Post by blade on May 26, 2012 15:45:17 GMT -5
It was only 7:30 at night, and Winston had already retired to his flat for the evening. However, he didn't go to sleep. Actually he was standing in the middle of his living room, with only his black slacks on from his usual Turk Uniform. His arms were stretched out ahead of him as he wielded Murasame with both his hands by its handle. His chest, and forehead were damp from sweat. Winston used his right shoulder to wipe some of the sweat away from his eyes before he went back to swinging his blade. Each time he would bring the sword up till it was aligned with his head, before he swung it down at break-neck speed. When he stopped the swords descent at his waistline, a small breeze would sweep across the room. As the weight of the sword started to grow with every swing, Winston eventually stopped, and leaned the blade gently against a wall as he walked over to the kitchen to grab a refreshment.
He returned to his living room with a bottle of water in hand. He walked over to his black leather lazy chair as he collapsed into its cushiony goodness. Winston let out a sigh of relaxation as he removed his glasses from his face and placed them onto the nightstand on the left of the chair. He let his head slink backwards as he closed his eyes and slowly let his body fall into a state of zen. This was pretty much an everyday thing for Winston, except for when he was out on missions or drowning in paperwork, he would just come home to a nice tidy little flat, and just swing Murasame around for awhile. A bit childish maybe, but actually it was more of a ritual if anything. In Winston's mind, he believed that if he didn't swing the sword on a regular basis, he wouldn't be able to wield it as proficiently as he can now.
All that aside though, he was glad to be back with the Turks. When they all went their separate ways before, Winston figured he would traverse the world on his own terms instead of going being sent on missions all around the place. It was a good plan, but it quickly lost its appeal. Granted there were times where he did have fun (mainly in Costa) but mostly it was just a big pain getting from one place to the other without the Turk's helicopter. A smile appeared on Winston's face as the various images of the Turks started to fly through his mind. He thought it was a bit ironic that he wasn't the type to stick around in one place too long, but he didn't like the idea of being away from his friends. Winston started to chuckle a bit as he said to himself, "Actually...they are more like my dysfunctional family if anything..."
Winston leaned forward and drank some more water from the bottle before he wiped his mouth. He stood up and walked over to where Murasame was resting against the wall. He picked up the blade and turned around to look for its scabbard when he suddenly heard his cellphone ringing. Winston walked to his bedroom with sword in hand while he answered the phone. A few minutes of conversing followed, before Winston closed his cell shut and reentered the living room, with a brand new white dress shirt, black tie and coat. Murasame was in its scabbard and in his left hand as he walked to the door. A breathed out gently as he said quietly to himself, "Got to hate those family calls. Oh well, what can you do." He closed the door behind him and headed out of the building and over to the office where his family was waiting for him.
He returned to his living room with a bottle of water in hand. He walked over to his black leather lazy chair as he collapsed into its cushiony goodness. Winston let out a sigh of relaxation as he removed his glasses from his face and placed them onto the nightstand on the left of the chair. He let his head slink backwards as he closed his eyes and slowly let his body fall into a state of zen. This was pretty much an everyday thing for Winston, except for when he was out on missions or drowning in paperwork, he would just come home to a nice tidy little flat, and just swing Murasame around for awhile. A bit childish maybe, but actually it was more of a ritual if anything. In Winston's mind, he believed that if he didn't swing the sword on a regular basis, he wouldn't be able to wield it as proficiently as he can now.
All that aside though, he was glad to be back with the Turks. When they all went their separate ways before, Winston figured he would traverse the world on his own terms instead of going being sent on missions all around the place. It was a good plan, but it quickly lost its appeal. Granted there were times where he did have fun (mainly in Costa) but mostly it was just a big pain getting from one place to the other without the Turk's helicopter. A smile appeared on Winston's face as the various images of the Turks started to fly through his mind. He thought it was a bit ironic that he wasn't the type to stick around in one place too long, but he didn't like the idea of being away from his friends. Winston started to chuckle a bit as he said to himself, "Actually...they are more like my dysfunctional family if anything..."
Winston leaned forward and drank some more water from the bottle before he wiped his mouth. He stood up and walked over to where Murasame was resting against the wall. He picked up the blade and turned around to look for its scabbard when he suddenly heard his cellphone ringing. Winston walked to his bedroom with sword in hand while he answered the phone. A few minutes of conversing followed, before Winston closed his cell shut and reentered the living room, with a brand new white dress shirt, black tie and coat. Murasame was in its scabbard and in his left hand as he walked to the door. A breathed out gently as he said quietly to himself, "Got to hate those family calls. Oh well, what can you do." He closed the door behind him and headed out of the building and over to the office where his family was waiting for him.