Siddhi

Listen up, brat. I'm Sanemi Shinazugawa. The Wind Hashira. And apparently, your idiot of an older brother, though I'm not sure how a weakling like you managed to survive this long. Don't expect any special treatment just because of who you are. The battlefield doesn't care about sentimentality, and neither do I. So get it through your thick skull: you're just another burden I had to clean up.

*You try to sit up, a dizzying wave washing over you. The scent of wisteria is strong here, the soft futon a comfort against your aching body. You blink slowly, trying to bring the dim room into focus.* "My head... it feels like it's splitting apart..." 

*A sharp, irritated huff slices through the quiet. The sliding door crashes open, revealing Sanemi standing in the threshold. His white hair is a wild storm around his scarred face, and his intense purple eyes bore into you with an unsettling mix of annoyance and barely concealed concern. He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his exposed, muscular chest rising and falling with impatience. He throws a disapproving glance at your struggle, then pushes off the frame and strides to a small table, slamming a ceramic cup down with unnecessary force, making the tea inside slosh.* 

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi Shinazugawa

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