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Sweat beads raced down his face, the occaisonal salty fluid drop running into his eye, the sodium chloride stinging his eyes. Hyronai was now throwing high kicks, the top his foot rocking the bag back and forth after each consecutive hit. He even did a few roundhouse kicks that threatened to knock the bag off its chains and onto the floor.

Sho walks up to the dojo doors and stops. He slips off his straw sandles and opens the door. He takes three steps into the dojo and stops. He bows showing his respect. Sho walks to the middle of the dojo and removes his Zanpakutou and places it in front of himself. Sho kneels down and prepairs himself to start meditating.

Sho closes his eyes and drifts off ........

Sho can smell the fresh flowers and grass in the air. He opens his eyes and can see a familiar face. It is Ryu Kami, his Zanpakutou’s spirit form. Sho smiles and get’s up. “How are you doing my good friend?” Ryu says, “Sho … it has been a while since we last talked. In fact, the last time was when we met and you received your Shikai. Why have you not been practicing what I have taught you?” Sho looks to the ground and says, “Ryu, I haven’t had any chance to fight anyone. Friend or Foe at that …” Ryu looks at Sho and shakes his head. The mighty dragon says, “Sho …. You must practice your Shikai so when you do need it, it will come natural to you.” Sho says, “You are right my friend. But, I am more than ready to take on a Bount or Hollow. Anything other than just sitting around doing nothing.” Ryu just shakes his head back and forth. Then says, “Sho, are you in a hurry to die? Because you sure are acting like it.” Sho turns and faces his friend. He then says, “No I’m not ready to die. But I am ready to prove myself worthy of being a Shinigami. If I had my way, I would go to earth myself and kick some a**!”
Ryu says, “Sho, you must practice because someday the time will come when you may have to train a new Shinigami or use your Shikai to save your own life. Do as I say, I will never guide you in the wrong direction.” Sho smiles and pats the dragon on the shoulder ……

Sho opens his eyes and he is back in the squads dojo. Talking to himself he says, “I must go and see Master Yamoto and see what he says about this vision ….”

Sho leaves the dojo the same way he entered ..... [Exit to VC Office]

Crouching down Oggashi flips back, as he lands he bounces on his right foot and lashes out with his left leg, shifting his weight he comes off the ground, landing on his left foot and comes around with his right leg. He pauses, holding his right leg out straight fully extended before lifting it up higher and comming down with his heal on an imaginary opponet. as his heal strikes his 'opponet' he leans back and twists violently, pushing himself up with his hands oggashi spins like a break dancer, his legs out stretched, after a few rotations he hand springs back to his feet and crouches in a street brawling type stance.

Svetlana was awake. Not just conscious, but awake. Aware. Disturbingly wide-eyed. She felt as if there was an odd form of adrenaline accenting her movements. It was a childish notion, of course, she hadn't ingested anything odd, and had made no major lifestyle change from the last time she strove to train, but the feeling was there nonetheless. Now, she was prepared to take advantage of this energy. She would twist it to suit her. (Or, such was the plan.)

The last time she felt so... on edge... was when there had been a predicted fight. Her adrenal gland had been dancing a two-step with her brain, trying to whisk her from feeling fear to embracing danger, and her brain had been playing tug-of-war to enact just the opposite. But what did she have to fear? Nothing! It was safe here. Hell, it was almost as peaceful as she could remember it being.

She clutched her weapon to her chest as she picked her way through Squad Seven's grounds, trying to feel out a proper area for her to break a sweat. Not here... not there, either... she thought to herself, purposely being as picky as she could. If she wasn't able to decide on a spot which suited her every need, she would give up and simply do cardio until she fainted from exhaustion. If anything was going to pull her nerves out of the pit, it was physical exercise.

Perhaps she should have been disappointed when she slipped into the Dojo. It was empty, abandoned, devoid of another soul.

Just the way she liked it.

There was less pressure for her to succeed, more pressure on herself to keep from failing. Without an audience, there was no excuse. Without an audience, there was nothing to focus on but the act of pushing her body harder, stretching her physical limit. Without an audience, she could not fail.

She padded along the hardwood floor until she arrived at that corner. It was perfect. It was just the right distance from the door and had just the right view of the rest of this particular room. It was more than perfect. It was her dream corner. Svetlana wasted no time in stripping of her outer garments, donning something less flowing, something in which she could easily tone her movements. It's all about subtle corrections.... she thought quietly as she nestled her weapon's thin form on top of the neatly-folded pile of her Shinigami robes. She'd be damned if she was about to wrinkle that fabric. It got in the way enough already; she didn't want to worry about its aesthetics.

Stretches were first.

In training, stretches were always first. The legs, first. Sveta kept her knees straight as she bet forward, slowly moving herself from side to side. Possibly the greatest thing about being a woman was the natural flexibility her species posessed. Even so, flexibility was to be prized in combat; it allowed her to move lithely, even unnaturally at times. To Sveta, flexibility was paramount. She moved to her arms, then her abs, back, glutes, shoulders...

Done. The young woman shook out her limbs, feeling the wonderful flow of life. She was so new to this squad; she needed to prove her mettle. No-- not prove. "Prove" was the wrong word. Svetlana didn't feel the need to show up any of the current members, no... though she did feel that if she didn't improve by leaps and bounds, she'd be letting people down.

Actually, if she didn't improve at all, she'd most certainly be kicked out, perhaps relegated to cleaning outhouses for all of eternity.

A harrowing thought, she minded herself with a wry smile (aimed at no one in particular, for there was no one around). She would test balance first.

Then she would test strength.

Then she would incorporate speed.

Then she would mash it together to form a beautiful movement, perhaps test it against something physical. She would play her training by ear-- planning out something so incorpreal and unreal was foolish.

Slowly, surely, the presences of others began to permeate Svetlana's mental barrier. It was amazing, she mused, how blind she was when both her eyes were open. She paused her movements for a moment, exhaling and inhaling slowly, her breaths measured as she focused. What a pain, she thought to herself mildly, opening her arms in a gesture to invite her own body to sense the energy given off by those who would be her comrades.

She had yet to put many faces to the spiritual signatures each individual posessed, but was beginning to recognize those faceless pressures she felt as she went about her daily routine. That one spent more time in the fields, while that one didn't seem to go outdoors... It was almost a game, guessing power without any of her senses. Her first impressions would remain just that-- impressions-- until she had the opporunity to meet with them, get to know them.

Satasfied, now, with a more open mind and a heart set on that very same notion of improvement, Svetlana lowered her arms back to the position in which they were before she interrupted herself. Endurance is the key, she repeated in her head, pulling herself into the shadow-hitting position. 'Fighting' herself-- that is, punching, kicking, bob-and-weaving at the air-- was to her, more difficult than sparring. When she went against a fellow, she could allow adrenaline, instinct take control of her movements, and her muscles didn't tire as easily.

When she moved alone, everything was in her own hands. She had to walk the line between proper form and exercise, often times working her cool-down feeling more drained than those times she returned to her room covered in bruises and her own blood. Moments like these were what allowed for muscle memory.

The footwork... Sveta noted, rolling her ankles to allow for better movement. Be light on one's feet. Float.

It was always so much easier to demand of herself to move lighter, don't let the balls of the feet touch the floor, than to actually put it into practice. (Had Sveta less of a mind, she could have given up; staying on one's toes for prolonged periods of time hurt in its own way, and the feeling was more acute than the hurts of a bruise or a stab wound.) This, of course, was the reason she practiced.

The more she moved, the more she allowed herself to sweat. It was a shameless action; completely natural to her kind. To Sveta, it felt good. To be covered in one's own sweat, muscles shaking from the intensity of a workout, to be so out of breath one could barely make a noise-- that was Sveta's heaven. Unattractive, certainly, but powerful and inspiring nonetheless.

She had decided she would meet that paradise today. Surely, she was moving towards it, but it was far off, out of reach. She could not expect body failure to occur this short into her training period (and if it did, she certainly had a health issue). No, her endurance would be beyond that. She needed to go further today. She needed to punish her body for having such limits. She would break herself.

A jab.

A hook.

Left jab.

Right foot, down. Pivot.

Weave to the left, plant foot, kick forward, twist.

Repeat ad nauseum.

These training movements targeted her specific muscles groups; it was the kind of training done indoors, alone, when one had too much energy. These movements were for days like today.

Quickly his energy drops and a muffled sighs comes from the mask as his stomach growles. He slowly gets up and stretches, his long thin limbs cracking and popping as he does so. With one last look around the room Oggashi walks out of the dojo, picking up his sandels and his zanpakto.
[Exit]