules could speak, they would call Suzuri stubborn.
In other words, the first detective was the criminal. Which Suzuri knew for a fact not to be the case. But the ninja boy didn’t.
And there was one more case, she realized as her chin rasped the sidewalk. Her struggle had changed little, besides placing her face-down and tightening his grip on her. His forearm grasped her neck as surely as a metals string. The second detective could be the criminal. As the thief, he could have teleported the stone among her belongings with ninja magic. He wouldn’t get to keep it, but framing an elusive Phantom Thief would earn him graduation kudos, shinobi brownie points or whatever currency his village used. It wouldn’t be a crime, no, not in his eyes, to remove a human speck in order to further his ambitions. He might even think that this benefits his village in the long term. Where the boy rested against her back, she felt chills. A vagabond had no one to guarantee for their good character. There would be a confession, of course. You heard rumors about that. Once you got in the hands of people who knew what you did better than yourself, they used all the…means…to convince you.
Shinobi knew much about human nature. Particularly its breaking point.
“How could I tell you, when you don’t want to listen?” Suzuri’s voice rose from the ground hurt, and confused. Her elbow jabbed him in the ribs, with just enough force to break a piece of paper.
It was a reminder she could harm, not harm in itself. Children’s bones were fragile. At that age, no matter how much training you put it, a punch to the left of the sternum could stop your heart.
The ground was close. Through waves of dizziness, she could see the cobweb cracks in a cubical pebble just under her nose, and the springy weeds sprouting between paving stones.
And there was one more possibility…She caught a single blade of grass between middle and forefinger. There could be…an accident…
A bit too much force…It happened to the best of us, really. A displaced vertebra. She’d resisted arrest, hadn’t she? She was a criminal…The blade of grass tore in her hand.
No one would ask questions if she was no more.
Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, the travelling painter crawled her way upwards, first to her elbows, then to her hands and knees, pulling herself up to her shaking feet by sheer force of will. Her fingers dug in the slender arm clamped around her neck, trying to ease the pressure on her throat. This was her fight. And if the boy didn’t let go, she would be a man and go on with her plans nevertheless.
“ ‘eavy…” She gasped, staggering a step forward. With her a palm taller than the ninja boy, that meant all his weight was pressing down on her shoulders. If only he’d been a little chubbier, she wished, because fat weighs less than muscle. ‘Stop training so much, brat!’
“ ‘ll go…’n’estigate…your…’riginal…q’estion.” She staggered slowly, a step at a time. A yelp escaped her lips when her knee clanked on the pavement, only to somehow still find resources to stand up again.
If mules could speak, they would call Suzuri stubborn.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter
[Graded]The painter [Open]
Nothing about this situation felt "Right" to the young boy. They were tussling but why? It was Gene who said that he could give less care about where she'd obtained the jewel from in the first place & yet here they were making a scene, the very thing that he had been trained not to do as a Shinobi. Admittedly once he realized his fault he'd been filled with embarrassment & shame. In his realization came a loose grip - he'd let her go (not like she hadn't been incapable of freeing herself any how.)
Never mind the few people who were brave enough to stand and watch, she took priority and this time things would be done the right way. I guess I did jump the gun a little bit there - forgive me. So, lets start from the top and if it's all the same to you I'd like to leave the physicality out of it." The adjustment may have come too late, she might not have desired to communicate further with him after what had just happened and who could blame her? What Gene had done was out of character and he was well beyond giving excuses for his actions. He only hoped that she would consider his suggestion & perhaps the two could reach even ground.
Even still, he had not lowered his suspicions. There were just some politics that he couldn't discard even if he wanted to. She did elbow him after all, something that while he tried not to show it did sting quite a bit due to how skinny she'd been. Something about the woman had jumped out at him but - what was it? Had she been taking him seriously? He wondered...
Never mind the few people who were brave enough to stand and watch, she took priority and this time things would be done the right way. I guess I did jump the gun a little bit there - forgive me. So, lets start from the top and if it's all the same to you I'd like to leave the physicality out of it." The adjustment may have come too late, she might not have desired to communicate further with him after what had just happened and who could blame her? What Gene had done was out of character and he was well beyond giving excuses for his actions. He only hoped that she would consider his suggestion & perhaps the two could reach even ground.
Even still, he had not lowered his suspicions. There were just some politics that he couldn't discard even if he wanted to. She did elbow him after all, something that while he tried not to show it did sting quite a bit due to how skinny she'd been. Something about the woman had jumped out at him but - what was it? Had she been taking him seriously? He wondered...
ACTIVE CHARACTERShow
[Graded]The painter [Open]
And this is why, Suzuri opinionated, you didn’t teach children how to kill until they were old enough to empathize with the person at the wrong end of the kunai. Of course, that would have defeated the point of ninjas. She massaged her imperceptible Adam’s apple, gulping down irregular breaths as if they were cotton candy. She might have been too harsh. The skill difference between them could have been so great, that she had never been in any real danger at all. Still, she couldn’t shake off the uneasy thumping in her chest. The girl rested her temple against her fingertips. It was somewhat confusing to grasp the boy’s ever-shifting personality, ranging from one extreme to another as swiftly as a punch in the nose. Right now, as it happened, he looked inches away from blushing. Perhaps it was to be expected. Dealing with criminals outside one’s village might leave one ill-suited for interacting with normal, powerless people. Or most probably it was her who was the weird one.
Having stepped back into her own space, Suzuri punched the air in her front. From her fist, her thumb rose as her eyes narrowed in a smile.
“I’m impressed. Ah, I hoped I could best you, but not yet, it seems!” She jested, putting on a cheerful mask to cover the splinter of guilt in her eyes. Her effusion, while sincere in itself, felt manipulative in the context. She wanted to make it clear that they had never truly been enemies, to make it clear from those watching that they had nothing to fear from either of them. “I’m Suzuri Rinrin. Known as Inkstone.” A single shadow of doubt, and their investigation would be doomed before it began. It was her responsibility as the eldest to consider all variables. With a swish of the feather caught in her hair, she turned around to leave the main street.
“You can be my guardian, then!” She exclaimed, with an insolent tilt of the head.
Guardian : protector, defender.
Guardian : warden, jailor.
Anyone would understand what they want to. But they needed to get away from the villagers in order to discuss Plans. Hopefully he would understand. Without running, the steps of her moccasin-clad feet moved at a lively pace.
“It’s a quaint village.” Suzuri told him. Suddenly she spun on her heels, and continued to walk backwards, hands grasping each other behind her back. She was addressing the boy, but her eyes ran behind him, all around. A kitten gawked back from on top a canopy of grapevines. “There might be interesting things to see if one looked carefully enough.”
‘Is there anyone following us…?’
Of course, it didn’t take long until she stumbled and landed on her butt. With a wince, the girl dusted herself off, and let her backpack slide down to her elbow. In what felt like a single movement, she reached down into it and threw the sparkling pink stone towards her temporary ninja companion.
“You can carry it, if you want. It might be a fake for all we know.” Her lighthearted tone might’ve as well been referring to bread.
Tough luck, Suzuri knew. It would have to be a decently-made fake to fool somebody who, in childhood, was playing with real gemstones for building blocks. Because that’s what real pirate princesses do. A part of her wanted the boy to throw it back. ‘Now.’ Although it made no sense, it felt like she was passing on a bundle of danger. But even guilt had to bend to necessity, in this case the necessity of working together to solve a case.
If there had been any doubts left, well, two could play the trust game.
“Say…what do you make of this? A stone wrapped in colorful paper, left in the trash.” She pointed somewhat down the road, where a pile of freshly cut branches rested against rolls of old, leprous rugs. A piece of wrapping paper that had gotten too torn for Suzuri to try recovering snapped in the intermittent breeze. The junk lay near a wooden fence demarcating a small garden – flowers, the girl remarked, not vegetables. Further to the sandy south, where flowers were worth more than gems, that would have marked the owners as prosperous merchants, but in this rich land it probably meant little. The garden stopped at the edge of a wooden house, whose shoji screens looked new. A small river murmured on the opposite side, lazily turning a large water wheel.
Having stepped back into her own space, Suzuri punched the air in her front. From her fist, her thumb rose as her eyes narrowed in a smile.
“I’m impressed. Ah, I hoped I could best you, but not yet, it seems!” She jested, putting on a cheerful mask to cover the splinter of guilt in her eyes. Her effusion, while sincere in itself, felt manipulative in the context. She wanted to make it clear that they had never truly been enemies, to make it clear from those watching that they had nothing to fear from either of them. “I’m Suzuri Rinrin. Known as Inkstone.” A single shadow of doubt, and their investigation would be doomed before it began. It was her responsibility as the eldest to consider all variables. With a swish of the feather caught in her hair, she turned around to leave the main street.
“You can be my guardian, then!” She exclaimed, with an insolent tilt of the head.
Guardian : protector, defender.
Guardian : warden, jailor.
Anyone would understand what they want to. But they needed to get away from the villagers in order to discuss Plans. Hopefully he would understand. Without running, the steps of her moccasin-clad feet moved at a lively pace.
“It’s a quaint village.” Suzuri told him. Suddenly she spun on her heels, and continued to walk backwards, hands grasping each other behind her back. She was addressing the boy, but her eyes ran behind him, all around. A kitten gawked back from on top a canopy of grapevines. “There might be interesting things to see if one looked carefully enough.”
‘Is there anyone following us…?’
Of course, it didn’t take long until she stumbled and landed on her butt. With a wince, the girl dusted herself off, and let her backpack slide down to her elbow. In what felt like a single movement, she reached down into it and threw the sparkling pink stone towards her temporary ninja companion.
“You can carry it, if you want. It might be a fake for all we know.” Her lighthearted tone might’ve as well been referring to bread.
Tough luck, Suzuri knew. It would have to be a decently-made fake to fool somebody who, in childhood, was playing with real gemstones for building blocks. Because that’s what real pirate princesses do. A part of her wanted the boy to throw it back. ‘Now.’ Although it made no sense, it felt like she was passing on a bundle of danger. But even guilt had to bend to necessity, in this case the necessity of working together to solve a case.
If there had been any doubts left, well, two could play the trust game.
“Say…what do you make of this? A stone wrapped in colorful paper, left in the trash.” She pointed somewhat down the road, where a pile of freshly cut branches rested against rolls of old, leprous rugs. A piece of wrapping paper that had gotten too torn for Suzuri to try recovering snapped in the intermittent breeze. The junk lay near a wooden fence demarcating a small garden – flowers, the girl remarked, not vegetables. Further to the sandy south, where flowers were worth more than gems, that would have marked the owners as prosperous merchants, but in this rich land it probably meant little. The garden stopped at the edge of a wooden house, whose shoji screens looked new. A small river murmured on the opposite side, lazily turning a large water wheel.
Suzuri Rinrin | Inkstone | The Travelling Painter