Juniper was having a wonderful though exhausting time. This kind of socialization really took a toll on her after a while, she was no longer a coven head, but she still knew the song and dance. Though it had never been on quite this scale. Her time as coven head had been relatively boring all things considered. She had heard of Conclaves, knew it was something she could encounter. But in her four years it had never come up. 

Since she didn’t have the responsibility of leadership however, she thought she could have some fun. And this kind of  fun required alcohol, but if she actually sat at the bar and drank as much as she needed to, to get as drunk as she wanted. It would not be a good look. So she prepared. Empty stomach, ginger nausea tonic before leaving Theras, and a carefully placed flask filled to the brim with her favorite high proof gin. Supplemented with the champagne and wine being carried around by staff, it should do the trick. 

After maybe one of the most boring conversations she had ever had with someone whose name she forgot as soon as they spoke, she really needed a stronger drink than the glass in her hand. Excusing herself from the conversation with a coy smile and the reasoning that she saw someone she desperately needed to speak with about something very important, then she was off to find a corner. 

She found a quieter area off to the side of the bar and she waited till she felt no one was looking, taking the flask from the bodice of her gown and flipping the cap. One gulp, two. Sighing with a pleasant shiver as the burn and warmth slid down her throat. 

She leaned back against the cold wall to feel the shock of it on her skin. Between the alcohol and just the amount of people in the event space, she was feeling warm and she was sure her cheeks were flush. So the moment was nice and she closed her eyes to enjoy it. She thought about stepping outside for air. But the exit was far and the bar was much closer.

Opening her eyes and turning back toward the bar she was surprised to see someone looking at her, even more so surprised to see they were approaching her. Back into the fray she thought to herself. Walking to meet them halfway.

He kept to the shadows as he watched her move to a more quiet area. One where prying eyes wouldn't notice her. Akemi couldn't help but smirk as he watched her dip her fingers into her own breasts -- perfectly held by the form fitted dress that she wore -- and pull out her own flask. Even though they'd only met and interacted once, Akemi wasn't surprised by the behavior.

It just made her more intriguing to him.

"Juni." Akemi's voice was low, as if he was talking down to her. He shook his head as he tsked while walking up to her. "Didn't your parents teach you politeness?" Once he was within a foot of her, he held out his hand. "Sharing is caring."

She had stopped fighting. Yes. She had. But not out of mercy or deference. Her taps had been warnings—signals sent across the air like coded flares, each light touch a threshold he’d been steadily crossing. She hadn’t wanted to strike to kill. Yet.

But her restraint reads as submission to him. And then the world tilts. She doesn’t see it—she feels it, the shift in air pressure, the flicker in his gaze before he moves. It isn’t speed. It’s decision. That’s what throws her. The absolute certainty of his intent, and the way the futures tremble and shatter in response.

She sees five of them—then three—then none.

The dagger’s hum deepens as he draws it. Not a just weapon—her skin prickles even before she feels the slice.

It isn’t deep, but it doesn’t have to be.

Pain blooms bright, and something else rushes in behind it—cold, insidious, blooming through the back of her neck like frost on glass.Selene gasps, not in pain but calculation, mind scrambling through possible tomorrows, trying to see the contours of what’s been done to her. The answer won’t come. There’s too much noise. His taunts. Her blood. Her fury.

"You need a new teacher." "What do you think your instructor would think of this pathetic show?"

“Oh, please,” she hisses through her teeth, staggered but upright, even as her legs threaten rebellion. “You think you’re offering guidance? Is this you pitching yourself as a mentor? What, did you fail your final exam? Is this your little return tour, trying to get your gold star from a teacher who doesn’t even mention you?” She spits the name like venom: “There is no Kae Miyazaki in Miyazaki-san’s archive. Not a word. You’re not even a regret.”

Then she moves.

Her whole body launches forward, pivoting from one grounded heel, and this time it’s not to spar—it’s to hurt. The first strike is a hammering punch toward his kidney, aimed to fold him sideways. The second is a palm to the throat—measured, surgical, aimed not to crush but to control. Her ballet-honed muscles deliver force with elegance, each strike a memory from another stage.

But something’s wrong.

Not wrong in her precision, but wrong in her body’s timing. The second strike slows just slightly. Like she’s dreaming through molasses. Her hands still know, but her blood is failing to carry the message. The dagger’s poison is working fast—faster than she accounted for.

She falters. A breath too long. 

Her fury spikes, volcanic in her chest, trying to override the numbing chill leaking into her limbs. But that anger only clouds her magic further—her gift, her sight—which begins to flicker like a dying projector reel.

One by one, the futures begin to vanish. Click. Click. Click. Hallway doors slamming shut, every path she might’ve taken locking behind her. 

No. No. Not yet.

She channels what’s left, pushes it through the haze, pulls together all remaining focus for one final strike—a second shot at his neck, as if that might undo everything. As if she can sever the timeline where he wins.

And that’s when her legs collapse.

He was over three centuries old, though. He'd had a lot of practice and trial and error. This woman didn't.

Akemi ignored the first part of her speech, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her words. No. He was definitely not a failure. In fact, Akemi continued to use everything that Tetsuya had taught him, all of those years ago. He probably could have learned more, too, had he stayed. But it went against everything he believed in. Power like Tetsuya's wasn't meant to be wielded by fake God's.

Even if Akemi had given her his real name, he didn't expect Tetsuya to have talked about him. A man of such few words. No. He wouldn't waste them on talking about Akemi. "Yes, well, they wouldn't exactly keep much record on a Miyazaki who they deemed defective, now, would they?" A new story, spun so easily that almost Akemi believed it. There had been a time when he'd felt like he was part of the family. He'd even jokingly used Miyazaki as a last name on a couple of occasions, wishing it were true.

As she strode towards him, Akemi's body followed her motions fluidly. His hands drifted over where his kidney resided inside of his body, flattening against himself. It prevented her hand from doing too much damage to him; his own hands absorbing some of the momentum. Then, he lifts an arm, bending it at the elbow as it sits between her other hand and his throat. Her second attack is a hair slower than the first.

Akemi doesn't hide the smile as she tries again. His fingers wrap around her wrist, halting her attack with a firm grip. "Bad girls don't get to experience satisfaction." He muttered, softly, as her body gave out, collapsing against the mat. He followed her down, crouching next to her.

Three tsks ring out next to her left ear as one hand lifts, settling in her blonde locks. "It was a good try, nonetheless." Fingers dragged through her hair until he caught a strand. He twirled it around one finger and then gave it a slight tug. After a moment, he dropped his hand and let out a sigh. "How much longer till this place opens again?" He asked, paused, smirked. "Right." She wouldn't be able to talk.

She couldn’t help but give him side-eye at the mention of witches. Sure the storm was most unnatural, it was still an odd thing to say. Not to mention he was one to talk, the way he moved with almost no regard to his surroundings was almost more suspicious than the storm itself. She kind of wished she wasn’t so overstimulated by the everything around them, she might be able to get a better read on him.  

There was a stern look when he refused her correction. Eyes quickly returning to the flooded pavement in front of her. The nerve he had to be smiling right now was unthinkable. “Amused is not the word I would use, no.” She could feel the edges of her mouth curling into a smile anyways, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep it from progressing. 

I'd get what I need regardless.

"No? Pity." He let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, there's always next time." Assuming there would be a next time. Assuming that she wouldn't walk in the opposite direction the next time she laid eyes on him. "I listen. I just choose not to do as you say." Another grin. "Of course not. You gave me yours, so it's only fair, right?"

“I wouldn’t exactly say I chose to be out in it.” She added. “I was planning on waiting out the storm at home. Mother nature had other plans. I’m not out here for a stroll. I’m trying to find shelter. And until you showed up the awning was doing just fine. How do I know you aren’t bad luck?” She didn’t believe for a single moment he had caused the awning to break. It was a coincidence. But assuming she was choosing to be out here was just as silly a statement.

Juni? She almost broke pace, a step uneven as she nearly stopped in her tracks. The audacity. She looked at him with a high brow and a shake of the head “Oh absolutely not. Juni?” She laughed. “Who is that? I believe I said my name was Juniper. It’s not like it’s a mouthful. Do you need me to spell it for you or can you just not handle the syllable count?” She snipped. More at the situation as a whole. 

"Bad luck?" Akemi snorted. It hadn't been the first time someone had made such a comment to him. Definitely wouldn't be the last. "We have to make our own luck in this world, Juni. Not only that, but I can't sway the weather. I'm not a witch." He wasn't. Not at all. Not this persona. Not in his group. Fuck witches. Or, at least, most of them.

“So it’s Miyazaki. Tell me, is hubris hereditary or did you cultivate it all by yourself?”

His promise to raze her home flickers across her vision. Anger boils, but she locks it down; hot emotions bend the lens of foresight, and she needs the next five seconds perfect.

He brandishes the dagger, hilt first. Every viable branch says the same thing— take it. He’s offering you his weapon, hubris or not, take it. Selene plucks it from his palm with a ballerina’s precision. Steel hums against her pulse, shimmering with warped possibilities, as though the blade itself remembers old blood. She slips it into the small of her jacket, freeing her hands to claim the bo waiting just behind her ribs like an extra bone.

“‘Little one’ again, ” she muses, lifting the staff and letting its iron cap kiss the floorboards with a quiet tok, neat as a conductor’s down-beat. “Let’s keep a tally—a strike for every ‘little one,’ hmm?”

She advances—not to strike, merely to steer. Weight rolls through the balls of her feet, spine stacked, breath measured like a dancer marking time. The bo describes a slow crescent, more shepherd’s crook than cudgel, coaxing him two respectful paces toward the door.

“One,” she murmurs as the tip brushes the floor—her own private metronome. Another easy sweep parts the air just shy of his coat hem; enough wind to tug the fabric, not enough threat to bruise ego or skin. “Two. Your tab’s running up quickly.”

She feels the moment his shoulders tighten, the subtle lean left. Foresight blooms: half a second from now she’s already drifted sideways, letting any impulse he had spill harmlessly into vacant space. The lacquered end of the staff hovers an inch from the seam of his trousers, as polite and precise as a fingertip pausing on a chess piece.

“So, Miyazaki,” she says, voice cool, “what lesson is on today’s syllabus? Humility? Fear? Introductory footwork?” A faint smile tugs at her mouth—courteous, almost nurturing. “I adore a good curriculum. Lucky you’ve volunteered to be the demonstration.” The air around her shivers, threaded with barely contained chronomancy, ready to rewrite the next heartbeat the moment he chooses wrong. He gives her five seconds and Selene doesn’t hesitate. 

Five seconds: precisely the length of the world she sees ahead. Time dilates into brilliant shards—five heartbeats, five clean moves.Beat one — pivot: she pivots on her forward heel. Beat two — the arc: the bo telescopes from guiding arc to piston-thrust in a blink, precisely where her foresight labeled liver ± two centimeters. Beat three — impact: wood meets flesh with a hollow thwock, violent enough to steal breath before a cry can form. Beat four — rebound: as his diaphragm locks, she rolls her wrists, drawing the staff back and up. Beat five — return stroke: She cracks the return stroke across the hinge of his knee; the joint buckles, argument folding with it. The future she’d selected arrives right on schedule: Miyazaki teeters. “There’s your five seconds.”

Akemi knew that he'd be nothing without Tetsuya. And while he appreciated and respected everything the man had taught him years ago, Miyazaki had to die. He was too powerful -- the magic he knew potentially unstoppable. And if he kept teaching others what he'd taught Akemi, there would be more Witches that acted like Gods. Akemi couldn't allow that to happen.

"If you can manage." He nodded as he stood in place, eyes tracking her every movement. His lips lifted upward slightly as she took his dagger from him and slipped it into her jacket. Interesting that she hadn't chosen to use it. Just take it from him. But he refused to correct her, or to warn her what that dagger might do if the metal sliced through skin. She'd find out, eventually. By her own mistakes, or from Akemi's intent.

The bo arcs in front of him and he does as she demands, taking two steps back. Then, she moves it towards one side, pausing with precision before it collides with his body. It was as if she was using her skill to try to... intimidate him? Akemi couldn't help but chuckle at the display. Had Miyazaki showed her such showmanship?

"Arrogance." He mused before she started her five seconds. He didn't move from the spot she'd pressed him towards, allowing her to show off her skills -- ha. Within three seconds, the end of the bo is connecting with his body. Akemi grunted at the shove, blowing out a breath as he remained where he was. Then, the end of the pole collides with the back of his knee, causing it to buckle for a moment. He doesn't fall and it takes half a second for him to balance his weight again.

"It seems as though Master Miyazaki has not taught you properly." Akemi muttered lowly as his hand jutted out, grasping the bo without even looking in her direction. First, he yanked the wooden stick from her grasp, then, he used it to smack her directly on her ass before the air protested as he sent it flying across the room. It hit a wall and then clattered to the ground.

"I gave you five seconds." He said and in one fluid, quiet motion, he was standing behind her. "You got to choose your weapon--" Delicate fingers coaxed the dagger from her pocket; the metal vibrating against his fingers -- begging to be used. "You chose a wooden stick." The dagger lifted, dragging against the back of her neck. "And you also stopped fighting. Big fucking mistake."

His hand immediately wrapped around the back of her neck, his skin squishing against the blood that bubbled out of the incision. "You need a new teacher." Akemi used his strength to shove her to her knees. "One that teaches you to pick fights with those of your skill set." His eyes flickered towards the door for a brief moment, then back down at her. "What do you think your instructor would think of this pathetic show?"

Akemi's fingers dug into her neck, although, he knew that the numbing would take affect soon. The dagger wasn't just a dagger. Nothing that Akemi kept with him ever was just a simple object. He'd manipulated the metal, imbedding magic within it, causing it to have a numbing affect on whoever's blood it touched. It had been meant for Tetsuya Miyazaki. But it could be used for his students, too.

Her own schooling covers the full breadth of dojo practice and then some, magic braided neatly through muscle memory. From the quick shimmer of near-futures she can tell he is accomplished—too accomplished. In the span of five seconds he slashes through three discrete attack lines; most opponents manage one, two at best. Five seconds can be an eternity if you let it breathe. He, however, keeps each possible outcome balanced on a knife-edge. Irritating—but information.

“I’m not the legal owner,” she concedes, voice still measured, “but this is my home. Two years of dawn drills, two years of bruises bled into these mats. That’s certainly more ownership than you have here.”

‘Little one,’ he says. Her first instinct is to bare her teeth—she almost does—but the flash of anger lasts only a heartbeat. She reins it in; strong emotion makes the timestream flare and blur, turning clean possibilities into blinding glare. If she wants the seconds to lie open and legible, she must keep her pulse—and her pride—exact.

“Is that a dagger in your pocket,” she asks, dead-pan, “or are you simply delighted to see me?” The quip is delivered with all the warmth of pressed linen. Three quiet steps close the distance; time seems to flow around her shins like air through a vent. She lets the mirror behind him capture the move, so if he darts her peripheral vision will already be tracking. “Either way, produce it. I prefer not to fight blind—my opponents deserve a fair chance.”

Up close she notices the marks coiled at his throat: runes, etched or inked, pulsing with a muted vibrato. Her gaze flicks there, then back to his eyes. Witch? Or merely cursed? A matter to verify once the immediate calculus is settled.

She shifts her stance, bō angled across her body—neither threat nor invitation, simply protocol. “We have three ways forward,” she states, counting them off with the calm of a chess arbiter. “First, you explain yourself and depart uninjured. Second, you withdraw in silence and I escort you out. Third, you draw that blade and I neutralize the threat proportionally. I recommend the first; it keeps the janitorial budget reasonable.”

The wall clock ticks, impartial. Five seconds spool, four, three. Selene holds his stare—steady, proper, entirely prepared.

"Oh, really? Two years?" His eyebrows rose, feigning impressed. Two years was nothing compared to him. And he doubted that she knew as much as he had, in that short amount of time. "When we are done here, you might not longer have a home." He said, as a matter of factly. "So I suggest that you bring your best."

Her comment earned her another smile. Feisty. "Can't it be both?" He cocked his head to the side, remaining in a relaxed state, as he watched her move towards him. Her movements were quiet. Not very precise. One shove to her side and she might just fall over from lack of balance.

This should be fun.

Akemi pulled his hand from his pocket, leaving the dagger behind. He didn't need a weapon in order to best her. And honestly, he wanted to see what she could do before he even tried to subdue her. "You and your concern for messes." Akemi chuckled and shook his head. "I propose a fourth. I will only use my hands but you can choose any weapon you want. Hell, you can have my dagger, if it pleases you." He said. "I am not leaving, little one. Nor are you leaving without being taught a lesson."

Where: PL Boat Rental

If the wind were still able to fill her lungs, Ha-Jeong knew that it would taste like magic. She knew storms, had sailed in more typhoons than she could count, and this was no natural storm. But she found that she cared little for its origin. She was reminded of her centuries at sea. How she had volunteered herself for solo deck duty in almost every storm the ship had seen. It had been a selfish move as much as it had been a logical one. Her body could simply withstand more than her human crewmates, but she had also loved the feeling of being swept up in something so much bigger than herself.

She sat on her dock, the humans she usually employed to run the place summarily dismissed and sent to safer pastures. She had gone around on her own and spider tied all vessels that hadn’t been stored on racks or in the 3 operating boat houses. The dock rocked beneath her, undulating with the sea.

Ha-Jeong stood and started to remove her jacket. The other haenyeo used to call her ‘ineo’ when she had spent her decade on Jeju. That was perhaps her favourite way she had spent the 90s. She cocked her head from side to side as she took a starting position. If she was honest with herself those ladies hadn’t been the only people to accuse her of having a more aquatic than human nature. Ironic for this was perhaps the one human idiosyncrasy she had left, as she ran towards the edge of the dock, wind running through her hair, she was reminded of a little girl centuries ago who would have done the same.

As she flew over the water, the tumultuous storm current sipping around her body, she felt a presence appear behind her on the dock. As the water welcomed her, an embrace no colder than her own, she quickly broke through the surface to meet the eyes of someone who was either just brave or just stupid enough to witness her in her human indulgence.

Thankfully, the Hurricane had yet to get too bad, but that didn't mean it wouldn't.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Akemi slowly walked along the dock until he was at the end of it. His eyes connected with the woman that had just broken the surface of the water. "You weren't wet enough by the rain?"

Another screech and crack later and she was jumping from the impact of the awning. Hand on her chest to calm her pulse, rain or not she was still on edge. Even more so when out in the thick of it. “Well obviously- It was more just a figure of speech. I- that was lucky timing.” She mumbled, looking to the sidewalk and trying to figure out if there was another route she could take to Crow & Chalice. Since it seemed like she was going in the same direction as he was. Alas, the water was even deeper behind her and that did not seem like a good idea. 

Just as she had resigned herself to her fate, she heard him sigh and watched in disbelief as he grabbed the metal awning and held it over her head like an umbrella. How was he even doing that? Forget the weight of the metal structure itself, but holding it up against these winds? That was… unexpected. That aside, what was more unexpected was that he was even doing it for her in the first place. 

Interesting. She couldn’t help but smile, despite the continued name calling. “I’m enjoying our time together? You're the one that stopped to chat, and you could have walked away at any moment.” There was an amused tone in her voice. Eyeing the awning for just a moment. He was being nice to her. Her smile widened and she stepped backwards into the rain. “I told you, I like the rain. It's the rest of it I'm not a fan of, at least not when I am out in it.” She turns and makes it back onto the sidewalk without him. 

The metal might have been heavy and uncontrollable to some, but not for him. Not only was he strong, but he could manipulate the metal in a way no one else could. It wouldn't fly away from the wind; it would do exactly as he asked of it.

"Why would I walk away? You're currently the highlight of my day." Akemi said with a smile as he continued to hold the metal above her head. Then, she stepped out from under it, and just as she did, a lightning bolt shot through the sky. The metal hummed against his fingertips, as if begging for the lightning to hit it. "And yet, you've chosen to be in it."

Another blossom unfurls behind it: tendon, crack, arterial spray. She chooses the quieter bloom.

“I assure you, pain and I are well acquainted,” she says, voice cool as steel left in moonlight. Selene courts pain nightly—blisters, bruises, the slow dissolution of cartilage. "But pain without grace is merely damage. We aspire to better here.”

She gestures to the mirrors, to the ghost-images of herself arrayed in infinite regress. “You’ve stepped into a temple of discipline, not a proving ground. So leave your sermon on suffering at the door with your shoes, hm?” Some snark now, because she can: “Yes, the sign outside requests both.”

The dagger hangs in her peripheral vision, bright as a comet, the future swirling around it. She feels its weight in his pocket, counts eight trajectories that end with blood on the mats. In three of them, it’s his.

“You’re trespassing,” Selene continues, brushing chalk from her fingertips. “That grants me certain liberties—calling the police, for instance, or applying more direct corrections. I prefer the former; it keeps the floors clean.”

Yet she reaches for no phone. Instead she offers a single, measured question—captor to intruder, hostess to wanderer: “Why are you here? Name what you’ve lost. If it can be found without broken bones, I may oblige. Five seconds are yours.”

Her gaze sharpens, petals converging to one blade of intent. “Waste them, and we’ll both learn precisely what my instructor has taught me.”

His fingers tighten around the handle of the dagger. He was itching to use it. He needed to release the anger that began filling in his body from the moment he stepped into the dojo. Tatsuya could have been there. He could still come, if he suspected something wrong. Akemi was so fucking close to his prey. So close to having this hunt over and his old Master dead.

Akemi's eyes narrowed as he kept his mouth shut. He'd argue that he wasn't actually trespassing. That wherever Tetsuya went, so could Akemi. But this woman didn't know who he was, nor did he have any intention of letting her in on that secret. "I'd prefer the latter. " Her, directly correcting him. It would show him just how much she knew. It might also prove to be amusing.

"What I've lost." A chuckle as he shook his head slightly. He'd lost a partnership. A friend. Someone he had looked up to for so long. Someone who gave him good attention. Who Akemi had thought, cared. He'd lost his only sense of the word family; slipping down the drain the moment he realized just how dangerous it was. "You are not the owner of this place, therefore, it is none of your business."

She shouldn't have been there. Akemi had waited until after closing. This woman was just in the place at the wrong fucking time. It was her fault for what happened next -- not his. "Go on, little one." He coaxed her, gently. "Show me exactly how you might defend your and your instructor's honor."

The door glides open, and suddenly, possibility splinters like lacquer: twelve petals, each a heartbeat ahead. In one, the stranger’s dagger finds her ribs; in another, she fractures his wrist before the blade inhales air. Five seconds spool and unspool. She watches herself die, survive, parry, retreat—an entire waltz of outcomes blooming and falling away. Absurd—steel in a room built for sweat and breath. Is he here to carve wooden dummies, or does he fancy carving her? What the fuck is the dagger’s endgame, midnight fencer?

He speaks. A row of futures shift, probability tilting toward blood. Selene exhales, steadying the fan. She lets her focus narrow to the here-and-now—five crisp seconds of clarity, enough.

“Thank you for the concern,” she answers, stepping just off the dagger’s cleanest arc. Her voice is polite to the point of insolence, each consonant placed like a chess piece. “I can read a clock, I recommend you learn to do the same. The dojo closed an hour ago. If you require instruction, come back with the sunrise class.”

Another blossom drops: he lunges, she pivots, he bleeds. She notes it, files it away.

Moonlight scrawls silver bars across the floor; she aligns her stance inside them, a dancer marking her spike onstage. With a flick of her wrist she loosens the tape around her toes—tiny, deliberate motions that say I’m not afraid, only annoyed.

“I recommend shoes,” she adds, gaze flicking to his bare feet. “Splinters are unforgiving.” She lets that hang, an offering or a warning, even she isn’t sure.

Five seconds pulse. The universe inhales. Selene waits to see which petal will open next—and whether it will be edged in steel or mercy.

"Ah. Clocks tend to elude me." Akemi said, his eyes shifting towards the clock on the wall for a brief moment. Time wasn't something that he paid attention to, really. If he wanted something, or needed to get a job done, he'd do it regardless of what time of the day it was. And in that moment, he was trying to get more information on where Tetsuya was. He wasn't going to let a locked door and the normal hours of the dojo get in the way of that.

Nor would he let this woman get in his way.

"I do not require instruction from your so called instructor." Akemi practically spat at her. "There is nothing he can teach me that I don't already know." Things that were taught to him by the man, himself. Not that she knew that. He had no intention of giving that, or anything about his life, away.

Her hands go to rub over her face and cheeks, trying to compose herself and not laugh. She doesn’t know if it’s a laugh of amusement or a nervous reaction. She is also on the verge of not caring one way or the other. Maybe it’s the storm, maybe it’s the ache in her leg, maybe it’s the pestering from this stranger. She can feel a familiar static under her skin that wants to lash out at something. It would be easy. The smallest current of magic could do it. Hidden in the overwhelming aura of the storm. It would hardly be noticeable, a pebble under his shoe, a bit of debris moving with the wind into his path, the snag of clothing on the edge of an overturned or displaced chunk of wood or stone. Never enough to hurt, but maybe just enough to wipe that nettling smirk off his face, even for a moment. 

“Well excuse me for being concerned. I won’t make that mistake a second time. You-” Her words were cut short by the horrid screeching, bringing her shoulder to her ears as she flinched away from the sound. She watched him back away in bewilderment and in the moment she grabbed her bag and stepped forward before he could finish his sentence. Holding her bag in her arms instead of on her back on account of a sleeping Sage inside. 

The cold dousing of water made her realize how heated she had actually gotten in her frustration. And while the wind was certainly taken right out of her sails by the shift in surroundings. She was not going to let the other think this was some sort of victory, she hated that he was riling her up so easily. So she squared her shoulders and tried to deny him what he wanted. Speaking in a clear and even tone. Not even the tiniest bit annoyed. Not at all.

“I think you and I have very different definitions of fun. I like fun. I like a little excitement. I like the rain. I’m just not looking to have my excitement and fun while the rain is actively trying to kill me. And I’m not leaving because of the awning.” She added quickly. “It was just about time for me to keep going anyway.”      

A few moments later, the awning screeched again and was torn off the outside of the building. It fell to the ground and he watched as the wind tried to pick it up and carry it away. It wasn't strong enough yet but the hurricane had yet to reach it's peak. "The rain isn't what would kill you out here." His voice was flat, emotionless, as he watched her through his drenched hair. It wasn't a threat. Not really. He had no real reason to kill her. Not yet, anyway.

Akemi continued to smile as he took another step back. He used his hands to motion towards the sidewalk. "After you, then." He wasn't sure why he found her so amusing. Maybe it was because of the expressions she made. Or the fact that she didn't believe that she was sassy.