Test Drive Post!

[sunshinemods]

Sunshineverse

Okay everyone, it's time to test some people out! The rules of the game are simple. You have a character you would like to try out as a native to the setting of this game. You want to see if this is the right setting to play said character in, right? Well, then all you have to do is drop them into this post as a top level comment with this as the header: Character name | Series (OC's just put Original here) | Planned Village Affiliation Then you comment around and play with everyone else! If you need some ideas on how to get started, you can drop your character in during the middle of a mission, have them at an eatery around their village, or maybe even just doing weapons practice. It's up to you how you want to set out, so feel free to put your characters in this version of the Naruto universe however it most seems appropriate. Just be sure to say where you put them somewhere in your post though, otherwise two people might not even be threading in the same country. One last thing! Remember that your character was born in this universe, so whatever else you decide, your character is a world native, even if they might be a tourist in the village you decided to test them out on. And that's it. Just be good to each other and have fun! Threads you do here can count toward future activity checks, so long as the person you're threading with gets in too. These threads can also be used for samples on your application. Locations General Info Characters World ♦ Main Community ♦ Message Community ♦ OOC Community ♦ History Journal ♦ Application Journal ♦ Mod Journal ♦ sunshinemods ♦ Premise ♦ Rules ♦ F.A.Q. ♦ Player Contact ♦ Player Ideas ♦ Event Calendar ♦ Character History FAQ ♦ Taken ♦ Applications ♦ Reserves ♦ Hiatus ♦ Drop ♦ Country Navigation ♦ Sunshine Timeline ♦ Backstory List ♦ Mission FAQ ♦ Mission List ♦ Maps

Comments

B, as planned~

[sekihan]

Ashiko isn't quite sure what compels her to slip inside the bar—no, that's not quite right, she does know; it's a blend of factors, really, a forming habit mixed with recently disturbed memories. She doesn't drink much more than a cup in the evenings these days, let alone half a bottle, but the warmth of the alcohol stirs a memory of soft words and warm companionship, and the loneliness of traveling eases a little bit. It doesn't help that the young lady she met at the market this morning had stirred ghosts best left at rest, either. Perhaps, with the stinging memories freshly unearthed, that is why her eyes snag on the sword as she scans the bar idly for an open seat, unmistakeable despite its inert state.

And just like that, Ashiko learns that it is indeed possible to nearly have one's knees give out from sudden, sheer, overwhelming rage and hatred.

She can't breathe for a moment, but soon enough it passes and years of discipline and habit ensure that the pleasant look on her face never so much as wavers, despite the seething pool of venom that has sprung up in the pit of her stomach. It's a little scary, really, because Ashiko has never been this overcome before, and she finds her feet taking her, step by graceful little step, towards the man at the bar.

She is a Kuzuryu, she reminds herself as she slides onto the stool, quietly requesting a saucer of sake and gently folding her hands in her lap to keep them from clenching in rage. She glances to the man at her left, briefly once, then again as if her attention has been caught for far more banal reasons. As if the faint color rising to her cheeks was flirtatious, instead of the by-product of a fury eighteen years in the making.

they're going to kill us i swear

[heartofthestorm]

The movement isn't lost on him. For all his attention to the words being spoken and the voices that carry them in this shallow den, Yamata's senses are as sharp as the blade he carries at his side and his guard quietly held not for fear, but years of training that have ingrained and honed the nature of his composure finely into him. He reads well what he hears, what he feels. Flares in temper, in malignant intent are detected as quickly as they appear, but one would scarcely think it for his lack of movement, the steadiness of his expression. It's seldom directed at him. When it is, without the appropriate action to support it, he doesn't move or acknowledge it any detectable way. That the originator of such marked intent would choose to sit by him at the bar, however, is enough to warrant further attention.

It's the unspoken sort, initially, acute senses sharpened and guard raised a fraction higher in that same unspoken way. His fingers find the sake delivered to him, but he doesn't drink. Filtered words and standing presence has given him enough to make his move in comfort, but this one factor is an unexpected one that draws his eyes after a moment and is that much more unexpected for the sight that greets him. A woman? And one who matches the description Kouran gave him. His gaze lingers a moment, trying to match the face to the one he's kept close in his memory. Big, fluffy pigtails, eyes just as large and dark, a fair complexion, and... a carrot in her mouth, of course, cheeks that pudge-pudge-pudge up like -- ah, but they never got so big as to change color. His rabbit had much better manners than that. Time wouldn't change that, but it would change other things.

He turns his eyes to the bar again, to the sake before him now. It's possible, a quiet admittance that resounds in his mind's ears and affects him in small, imperceptible ways. A briefly quickening pulse, the skipping of a heartbeat. They aren't so small where it concerns him, but again, imperceptible things. His visible tells are small things, the way he pauses, the slightness of the angle at which his head has tipped, and his mind is racing. It's possible. It's possible that after four years of searching, eighteen years' separation, he's found her at last and there's something of a warm excitement for it buried beneath the layers of cold. It stirs and he quickly attempts to rein it in. This isn't the place and it isn't guaranteed. To ascertain that, it would be best to go elsewhere, somewhere more private, devoid of prying eyes and ears, but especially considering what he sensed earlier.

"Tch," is the first thing out of his mouth, albeit a softer utterance than usual. "Is the moon half empty or half full? You can barely see it for the clouds."

But a rabbit would know. A rabbit who resides on the moon and is familiar with the princess Kaguya would surely know when conditions would be best for her lady to descend. Is she such a rabbit? He wonders. He... hopes.

seriously

[sekihan]

Her pulse roars in her ears, and she is thankful for the arrival of her drink—the motion of raising, sipping, setting it down is enough to hide the way her mouth wants to curl into a snarl behind her long sleeves. Because how dare he? How dare he say something like that, even as a test, even as a way to gauge whether she is a true Land of Ice Kuzuryu or simply just a simple woman with a similar name? She's sure the girl from this morning is related in some way—and wasn't that such a shame, she seemed so nice—and the redness in her cheeks deepens.

He has no right to mention the moon—to imply anything about the Lady Kaguya. Not when he is wearing an heirloom that hasn't been seen since the bloody night she lost her clan, the lord, wis wife and—and his son, her Yama-chama, the one born to be her master, the one meant to grow up and be her Yamaru-danna. Her heart feels as though there is something jagged jammed inside of it, and after a moment she understands why, a stinging memory emerging from were it had been mournfully shelved during her service in Oto.

Her grandfather had told her, at the end, the grisly details of the coup. How the lord's head had been paraded around, after, how the damned leaders of the effort had bragged—bragged!—about how they had held down Yamaru and cut his small throat, of how they had carved Lady Kaguya's growing baby from her and left her to bleed out.

Is the moon half empty or half full?

She takes another few sips, bracing herself so that her voice wouldn't shake or drip with hateful heartache. She has a Danna-sama now. But there were some duties that the last of the Kuzuryu clan simply could not shirk, and this was one she would do with relish. When her cup is empty, she sets it down and tilts her head as she turns to face him, eyes downcast coquettishly. "...my room has a very lovely view of the sky," she says, her lips curving into something that is shy, flirtatious, and artful enough to put a kunoichi to shame. "If it pleases you...we could go there for a better look."

we now return you to your regularly schedule feels punches

[heartofthestorm]

His eyes keep to the presently untouched cup of sake in front of him. To anyone watching the pair, it might appear as though he hadn't heard her speak, but he had and his gaze shifts to the woman a little too quickly at that proposition, for it. A jerk, even, as of all the things he might have expected issued in return, a proposition of that nature was not one of them and it draws a proud, protective indignance at the thought his rabbit would offer a complete stranger --

Yamata pauses well ahead of himself and defies any hint of pink that might have attempted to rise had he left himself unchecked a second longer. She doesn't know who he was, he reminds himself. At best, she knows he is someone familiar with the Land of Ice and its history from his inquiry, but that doesn't mean anything beyond that he is presumably someone to be wary of, perhaps even hated. He doubted the sword at his side would help matters if she noticed, if she remembered. Had she? He couldn't be sure of that, but he is sure that he needs to keep as tight a rein on his emotions as possible and not falter in being wary for hopefulness. Her answer had not been an admittance, after all.

He regards her for a moment, then reaches to take a long drink from his cup of sake, as though in consideration despite that his decision has already been made. A private location is necessary for the pending activity. Her proposition has not changed that and he's sure of his ability to control the situation, so when he lowers the cup to the table, he turns his eyes to the woman again and offers a slight nod. Nothing quite curt, but nothing unduly polite. He is himself if nothing else.

"Aa. Lead the way," is his simple reply, his tone level for the taste his mouth was treated to moments before.

woohoo!

[sekihan]

Filth, something in her hisses as she takes one last sip and drains her cup. Flesh-hungry, grave-robbing, memory-desecrating filth. She's far too poised, even roiling with old hurts and hatreds, to let so much as a hint of her true feelings come to light. The alcohol and her temper bring a beguiling flush to her cheeks, and she uses that without so much as a second thought. She lets her eyes fall shut and shapes her smile into something just a shade less shy.

Eader, wasn't he? That's fine. It simply makes things easier on her.

She sets her cup down and stands in a single graceful motion. If he thinks that she's some type of traveling lady of the night, that's fine. She had killed plenty of men who had presumed they had some sort of right to her body, and even if this is the first time she has actually encouraged that indignity it changes nothing. Come morning, he'd be dead in the streets, and she would find time to take a trip back to her old village and present that sword at the altar her grandfather had built for their departed masters.

"It's not far at all," she mentioned. "The inn with the peony-pattern on the sign down the street." She begins walking without looking back, save for casting him one last glance over her shoulder as she turns away. She keeps her pace slow and smooth, folding her hands in front of her to keep them from twitching towards her stock of needles and poisons.

When she reaches the inn, and then her room, she doesn't bother turning the lights on after opening the door.

[heartofthestorm]

The inn she speaks of is familiar to Yamata, what with the lot of those businesses being grouped fairly close together in this village. He had considered it upon arrival before opting for another, even, his only other thought as to their destination being the proximity to Kouran. Kou is safe. Of that, he is certain. This meeting would see no threat made to her and so, the thought is fleeting, something noted and passed over in favor of more immediate, genuine concerns.

The occupation of this Kuzuryu stands as one such concern. Servants they are by nature, but a Kuzuryu traveling far from her 'master' and openly offering herself to a strange man in a bar does not lend itself to a kind reality. Little did in the wake of their shared early history and this was a possible, albeit unfortunate course for her life to have taken. It would, of course, prove more unfortunate for her 'danna-sama' should that be the case, the embers of an ire eighteen years in the making stirred only to be hushed, to see questions die on his tongue out of necessity with respect to the public location.

That changes when they cross the threshold of her room, a hand planted flat against the back of the door with minimal weight applied to close it. He doesn't mind the darkness. Doesn't think much of it, but the lock is turned quickly and he straightens, words cutting through the silence. He hasn't forgotten the nature of the intent he sensed earlier. That's the one thing that seems out of place in the midst of all of this and he expects something for it, but he will get a word in edgewise before that something is permitted.

"I've been looking for you," he said, his tone shifting to something more personal in the private dark. "You, the last of the Kuzuryu clan of the Land of Ice, whose loyalty to those born of the Storm has seen us to this present. Look at what the years have done to us."

[sekihan]

A Kuzuryu is meant to be the best possible reflection of their master. A paragon of grace, beauty, composure and unrivaled competence in all situations. Ashiko has always, always done her best to live up to this standard, to make her ancestors as proud as possible, to—to reflect as positively as possible against not only her current Danna-sama, but the memory of the young master she should have served.

It is this devotion that nearly crushes her as an old wound is torn anew in a few short sentences.

Her eyes burn, the dim moonlight enhancing rather than hiding her fury as it boils over. But Ashiko is still herself, is still enough of a Kuzuryu to ride that churning maelstrom of hatred and despair, and she growsexacting rather than sloppy. He's close, close enough to murmur, and that made him perfectly positioned for her to strike.

She rolled her wrists, selecting the proper needles and darting forth, slamming them straight into the veins just above his elbows. It's technically a toxin, though it takes days to become fatal. It's a favorite of her Danna-sama for intelligence eextraction; it paralyzes the victim in a matter of seconds while simultaneously leaving them capable of speech. The extremities are targeted first, making it especially effective against shinobi, and the effect spreads from there like ink on silk.

Ashiko speeds matters along, hooking a foot around his ankle as he sways and tugging, sending him tumbling down. She stands like that for a moment, looking down at him with glittering, boiling eyes, and then she bends down. She doesn't quite straddle him, but she half-sits half-kneels at an angle that leavesher leaning up against his chest in a intimate parody of her initial offer. When she has enough composure to speak, it's in a crooning murmur that could have just as easily been at home during pillow talk.

"You don't get to talk about them," she tells him, one hand planted next to his head to support her weight. "I don't know what sick rumors you may have heard, but toting around a stolen sword does not earn you dominion over the Kuzuryu. Not even the human one." Her other hand came up, cradling his cheek with unsettling gentleness. "It only earns you death for spitting on my true master's memory. And believe me, you will die," she assures him, as though speaking of something as banal as the weather. "That's a given at this point. How long it takes and how much it hurts, however..."

She pulls her hand back, using the long sleeve to hide her smile as her eyes crease in a demure smile.

"Well, good sir, that depends entirely on how much you're willing to tell me about when and where you came across that sword. I'm a reasonable woman; shall we negotiate?"

[heartofthestorm]

Ah, there it is. The blossoming of that bold intent he had detected earlier into a white hot fury nineteen years in the making. It's more than that, though. It's a terrible rage, the sort of hatred that, unbridled, easily becomes so vehement as to swallow the kindest heart and turn it into a blackened, shriveled husk the tremulous pulse of which demands action, vengeance, and it's familiar to him. Seeing it there on her face, dictating her every dangerous movement, echoing in every word, it's not unlike crossing paths with a dear old friend for the first time in enough time for some change in the face to be surprising, but then, that face happens to be delightfully recognizable in spite of it.

Yes, he had hoped for this. Expected enough not to be surprised or resist the movement that would see him to his present place upon the floor. He's glad for it, glad to see that burning spirit, to read the sharp edges concealed beneath that pleasant tone and that allegiance so boldly stated despite the reality he knows she believes. It is everything he had hoped for. No, it's more than that. Never has he been so glad to look death in the face and as she poses that question, the sheer absurdity of it sees his lips splinter with a laughter that erupts from deep in his chest and shakes his numbed frame for a moment.

"Oi. You've got a lot of nerve, Rabbit," he finally breathes, lips settling into a very particular smile complementing a very particular expression carried from better days in their shared youth. "I can't steal what's rightfully mine any more than I can tarnish a memory of myself. Am I that unrecognizable to you?"

He's there, buried beneath nineteen years of growth and maturation, that boy from her youth. He just happened to grow up into a man.

[sekihan]

"You've got a lot of nerve, Rabbit."

Rabbit, eat these, I don't want to.

Rabbit, we're going out.

My Rabbit.

She stops breathing for a moment, honestly. But her eyes trace over his face when the anger pops like a soap bubble, carefully, desperately, because—because she has had dreams like this, before, but they left her listless and aching in the morning. Hoping without hope only hurts. She doesn't know if she could bear having that tacit promise torn out from under her by the morning light, yet again.

But he—without the pain and fury, with the light of the moon spilling over, she can see the traces of her dearest, most beloved childhood companion. The haughty slant of her master's eyes, the jawline no longer padded by baby fat, his eyes, the core melody of that laugh, his eyes. She defaults to a sort of servile auto-pilot, blank-faced and absentmindedly graceful as she selects the antidote and administers it, much more gently than the toxin. It will take a few moments for him to get back to peak functionality and work through the pins-and-needles.

Therefore, he can't escape when her control finally snaps and her eyes tear up. There's nothing fake about the fragile tenderness when she cups his face in her hands and closes the distance between them, now.

"Ya...maru-sama?" She says, and her voice hitches. "Can I... May... Is it okay to believe it?" She gives a little hiccup and her face crumples, overwrought, and then she throws herself at him, hugging him desperately and against all protocol she's ever known. "You're... alive." She shakes, the first tears slipping loose. "You're... they didn't get you! They didn't!"