A Proper Drinking Ritual

The morning had began in a similar means to his every other morning. He spent the night with several clients, performing various deeds for them, and then he would leave their homes and wander to the next client. It was all rather tiring after a while, but it did pay well, which he could appreciate. Slowly he would make his way home, just about an hour before the sun would rise and spark a beam of light across the horizon and bring the village into a state of awakeness.

He wreaked of alcohol, sweat, and far more things than he would care to recount, so he decided before he would train, as was his normal routine after his nights out, he would shower. He waltzed through the still-sleeping village like a specter in the night, wandering the corridors that few ever risked their lives within. They had been his home for so long, that he didn't see them as any different than a villager saw a main street, a simple means of travel, just decorated with different ornaments.

Along his path, he would recognize several of the undesriables that this village had deemed so, the fiends, the homeless, the discarded. He reveled with them, related with them, as he knew that if it wasn't for his particular line of work, he would likely be in a very similar position. His facade was appropriate for his line of work, a facade that showed others that he truly understood their emotions, their feelings, but in truth, he understood so little of what a normal human would think or feel.

He viewed the normal person as a completely different species to himself, to hone their ability to feel was something he could only imagine. But still, his facade was effective. Many of the commoners within the village enjoyed his attention, as he understood one thing about people, the main thing that he felt that there was to know. It's that each and every one of them desires to be special, even if they're not. Especially if they're not.

There was a small fire burning in the alleyway towards the outskirts, where his home would reside. Surrounding the fire was a batch of those undesirables. He would nod to them, and they to him. He would have several of these silent acknowledgments between himself and others who lived in this part of the village. He would often donate whatever money he had to those that had nothing. He didn't do this because he felt obligated to them, but because he lived the very life they lived, and he could remember the struggle it was to go in, day after day, miserable and hating every moment that passed you by. He figured that if he could help ease their suffering, then he would.

He arrived at his home and entered through the front door. The front door was locked, with several locks. Not because he felt unsafe with only one, but because it didn't feel right to only have one lock, it made him... uncomfortable for some reason and he couldn't quite press his finger on why. So he decided to just install two more locks onto the door to ease that feeling of obsession and panic.

As he entered the home, he would walk through the front door, close and lock it behind him. He would hang his overcoat in the exact angle as he had hung it the morning before, and place his shoes in their exact positioning. Everything must be perfect in his home. The rest of the interior was a sterile room with his altar to the far corner, vials of blood lining the edges and a small chalice at the center of it, dried blood staining the very edges of the chalice. He had candles made special just for it when he was younger. He only lit them during certain times of crisis for himself or others that he felt the need to light them for.

His kitchen was empty, having very little to do with food in his home. His living space was barren, only a simple couch and a single end table to the right side of it. The lighting was softly lit by candles hung by the chandelier. It was a place that most normal people would see as a dungeon, a crypt even. But for him, it was perfect. He didn't own a bed, instead he would sleep on the couch, when he would sleep, but today was no time for sleeping. Instead it was a time for preparation for the day that would come to haunt him.

Akira approached his bathroom, a space that, like the rest of his home, eschewed artificial light in favor of darkness, illuminated only by a few strategically placed candles. The absence of bright light did not hinder him; instead, it enveloped him in a comforting embrace. Preparing for his shower, his movements were unhurried, each action deliberate as he embraced the darkness surrounding him. The sound of water cascading in the otherwise silent room filled the space with a soothing rhythm, a contrast to his day and night filled with the cackling of the insecure and the lonely, his general clients' behavior.

This ritual in near darkness was not just about cleansing his body but also about reconnecting with himself in this moment of solitude. It allowed him to shed the personas worn throughout the day and return to his most authentic and empty self. The flicker of candlelight of his crypt-like home combined to create a sanctuary where Akira could momentarily let go of the complexities of his existence outside these walls.

Exiting the shower, the cool air of his home brushes against his skin and causes a slight embrace of pain, something he enjoyed. With methodical movements, he dries off and stares into the mirror, reflecting of the previous night's endeavors. His emerald green eyes stared back into themselves as each of the client's stories played back in his mind. The secrets, the moments that they shared in the veiled intimacy that was created thanks to his persona, his facade. Water now ceasing to drip off of his tattooed body he has dried himself off, and he prepares himself to face the next day, and all of its struggles.

The sun now created an orange and red sky, a pale night now stolen away by a bright morning. His eyes adjusted to the brightness for a moment before continuing his trek through the village to the training facility. He wasn't sure who he would meet or what he would work on. But now armed with his massive blade, he was prepared to begin another bout of training today. He wore his cream-colored button up shirt, buttoned only halfway. His pants were tightly fitting black pants that allowed him comfort, while still being presentable to the world. His long red hair would cascade passed his shoulders down to the small of his back, and his overcoat would hang over his shoulders, passing down to his thighs. He had a small handkerchief within the pocket of his overcoat, it's color would seem as though it was died with blood, because it was.

When he arrives at the training facility, there is nobody there, at least nobody yet. So he begins his general warm up, readying his mind and his body for the rigorous and painful training that he would soon incur. Once he begins, he begins with ferocity, each strike he uses his entire body to move with grace and precision. He would continue this for a time. The world that surrounded him would fall away, leaving him only to his thoughts and his training, unsure and uncaring for whatever the world had happening in that moment.

This would change when he would hear footsteps nearing the academy. He would look to the side, and would be caught off guard by what he would see. A woman standing much smaller than himself, she wore a black vest and sleeves that were fitted to her form and black leggings, her skin was pale, with a stark contrast to her raven black hair. He was taken aback by her beauty, if only for a moment.

He would think for a moment, "Have I met that woman? I must have, right? She looks to be of Chuunin Rank." He would sheathe his sword and walk up to the woman, a desire burning in his chest to speak with her, if only for a moment.

With his facade now firmly upon his face, he would approach the woman and nod his head slightly at her. "Hello there, darling. My name is Akira Namikaze. It is a pleasure to meet you." He would bow to the woman politely and stand back up to look upon her visage as she would respond.

WC: 1477

Meika's eyes fluttered open, abruptly pulled from her serene meditation by the approaching footsteps. Her phantom gaze shifted to the man who’s presence also occupied the Academy.. A flicker of confusion crossed her face as she took in the sight of his long crimson hair, reminiscent of Kaito, the former Raikage. Could it be some kind of ghostly apparition, embodying the younger version of the noble leader she had once known? Had her ritual unwittingly summoned his spirit to bless or haunt her?

Meika exhaled heavily, taking hold of the Sake bottle once more. After touching the bottle to her lips and taking another drink, the raven-haired lass realized that her imagination just had gone too far.  With a careful assessment, she confirmed that he was no ghost but a flesh-and-blood presence beside her. She chuckled softly at her own fantastical musings; after all, the old Raikage was still very much alive. Surely, he had retired from the battlefield, embracing the peaceful existence of a seasoned warrior.

“Akira. . dearest, you can ease up a bit on that formality. I eat anything that’s kind and soft like a rabbit.” Meika teased a bit, a slight playful glint in her eyes. She then leaned back, leisurely reclining while extending the bottle towards him, her hand outstretched in a gesture of camaraderie. Deep down, the kunoichi knew it might be presumptuous to assume he would accept. But in Kumogakure, finding someone who wouldn't was a rare occurrence indeed. “I hope I’m not interrupting your training too much.~”

---

As he approached, the woman did not simply look at him, like many others, she simply analyzed his very movements, much like he would do to others. He wasn't sure just what the woman was seeing, but something told him, probably by the bottle of sake, that it wasn't reality. Soon her gaze shifted to this plane of existence and she addressed him directly after he had finished greeting her.

Her words danced upon his soul with an alluring draw, or maybe that was his wishful thinking. She certainly was a lot to look at, beautiful in all the right areas, soothing to the mind would be putting it lightly. She spoke of him being soft, one of the things that he had not been called, at least not in a long time. She would offer the bottle of sake in his direction after saying that it was a good idea to ease on the formality of his speech towards her. He had taken on many faces in his line of work, and casual was certainly one that he could wear well.

He would sit down beside her and accept the bottle from her hands, brushing against her skin slightly. Her hands were a tad warm to the touch, and he relished in the contact. He would drink from the bottle and hand it back to her and say, "I would say you are certainly interrupting my training, simply by existing you have a tendency to catch the eye and draw even a dedicated man out of his hole. By your presence I had to be sure I wasn't seeing ghosts or goddesses prancing about these grounds." He would bump into her with his shoulder, "I believe you are flesh and bone, even if the proportions are far too perfect to be natural." He would laugh as he leaned back against his arm, looking ahead.

It was true that he thought she was an absolute delight to look at, and her sense of humor seemed to be quite apparent, so with playful intent he would make this interaction a memorable one.

WC: 351

The woman spoke with such a tone that it called to him, "This woman is a challenge to me." He realized. She was going to be his prey, and he was to hunt her merely for sport at this point. She promises to leave a lasting impression on him, to which he quickly responds, "My dear. There are so many things I'd let you do to do just that." He would chuckle as he asked for the bottle again. Taking a swig, he would see the woman turn with what looked like an idea in her mind.

She offered a compromise to negate the interruption of his training and, instead, turn it into training together. He had to admit that just having the time with a Chuunin was rewarding, but to be able to see this absolute beauty on the other side of his blade, well, now that was something special. He knew that this woman was far beyond his reach in regards to power, but damn it, he was going to make an impression on her, maybe even give her something to remember him by. The hunt had now begun.

"Darling, I do not usually want to do training with a woman of your caliber. Generally, I take them out on the town, and then they take me back to bed. But I suppose that part can wait a while, and we can train in the meantime." He would stand up, and look upon the woman sitting on the wooden floors. "How about this? If I can land a scratch on that pretty porcelain skin of yours, I get to kiss you." His mischievous grin would be planted across his face, one that a devil offering the finest of contracts would surmise upon their face just as the agreement would be signed. He would await her response with excitement and overall pleasure.

WC: 313
TWC: 2141

"Well it certainly looks like I've done it now. Did she fully accept? Eh. Let's work for it anyway." He would think to himself as she rose to her feet speaking to him. She would approach, but her speed wasn't what he thought it would be, but he would activate his enhanced eyes, to be able to see her sweet, succulant blood as she would begin to move towards him. The mere sight of the crimson delicacy coursing through her veins was enough to ignite his desire for battle.

He would begin by arming himself, not with his weapon as that was already equipped, but with a fighting style that he had been working on. It focused less on high speed maneuvers, but on crippling attacks, enhancing each strike with a power amount of raw power and strength. His stance would be a mid squat, with his knees bent slightly, ensuring it would be able to engage with the shock that was certainly to be coming his way. He had his blade eye level, pointed directly for his opponent, with his hands having a firm grip on the hilt of his massive blade that measured 6 feet in length, being only slightly shorter than himself.

He would now spent the rest of their engagement locked in to his opponent, awaiting for her every move. She body in motion was a pleasure to watch, she was honestly far more beautiful in this aggressive, more animalistic approach. But he kept that to himself for the time being. He would wait for her to get just to the edge of his blade when he would have it timed for a strike to land in her positioning, but he would use his blade to make a wide swing, covering the area that surrounded him. The blade would be swung with a speed of 30, but with a power of 89. He was sure this first strike was not going to land, as she seemed to be a bit faster than his own swing, but not by much.

He had anticipated the opponent to go high or low, but certainly not try to go through his blade. But he would prepare for any certain event with the ability to wield his blade efficiently. He would prepare for a side step with another swing of the blade should the opponent change their direction or break into his stance.

WC: 402

WC: 2543

Akira would watch as this fiery cat began to display her rather aggressive nature. A smile would grace his lips as he would watch this rather beautiful and exciting young woman sprint through the grounds between them with a ferocity matched only by a wild animal that had been caged for so long, embracing its freedom with a furious indignation towards those that had caged her. Akira was excited, his deal accepted, now there was something he truly wanted on the line, and he was going to make sure this woman was dominated, one way or another. At the very least, impressed.

The lioness made her approach, and the approach was as graceful as one would expect. His swing would initiate, and his 140 cm weapon would close the distance between the two rather quickly as she continued her approach. She would slide under the blade on her knees, leaning back to where the blade would grace just above her skin, a near miss, and his excitement continued to grow within him. Exactly halfway through his swing, when his blade was at it's longest reach, she would flip over and initiate a kick towards his legs. But he was not easily taken advantage of.

He would quickly lift his lead foot, the closest foot to her own attack, and he would stomp on her extended leg just as it was about to make contact. The pain wouldn't be excruciating, but it would certainly cause her opponent to flinch in some amount of pain, or if he was lucky, it was have her begging for more. His blade would return to the home position in the time of his stomp, he would keep her foot pinned to the ground using his superior strength. In the same motion of the blade returning to its home position, he would thrust the handle directly for her beautiful porcelain face. He didn't like the idea of harming her perfect features, but a deal was struck and he dedicated to accomplishing his side of it.

In short, his reaction to her attack would be to perform a stomp on her extended foot that was performing the kicking motion, pin her foot there, and thrust his weapon's hilt towards her face. He would analyze her ever movement, and he couldn't help but to think of just how this woman would be performing... other activities. The mere thought of this level of aggression in the bedroom caused him to brighten with excitement, but he would continue to focus on this fight, not missing a single movement from the lioness that fought before him.

WC: 435
TWC: 2978