11720/The skills you have, the skills you could have

The skills you have, the skills you could have
Date of Scene:	23 June 2022
Location:	Brooklyn
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Shredder, Cheyenne Brawley

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Shredder has posed:
    It's an average Thursday outside the Immortal Dragon Dojo. The dojo is small, wedged between a deli and a laundromat. An office front window gives view inside, where a class of students has just finished their lessons. They pack up their bags, and wherever they are headed to next in their lives, it isn't here. The dojo's sensei, Master Tatsu, waits quietly for the students to file out, his hands folded patiently behind his back.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Walking against the current of departing students, facial expression blank and vacuous - apart from a smear of deli mustard on the right side of his mouth - is Cheyenne Brawley. Duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and wearing his snazzy black workout wear, he pauses by the door and scans a bulletin board for a schedule. "Dang," he mutters to himself, "did I miss it again?"

Shredder has posed:
    Tatsu arches his brow as Cheyenne enters. "Yes. The class is over," he says directly and bluntly. "Must fill out paperwork first." His English is sufficient, though it's clearly not his first language.

    It is a half moment later that a taller Japanese man walks in from the back room. A scar on his left eyebrow. While also having an accent, his speech is much clearer. "Good afternoon. Were you recommended to come here?" he asks. The other master does not interrupt, seeming to physically defer through a bow as the new entrant speaks.

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     "Yes sir," says the young man quietly with a slow, Texan drawl. "A feller happened to be standing nearby when - well, when some nasty business sprang up in Bushwick, and I helped handle it. Suggested I swing by." His words trail off flatly, and Buster scans around the bulletin board. "I'd be happy to sign up for weekly classes or somethin';" he mumbles, jiggling a bit of flab on his gut, "need to get back in shape."

Shredder has posed:
    The rather neutral response from the tall Japanese man makes it unclear whether he finds this satisfactory. Though after a moment he seems to recall something. "I see," he says. "Why this dojo?" he asks. "And why martial arts if your goal is to simply train your body?"

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     The young man lifts his cap and runs a hand through his brassy curls, clearly stumped, judging by his expression. "Well, the feller was adamant that this was the best dojo in the whole city, and I've learned to lean on the advice of locals." He clears his throat. "And it ain't just about exercise. Ya see, I don't wanna be all bark and no bite the next time the aforementioned nasty business crops up again."

Shredder has posed:
    "I see. Nasty business is often best avoided, unless you have some purpose for engaging with it yourself. The ability to win a fight does not indicate a need to be in that fight. However, we do live in a city which seems to thrive on violence." He strolls closer to Cheyenne, as if sizing him up. "Tell me, if you were able to fight, when would you employ those skills?"

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Brows furrowed, Cheyenne considers the tall man's words, stroking the point of his beard. "Well sir, I ain't first cousin to Moses Rose. If I see someone bein' bullied, in a manner of speaking, I mean to make it my business to intercede. That's when I'd employ those skills; and from what I've seen hereabouts so far, there won't be no shortage of need for it."

Shredder has posed:
    There is a mock frown. "Interesting. Many would attempt to mask their intent, claiming self defense. But you have honestly shared your desire with me. I appreciate that. The arts must first take root inside of you," he indicates. "Before you will be able to adequately defend others, you must first understand yourself. You must know yourself and then know your enemy, or else you will succumb to the danger that thousands of self-proclaiming heroes find to be their final mistake. For every hero that is paraded before the public, there are hundreds who die in obscurity. I have no intent on aiding someone in a suicidal endeavor."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Buster nods along as the Japanese man speaks, and when he's done, issues a long sigh, posture deflated. "I can pick up what you're puttin' down, sir. Thanks for your time, anyway." The Texan tips the bill of his cap and turns on his heel.

Shredder has posed:
    As Buster turns to go, Saki speaks again. "That was not a no," he answers. "I am familiar with you." He says. "I witnessed as a rather erratic woman threatened this very area not but a few weeks ago. You showed discernment and caution, not responding with violence, but instead diffusing the situation. What I am saying is that it will take time."

Cheyenne Brawley has posed:
     Perking up, the young man does a full circle on his heel and faces the martial artist again, enthusiasm thinly veiled by the twinkle in his eye. "Well, there ain't no hill for a stepper, sir," he says, punctuating the statement with a firm nod. "And learnin' how to do things right is the reason I came to the city. Only hitch is, well, from a practical standpoint, I need to find some type of way to integrate," he struggles to find the right words, making a balancing scales motion with his hands, "uh, other kinds of arts, as well."