[ the hum that descends in his throat is a rejection weaved with sing-song flippancy, a coo for what could've been, pouting mockery. no, there's no resident here, and so this ambling phantom must fit into some other category. in that his sudden company has no interest in the specifics, he doesn't volunteer it; instead, surveillance wears well on him, accustomed to plundering eyes intent on taking him for all he's worth. for someone inhuman — it's only an opportunity to help someone flourish and grow. in this case, it suits him just fine; asking the few people he knows in this city for something similar is too weighted, tilted in a wrong direction that's yet to regain its balance, bloated with ugly history. ]
Something tells me you're asking for yourself and not really as an apology, [ to chastise with a smile, sly look conveying no offense. he often makes polite words do unkind things. the demerits of training with a total stranger are not lost on him, but there's a truth that calcifies the bones in his body: even with a restriction on his curse energy, even with one arm missing, he could lay this city to waste. even amongst all his lies, even amongst his 64 missing bones, there are still 142 with unshaken marrows. ]
[ so he accepts with a relenting duck of his head, what might be a sliver of a bow, and shifts to move himself out of the clearing's epicenter so he might share. play nice. regardless of what he tells himself, it's necessary: learning how to live, move, work, fight with all of gravity shifted. ]
Feel free to use any abilities, but I'll stick to hand-to-hand for now~. [ and more than a desperation to correct or compensate for some defect, there's some excitement there: martial arts is among his passions, and it has been a very long time since he's encountered some new challenge. his stance drops, lowers, aggressive, fingers clawing. he does not overly guard his 'weak' side; how obvious it would be, how boring. instead, he dares a blow to the kidneys, a strike to the solar plexus, a knife between the ribs. ]
me: i'm not gonna make any fighty icons i will never use them sou: *exists*
Something tells me you're asking for yourself and not really as an apology, [ to chastise with a smile, sly look conveying no offense. he often makes polite words do unkind things. the demerits of training with a total stranger are not lost on him, but there's a truth that calcifies the bones in his body: even with a restriction on his curse energy, even with one arm missing, he could lay this city to waste. even amongst all his lies, even amongst his 64 missing bones, there are still 142 with unshaken marrows. ]
[ so he accepts with a relenting duck of his head, what might be a sliver of a bow, and shifts to move himself out of the clearing's epicenter so he might share. play nice. regardless of what he tells himself, it's necessary: learning how to live, move, work, fight with all of gravity shifted. ]
Feel free to use any abilities, but I'll stick to hand-to-hand for now~. [ and more than a desperation to correct or compensate for some defect, there's some excitement there: martial arts is among his passions, and it has been a very long time since he's encountered some new challenge. his stance drops, lowers, aggressive, fingers clawing. he does not overly guard his 'weak' side; how obvious it would be, how boring. instead, he dares a blow to the kidneys, a strike to the solar plexus, a knife between the ribs. ]