log; ongoing

[orderonto]

When; Monday, Sept. 7th, 2009, 10:30 AM
Rating; PG-13+
Characters; Hiro Nakamura [ibrokehistory, Mohinder Suresh [orderonto]
Summary; Mohinder ambushes Hiro for a talk while he's practicing at a dojo. ~*~Foreshadowing~*~?
Log;

He parked the vehicle down the block, stepped out and locked it, face set into the same look of far-away thought that it typically was, Mohinder Suresh's thousand-yard-stare, all cerebral intent. He crushed a piece of spearmint gum between his teeth, sliding off the cap he wore as he opened the door to the dojo that he knew Hiro would be in at this time on this morning, knew from asking, as well as silent watching. He slowed the door as it shut, not letting it slam rudely behind him, before walking quietly across the area to find Hiro Nakamura, feet quiet inside a soft pair of loafers.

Mohinder let himself lean against the doorframe with crossed arms, watching the small man work with a practice sword in the middle of the room. He seemed awkward, and naturally no doubt he was, but in Hiro's actions Mohinder could see both care and diligence. It was perhaps more appreciable than natural talent. Mohinder always had appreciated such things, in his own way. Not for the reasons that most would. Eventually, he spoke up, lifting his voice.

"Mr. Nakamura?"

Comments

[ibrokehistory]

The struggle which always awaited Hiro at Hinode Dojo was, perhaps, not one which most people would have anticipated. Casual onlookers would notice the slight clumsiness in his steps, feet not always turned in the proper direction to allow for the most balance or support. He favored his right foot, while his right hand was weaker-- always searching for a new grip, having difficulties staying in one place, energy thrumming with every intake of breath. But what Hiro had to fight wasn't his lack of care, his lack of discipline, for these things were best kept imperfect so as to give him more goals to strive towards and a direction to point the momentum-- instead, Hiro's problem had always been and would likely continue to be a matter of extremes. Pushing the envelope too far. Sweat dripped down from his hair, no longer spiked but instead plastered against his forehead, and the young man still had a lot of energy to spare.

But his voice was already hoarse. Whether or not his cries helped anchor his resolve or not, there were a couple of things that were clear-- they were unnecessary, and they had kept him from sensing Mohinder's arrival.

He turned around, eyes wide with surprise--not an entirely pleasant sort, but neither the most alarming--as he wiped at his forehead with the white towel draped over the back of his neck.

"No. It's Hiro," he corrected Mohinder, with some level of distaste, evident in the wrinkles at either end of his lips, pulling down.

[orderonto]

Noticed, Mohinder stood in his spot for a few awkward few seconds before inviting himself further in, setting his light coat and hat on a nearby table. He pulled a small bottle out of the coat pocket and held it out to Hiro-- icey-cold water from down the street, even if Mohinder wasn't sure that the token would be appreciated. His relationship with Hiro Nakamura was, as always, strange and rocky. He was younger than the others, even Peter. They had different priorities, he and Hiro, and they always would. Mohinder shrugged and cleared his throat.

"Hiro, then. I can understand why more formality bothers you. Sometimes I feel the same way. Why don't you cool down and have a drink and we can talk? Unless you would rather keep up with that while...I talk. At you."

He breathed.