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TDM: MARCH
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aefenglom's test drive! All threads can be considered game canon, should you choose to do so; regardless of if you pick specific threads to remain canon to the game, the prompts and test drive itself will be. This will be touched on later in-game, so it's fairly important to note! Aside from that, here are some quick reminders:• Reserves Open Today! If you're interested in securing a character, put one in! This time around, reserves will expire after the first 48 hours of applications being opened. Those first 48 hours will be open to those who have reserves only, so we recommend placing one. It will not guarantee you a spot, but it will guarantee you can post your app immediately when they open.With that taken care of...
• Applications Open The 24th! There will be a cap of 30 applications accepted this round, and apps will close whenever we've reached that cap. If there are slots left after the reserves-only period, apps will open to those without reserves. The application page can be found here.
• If you have any questions about the game or the world, please refer to the FAQ page; if you still have questions, feel free to ask them! For questions specific to the test drive, please ask them on the appropriate thread.
• For the purposes of the test drive, your character will have access to all magics taught by the Coven if they're a Witch, and as much of their shifted form as you'd like if they're a Monster. Feel free to play around and experiment with each!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!
You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face -
and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that.
The Underground
Take a moment. Let your eyes adjust to the dark, your ears to echoing silence, but for the steady drip of condensation down the stone walls that surround you. The tunnels down here are wide, the ceilings high, but they are dim, devoid of sunlight and breeze. The only light, in fact, comes from the shards of softly-glowing shards of quartz lining the ground and the bio-luminescent algae that smears the stone in long, blue veins, pulsing gently, pushing breathable air into the otherwise-stale passageways. The air is damp, but the temperature is moderate - almost comfortable. The tunnels fork off and meander from where you are, some narrowing and some widening, but none seem to lead you to the surface, no matter how long you wander. Is it a trick of the light, that the algae glows a little brighter, pulses a little quicker, when you head in a particular direction? It's hard to sort your senses so deep underground, far from the world above where things make sense. Hopefully you've found a friend by now.
 The Crystal Cavern Many of the tunnels, both wide and narrow, lead to the same place: a massive chamber hewn out of the stone by time, and the drip-drip of water from the ceiling into the central lake. Perhaps you came out toward the bottom, and the ceiling is a thousand feet above you, or maybe you came out toward the top, and the lake is a thousand feet below. There are a hundred or more holes in the sloping stone walls that lead to more tunnels, and something like natural steps down from most of them. In a way, it resembles a beehive, this room acting as a central hub of sorts. This is also the first place you find signs of life. Short, tough little tufts of grass growing from the thin soil, bone white in color, having long abandoned photosynthesis and chlorophyll. More of the glowing algae. Small, skittering insects - beetles, grubs and worms. The occasional albino rat, much larger and louder than rats have any right to be. Ruffled and capped fungi growing on the wet rock like parasites, some as large as a grown man. Blind, slimy cave fish wriggling around in the still waters of the lake. And milling around the great stone cavern, slurping up the glowing algae that covers the rocks and grows in lacy sheets across the water, are dozens of great beasts, bigger than horses. Shaped like worms, but with dozens and dozens of stubby, fleshy legs, these creatures are huge, with velvety, multi-colored hides, and though their antennae wave in curiosity when approached, they don't seem aggressive. At least, as long as you avoid the big silk-wrapped bundles stuck to the walls and ground all over the cavern. These are their egg sacs, and if their young are threatened, they'll quickly shoot jets of viscous slime, a quick drying adhesive, that can slow and trap even the strongest adult. If you find yourself in a sticky situation, you better hope someone can wrench you loose - the worms seem content to eat algae, until they've caught prey. Each worm has a long, hooked, chitinous blade concealed within its fleshy jaws to tear and shred, and a nightmarish round mouth full of multiple rows of teeth. Navigate carefully. There at the bottom of the lake, where it feeds into an underground stream that leads down another wide tunnel, there are a few small rowboats, some missing oars, certainly not enough for everyone. You'll have to share if you want to get out of here. Or you can keep hanging out with the giant wormipedes. |
 The Procession As you proceed down the stream by boat, the lighting grows just a little brighter, seeming a little more purposeful in how the glowing algae is planted, how the softly glowing crystals are placed. You start seeing a new type of moss, greyish-green and growing in ragged sheets from the ceiling of the tunnel. Watch your head - it's near impossible to cut through this stuff should you get tangled. For a while, you only hear the soft splashing of the gentle stream, but then... there is a flash of torch light, up ahead. The boat ahead is longer than the one you use, better kept, and full of people - three Monsters, all whose forms are based on creatures that thrive underground, in pieces of armor, holding spears, and one very elderly Witch woman, seated in the middle, wrinkled hands folded primly in her lap. Her milky gaze stares straight ahead, with something soft and proud in the set of her face. One of the Monsters holds the torch, the other rows the boat, and the third settles down next to her; they speak in hushed voices, with little smiles. After a while, the rowing Monster slows the boat, before they can bump into a thick, heavy, impenetrable curtain of grayish-green moss that stretches across the whole tunnel, blocking the way, like a gate. The other two help the woman to her feet, and guide her toward the front of the boat - and the curtain of moss. She reaches out for it blindly, and they help her step onto the edge. There is something almost ritual or reverent about the movements, the way they regard the Witch as she touches the curtain of moss... and is wrapped into it quickly, swallowed up, absorbed. After twenty minutes of gentle pulsing, the lump that used to be the Witch is no more, and the whole of the moss pulses with light and magic. The Monsters watch this whole process vigilantly, and once the lights die down, they continue on. The moss parts to allow the boat through, brushing against the Monsters but not swallowing them. The procession happens a few more times, in separate boats, with separate victims - but all are very, very elderly, and seem proud, even happy to meet their fates. Trying to follow them further after the ritual will have the same thing happen for your boat - the moss will part, and brush over those in the boat without causing harm. If you happen to be infected with the Cwyld, however... you might meet the same fate as the old woman, with the moss reaching and grabbing for you. The procession can be stopped, but drawing attention will draw the ire of the Monster guards, and, strangely, the victims themselves, who will fly into a distressed rage at the interruption. |
 The Marketplace Beyond the veil of moss lies... civilization? The cavern is enormous, big enough to contain a city at least as big as Aefenglom, if not larger, though the population at a glance seems to be much smaller. Twenty thousand people, perhaps, give or take. Buildings have been carved out of huge stone spires, or formed by draping cloth around and between the natural stalactites and stalagmites. Monsters tend to be quite tall or bulky, possessing obvious physical strength, while Witches and humans tend to be shorter than in Aefenglom. They all mingle on the streets together, with no immediately obvious class difference. Since there is no weather to dress for, some don't bother to dress at all, though humans at least tend to wear flowy silks or simple clothes made from wormipede hides. The streets are wide and the buildings far-spaced, and many get around on the backs of those worm creatures, having made them saddles and reins. The stream ends in a lake right next to a marketplace, with many small boats docked on its pebbled shores. The stalls sell all kinds of goods: clothing made from fine silk and worm hide or rat fur, skewered meat (It's bug.), weapons, armor, jewelry made from chunks of beautiful stone. Your arrival is bound to cause a stir though, so keep your head down, and maybe it's time to snatch a disguise from one of the clothing stalls. Monster guards, occasionally flanked by Witches, patrol the streets and keep the peace, and stopping to talk to anyone will make one thing clear: they are not at all used to outsiders. They won't believe a word you say about being from above ground, and they've never heard of your world or Aefenglom. You're nomads from the tunnels, right? Of course, don't be ridiculous, you can't fool them with tall tales! At least they're usually willing to talk - briefly, of course, everyone is very busy down here, it's morning and many will be heading to tend to the herd soon. Those who are subtle and pointed in their questions can learn a lot about the vast but also small civilization below the surface of the world. Strength is valued here - the stronger the Monster or more powerful the Witch, the higher their rank in society, and the closer they live to the center, largest spires of stone. Monster-Witch Bonded pairs are the be-all-end-all, and often wear matching wrist-guards or pendants proudly. Pretending to be Bonded to another will put many of the natives at ease, though Monster-Monster pairs get snide comments about how you have to team up to find a good Witch, and Witch-Witch pairs will get odd looks and assume you both have a very strong Monster partner somewhere. It must be quite rare for Witches to go un-bonded here, and any who pass through without an obvious partner may be propositioned by young Monsters showing off their various talents. Unbonded Monsters may be nudged in the direction of any strange, unbonded Witches - usually fellow Mirrorbound - in a poor attempt at matchmaking. Those poor unbonded Witches need protection, right? Or so the locals think. It's too bad trying to go any farther than the Marketplace will get you stopped by guards and turned back, however. They don't allow nomads into the inner city. |
no subject
Needless to say the sight is impressive. He's seen Deidara's craftsmanship, the birds he's put into flight, but this is not the same, is not an owned unliving thing. Itachi's eyes are the slightest bit wider in the face of it.
Once the stranger vanishes over the lip of the building, he turns his focus onto his own path. Itachi circles the perimeter until he finds a wall deemed suitable to climb. It doesn't come with the same swiftness, but there's ease in the way he maneuvers, using everything to his advantage: the uneven vertical surface of stone; the hanging ribbon of a cloth draped between windows, the handhold of a stalactite, the beam of a makeshift window. It would be faster with chakra - he might be able to jump a majority of the distance - but without, the climb requires more physical strength and dexterity, and eventually Itachi reaches the roof. He hauls the upper half of his body over, then swings legs over the edge, gracefully coming to stand.]
How did it feel?
[Attention now on the Monster, he crosses the roof, bringing them closer.]
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He's so wrapped up in his observations that it takes him almost by surprised when the Witch makes his appearance. Julian turns, wide eyed and blinking, as the man swings over the lip of the stony roof, pulls himself to his feet with quiet elegance.]
You climbed up? No er, no magic to help you along?
[A touch of incredulity in his tone-- he can climb rigging with the grace of a cat, can make a daring escape along with the best of them, but were he in his usual form he doubts he could have pulled that off.]
My dear, I'm quite impressed. But um...to answer your question. It felt...fantastic. Exhilarating. So real I could almost believe it was actually happening. And it just came so...so easy. Like I was meant for it.
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... No. I'm not certain of my body's current level of mastery with magic.
[The explanation is simple and brief, because it had occurred to him to utilize magic in some way, but he'll first need a better understanding of the mechanisms behind the spells to accomplish that. Some are more natural than others. Then again, is that not why they agreed to this? To test the limits of their changed states?
He looks the Monster over in the brighter light of the rooftop, pale blue illumination spilling from distant, faraway tunnels above the cavernous city. It feels unnatural to be underground like this, away from the sun and the wilderness. But Itachi doesn't let this disorient him. Rather, his gaze remains fixed on the stranger, looming tall and beastly.]
The body you have now is meant for it. [Dream or not, that is undeniable. He takes another careful step forward until they're no more than an arm's reach apart.] There is something I'd like to try. It involves minor physical contact. Will you allow it?
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The Witch moves closer, careful and slow, Julian making no move to restablish the distance. Instead he spreads his arms when the question comes, just slighty parts his wings.]
What? Oh. Yes, go right ahead.
[Palms spread, an invitation.]
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Itachi moves closer, another slight half step, and evaluates the tall creature before him. It would be a strain to reach up for a shoulder, so instead he settles for one of those arms. His fingers are vaguely hot to the touch, as though his skin has rested against a warm sun-baked surface for several minutes. They curl over Julian's extended arm at the bicep. He can feel the suggestion of muscle beneath the soft texture of feathers and flesh, but he does not squeeze, contact kept very light.
Then, turning, Itachi focuses on a further point, lifting his opposite hand in the direction of the edge of the roof, and pulls at the warm intuitive threads of evocation magic. Rather than a verbal spell, this he manifests using the Monster as a foci without word. The reaction is instant: the air turns hot, crackling, as a jet of fire streams forth in one blazing ribbon and curls up into black smoke, eventually flickering out. The air shimmers from the effect of sudden heat. It's quick and unsustained, yet clearly a powerful spell.
He drops both hands to his side and lets out a short panted breath, sweat gathering along his browline.]
no subject
His expression remains distantly curious until the moment the flames leap into life. He feels something, he thinks, in the moment before it happens. A tug and pull somewhere deep inside of him, some place he doesn't know how to name. But the burst of heat and light snatches away any thoughts he might have about this, breath catching quick in his throat, muscles jumping beneath feathers and skin.
It's a small thing, his reaction - eyes flaring wide, body tense, feathers softly ruffled - but it's there. The subtle hint of alarm.
It passes quickly, and he takes a steadying breath. Huffs it out again in the shape of a quiet laugh.]
Well that, ah...that was quite something. Are you usually a magician? When you're, er, awake, I mean.
no subject
More interesting than even the display of magic. He's thrown fireballs like that more times than he can count in his life.]
Not a magician, no. [Itachi's head tilts, and he's quiet for a moment as he determines how to describe it. For something so accepted - so known - in his own world, he's never had to put it into words.] When I was alive, I was a shinobi. We work with the inherent chakra of the body to perform similar acts, or techniques.
You are more familiar with these 'magicians'?
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[It's a word that tugs at his memory, vaguely. Makes him think of hot days cooped up in a stuffy library, books and papers strewn about his desk, dark ink staining his fingers. Asra, stretched out lazy and loose as a cat in the noonday sun, face cupped soft in the palm of his hand. Sketching in the air with his fingers, a half-hearted explanation.
But whatever that explanation had entailed, it had bypassed his understanding. Only half-remembered now. Whittled down to just that one almost-familiar word.]
Something to do with um...centres, in the body? I'll admit, it never made much sense to me.
[A quick, rueful shake of his head.]
But um, yes. Magicians. Those who can do magic, cast spells and the like. Where I hail from, one only ever really uses the word Witch as an insult.
[And there's a colour to his voice as he says it, the vague underlay of guilt.]
no subject
[A rudimentary explanation, but Itachi keeps the language general and basic so as to be better translated to someone unfamiliar. It calls his own memory to mind, distilled and gray and eternal. The early days of childhood, the slats of shadow playing across tatami mats, the steady rain drumming over the roof and windows. His younger brother, Sasuke, rolling around on the floor, still yet unable to walk. A book spread across his own small lap: on it, an anatomical design of chakra networks throughout the human body.
He doesn't think the idea is too unlike these magicians, except in what is determined as their power source.
Itachi allows the moment to lapse into quiet with that confession. Then he says, quietly,]
It is easier to fear that which is not well understood. [It's unclear whether he means these Witches or something else, the vagueness of it lost to his next question.] Where is it you came from?
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He's made more effort lately, this he knows. All that time spent with Salim and Aisha, their combined efforts with the aqueducts; he supposes it has worn away the edges of his wariness. Done something to dull the quick, ugly curl of fear he's always felt in the face of magic. One can't fraternize, day in and day out, with magicians only to learn nothing at all.]
Hmm. Quite so.
[Words muttered noncommittally, quickly skipped over in favour of the question. A keenness to leave that subject behind them, for now.]
I came from Vesuvia. [He says it with the casual assurance of one who expects to be understood, as though it's a name the other man ought to know.] Last I recall, I'd been up at the palace. I don't, in fact, have any recollection of stopping to sleep...
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Itachi turns, crossing to the nearest edge of the building to look down on the bustle of activity on the street. He raises his voice well enough to be heard.]
You may return to that place, or you may not. I was told there is another dimension where you might instead wake up in. The land is called Geargadas, and its capital Aefenglom.
[The idea itself is hard to fathom - snatched from a dream, out of space and time, and stowed away elsewhere. What is the purpose of this, then? Why take some living and some dead?]
Earlier I used you as a conduit, or so was my intention, as that seems to illustrate the relationship between Witch and Monster. Did you feel anything from it?
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Not that he's entirely unaccustomed to the concept of other realms, though the idea that he could end up in such a place rather than the world he knows fills him with the a small measure of discomfort. A thread of cold uncertainty. His past experiences with such things, they rarely led to anything good.
For all he knows, the Witch standing across from him now, eyes cast out over the crowds below, really is nothing but a figment of his own dream. Not someone to be trusted, or believed, but--
--but. The lucidity of this dream, the length and depth of it. How far-flung and different it is from any dream he's ever dreamt before; these things, they prevent him from dismissing the stranger outright.]
I felt something. An...internal twinge. Like a...like a vibrant sort of pulling.
[He makes a vague motion with one long hand - fingers elegant, black as night - towards himself, though the sensation he describes was felt in no part of him he can specify.]
But um...what you said before. About waking up somewhere else. Where did you hear that? Who told you that?
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[There is no easy explanation for Sasuke, for the reasons behind why his immediate trust and belief is so deep, and all he can offer are words and ideas. The barest pieces of possibility. He understands it may not be accepted. Were it not for his brother, Itachi would be of the same mind: that this space, and this dream, are temporary and imagined, perhaps his mind's last grasp of illusion before it falls at last to eternal sleep.]
I cannot prove it to you, nor convince you of this truth.
[Once, he would have been capable of it - the ability to reprogram someone's mind, to steer them in another direction, to bend the shape of their perspective. To break their will. But that was left behind, in whatever ghost of himself still existed, distilled by the past.]
But it is as I said.
no subject
[His feathered brow furrows, the line of his jaw pulling tight. That what began as an unusual dream now has the potential to turn into another strange and protracted adventure; he isn't sure what to make of it.
His silence holds for only a moment, but then he's lifting broad shoulders in a shrug, wings shifting slightly in the wake of it. Smiles his sharp-toothed smile.]
Well. No use worrying about it now, I suppose. It'll either happen or it won't, and until then...perhaps we should test out a few more things. If we are going to end up in some other place, one that follows the rules we're experiencing right now...better to be prepared, eh?
no subject
You're correct. That was my goal in investigating this place and the dynamic between Witch and Monster.
[If nothing else, he can relay the information to Sasuke before the dream ends.]
There is more magic I could experiment in using, but perhaps we ought to take a more direct approach, to test both of us. Are you capable in combat?
no subject
Uncertainty remains in him, and perhaps the shadow of something hopeful; that he'll wake up somewhere within the palace, perhaps having succumbed to exhaution following too much work and not enough rest. Flung out across a chaise lounge, or face pressed to inky pages at his desk in the library.
But now the possibility of a longer stay than he'd anticipated has been brought to his attention, and there's still time. They're still here. He can still walk among the Monsters and Witches below, ask them questions.
For now, though-- he stands a little straighter, towering above his companion with the added inches to his height, measuring in somewhere closer to 6'8 in his new and altered form. Wings thrown back in a dramatic display, chest puffed out, he does his utmost best to seem fierce. Intimidating.]
I know my way around a bar room brawl. I can hold my own with a sword. But um...
[His bravado falters just a little as he glanced down at his talons, the new and animal shape of him.]
...I'm not sure that's the kind of battle this body is made for.
[A pause, just the length of one unsteady heartbeat.]
You don't think that's what I'll be expected to do, do you? I'm more of a healer than a fighter. A doctor, you know. I'm better at saving lives than taking them.
[He's never killed another person in his life. Thought he had once, and the guilt had very nearly eaten him alive.]
no subject
Itachi doesn't balk at it, but he does seem to be studying the form of the harpy more closely. Dark eyes follow over every inch of muscle and sinew, claw and feather on display. It's unsubtle, and unhindered by worry of accepted social behavior... like the rudeness of staring too much.]
It's possible. In the world of Geargadas, there is an infection called the Cwyld. A corruption. If it possesses a sentient creature and takes them over, they become wild and bloodthirsty.
[All of this relayed by his brother, but again, he believes it.]
You may encounter these creatures if you do continue past this dream. I imagine your healing capabilities will be useful, but in a Monster's body, it would do well to understand the basics of defense.
[It's easier to focus on someone else's situation than his own, and yet still, it's difficult to unhinge his mind from its own biases and experiences. Saving lives, rather than taking them... a luxury afforded to few shinobi. He'd lost count of the people he'd killed by the time he was eleven years old.]
Would you prefer to practice defensive techniques, as you are now?
no subject
Like a plague.
[The words are clipped and matter of fact, none of stutter-start uncertainty that had been there before. Something settles into him like the feel of a heavy bolt sliding home, iron bars around his chest, constricting him. Hemming him in. If this isn't a dream, if this is as the other man says, and he ends up waking in some other place, riddled by some monstrous infection--
--suddenly, he thinks he knows precisely why he's here. A plague doctor. Brought to a world inflicted with plague. There's a cold and ugly sense to it.
He doesn't want this. Not again. Not when the words - a corruption - fill his mind's eye with bodies piled high in the streets, the stench of rot and decay so thick it can almost be felt, and out across the open water, dark on the horizon...the lazaret. Black clouds billowing from it, all those bodies, burning.
He takes a slow breath. In-out. One-two.]
I'm not worried about defending myself. Pain doesn't worry me one little bit.
[His smile, there's something in it now. A little hard. A little sharp. Though in less than a moment that hardness wears away at the edges, reveals - once more - the true shape of him underneath.]
But I er, I suppose I ought to know how best to defend someone else. It seems like Monsters are meant to protect Witches? I'll gladly place myself in harm's way for the sake of someone who needs it.
no subject
Itachi hasn't moved from the spot he's taken on the roof, arms loose at his sides. His gaze does slide to the left, overlooking the vista view of the cavern overheard, an endless blackness cut by grey and blue shadow. What exists past it? Is that where Geargadas would lay, and where its corruption is sheltered in the dark forests?
Then he focuses on the Monster again.]
I won't require protection. [This is said with certainty. It's how he's lived his life, from this point unfurling into the past, from birth to final death: alone.] However, it is likely other Witches will. Perhaps that is what they mean.
[There's more to what's said, and he lets his mind linger over it briefly. Nostalgia swims at the forefront - such a selfless, kind, naive mentality. Itachi does not cast judgment even as he draws this impression of the other man.]
We can start simply. I will field an offensive attack, and you deflect it. If it helps to imagine there is someone you are protecting, that's fine.
no subject
[He eyes the other man, briefly. A quick side-long once-over that stands in sharp contrast to the way the Witch had eyed him only moments before. Long, and unabashedly appraising. Something that might just have caused flustered self-consciousness were it not for the talk of corruption, felt like a knife to the heart.
The Witch is slight, next to him. Unprotected by feathers or talons or fangs, but there's a cool dissociation about him, the finality with which he says it, I won't require protection. Julian knows a thing or two about strength, the surprising forms it can take. Thinks briefly of slight, slender Asra, the tender shape of him. The way his eyes could cut from across a room, face like a closed door, ever distant. The big, dark, dangerous things he was capable of.
He nods, accepts the other man's assertion without further argument.
And he moves then, to ready himself. Muscles pulled taught beneath feathers and flesh, body coiled and ready. Hands lifted as though to strike a blow, talons flashing dark in the cavern's cool blue light--
--he falters, at the last moment.]
But um...but what if I hurt you? This body is rather different from what I'm used to. What if I, that is...what if I don't know my own strength?
no subject
[Meant to reassure, perhaps, that any injury inflicted won't last into the waking world, but it's only one of several reasons he decides to give. One that he feels is less personal, less subjective. Another argument is that he's dead, so it doesn't matter the pain is subjected to. Another argument is that he's accustomed to bodily threat and he can bear whatever the Monster delivers.]
I'll be all right.
[This itself may be a lie, but one he feels necessary to offer - as well as some belief it might prove true even if he can't predict the future. He's without perception and chakra both; but he's not defenseless. He has his body, and the burden of sickness is seemingly gone (or at least muted, in this dreamy space). He'd noticed that immediately.]
Focus on your body. Always move, dodge, and avoid my attacks. Push me back if you need to. [Advice given in a calm, measured way.] As I said, we'll begin simply.
[And simple it is, though Itachi carries the action through with great speed, lunging forward to spin and swing one leg in a roundhouse kick aimed at one of those muscular, ropy arms.]
no subject
--only to find that the other man is already moving. His movements come on fast and strong, take Julian almost by surprise, drag a sound from him that's soft, a little startled. He obeys though - move, dodge, avoid - reflexes lightening-strike swift and entirely unexpected.
The fluidity with which he evades the attack is more startling to him than the attack itself, body whirling back and out of the path of oncoming violence. It's in him, he thinks, in this body. An addition to match his sharpened sight, the fierceness of teeth and talons.
He spins swiftly, means to come up behind the Witch, lashes out with clawed hands, fast as thinking.]
Oh! I...I'm sorry...
[An apology that stands at odds with the instinctive defence he'd presented.]
no subject
Were this an ordinary battle, it would be effortless to avoid. Yet without the ability to perceive his opponent's movements, without the Sharingan in his eyes, he may as well be half-blind to the world, unable to predict exact trajectories, unable to track his opponent before he appears suddenly at his back.
Itachi's reaction splits on a second - as soon as those claws rake across his back, the silhouette of his body bursts into a thousand crow-wings, scattering, distracting. He reappears to Julian's left, all in one piece.
It's not exactly the same as clone jutsu. This he's noticed. Instead, it's a meld of illusion and teleportation magic, spells combining their influences to achieve a similar effect. He turns, one hand reaching to a spot on his lower back where his shirt has been torn open, though thankfully the skin beneath remains a smooth untouched paleness.]
Good. Does your body feel different?
no subject
The Witch coalesces to the left of him just as his mind starts to make sense of what he's seeing, leaves him disorientated. Caught somewhere between mild alarm and awe. He's seen a lot of things - water springing fourth from sand, the leap of flames against a tawny palm, magic that cuts, that deliciously hurts - but this is something different. Something unsettlingly new.
He stares at him a moment, his suddenly solid form. Shocked into silence. But all of a sudden the moment breaks and he's covering the space between them in two log digitigrade strides, the look on his face one of perfect concern.]
Are you all right? Didn't cut you, did I? Let me see...
[He stops short of the other man, close to the ledge of the flat, carved rock. One hand slightly raised as though he wants to reach out and touch him, held in check only by the Witch's cool self-possession. The faint aura he gives of someone who wouldn't want to be touched.]
But um...to answer your question, yes. Heightened reflexes. I'm not normally nearly so fast.
no subject
One that never comes.
There he freezes, eyes slightly wider than their usual narrow-slitted scrutiny, willing the rush of instinctive adrenaline to drain out of his system. It takes several moments. The concern on the other man's face is disorienting, confusing, far more than the improvised swipe of earlier's claws at his back. A doctor, he's forced to remind himself. And yet the strangeness of that worry being shined his way is difficult to shake. Not even as a child, when he was first practicing the arts of shinobi - the rare occasions he'd skin his knees or fall during a failed routine - had he experienced that sort of reaction from someone else. Mostly because he had trained alone, or with Shisui, who was as much an opponent (and as much an Uchiha) as he was a friend.
Get up, do better.
And of course, since those early years, he'd learned to conceal weaknesses whether it be on the battlefield or in the privacy of his bedroom. That was simply survival.
It takes Itachi a minute of silence to form a reply, at which point he's managed to fall back out of that readied pose of defense. He affords one glance over his shoulder, then turns to reveal the torn fabric, even though that feels like a misstep, comes hesitant and slow, as though he's showing his throat to an enemy by baring his back.]
That isn't necessary. There was no damage to my skin. [So... awkward... Easier to turn his mind back to the commentary on combat.] ... You should rely on your reflexes. If well trained, they may one day save your life.
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