[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/6MAMeEQ.png
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[center] Shirogane Momiji, City(???) Ghetto[/center]

[center][@Ithradine][@Not Fungus][@Guy0fV4lor][/center]


Ahh…

Wandering amidst the moaning voices endlessly before her, gazing endlessly at the tears, and moving her useless hands as best she could. 

As if struggling through a deep mist

As if writhing in the midst of a bad dream.

That time … that place 3 years ago. Though time had passed, Momiji felt as if she had not moved from her frightened self, desensitized to what was before her. She could not even cry at her family’s funeral. The scared girl who retreated into herself. Into the passion that her father had drilled into her all these years. 

She couldn’t stop. 

She wouldn’t stop.

Stopping would mean abandoning her family further. 

Momiji’s memories were tender fragments; countless memories draped in red and black hues. She could not remember the events of that day, though she could only live through its aftermath. She’d always try to avert her gaze from them, but today she saw them and the feelings that came along with it. 

And try as she might avoid gazing upon these memories, she couldn’t help but remember them when she was all alone. Like she should have been on that train returning home from a well-earned win. 

Momiji wiped away the sleep from her eyes. She was incredibly tired. Overwhelmingly so. As if she had woke up from a long, deep sleep. 

[color=0072bc][i]“Why is this person yelling? Why are there so many foreigners around here?”[/i][/color] Momiji thought to herself in her groggy state. She could not remember how or why she was here. The architecture did not remind her of anywhere she had ever been, though Momiji was always a city girl who grew up in a suburb off the side of a major city. 

Even so, though these houses did seem slogged together, these houses did not look like they were Japanese. If fact, she recalled a memory of watching a western-theme show on the television as a child, side by side with her brother as they fought over who would get to be the hero when they played pretend later. 

[color=0072bc][i]“Did I get off at the wrong stop? Where am I?”[/i][/color] Momiji inquired under her breath, not really sure as to what was occurring. For someone like her who had not the slightest idea where she was, nor the frame of reference to understand where she was, she was simply confused. She simply remembered boarding the train heading towards downtown where she would transfer at the station and head back to her uncle's house, closing her eyes for a simple moment before the transfer, then opening them once again to see a completely different scene before her. 

She felt as though something was wrong; that something was terribly wrong. However, she could not put her finger on the nature of this feeling. Of course, someone who woke up from what they presumed to be a nap on the subway, only to find herself in a strange setting, would likely feel that there was something terrible going on here. 

Though these strange foreigners who were yelling were, in fact, strange, she had her bokken with her, wrapped in a protective cloth to prevent it from the weather and from scratching it outside of her training. Hanging off the drawn string that sealed the cloth over the wood was a small horse mascot that seemed all the rage with the kids; perhaps a bit childish to the cool beauty that one might expect. However, she did not believe that would be necessary. She would rather leave before things became violent. 

She didn't want to be in the situation of being around angry, presumably violent foreigners. Sticking to the wall and standing out by her merit alone was the creed to which what Momiji lived by. She was not a people person by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, despite participating in sports and clubs, they were merely a means to advance her goal. The social aspect was irrelevant to her. 

[color=0072bc]“I don’t see why I would owe you my name when you did nothing to earn it,”[/color] Momiji coldly told the aggressive individual. [color=0072bc]“It is customary that one would grant there own name before demanding it of another. Unless you were not taught manners. I don't have time for this matter.”[/color]

Perhaps to some, it would seem that she was intimidating the man. However, she simply did not wish to speak with someone she had only just met and was actively “hostile-sounding”. She owed this individual no favors, and she felt this would lead to the path of letting her go home and study.

...Study? 

[color=0072bc][i]'Wait, did I leave my bag on the train!?!'[/i][/color]

This thought froze her face into a deep scowl that one might misinterpret as contempt.