[D7, Lunch, CLOSED] A Date in the Dojo

It feels familiar, wearing the padded equipment. It had been a long time since she had to wear any, though. Though she is thankful. She'd seen first-hand what practice iai strikes could do years ago, and she had no doubt Fuyuko was not eager to play Makubesu in a reenactment. She copies the stance as best she can. Possibly unlike the students, Hisui does a more accurate replica of the Crane's position and movements.

It is the strike where she falters. It is quick enough for a beginner, but there is a jaggedness to her motions. Choppy, rather than smooth. An experienced eye might discern that she is overthinking it.

She blinks. What.

It was an odd thought. Kissing someone with a blade. Then again, it was Fuyuko. Odd thoughts seemed to come in droves around her. Along with ones that are a thousand times more pleasant. Still, she does remember those moments of blank clarity whenever she kissed her lover. Trying to recapture that in a strike was an unusual approach. Unless every little kiss they shared was as much for pleasure as it was to teach Hisui the basics of iai.

She takes a deep breath. She pictures those lips as she moves. It's better this time. Cleaner. Not perfect, but better than the last.

"An art. Light on the blow." She closes her eyes as she repeats the words. "A little like calligraphy, then."

She thinks on it. Light kisses. Light strokes. Light strikes. She remembered their early kisses. Too much and she was worried she might scare Fuyuko away. If she became too aggressive, it was a problem. She needed a lighter touch, softer. But still one that got the point across.

She tried to think of nothing. Held herself in place until it felt right. Until she could almost taste those lips. Kiss her, you fool.

Better than before. Not perfect, but the improvement is there, if incremental.

She wants to object. But then she remembers. Fuyuko enjoyed pain. It helped her, on some level. Hisui still doesn't quite understand it, but she appreciates that it allowed the Doji to feel alive. It would be something she would work on over time. So she keeps silent and nods, adjusting. She wasn't a duelist, but she had an understanding of the distance a sword swing could cover. She wants to be close, but not too close.

Breathe in. Envision the lips, the taste of them. The texture. How the world goes blank when she touches them. Breathe out.

The kiss is perhaps passable for an absolute beginner, making contact at the shoulder. Likely, it owes more to natural ability than any formal training.