virtue

[Haru]

virtue; an order of angels.

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There was a light sound. Not a noise, but a sound. It played gently on the ears, like a sweeping, cloudy whisper. And it could be felt more than heard, and its intensity expressed itself further to the eyes. Village humming: a chorus of closed mouths and moving bodies. My own body was yet still, though, and thus, silent. My gaze trailed their moving, yet still I felt more than their moving, as the air turned to wind and back again—gentle like the sound. If eyes could make sound and not noise, I would have joined the moving choir. Yet mine could do neither, though silently more. More noiselessly, but more yet still. They moved forward and around, and around and around, in a way that one could find more relaxing than less relaxing. Their eyes were like my own, in a way, with their calm and their quiet. This was the quaint town of Okinoka, 'fluttering light', and my respite. There was a popular story that it had been named as such for a species of insect that would glow en masse, high above the village for all to see. It only happened on certain nights, during certain times of the year—or so the story went. I personally had never seen them, nor did I care to. The simple folk, with their simple attire and simple ways, were enough to take me away. I had always wondered how they could live in such a way, with everything around them in shambles as it invariably was. Was it a testament to their ignorance? Pacifism? Perhaps, fear?

This was when it all slipped away from me. Everything halted. A sudden disquiet. There was a noise to disrupt the calm. I heard something. A noise that made itself known as noise, not sound. Yes, certainly a noise not sound—I felt it, even. It was the noise that I thought to escape from, if only momentarily. Yet still, it had somehow found me. It always found me. And it was coming toward me. And then I was more than still. I was steel, as whispering clouds turned to falling rain.

My gaze locked with the maker of noise, and it appeared for a moment that my eyes were more than silent, as a distressed look appeared on his face. A lack of pupils occasionally did that. A familiarity with Kirigakure lore did that, too. Or perhaps it was the death instrument pointed directly at him? I wouldn’t get the chance to discern such matters for myself, as another noise made itself known behind me. I felt this one, too. Felt more than heard, actually, as a pocket of wind crashed into my neck. It was the wind of sudden movement. An incoming movement. My reflexes took control, when it was felt more than heard, and an outward pivot of my left foot and jerking of my body would bring into view a wooden club sliding past its mark. Another movement-induced wind blew over me as it flew by. The calm had dulled my awareness, it seemed. I was almost punished for it. Now he would be punished for it. Doubly so—probably more. A flick of my wrist, and his was no more. The club fell with it. His eyes, still baffled from his previous unexpected miscalculation, suddenly expanded in agony—my own look was of the death. It came swift, now. Up and through, in and out, another flick as blood escaped my blade, and our exchange had concluded. I didn’t wait to look. Well, maybe I did. But in moments I was off. The other had disappeared somewhere—yet, another crashing sound and I had his scent. His fears would be manifest before long.

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[matsumoto-kun]

To describe the situation would have only hindered the fluidity of it all. Within instants the waves of conflict had ebbed and flowed in a manner that one of any reasonable command of their senses would be able to describe as eloquent. Of course, those who had no appreciation for these sorts of situations might find them disgusting. As blood spilled and bodies fell, there was a magnificence that seemed to follow. The stretching of ligaments and the compounding of muscles in order to convey an image of might and feasible power became clear as the attacker would fall to his knees in an almost instant respite from the very man he had hoped to destroy. It was a marvelous spectacle of the human condition. A test that had proved to yield results of the most certain outcome:

All men are savages.

The light patter against the top of his head would give cause for Ushinawa would raise one of the umbrellas he had purchased to the sky. After the incident at the gates of Kirigakure there was little left for the shinobi to have done during his trip back to Kaze no Kuni. He had accomplished his mission without issue. Akira had made it to the gates of Kirigakure. Of course, with that mission there seemed to be a lingering shadow of doubt in which Ushinawa still struggled with. Had he been there, might she have survived? Had he been there, might she have known how much he admired her? Had he been there, might he have been able to express his feelings for her? None of it really mattered anymore. However, no matter how many times he would seem to forget about it, there would be yet another view of the ocean to remind him of her. She had embodied it, and thusly, the various pellets of rain which fell upon him would be yet another facet of her memory. Of course, much like his heart, he shielded his exposure to this memory with whatever tools he could find.

Soon the blood and rain would mix at the feet of the young man who had defended himself from attack. What once might have been a pool of his attacker's essential fluid had now become an odd design of splatters. Observing the struggle from a few yards away, Ushinawa's eyes would direct themselves directly onto the body of the man dressed in white. They appeared to be nearly exact opposites in appearance. A yang to his yin. Clearly possessing enough skill to manifest a killing intent of that intensity, it was obvious that this boy had skill far beyond the normal man. Perusing his body he would search for any sort of insignia which might direct him to this boy's origin. If he was ever to discover his feelings for Akira, he would first need to discover what happened at those gates.

[Haru]

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Light peered through the gently dropping rain, glinting a clear silver. Rain was peculiar in this region of the world. It was never a direct rain. It often found itself lost before reaching its destination, falling into the mist before relinquishing itself of form and becoming the mist. You could see it happen, the two modes of nature clashing softly together in tiny, wild dances of crystalline liquid. When it did land, it would jump lightly up before collapsing into indiscernibility. It all faded, one way or another.

There were certain instances where it would recur, however. One final chance to make itself known as liquid before catching a flight on a vaporous wind back into the sky. The padding of feet could do this, for instance. They were doing it now, actually. It could be heard, if one were to listen close enough. They came, steadily, steadily, the ambient plodding of the falling clear making way for more imminent sounds. It happened—water flying over feet rapidly padding away, sprinting as water fell and jumped and fell again. There was splashing, faint breathing, and the clinking together of a metallic something. The motion was just around the corner, now. Water continued to splash as the legs continued their cycling. A sliver of silver pierced the rain as it happened, when all that could be seen was still empty space filled with dancing water. It glided cold and swift. It cut through the rain, and the mist couldn’t help. And then it came to a halt. The feet became still, as well. No more padding, no more water splashing, no more clinking and no more faint breathing. There was just gasping, now. And spilling. Blood fell like rubies into the rain. Cleansing rain. It washed the blood from the fading life that could no longer do so. What a sight. Knees now dug themselves into the ground, and I met the same eyes that had only moments before beheld me in distress. Now the life had faded from them. The body collapsed into the watery beneath. One final splash, as the sliver of silver that lodged itself through temple bone glinted in satisfaction.

With a short traipse it was back in my hand. I let the water run over it, washing away the blood and brain fluid. I watched calmly as it flowed through my fingers, coagulating along their underside before gathering enough weight to fall like the rain that surrounded. The lethal thing was then stowed away, and my hand moved on to the sack of coin still attached to the wet carcass. A pull and it was my own. I opened it for a moment, staring with a sigh as water fell through. My gaze moved between the body and the bag, searching for something invisible. Cause of death: a few pieces of coin. A single, luxurious night, and a whore to keep him company. This was what men died for, it seemed. All over, everywhere. Money gave them purpose—it gave them life, it gave them death. It all meant nothing to me. Their death, their money—I didn’t care. I had a different purpose. Only the beasts got in the way. I would slaughter them all as I did this one. They were no more than wet carcasses, all. They meant nothing.

I was relieved to be left from his sight. Leisurely, as it turned, sight would find a new fancy. Silent black. Black like a bad omen, or a crow waiting patiently to feast. An elegant, serene crow. I witnessed the countenance of a twin youth. Empty staring—an expressionless expression; maybe a bit pensive, actually, but there was still a familiar equanimity in him. A coldness. What had the world done to her? Her, was it? Silly to consider. We were all eunuchs before the sky, anyway. I didn’t see any difference. She appeared in the rain, there, alone regarding. She looked from another world, as if she didn’t belong here. As if at any moment she may blossom wings and disappear. The patch of dry land encircling her and her umbrella furthered the angelic feeling. It was unbalancing, the sight. But I didn’t give any inclination. I merely peered back. The body lay there beside me, the rain beating it through and through, and yet I saw no flinching. Just a mirror, reflecting. What had happened in the passing seconds? Nothing was spoken, though sight found itself caught off guard. The others of the humming village had long ago scurried, the rain drawing them inside. The village was empty, it seemed, except for this one. How long had it been looking? I felt something I had never felt before, looking there at the unmoving whatever. Genuine intrigue at the sight of another human being. Was that what this was? I looked more quizzically, now. My eyes traced the thin figure, up and down, searching for the faintest hint of anything. Was I dreaming?

The falling rain subsided, a sudden deed. Nature’s will was away for somewhere else. The blurry haze that was an almost unaccounted for concomitant of the rain had moved on, too. But I was still here. And I knew that I wasn’t hallucinating. Tranquil shade, deathly nightfall, or caliginous obscurity? Whichever. They were all embodied there before me. Who was this person that I had never seen before? Why did they have such an effect on me? I forgot about returning the bag of money. I was lost in wondering.

"Shouldn't you be inside...?”

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[Jae]

matsumoto-kun - 7 EXP
Haru - 18 EXP.