Rising Wolf


The original RP about a high school for martial arts
 
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 Gang Violence [Job]

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Inari Heureux

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Join date : 2015-12-14

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PostSubject: Gang Violence [Job]   Sun Jul 02, 2017 1:51 am

    Inari was not one for dramatics in the sense that her himself freqently refrained from such performances but enjoyed the notion and skillful display of melodrama nonetheless. It was as much of an artform as any other, and untactful application of this most vexing of cosmetics would ruin a performance surely as a reef the delicate hull of a cargo freight. The puppetshow in front of him contained such wonders but required heavy use of the imagination for an individual to truly penetrate the veil of disbelief and delve into the winter wonderland that the street stall presented. Two characters, one aptly named ‘Haru’ and the other ‘Inu’ adventured together in a series of productions which was written by two sisters. Neither of which Inari knew or cared enough to recall by name, but he was familiar with the brother of the family business. Kono was a good boy at heart, and the siblings used the side show to bring in a little bit of extra money with their creativity and snakeoil showmanship. Kono was nothing if not a politician at heart, but also entertained the capability of a flourishing thespian and he was someone whom Inari had great respect for in this regard: able to not only employ his gift of that gab to enthral the masses and speak with kings and commons alike, but ply this skillset together to craft himself a myriad of masks. Personas which he wore and then discarded as the situation entailed, something which reflected part of Inari’s own personality but he had never capitalised on it the sense that Kono did – for one thing their outlooks and demeanour where too different for this to ever be a successful venture for Inari. Kono was an extrovert at heart, obtaining energy from interaction with people. Something that the naturally introverted Inari had no real appreciation for and as such this sale of personality and skill held little appeal for him, preferring to act merely as the silent partner and provide the craftmanship for their enterprise rather than appear as a public face as Kono and his younger and older sister did. As the show came to a close, Inari sipped on his bubble tea once more, the short break in his original assignment had been a plesant distraction for him but the closure of the curtains signalled that the show was at an end and now the hat would come around the circle of onlookers accompanied by a plea for additional funds so that the show would be able to continue in the future. Never one to not pay his share for the entertainment, Inari chipped in with his customary show of fiscal appreciation. He had since learned to mask his contribution to the cause as he was already technically part of it, and the one time had visibly thrown some money into the hat he had been rebucked by Kono who did not agree with the act on the premise that he was already providing so much of his time to assisting them that he did not also need to start sacrificing his own livelihood to supplement their own. One of the things that Kono hated more than anything else was being treated like a charity case but the younger boy didn’t truly know the virtue of accepting help when you needed it either. So Inari allowed him to continue with his folly of stoic independence and provided from behind the scenes. It didn’t hurt that he genuinely believed that Kono would be able to make something of his talents either and ensuring his pathway to success would not hurt Inari’s chances of scoring some tickets to the theatre later on in life – but such thoughts were not altruistic and he was loathe to give up the veil of the good samaritain for the benefit of Kono – albeit he suspected that the older daughter was under no illusions that his intentions were done partially for mutual benefit later on down the road of life. But she wasn’t complaining herself either, it after all, secured her younger siblings something of a benefactor who came with no complex strings attached. Something of a rarity in these times. As he duty was done and he delivered a short incline of the head to Kono and a polite greeting which was returned in kind, Inari moved further down the street. He was on the look for a man named Brong – which in the pale Blacksmith’s eyes was more or less the defintion of ‘boring’, and if one produced a dictionary the name would be listed in the subsection as a synonym of the word. Grumbling as he moved further into town Inari turned down a clue de sac and made his way towards what could colloquially known as ‘the bad lands’ or more simply, where misbehaved individuals would gather away from the eyes of society. More often then not male, more often than not between the ages of fifteen to twenty-three. A demographic Inari, ironically enough, more or less perfectly fell into. There were other exclusionary demographics which you could further subdivide the population into until you found a category of basyian statistics which almost guaranteed you to find an individual which fitted the description of the characteristics but at that point you were almost consigning free will to the dust and leaving little for individual choice to carry them from this place of muck and tears. The horror of the shade would find Inari unafraid as he entered past the crumbled iron gates and drifted into the shadows. He had a name and he had a face. As with all such groups, there would be communal hubs, and it would be via these that Inari would locate his target. It was not the first dingy motel that Inari walked into, or the cheap arcade or even the dusty pub where he found Brong. It was one of his henchmen beating the street, with a look of someone tired and simultaneously wary. It might not be much, but there was a chance that his presence had been noted and relaid back to Brong. Something which could be played into Inari’s favour now, he just had to steel himself for the following encounter. Walking up to the henchmen, Inari fixed his best vapid guise of harmless innocence and asked him the same question he had repeated three times before now. ‘Where is Brong-san?’ and the fist which clipped him did not carry the force to do more than push him back and leave a bright red imprint. However Inari faked unconsciousness as if the blow had smited cerebral thought from him. He felt a pair of hands search him, find no weapons and he was quickly dragged through the dirt. Inari kept his eyes closed, peeking occasionally through long lidded lashes as to identify landmarks on his way back from the encounter. Eventually they came to a halt, and Inari heard the sounds of communication on a cellular device begin. He was summoning the rest of the crew to him, Inari waited patiently longer, disregarding the throb of his cheekbone and the uncomfortable position he lay in. Sooner rather then later, he heard shuffling footsteps and a cheeky glimpse from the corner of his eye confirmed his target. Brong entered, drinking from a bottle of soft alcohol but he did not seem unsharpened in demeanour by the beverage. Deciding against waiting for the whole crew to arrive, Inari moved himself into action: the Moon rising beside him, cracking with excitement as swords flickered from ethereal sheaths and two bodies fell to the ground. Hamgstrings cut. Another two swings with the flats of the blade and they lay out cold. As the other party members trickled in, Inari ambushed them from the corner and turned to survey the pile of unconcious bodies, a trickle of sweat sliding down his neck. Another job completed.
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