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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

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title Undertow summary Just me and you now pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

“Is your daughter talking to you?” asked Sakura. She blew on the fried squid tentacle. Twisting the skewer between her thumb and her pointer finger, she watched the steam waft away from them. She handed the squid over.

“According to my wife, she’s reading my letters. But she’s not picking up the phone,” the Dragon Head sighed. She listened to his teeth crunching through the tentacles. Plucked out the cigarette from behind her ear and lit it. When he held the skewer out to her, she shook her head. She leaned against the railing, staring out at the city. Marveled at how tiny it could look from so high up on Victoria Peak.

“I don’t have anything new on Kabuto,” she confessed. Hashirama didn’t seem surprised.

“I know. You would have run to me the second you did,” he replied. She turned the lighter over in her palm once. Weighed the warm metal in her hand. She kept her eyes trained ahead, at the lights blinking and flashing at all their dissonant tempos.

“Then what is this meeting for?” she questioned. She bit her cigarette between her back teeth as she ran her fingers through her hair. And then she pulled it out between her middle and pointer fingers. Exhaling like an ancient dragon, mist seeping from her throat.

“I missed your birthday again,” Hashirama said.

“That’s alright, Uncle. You know I don’t really celebrate it anyway,” she replied. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

“How old are you this year anyway?”

“Who knows?” she sighed in return. He chuckled at that.

“How long is your gentleman caller staying?” he then asked. And Sakura hesitated. Hashirama was so smart- slipping it into a longer line of questions like that. Hoping that she wouldn’t notice it. She glanced at him, almost smiling.

“...Not long,” she responded.

“It’s not like you to bring someone to Hong Kong. Is it for business or pleasure?” he pressed.

Sakura dropped her cigarette. Ground it out under the red sole of her black shoe. The pointed heel scratched against the pavement.

“That, Uncle...” Sakura answered. She met his eyes, smile sharp. “Is my business.”

“Aiya, you get scarier each time I see you, Jing-Mei,” sighed Hashirama. And then, he opened his eyes. “Relax.” The way they glinted made her stop smiling.

“My dear, don’t forget. My fondness for you doesn’t excuse a lack of manners,” he stated, voice light. But then, his eyes softened again. Into the expression she was used to.

“Watch that tongue of yours. It will drive people off if you’re not careful,” he warned. Sakura looked away from him. She wasn’t in the mood to be scolded like a child.

“Is that what happened to you?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Selected those words to cut him in all the right places. She heard Hashirama chuckle.

“...You really are one of the worst people I know, Jing-Mei. But I get it. You can go.”

“Good night, Uncle.” Sakura said in return. She pushed off the railing and turned away from him. The muggy winds pushed in from every direction as she walked. She stole one last glance at Hashirama. He was a lonely black silhouette staring down at the city.

Later that night, Sakura stood in front of the mirror. She ran the backs of her knuckles down the bruises on her hips and thighs. It was like the shadow of Tobirama’s hands were sealed into her skin. She tried to match her own hands to the marks- found that they were too small.

Letting out a sigh, she glanced toward her phone charging on the vanity. She hadn’t spoken to him since the phone call yesterday morning. And Itachi wasn’t such a stupid man that he hadn’t noticed. He had to have known.

Was this his way of giving her space? Or was he waiting for her to reach out first- Wasn’t that the way this always went? Then what was stopping her from messaging him now? A pleasant rooftop bar- maybe some late night dim sum. Squished into a corner spot at the bar, elbows bumping-

As she stared, the phone lit up. It wasn’t a number that she often got a call from. She swiped her thumb across the screen.

“Wei.”

“...You’re not going to like this, Miss Cheng.”

“....Why?”

“Please come to Central Police Station.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed. She glared down at her phone, like it would be conveyed somehow. And then she began pulling on clothes. “Fine.” She disconnected the call.

She drove to the station without Tenten or Zabuza. The call had seemed urgent but not particularly dangerous. Just in case, her Desert Eagle was tucked into her jacket. She parked in one of the visitor spots behind the station and walked inside. Scoffed inwardly, as always, at the lack of security in a police station.

And then, she froze.

The room was very clearly divided. On one side were three of her own boys. They each wore jade bracelets or necklaces. They were pure muscle and no brains, made more apparent than ever by the way two officers were trying to hold them back. On the other side of the room were men dressed in what, she assumed, had once been relatively nice clothes. All of them were bloodied and disheveled.

All of that mattered very little when she spotted someone sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees. Blood dripped onto the white tile.

The door slammed shut behind her. All heads jerked up toward her. And while the Jade Gang boys scrambled up to her, everyone else shuffled away. Sakura shoved them aside as she crossed the room. She stopped in front of Itachi. Taking his face in her hands, she raised it up. He squinted up at her with one eye. The other squeezed shut against the light.

“Ah, look what they did,” she sighed, clicking her tongue. Itachi didn’t say anything, but he grasped her forearm. Held on tightly. Sakura used her other hand to reach into her jacket. She pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. He hissed.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Sakura asked. He held onto the handkerchief while she glanced him over.

“Looks like just that pretty face got hurt,” she concluded, smiling. And Itachi did too, just a little, as he glanced up at her again. Sakura ran a rough hand through his hair before she pulled out of his grasp. As she turned back to the mess behind her, the warmth drained from her expression. One of the officers slipped off to lower all the blinds and to lock the outside door. He disappeared into a back room and returned with a folding chair for her.

“Ga je! Thank you for coming!” one of her goons blurted out. Her upper lip curled. Before he could assess her expression, she cocked her fist back and smashed it into his gut. Wheezing, he collapsed. The other two standing beside him immediately fell to their knees, foreheads touching the ground.

“Ga je?” Sakura spat, “Don’t ‘big sister’ me.” Arms crossing, she sat in the chair.

“I tell you to look out for my guest while he’s in Hong Kong. And you get him dragged to the fucking police station?” she went on. One of them dared to raise his head.

“But ga je, it wasn’t us. It was the fucking Huang’s!” he insisted, pointing. Sakura’s lips twitched. He cowered back down, but it was too late. She stood.

“Diu lei lo mo- you’re talking back to me now?” she snapped. Her foot connected with his cheek. It left a red triangle on his face as he sat back up. Not meeting her eyes, he lowered his head again. She let out a deep breath to calm herself. Sat back down. The cops twitched at her every moment.

Sakura then nudged the only one who hadn’t spoken yet. Clearly the least stupid of the three. He was shaking from his shoulders all the way down to his knuckles pressed to the tile.

“You. Tell me,” ordered Sakura. He didn’t lift his head. But he cleared his throat.

“We were on our way to the Night Market. Saw the Huang’s skulking around. Went to send a message since that’s our territory,” he mumbled. Sakura’s searing gaze flickered to the men on the other side of the room. They did a good job of not flinching. Sakura looked back to her own boys.

“Turns out they were following your guest. Although...” he trailed off. Sakura glared harder.

“What?” she prompted.

“...Dude’s wearing a designer suit and a Rolex, Boss. And he’s obviously not a local. He would be an easy target for anyone,” he pointed out. Sakura clenched her jaw but couldn’t find a fault in his observations.

“Anyway, they tailed him into an alley and jumped him. We went in but I guess someone called the cops. Then these fuckers came and dragged us all here. And we came quietly because...you said to play nice with the police,” he finished, glowering openly at the officers. Sakura considered this for a while. And when her hand came toward him, he recoiled. She ruffled his hair. Shoved his head back a little.

“You’re not too dumb, kid,” Sakura said. She got up, dragging the chair with her. She dropped it with a clatter in front of the other group of men. They barely blinked when she sank into the seat.

“Talk,” Sakura ordered.

The men glared up at her.

She sighed, leaning forward as if to tell them a secret. “Look, I would rather settle this nicely here. Don’t make me have to go get a friend.”

One of them snorted. “I’m not saying anything... chau hai.”

Sakura got up so quickly that her chair toppled. Grabbing a baton from the nearest officer, she extended it with a flick of her wrist. It smacked across his jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor.

“Ah...this is a police station, Miss Cheng,” one of the officers reminded her.

She raised the baton again, arm trembling with rage. Sucking in another deep breath, she threw the baton down. Instead, she crouched down in front of him. A smile spread across her lips. Sakura pointed to Itachi sitting in the plastic chair. Handkerchief still pressed to his bleeding nose.

“Listen here, sik si gau. You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she whispered. He scoffed at her. She raised her eyebrows. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she turned her back to pick up the chair. She settled into in, one leg crossing over the other. And then she dialed his number. Left it on speakerphone.

It rang four times. Just when it seemed like no one would pick up, there was an answer.

“Wei?”

The color drained from the Huang Boys’ faces. That gravelly voice was unmistakable.

“Fatboy Huang, my darling, we need to talk,” Sakura answered, sneering.

A long sigh answered her. “I’m in the middle of something. Can you wait a little?” There was a splash. His voice echoed. She had obviously caught him in the bath.

“Fatboy, I caught your boys in Central. And worse, they were putting their hands on a very important guest of mine,” Sakura replied. The silence that answered her was deafening. Another splash.

“...Are they dead?” rasped Fatboy. Sakura’s eyes narrowed.

“Not yet,” she answered.

Fatboy harrumphed deep in his throat. He grunted something to himself.

“So?” asked Sakura.

“...Tell them to come see me right now. I’ll handle this. M’hou yi si, Jing-Mei,” he apologized. The humility surprised her. She had expected him to put up more of a fight.

“Really?” she asked.

“I owe you 24K for bringing me York Ng. I’ll discipline my boys. We’ll be even.”

Sakura didn’t bother pointing out that it had actually been Tobirama who had given him Ng. But she did stop to think. Tobirama wouldn’t be too happy with her cashing in on his favor.

“They disrespected me in front of company, Fatboy. It’s not a matter of you owing me...” Sakura paused. Her voice saccharine: “And you know how much Hashirama loves me. I don’t know if he’ll take this well if my lips happen to slip...”

Fatboy heaved the world’s longest sigh.

“...So you want to kill them,” he concluded. Sakura leered.

“No. I want you to kill them. Send me the proof when you’re done,” Sakura responded.

Fatboy chuckled. “I swear, you’re crazy. You should have been one of us, Cheng Jing-Mei.”

And then Fatboy let out his last sigh. “It’s done. You have my word.”

“You’re a peach,” Sakura replied. She ended the call a sweet smile on her lips. Hand on her cheek, she turned to the Heung boys now cowering before her. Before they could beg for her forgiveness, Sakura stood up.

“Go back to the Night Market. Make sure everything else is in order. Anyone gives you a hard time, send a message that I’m in charge,” Sakura said without looking at her own men. But they nodded anyway. And then, turning to the cops, Sakura reached into her jacket. She pulled out a thick wad of cash. She pressed it into one of their palms, holding his gaze for a long time.

“I really appreciate your help in all of this, officer. Thank you for keeping this city safe....and clean,” Sakura stated. Eyes lowering, he nodded too.

Then, Sakura said, in Japanese, “Itachi, let’s go.” He lifted his head. He lowered the handkerchief. It looked like the bleeding had finally stopped.

Itachi followed her out of the station, his gaze wary. And he noticed the way that other cops began slinking out of the back of the station as she left.

“They won’t say anything?” he asked her as they walked across the parking lot.

Sakura glanced back at the white building, shaking her head. “Their chief is indebted to me, and I’ve got a good relationship with the commissioner. For the most part, I fix more problems than I cause. He has to look the other way for things like this.”

They got into her car, a fine mist sprinkling across the windshield. She started the engine, then turned toward him. She looked over his face again. Noticed that his cheek looked a little swollen. She almost reached out to touch it. Pulled her hand back.

“I’m curious, Kumicho. You could have easily killed them. What gives?” she queried. Itachi dabbed at his nose again. And then he shot her a look like she was crazy.

“I may be the foreigner here, but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t want to be the catalyst for a massive war between gangs that I can’t even tell apart,” he replied. Sakura didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She pulled out of the parking lot.

“Still, it bothers me that this happened on my turf. Don’t stay in Central tonight,” Sakura said. She merged into traffic. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face.

“Then where are we going?” he questioned. Sakura kept her eyes straight ahead.

“My place.”

They didn’t say anything else on the winding drive up the Peak. Itachi could have at least pretended to be looking out the window. The drive up to her penthouse in the Mid-Levels was pretty enough. But his eyes remained fixed on her, like he was reading some sort of book. It irritated her as much as it pleased her.

Sakura pulled into a gated section of the Peak. She navigated the winding roads until she approached the apartment building. It was the one with the big windows stretching from floor to ceiling on one side. They were tinted so that a person inside could look out, but no one could see in. She parked in the garage under the building. And then used the little brass key for the private elevator.

Even as the elevator brought them up, the lush view of the mountain whizzing past, Itachi continued to stare at her. Sakura hesitated when the elevator brought them to the top floor. She had had a new lock installed ever since Hashirama had easily picked his way in. She swiped her card and inputted the code before pressing her thumb to the door. It clicked open under her touch.

Kicking her heels off, Sakura stepped into the apartment. She paused when she didn’t hear Itachi follow. Saw him stooping down to straighten his shoes, and then hers. She quickly turned away. The cement floors were cool against her feet as she made her way to the kitchen. The sensors flicked lights on above her as she made her way to the freezer. There was never any food in there- just a huge stack of ice packs. She pulled one out and turned to toss it to Itachi. But he wasn’t behind her. She stepped around the kitchen island. Found him staring at the wall by the foyer.

He was standing in front the wall, staring at the photos that climbed up. The ones on the top were the oldest, streaming out like water. There she was, still sporting those awful highlights that had been in when she was a teenager. Her hair permed and eyeliner too thick. There she was with her arm around Tenten’s shoulders. And there she was sitting on Broken Fang’s lap, her eyes squinting into a smile that she no longer remembered how to form. She was sitting inside the Chrysanthemum Gang’s karaoke bar, the neon lights making her face glow in strange colors. Wedged between Tobirama and Hashirama on one sagging sofa.

As the years went on, her face narrowing, eyes sharpening. Hair long and short, long and short. Sequined skirts and lacy tops fading into more practical clothes. Her skinny arms toughening into something that could throw a punch.

“...You never struck me as a sentimental person,” he said when she joined him. Sakura’s eyes lingered on her old self hugging Sifu Might around the waist. Him laughing as Rock dangled from his other arm.

“I’m not,” she replied, pushing the ice pack into his hands. She walked away from them, hiding her wringing hands in front of her. She could hear him walking, slowly. Examining all the little things here and there. He paused in front of the bookshelf. Looking over the photographs and the few books that she had bothered to put on display there.

His fingers traced over a silver frame. It was the one photo she had of her mother in those last days. Right before she had gone to the hospital. Her thick hair perfectly permed and styled. Her arm around Sakura’s shoulders. And despite their history of bickering and screaming, Sakura was hugging her back. Because she hadn’t hated her mother. Hadn’t meant to make her cry all those times.

Itachi studied the picture for a long time. She stood there, waiting for him to ask questions. But when he looked at her, all he did was hold his hand out to her. She stared at his palm. Took it. Felt how warm his fingers were as they laced together with hers.

“Would you give me the grand tour?” he requested. Those eyes so inexplicably kind. They peeled back all the layers and made her feel so bare. She couldn’t find her voice. Instead, pulled him through the apartment.

He admired the lightbulbs in their copper pendants. His fingers skimmed over the blue sofa and the cozy blanket draped over the arm. When they poked their heads into the downstairs bathroom, he smiled at the lavender-scented hand soap. And as she lead him upstairs to the loft, he stared down at the rest of the apartment through the glass stairs.

Itachi blinked at the king size bed tucked into the corner. Half of it was completely covered in pillows and tangled blankets. On top of the vanity was a silver tray. Little cosmetic bottles in pinks and gold were perfectly arranged inside. There were a few shirts tossed over the back of the armchair. There was a diffuser on the nightstand filled with thin brown sticks.

The view from the loft was breathtaking. Hong Kong’s island stretched out below them, rolling down gracefully from the side of Victoria Peak. The distant lights of the city glittered in the background like one giant billboard. The haze that clung over the harbor was visible even from here. Sakura paused at the window.

"You really love looking at the city," Itachi observed. Sakura smiled at his face in the glass. With her free hand, she touched her thumb to his reflection's cheek. His fingers tightened around hers.

"From this far away, it's so beautiful," she replied.

He didn't say anything. And she was glad that he didn't.

His hand pulled. Turning away from the window, she caught the strangest look in his gaze. He took her other hand. Raised both of them to his lips. Held her stare, unwavering. His eyes glimmering and dark like the stones in a tide pool.

“I can’t believe I have to compete with an entire city for your attention,” he murmured against her knuckles. He kissed the backs of her fingers. As if to make sure that whatever she punched would forever pass his kiss along. Sakura frowned.

“Are you still embarrassed to say things like that, Kumicho?” she questioned. Itachi’s expression didn’t shift. Pitifully earnest. His voice so painfully clear.

“Incredibly,” he assured her.

And then his mouth found hers. His skin warm. The smell of sweat and blood lingering faintly in her nose with each breath. Her trembling hands tightened over his fingers. And she could feel his smile against her lips. Hear each of his shaking breaths flooding her ears, her throat. Until all she could breathe and hear and see against her closed eyelids was him.

His hands slipped away. And her fingers clenched, searching for him. But that was forgiven when his palms cupped her cheeks instead. The gentleness made every part of her hurt.

Itachi took a step. Her back hit the window. And she pushed him. Just enough so that she could turn her head away. Because she remembered the ugly bruises on her body. The black a purple marks a roadmap of her stupid decisions on her legs and waist.

She couldn’t find the words to tell him these things. Not when his eyes shone like that. Liquid hope glittering out between each blink. The tenderness in his expression burned her. Made her want to curl into a shriveled, blackened ball and disappear.

“I’m not playing games with you. I just... not tonight...” she said. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach only worsened when he smiled at her like that. His mouth like sunshine as he touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Okay,” he replied.

Dirty. She felt so dirty. Filthy, rolled in the sewers dirty.

He hugged her close. And she hated how perfectly she fit against his chest. Her ear pressing to where his heart was beating so quickly.

What she hated most was how he asked no more questions. How he went to sleep in the guest room downstairs without any discussion. And she was convinced, as she lay curled up in a tiny space on her big, big bed, that she could hear those heartbeats in the walls.

As she stared, sleepless, up at the glass ceiling. Listening to the rain patter down on everything. Sakura was absolutely certain that she was the worst person she knew too.

In the morning, she told Itachi that it was time for him to return home.

He took her hand in his. Eyes locked on hers, he kissed her knuckles. His breath warm.

“Will I see you when you’re in Tokyo again?” he inquired. That tinge of pleading in his voice. Her gut twisted. She mustered a smile.

“Yes,” she promised.

“Like this? Not just for business.”

“...Like this,” Sakura repeated. She didn’t have the heart to push him away when he kissed her. His touches so lingering and soft.

She called a taxi for him. Stood at her window to watch him get into the car. And even though he couldn’t see her, he still gave a wave before he shut the door.

Sakura sat on the back of the sofa. Her palm pressed to the window.

It took a long time for her to muster the energy to move again. And even then, it was only because Tenten texted her with a photo from the docks at Belcher Bay. In Red Arrow territory.

Three severed heads in perfect circles of blood. Police tape and cones surrounding the area. She could even see part of Tenten’s finger blurred in the corner of the photo. Sakura forwarded it to Tobirama. Within a few minutes, he responded.

What the fuck is that idiot Fai Tsai doing now? Is that Belcher Bay?

Who knows? Probably something stupid. I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s Kabuto, she replied.

There was no response. So she typed again.

Do you want me to look into it? Charlie’s in town. I could send him.

After a minute:

Yeah. Thanks. My brother’s going to be furious. I guess I’ll be the one to tell him.

“That’s alright, Tobirama,” Sakura replied out loud as she reread his message, “I already promised Uncle. I’ll protect this family if it kills me.”

#eastern suns #writing #itasaku #tobisaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #triad!au

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kyberled · 8 years ago

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DETAILED APPEARANCE INFO

do not reblog, repost.

HEAD

FACE SHAPE: oval, going off this chart (click) and his real-life face claim CHEEKS: A bit pink, but not to the point where it looks like blushing; Many adults have deemed them pinchable. CHEEKBONES: High and defined, but not sunken; To quote Rodi, ‘I’m in love with [Braig’s] cheekbones.’ LIPS: Bow-shaped, lower lip is fuller than upper; Almost naturally pouty, very pink. Can be a bit dry and cracked after some missions, but doesn’t chew them often, so they’re not too frayed. SKIN COLOR: Olive, light medium; He’s a bit lighter when he’s younger, because he didn’t leave the Temple until he was eight, and that was to go to Ilum, of all places, but he gets more sun when he starts going on regular missions. (Somewhere between III and IV on THIS SCALE (Click); the exact place on the range changes slightly, but yeah. Closer to III) SKIN TYPE: ‘normal’, as far as skin types go. Not especially oily, not especially dry, just somewhere in a neutral ground. (Not combination, though.) Rough and calloused around his palms, fingers, knuckles, and the bottoms of his feet, from training and missions, but relatively soft and smooth everywhere else. Scars brown, would be subject to a bit of hyperpigmentation if the Jedi couldn’t apparently use the Force as sunscreen (the Jedi Path taught me a lot) EYE SHAPE: almond-shaped, hooded, upturned at the outer corners EYE COLOR: Calf brown EYEBROW SHAPE: Full, straight, barely arches, tapers off EYEBROW COLOR: Black EYELASHES: Thick, long, black NOSE SHAPE: According to this chart, it’s a ‘small hero’ nose (which I find hilarious); Slightly hooked; Rounded tip, little bit of a button; Again, adults have reported that it is very boop-able HAIR TEXTURE: Thick, smooth yet unruly, and has a gentle wave to it HAIR COLOR: Jet black HAIR LENGTH: Depending on how old he is, it’s either about to his chin (baby Braig), just over his shoulders (young teenager), just passing his shoulders (older teenager), roughly the middle of his back (adult), or, heck, even down to his hips (Elder/old Braiggos) EARS: Somewhere between rounded and oval, unattached lobe, average size

UPPER BODY

SHOULDERS: A little narrow when he’s tiny, but puberty kicks him in the jaw and he broadens out by his late teens. ARMS: Toned - Muscular, though in the sense that it’s more ‘practical muscle’ and less ‘overly defined’; Buff for use, not for show, if that makes sense. Have you ever swung a sword around for a few hours? Great exercise. This kid uses two on a daily basis. A few noticeable veins, here and there; A couple small scars in various stages of fading. STOMACH AREA: Toned. His life is 24/7 training. This kid is ridiculously in shape. Probably some scars here, too. LOVEHANDLES?: Friend, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was buff, he’d vanish when he turned sideways. He’s got barely any fat on him. (It’s actually probably a little bit of a health issue.) CHEST/BREASTS: Smooth, also muscular. Taut, but not swollen or ballooned out. He’s lean, I suppose, is the word I’m looking for. Probably still a few scars. NIPPLES: Average size, reddish-brown in colour. BACK: Same as before - lean muscle, little scars here and there. Straight posture, a mixture of confidence, formality, and training. HAND SIZE: A little on the small side, honestly? Broad palms, long, slender fingers. Very calloused, along the palms, pads of fingers, and the knuckles (first two especially).

LOWER BODY

HIPS: They don’t lie, I’ll tell you that much. Again, muscular - a little wide, though whether this is due to muscle growth or just Braig being naturally a lil curvy, who knows. BOTTOM: As I said, he doesn’t have a lot of fat on him, so it’s not big, but like the rest of him, pretty toned. Both of his romantic partners in their respective verses have given it five stars. (He’s unsure what to make of this.) THIGHS: Sturdy, muscular, lean. He’s flexible, with great balance, honed through training. He can’t outmatch physical giants in the Jedi Order like Hano, or, to pick a canon character, Krell, in terms of raw strength, so he focuses on agility. He’s got nice legs. Again, probably a few small scars, here and there. CALVES: Proportionate to his legs. Muscular, the calves of a martial artist and a trained warrior. Also, more scars. LEG LENGTH: I suppose long-ish? They’re a bit longer than his head+torso, but not by much, so pretty average.

OTHER

BODY HAIR: Doesn’t have much. It’s pretty much localised to his underarms, and the nether regions. His arms and legs are bare, and he couldn’t grow facial hair if he tried. (He did, in fact, try, just on a whim. It was disappointing, to say the least.) What he does have is a bit sparse, and very dark - black, like his head-hair. SCENT: He smells a bit like leather, a bit like old stone, a bit like the air before a lightning strike (I, personally, imagine that lightsaber blades sort of give off that ozone-y energy smell), a bit like heated metal, like tea, and sweat, and battlefield dust, and the fake-not-pineapple scent of bacta and maybe a bit of medical disinfectant, a little like soap and shampoo and laundry detergent, and boot polish, and flowers, and weapons grease, maybe a bit like Obidad’s aftershave or cologne if he’s had a bad day and needs a tight hug. And a few people say he also smells a little like sweets, but that depends on the day. How much of each scent really depends on what he’s been doing recently. HAND NAILS: Very short, usually only a sliver of white over the pinks. Rounded and smooth, good for making a proper fist while also being well-manicured and clean. Sometimes, there’s a bit of dirt, or grit, or blood underneath, and other times there might be a bit of boot polish or weapons grease, but he washes his hands regularly enough that it’s never really a problem. He usually makes sure his hands are clean before leaving the Temple, if he can. TOENAILS: Short and neat, though he’s a bit less meticulous with his toes than with his hands - people don’t see his feet too often, and he doesn’t need his toenails short to make a fist. He keeps ‘em best as he can, but if they get a bit long, he won’t kick himself for it. VOICE: I think, at least as a teenager, he would in fact sound like his FaceClaim, Boo.Boo Stew.art - A really good clip of him talking (to puppies) is here: (click), though when he’s older, it does deepen; I’ll have to look for a good voice claim for that. One important thing to note is that he does have a Coruscanti accent; ‘English’, in our Earthling terms, though it’s closer to Ewan’s Ob/i-W/an accent, since that’s what Braig grows up with. ACCENT: As I said, an English/Coruscanti accent. It’s not too thick, no more than Obidad’s is. He has it in every verse - his bio father, Eadric, has a very English accent, as well, so he grows up with it no matter who he was initially raised by.

HEIGHT: 5’0” as a young padawan (eg from age 13), 5′7″ as an older padawan (eg from age 17), and 5′9″ is his full height. WEIGHT: 155.55 lbs is his full weight as an adult, but of course it depends on his age/height. PIERCINGS: None, though Rogue Braig and modern Braig have seriously considered getting a single earring in his left ear lobe. TATTOOS: None, though he has a few he’s considered. Again, Rogue and Modern Braig are more likely to have these. BRA SIZE: Doesn’t wear one. SHOE SIZE: Apparently it’s 8 in American men’s when he’s fully grown. I barely know my own shoe size, so I’m leaving this. PREFERRED CHOICE OF SHOES: Simple leather boots in canon; In modern, he has a battered pair of old hiking boots, and another set of old comfy sneakers, and those are the ones he loves most. CLOTHING STYLE: He dresses in pretty typical Jedi clothing. Brown tunic, trousers, boots and belt, often wears a red sash under his belt, and, of course, his scarf; He loses the scarf when he gets older, (around 16-17) and adopts more greys, as well as a brown tabbard and grey vambraces, as a Jedi knight, his shirt is grey with two brown stripes on the right sleeve (brown stripes on your sleeve, according to Legends canon, signify having been born in the Coruscant system; These things are completely optional, but he likes them). The brighter colours in his outfit shift away from red and towards purple. As a Sith/Sith apprentice? Black clothes, tunic, maybe a tabbard, red accents, typical stuff. As a Rogue, it’s a lot of thrown-together, whatever he can find type-stuff. He likes things with pockets, since he can hide things there, and he modifies most jackets he wears to have pockets hidden on the inside where he can stash his sabers. He likes leather jackets, and he’d absolutely be willing to shell out the necessary credits for armourweave clothes he can wear around. It’s a way less formal, refined look than he wore when he was younger. He’s still big on neutral/earth tones, but if he needs to buy more opulently coloured stuff to blend in, he will. He also wears a small, woven black ‘bracelet’ around his left wrist - this is his padawan braid that he cut off himself, and he melted the beads down to join the ends together. He fiddles with it when he’s stressed. Modern Verse Braig likes dark/neutral pants, jackets, shoes, etc, but bright and vividly coloured shirts, and accessories can fall on either end of the scale. He likes comfortable, durable clothes that he can move around in, and if he’s gonna get a design or graphic on his clothes, he prefers a simple picture. he’s not above wearing jewellery in this verse (or his Rogue verse, might I add) though, again, prefers a simple necklace or one of those camp-style friendship bracelets to anything else. GENERAL BODYSHAPE: I will say right now that finding accurate body-type name charts for men sucks (though one said Braig’s body-shape is called ‘Adonis’, and I think we’re both giggling). I guess it’s somewhere between inverted triangle and rectangle? Could even get off calling some younger shots hourglass, before he starts filling out and growing into himself. I dunno. He’s Braig-shaped.

TAGGED BY: i stole a meme on free meme day TAGGING: literally all of my mutuals who want to tackle this monster i have been staring at pictures of boostew for like thirty minutes to figure out what shape his EARS are do you think i have the presence of mind to tag people

#long post //#&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& temple archives; headcanons

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