Bushi-Nin Sake Ceremony (io)

The festival had been moving on well through the evening affair.  Shouts and songs filling the air as the day moved into night.  There was no shortage of entertainment, and soon another form would show itself for the people of Tanbogakure.  By now the relationship of the Yagami cousins was well known, their differences making it an easy target for gossip.  What was said, depended on whose lips you heard it from.  Though for Asahi’s part he was unfamiliar with the generalities.  Gossip all well and good, on the subject of himself and his cousin though, he already considered himself an expert.  No need to receive any words to the contrary.

It was because of this, and several other obvious reasons that the contest set to take place as the clock chimed 11 was beginning to attract quite the crowd.  The stall had housed several rounds of combat for onlookers to bet and jeer at.  Young men had spent many an hour pummeling each-other with sword and fist, grappling and displaying techniques they’d learned from traders.  The area had been dedicated to a more physical contest and it had provided.  However, at 11 the cousins Yagami had volunteered their services as entertainers as opposed to onlookers.  It hadn’t been either of their ideas, but rather a clerk of court.  He’d felt it would be in good show for the leader to take part in some form of demonstration, and the clerk being a key figure in the gossip had swayed Asahi to join in as well.

They were set to demonstrate with wood swords, a display of samurai combat.  The spar would be the capstone of the entertainment.  For Asahi’s own interests he had been quite looking forward to it.  Though he’d thought to keep their fates reunion of swords private, the idea of a show was not one he could pass up.  He’d held back from the festival, but soon he would hold back no longer.  First to let loose with Yasahiro, and then to let loose with sake and women……festivals were for the living.

The area designated was set in the middle of the town square.  A large circle formed the ring, with dirt and draw brought in to form the flooring.  Well traveled over it had formed a hard and solid footing for the combatants with just enough padding to cushion a fall onto the hard ground.  The fence that acted as ring stood only about a meter talk, constructed of posts spread evenly and two slats of wood.  The diameter of the ring was that of 35 feet allowing for ample movement, but dissuading from to much avoidance.  

The crowd was loud as the first Yagami made his way through.  The blonde samurai waved and greeted those he met.  There was nothing like being the center of attention to a bunch of drunks, truly a situation not for the humble.  His blue eyes sparkled as he made his way in, placing a hand on the low fence and hoisting himself over to gently land on his feet.  A cup was shoved into his hand as he kicked off his wooden clogs to rest outside the fence.  His hand with cup, and his toes feeling the dirt, he turned and leaned back against the wood.  He took a sip, the sake hitting his system.  He smiled but did not finish it.  The Bushi-Nin Sake ritual was an old samurai ritual.  The consumption of sake before a duel, the samurai knew how to do things he thought to himself.  He’d wait for his cousin for the toast, then he’d see if he had learned much of anything.  

Asahi was dressed conservatively by his standards.  White hakama pants with floral imagery moving across the bottom, with a bright teal top.  The later he removed revealing a bare torso above the white pants.  It would make the lash of a wooden katana harder,  but…..it reminded him of home.  Sparing with wooden swords and a bare back to drive lessons of failure home had been a Yagami standard, though he was unsure if Yasahiro would follow the old ways.  For his part, Asahi had ignored them back when they weren’t so old…….it felt a nostalgia and step forward in a dichotomous dance that he embraced them now.  He let the teal top fold over the fence, falling in a pile on his wooden clogs.  Removing a white and black sash from one of his pockets he tied it around his forehead, pushing his long blonde hair from his face.  Now all they needed was the swords, and an opponent. 

TWC - 768

Asahi’s look :

Amid the sea of colorful kimono and mythological masks, a black-clad figure cut through the throng of people like a knife. Moving as if a single being, the crowd parted before the figure's path in something painfully near deference. Then, just as quickly as it parted, it closed behind them amid a cascade of whispers. A fight between the village leader and another was not to be missed, even if it was only an informal spar meant for entertainment more than anything.

Unlike most around him, Yasahiro's mask did not hide his identity. Rather, the blue-green likeness of an oni hung from his waist, a lifeless husk leering at all the leader passed by. Where shinobi thrived in shadows and subterfuge, the samurai of the land of iron swore an oath to a straightforward code of honor—to hide one's face from an opponent would be an affront and an embarrassment, especially if one's opponent was family. Yes, for the first time in quite a while Yasahiro would not shy away from the village spotlight.

Stepping into the makeshift ring opposite his cousin, Yasahiro could not help the mild look of amusement that played across his face at the sight of Asahi. His cousin never exactly fit the mold of samurai, but he certainly looked the part this evening. White hakama pants, white-black sash, and bokken; if Yasahiro squinted, he could almost believe that his blonde-haired counterpart knew what he was doing, almost.

Not to be shown up by Asahi, he removed the top of his black hakama and exposed his bare back to the night air. Accepting the bokken provided to him, he sheathed it at his waist beside the mask before pulling his hair into a topknot held back by the headband of Tanbogakure. Next came the sake, served in a shallow dish, as had been tradition in Rice Country for generations. Drinking and fighting, it seemed to Yasahiro, were two things that were best kept separate if possible—even if the former led to the latter, one typically wanted to be clear-headed before crossing blades.

Approaching his cousin at the midpoint of the arena, Yasahiro allowed the rest of the world to fall away. The hum of the crowd, the sound of the distant fireworks, and the smell of sweat on his brow all faded only to be replaced by the steady beating of his own heart. His amber eyes met Asahi's blue as he stopped a meter from his soon-to-be opponent.

"Cousin."

He held up his cup of sake with both hands in a customary toast.

---

WC: 444
TWC: 444

Turning he would see his cousin step over the makeshift fence, making his way into the arena.  A smile broke across his face as his cousin prepared himself, matching Asahi’s own look.  Bokken where provided, and like a mirror Asahi matched Yasahiro.  He’d sheath the bokken to hang from his waist where his ninjato would normally rest.  He’d watch as Yasahiro moved, and he couldn’t deny he admired the man.  He was the embodiment of the samurai.  His dark features, a tone of seriousness across his face, all of it fell in line with the traditional look.  In contrast Asahi had rarely fit such a mold.  Still, he felt the kinship between them as they walked forward.  As he approached he’d hear his cousins deeper voice with a word of greeting.  “Fancy seeing you here.”  Would be his reply.

About a meter from each other the sake was provided.  A tradition, the Bushi-Nin Sake ceremony as it was called.  The partaking in the alcohol before combat, as it had been done for hundreds of years, perhaps even longer.  He’d raise his hands, the small cup between them.  The toast complete he would drink at the same time as his cousin.  As the liquid hit his lips, it was as though the symbology of the act had an impact on the world.  There was no crowd, no festival, no anything.  They could have been in the forests that surrounded the Yagami compound.  It was just the two of them, and what a look it would be.  Yasahiro, tall, dark hair, black hakama pants in contrast with Asahi’s slightly shorter frame, bright blonde hair, and white pants.  The symbology of yin-yang was not lost on Asahi and he wondered briefly if Yasahiro saw it as well……but somehow he knew he did.  

An attendant rushed out taking the cups from each man in turn.  He would shout to the crowd, playing up the match.  A showman no doubt, but his words were just barely heard.  He explained the rules, how this was a friendly exhibition for the people to see their leader in action, and how Asahi had volunteered.  He was second fiddle here, and he had no qualms about it.  This wasn’t about winning, not about showing off…..this was about running towards the tenants of the samurai rather than away.  He upheld them in his daily life.  Through calligraphy, poetry, or the endless tea ceremonies he practiced outside the way of the sword.  His time with the blade was less, though since coming to Tanbogakure he’d corrected such a thing.  

Eventually the man would finish speaking, and exit the area.  A firework unheard by either man would erupt above them as they took their position.  Approximately 2 meters from each other they would take up their ready stance.  Feet a shoulders breath apart, his right foot slightly in front of his left to provide a suitable base…right hand resting on the grip of his wooden sword.  His eyes locked on his cousin, watching the man take his own position.  They’d soon both be ready, and at the explosion of the next firework, the contest would begin.  

It was all rather exciting.

TWC - 1297

Old Stats:

The sake burned; it started in the nose, trickled down the throat, and finally, settled in the stomach where it would sit until mollified by the passage of time. Handing the now empty cup back to the attendant, however, Yasahiro knew that he would never feel the burning sensation leave his core. No, rather it would be replaced by the heady high of adrenaline that now pulsed through his veins, making each limb lighter and every thought quicker. If one wasn't careful such a feeling could surely lead to a lot of trouble very quickly.

Two meters apart; black and white; stern and flamboyant; leader and deviant; the contrasting symbolism was not lost on Yasahiro who took up a similar stance to his opponent—Asahi and he tended towards opposition in every superficial way imaginable. At heart, however, the two were the same: the same Yagami blood ran through their veins, they abhorred the evils of the world, and most importantly, they both hated to lose. Expedition match or not, neither cousin would be backing down before the final bell rang, and Yasahiro wouldn't have had it any other way.

BOOM!

The flash of the next firework bathed the arena in a fleeting moment of red. Shadows warped, bent, and lengthened creating a momentary world of red and black that disappeared as soon as it had arrived. Through it all, Yasahiro's amber gaze never left the blue of his cousin's eyes. It was time to see if Asahi's months of training could stand up to a lifetime of dedication to the traditions of their homeland.

Moving with the fluidity conferred by years of practice, Yasahiro drew his blade in the dying light of the firework. Right hand just below the tsuba, left hand by the base, weapon held at chest height, and knees slightly bent—each movement came naturally proceeding logically from one step to the next. Moving to the left, the Komekage circled his opponent, compromising neither his wide stance nor the two-meter distance from his cousin. Never once would the younger of the two cousins find that his older counterpart's gaze wavered. If Asahi wanted an opening he would have to make it himself.

For the first time all night, silence reigned.

---

WC: 374
TWC: 818

Unless otherwise stated movement is done at Yasahiro's max speed.

It was just like his cousin.  Take a solid stance both for offense and defense and then wait.  Not presenting an opening, not presenting anything.  He was a pillar of the Yagami family, if not for the little incident.  He was classically trained and performed in classical fashion.  If there was one way that Asahi had any chance it would be to defy the classical samurai sword style.  Still, that was easier said than done.  In his heart, he didn’t expect to win, rather he just wanted to get at least one solid wack on the bare flesh of his cousin.  Something to let him remember for at least a couple days, even if it was just a bruise.  

It was with these thoughts that he watched his cousin.  Pulling his sword up he’d still have it’s sheath on it, the loose tie falling away.  An obvious oversight of an inexperienced fool.  The action drew some catcalls and laughs from the crowd at the idiocy of the man.  Giving Yasahiro a chagrined expression he whipped the sword and hilt down in a flashy way.  The hilt hitting his hip with the bokken still inside.  As he did a loud bark and crack could be heard as an invisible force rushed towards Yasahiro.  The large force would come straight towards Yasahiro the 10x 20 field making it difficult to dodge, or so Asahi hoped.

As the hilt hit his hip however he lunged forward tanks to his readied stance.  His eyes trained on Yasahiro he would QuickDraw the Bokken in a horizontal axis hoping to hit the man across the side right at the iliac crest.  His hope being his blade would be up to block the force field.  As for Asahi he would move just slightly slower than he knew the force to be so as not to run into it himself.  If it all went as planned a loud crack could be heard as the wood of his sword connected with the hip bone of Yasahiro.

TWC - 1634


1162 - 45 - 20 = 1097ap remaining

-All actions unless otherwise stated are at max speed. As stated his movement speed is slightly slower than the force as to not run into it himself-

Jutsu Used:

The sounds of clashing blades and unseen attacks filled the area.  Only the blasts of fireworks high Acting as spectators from above could pierce through the sound of battle.  Though each of the cousins held wooden swords, when they rang together it took little imagination to see steel within their hands.  In total the contest merely lasted 11 minutes, and yet the audience would go on to tell tale of how they battled throughout the night, a winner battling to take shape before the sun rose.  

Each of the Yagami cousins laid down strikes on the other, but in the end it was Yasahiro who came out victorious.  Flesh blood lay stained across the blondes face, though it acted flavor to the broad smile that lay beneath.  The final blow had caught him across the face on a dangerous last gambit.  One that had it worked, would have tipped the contest over, and made several individuals a fortune in gambling.  Yet it was not meant to be.  Asahi clasped his cousin tightly as the match concluded, and laughed joyously when the bigger man flinched from blossoming bruises to his ribs.  

No, Asahi had not grown to the abilities of the Samurai that his cousin was, but yet……his footsteps where not nearly as far behind as they’d been.  

Exit

TWC - 1851

Claims
+10ap for max stats (only ten because that caps me on total bonus ap I can have.)
1500wc towards illusion of false surroundings

Approved.