Post by Draco Hansun on Mar 17, 2014 22:01:54 GMT -5
OOC: This training thread is for CP
Practicing always calmed Draco, and helped him to focus. Sure, the chaos of the war zone that was squad 10 was fun and all, but sometimes a guy just needs to take a break. In the back of his mind, Draco found it a bit funny that he was relaxing from a day of fighting by practicing to fight. It was soothing, in a way, to swing his katana in controlled paths amid the trees of the rukongai. He was off duty, so Draco knew he wouldn’t be disturbed by any officer looking for him. The way in which the dimming afternoon light filtered from the treetops and gleamed off of his blade was beautiful. The entire place was serene, calming, and truly relaxing. There was something about wielding his sword that Draco loved, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Maybe the weight? Draco thought to himself. Now that he thought about it, the idea puzzled him. Why DID he like the katana anyway? Maybe it was just the way shinigami were wired Draco guessed as he swiped in the air at invisible adversaries. Now he was starting to sweat a little, letting him know he was hitting that “sweet spot” of physical performance, that he was working hard and working right. The scars that covered his arms seemed to hum with exertion, as if they were tied to what his muscles and body felt. They always “acted up” whenever Draco worked himself hard, and were a good indication that he was training himself the right way.
Draco’s grandfather to always work until you drop dead. Obviously he was exaggerating, and admitted it to, but that piece of knowledge from his old man always seemed to stick with Draco. Sometimes he actually did drop with exhaustion from his training, especially if it was right after sparring with the other members of squad 10 (or squad 11, since they sometimes stopped by too). The squads were fun, but Draco sometimes felt overwhelmed by their sheer enthusiasm. He has the same joy and love of fighting, he just needed some time off so he didn’t lose it.
I think I’m good with my zanpakuto practice for the day, Draco thought as he placed down his zanpakuto, resting it against the trunk of a nearby tree. He began jabbing and kicking at the air with a furious speed and repetition that implied someone who was quite proficient at martial arts. Draco wasn’t a master, by any means, but he WAS good, there was no doubting that. He swept at the ground in a wide arc with his foot, causing the grass to flutter in response. Can’t have it be THAT wide, or else they’d come in and knock me over, was the thought that went through Draco’s mind. He tried again, this time smaller and faster, ending the arc slightly earlier than before. And again, and again, for as long as he needed to until he got it perfect.
If you didn’t fight well enough, you died. That was why Draco practiced. Sure, the fighting at the barracks was mostly fun and games, but THAT was practice as well. They were practicing to not only live, but to kill the opponent, to stop them from threatening their life. But no one said that doing so had to be BORING, did they? Draco grinned as he performed a relatively good uppercut followed by some quick jabs that, let’s be honest, could use some work. They were too weak, for one thing, and didn’t provide much blocking potential if the opponent decided to come in for a strike. He needed to add a slight curve to them to fix the blocking problem, and just put a little more force into each one. Draco tried again. Not perfect, but better.
How long had he been practicing? It only felt like minutes, but Draco wouldn’t doubt it if hours had gone by. The sun was still out, so he couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of hours. Now Draco tried some more aerial maneuvers for his training. He was running up trees and jumping off like in kung-fu movies, although Draco had never seen one. He did here about them, however, from some impressed squad members who wanted to see if they could pull them off for real. Well, Draco considered himself to be the closest to accomplishing that goal as he ran up the large trunk once again.
As he reached the upper-most point that he seemed to be able to reach, Draco pushed off and did all manners of spins and backflips. They wouldn’t help in battle in the slightest, but Draco thought that he looked cool doing them. He landed on the ground relatively nicely, but he could have done better, his feet wobbling a bit unsteady from landing. If he didn’t nail this, Draco was sure that he would be easily beaten by an attentive adversary. The sweat seemed to fly off of him as he landed, panting with exasperation. Draco took a sip from the jug of sake tied to his side to cool off.
He sat down under the shade of the tree that he was climbing, jug in hand. This is nice, I could just lie here for the rest of the day, Draco thought, as he blinked his eyes.
And in that blink, the world around him changed. Gone was the grass, to be replaced by a thick white fog rolling from the very borders of… nowhere. This fog seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. The horizon was replaced with a misty white, and Draco couldn’t see the walls around the seireitei, which should have been obvious. The trees changed as well, seeming to get longer, and darker, the branches being far above where Draco remembered them being. The entire place had gone from peaceful spring forest to… whatever THIS place was. Draco felt that he could just curl up and cry, had he not been tempered into something at least approaching a warrior by the academy.
And that was when he saw someone approach. This person, if one could even call him that, wore a dark blue robe that seemed to meld into the very fog itself. No, Draco thought, they ARE part of the robes. Chains encircled the wrists of its long, bony hands, the ends of these chains seeming to turn upwards and almost seemed to float. The face of this aberration was entirely hidden by the hood of the robe it was wearing. The being seemed more menacing and fearful than the forest, if that was even possible. Normally, when talking to someone, Draco could feel something from them, some sort of presence. Not spiritual pressure, but a presence. This… thing didn’t have that, at all.
It stopped walking towards him when it was about 10 yards away from where he sat. He quickly got up, reaching for his zanpakuto, but felt only empty air. He turned his head slightly, not daring to take his eyes off of what was most likely an enemy, and noticed that it had disappeared from where he had placed it. In the back of Draco’s mind, he began to panic, but his practicing and training took over as he adopted a typical hakuda fighting stance. Even though it was a beginner stance, Draco found it very practical most of the time. He hoped that this was one of those times.
I am not an enemy, my young Draco, the spirit seemed to say. It was more of a whisper in the back of his head more than actual sound. I am a part of you, and because of that, you have nothing to fear of me. I merely want to introduce myself, my name is-. What followed was what Draco could only describe as the sound equivalent of mist, as if the very fog around his feet was absorbing the words this thing was trying to say, er… think, to be more accurate. Draco understood immediately that this must be his zanpakuto spirit, but he didn’t want to believe it. Draco wasn’t a scary enough person to merit THIS thing as his spirit. He thought of himself as a pretty nice guy, for the most part, so why was this ghost his zanpakuto spirit, a ghost that seemed to be the embodiment of everything that made you want to check under the bed at night.
You know who, or what, I am, the spirit continued, and you should, we are inside your very soul at this moment. Take a good look at it, Draco, because this is who you are, this is who I am! And with that, the spirit swept its hands up, and the world went with it. The entire forest seemed to be swirled like the painting of an unhappy artist smearing his work. It was as if the spirit turned the entire world into fog and swirled it up. Then it all faded to black, all of this taking place in about a second that seemed to stretch on in Draco’s mind forever.
Draco then opened his eyes to find himself back in the forest that he had been training in, albeit with a dimmer light signaling an approaching night. His zanpakuto was back where it should be, and he still had the jug of sake in his hand. Also, he felt cooled by the evening air, and Draco guessed that whatever it was that just happened, it had eaten up an hour or so of his training time. Damn ghost thing, whatever he was, Draco thought angrily, making me waist my training time, now I have to go back, and with all the things I needed to work on, too!
Draco took a closer look at his zanpakuto, which lay exactly in the spot that he remembered it to be. The plain black handle now had white and blue colors intertwined in it, as well as on the tsuba. The whole katana seemed to breath out an air of foreboding malice, everything, even the air itself, seeming to be just a bit darker around it. Draco didn’t like that, not one little bit. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He stopped suddenly and thought to himself wait, I finally just met my zanpakuto spirit, after all those wasted years of trying to in the academy! Why now? Why didn’t it show itself when I actually TRIED to see it?
Draco pondered this for a while. Maybe it was the exertion of training? That didn’t seem right, and Draco hadn’t heard of that happening to anyone else before. But if that wasn’t the reason, than what was? Draco scratched his head in bewilderment at what had just happened to him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone else about this. They probably would just shy away from him, having a creepy ass thing for a zanpakuto spirit, assuming that they believed him at all. They could just think he was making the story up, and that would just look bad on Draco. So no, telling others was out of the question.
Well, no point worrying about it THAT much Draco thought to himself as he put the cap back onto his jug of sake. The forest seemed so tranquil as the night approached, Draco just wanted to sit down and relax. But hollows roamed the forest, and were more active at night, plus Draco was too tired to deal with hollows. Who knows, I might just come back and use THEM as practice, Draco thought. But for now, he wanted to get back to the barracks, maybe catch a late dinner, and sleep. Next morning was sure to be a battle royal like usual.
Practicing always calmed Draco, and helped him to focus. Sure, the chaos of the war zone that was squad 10 was fun and all, but sometimes a guy just needs to take a break. In the back of his mind, Draco found it a bit funny that he was relaxing from a day of fighting by practicing to fight. It was soothing, in a way, to swing his katana in controlled paths amid the trees of the rukongai. He was off duty, so Draco knew he wouldn’t be disturbed by any officer looking for him. The way in which the dimming afternoon light filtered from the treetops and gleamed off of his blade was beautiful. The entire place was serene, calming, and truly relaxing. There was something about wielding his sword that Draco loved, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Maybe the weight? Draco thought to himself. Now that he thought about it, the idea puzzled him. Why DID he like the katana anyway? Maybe it was just the way shinigami were wired Draco guessed as he swiped in the air at invisible adversaries. Now he was starting to sweat a little, letting him know he was hitting that “sweet spot” of physical performance, that he was working hard and working right. The scars that covered his arms seemed to hum with exertion, as if they were tied to what his muscles and body felt. They always “acted up” whenever Draco worked himself hard, and were a good indication that he was training himself the right way.
Draco’s grandfather to always work until you drop dead. Obviously he was exaggerating, and admitted it to, but that piece of knowledge from his old man always seemed to stick with Draco. Sometimes he actually did drop with exhaustion from his training, especially if it was right after sparring with the other members of squad 10 (or squad 11, since they sometimes stopped by too). The squads were fun, but Draco sometimes felt overwhelmed by their sheer enthusiasm. He has the same joy and love of fighting, he just needed some time off so he didn’t lose it.
I think I’m good with my zanpakuto practice for the day, Draco thought as he placed down his zanpakuto, resting it against the trunk of a nearby tree. He began jabbing and kicking at the air with a furious speed and repetition that implied someone who was quite proficient at martial arts. Draco wasn’t a master, by any means, but he WAS good, there was no doubting that. He swept at the ground in a wide arc with his foot, causing the grass to flutter in response. Can’t have it be THAT wide, or else they’d come in and knock me over, was the thought that went through Draco’s mind. He tried again, this time smaller and faster, ending the arc slightly earlier than before. And again, and again, for as long as he needed to until he got it perfect.
If you didn’t fight well enough, you died. That was why Draco practiced. Sure, the fighting at the barracks was mostly fun and games, but THAT was practice as well. They were practicing to not only live, but to kill the opponent, to stop them from threatening their life. But no one said that doing so had to be BORING, did they? Draco grinned as he performed a relatively good uppercut followed by some quick jabs that, let’s be honest, could use some work. They were too weak, for one thing, and didn’t provide much blocking potential if the opponent decided to come in for a strike. He needed to add a slight curve to them to fix the blocking problem, and just put a little more force into each one. Draco tried again. Not perfect, but better.
How long had he been practicing? It only felt like minutes, but Draco wouldn’t doubt it if hours had gone by. The sun was still out, so he couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of hours. Now Draco tried some more aerial maneuvers for his training. He was running up trees and jumping off like in kung-fu movies, although Draco had never seen one. He did here about them, however, from some impressed squad members who wanted to see if they could pull them off for real. Well, Draco considered himself to be the closest to accomplishing that goal as he ran up the large trunk once again.
As he reached the upper-most point that he seemed to be able to reach, Draco pushed off and did all manners of spins and backflips. They wouldn’t help in battle in the slightest, but Draco thought that he looked cool doing them. He landed on the ground relatively nicely, but he could have done better, his feet wobbling a bit unsteady from landing. If he didn’t nail this, Draco was sure that he would be easily beaten by an attentive adversary. The sweat seemed to fly off of him as he landed, panting with exasperation. Draco took a sip from the jug of sake tied to his side to cool off.
He sat down under the shade of the tree that he was climbing, jug in hand. This is nice, I could just lie here for the rest of the day, Draco thought, as he blinked his eyes.
And in that blink, the world around him changed. Gone was the grass, to be replaced by a thick white fog rolling from the very borders of… nowhere. This fog seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. The horizon was replaced with a misty white, and Draco couldn’t see the walls around the seireitei, which should have been obvious. The trees changed as well, seeming to get longer, and darker, the branches being far above where Draco remembered them being. The entire place had gone from peaceful spring forest to… whatever THIS place was. Draco felt that he could just curl up and cry, had he not been tempered into something at least approaching a warrior by the academy.
And that was when he saw someone approach. This person, if one could even call him that, wore a dark blue robe that seemed to meld into the very fog itself. No, Draco thought, they ARE part of the robes. Chains encircled the wrists of its long, bony hands, the ends of these chains seeming to turn upwards and almost seemed to float. The face of this aberration was entirely hidden by the hood of the robe it was wearing. The being seemed more menacing and fearful than the forest, if that was even possible. Normally, when talking to someone, Draco could feel something from them, some sort of presence. Not spiritual pressure, but a presence. This… thing didn’t have that, at all.
It stopped walking towards him when it was about 10 yards away from where he sat. He quickly got up, reaching for his zanpakuto, but felt only empty air. He turned his head slightly, not daring to take his eyes off of what was most likely an enemy, and noticed that it had disappeared from where he had placed it. In the back of Draco’s mind, he began to panic, but his practicing and training took over as he adopted a typical hakuda fighting stance. Even though it was a beginner stance, Draco found it very practical most of the time. He hoped that this was one of those times.
I am not an enemy, my young Draco, the spirit seemed to say. It was more of a whisper in the back of his head more than actual sound. I am a part of you, and because of that, you have nothing to fear of me. I merely want to introduce myself, my name is-. What followed was what Draco could only describe as the sound equivalent of mist, as if the very fog around his feet was absorbing the words this thing was trying to say, er… think, to be more accurate. Draco understood immediately that this must be his zanpakuto spirit, but he didn’t want to believe it. Draco wasn’t a scary enough person to merit THIS thing as his spirit. He thought of himself as a pretty nice guy, for the most part, so why was this ghost his zanpakuto spirit, a ghost that seemed to be the embodiment of everything that made you want to check under the bed at night.
You know who, or what, I am, the spirit continued, and you should, we are inside your very soul at this moment. Take a good look at it, Draco, because this is who you are, this is who I am! And with that, the spirit swept its hands up, and the world went with it. The entire forest seemed to be swirled like the painting of an unhappy artist smearing his work. It was as if the spirit turned the entire world into fog and swirled it up. Then it all faded to black, all of this taking place in about a second that seemed to stretch on in Draco’s mind forever.
Draco then opened his eyes to find himself back in the forest that he had been training in, albeit with a dimmer light signaling an approaching night. His zanpakuto was back where it should be, and he still had the jug of sake in his hand. Also, he felt cooled by the evening air, and Draco guessed that whatever it was that just happened, it had eaten up an hour or so of his training time. Damn ghost thing, whatever he was, Draco thought angrily, making me waist my training time, now I have to go back, and with all the things I needed to work on, too!
Draco took a closer look at his zanpakuto, which lay exactly in the spot that he remembered it to be. The plain black handle now had white and blue colors intertwined in it, as well as on the tsuba. The whole katana seemed to breath out an air of foreboding malice, everything, even the air itself, seeming to be just a bit darker around it. Draco didn’t like that, not one little bit. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He stopped suddenly and thought to himself wait, I finally just met my zanpakuto spirit, after all those wasted years of trying to in the academy! Why now? Why didn’t it show itself when I actually TRIED to see it?
Draco pondered this for a while. Maybe it was the exertion of training? That didn’t seem right, and Draco hadn’t heard of that happening to anyone else before. But if that wasn’t the reason, than what was? Draco scratched his head in bewilderment at what had just happened to him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone else about this. They probably would just shy away from him, having a creepy ass thing for a zanpakuto spirit, assuming that they believed him at all. They could just think he was making the story up, and that would just look bad on Draco. So no, telling others was out of the question.
Well, no point worrying about it THAT much Draco thought to himself as he put the cap back onto his jug of sake. The forest seemed so tranquil as the night approached, Draco just wanted to sit down and relax. But hollows roamed the forest, and were more active at night, plus Draco was too tired to deal with hollows. Who knows, I might just come back and use THEM as practice, Draco thought. But for now, he wanted to get back to the barracks, maybe catch a late dinner, and sleep. Next morning was sure to be a battle royal like usual.
