Even Deepa' Still~(Self Rp)

(This is a Self Rp used to learn how to Self Resonate and the Technique Rotation.)

"Even Deepa' Still"

His tongue, speech becoming laced with the slang of the urban environment. He himself was beginning to change. He could feel it, see it in every aspect of his life.

The way he talked.

Slang began to plague him. His usually formalities and mannerisms that he evenly distributed to his peers had.. lagged? His words grimaced, they lacked the politeness that came from his proper tone and annunciation. Not only that but they lacked depth, the previous weight they held from his strict choice of words was now diluted with the various amounts of slang that littered his vocab. Words such as; whassup, bro, yea', and the like riddled his language. If only his masters heard him now, they'd probably scrutinize him and give him a couple of lashings. The amount of time and effort they put into quarantining him in order to keep him 'pure' was unfathomable, yet here he is.

The way he walked.

His stride now more prideful. His once humble strut was now bombarded with the proud swag of a solo Demon Weapon. Having been on a mission, taking classes, participated in successful spars, and monster hunted the young Weapon felt accomplished. Or so he thought. Drake Kurogasko had finally begin to believe that he was moving in the right direction. The direction that would bring his clan into worldwide recognition. The type of recognition that the Star Clan and Shinigami - sama would cower in. His movements, however bolstering, were still good. His heart was still pure, still genuine. It was just being slowly corroded in pride. Drake at this point felt like he was, excuse my french, 'the shit'.

The way he thought.

Rational though slightly clouded. His opinions slightly becoming bias. His mind becoming ever more tainted by the actions of others. The very presence and meeting of certain individuals did their job in making Drake's way of thinking change. The witch, Leo Montinegro, was strong even though he did not follow the Path of The Warrior. No, he followed that of the devil and found himself quite strong in a relatively short amount of time. Could there perhaps be a converging path where the two met? Could there perhaps be a point where the two diverging paths crossed to form a unique path with the benefits of both?

He shook his head.

Blue hair flurried back and forth as the young man stood in the open space so graciously provided by the DWMA. The open space where many another Meisters, Demon Weapons, and Meister and Weapon teams coexisted for the same purpose.

Training.

His mind? Plagued. Thinking that there were benefits to be reaped from the Path of The Devil was insane. Drake stood, his feet solid and firm against the ground. His legs shoulder width, at an one-hundred and eighty degree angle to be exact.

Yes.

The Demon Weapon sat in a split. His body facing forward as his torso was perfectly erect, his spine perfectly straight. With his hands together he remained calm and balanced in a key yoga position that doubled as a meditation entry point. It was there that Drake found the most security, where he felt the most isolated from the many noises that filled the open space. Meisters, Demon Weapons, spars, and personal trainings all of which offered their own distractions to a meditating individual. Drake, however, found solace in his pose. Hands together in prayer style he stilled his mind as he was about to attempt to do what two people usually did together.

He was about to attempt to resonate with himself. It was something usually seen done by Meisters but Drake, as a Demon Weapon, would attempt to do such a thing by himself. As he found peace within himself, he started at the only place he thought practical.

His soul.

He breathed slowly.

Slower.

Still.

His breath halted as he found complete quietness. It was in this quietness that he found himself and his soul.

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His Soul.

Petite in size though large in ambition. It's frame was small but from the outside it looked dense, a deep blue hue. Harsh, like a violent navy blue contrasting Drake's cyan blue hair and light blue eyes. The young weapon found himself floating over his very soul. It was round in generic form and a dark blue in color. It was immature, still growing as he himself was. At the very bottom of the blue soul was a small growing flame representing the slight tolerance to fire his soul had adapted. The outer premises of he soul were rigid, slight padded representing the slight physical tolerance he had also developed. At the very front of the soul the Roman numeral for Two stood firmly representing the undying pride for his clan and his birth right as the next harbinger for his people.

Besides that.

The soul was basic.

Generic.

It's power and size was small, not that the young weapon had seen any other souls before. He just figured his would be a bit.... Stronger. Larger, he figured he"d see his soul and be overtaken by the sheer circumference of its large mass!

Wrong.

"I Thought...." He began as his face contorted into a half frown. "I thought it'd be a bit bigger." He sighed as he thought a loudly though to himself.

His growth and training so far seemed insufficient and showed in his soul. Though the one thing that did reassure him was the large amount of hope and will that he could feel from it. His ambition was felt from were he floated, it was vibrant and pure... Of goodwill.

He smirked.

The cyan blue haired demon weapon motioned forward. His body falling toward blue orb. As he pressed his hands against the soul he closed his eyes and began to concentrate hard.

Harder.

Still. He dove deep into the inner regiments of his mind of his soul.

And yet it wasn't deep enough.

"Closer... I have to know what's inside." He spoke out, his words hinting that the young weapon didn't know what was inside of his own soul.

No.

He wanted to know, subconsciously, what his heart and soul was like. Deep down he felt himself beginning to change and he wanted to know just what changes were being made at the deepest levels possible.

His hand pressed harder onto the padded, rigid orb until he felt the hard shell give way. His hand pressed through and like that the young weapon fell into his own soul. His body feeling light and weightless, Drake Kurogasko II, entered his soul and yet,

Even Deepa' Still.

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He fell.

His feet meeting a white padded ground.

He was in a dojo.

His old Dojo.

The entire premises was white, something resembling that of a mental patients room. The walls, the floors, the ceiling all padded white. The softened floor did away with the need for sparring mats at the dojo. It was essentially safe for all forms of combat. Scattered throughout the dojo were training dummies. They were comprised of a main stick padded with white fluff with two smaller sticks for arms also padded. Atop the dummy was a traditional white gi that was tattered and worn showing obvious signs of physical abuse. The head of the dummy was all white with a bland face. Black horizontal stitching comprised the mouth while black circular stitching comprised the two eyes creating a bland expression for all of the dummies.

At the very centre of the room was a small circle which Drake was familiar with back during his times at the clan. It was a sparring circle that he also used for mediation.

And that was what his inner soul looked like.


And this is what he looked like.

His body. Shrunk.

Still retaining its maturity though gaining a predominate level of cuteness. He had in fact became a chibi of massive proportions. His face was overtaken with a look of absolute blandness and uncertainty. Dull. Distant.

Dumb.

His hands small, almost spherical in appearance while his legs were small stubs of their former selves. His head however expressionless was overly round and largely proportioned in comparison to the rest of his body. It was then that Drake found himself draped in an all black gi in contrast to the uniform white that filled the padded dojo.

So this was his soul.

He heard that they were representations of a persons thoughts, emotions, and personality but this was.... Amazing. Drake stopped to look around his soul taking in the metaphorical representations of his own persona whether noticeably notable or not. It didn't matter, the young demon weapon continued to glance around and began to deeply interpret the hidden meanings of everything that was anything in this world.

And even after thinking deeply, he pressed on.

Even Deepa' Still.

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He walked.

His feet taking myriad steps as he explored the small world. Small circular nubs glided across the abused dummies. His hand caressed the padded white as he thought hard about what this meant. Why were there training dummies in his world in the first place. What did they represent?

Himself?

No there were too many. Too bland. Not specific. Their white gi's were all symbolic of what....?

He pondered. He took few steps around a peticular dummy, investigating its features. He was sure th brownish of the wood that supported the dummy held no metaphorical value. He was also sure that the black coloring used for the stitching was merely practical. He racked his brain trying to figure out why they were here and why so many....

He flash backed.

His days growing up, so young, so privileged. He had everything fed to him on a silver spoon, bred to be great, and groomed to be excellent. His upbringining however harsh and disciplined was honorable to the highest degree amongst his peers.

His peers.

Unackowledged. Unappreciated. Dispensable.

There were so many. To him, at the time, they were all the same. No distinctive personality. No particular traits. No problems, no hardships, no qualities or traits.

Lifeless.

He hadn't cared, they were all there scattered about for one specific purpose. Brought to him by his clan to do one job. To make sure he became perfect. These people, however unimportant, found importance in their job of bringing light to their clan through the serving of the clan heads. They were proud and no matter how mistreated they loved what they did and found happiness in it. They were abused, discarded, forgotten, forsaken.

Mistaken for lifeless objects that were plentiful.

He snapped back to his present self. His facial expression was saddened, large round ovals narrowed ever so close portraying the image of shame. It was probably the reason why subconsciously he was so nice and kind to everyone. In order to make up for his previous years of ignorance.

His hands caressed the padded white.

Once again, though this time empathetically. He cared.

Genuinely, the young weapon did his best to reclaim a singe face to place upon this lifeless dummy. At least one face to show respect for the many people that without their help whether voluntarily or not shaped him to be the person he was today. "Just...One." In the deep recess of his mind, the chibi thought hard. His eyes closed as he brought his hands in toward his chest and strained. "Eeeeeeeeeee" He screeched as a face materialized atop the white dummy. The former white head top formed a white, fair skinned face template. It was narrow toward the chin area and petite in form.

It was blank.

No eyes, no mouth, no nose. It was incomplete....

But it was progress.

The Demon Weapon turned to look at differing things, his head hurt from the straining. Drake was mentally drained, the chibi once again stared deeply into the rest of the room. His vision resting on the small circle that laid in the center of the room. The sparring circle.

The chibi stared blankly toward the small circle. As blank and simple his look was he unknowingly fell into a cold trance as he contemplated the significance of the sparring circle. His need to know was deep yet his will was...

Even Deepa' Still.

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