there's more than meets the eye, there's more than meets the price [OPEN]

[its_dad_sanzo]

Who: Koumyou Sanzo, OPEN
Where: Carriage J: Music Carriage - upstairs, in silence
When: Forward-dated to Jelly 4!
What: Sneaky solo martial arts practice a couple days before the next mission. Folks are welcome to catch him doing his thing, despite his effort to be secretive. If you ask for lessons (in anything, ever), he will almost certainly say no... but folks are totally welcome to try to convince him. (Also if anyone wants to just ATTACK, he'll adapt accordingly.)
Warnings: Otoha thread has some sensitive topics (warned in the comment titles). Devero thread same and same, but also some kinda graphic self harm injury shit from Koumyou etc.

xxxxxif you can't see the sky there's too much artificial light

Muscle memory requires rote practice. Patterns mastered, then broken, to keep one's actions independent in a real fight. Even at his level, Koumyou needs to sharpen the blade once in a while, lest he lose his edge when he needs it most.

Koumyou Sanzo has picked a time when most of the train seems otherwise occupied. Maybe it's the middle of the 'night' and they're sleeping, or perhaps this is a typical meal time in the dining car. One way or another, he's gone out of his way to have as few witnesses as he can, tucked upstairs in the silent music car.

He stands still in the middle of the stage, and checks one last time that the room is truly empty, at least here at the start. Satisfied, Koumyou drops his center of gravity, bare feet sliding into position. One hand tucks against his shoulder, the other out before him, fists loose.

Breathing carefully, in through the nose, and out through the mouth... slowly, he lets his eyes slip shut.

And then he begins to move.

A block, a duck, a shift to one side. Another block; flowing, diverting an imagined attack away with the edge of an open hand. A step back, one kick at the level of a stomach. Spinning to the right, his braid and the long ends of his clothing flutter behind him. Fluid, each graceful movement morphing into the next without hesitation or pause.

There is nothing rigid here. Not until it's needed. A fist tightens at the instant of impact, not a moment before. The snap of force in the air, even without a real target, is audible in the quiet room.

If one watches him for more than a second, one can almost see the invisible opponents rushing him. They come from all directions; some are even armed. With a knife he side-steps, with a sword that he ducks beneath to rise again with the arc of an uppercut palm-strike. To a chin? A nose? ...A throat?

He flips as though it's easy, as though up and over someone who had been rushing to tackle him from behind. Landing, the heels of both palms snap out in a strike to their back, his whole body behind the movement. And then he's gone, rolling backwards, momentum changing directions as fast as a stray gust of wind. Up with another kick; that foot comes down, and he spirals out and up into a spin-kick aimed even higher than his own head.

Sometimes, he gets quite close to the drop off the stage. But he never actually touches the edges, and he certainly never falls.

Koumyou's braid whips behind him as he moves. His long sleeves flutter behind each sweeping attack or diversion of his arms. The hem of his robe skims against his bare ankles with every wide movement of his legs. Light though it is, the bamboo breastplate on his chest barely shifts on his thin frame. The sutra certainly doesn't go anywhere, though the ends and the back both flutter as if it were real paper.

It would be easy to turn this into a dance, and it would be equally easy to turn this into death. There is not a single second in which he isn't moving, flowing, striking, diverting.

If left alone, this will go on for a while longer.

His eyes do not yet open; his movements do not yet slow.

He will not lose his edge.

Comments

In the afternoon~ Well, closer to evening.

[hisblueskies]

Alfredo couldn't say exactly what had driven up to check upstairs on his way to dinner that evening...

But having a meal was the furthest thing from his mind now.

True, he was getting lessons from Piccolo, so the urge to rush forth and ask more questions was soundly repressed. But what he did let himself do was find a place to quietly watch.

This was an expert in action, after all, and who knew if he'd have the chance to see it during another mission?

[its_dad_sanzo]

Uninterrupted, Koumyou just keeps up his practice. Quite a while goes by without him slowing or pausing, a fine sheen of sweat starting to show on his face.

Left to it, he just keeps moving. A low sweep of a leg, a block and punch, another flip through the air, landing with a heavy thud of bare feet on the stage.

He doesn't stop until he's certain all his movements are still just as smooth as they've ever been. The machinery is still as well-oiled as ever.

Only then, does he drop down to sit on the stage and wipe his long bangs away from where they stick to his face, opening his eyes.

[hisblueskies]

Alfredo's mind is at once spellbound into quiet and trying to imagine the potentials for fighting at incredible speeds...

Physically, it's just as well he opts for quiet. Koumyou's finisher, however, breaks it, and all at once the boy stands up in a hurry, abashed.

"Ah, should I get you a towel - sir? Sanzo," he self-corrects.

[its_dad_sanzo]

"Alfredo, right?" They'd met on Nion, Koumyou's pretty sure. During the initial march, right? A fellow blue team member.

"If you want to, sure," the priest, for his part, just flops onto his back on the stage, resting. He must be getting old, for... a half hour? or so? of continuous practice to make him feel tired!

At least he's not out of breath, that would be embarrassing.

(And perfectly reasonable, for a normal person. But what Sanzo is normal?)

[hisblueskies]

Alfredo nods - and while he does find the not-so-majestic flop funny, after all of that amazing coordination Sanzo displayed, he doesn't let himself just say that!

Instead, he runs off to the nearest bathroom for towels, paper or otherwise.

Once he's back, though, he's wide-eyed again, trying to see if the priest has moved at all during his short time away.

[its_dad_sanzo]

Look, the grace and precision and lethality is always there with Koumyou, but it's usually hidden. He's perfectly capable of a good flop, too.

Once Alfredo's back, he'll find that the priest hasn't moved except to push his own bangs out of his face. Koumyou sits up only once the kid returns, and reaches up one partially-covered hand for whatever's offered, and starts patting his face dry with it. "Thanks."

This would be awkward if Koumyou was the sort of guy to feel that around a stranger. Thankfully, he's not. But he'll at least offer a polite, "I can move if you were wanting to use the stage."

[hisblueskies]

"You're welcome."

Alfredo steps back respectfully, after giving away the towel, then shakes his head.

"Ah, no. I was on my way to dinner, but... got distracted."

Unless-

"You are still serious about not giving lessons, right?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

"Very," Koumyou almost sounds apologetic about it, but not quite! "Have you hit up the green guy for lessons?"

[bakegarasu]

It's the sound of someone's feet landing with a thud that draws him up to the second floor. He watches the man for a bit, wondering if he should interrupt... not with a sword, that's too risky.

Instead he pulls off his coat, sets it nearby with his sword within reach and his amulet in his pocket, and rushes it. It's a low blow towards his side, enough to hurt pretty badly but not enough to put someone out of commission.

[its_dad_sanzo]

Who's ready to have all of their momentum and force turned against them? Otoha is, apparently! Even without being able to feel pain, bodies can only move in specific ways, and Koumyou's a master at the art of turning one against its owner.

That low blow just barely kisses the fabric of Koumyou's robe as the priest steps to the left, catches Otoha's wrist against his side with one hand, and twists. It should send the attacker flipping over their own body and crashing to the floor, their own tendons working against them.

Koumyou doesn't let go of his wrist until he's been 'pinned' to the floor by his own tendons and locked joints for a second, before disengaging. In a real fight, he'd have kept his grip in place and counter-attacked at the same time.

Here and now, he's back to evading an imaginary foe, spinning away.

As smooth as the priest's movements are, Otoha's attack may as well have been scripted. Koumyou's eyes don't even open.

[bakegarasu]

Oh now that’s just annoying. Otoha’s a little surprised to find himself suddenly on the floor - thankfully it doesn’t slow him down and gives him a better sense of this guy’s agility. He instead waits for his opponent to spin away, kicking at the back of his knee with lightning speed as he leaps to his feet, reaching out to grab the priest by the robes.

[its_dad_sanzo]

The kick doesn't quite connect, Koumyou speeding up that little extra bit mid-spin. Grabbing his robes, though, that connects.

Get a good grip on them, Otoha. Here, he'll help.

Koumyou's hands dart up and latch onto the other man's wrists. And then the priest flings himself backwards and down. One bare foot snaps up to kick Otoha into a flip with a hard landing on his back.

But he's not doing moving, no. Instantly, using that momentum to roll up and over his own shoulder. Koumyou lands on his attacker, hands still locked around his wrists.

His eyes are at least open, now.

"Don't you think this is rather rude, Otoha?"

[bakegarasu]

If Otoha were a less repressed man, he'd be embarrassed at the position. As it is, he just grins.

"Probably."

He doesn't care all too much. Hand to hand isn't his strength. "You're faster than I would have expected from what I saw that first day."

[its_dad_sanzo]

"I get that a lot," Koumyou says cheerfully, staying right where he is. "But I don't usually practice with people."

Usually, if someone comes at him, he kills them. And if Otoha had gone for the sutra by mistake... it might have happened by reflex.

"If I let you up, am I going to have to put you down again?"

[bakegarasu]

"Probably." He's not gonna lie to the guy. "Hand to hand isn't my strongest skill."

Otherwise your ass would be grass, Koumyou.

[its_dad_sanzo]

"Probably as in you're going to keep trying?" Koumyou asks cheerfully, "Perhaps I should just get comfortable, then."

[subcircuits]

Devero doesn't know what impulse it is that draws him up to the second floor of the music car as he's passing through. Perhaps he was hoping to find it unoccupied himself-- he still sneaks up here to dance alone sometimes. Perhaps he hears a footfall landing and decides to investigate. Perhaps (fancifully) he just knows.

Regardless, this time Koumyou's on the stage and he's the interloper, their first meeting reversed. Devero's not thinking about that as he drifts down the aisle towards the stage, though. No, his eyes are full of his Sanzo: the speed at which he moves, the way he's light as air and liquid as water, the superlative precision of his every strike and sway...

He's arresting.

If it was anyone else, Devero would probably leave despite his interest, if only to preserve this privacy that he's intruded upon. But... this is his Koumyou, and Devero can't help himself.

He slides into a seat to watch.

[its_dad_sanzo]

This is his Koumyou! Literally up on a stage, no less, because the quiet rooms are far too small and the gym is far too public.

Uninterrupted and apparently unaware of having gained an audience, Koumyou just keeps going. The minutes stretch on with the same, without pause or hesitation, and without any sort of pattern. A low leg-sweep, a roll to one side, a snap of a punch at gut-height.

No sounds, other than the slam of bare feet into stage whenever he lands from a particularly aggressive maneuver.

But eventually, Koumyou's satisfied that all hints of any rust are gone from his movements. He sits down heavily right there on the stage, wiping his long bangs away from where they stick to his face with sweat before opening his eyes.

[subcircuits]

The way Koumyou's sat on the stage, Devero is behind him and not immediately visible. He almost doesn't want to break the silence, but he knows he's missed his opportunity to sneak away now that Koumyou's finished.

"You're brilliant," he says, his voice just loud enough to carry from his seat to the stage. "--I couldn't help but watch, I'm sorry."

[its_dad_sanzo]

"Oh!" Koumyou twists on the floor so that he can look over at Devero's seat. It's easy to do, at least, with the soft cloth of his robe versus the smooth wooden stage.

Even if he is rather tired, now.

"I don't mind if it's you."

And in fact, he holds out one partially-covered hand toward Devero and wiggles his fingers in obvious invitation. Come here?

[subcircuits]

Devero hadn't even realized his shoulders were hiked up, but they sure do relax noticeably when Koumyou doesn't seem upset by the intrusion. He doesn't hesitate to quit his seat when he's invited. Joining Koumyou on the stage, he folds his legs to sit right there beside him.

"I've never seen anyone as good at that as you," he says, very obvious awe in his voice.

[its_dad_sanzo]

The smile Koumyou shoots him as he sits down with him is so very fond.

"Well, that's probably a good thing if you haven't."

Devero's world is so very soft, there's probably no use for people like Koumyou there.

"I'm just trying not to slow down with age, you know? Though it tires me out a lot faster than it did in my twenties."

[subcircuits]

Devero's smile is a little shy as he returns it. He can't help but feel inadequate in the face of a display of skill like that, though he tries to keep that crushed right down inside.

"There's nothing slow about what I just saw," he reassures him. Teasing gently, he continues, "Your twenties are a bit behind you now, huh, old man?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

"You're going to hurt this tired old man's feelings someday," Koumyou teases right back, drying his face with one of his sleeves. "I'm pretty sensitive about my age, you know!"

It's only half tease, really.

After all, he still feels like Devero would be better off finding someone who isn't thirteen years older than him.

[melodiouspacifist]

Someone was practicing in the training gym and Demyx wasn't going to lose the opportunity.

He needed to know more about the people around him, and what they could do, and if they were going to practice and put themselves on display, who was he to complain?

Demyx appeared out of nowhere in the corner and sat himself down on the floor, small and unassuming.

This person wouldn't notice him, he figured, he could observe and vanish when he was done.