IC INBOX: INUGAMI

[underlined]

“Uh, hello. You've reached Keisuke... I’m sorry, but I’m not able to pick up right now. Leave me a message and I'll try to call back. Um... thanks, bye.”

[VOICE CALL, TEXT MESSAGING, AND PHOTO SHARING IS ENABLED ON THIS CELL PHONE.]

Comments

I THOUGHT I TAGGED THIS IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT AAAAA

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[N - No, shush... he will never tell... it's too shameful.

Used to a world with a much more sluggish, slogging pace, Yamamoto's fever pitch of energy and good cheer was something he was thoroughly unprepared for. Not that he didn't enjoy it, though; it was a little glaring, like looking too closely towards the sun, but there was something exciting in the risk of that. It was a challenge, something which took him out of his comfort zone, and he felt like he needed stuff like that. This school might be a mystery, even months into it, but it was a good learning opportunity.]

I - guess that's true... [He knows it is—it wasn't just luck that carried Akira through all those Bl@ster fights, even that Igura match—but...] I'm not... really good at that, though, so I always figure...

[He's just running off of luck. Luck which would run out one day, inevitably.

It's strange he doesn't even know what the weapon was made out of. Is that even safe, to wield something you didn't fully understand? Keisuke determines not to judge him on that, instead handing the weapon back over once Yamamoto offers open palms.

Keisuke's eyes widen at his question. That probably answers that question.]

Eh - what? Really?

[And turning a wooden blade into a metal one wasn't what he called him here for? What the hell, Yamamoto.]

Um, yeah. S - sure... [It's his turn to be a little sheepish now, a little nervous at what he might do, but... he wouldn't hurt him, right? They're friends now, and Yamamoto had always seemed good-natured, so... time to wait and see.]

holds this against u 5ever

[bunt]

Hey, c'mon, no need to be nervous! I'm not going to hurt you or anything.

[ as a precursor to his hands abruptly sparking with scintillant blue flame, he could've given a decent warning beforehand. but there's no helping the gratuitous warmth trilling along his fingers and eating into his palms shortly before drinking into the contours of his blade, burnished and spasmodically aglow.

whatever reaction this incites in keisuke is thrown to the wayside in favor of scaring the living daylights out of his friend as he goes on the rebound, fingers clasping around the hilt, falling into the motion of a propulsive strike just inches away from keisuke's face. and then he wrenches back, shifting his upward swing at the last moment to allow his other hand unfurl to catch the blade, only to repeat the gesture, relying on momentum to keep him from completing the strike. ]

Shigure Soen, fifth offensive form: Samidare.

[ in the ensuing silence after the swing, a gleam of blue flame and yamamoto's viciously bright grin, he lifts the sword clear away from keisuke, allowing it to transfigure back into a wooden sword. ]

So? What'd you think? It really gets the blood pumping, right?! [ yamamoto leans back on his sword like an upright cane, still smiling away with the same manic glee. ] I'd need Kojirou or a good rainstorm to show off some of the flashier ones, but that doesn't mean I couldn't demonstrate them now, if you want. As long as you take responsibility when it comes to fixing up the auditorium with me afterwards, that is.

[ despite his capricious elation, yamamoto's dead serious about that thinly-veiled ultimatum. ]