“You crazy bastard!”

The red-haired chuunin would have shouted something else, but the hilt of Ryuichi’s katana caught him across the jaw and sent him down to introduce his face to the mat, and probably buy it flowers and dinner, or maybe just skip that part entirely, considering how he was moaning into. Ryuichi raised an eyebrow, and twirled one katana, resting the other against his shoulder, tapping it against his shirt quietly. Well. That was disappointing.

“Up,” Ryuichi commanded, toeing the red-haired chuunin with his boot. He never had caught the guy’s name.

He didn’t get a coherent response either, but wasn’t really expecting one.

Guy had said he was a genjutsu-specialist. With long, thin arms, he looked the part well enough. He’d also said he wanted to spar, and Ryuichi had thought that had sounded just grand to him. He’d said as much, things had progressed, and here he was. Only he was still standing, and the other guy was getting intimate with the floor.

All things considered, this had been a rather pathetic spar.

Which wasn’t to say that the other guy hadn’t gotten any hits in. No, rather the opposite. Ryuichi’s ribs and his left elbow were throbbing smartly. They’d bruise later, because the guy might have been a decent kick-fighter if he’d actually given some thought to form and stance. To put it simply, his had sucked. ‘Telegraphing’ really hadn’t covered it. Ryuichi’d only gotten hit because he never dodged everything. It was his style not to.

Really. How this guy was in ANBU, let alone a full chuunin, with a style like that, was really beyond Ryuichi’s comprehension.

“Get up,” he repeated, nudging the guy harder, and it might have been called a kick with the amount of force Ryuichi put into it. Just maybe, and no one was looking, so no one would complain.

“You’re crazy,” the chuunin snapped, but did, (finally!) get up. “I’m going to the medic. I think you broke my jaw.”

Ryuichi frowned. “If I’d broken your jaw, you wouldn’t be talking.”

The chuunin only glared at him, and teleported away.

Which left him with no sparing partners. Damnit.

His shower finished, Yuzuya tossed his bath bucket into his locker with a crash. As he toweled off his mop of grayish hair he paced around the locker room's tiled floor in his sweatpants, bare feet making angry smacking sounds on the tiled floor. His grumbling could be heard through his towel. "Always junk lying around..... snakes and rats and frickin' crows that poke you in the eye.... in the shower and we all have to listen.....dirty... not living in a zoo. So in violation of the rules of conduct.... give em all a piece of my mind..."

He hung his towel in the locker and kicked the door shut. The door banged closed and swung open again. Yuzu glared at the door for defying his will, and closed it with his foot. Then he stalked out to the training room floor, cracking his knuckles and scowling up a storm. That training dummy had best be ready to take whatever he had to dish out.

Deprived of his latest sparring-partner—not that he’d been a good one, but still, it was exercise—Ryuichi decided to work on his balance. The dummies were boring after a while, and didn’t take kindly to live-weapons, and he’d rather not have to clean fluff and straw (or whatever the hell it was they stuffed training-dummies with these days) up off the floor. Sheathing his katanas and exhaling, Ryuichi pushed hair out of his eyes, and, stretching his arms up, bounced into a handspring.

The idea was to hold it as long as possible, and not get dizzy. Ryuichi didn’t remember what his record was, if he’d even kept track last time. Whatever. He bent his knees, toes pointing up. Just hold it as long as possible, and then find something else to do. Maybe Kotetsu was around. Maybe he could be convinced to spar for a little bit.

He’d probably agree if he were bribed with food. Ryuichi chuckled slightly, and then blinked, trying to see around his ponytail, which had fallen in front of his face. Was that someone coming in, looking a shade less than steam-coming-out-the-ears-fuming?

It was. Ryuichi didn’t recognize the guy, but that didn’t mean anything. Someone was pissed-off, which meant they would want to spar! Problem solved.

He ducked into a roll, and came up on his feet, and if he was swaying slightly, Ryuichi pretended he didn’t notice. “Oi! You want to spar?”

Hopefully, the answer would be 'yes'. If not, well, Ryuichi could try to be convincing. Sometimes he was good at that.

Yuzuya was of a mind to shout back, God yes I want to spar, I'd love to, why the hell not, when he noticed through his rage that the other man had a lot more meat and visible scar on him than he himself did. Which made him stop and consider for exactly two point seven seconds. Did he really want to walk into this? This guy looked like he could flip Yuzu and mop the floor with his hair in seconds.

The rest of him was still itching for a good fight. Unfortunately for Yuzuya, he was a man, and the fight half of his brain won out over the wisdom.

"God yes I want to spar. I'd love to. Why the hell not," Yuzu growled, sullen. He pulled his hair back into a neat little ponytail with a hair band. "What kind of rules."

When you wanted somebody, and especially a stranger who was older than you, it was polite to be nice. They’d be more likely to do it. Ryuichi’s intentions with smiling were something along the lines of making sure his new sparring-partner didn’t run off like the last one, but his (rather vicious) grin probably undercut that just fine. It would have done Ryuichi some good if he’d bothered to look in a mirror one day and really see what his grin looked like. He hadn’t, ever.

At the moment, he looked nothing short of gleeful in a bad way.

“Cool,” Ryuichi said, crossing his arms and still grinning like mad. “Um, you go bare-handed?” He gestured to the sheathed katanas at his back in explanation. “I can do that, or you can borrow one of my blades.”

In all honestly, Ryuichi would have rather used weapons, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Whatever got him a fight.

“Oh,” he said vaguely, “no ninjutsu or illusions. Rather not have to go to the medic, ‘cause I’ve already gotten lectured ‘bout that, so let’s not try to kill each other, yeah?”

Who needed rules?

Yuzuya flexed his fingers, popping his knuckles and wrists. "Bare-handed is my preference, yeah." Why bother with swords and things to get in the way if you could just as easily snap a neck and get it over with? Yuzu shook his hands and arms out a little to limber up. "All right, then, no weapons, ninjutsu, or genjutsu. You just tell me when you've had enough, and vice versa. If you can't speak, thump on the floor or something and I'll let you go-- and you better take those swords off, or someone's going to get poked in the eye."

He took the opportunity to size up his opponent for a moment. It was hard to tell the age of the other man. He seemed both older and younger than Yuzuya at the same time. To judge from the katana on the guy's back, the battered and callused knuckles, and the battle scars, Yuzuya would guess him to have a forward way of getting things done. It was probably likely that he'd take the offensive, keep attacking over and over and hope to overwhelm Yuzu out of sheer force.

Yuzu relaxed into his defensive kenpo stance, one leg forward and one leg back. Both hands were open, close and up, ready to catch any kicks or punches. "Ready when you are."

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

No weapons, bah. Ryuichi almost had a mind to protest, but didn’t. He wanted to spar, and if the other guy walked away or got annoyed, then Ryuichi would be on his own again, and he’d have to find Kotetsu and convince the smaller Hunter that yes, it would be worth the bruises to come down and fight for a bit. Which would take some time, and he’d end up having to make Kotetsu some food, because the other guy was a horrible cook and at best, decently-skilled at stealing things out of the cafeteria-kitchens. He was always looking for a free meal.

Mostly-free. Whatever.

Ryuichi removed his blades, sheathes and all, and placed them against the opposite wall, trusting that no one would steal them, or if they tried, the guy he was sparring with would understand his need to chase after and hurt them. He snapped into a few handsprings on the way back, mostly to loosen up.

The guy’s stance was loose, relaxed. He wouldn’t go for brute-strength, probably speed and deflection. Maybe some judo. Ryuichi wasn’t so good with that, not without a knife, but if he stayed ranged, kept moving, it’d be alright.

If the light-haired guy took advantage of his blind-spot, Ryuichi would make him regret it very, very much. That was simply what you did.

He moved forward in a weaving patern, testing the range, testing what the other guy would do in response. Eyes cold and hands out in front of him, loose, Ryuichi lunged, hitting the floor and snapping out a kick meant to knock the other guy off his feet, or at least break his stance, shove him off balance.

Time to see what would happen.