Ryozan became immediately wary of "Mr. Sunshine's" overly friendly demeanor. There were few things in the world more dangerous than becoming friends with someone you didn't know. And, in a desolate location like this, there were no laws and no consequences for murder. With a suspicious eye he watched Mr. Sunshine rise, making a display, intentionally or not, of his massive body that towered over even Ryozan's imposing frame. His physique, visible even through his clothing, meant that he was either a genetic mutant, or that he had endured many intense years of strength training and has sculpted his body just as meticulously as Ryozan had crafted his own.
However, as he eyed the stranger, he noticed noticed that his flesh told no tales of whatever battles he may have partook in. Even those that fight for sport usually end up with a duelist's scar, a cut above the eye, something. But no, unlike Ryozan, whose face clearly told the tale of a close duel from his youth and whose kimono hid even more harrowing stories, Mr. Sunshine was completely devoid of scars. Was he really so skilled that no opponent could touch him; had he always been this skilled? Or was he simply untried, a man of theory who built up his body and learned the fighting forms but never soaked his hands in another's blood?
To say the least, this man was intriguing, and everything about him, from his posture to his voice, was dripping with friendliness. Even as he approached, he gave off no signal that he intended any harm whatsoever. However, that very same harmlessness put Ryozan on edge. It was easy to know whether or not you ought to trust someone emanating malevolent intent, but when a lion approaches you purring like a kitten what would one think? The deep scar on Ryozan's back was a lesson permanently engraved into his body about what "friends" were capable of. And so, when Mr. Sunshine offered his hand, Ryozan found it more prudent to refuse.
"My name is Ryozan Tanzo," he said, his hand not shaking Mr. Sunshine's, but subtly moving so that his blade would be just a bit easier to unsheathe. "If that name means anything to you, then you would understand why I do not shake hands so readily." His voice, while not outwardly hostile, was a far cry from the friendly tone that the stranger spoke in. It was a fusion of the formal dialect of aristocrats and the harshness of a surly general. "As for those who carry swords, it does not take much to use them for their most basic purpose; animals have dozens of them in their mouths and use them quite effectively. Likewise, those who can simply carry a sword well need not know how to use it for it to be effective against an average man, woman, or child. Even so, there are those who claim to possess skills beyond those of mere animals and average men, yet there are so few words to describe the gradation of skill that creates the hierarchy of masters."
Now, a smile broke through the glacier of Ryozan's face. Unlike Mr. Sunshine, there was not a drop of sweat on him, and if he had shaken is hand, he would have found that his hand was far cooler than it ought to have been after the exertion of reaching this island. "I don't see any scars on you. Does that mean you have no stories, or many?" A straightforward man like Mr. Sunshine might have found Ryozan's roundabout way of speaking awkward, but those from Ibino would understand the kitsune quite clearly: he wanted to know which of the two of them was stronger.
However, as he eyed the stranger, he noticed noticed that his flesh told no tales of whatever battles he may have partook in. Even those that fight for sport usually end up with a duelist's scar, a cut above the eye, something. But no, unlike Ryozan, whose face clearly told the tale of a close duel from his youth and whose kimono hid even more harrowing stories, Mr. Sunshine was completely devoid of scars. Was he really so skilled that no opponent could touch him; had he always been this skilled? Or was he simply untried, a man of theory who built up his body and learned the fighting forms but never soaked his hands in another's blood?
To say the least, this man was intriguing, and everything about him, from his posture to his voice, was dripping with friendliness. Even as he approached, he gave off no signal that he intended any harm whatsoever. However, that very same harmlessness put Ryozan on edge. It was easy to know whether or not you ought to trust someone emanating malevolent intent, but when a lion approaches you purring like a kitten what would one think? The deep scar on Ryozan's back was a lesson permanently engraved into his body about what "friends" were capable of. And so, when Mr. Sunshine offered his hand, Ryozan found it more prudent to refuse.
"My name is Ryozan Tanzo," he said, his hand not shaking Mr. Sunshine's, but subtly moving so that his blade would be just a bit easier to unsheathe. "If that name means anything to you, then you would understand why I do not shake hands so readily." His voice, while not outwardly hostile, was a far cry from the friendly tone that the stranger spoke in. It was a fusion of the formal dialect of aristocrats and the harshness of a surly general. "As for those who carry swords, it does not take much to use them for their most basic purpose; animals have dozens of them in their mouths and use them quite effectively. Likewise, those who can simply carry a sword well need not know how to use it for it to be effective against an average man, woman, or child. Even so, there are those who claim to possess skills beyond those of mere animals and average men, yet there are so few words to describe the gradation of skill that creates the hierarchy of masters."
Now, a smile broke through the glacier of Ryozan's face. Unlike Mr. Sunshine, there was not a drop of sweat on him, and if he had shaken is hand, he would have found that his hand was far cooler than it ought to have been after the exertion of reaching this island. "I don't see any scars on you. Does that mean you have no stories, or many?" A straightforward man like Mr. Sunshine might have found Ryozan's roundabout way of speaking awkward, but those from Ibino would understand the kitsune quite clearly: he wanted to know which of the two of them was stronger.