hindsight will probably provide him plenty of self-commentary and self-critique on how he'd gone about all of this. given the salient facts available to him, his approach is foolish at best and disastrous at worst. regardless of what he might say he is, what he wants to believe he is, makoto is a young man scarcely out of high school age who has spent the last few years plying politics and pleasure, not familiarizing himself with weaponry and the lethal cadence of battle. even if he had dedicated himself well to training, a few months' application was not suddenly going to make him a worthy adversary to those who have spent years of their lives training and fighting, living in worlds where pain and violence could actually mete out a brutal end.
but as much as makoto is foolish, he is prideful, and he wants to believe all of that hard work could amount to something when combined with new abilities he's recently become aware of. and so he will do his utmost until his common sense gets the better of his ego.
he is likely aware of liem's weapon of choice from any opportunity of observation in the Citadel's training grounds, and it's hard to miss the bow that the jinba draws, an artful recurve that stood over half a foot taller than makoto himself. he plays a dangerous game, then — a bolt from a crossbow or an arrow from that monstrosity would be enough to severely cripple his chances to do anything here (besides be dissipated, or worse). focusing on his enemies, he less sees and more hears the clatter of the dagger as it falls bloodied to the cobblestones. he has a plan in mind, but it's something he hasn't tried yet. not in combat, at least. but with two projectiles loosed at him in rough tandem, he has no more time to consider alternatives.
as the crossbow and bow train on him, his left hand makes a gesture, sketching out a rectangle in four quick slashes and then activating it with a point. he blinks out of existence a split-second after the bolts are loosed; they pierce deep into the mortar at the corner of the building where he'd been standing. he reappears a heartbeat later, alongside liem and in a position where he carefully kept the man in-between himself and hayame. a keen ear might hear the ragged sound of breath — it seems the spell takes its toll — but it's soon followed by the sibilant hiss of steel sounds as he draws his offhand from a sheath at the small of his back, a main-gauche with a heavy crossguard. he slashes with it laterally, less to attack the traitor and more to attempt to lock the hook of that crossguard into the crossbow and force it askew, opening up liem's guard.
not to say he wasn't going to also try to attack him. he does, drawing his last blade (I promise...) in a reverse grip from a sheath on his thigh and attempting to slash out at the man. )
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hindsight will probably provide him plenty of self-commentary and self-critique on how he'd gone about all of this. given the salient facts available to him, his approach is foolish at best and disastrous at worst. regardless of what he might say he is, what he wants to believe he is, makoto is a young man scarcely out of high school age who has spent the last few years plying politics and pleasure, not familiarizing himself with weaponry and the lethal cadence of battle. even if he had dedicated himself well to training, a few months' application was not suddenly going to make him a worthy adversary to those who have spent years of their lives training and fighting, living in worlds where pain and violence could actually mete out a brutal end.
but as much as makoto is foolish, he is prideful, and he wants to believe all of that hard work could amount to something when combined with new abilities he's recently become aware of. and so he will do his utmost until his common sense gets the better of his ego.
he is likely aware of liem's weapon of choice from any opportunity of observation in the Citadel's training grounds, and it's hard to miss the bow that the jinba draws, an artful recurve that stood over half a foot taller than makoto himself. he plays a dangerous game, then — a bolt from a crossbow or an arrow from that monstrosity would be enough to severely cripple his chances to do anything here (besides be dissipated, or worse). focusing on his enemies, he less sees and more hears the clatter of the dagger as it falls bloodied to the cobblestones. he has a plan in mind, but it's something he hasn't tried yet. not in combat, at least. but with two projectiles loosed at him in rough tandem, he has no more time to consider alternatives.
as the crossbow and bow train on him, his left hand makes a gesture, sketching out a rectangle in four quick slashes and then activating it with a point. he blinks out of existence a split-second after the bolts are loosed; they pierce deep into the mortar at the corner of the building where he'd been standing. he reappears a heartbeat later, alongside liem and in a position where he carefully kept the man in-between himself and hayame. a keen ear might hear the ragged sound of breath — it seems the spell takes its toll — but it's soon followed by the sibilant hiss of steel sounds as he draws his offhand from a sheath at the small of his back, a main-gauche with a heavy crossguard. he slashes with it laterally, less to attack the traitor and more to attempt to lock the hook of that crossguard into the crossbow and force it askew, opening up liem's guard.
not to say he wasn't going to also try to attack him. he does, drawing his last blade (I promise...) in a reverse grip from a sheath on his thigh and attempting to slash out at the man. )