Katsumi sat alone in a quiet room, decorated with the garb and pageantry of the village's administration. Each item a gentle reminder of ideals or history, the very paint scheme meant to portray the village's image and more importantly, it's strength. In fact, of all the things that had been carefully placed and portrayed to show their worth and extravagance it was really Katsumi that was out of place. He lacked it entirely, the notoriety of a grand image of battle between Iwagakure shinobi taking a heavy handed sweep of some illegible enemy as they fell between the wayside. On each sides of the painting were vases that seemed to be created from strong clay, emblazoned with the symbol of the village and displayed outward for their guests.
This office, or meeting room, or whatever you called it displayed the villages strengths and ideals as best that inanimate objects could. But Katsumi, he was none of those things. Not yet at least. His head would be pointed down, his hands fidgeted and rubbing together as he walked through the thoughts in his head and words he wished to portray to whomever he was granted audience to speak. So far, the only thing extraordinary about him was a large reserve of stamina and chakra that he had accumulated but it meant nothing.
He had done a plethora of missions for the village but mostly D-rank nothing missions that helped the people around the village. His back and forth with Shin and Tadara had kept him busy and allowed him to maintain enough ryo to survive and thrive in the village. But none of that meant anything when he was an inheritor of a powerful kekkai genkai that he could hardly use. Just enough knowledge of it to create Bakuton chakra at his fists and feet. He couldn't infuse it like others could, he couldn't mold it and shape it into the very essence needed to battle others and he could hardly rely on it as a noteworthy skill. And yet, here he was about to plead the case that he should be used more heavily by the village, pushed to the edge, given tougher missions and training that would develop that skill.
Katsumi's hands were dry and his mind was clear, for an instant, all his fidgeting stopped as he thought he might have heard a murmuring conversation at the door, or footsteps approaching. Katsumi was dressed rather plainly; basic black ninja sandals worked upwards to rather plain black pants that had space for ninja pouches but Katsumi wore none. He wore a light brown shirt with the Kotoshura symbol centered on the chest that was hidden away mostly by another black shirt with a hood over the top of it. His lowered head would turn towards the door as his eyes locked onto its handles, his hair drooping down towards the ground for a moment and his breathing calm as he waited for what would come next.
This office, or meeting room, or whatever you called it displayed the villages strengths and ideals as best that inanimate objects could. But Katsumi, he was none of those things. Not yet at least. His head would be pointed down, his hands fidgeted and rubbing together as he walked through the thoughts in his head and words he wished to portray to whomever he was granted audience to speak. So far, the only thing extraordinary about him was a large reserve of stamina and chakra that he had accumulated but it meant nothing.
He had done a plethora of missions for the village but mostly D-rank nothing missions that helped the people around the village. His back and forth with Shin and Tadara had kept him busy and allowed him to maintain enough ryo to survive and thrive in the village. But none of that meant anything when he was an inheritor of a powerful kekkai genkai that he could hardly use. Just enough knowledge of it to create Bakuton chakra at his fists and feet. He couldn't infuse it like others could, he couldn't mold it and shape it into the very essence needed to battle others and he could hardly rely on it as a noteworthy skill. And yet, here he was about to plead the case that he should be used more heavily by the village, pushed to the edge, given tougher missions and training that would develop that skill.
Katsumi's hands were dry and his mind was clear, for an instant, all his fidgeting stopped as he thought he might have heard a murmuring conversation at the door, or footsteps approaching. Katsumi was dressed rather plainly; basic black ninja sandals worked upwards to rather plain black pants that had space for ninja pouches but Katsumi wore none. He wore a light brown shirt with the Kotoshura symbol centered on the chest that was hidden away mostly by another black shirt with a hood over the top of it. His lowered head would turn towards the door as his eyes locked onto its handles, his hair drooping down towards the ground for a moment and his breathing calm as he waited for what would come next.
