Description: Ryouhara, in his ongoing investigation of NESTS, has a renewed interest in the Young Fighters Community Center following his unlikely defeat at the hands of Alma Towazu. There, he finds a rather peculiar child-like sage. And more children than he knows what to do with. Interrogation will be troublesome in such an atmosphere.
It has been many a day since Kula Diamond came to deliver a very personal message from NESTS to the Young Fighters' Community Center. Said message came along with an absolutely horrific trail of physical destruction thanks to her intense powers... and her apt displays of them. The reception desk -- just one in a line of many destroyed in this sort of affair -- was a total wash, as were a pair of bulletin boards, one of the front doors, some wall plaster, and cracks in the ceiling and floor from spears of ice and other such miscellany. There was even a broken drinking glass on the floor: Frei's cup of milk, which was spilled. Needless to say he didn't cry over it much.
Repairs have been going apace, all things considered; the nice thing about the YFCC is that the people who frequent it are, generally speaking, the types who will pitch in when this sort of thing requires doing. Of course, some of the work is beyond their proverbial reach, but the initial stuff went by in a snap, with of all people, seeming layabout Frei taking the lead. He made cookies, talked with everyone, and seemed quite jovial all around; no visible change. But inside, the battle with the ice user and the many things both she and Mizuki had to say during it weigh heavily on his mind. The more serious Frei that has emerged, in the past few months, roils beneath the surface, the hidden depths of an iceberg sliding through otherwise placid waters.
This afternoon finds Frei at work on the bulletin boards, after bidding goodbye to the contractors working on the ceiling. There's a lot to do with such things: hanging them properly, putting in tacks, arranging the posters. It's stupid, silly busy work but the young chi sage appears to be taking it relatively seriously... and somewhat uncharacteristically, looking over his shoulder more than he used to, in the direction of the rooms where the students are.
'What if he comes to the center... for the kids?' Mizuki had been talking about Frei's sociopathic younger brother at the time, but the thought still pinballs around inside Frei's head. What about them? What about these people he has decided are under his protection? A protection that, had he been alone against Kula, would have been woefully insufficient?
It's been some time since he last entered the Center. He'd beaten Zach on those grounds quickly and efficiently, with an autocannon mop ninkou that was a little more serious than it looked. That was just a simple matter of his curiosity, if anything, the gathering of data merely to be gathering it. Very little fanfare was made of his entrance there--after all, who would really know anything about a random janitor attack? Some may have had their theories, but..
Stranger things have happened.
That is the problem with hiring unlicensed contractors.
Or at the very least, hiring unlicensed contractor impersonators.
But today is a little different. Today is a day Ryouhara comes to the center not for curiosity, but of necessity. There was someone in Taizhou that defeated him.. someone there who overcame his ideal with one of his own. After he healed, he only had to look at it once to determine the source of that man's strength. His intelligence data gathered for the area indicated an unusual level of engagement near and around the center lately.
Even though it was long ago, Seishirou can still scent finely the fragments of old mayhem on the wind as he entered. It is a familiar odor, coming from the clear pure air of civilization as he has.
Though his haori is pure white, few will initially and necessarily pay him any mind entering the complex. There is a force of loneliness about the Ryouhara leader that is enforced. For many outside of the fighting mind that he possesses, to see that which cannot be defined and that which cannot exist is .. difficult. But Seishirou knows whom he is looking for. Any of a number of people, mentally noted, believed to be connected more deeply with the organization than by youthful neccessity alone...
'hay mister.'
He glances to his left. A child has come to him, a young Japanese boy speaking in thick Kansai-ben. It would seem loneliness can repulse some. And attract others still.
'can I hold ya sword? o.o'
His fingertips gently guide him away from the hilt of Senchakiri.
Ryouhara, briefly.. smiles at the youth.
A heartbeat later, with not more than that gentle smile and glance in tune to the pulse of air, is the youth sleeping where he stands. Ryouhara leaves him at a seat as he passes, to approach the chi sage hanging bulletin boards. ".... the name is Frei, isn't it ...." he asks quietly, coming within just earshot but not approaching any closer. But while he had a smile for the other child, he has nothing for Frei. Not as of yet.
The visitor in white may feel, at first, that he's abandoned one child for another. The redhead turns at the sound of his name, an unusual enough figure in Japan with his green eyes and high, freckled cheeks; he also has a pair of pushpins delicately balanced between his teeth, and after a few soundless blinks of surprise he pulls them out and turns, pushing both into the corkboard with an almost comically exaggerated "ngh!" of effort, before giving both a satisfied nod and turning to examine this visitor more closely.
If he is suspicious, it doesn't show; the face is as guileless and open as ever, the body language relaxed and expansive. His clothing is as Western as his features: a simple hunter green cotton shirt, a bit too large, over denim shorts and leather sandals with what seem to be an endless number of straps. Red bangs fall to the sides of his face rather than in his eyes, revealing the small scar on his right temple as well. But Seishirou, who doubtless knows to look for this sort of thing, can likely sense the seismic rumbling of tension just under the skin. It's not as if the friendliness is a front; rather, it's that Frei appears to be making a concerted effort to keep it up despite whatever is churning through his brain.
"That is indeed a full 25% of my full name," he says evenly, eyes darting for a second to the sword at Sei's side for just a moment and then coming back to his face. The friendly expression goes curious for a moment; while the young sage lacks Alma's more supernatural sense of presence and aura, he *is* somewhat... 'attuned', for lack of a better word. It's not as if he knows Sei's identity or intentions, but rather that he has... well, presence. It's not typical of the people in this center, but then again, neither was the curious Englishwoman who visited one of his classes many weeks ago. It's not as if the YFCC staff are unknowns in the fighting world.
"You're dressed a little traditionally," he offers, as a point of conversation. A haori is certainly old school by Japanese standards; add the sword, and it's a little dose of Sengoku right here in 2008 AD. "But I like it. I haven't worn any formal Japanese dress since I was very little..." Interesting, that Sei's clothing and sword alone should strike such a reverie in an individual unused to swimming the currents of his own past.
He is indeed clad in the ancient styles. A small concession to the times is made here or there--the sweater he wears hardly smacks of Edo, but the steel plate about the collar does. The glint of the double-looped silver chain that reapces over the plate is a concession to both. The chain itself, nay--but the silver leaf-shaped blade symbol hanging off of it.. well. That much is true. Though the arms at his back is clear and away of Japanese make, the trapezoid blade sitting in that sheath is at the same alien to it.
Regardless and all the same, the bound hakama. The haori. He makes no effort to hide his nature, though Frei's open recognition of it pulls at his attention, pulls at his brow, giving the response of that raised expression and a deadly close look alone.
..Frown.
All in method, Ryouhara approaches, his hands invisible underneath the drape of his sleeves.
There is only one thing he could even say in response. "..... Thank you," is his well thought response, long after a period of time sufficient to nurture discomfort between the two passes. The response, though sincere, still drips bitterness. "I don't know the rest of your name," he explains quietly. ".. But that much shouldn't be necessary. Not yet."
After all, if he'd wanted to know.. the simplest things are the best things to research first. As too are they to ask, so when Seishirou moves past the subject, his voice is not entirely hostile. It is in fact the opposite. There is nothing at all in his voice to indicate any feeling at all, the momentary bitterness triggered by god-knows-what long gone. If this one knows the value of names, one in particular should stand out for him.
"I've come at the urge of Alma Towazu," he lies whitely.
"...Do you know who I am?" he asks, first.
Well, there's a loaded statement, one that actually tugs the corners of Frei's mouth into an interesting smile. 'I've come at the urge of Alma Towazu'... yeah, you and about five hojillion other strays and waifs who need exactly what the YFCC can provide. It's not cynical amusement -- after all, other than modelling and fighting this is effectively Alma's job -- but there is a certain wry tone to it, a dryness in the chuckle as Frei walks past the Ryouhara ninja toward the new reception desk and breaks it in by clearing some space and sitting on top of it. He presses his hands down onto the wood -- nice, polished stuff; they can afford it -- and crosses one calf over the other, regarding this curious visitor with an interested tilt of the head.
"Daena Tsukitomi-Renard," he supplies, with a shrug. "The middle name was my father's first name, the rest is easy enough to figure out." He pauses for a second, realizing that this is the first time he's said Daena Renard's name out loud in a very long while, as if he'd forgotten where his middle name came from. "In case it becomes necessary. What's a trip to Google between friends?"
Something is off about this scenario, something... unclear. 'Menace' is actually not hard to detect; most fighters learn very early on to develop a sixth sense for it, that raising of the hair on the back of your neck, that feeling that the man slurring insults on the bar stool is about to erupt into violence any second (unless it's Tran, in which case it's not sixth sense but common sense). The intent to 'hurt'. But in Kula he couldn't sense it until it was too late, because of her genuine enthusiasm. He can't sense it in this person either, but for a different and unknown reason.
But still, he speaks. "Do I know you? You're Japanese, you carry a sword. You were sent here by Alma. But to be honest, none of those three things is as unique as you might think. People of all sorts, with all sorts of intentions come here all the time, for... whatever reasons." The red-haired head tilts to the side somewhat, and Frei's gaze drifts up and out, as if he were listening to some far-off piece of music. "But there is something familiar about you, maybe."
"Frei. Daena Tsukitomi-Renard," Ryouhara recites, eyes following the childlike sage as he wanders past him. Already the atmosphere of the center was beginning to set in. There was a certain vein that separated the ranking caste from the rank and file in any organization. A certain length and breadth of idealism that is shared communally amongst all of the ruling class of that organization. Anyone can serve according to the orders of another. But relative few can issue order according to the ideals of the overall group.
Though the Community Center clearly did not adhere to the command chain military and operations organizations would, Ryouhara could taste the idealism off Frei as he passes, and the friendliness settles into his bones like a sad saccharine chill. If he didn't know any better, Frei could have easily been a captain of this particular group, if such a title existed.
For the most part, Ryouhara treats Frei distantly, his glance faraway and seeming to settle on the middle distance between them for a moment as he takes his perch. A hand lifts, draping silk over his mouth as he stifles a cough, revealing the nimble but work-worn fingers of an artisan of some sort. He answers quickly, almost fast enough on the tail end of Frei's last words to be considered interruption. "Ryouhara Seishirou," he mentions, quickly. Whether or not the name rings any bells is not really part of his interest now. "There is no reason to know any more than that for now."
"Do you think I believe I am unique? ... nai." Why else do you imagine he'd ask Frei directly? "It is already expected that there have been a thousand Japanese walking through that door as I have now. That is the expectation. And it is the hope." Uniquity was not something the shinobi values. "...But. That does not change the fact that I am going to ask you a few questions--"
Seishirou's sleeve is tugged again.
"HEY FUZZ WHO'S THE GOOF TROOP?" an urban with a cowlick demands of Frei.
Ryouhara twitches.
This time he doesn't bother to guide the sleeping youth anywhere, holding him up only by the collar of his shirt. He picks up all 42 lbs of the child with one hand and presses him at Frei with all the urgency of someone handing over a puppy who has just peed on his foot. He seems to have been knocked out with something similar to a flash fever, already rapidly cooling.
"... And you will not lie to me," he finishes.
"Haaaaa..." Frei says, exhaling slowly. Ryouhara... Seishirou. No, not necessarily a name that's been whispered at the corner of Frei's ears or anything of the sort, but it is one he recognizes. After all, Sei has had more than one high-profile run-in on Saturday Night Fight, particularly for someone like Frei who pays attention to the fights of his friends... people like Sakura Kasugano, for example, that the ninja has fought before in public. "*That* Seishirou, huh..." The emphasis exists, and is perhaps laden with something, but it's not obvious distaste or distrust.
Smiling somewhat, the monk leans back a little at Sei's insistence that he's not unique, tilting his head entirely to the other side for a moment. "Actually, I meant that if the only thing I could use to identify you was 'Alma sent me', you'd need to give me a little more detail, but I think I know who you are n--" And this is when yet another YFCC student with more gusto than brains decides to get involved. The words that come out of his mouth make the default polite Frei cringe, and he's about to open his mouth and apologize to Sei on the Center's behalf when everything, as it were, goes to hell.
He's already off the desk and moving by the time Sei is even thinking of passing the boy to him, and catches him with an ease that his somewhat diminutive frame wouldn't suggest is possible. Green eyes arc an electric gaze at the ninja for a furtive moment before Frei carries the unconscious, if annoying, kid to a nearby bench and lays him down on it. Then, rather oddly, he walks over to a nearby drinking fountain, dabs some water on his fingers, and then stalks back, painting a brief line across the boy's forehead. Useful? Maybe, but chi-created ice wouldn't hold, whereas chi-chilled water would.
Finally, he walks back to the desk as if nothing had happened, and seats himself on it much as he was before. But when he speaks, his tone is as close to 'irascible' as Frei is ever going to get: huskier than normal, somewhat clipped. "I'm not in the business of lying as a matter of personal principle," he says calmly. "But you're going to be fortunate to get anything more than a squeak out of me if you pull a trick like that on a kid here again."
He stares, intently watching Frei as he catches the child, carrying him away and over to a bench. Not for want of attention at all, Frei's actions enjoy a certain amount of analysis measured out in the slick blinks of the Ryouhara scion, studying him over the standing banded collar of his neo-haori. He says nothing, electing instead to measure out the intent of the technique that Frei uses. A minor trick like that still takes a measure of control to avoid giving the child a skullfreeze, not to mention the ability to discern just what it was he did and in what measure to counter it at all. That much makes it clear to him that Frei is at least as skilled with chi as say, his apprentice, if not more.
Ryouhara ambiently listens to Frei's calm words as he steps past him, the curved sharp eyes of a hawk following him with not a single other movement than the favor of that eye alone to accompany it. He is still, simply. He watches him, listens. But his eyes hood shut momentarily as he speaks, still motionless. "Please," he follows on Frei's word. A genuine sincerity there in his ask, fleeting and mild, begs Frei..
"Do not make the mistake of assuming that my charity and respect is comparible in the slightest to weakness."
It is out of respect for Alma Towazu alone that he did not simply put everyone under here to talk to Frei privately, as he had before. It is out of further respect for meeting this Tsukitomi-Renard that he does not do it out of spite. He is not here today to start a war.
"Answer, and I'll be on my way."
His eyes look around.
"Your involvement is in many of my reports. You are still making repairs to damages long since made. By whom..?"
In contrast to the ninja's sharp, piercing gaze, his conversational partner is all smooth edges, soft lines. His expression is a sort of bemused curiosity, as if Seishirou has said something unintentionally funny, or hard to understand. One freckled cheek is nestled in a palm, elbow leaning on the thigh below it. "I didn't say anything about your relative power," Frei says evenly. "But these children are under my protection. Your ability may be greater than mine but in terms of my keeping them from harm, it's irrelevant."
As far as he's concerned, however, that's all that need be said on the subject, because he changes it... or appears as if he will, at any rate, by turning and glancing at the evident signs of repair in the ceiling and on the walls with a distracted expression. "It seems like we're always under repair for one thing or another..." And it's true, at least. Frei's not the only person who's been attacked here, and the rogues gallery of people who've decided to give it a shot is impressive, extending well beyond NESTS. But to think that this random stranger, with his impressive if subtle ability, is here to talk about past occurances seems unlikely. It could only be the latest assault the draws him out. But...
Frei doesn't look directly at Seishirou as he responds, instead gripping his opposite elbow with one hand and glancing off toward the cafeteria, where a few students are chatting away amicably and eating... cookies he baked, in fact, which was how the attack in question started in the first place. "A number of people," is the best answer he can give. "I'm short on facts, and even if I weren't, you have to understand that giving that sort of information to a stranger..." And here he turns to Sei, smiling genuinely. "It could only compound the problem. You know? Besides... you sound like you already know the answer."
"The world is simpler than you think it to be."
An odd thing to be said by a shinobi, but the logic is entirely straightforward for him. "You say that. But your actions speak different words to me... a belief that an ideal without comensurate ability will prevail in any situation, is the misguided thought of a novice. Still... you're right. You're just wrong. Do you honestly believe there is anything to protect the children from? ...If so, you misunderstand."
"I am protecting the children more surely than you ever could."
The haori shifts as Seishirou turns, following Frei's glance.
"But I'm not here for anything like _that_..." he specifies, stepping closer. "The information is all that is necessary. Incidental observation simply by working in the same establishment means that professing ignorance is also.." he frowns. "... just plain silly." A frown, short-lived.
"It's not a situation that can be controlled so easily. Unless you want to test the true extent of your own ability when I move to take you with me and ply the information out of you at leisure. Coyness is ill advised. I'm sure you can think up some things that could be of use.. after all, yes?"
Seishirou watches Frei impassive, but regardless intent. It seems as if he plays a game. Not one to intimidate Frei--truth told, there is no motion on his part at all, nothing that would suggest that he is plying to scare the sage at all. That would be useless. However, when Seishirou speaks, it is with a kind of wide-eyed capriciousness, a hawk's glance. It is almost innocence. It suggests that Seishirou could care less if Frei is concerned or not, evident in his dismissal of the children. HE is simply telling truth in as forward a manner as possible.
"You can start," Seishirou helpfully adds, a tint of darkless coloring his voice, "by telling me just what you believe I already know."
"You're... confident," the monk says softly, eyes shut. It's a strange quirk he has, briefly closing his eyes during a conversation; others might consider it dismissive. Frei himself considers it a moment of faith. Anything can happen while your eyes are closed. A wallet taken... a life taken. A cut purse or a cut throat. Either way, he finds taking a moment to say, 'I don't need to see you', is in his eyes a gesture of... well, trust. "But I think you're wrong about me, and I think... I disagree with you."
'An ideal without commensurate ability will prevail in any situation.' In laymen's terms, if you believe, it will happen regardless of actual reality, in spite of the facts. It's not necessarily a cornerstone of Frei's belief system. To say he thinks it true is false. But there is an impulse... the one that put Ayame's blade to his own throat. The one that threw him in front of Kula's attack on Mizuki. The one that invited his own brother to slit his throat if it would help. "Perspective," he finally says, letting that stream of thought divert and trail off, "is important. An old lady's face on one side, a vase on the other..."
He slides off the table, arms brushing out to his sides until he brings them over his head, linking his fingers together, pushing them up in a ragged arch. If Sei is the raptor, Frei is the yawning cat, retiring in the sunbeam. "And I don't like the 'or...' hidden in that sentence," he says quietly. Not intensely, simply... quietly. "If you plan to torture me, I'd say kill me now and get it over with, anyway. Torture isn't a very effective interrogation technique, from my point of view."
He pauses for a moment, then looks at the door, and outwards. How many have walked through with intentions like this? How many more will, once this man is gone? "The 'new hires'," he says at last, quote marks evident in his voice. "People interested in them... or one of them, anyway. The group that can't figure out voice mail, apparently. People who leave messages in the most irritating way possible."
Seishirou blinks slowly. He shares Frei's penchant to simply close his eyes and let what will be, be. Unfortunately, it is for a different reason entirely. Visualizing the world as it should be -- in his own eyes -- is a tiresome thing, requiring a significant sum of his uncommon thought. If there is one thing Ryouhara is abundant in, it is uncommon thought. But he does not seem offended in the slightest at Frei's rampant catting. There is a difference between notable antagony and simple eccentricities of behavior.
Ryouhara and Tsukitomi both skirt that line.
Frei's train of thought is avidly followed by the heir to the Ryouhara legacy and if only for a blissful moment, he is silent. What Frei dislikes seems to be noted by him, even. But it's the latter draws his attentino more than most, prompting a shift in the shinobi, first a jostle, then finally a critical turn of the head to stare down the cat over a shoulder with those eyes darker than night, narrowed suspiciously. His question, though similarly suspect, is simplistic. "....Have you ever tortured anyone to know?"
His attention shifts seamlessly.
"New hires..?" he asks simply.
He could venture guesses.
But he can do that by himself.
Wasting time is not his interest.
The answer to one question is easy, and apparently a source of some amusement, though his voice lacks the sarcastic edge that suggests he is kidding when he says: "Oh, yes. I have."
Of course, he *has* tortured someone to get him/her to do something: himself.
It didn't work.
For some reason the sage's footsteps find him walking between someone and the rest of the Center. When Kula arrived and became belligerent, it was purposeful and directed: the children are 'here', you are 'there', I am *here*. With Seishirou it's instinctive, unconscious; he doesn't know he's doing it. But he's doing it. He's uncomfortable, though it only shows a little bit. Perhaps because he doesn't like revealing other people's secrets. He was reluctant to tell even Mizuki about K' and what Frei himself knew, even though at the time the knowledge might have helped save the girl pain and distress. It's not his place, Frei decided long ago, to inform. But he can say what anyone might know, if they were watching long enough.
The fingers are still locked but the arch moves 90 degrees; rather than pushing overhead Frei turns it inside-out and puts his arms forward, pushing out. One 'waking up', one 'settling in'. "K'... and Maxima," he adds. Anyone who's been to the Center in the past year knows their names, or could have found out. The YFCC is a public institution, after all.
Green eyes turn to regard Seishirou's own for a moment, judging his response to all this. What should he say? That not only the NESTS fugitive, but his opposite number possess an ability even Frei doesn't completely understand? That the arrival of K' and Maxima heralded suspicious goings on? Better, in the end, to let Seishirou say it, and thus he simply adds, "They're not the first people to stay here that have drawn outside attention... but perhaps they're the most frequent."
Seishirou doesn't seem surprised or affronted by Frei's admission. Frei is merely the subject of his appraisal for a long time, longer than should rightfully be comfortable by any other. There is no reason to be surprised. He asked honestly, after all. His intrigue is mild, but placable. He lifts a hand, brushing jet black lengths of bang from his view, a glint seen from his hand before it lowers and disappears into his sleeve once again.
"K'." The first name is known. "And Maxima?"
The second was not.
That's something he'll find out later. "That man has a legacy of endangering those around him with his mere presence," Sesihirou observes blandly. "A burden regrettably bore. He has a natural ability beyond that of most here. But he will need to increase that ability exponentially. If he is attracting attention... well."
"NESTS is a terrible thing to be recognized by.."
Uttering the word, Ryouhara seems satisfied by that much alone, turning that Ryouhara kamon at his back to Frei and creating a breadth of 'comfortable distance'between the two. IT is perhaps in recognition of that movement Frei made earlier. "... And a person who wishes to protect everyone here would do to increase their own ability as well." He looks up at the lights above, everpresent shadow momentarily retreating from his face. "...This area will be under my observation. I will tell you this once and only once."
"In that watch, it will not be acceptable if you interfere. You are to tell no one I was here." A simple egotism? Precaution? "... If you can obey that much, there will be no problems."
There's a pause, and then Frei lets out a long breath. He's actually relieved, if only because Sei has inadvertently given him the green light to mention the things that are on his mind. He knows the name NESTS, which is a good start; he recognizes that K' has some sort of ability that others don't, which is an even better start. Nobody in the Center, except perhaps K' himself, knows that Frei knows these things, with the exception of Mizuki's introduction to NESTS thanks to Kula's attack. He's held back for the fugitive's sake, not wanting to accidentally compound his problems. Who knows who might turn out to be a Kula or a Diana, people showing up inexplicably and seeking to do harm that isn't easily noticeable?
Deep down, however, the young sage is a trusting sort.
"The other, the big one... they're friends. But he's not been around. Maybe he has something else to do..." Frei trails off thoughtfully, having not given Maxima's absence much thought one way or the other. After all, K''s problems are more... immediate. Another pause, and then Frei half turns, holding out one hand, palm up; a ball of scarlet flame flickers there, effortlessly called into being, its conjured light illuminating the corners of his face. "And as for 'ability', I know the difference between that and this." A somewhat bizarre statement, but one that he presumes Seishirou will get the gist of. "Of course, he's not the only one. He has an opposite number, after all." A pause, before Frei trains his eyes to the ceiling in consideration. "I wonder if *he* knows that. He probably does."
As quickly as it arrived, the fire vanishes, and Frei's hand comes up to chest level, palm down on his own sternum, eyes closed. "You can watch as long as you like, do whatever you wish. It's that kind of world, after all. But..." The green eyes open, and they are... both like and unlike Alma's. They lack that sense of 'flame,' the spark of passion. For all his mercurial moods, Frei is not given to surfeits of emotion, even in the most troubled times. It is, rather, a surety; that what he is about to say will happen. "Whatever events come, I'll do as my feelings dictate... consequences or not."
The difference is not lost. Seishirou has confirmed many of his own suspicions through Frei in but a few moments of discussion, but there is no fire in Frei's eye. Nothing but insistence in his word. A conviction, if you will, of belief. Misguided though those conclusions may be, Ryouhara is hardly here to have a rousing debate with Frei. The connection of that man to 'K'' has been observed prior. And K's connection to the YFCC is now cemented. That will make this a little easier for him in the long run.
Ryouhara seems almost amused by the sage.
"Do as your feelings desire," he agrees, uncaring. "Someone who does not exist is not threatened by the cartel overmuch. But an idea revealed can endanger you."
His passage is as a ghost, after all.
White silk winds through the air as Ryouhara steps away from Tsukitomi-Renard. "The opposite number of K'... pfuh," he spits, derisively. "Troublesome thing. There's nothing you can tell me about /her/." Surprisingly annoyed for someone who barely registers as a human, Seishirou passes the still-snoozing youth on his way out. There is no more farewell other than a simple, "Watch yourselves."
"You'll need to live long enough to tell me about what you know about torment...."
He sure does seem to know a lot. And he sure does seem to enjoy talking. It's not as if Frei *dislikes* Seishirou. The number of people he actively dislikes numbers fewer than 10 and generally speaking requires crimes against humanity that not even this ninja has been able to perpetrate. And even then, the sage lives by a particular creed: no good so holy it's beyond reproach, no evil so terrible it's beyond redemption. If anything, the ninja's presence has left Frei... amused? Perhaps too strong a word, even then.
As the haori-wearing Ryouhara prepares to leave, Frei walks over and sits back on the desk, again sinking an elbow into his thigh and putting his chin in his palm. "Just in case, I'll give you a freebie," he says genially. His other hand comes up, an index finger pointed at his own head. "The truth is, there's no 'torment' from outside that can ever match what humans are able to do to themselves."
And with that, he gives a little wave, and gets back to the books on the desk... though his attention, after all this, is devoted to more than what's simply on the pages.
His attention is attracted for only a moment at that promise.
"..Saa," he agrees quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the sleeve of his haori in a surprisingly childlike gesture for someone as dead serious as the last of the Ryouhara clan. "... I wonder what will happen then," he asks of no one in particular, "when humans are made to fight themselves?"
His sleeves cast high, and then the shinobi vanishes at the door without further trace.
Log created on 03:44:27 08/18/2008 by Seishirou, and last modified on 00:50:38 08/24/2008.