WIP Training the Mind and the first tail of his biju!

There an young man would sit, his green wispy thin hair blowing gently in the arid breeze. His skin dark and toned from the many years in the desert, his eyes squinting out against the glare of the sun. There was shade, emitted from the pavilion above, covering and protecting his body from the harmful rays. His clothing was old and musty, crusted with sweat from many days of travel. The only respite he found in the desert was the warm cup of tea that he brought to his vibrant young face, the steam caressing his cheeks as the warm liquid would touch his cracked lips and drain into his throat. His eyes would gaze around, eyeing the people that walked past, his hidden black eyes taking in bits and pieces of information from behind the lenses of tinted sunglasses.

The man would place the cup of tea down, and then he would not seem to be paying attention as he licked the tip of a pencil, seeming to idly write things down, a process and habit he had kept for weeks on end, taking a cup of tea at the same outdoor café, and even using the same table and seat. His thoughts and his power of mind he would train. As the key to wielding the power of the eight tails biju was peace. To those who saw him, they would simply assume him to be an jovial young man spending his youth on a trivial hobby. His gaze would drift down, and on the paper were bits and pieces of information from different minds, different perspectives, all used to create one collective knowledge for a later use. Done, he would finish the rest of his tea and place the usual tab and tip on the table, placing his notepad inside his back pack as he walked away, mingling with the street crowd to vanish from sight.

It was later in the day now, the sun near the end of the horizon, foreshadowing the repetition nightfall. An young man with a slightly differing appearance from the original would be speaking to villagers as he journeyed throughout the village, his eyes hidden by the darkness of his shades. The glasses had remained the same, but the stature and skin tone had altered. The chatter was not unusual banter, nothing to cause him to stick out amongst the crowds. Those that spoke with him had simply happened by chance, and by no fault of his own or due to any instigation. Both of his hands would remain in his pockets as the amount of people on the street decreased, the night becoming more prevalent as the sun began to lose its vigor.

With that his restraint upon himself would start to wane, and he would find himself drifting a deserted area where there were few people around, and then eventually he would come to a completely abandoned area within the village, not a soul in sight. As a precaution, he would make a simple bunshin, and the clone would assume the role of watch out. He would have the clone remain hidden; keeping its eyes open to see if anyone should approach. Many empty and abandoned buildings. Taking his pick he would enter one, his eyes showing all in the darkness. Within the room his gaze took note of the appearance of the room. The floor was made from a dark wood, the layers of dust, the building itself made of pure stone and sand.

He would move around for a moment, a window high in the building allowing light to enter from the moon, yet due to its position it would not allow people to see within, nor was it big enough for someone to enter. There was one object sitting in the corner of the room, an ancient wooden crate. The man would walk over to it, his strong fingers touching the wood as he eyed it for a moment and sat down, bowing his head in infinite drowsiness, tired of the things going on around him. His mind was clear for the first time in many nights, foregoing all the babble of senseless murder, rinsed clean of his murderous ambition. He would sigh, infinitely plagued by the multiple paths that resided before him. He knew that there was a job to be done, and indeed it would be time for it to be accomplished.

There were moves he needed to learn, and this room would be perfect for the practicing. Dropping his guise he would find himself in his purple robe, sitting upon the same wooden crate. His Aishado activated as the shadows on the floor began to dance. His silver sand forming all around him. It was a preparation he liked to perform before finishing the training of the jutsu. Odd tentacle looking stream of metal sand would move and weave across the floor until they started to rise from the ground, bit by pit becoming more and more real until the area would finally return to normal, and Si shen would stand up, ready to practice the move that he had read in the scroll. Apparently his mother had deemed him worthy enough to learn a few of his personal tricks. He did not know if it was an honor or not, but it was rather useless to dismiss free tools.

He would condense the shadow within his sleeves, and without hesitation the strips of silver would would emit from them. He would not use them but would simply watch them as they hovered there. He would simply start at them for what seemed like an age, but then they would vanish as he would then call forth a new metal. A blast of gold would form from seals on his arm, it would move dance. With a seal another metal would join the melody of his metal sands. A rare metal known as titanium a compound of both the highest grade steel, with only a single part of iron. Making a metal both lighter and ten times stronger than any steel or iron. All at once the three metals would dance together. They would flow about in unison dancing to Si-Shen's power!

There he would make his way out of the abandoned buildings, his bunshin taking another direction in to the village as the sun started to rise. There he would simply watch the civilians, taking in their thoughts as the passed him, his sunglasses not allowing them to see with only a brief glance. He had not slept, but it did not bother him. He spent many nights without sleep, and seemed to function at full capacity. Disguised as the same man who took notes, he would find himself walking in a well traveled direction, blending in with civilians and the like as he went to sell antiques from his bag until it was around the same time as yesterday, where he would make his way back to the same outdoor cafe and order the same tea.