Post by Ðaio on Mar 1, 2008 22:28:08 GMT -5
courage
"As you know, you are a newly instated genin of Konohagakure no sato. However, as you have had superficial contact with the teachers of the Ninja Academy, we must carry out a psyche evaluation even with the high recommendation given by Tsusano-san."
The psychologist (named Tendo Soun, if the plaque on his desk was any indication) paced sedately to his desk, equipping himself in the next second with the typical clipboard. Bored dark brown eyes stared at the man before turning their gaze towards the room. Comfy. And with an air conditioner. Better than his house. The eyes returned its attention to the man, who had begun to browse the contents of the clipboard; most probably a profile.==========
NAME: Daio (No Last Name)
AGE: 121
BIRTHDATE: Unknown - Chosen Date is 1/1
PLACE OF RESIDENCE: 12 Amber St., Otafuku Gai
HEIGHT: 5'3"
HAIR COLOR: Black
EYE COLOR: Dark Brown
BODY TYPE: Lean
SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Heterosexual
PREFERRED FIGHTING STYLE: Taijutsu2
RELATIONSHIPS: Tsusano (sensei)
AFFILIATIONS: None
EXPOSURE TO VIOLENCE: High3
EXPOSURE TO KILLING INTENT: Undetermined3
DEGREE OF KILLING INTENT: Undetermined3
NOTES: 1Daio's maturity is above normal, as is his intelligence. From brief discussions with him, it has been discerned that he has a lived a rough childhood5; his maturity can thus be attributed to it.----
2His exposure to violence is high, same as his exposure to killing intent, coming back to the rough childhood pointed out in Notes 1. The initials TFO were found stitched on one of his shirts, almost certainly meaning the True Fighting Organization situated in Otafuku Gai4. When asked to spar with one of the academy chuunin, the resulting fight displayed an abundant fighting experience4.
2Despite learning of his fighting knowledge, his killing intent and its degree of strength is unknown.
3Daio's taijutsu skill is remarkable4; his skill in using it is reminiscent of principles behind various high-tier martial arts. Unfortunately, its unpredictability which flows from instinct may limit his strength in that it is untempered by choice.
4Speculation - Daio, as unlikely as it may sound, may have been a prize fighter in the TFO, a notorious organized street fighting syndicate.
5Daio is quite vulgar; again, most probably due to his rough childhood.==========
"Hm..." the psychologist murmured, looking once more at Daio, who shifted once in the comfortable lounge chair he occupied, the dark brown eyes still curious but not blatantly so. He moved to and sat in the chair opposite the genin, whose expression went from bored to incredibly bored mixed with I do not care. The man clasped his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"
"S'okay with me, shrink." Daio pursed his lips, not particularly interested in starting, not particularly interested in finishing-- just there for the sake of being there. He scratched his head idly, stretching and flexing his legs at the same time. "What'chou wanna know?"
"Well, then. For now, I'm merely interested in learning more about you."
"'Kay."
"To begin, let's test the waters with a preliminary of sorts-- letter association." Soun leaned back in his chair-- Daio gave him a quick once-over the instant he looked down at the clipboard. Long hair, thick mustache, casual brown dogi top and bottom and a vein of steel in the kind face. Huh. "I say a letter, and you say the first word that comes to mind. This'll help me understand a little how your mind works."
Daio yawned. "Right, right..."
"Okay... A."
"Asshole."
"B."
"Bitch."
"..."
"..."
"... C."
"Cu--"
Soun briskly cut off the word, with, Daio noted, a little too much asperity. "Okay, I suppose that's enough for now," the man brightly said. The psychologist looked back at his clipboard and the little evaluation games planned to flesh out the genin's psyche. Sweat beaded on his temple; this linear approach wouldn't work, which was a pity, because it meant things got more complicated. He'd have to wing it.
Daio continued to stare.
"So, Daio, seems I've come a little unprepared," he said frankly, an attempt to lower the child's guard. "Why don't you tell me about yourself? Any interests, pet peeves... that sort of thing."
A frown was assumed by Daio, a habitual expression of his that managed to impressively convey his current emotions, even though they weren't exactly bottled up. He adjusted his hitai-ate, fiddling with the metal plate idly before finally responding. "Look, you're here to analyze me and shit, yeah?"
"Well--"
Daio pressed on. "Then gimme the most important questions, doc."
Soun's tongue worked the right side of his mouth, rolling slowly as he contemplated the situation. Usually his patients had enough patience to deal with his preliminaries-- but this one was different. "To be honest, I'm afraid that this profile isn't clear on your past and your associations."
"Tha's important?"
"I can't recommend you to begin your tasks as a Konoha-nin until I learn of your past."
"... Tch."
"To begin-- again-- were you a prize fighter for the True Fighting Organization?"
"Yeah." Daio rubbed his nose, brow wrinkling as he began to dip into the worst years of his young life. An appropriate scowl slid over his face. "Yeah, I was a streetfighter."
"How did you get into that particular venue?"
The genin leveled another stare at Soun, bored eyes barely veiling the memories within.==========
"Spare change?"
The well-dressed man addressed didn't stop his stride, radiating a confident aura with ease, a few feet from the begging child, who persisted in his pleading. By the looks of him, he needed any one yen he could find, his bony build pitiful and starved. However, unlike other beggars, who were so abundant in this part of town, was that instead of sitting listlessly on the ground with the begging cup in hand, he chose to stand on legs like twigs, swaying and trembling with the taxing effort.
"C'mon, just gimme a hundred yen."
Nothing. No response. Just the steady, sure gait of the man beginning to pass the child.
"I'm-- I'm not askin' for much-- at least some food, then..."
The man was walking past.
"O-Okay, fine, don't--" the child was racked by a vicious cough that had him tottering in his threadbare rags. "--don't give me nothin', I'm used to it--" He leaned over shakily to grab a handful of pebbles from the ground, a filthy spot just less so than the rest of the road, a common sight in the old Konoha slums. No doubt it was where the child slept.
The gravel was barely gripped in the miniscule hand. He cocked his arm back, breaking into a dizzy sweat even with this small movement, and hurled the load after the man's slowly receding silohouette. Didn't reach halfway. "D-Damnit..." Two cleansing trails slowly coursed their way down dirty cheeks.
The man paused, cocking his head slightly, his back still to the beggar. It was after a period of a few seconds that he finally spoke, adjusting his hat by gripping the front of its brow. His was a gravelly voice, deep and with a sort of scratchy character.
"Why aren't you scrounging around in dumpsters like the rest of the beggars?"
His was also a cultured tone of voice, never minding the touch of street. It would not be answered anyway, which would be soon be made apparent to the suited gentleman. Not out of any hastily erected silence, but rather due to the fact that child was toppled over into a questionable pile of filth, unconscious.
The man looked back, his hat tipped to the side. He raised an eyebrow, shadows covering a large portion of his face.
"..."
Knockknockknock.
A rapid staccato of taps garnered no response from the worn-down orphanage, causing an irritable snarl to crinkle the old man's face further, wizened with years and scarred with time. He glanced down at his cargo sullenly, a quiet baby in a woven basket lined with an expensive-looking fur blanket. The old face soured some more.
The baby sucked placidly at his pacifier.
The dry lips of the elder cracked open to speak: "What's--
--your name, then."
Bloodshot eyes opened halfway. Blurry. Ice water dripping down skin, its source a mysterious waterfall flurry out of nowhere. Loosened up an odd sticky paste that smelled bad. It dripped into his mouth.
"G-guhah!" The youth rolled over, gagging on not just the taste, but on the knowledge of what leaked onto his tongue. He spat several times, barely cranking out a thin streamer that flopped loosely down his lips, cracked and dry from dehydration. "Nngh..." He flicked several wild glances to his surroundings, splayed out on the hardwood floor and unable to muster the strength to move. "W-where am I?"
"I believe I asked a question first."
"I-- who are you--" his voice cracked, seguing into a ragged barking cough that felt like the ground itself shook his body.
"You know, I abhor selective hearing," the voice remarked.
A few moments trundled past, laden with a tense silence.
"Daio... I-- I'm Dai--" More coughing.
"There. Wasn't so hard, was it?"
Breath came irregularly. "Where-- where am I-- who--"
"--am I? Normally, people tend to avoid sounding like a broken record. But, anyways..." the voice paused.
"My name is Shigure."
Blackout.
