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Post by Matachi on Jan 27, 2009 1:40:04 GMT -5
"How much for this sword?" A deep voice called from the crowd, the old man who was seated in his shop looked up from the dirty magazine he was peering in, stroking his thick beard and glancing over his shoulder. The crowd outside of his stand was thin, lanterns dangled from every avenue, unlit neon dressed most of the stands. Graffiti and stickers slapped across some of the backalleys of the flying city.
Before the old man's stand stood a tall figure, muscular, tanned, and had the longest topknot known to man. He stroked his chin with his bandaged fingers, the stubble scraping at his fingers, his eyes observing the sword he'd asked about. He wore a half a robe with a thick black rim to it, his long brown hair swayed with the cool Spring breeze that swept through the floating city that was high in the clouds. Upon his back were four swords, and upon his side were a additional two.
"S'alot." The old man grunted, observing the tall man with a skeptical eye, leaning inward and resting a elbow upon the wooden counter that divided the outside with his merchandise. Just how the old fart liked it, too. He didn't need any of these kids walking in and touching on his weapons. Nosiree. And it seemed like the biggest kid of all wandered to his shop in search of more toys. No one respectable would carry that much hardware.
"Money's no object." The tall man said with a cocky smile, leaning in eagerly, placing his hands on the counter--
WHAP!!
A stroke from a wooden sword smacked across his face--
He tried to flee, but the old man stabbed down onto his hand with the wooden sword, revealing that he held a second wooden sword while pinning him down with the first--
WHACK--POW--!!
"GUWAAAH~!!" The topknotted ninja whined, two more strikes pounding into his swelling face.
"I don't sell to rich punks!! Shoo!!" The old man yelled, releasing his hand and allowing the man in the yellow robe trip over his own feet, trying to regain his balance--
He hit the railing, nearly flipping over and plummeting to a lower level of the peculiar city. He rubbed frantically at his face, growling and glaring at the old man. He pointed at the old man, revealing his swollen face, crying swears of hate at him before he revealed who he was. "Ora, ora--!! You must not know who I am--!! I'm Fuji Yoshimitsu--!!"
"..." The old man stared, almost in awe at who was before him--
"Who?" He finally asked, his eyebrow poking up in the air--
He sat at a fish shop, holding a piece of fried skewered eel on his wooden stick. Biting into it, he sat upon the stool, spinning back and forth idly. The worst blow Yo could endure was one to the ego, and someone not knowing who he is--though it happened more common than he'd like to admit, was like a kick to the chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks, sniffling and weeping, crunching into the warm eel to soothe his pain.
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Post by LIVEnSPIRALS on Jan 29, 2009 16:55:37 GMT -5
"What do you call this crap!?"
The voice of a red haired, male teenager roared from a secluded section of the village's park. He was a tall kid, reaching close to five-ten. His all black gakuran showing that he was one of the resident high schoolers. In his hand was a round bun partially covered with wrapping paper.
"I-it's a melonpa--"
A smaller and more feeble, brown-haired boy stuttered as he looked to the ground, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He too was wearing a gakuran, and judging by his size he was a freshman.
"Shut up!" the older teen would bark, cutting off the boy before him. "I know it's melonpan! I told you to get me curry bread!" he would say as he continued to yell at the younger boy. Behind him were two other boys, laughing to themselves at the scene taking place. Hurling the sweet bread at the younger teen's face he let out a cruel laugh. "Now go get the curry bread. You have ten minutes!"
Closing his eyes as the bread slammed against his face the boy struggled to hold back the tears that were welling up. He hated this. He hated being the lapdog of these three bullies, but there was nothing he could do. They were older and stronger than him. He couldn't even go to his teachers for help because he'd just end up being beaten up worse than he was now. "But they were all out of--AGH!!," he tried to speak, but was cut off by a fist colliding with his cheek.
His eyes widened as his body seemed to glide in the air for a moment before slamming back down to the cold earth, sliding a couple of feet. Too stunned by the hit to cry the boy gently touched his cheek, and looked up at the red haired boy. A sadistic smirk crossed over the older boy's face as he cracked his knuckles.
"Nine minutes."
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It had been seven minutes since he had ran out of the park. That left him with only two minutes to get the curry bread, and get it back to Keita and his lackies. It was impossible. There was no curry bread left. Some wierd old man had come in and bought all the remaining bread earlier, and the baker said she wouldn't be making any more. He had hoped that the melonpan would suffice for his offering, but apparently he had guessed wrong.
So, with no hope of salvation, the boy wound up at his favorite little shop. Having taken a seat upon the counter he placed his order, and idly waited for his food. From the corner of his eye he could see a strange man with multiple swords swaying back and forth in his chair, but he wouldn't really pay him any mind.
"Here you go kid," the man behind the counter would say as he placed a small sushi platter infront of him.
"T-thank you...," he would say weakly to the man. Looking down at the platter the tears that had been threatening to break free began to well up on the corners of his eyes. He tried to hold them back, but he didn't have the strength to do so anymore. He couldn't take all of this any more. He couldn't fight it. So just like that, he broke down. Pushing the platter away from him he dropped his head down on the counter, sobbing loudly.
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