Howler

•Hagakure•

Those broken tags tho!

@Gowi

WAY TO CALL ME OUT BRAH

Nah, for real. Makin' myself look like a noob.

•Hagakure•

Well Christ on a stick if that didn't take me much longer than I'd hoped. It wouldn't be me working on a character sheet if I didn't lose it entirely at least once and start over from scratch at least twice, but here we are. Let's see if we can rock a Seafood Samurai.

...and if I can get my Goddamn hiders working right!

Edit: There we bloody go. You'd think I'd be better at that by now...

Ibiki

Name
Bokkon Ibiki, The Striking Squid
_{Bokkon - Handwriting, letters written in ink.}

Age
22

Appearance
Ibiki would love to say that he's wildly handsome or rugged. He would like to stand as a pillar of stoic masculinity, ugly muscle ruined by a lifetime of hard work with the humility and wisdom to wear it proudly. This is not, however, at all the case.

Ibiki is...pretty. He certainly doesn't play up the fact, and certainly doesn't take much pride in it, but his attention to hygiene and basic grooming doesn't help what was already a pretty lucky roll at the genetic lottery. His features are slim and angular, with defined if not sharp cheekbones and a tight, strong chin. His lips are soft and small, mortifying though the idea of anyone commenting on them might be, and his eyes large, dark and open. Falling to just below his ears, his inky hair curls just slightly towards his face. Though well toned and surprisingly strong, Ibiki lacks the bulk and muscle of most samurai.

That Ibiki favors softer tones and more subtle patterns similarly doesn't help his cause. It isn't that he's girly, he does after all wear his daisho, but he'd...you know. Make a good girl. If you're into that.

He, of course, is not.

Personality
Bokkon Ibiki is used to responsibility. The second of twins, as far as he's concerned he was born into his brother's mess with the understanding that somehow it was then his sworn duty to clean it up. Ibiki's top ten words are various forms of apologies--when you have a brother like Iwato, that sort of thing just kind of happens. Serious if not somber, straightforward if not idiotic, Ibiki tries very hard to act as he feels a samurai and a man should in all things. He believes sincerely that a man should do what he does with no desire for reward or recognition--that anything worth doing is worth doing for itself. A devoted student and focused learner, he approaches problems and bears down on his swordsmanship with a dedication that borders on sociopathy, partly because it's tremendously easier than admitting he's awkward as hell.

Ibiki has no idea how to deal with people. Always the serious one, always the butt of the jokes, Ibiki is painfully shy and can't quite bring himself to admit it. Iwato might be fun, gregarious, interesting, but Ibiki just...isn't, in the same way, and the fact that he doesn't understand the difference hurts him more than he'll admit. Likeable, yes, in the way that you can like a servant or a butler, but he's far too reserved to make fast friends the way his brother does and he has absolutely no idea how to deal with women. Slow to anger and all too willing to take things literally and stumble his way into a joke, he's just such an easy target that things just happen to him that way.

That isn't, however, to say he's without backbone. Its easy to mistake a sense of duty for a lack of spine, but those that do quickly learn that there are lines you shouldn't push.

History
The second of a pair of identical twins, Bokkon Ibiki got the short end of the stick from day one. It wasn't that his parents didn't love him or loved his brother more, it's just that tradition dictated that the first child inherit title and the second upkeep the family holdings. In Ibiki's case, this meant that his brother Iwato (born two minutes earlier) was slated to uphold the Bokkon family's samurai tradition while Ibiki was expected to...well, learn accounting.

This, of course, would not do.

Ibiki has never wanted anything more than to be a samurai. He dreamed of standing alone against many on some sunlit battlefield, silent in duty and fearsome in purpose. To see his older brother, then, squander the chance he would never have was understandably frustrating for him. To watch him fumble his way through his lessons and half-ass his swordsmanship, then, was understandably insulting. It wasn't until the pair were twelve and Iwato was slated to join the prestigious Kagesame Ryuu kenjutsu dojo in town that Ibiki finally put his foot down. He took up a bokken, challenged his brother to a duel, and wiped the floor with the little brat. At least one of them had been paying attention for his lessons.

And yet, his father refused to change his mind. "Part of being a samurai is upholding tradition", his son infamously remembers him saying, as he sent his good-for-nothing oldest son to one of the finest swordsmanship schools in the Empire and made his second son learn the finer details of Imperial tax law. Life might have been very boring for him had his mother not taken mercy on the poor boy and hired him a proper tutor.

No one had heard of Ika Muchiuchi Ryuu swordsmanship, or the 'Gesokunji' who taught it; what they had heard was that he worked for room and board, which was a low enough entry price for what his mother hoped would be a good thing for her desperately frustrated son. Had she any idea the monster she was creating, she might well have opted out of it.

Ika Muchiuchi Ryuu, or the Lashing Squid style, was a joke for ninety-nine out of a hundred practitioners. It required the kind of focus, accuracy, and flexibility out of the gate that just wasn't feasible. It required boneless fluidity, total-body awareness, and an ability to commit to strikes at frankly preposterous angles. It required accepting that one's respected animal was a damn squid. But once in a blue moon opportunity knocks, and when it did Ibiki opened the doors wide. Even Gesokungi, the last remaining 'master' of the style, couldn't help but stare at the prodigy standing before him. Ibiki took to it like a fish--sorry, squid--to water, and though he didn't shirk his lessons he also went and wore the old man out after each and every one of them. He had a goal, of course, and he intended to see it through.

He was going to kick the shit out of his brother and the whole damn Kagesame school.

At 22, a decade after his training began, Gesokungi declared that he was ready for his final test...and disappeared, leaving behind only a fried squid of the sort one found in the Southern Markets by way of goodbye. Believing this to be a test, that he must go and find his master and prove himself worthy of the final secrets of his esoteric style, Ibiki said his goodbye and apologies and prepared to leave...

After kicking the shit out of the Kagesame school.

What happened after that was sheer bad luck. It turns out that not only was the Kagesame school excellent for breeding swordsmen, it was also excellent at breeding revolutionaries. Ibiki arrived to challenge the senior classmate of the Kagesame school, readied himself for the duel...and was promptly arrested by the five Imperial Officers who arrived on the scene for "the revolutionary swordsman Bokkon Iwato".

"It wasn't me, officer, it was my twin brother" was about as good an excuse as you'd imagine it to be.

Strengths
The Stirking Squid
There are swordsmen, and then there are swordsmen. The kind of prodigies who become wandering legends, war heroes, or feared opponents, and Bokkon Ibiki has all the potential to be one of the latter. Ika Muchiuchi Ryuu kenjutsu focuses on lightning fast slashes and distance games, a monstrously technical style nowhere near as whimsical as its moniker might make it out to be--it is so named because all that a foe of a true master will see is the endless lashing vectors fanning out from their foe like the prey's-eye-view of a striking squid. Having all but mastered the style, Ibiki has numerous ink-and-cephalopod themed strikes and attacks to rely on should specific techniques be required, and alarming prowess outside of that.

For Great Justice!
Ibiki knows what's right and what's wrong. He knows what is honorable and what is not. He knows the code of Bushido, and follows it as best he can. Though he would be the last person to call himself a saint, there is something to be said for that unassailable moral armor and its ability to inspire guilt, irritation, and various other responses in those around him. When it comes to standing up for what's right, however, Ibiki's usually got the Greater Good on his side.

...and taxes.
Having mastered one of the two universal certainties, Ibiki would be remiss if he let the other slide. His education in the Imperial financial system did rub off, and he's actually an embarrassingly competent accountant, seneschal, and head of house. That he'd rather 'run off and play samurai' is a significant irritation of his parents', who were actually quite counting on him taking over from their currently lackluster financier.

Weaknesses
...dames, amirite?
Ibiki is just...clueless when it comes to women. Like most men of 'chivalry' he doesn't have the first idea what most women want and tends to hold them on something of a pedestal, which can be both obnoxious and dangerous depending on the company one keeps. He is the last to suspect duplicity from a woman, the first to find flimsy excuses for poor behavior, and the last to treat them with casual familiarity.

Honor--I Haz It
There are some things a man can walk away from and some things he can't; the downside of living by a code is following it. Though he does his best to be a reasonable and intelligent individual, when it comes down to the wire Ibiki would rather go out fighting than surrender and let a true insult stand. He doesn't cut down every passerby who says something shitty to him, but a direct challenge to his swordsmanship, his master, or those he has sworn to protect just doesn't go unanswered. The irony that he follows a school with such a silly mascot is not lost on him.

Dude Looks Like a Lady!
Straight from the trope, Ibiki's just...pretty. It's awkward. Aside from the swords he wears and the cut of his yukata, a quick look at him probably won't land you the right pronoun. That he's as often as not oblivious to the issue until it comes up directly is...similarly regrettable.

Likes
Street food
Smoking
Snakes
Architecture

Dislikes
Lemon custard
Wooden sandals
Dogs
Heavy clothing

Theme
Caliber

•Hagakure•

Any news on your sheet, @Howler?

@DeadBeatWalking

Looking to have it up today, sorry for the delay. I'm all OCD about pictures I use and such and finding one has been surprisingly difficult for what I had in mind (as it always seems to be), but I'll get something up regardless.

ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕥

Momo

Yashira "Momo" Momoko
Gender
Female
Age
19
Nationality
Japanese
Element
Heart
Role
Heart

Appearance
It's clear enough that Momo does and does not care what she looks like. She wears what she feels like, but she wants you know know she's wearing what she feels like. Punk in the 'I do what I want' sense of the word, she eschews the typical high-maintenance hairstyles and fashion decisions of the Harajuku 'punks' and is significantly more likely to be found dressed in a pair of broken-in pants and a tank top. She likes colors and patterns as much as she likes the lack of either, and it's a toss-up as to whether you'll catch her in a pair of two-sizes-too-big blue plaid slacks or a black yoga pants and a sweater. She dresses for comfort but wears it like gang colors, attitude forward. Immediately apparent as well are her piercings, of which she has several--her ears are lined with rings, her lips studded in snake-bites to hide a thin scar.

Phsyically, Momo is an almost textbook ectomorph. Long and willowy, lanky and lean, from her knife-sharp collar bones to her pianist fingers she looks like she needs nothing in this world more than a good sandwich. Really just a bit too thin for most people, including herself, at 6'1'' she's taller than most of the boys she knows and still about half their weight. Though reasonably toned after having spent some time trying to bulk up, her smoking hasn't helped her endurance.

Personality
More than anything, Momo is sick of being lied to.

A perceptive young woman, Momo has dealt with enough bullshit in her life to be able to smell it a mile away. Whether it's your white-boy-wanna-be-gangster or your celebutard-teenage-pop-princess, Momo has the unsettling and somewhat unpleasant knack of shearing away all the little things that people hide themselves with and getting to the heart of the matter, and enjoys doing so a bit more than she should. After so many years of pretending and stumbling through things herself she's more than a little bitter, and if she takes it out on other people, well...

That's just who she is. Deal with it.

A deeply caring and passionate individual, Momo's outward aggression is in direct response to the hypocrisy she sees what seems like everywhere. Her mother was a hypocrite, her step-father was a hypocrite, that asshole on the street is probably a hypocrite, and in the end so is she. More than anything, Momo would like to be 'nice'. She'd like to have friends who want to be around her, who laugh at her jokes, who she'll back up no matter what and who she never has to watch do all the awful, shitty things that people do, but she knows that won't happen. She knows exactly how mad and bitter and hurt she is, and all that crap just doesn't add up to a good person. Self-deprecating and venomously depressed, she wears it all on her sleeve so that no one else can 'out' her on it.

She's done giving people ammunition. Not like she's lacking targets.

Backstory
Momo's mother was a slut and everyone knew it. She always had been--mild-mannered and aloof, she was the kind of woman who was very fortunate to find the caring corporate lawyer that had been Momo's father. She was very fortunate that, when he passed away of an aneurysm at thirty in a shopping mall while out with his wife and then five year old daughter, she was close enough with his best friend to have sold the house and be sharing a room with him a two weeks later. She was similarly fortunate when, after said best friend was fired from his company two years later, the boss who she'd met at more than a few company outings was happy to let her move in even if it meant having her daughter underfoot. And so on and so forth--for most of Momo's young life, father figures came and went with such regularity that she eventually stopped looking at them.

Instead, Momo fixated on her mother. When the two were alone they were thick as thieves, marathoning stupid television shows on whatever couch happened to be present and working their way through mochi like it was going out of style. They were best friends in the way that only a mother and daughter could be, the only constants in each others' lives; it was them against the world. That, at least, was how Momo saw it. During most of school she was a reasonably bright, otherwise uninteresting girl who didn't make many friends thanks to juggling districts on a semi-regular basis. When she wasn't there--which was, in hindsight, frequently the case--it was easy to pretend that Momo's mother was just 'playing along' with whoever happened to be boning her at the time. Affairs became games, affection became a facade, and the wink her mother gave her before she left always made her feel like they were still playing on the same team.

Long story short, they weren't. Momo's mother's latest boytoy seemed, for the first time, to want to pay as much attention to Momo as her mother. He would insinuate himself into couch time, staying up too late with them so he could be with 'his girls'. He'd ask Momo how her day was, if her uniform fit alright, if she wanted to go shopping. He'd try to talk like he was her father (which she ignored) and rub her shoulders when he caught her sitting down. He set up a web-cam in her shower, at which point she'd had absolutely enough and confronted her mother with the issue and was shockingly and summarily dismissed. There was no outrage, no frustration, no repercussions, just a little frown and an 'I'll take care of it, sweetie' and the world kept on spinning.

Nothing changed. Things got worse. When they got worse enough, Momo called the cops; her mother was furious in a way that Momo had never seen before. It was the first and only fight they ever had, and it was enough to completely blow the pair of them apart. Had they, Momo wanted to know, ever been together to begin with? If her mother wasn't there when she really needed her, if she could be upset about this, had they ever really been on the same team?

It was a lot harder to be just Momo against the world.

Her mother's boyfriend got out of the charges; she had refused to testify. They sent Momo in for therapy and counseling and so she stayed away from home. Always a spiteful little thing, she fell in with a bad crowd and did enough bad things to earn her cred. Eventually she and her friends staked the house out one night and made sure that said jackhole would never look at little girls quite the same way ever again. Afterwards, though, when all was said and done, it didn't feel as good as she'd thought it would. Yeah, he was a creep, but could she really close her eyes, remember the quivering mess of what used to be a person before all the boots and chains and baseball bats and really say he deserved it? That she did the right thing?

A good, long look at her life put some things in stark contrast for her...so she moved on. Did what she had to do to get some money for a down payment, found a shitty temp job doing data entry, and became someone else.

Or tried.

Likes
Tonkatsu ramen.
Rain.
Plants.
3-D movies.
Dislikes
Scary movies.
Lord of the Rings.
Posers.
Conspiracy Theorists.

•Hagakure•

I similarly like the first plot, and hope to throw a character sheet together when it becomes available.

{Closed}

A'ight ladies and gentlemen, I hate to be the one that calls 'reality check' but is this thing still alive?

ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕥

Decided I'd go with a kind of different Heart character. Sorry it took me so bloody long to get it up (hurr hurr), things have been a little wack.

I'll admit, I was going to have a lot of fun playing a super-bitchy Australian rich girl Big Guy who used the power of Heart to go around domming the shit out of people. But Momo's not really the kind of person you want to give that sort of power to either, so it all works out.

Or maybe it won't! Let's see if she's accepted.

Momo

Yashira "Momo" Momoko
Gender
Female
Age
19
Nationality
Japanese
Element
Heart
Role
Heart

Appearance
It's clear enough that Momo does and does not care what she looks like. She wears what she feels like, but she wants you know know she's wearing what she feels like. Punk in the 'I do what I want' sense of the word, she eschews the typical high-maintenance hairstyles and fashion decisions of the Harajuku 'punks' and is significantly more likely to be found dressed in a pair of broken-in pants and a tank top. She likes colors and patterns as much as she likes the lack of either, and it's a toss-up as to whether you'll catch her in a pair of two-sizes-too-big blue plaid slacks or a black yoga pants and a sweater. She dresses for comfort but wears it like gang colors, attitude forward. Immediately apparent as well are her piercings, of which she has several--her ears are lined with rings, her lips studded in snake-bites to hide a thin scar.

Phsyically, Momo is an almost textbook ectomorph. Long and willowy, lanky and lean, from her knife-sharp collar bones to her pianist fingers she looks like she needs nothing in this world more than a good sandwich. Really just a bit too thin for most people, including herself, at 6'1'' she's taller than most of the boys she knows and still about half their weight. Though reasonably toned after having spent some time trying to bulk up, her smoking hasn't helped her endurance.

Personality
More than anything, Momo is sick of being lied to.

A perceptive young woman, Momo has dealt with enough bullshit in her life to be able to smell it a mile away. Whether it's your white-boy-wanna-be-gangster or your celebutard-teenage-pop-princess, Momo has the unsettling and somewhat unpleasant knack of shearing away all the little things that people hide themselves with and getting to the heart of the matter, and enjoys doing so a bit more than she should. After so many years of pretending and stumbling through things herself she's more than a little bitter, and if she takes it out on other people, well...

That's just who she is. Deal with it.

A deeply caring and passionate individual, Momo's outward aggression is in direct response to the hypocrisy she sees what seems like everywhere. Her mother was a hypocrite, her step-father was a hypocrite, that asshole on the street is probably a hypocrite, and in the end so is she. More than anything, Momo would like to be 'nice'. She'd like to have friends who want to be around her, who laugh at her jokes, who she'll back up no matter what and who she never has to watch do all the awful, shitty things that people do, but she knows that won't happen. She knows exactly how mad and bitter and hurt she is, and all that crap just doesn't add up to a good person. Self-deprecating and venomously depressed, she wears it all on her sleeve so that no one else can 'out' her on it.

She's done giving people ammunition. Not like she's lacking targets.

Backstory
Momo's mother was a slut and everyone knew it. She always had been--mild-mannered and aloof, she was the kind of woman who was very fortunate to find the caring corporate lawyer that had been Momo's father. She was very fortunate that, when he passed away of an aneurysm at thirty in a shopping mall while out with his wife and then five year old daughter, she was close enough with his best friend to have sold the house and be sharing a room with him a two weeks later. She was similarly fortunate when, after said best friend was fired from his company two years later, the boss who she'd met at more than a few company outings was happy to let her move in even if it meant having her daughter underfoot. And so on and so forth--for most of Momo's young life, father figures came and went with such regularity that she eventually stopped looking at them.

Instead, Momo fixated on her mother. When the two were alone they were thick as thieves, marathoning stupid television shows on whatever couch happened to be present and working their way through mochi like it was going out of style. They were best friends in the way that only a mother and daughter could be, the only constants in each others' lives; it was them against the world. That, at least, was how Momo saw it. During most of school she was a reasonably bright, otherwise uninteresting girl who didn't make many friends thanks to juggling districts on a semi-regular basis. When she wasn't there--which was, in hindsight, frequently the case--it was easy to pretend that Momo's mother was just 'playing along' with whoever happened to be boning her at the time. Affairs became games, affection became a facade, and the wink her mother gave her before she left always made her feel like they were still playing on the same team.

Long story short, they weren't. Momo's mother's latest boytoy seemed, for the first time, to want to pay as much attention to Momo as her mother. He would insinuate himself into couch time, staying up too late with them so he could be with 'his girls'. He'd ask Momo how her day was, if her uniform fit alright, if she wanted to go shopping. He'd try to talk like he was her father (which she ignored) and rub her shoulders when he caught her sitting down. He set up a web-cam in her shower, at which point she'd had absolutely enough and confronted her mother with the issue and was shockingly and summarily dismissed. There was no outrage, no frustration, no repercussions, just a little frown and an 'I'll take care of it, sweetie' and the world kept on spinning.

Nothing changed. Things got worse. When they got worse enough, Momo called the cops; her mother was furious in a way that Momo had never seen before. It was the first and only fight they ever had, and it was enough to completely blow the pair of them apart. Had they, Momo wanted to know, ever been together to begin with? If her mother wasn't there when she really needed her, if she could be upset about this, had they ever really been on the same team?

It was a lot harder to be just Momo against the world.

Her mother's boyfriend got out of the charges; she had refused to testify. They sent Momo in for therapy and counseling and so she stayed away from home. Always a spiteful little thing, she fell in with a bad crowd and did enough bad things to earn her cred. Eventually she and her friends staked the house out one night and made sure that said jackhole would never look at little girls quite the same way ever again. Afterwards, though, when all was said and done, it didn't feel as good as she'd thought it would. Yeah, he was a creep, but could she really close her eyes, remember the quivering mess of what used to be a person before all the boots and chains and baseball bats and really say he deserved it? That she did the right thing?

A good, long look at her life put some things in stark contrast for her...so she moved on. Did what she had to do to get some money for a down payment, found a shitty temp job doing data entry, and became someone else.

Or tried.

Likes
Tonkatsu ramen.
Rain.
Plants.
3-D movies.
Dislikes
Scary movies.
Lord of the Rings.
Posers.
Conspiracy Theorists.

ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕥

Color me interested as well, actually. I'll work on getting a character finished, but damn, I was gonna go Big Guy. XD

Old World of Darkness?

Consider my interest expressed. I have a sort of nostalgic love for the old girl, might as well break it out.

For the record, I prefer sticking to one theme at a time rather than throwing vampires and mages and werewolves (oh my!) into the same mix and trying to pretend things balance out.

Naruto: Consequences

…yeah, leave it to Risu to strip ‘em down.

The good thing about the Mist genin was that she usually wasn't hard to find. Usually you just had to look for the crowd, or the shouting, or whatever trouble she was statistically likely to have gotten herself into, but Kaguya Hajun had to hand it to her. This was the first time she’d ever annexed them a house. Could she even do that? Police force or no, there had to be some reasonable limits on authority or whatnot they would give to—

Hell with it. It wasn’t like anyone worth a damn lived there.

The assembled crowd had a mixture of reactions that Hajun was happy to pretend to ignore as he made his way down the street towards them, hands in the pockets of his heavy hoodie and headphones blaring out a steady, tinny rap beat around his neck. Dressed for travel, then, not in the flowing yukata he usually wore, legs confined by cargo pants rather than his usual wraps. It felt odd, like he was any other kid for a moment. He wasn’t, but you know.

It was the thought that counted.

“Who is that little—“

“You mean all on her own she—“

“Who does she think she is, little brat, I ought to—“

“This is what you get, with ninja—“

“’scuse me.”

Hajun’s voice was even below the crowd as he gently pushed his way through, making a wedge with his hands and spreading it to part the veritable sea. For all his lack of height—he wasn’t much over 170cm, significantly shorter than most of the people in the crowd—he was surprisingly dense and walked with the kind of naturally assured ease that might have been a swagger in a more aggressive person. Unlike Risu he was careful to wear his headband where it was easily in view, tied around his neck with lazy ease, and as soon as the assembled caught sight of it there was suddenly not much resistance at all to him making his way over.

Strange. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that even a genin was worth being afraid of for people like this.
At the head of it was some thug of a man glaring daggers to his thug of a teammate, his hand gripping the heavy cane he carried like he was going to break it over her head. Which he probably planned to, honestly, not that it would do him much good. Risu would probably turn the stupid thing into a suppository, and while Hajun wasn’t exactly boiling over with compassion for the…drug lord? Pimp? Asshole-with-an-attitude? Whoever he was… he also wasn’t about to let their first damn day turn into a riot.

”…oh, and don’t worry about your things, I’ll be seizing those as well. Everything you’ve taken or earned through your business is now property of the Hidden Mist, so beat it.” She was saying, the man getting increasingly angry. His coat was heavy, his jewelry was heavy—the clothes underneath it were nice, significantly nicer than the wear of the people around him. If Hajun was very lucky, he even actually owned the house that was being appropriated.

“Oh don’t you worry, bitch, I’ll beat it! I’ll beat its little ninja ass so hard it won’t know which way to—“

“Down boy.” Hajun rolled his eyes from behind him, patting him twice on the shoulder in conciliation as he passed; Yeah, man, that does suck. Better off next time. As the dealer’s jaw dropped, eyes staring as the fourteen year old brat made his way past him, Hajun snorted slightly to his female companion.

“Look at you. Already making friends.” He shook his head, a wry smile spreading over his lips. “Gonna get us in trouble, Risu.” Still, damage functionally done, he made his way in front of the girl and addressed both the man and the crowd. To someone watching it might have seemed he was playing the gallant, trying to keep the little ninja girl from the big bad man. Anyone with eyes could see it was pretty much entirely the other way around.

“People of Ushiogakure, please disperse.” He called out to the crowd in his best ‘I’m Official, Do What I Say’ voice. “The ninja of Kirigakure are here to ensure your safety. With that in mind, I ask you again to disperse. We are currently in the process of documenting evidence located at this scene in regards to numerous outstanding criminal endeavors, and as such—“

“The hell is this!” The man finally snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “This is my damn house! You can’t just walk in, beat down my boys, and expect me not to raise all sorts of—“

“I expect you to calm the hell down, sir.” Hajun had tried. He did his best, but diplomacy wasn’t exactly what he and his family were known for. Worse, with the thug attracting so much attention, the rest of the crowd didn’t seem to be disappearing as asked. Could he have wasted this asshole and moved on? Yes. Would that have set good precedent? No. Still, now was time enough to show that Kirigakure wouldn’t be putting up with people’s shit.

“Oh yeah? You and your little girlfriend over there gonna make me?” The man growled, reaching into his pocket for something. A knife? An exploding tag, if he was feeling really uppity? Hajun didn’t know or care. Hajun had always appreciated his silent companion's sense of timing.

“No,” he said with properly condescending patience, “but my boy Nai right behind you might.”

“Just scare him, man.” He added, joining Risu by leaning back against the pole. “No blood on day one.”