11th Division Dojo: Calm before a storm

[Duel:Open to 11th members]

It was that early hour at daybreak, when everyone was reluctant to let go of their dreams. A wistful figure paced stealthily through the corridors, making scarcely a sound except for the muffled shuffling of tabi socks. She glided past sleeping quarters, where heavy snores occasionally broke the morning stillness, past office and assembly hall; until arriving at the most frequented facility of the division.

Closing the fusuma behind, the woman made her way to the far end of the dojo, and slid open the double screen doors at the opposing side revealing the courtyard. Beams of light crept in across the polished wood floors, dimly illuminating the large room. In a few hours the training area would begin to swell with the rowdy men who formed the unruly squad, ready to engage in their routine drills and sparring. The unlikely recruit would fall into line as well, however for now, it was a place of solace.

Making herself comfortable, she placed her shamisen upon her lap and proceeded to turn its knobs, tightening its cords with precision. Nimble fingers began to immerse in a "kouta" , filling the silence with a lulling tune that seeped into the wall surrounded garden.

Ikkaku gave a yawn as he made his way to the training hall. The noise reached his ears as he came close to the entrance. That damn damn woman was at it again, and at this time too. He slid the door open, and entered with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"Isn't it a bit early for that, Momiji?"

The blunt intrusion, brought masterful digits to a halt, the residual vibrations of strings echoing faintly. Oddly, the arrival of the third seat was not unwelcome, instead his signature brashness provoked an amused titter. The woman turned to glance over her shoulder, subtly inclining in recognition. It was to her belief no one else would have been awake at such an early time, after all the division was well known for their fondness of napping, but apparently she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed coming in before the crowds.

Kazeaki: “ Ohayo gozaimasu, Madarame sempai… “

Carefully placing her shamisen aside, the musician gracefully rose to her feet and greeted the irritated acquaintance with a renounced smile. It had been difficult since the beginning to convince Madarame to adress her formally, now they were well past that milestone…with her being on the loosing end.

Kazeaki: “You are as chivalrous as ever”

Ikkaku raised an eyebrow, and looked the short ex-geisha squarely in the face as she stood up. He gave a short, unimpressed yawn to her poor attempts at a barb. She still hadn't learnt how to insult him properly, but he couldn't be bothered to teach her. He pointed at her old fashioned instrument.

"We come here to fight, not to play music..."

Making sure she got his point, he made his way over to the bokken stand, and picked out one at random. He swung it down hard as a test. All the practice swords here were pretty worn down because of over-use, and it was rare for him to get a good one on the first try. He pointed the wooden sword at the woman, and a grin appeared on his face. An early morning fight was a good way to wake up, and stopping that racket at the same time meant he would kill two birds with one stone.

"I hear the captain made you 12th seat. If someone like you can make it that high, our division's standards must be slipping."

The peaceable woman, was generally unfazed by the third seats lack of appreciation towards musical artistry, however his ghastly manners caused her brow to slightly furrow involuntarily when he let out vulgar yawn inches away from her face. Momiji had sacrificially made her best effort in adapting to the 11th divisions lifestyle, including ignoring their lewdness, boorish antics and utter disregard for protocol; much to her surprise it had actually grown on her as something humorous, though she herself would never relinquish her decorous nature.

The significance of Ikkaku’s motion had been obvious indeed, and having embraced their characteristic enthusiasm for combat; albeit with considerably more poise, Momiji was happy to oblige the issued challenge. Selecting a wooden weapon the female shinigami assumed her stance in front of the cocky superior officer.

“Your standards must have been slipping for a long time, judging from the likes I’ve bested around here. Maybe you should re-assign some of “them” to the 4th division…” She retorted in a melodically serene tone.

"Are you questioning my judgement, Ikkaku?" Zaraki asks with an unamused tone. "As for the Seats of the 11th Division, if you're so easily besting them, Momiji, then you'll be able to combat my Third Seat at full power. Ikkaku...I forbid you to hold back."

Zaraki sits down on the mats in the corner, leaning up against one of the wall as the nodachi slung over his shoulder is lain down beside him. The sudden shift has the bells of his hair sounding softly as he watches them with his good eye.

"Ikkaku, if you fail I'll demote you to 13th Seat." Ominous words from the serious Captain. He's sure that Ikkaku will not fail, but it was always good to remind him that his Seat is earned and forced to be kept not just a gratuity.

Glancing up at the early morning sky.

"Begin."

OOC: Sorry about that, I misunderstood the setting. Apologies. :OOC

OoC We are in the dojo, by the way. Since you sat on some grass, I'll assume you're outside looking in, although you might not have a very good view. OoC

Ikkaku half-looked out of the open door, at his captain sitting outside. The Kenpachi was a little too blunt, and didn't seem to get the point of barbs and insults in a fight. He was unsure if it was out of respect for opponents, or just that he took everything at face value.
He grinned slightly, before putting his full attention back on Momiji. He already knew much about her strengths and weaknesses, as he had taken a hand in her training, like he did for the majority of the division, since his captain, whilst trying his best to limit his power, could never quite get it down to a level where he wouldn't completely obliterate new recruits in one hit.

Madarame's grin widened slightly as he readied himself into a half-stance. He held the bokken loosely in his right hand, with the tip lightly touching the ground, whilst his pose looked almost casual.

"I'll let you start this, Momiji."

The rumble of a brutish voice froze the maiden in place, disrupting her accustomed flawless composure. The belligerent squad leader, had a certain effect on people, particularly on those he dwarfed in size and power, but to the 12th seat, it was not merely fear, but respect towards someone who was the epitome of a warrior.

Kazeaki reluctantly winced when he redirected his glare to reprimand her for her boastful claim. It was difficult to remain stoic, under the scrutiny of the demonic scarred giant. She bowed apologetically, dark wisps of hair whipping over her face and shoulders.

“Please excuse my audacity, Zaraki Taichou”

Apologies however, didn‘t carry much weight in the Juichibantai. What was intended to be a routine spar had just become and aptitude test, thanks to the Captains addition of consequences. Even though the penalty given to Ikkaku was nothing short of a joke, since it was highly improbable he would loose. But the wager to coax them into taking the confrontation more seriously did have it’s influence. Pressure produced an odd sensation, one that exhilarated the senses. It was far more rousing to fight now that there was something at stake; More so for the young woman of course, it was to prove her worth.

Appeasing the orders, the lithe femme re-assumed her stance, facing the third seat yet again. She nodded at her smug comrade, agreeing to take the initiative. The beat up wooden sword gripped firmly with both hands, her knees bent to gain leverage as she advanced. Darting forward in quick short steps, she swung the bokken down and across over his left shoulder, a commonplace attack but executed with precise form.

There was a snort from the Kenpachi, "Tch..." Reaching up to rub along the scar on his face. "Don't apologize to me, woman. Just prove me wrong."

Leaning back against the wall as he watches the fight take place with a stoic and seemingly disinterested look. He already knows the outcome but he's wondering how the girl will take the defeat. The 11th Division, in his mind, was no place for a soft woman. Momiji would have to prove herself harder than most men to stay where she is.

Scratching along a scruffy jaw as he glances at the window, watching stance and form out of the corner of his eye.

Ikkaku watched as the ex-geisha ran toward him. A basic attack, but at least it seemed executed quite well. Unfortunately for her, that would be far from enough to even hit him. He knw that she had probably figured this out, but had gone for it anyway. He would have to beat it into her later that the first attack is always important if you want to win. It was a bit hypocritical of him, though, since he rarely ever took his own advice. His advice was good, and made fights go too quickly for his own liking.

As she came closer, the tip left the floor, and as she was about to strike, he side-stepped to round to her left, whilst bringing the sword round to his right side, still held in one hand. Using her open flank, he swung the bokken at her lower back left leg. It was more an attempt to trip her than cause any injury.

Air parted sharply, as the woman’s opening strike was evaded. Kazeaki landed with her right leg in front when the wood blade’s trajectory came to halt. As her opponent side stepped, she also moved; pivoting on her right foot, she brought the left one forward planting it firmly and rotated her body ninety degrees clockwise, following the enemies directional movement. She was once again facing Ikakku, just before his intended attack met its target, the female shinigami blocked the path towards her leg with a low diagonal strike coming from her left. Instinctively after deflecting, Momiji reversed the direction of the bokken, bringing the sword slashing upwards at his neck.

Being rather perceptive, the swordswoman analized her sempai's approach. A blow to a strategic part of the lower limbs, would have meant serious weakening of one of her principal attributes; nimble footwork and speed. No doubt, the third seat came to know his apprentices well.

The massive figure only watches as his 3rd and 12th Seat duel it out. It doesn't really look like he cares much as to what's going on, but he is scrutinizing both of the combatants.

His own sword next to him as he leans back some. She wasn't bad...too many openings and her spirit pressure wasn't anywhere near his 3rd Seat's. That was to be expected, however.

Interesting, he finds himself curious if Momiji is going to land a lasting blow on Ikkaku.

Ikkaku let his had move in the opposite direction as the woman deflected the bokken, and jumped backwards as soon as she started her return attack. He watched her second attack with interest. It was good, and aimed at something more vital, but still not enough to hit himself. As soon as her sword had made it to it's terminal point of the attack, he rushed forward at her, switching the bokken to his left hand, and aiming a slash at her now open lower left side.

[Enter]

Yumichika looked at himself in the small mirror in his quarters, and sighed with satisfaction. All the ugly telltale marks of his earlier...occupation gone and his clothes changed, he was back to his own beautiful self.
Leaving his quarters, he heard the distinct sound of a squabble.
"Ikkaku again, I'll wager." He said with a long-suffering sigh and a slight half-grin.
Entering, he saw that indeed, Ikkaku was sparring with the new 12th Seat.

Interested, he settled into a corner to watch their swordplay.

Momiji didn’t anticipate the third seats ambidextrous shift; she drew in her stance, sliding back across the smooth wooden floor to retreat from the approaching slash, however the reaction was not quick enough to remove her entirely from the resolute attacks trajectory, the strike landing solidly above her left hip.

The tenacious new officer grit her teeth, stifling a grunt of discomfort, and still, ironically the smallest hint of what appeared to be a smile unfurled at the corner of her lips.

With little hesitation, the spirited young woman adopted a different stance, holding the wood sword beside her waist as if possessing the actual unsheathed blade, her right hand readily placed atop the hilt. A rapid chain of footsteps closed the small gap between her and the rival, the intention apparently a wide horizontal slash across the midsection. At the critical moment however, the deft shinigami altered her hold, grasping the hilt from beneath, her palm facing skyward. She drew the bokken at flashing speed in a one handed crescent slash that moved horizontally in an upwards motion that would sweep continuously across the torso towards the opponents throat and jaw.

Ikkaku smiled, amused. She had started feinting. 11th division members rarely used feints, as they all liked direct, uncomplicated fighting. She had also come in too close - The domain of unarmed fighters. Obviously this was a time to teach her a few things.

His bokken fell to the floor as he rushed in to very close quarters. His right arm reached out to wrap around her sword arm, to reduce her ability to counter with her sword, and stop her attack, whist his left one aimed to grab for her collar. Should he manage this, he would extend his right foot to her side, and, using the grip on her collar, push her over, using his leg to unbalance her, and slam her into the floor.

Momiji’s eyes shot wide open a gasp escaping her as she recognized her grave mistake. Her feet were knocked out from under her and she plummeted to the ground heavily as the third seats grip added momentum to the fall. The floorboards echoed loudly when her body landed, her breath expelled in an unpleasant yelp.

There were clearly certain aspects the novice 11th squad member had to adapt to. Within the combat corps, fighting was merciless, and all means to emerging victorious were fair play. It was about winning to fight another day. Momiji would have to incorporate the more “down to basics” and ruthless methods which gained the eleventh division their reputation. Traditional chivalry did not aid in winning fights.

Kazeaki's expression furrowed into a scowl for a slight moment, taking hold of Madarame's wrist which clenched the collar of her shihakuso, as if she were going to attempt freeing herself by using a reversal, though from the looks of it the fight was over.