Diamond In The Rough [Private, Phantasia, Dai]

"...all week. Having seen no recess in the storm thus far, don't expect it to let up any time soon. Heavy rain, with a low around forty-one. High north-east winds at twenty-six to thirty miles per hour. This has been Ichiro Fura..."

In these ages, one did not simply doubt a weather caster anymore. Their instruments were simply too advanced for mistakes, and the only times they were involved a deity-tier being warping the climate to their will. Let's be frank, the chances of that happening were slim. But back to the original point, Fantasia should have taken the caster's words to heart and stayed indoors.

The cloaked female would narrowly dodge a wanton newspaper hurtling towards her face, letting it scramble past as the wind took it for a ride. Given the direction of the anarchic paper, one could surmise Fantasia's bearings and therefore the fact that the heavy rain was splattering right onto the girl's face despite the use of her hood. One hand was forced outside of her cloak to hold on to the hood and keep it over her head, and since there was no zipper or buttons to close the cloak up, it would simply be flapping around behind her like a cape with the will to want to escape from her. The only protection from the sheer cold and icy precipitation was her light body armor underneath, and that wasn't much. Goosebumps had popped up all over the girl's revealed skin, while her clothing would get soaked and chill everywhere else anyways. Showcasing the low temperatures today, Fantasia would exhale just to have her breathe condensed into cloud of fog, before it was blown away by the gale.

A loud creak sounded from a nearby tree, a leafless skeleton of wood that swayed drunkenly from side to side as it bowed to the winds. It was merely one of many among this poor abandoned neighborhood, or so Fantasia could assume. She was waltzing through what others called the slums of Karakura, but what she perceived as the precursor to Karakura. Having versed herself a little in the history of the great city, it was this area from which Karakura began. Now, uncared for in the wake of the futuristic metropolis that took its name, the place was nothing more than shambles—a ghost of its former glory. Even as the wind wildly blew her golden bangs back and forth in front of her eyes, she could still see the disheveled state of the homes in this single neighborhood of the town. Even the street on which she currently tread, was broken up in places as if an earthquake had struck and faults had acted up. Old land-bound cars littered the asphalt with the debris of broken homes. It was hard to believe that anyone would be living here anymore.

Lordie, was the storm getting stronger? Fantasia asked herself, and as opposed to any other person, she would receive an answer in riposte. It is; look up! Stopping just before stepping over a broken fault line, where the black tar protruded up to form a natural speed bump, Fantasia would do as her own dissociated mentality suggested. Her gray hues focused up at the sky where lumbering dark clouds filled the sky. It would only take seconds before she found what... what she had been talking about. The thunderheads were spiraling much like a hurricane, and yet there was a hole smack right dab in the center of it all—the epicenter; the eye of the storm. Fantasia's eyes widened. "We need to get over there!" she cried aloud, though she was the only one there. And with new-found fervor, she would be on the move forward.

Each step took her deeper and deeper, and the power of the winds and the rain would seem to grow in direct relation to that. Her sense of touch had become numb in most parts of her body, but Fantasia had always been stubborn. It was a couple miles further and about a half an hour later that all of a sudden, nothing more than a breeze and a drizzle accosted her. Looking directly up—unintentionally catching a droplet in the center of her pupil—she would find herself just breaking the edge of the storm's eye. Before long she was well within the border and the effects of the bad weather were somewhat... tranquil now. She looked around, finding herself in another neighborhood, though it felt like it had used to be a more upscale place than the previous one. Two story houses, wider streets, and a humble park across the street. The Nevermore felt a light draw toward it, and found herself shuffling toward the eerie play place.

She felt the nostalgia swarm her mind as she allowed her nearly frozen fingers to stroke the rusted metal chains that held the swings up. The swings had always been her favorite part of the park, and she had many fond memories of playing on them, being pushed higher and higher by her father. Unlike this place, there had been a sandbox in front so that if you were swinging high enough and jumped off at just the right time, you could land your little feet in the warm sun-beaten sand. As Fantasia looked around, she caught sight of the slide not far off, also in good condition compared to the rest of the playground.
It was dampened by the light sprinkle, and even though she was already soaked, she wouldn't find sliding down that too pleasant. Now as for the rest of the metal and plastic structure—including the monkey bars, balancing beam, and the wobbly bridges—they were in such tragic states of disrepair that it was hard to justify even being near them, for fear they would collapse from all that rust and wear. But still, this place brought happy memories to the blonde girl.

It was a place of solace.

It was a place of bliss.

It was a place of comfort.

Fantasia withdrew her sword from her scabbard, swinging it through the air and spinning it around hand as she brought it to her forefront. The weight of the sword could be heard by the low hum of the wind being slashed through; though with the ease that the teen was able to wield it with just one hand begged to differ. When she wrapped her other hand around the grip, there was no doubt about the security of her grasp on the sword, and she bent her legs as she prepared herself for a solo form. So unfamiliar and familiar a place, she possessed the succor to perform here. She inhaled a deep breathe, and world seemed to slow and quiet around her; her eyes watched as the individual droplets drifted to the ground, bespattering into ever smaller globules of moisture and dampened the sand. One drop fell upon her nose, failing to shock her out of her concentration. And then she exhaled, stabilizing the passage of time.

The metal's edge rang as it shot forward in a stabbing motion, fierce and powerful. It was brought back into a guard as if to block an attack toward her most vital heart, and then pushed back onto the offensive with a solid swing that had enough force behind it to distort the flow of wind and blow the cascade of rain away from her for a minute interval of time. She propelled herself into the air with her toes, while synchronously thrusting her knee into the jaw of the imaginary assailant to disarm him. Then with finality she brought her Claymore into the air and sent it flying diagonally through the man. Fantasia took another deep breathe, and suddenly she was one with grace, sliding her feet silently across the ground as she spun and danced in movement. Her blade swerved in patterns flowing through the air, her art of the blade a beauty, like the practiced hand writing of cursive. Each cut was a stroke of the brush as much as it was a killing blow; never once did her form pause.

Fantasia would shift through these two states indifferently as she perpetuated her form. She was somewhat lost to the harmony of the atmosphere, becoming one with it in her own fashion. It did not occur to her, especially now, that anyone would find her like this.

Parry, parry, low swipe, uppercut— The heavy blade whined as the wind blew in protest against it, vibrating the metals to give it that low hum that pervaded the air. She had pushed herself into the air, seeming to float in a lull for an inconsiderable amount of time as the weight of her sword carried her along with it. Then when her toes touched ground again, her body was once again in motion with strength and control. The Claymore came flying back down in front of her as she intended to slice an enemy symmetrically in half. It flew down toward the ground with vigorous force, and yet at the command of her mind, her hands and arms stopped the blade from ever touching the ground. Pain shot through her muscles all the way to her back as she put in one stalwart effort to stop all the momentum at once. She didn't even pause for relief, stepping right back into it with a lunge and a mighty swing...

"You are... quite beautiful..."

That's when the voice resonated from behind her in the middle of her focus. Fantasia gasped quite loudly in return as she was startled. Her grip slipped and the massive blade was sent flying to her right. Milliseconds later there was an intense peal of steel followed immediately by a hollow thump, and even among the rain and wind the low wail of the infrastructure she had just thrown her sword through would sound. Fantasia would shift her head, seeing the metal support her claymore had blown right through, and plastic slide it was now embedded in, shaking back and forth like a dog's tail. More significantly was the structure that had just lost one of its supports, and gradually began to tilt in its direction. The cry of condemned framework built into a louder and louder sound until it all finally gave way. In a chaotic clamor of metal and plastic, the structure came crashing to pieces on the ground, kicking up clouds of sand as it did. When it was undone, now only the storm was left to fill the awkward silence between the girl and the impromptu voice.

Fantasia looked, almost nervously, behind her now to catch sight of him, or her. A superior in age if nothing else, there was the source of the utterance that had in its own right contributed to the destruction of part of this park—though it'd be damned if anyone would give a care in the world about this place anymore. The blonde's gray hues scrutinized this one with confusion evident, and curiosity abound. Where normally one could expect formalities from Fantasia, instead what would be received was a visual survey; the girl's eyes shifting minutely as she took this stranger's aspects in. She very much wanted to say that what she was looking at was a he, because that was the answer that would make her comfortable and allow her to move on with it. The masculine qualities were obviously there, etched across his face and suggested by his type of clothing. But there were other subtle notes around her eyes that spoke otherwise, and the voice that could belong to a male or a female. If Fantasia were to bet safely... she would go with the majority of traits, refer to the stranger as a male, and call it a day. It was just that possibility lingering around the corner that made her doubt herself.

Unresolved with herself, she knew she was making this situation more disconcerting than it needed to be or that it had already become. She stretched out the various muscles of her body and then loosened her self out of the battle stance, now bringing her dark cloak back around her body to hide the light suit of armor she wore. She looked once more like a shadowy ghost with a human's face, and in this form would grant the stranger a bow and a light greeting. "Morning... mister." Aside of that, her voice had abandoned her. She did not wait for a response before she turned back toward the mess she had somewhat caused and began striding towards it. Because her cloak disguised her foot steps, she would seem to float across the ground as she circumvented the fallen play place, and went to her sword. She grasped her fingers around the now moist handle of the weapon, and felt the warm flood of her many voices return to her mind again. She hated to be without them.

Slightly rejuvenated by such a simple action, she would withdraw her weapon from the perforation of the slide and swing it over her shoulder. In that one uninterrupted maneuver, the weapon would find itself snug in its scabbard again. Then, and only then, did Fantasia turn to fully face the subject at hand. "We hope you don't mind us asking," she began, tilting her head about fifteen degrees to her right, "but what brought you out here? We hope we weren't trespassing on anything and if we were..." Fantasia would shamefully glance toward the decimated jungle gym. In her mind, she partially blamed the tomboyish tomgirl for this haphazard demolition. Though she would be kidding herself if she thought that anyone but she would take the rap for it, given there was punishment to dish out. "If we were, we're incredibly sorry for destroying that. Our hand slipped."

Now abashedly looking at the ground instead of maintaining eye contact, Fantasia only hoped she was in the green.

[~On hold I suppose~]