Hoppípolla [Ayame~]
Mar 3, 2015 2:22:56 GMT -7
Post by | Satoru Takagi | 悟高木 on Mar 3, 2015 2:22:56 GMT -7
[OOC: Title reference, for your listening pleasure. The video is a joy to watch, too. And will possibly reveal the significance (read: translation) of the title. Ha. Also, I had *far* too much fun writing this, I am so sorry.]
[enter]
[/i] spring day in Kumogakure no Sato: the clouds above were solid as a wall, and painted with all the hues of the known greyscale; the occasional throaty rumble of thunder could be felt, as much as heard, throughout the lies of the village; puddles of water had collected in any low-lying place they could, threatening the toes of those who braved the wind-haggard streets. Yes, a day most resplendent in its insurmountable beauty - at least, to the mind of a certain young shinobi. One who found himself out wandering the lanes and alleys of the markets, in spite of - or perhaps in gracious light of - the weather. His usually poofy mop of white hair was making a show of exemplifying that second adjective, being matted round about his narrow face and ears and neck in rather stringy, damp clumps as he made his way along, passing a shop which had apparently elected not to open today on account of the glorious weather. Such a shame, too; they were clearly going to miss out on a good young man's honest business. What if he'd wanted a basket of fruit?
"Honestly, they'd probably hand me a mirror," he muttered to himself darkly, crestfallen as he beheld the closed-up windows and doors. Who closed shop just because the morning had borne witness to a particularly vivacious thunderstorm? Moreover, who kept shop closed when the storm had so clearly blown over before lunch? The little peal of earth-shuddering thunder here or there didn't mean anything; the rain had stopped falling, and that was all that mattered. Wasn't it? Sighing to himself, he folded his robe a bit tighter against a particularly cool breeze and sauntered off, wandering towards the edges of the markets at a shambling, aimless sort of gait. He cast an icy blue gaze skyward, taking in the ripples and rumples over the grey mass overhead and letting his thoughts wander as lackadaisically as his feet. His light-grey cloak - matching that cloud, the one just there, rather splendidly - gave another shudder as the wind shifted directions, whipping around his narrow frame as he moseyed along. The Kumo sygil emblazoned in sky blue upon the back of said cloak had taken a bit of a darker, more muted tone as it grew progressively more and more wet with his wandering. Lack of rainfall be damned.
He was rattled from his thoughts as his right foot fell into a pool of chilly water. A shiver went right up him, though most would be hard pressed to tell through the voluminous folds of his cloak. He paused mid-stride as though considering something, then took a half-step backwards, just enough to remove the foot from the offending puddle. And such an offence it was, to have dared soak his toes so! Nevermind the fact that was mulling about on a rainy day (it really had stopped raining earlier!) without any shoes on; nevermind it all to damnation! What right had such a lowly puddle to lay claim to his toes? He cast a glance back up the way behind him, surely looking out for anyone who could have seen the transgression take place. He cast a similar glance along the way before him, surely hoping to find a soul to help him in this time of desperation. He cast two further prying glances to either side, scanning the windows of the few shops still around at this end of the district's lies, clearly hoping to find someone to lend him support!
And, upon laying his eyes upon not a single soul, it was decided. He had no other choice in the matter. His thin lips broke into a wide, toothy grin; his brows lifted in glee; he spread his arms wide, flinging the cloak open to reveal just how narrow that wind-swept, water-logged frame really was in its black muscle-shirt and pants. A strange sound tore itself from his throat, some perturbed mix of gleeful, childish innocence and a near-hungry appreciation for his moment of retribution: a giggle. He crouched slightly at the knees, arms still out and flexed upwards like a musclebound power-lifter in full form. He cast one more cursory glance over his shoulder - surely just making sure no one had come to lend their aid at the last moment - and then, without any other option left to him, he leapt into action. Quite literally.
A single bound, ridiculously high into the air, his arms and legs straightening out opposite each other for surely no other purpose than vengeful effect, and came crash down feet-first into the puddle. He landed into a full crouch, fingers brushing the ground as water exploded all round about him, but only for an instant, as he was airborne again before one could scarce blink. Before the first drops of water had splashed to the sides, his feet came back down to the offending puddle. Again and again he stomped and thrashed at it, all the while giggling like the wrath-torn, vengeful maniac the puddle's egregious offence had made of him.
Or perhaps he was just enjoying himself? It was hard to say, really. It was such a beautiful day, after all.[/ul][/div][/font]
[enter]
"Honestly, they'd probably hand me a mirror," he muttered to himself darkly, crestfallen as he beheld the closed-up windows and doors. Who closed shop just because the morning had borne witness to a particularly vivacious thunderstorm? Moreover, who kept shop closed when the storm had so clearly blown over before lunch? The little peal of earth-shuddering thunder here or there didn't mean anything; the rain had stopped falling, and that was all that mattered. Wasn't it? Sighing to himself, he folded his robe a bit tighter against a particularly cool breeze and sauntered off, wandering towards the edges of the markets at a shambling, aimless sort of gait. He cast an icy blue gaze skyward, taking in the ripples and rumples over the grey mass overhead and letting his thoughts wander as lackadaisically as his feet. His light-grey cloak - matching that cloud, the one just there, rather splendidly - gave another shudder as the wind shifted directions, whipping around his narrow frame as he moseyed along. The Kumo sygil emblazoned in sky blue upon the back of said cloak had taken a bit of a darker, more muted tone as it grew progressively more and more wet with his wandering. Lack of rainfall be damned.
He was rattled from his thoughts as his right foot fell into a pool of chilly water. A shiver went right up him, though most would be hard pressed to tell through the voluminous folds of his cloak. He paused mid-stride as though considering something, then took a half-step backwards, just enough to remove the foot from the offending puddle. And such an offence it was, to have dared soak his toes so! Nevermind the fact that was mulling about on a rainy day (it really had stopped raining earlier!) without any shoes on; nevermind it all to damnation! What right had such a lowly puddle to lay claim to his toes? He cast a glance back up the way behind him, surely looking out for anyone who could have seen the transgression take place. He cast a similar glance along the way before him, surely hoping to find a soul to help him in this time of desperation. He cast two further prying glances to either side, scanning the windows of the few shops still around at this end of the district's lies, clearly hoping to find someone to lend him support!
And, upon laying his eyes upon not a single soul, it was decided. He had no other choice in the matter. His thin lips broke into a wide, toothy grin; his brows lifted in glee; he spread his arms wide, flinging the cloak open to reveal just how narrow that wind-swept, water-logged frame really was in its black muscle-shirt and pants. A strange sound tore itself from his throat, some perturbed mix of gleeful, childish innocence and a near-hungry appreciation for his moment of retribution: a giggle. He crouched slightly at the knees, arms still out and flexed upwards like a musclebound power-lifter in full form. He cast one more cursory glance over his shoulder - surely just making sure no one had come to lend their aid at the last moment - and then, without any other option left to him, he leapt into action. Quite literally.
A single bound, ridiculously high into the air, his arms and legs straightening out opposite each other for surely no other purpose than vengeful effect, and came crash down feet-first into the puddle. He landed into a full crouch, fingers brushing the ground as water exploded all round about him, but only for an instant, as he was airborne again before one could scarce blink. Before the first drops of water had splashed to the sides, his feet came back down to the offending puddle. Again and again he stomped and thrashed at it, all the while giggling like the wrath-torn, vengeful maniac the puddle's egregious offence had made of him.
Or perhaps he was just enjoying himself? It was hard to say, really. It was such a beautiful day, after all.[/ul][/div][/font]