Long crepitation rolls into a rumble and drowns the rain; attention-seeking droplets fall harder and louder upon Hisame's waterproof windshield. She's utterly lost in the lightshow without care for the trivialities concerning a fool throwing electric darts at a board blindly. So long as they maintain that level of futility and refrain from actual disturbance of enjoyment, let them continue their child's play to their heart's content.

...until the view is obscured by leaves bombarding like a horde of angry bats. 

She blinks in wonderment and her grin fades into a disgusted scowl; the bitterest of tastes pools in her mouth and the fire of wrath sparks to life in her belly. Fin by fin the storm is blotted out until she's covered like papier-mâché and the lightning lass's idiocy is proven to know no limits. Hisame, now completely concealed from outside sight, is free to act in secrecy. So her face sinks to look levelly forward as she layers her thoughts; then her right hand rises to pull back the hair from the slender curve of her neck and shoulders before letting the limb fall. 

A pause precedes an alignment of her sword before it pierces the trapezes through. There's not so much as a wince while the blade is pulled upward in a wet, freeing slice and hissing crimson spray; like paint it rolls down her arm, torso and leg in tandem with the katana's rest at Hisame's side. The once rusty coat now swirls with a vivid, sparkling claret and drizzles blood upon the soaked earth below. In time her self-infliction closes and the wait to loose her scorching fury must be endured; as the adage goes: playtime is over.