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After the cold of the last couple of days, the warming weather feels practically like a heat wave to Rin, dressed in his layers with sweat dripping from the tip of his nose as he stares across the distance at his brother, face pulled into a grimace of a smile, all sharp teeth and tired, but bright, eyes. As much as he's been practicing with a sword with the teachers he's managed to pick up along the way, none of it compares quite to standing across from Yukio, to being put against his style, so different from Rin's own. His guns.
The idea of blocking bullets with a katana is cool as hell, but Rin's quickly learning that, though he may indeed have improved, he's still living in real life, and not Rurouni fucking Kenshin.
He pants for breath again. What Yukio's giving him isn't a brief reprieve to catch his breath. Rin knows that much. After Rin had gotten hit with the first couple rounds of rubber bullets, he'd realized that they stung like a bitch Somehow, the minor irritation pissed him off more than a major wound in an actual fight. Suffice to say, he'd quickly picked up his pace enough to avoid the last few volleys.
Which meant Yukio was just figuring out a new plan to deal with him, from behind the glare of his glasses.
Rin lifts his shoulders again, shuffling his feet on the dusty floor of the empty and abandoned gymnasium they'd gotten a tip to use for this assessment. His tennis shoes squeak on the wood flooring.
He wonders if Yukio's learned what he needed to through this yet. His endurance isn't worn thin, but his patience is getting there. Rin isn't the type that can just throw himself into training for hours at a time or anything. He's not only stupid, but lazy; he's keenly aware of both flaws.
"Oi," he challenges, wiping at his forehead with the back of a hand. He tries to remember how many bullets Yukio keeps in his clips. He knows, from working with Rukia, that figuring that out might be his only chance to get close enough in for a good strike. As far as that goes, he only needs one against Yukio. In matters of speed, Yukio's isn't overwhelmingly greater than Rin's, though reaction time is different entirely. Rin just needs to get in close enough to make a last burst faster than Yukio's reload speed.
The idea of blocking bullets with a katana is cool as hell, but Rin's quickly learning that, though he may indeed have improved, he's still living in real life, and not Rurouni fucking Kenshin.
He pants for breath again. What Yukio's giving him isn't a brief reprieve to catch his breath. Rin knows that much. After Rin had gotten hit with the first couple rounds of rubber bullets, he'd realized that they stung like a bitch Somehow, the minor irritation pissed him off more than a major wound in an actual fight. Suffice to say, he'd quickly picked up his pace enough to avoid the last few volleys.
Which meant Yukio was just figuring out a new plan to deal with him, from behind the glare of his glasses.
Rin lifts his shoulders again, shuffling his feet on the dusty floor of the empty and abandoned gymnasium they'd gotten a tip to use for this assessment. His tennis shoes squeak on the wood flooring.
He wonders if Yukio's learned what he needed to through this yet. His endurance isn't worn thin, but his patience is getting there. Rin isn't the type that can just throw himself into training for hours at a time or anything. He's not only stupid, but lazy; he's keenly aware of both flaws.
"Oi," he challenges, wiping at his forehead with the back of a hand. He tries to remember how many bullets Yukio keeps in his clips. He knows, from working with Rukia, that figuring that out might be his only chance to get close enough in for a good strike. As far as that goes, he only needs one against Yukio. In matters of speed, Yukio's isn't overwhelmingly greater than Rin's, though reaction time is different entirely. Rin just needs to get in close enough to make a last burst faster than Yukio's reload speed.
