The Melody of Frequency

Ichiro awoke from a very intense sneeze.  His his drifted lazily towards the shaded window and judged that it was around eight in the morning.  He rolled his eyes at the surely coming scolding he would receive for waking up this late by the elders of the Akari clan.  His digits curled into fists as he rubbed at his slate grey orbs furiously.  He rested the sockets with light pressure against the palms of his hands causing the darkness that engulfed his vision to explode into a nightmarish and disfigured river of colours.  He inhaled sharply and could smell the reek of alcohol and cigarettes permeating from the clothes he had slept in last night.  The scent caused a cold shiver to seize him and disgust was prominent on his face.

"I really need to grow up," he smirked and tried to recollect his memories from last night.  He remembered paying one of the older boys for booze and cigarettes.  He remembered sneaking into a nightclub.  The last thing he remembered was the sidewalk after being booted out for trying to start a fight with one of the bouncers.  "I really should bathe."  As Ichiro purged himself of last night's shame, he came to ponder how he ended up in this predicament.  He had gotten into it with the elders about still being a Genin and being a bastion of behaviour unfitting an Akari.  He rarely felt self-destructive, but last night had been an exception.  He had been in a foul mood from the get-go, usually due to his family.  He dressed and sidled his way into the kitchen, half expecting to have an insult thrown at him.  He winced when he heard a thundering voice and quickly glanced at the table.  To his relief, no one was addressing him.  He quietly made eggs and toast and poured himself a cup of coffee, which he hastily added cinnamon to.  With mug and plate in hand, he placed his food gently upon the table and bowed deeply before those that sat at the table; it was rare for him to be greeted, much less acknowledged.  He took his seat and picked away at his breakfast and coffee, half listening to what was being said.  He had once been enthusiastic about clan news, though, recently he cared less for the ensuing rumour mongering.  

He finished hastily and washed up, bowed before the table once more, and took his leave of the domicile.  Once upon a time, he would have explained what his goal for the day was to his elders.  It was a different time when he thought he actually mattered.  I can't wait to move out and get my own place.  So long, shithouse, Ichiro thought to himself.  The condition of the house was quite opposite; it was a rather luxurious and nice place, but filled with bad memories.  Ichiro snorted at the idea that he had once called this toxic atmosphere a home.  Once outside, his eyes shifted directly at the sun.  For as long as he could remember, he could stare at the sun without the intensity burning into his retinae.  It was one "gift" afforded to him by his bloodline...to stare into the sun.  Any light, really, and not have to turn away.  I was born with a pair of sunglasses already in my eyes, Ichiro mused to himself.  Those resplendent rays showered his skin, kissing it with its warmth, almost bringing the skin to a tingle.  

He stretched, hearing and feeling his spinal cord making the proper alignment adjustments.  He could look for a new place if, that is, he had the money.  The wild thought of asking the clan for a loan was tamed quickly; he didn't like the idea of receiving a lecture throughout obtaining the money, through the course of owing the money, and the remittance.  Placing his hands behind his head and interlocking the digits, he resigned his fate to visiting the shrine; nothing like sweating out repentance after a night like last night.  In truth, the boy lacked a lot of spirituality and his awkwardness ruled him when he visited sacred grounds.  He still went from time to time, but not to pay homage to his ancestors or any of that malarky.  No, he went to the shrine to shed his pride, to expose himself as a human being.  Most of all, it was where he felt closest to Daisuke.  

His trip to the shrine was unhampered; people often left him alone so long as he didn't bother anyone.  He lit sandalwood incense and proceeded to collapse into a humble position upon his knees and hands raised.  Amidst the calming scent, he briefly smelled the scorched out nicotine wafting from his fingers.  As the wind ran its familiar fingers through his mane, Ichiro was struck by a curious wondering: what did other people pray for?  A sudden resonation of guilt throttled his heart.  "I'm sorry," he stood abruptly, his resolution buckling and folding as it normally did in this situation.  He would have to seek solace elsewhere this day.

Later on...

As he shuffled past the training grounds, he stopped abruptly.  Absent-mindedly, his left hand carefully delved into the pocket of his jacket to procure a scroll.  As he observed the scroll, he wondered how it had managed to find its way into his possession.  Had he obtained it through nefarious means?  Intrigue washed over him as he opened it and took a look at the content.  "'Lightning Release: Lightning Javelin,' huh?"  He felt a pull at his navel and grimaced.  "I do need some kind of weapon since my katana's all busted up," he remembered the pitiful state of his sword.

Walking further into the training grounds, his eyes scanned the instructions again thoroughly.  "Seems easy enough, but it is a B-Rank Ninjutsu.  Might be a little advanced for me..." he rubbed his chin in thought.  Ultimately, Ichiro shrugged his shoulders and decided to give it a go.  He closed his eyes in supreme focus, paying particular attention to mustering all his chakra into his left appendage.  He felt the chakra ebb away and slowly roil back into feeling, his concentration paramount.  As he struggled to keep the chakra's momentum, his mind wandered, but a little.  In his mind he saw the flash of a blade and a chilling scream came pounding into his ear drum, breaking his concentration.  Visibly swaying his head as if literally trying to shake it off, he once again set his mind to the task of gathering his chakra.  Now that his body was warmed up, he achieved building the energy faster in the required location.  Images of the Daisuke fluttered through his mind, coming in distinct pauses akin to flash photography.  Refusing to let his past deter him, he continued with the next step.

The sensation that slowly snowballed within his arm was that of an impending numbness.  He could almost feel the process at the atomic level: excited electrons pulsating within his body in synchronisation, swirling into his arm and firing off energy that in turn swirled rapidly around the appendage.  An oscillatory symphony welled up deep inside of him, manifesting within his arm.  The intense frequency generated by his chakra was a throbbing hum resonating deep in his ear drum, allowing his mind to focus purely on the increasing rhythm and intensity trying to measure it in some way and for an instant, he was in a sublime state.  Abruptly, his eyes opened.  It was time.

Lightning Release: Lightning Javelin! he said in his mind and flung out his arm expectantly, staring into his open palm.  A loud pop followed by a prolonged ringing in his ears disoriented him; he hadn't even seen the shower of sparks that disappeared as quickly as they appeared from his hand.  His left eye twitched in dismay of the state of his hand, which seemed to have a reasonable burn on it.  The harmony of chakra quickly descended into a discord.  The wonderful, cool numbness that had swallowed his left arm turned to pain, causing Ichiro to swear with every word in his arsenal.  He shook it wildly, trying desperately to stave off the pain.  In frustration he kicked the scroll away from him.  "Well, that was embarrassing," he whimpered almost inaudibly.  While he had never held a firecracker when it had combust, he thought surely this must be how it feels.

WC: 557/3000 for the stuff that matters.
Claiming 2 stats

ok..., approved