[Log, Week 30, Day 4] Do you even know which end of that thing is which?
Who: Kinomoto Touya and Elliot Nightray
Status: Closed
Style: Prose
Where: Near the ryokan
When: Afternoon, Week 30, Day 4
Rating: Possible PG-13 for language, at most?
Warnings: Derpery!
The warm sun feels good against his skin, Touya thinks, as he stands in the side yard of the ryokan, dressed in the just the gym shorts that he arrived in this world wearing. His long legs are slightly tanned, and the strong muscles there are apparent as he shifts. Coordination, however, is much less apparent than strength, as he tries out one stance after another, never quite feeling comfortable.
The blade in his hands is straight, with a ring pommel, heavier and not as curved and sleek as those used by samurai. He'd chosen it on a whim, looking over options in the blacksmith's shop, his eyes roaming the possibilities and considering, perhaps, the style used by a friend over cultural ties. He's pretty sure that in his own world the sword itself would be considered Chinese, from a time period whose history he hasn't fully studied, far more interested in science than such matters.
Now, perhaps, he wishes he knew a little more about these things, as he feels his muscles burn and stretch, used to weight but not the specific motions, as he tests out slashes. His movement are a little too slow, too hesitant, and he's mostly mimicking what he's seen others do, on television and movies back home, and in person since coming here.
It's not really a very impressive sight, despite Touya's bare broad shoulders and strong muscled back.
Status: Closed
Style: Prose
Where: Near the ryokan
When: Afternoon, Week 30, Day 4
Rating: Possible PG-13 for language, at most?
Warnings: Derpery!
The warm sun feels good against his skin, Touya thinks, as he stands in the side yard of the ryokan, dressed in the just the gym shorts that he arrived in this world wearing. His long legs are slightly tanned, and the strong muscles there are apparent as he shifts. Coordination, however, is much less apparent than strength, as he tries out one stance after another, never quite feeling comfortable.
The blade in his hands is straight, with a ring pommel, heavier and not as curved and sleek as those used by samurai. He'd chosen it on a whim, looking over options in the blacksmith's shop, his eyes roaming the possibilities and considering, perhaps, the style used by a friend over cultural ties. He's pretty sure that in his own world the sword itself would be considered Chinese, from a time period whose history he hasn't fully studied, far more interested in science than such matters.
Now, perhaps, he wishes he knew a little more about these things, as he feels his muscles burn and stretch, used to weight but not the specific motions, as he tests out slashes. His movement are a little too slow, too hesitant, and he's mostly mimicking what he's seen others do, on television and movies back home, and in person since coming here.
It's not really a very impressive sight, despite Touya's bare broad shoulders and strong muscled back.