Katana @katana-the-soultaker - Tumblr Blog

Closed rp

@batgirlspain

Rain turns the streets of Shibuya into a blur of neon, as crowds move in waves below as umbrellas collide and separate without pause. The shops are highlighted with red and white kanjis as music blares loudly from speakers.

Katana stands at the edge. Her hand rests lightly on Soultaker, her posture is calm and controlled.

“You rely too much on height, Batgirl.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not turn as she speaks.

“It makes you predictable.”

The rain taps softly against steel.

“You are far from Gotham. Welcome to Tokyo. こにちは”

I land beside her, not as clean as I’d like. My boot slips slightly on the wet steel before I steady myself. Subtle, but not subtle enough. Yeah. She saw that.

“Predictable doesn’t mean ineffective.”

I say, straightening a bit, brushing it off. The rain keeps coming down, soft but relentless. Tokyo glows underneath us. I hesitate, then add, a little more carefully.

“こんばんは、タツ (good evening, Tatsu).”

It feels… formal. Maybe too formal. I exhale lightly through my nose.

“I’m still working on it. The language. I get the structure, but… speaking it out loud is different.”

I admit and shake my head slightly. I glance toward her, just briefly, then back out at the city.

“I didn’t come here for the view. My father’s been taken. The Yakuza are moving him through Tokyo.”

I continue. Saying it out loud tightens something in my chest, but I push through it.

“And if they’re involved, there’s a good chance you already know how this works.”

I add, quieter now. Rain slides down the edge of my cowl. I don’t move. I take a breath, then try again, simpler this time.

“父を探しています (I’m looking for my father).”

The words feel heavier than they should.

“I could ask nicely, but I don’t think that’s how you operate.”

I go on and shift my stance, grounding myself beside her. Not above, not behind.

“So I’ll just be honest. I’m not leaving without him.”

I say and pause briefly.

“And if that means working with you again… I’ll adapt.”

I let out a quiet breath, almost a half-laugh, and glance at her again, just for a second.

“言葉だけじゃなくて (not just the language).”

The city hums beneath us. This time, I don’t try to sound perfect. I just wait.

Katana is silent for a moment.

The rain runs off the edge of Soultaker.

Then she says suddenly, as if in a fit of emotion, yet still in a flat, monotone voice, “You think I do not know that feeling.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not look at her when she speaks.

“Loss is not foreign to me.”

Below them, the crossing shifts again, and there is another wave of people, unaware and ignorant.

“You came here alone,” she continues, voice even. “That was your first mistake. How did overprotective Batman let you leave alone, and come so far from home?"

Katana stares at the street below, filled with innocents.

“But if you are here to stay,” she says quietly, “then you must stop thinking like Gotham.”

I let the silence sit for a second after she finishes. Not because I don’t have a response, but because I do. Too many, actually.

“Yeah, he didn’t.”

I say finally, quieter than before. A small breath escapes me, almost lost under the rain.

“I didn’t exactly ask for permission.”

I shift my weight, eyes following the movement of the crowd below. Patterns. Habit. Always habit. She’s right again.

“I know it was a mistake.”

I admit.

“Coming alone.”

I pause.

“But staying in Gotham while my father’s out here? That wasn’t an option.”

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers slightly inside the gloves. Steady.

“You think Batman doesn’t understand loss? That’s the problem. He understands it too well.”

I add, not defensive. Just factual. My gaze lifts back to the city.

“And that’s exactly why he told me to stay.”

I pause briefly again.

“But I’m not him.”

The words come out firmer now.

“I don’t get to compartmentalize this. I don’t get to treat it like just another case file.”

I shake my head slightly.

“He’s my father.”

Rain runs down the edge of my mask, dripping from my chin. I exhale, slower this time, forcing myself to ease the tension in my shoulders. Then, I add more quietly.

“I know you understand that.”

I don’t look at her when I say it. Instead, I follow her line of sight, down to the people crossing below. Lives moving forward. Oblivious.

“Stop thinking like Gotham.”

I repeat under my breath. That one sticks. I let it settle, turning it over in my mind the way I would a puzzle in the library. Something to be studied, not rejected.

“Alright.”

I say after a moment and straighten slightly, but not into that rooftop stance she already called out. Something lower. More grounded.

“Then tell me what that means here.”

I pause and glance at her, just briefly.

“Because right now, Gotham thinking is all I’ve got.”

I hesitate, then add, careful, a little unsure but genuine.

“教えて (teach me).”

The word feels simple. Honest. No strategy. No edge. Just truth. I look back out at the city. And wait.

Katana does not answer immediately.

Rain gathers at the tip of Soultaker before slipping off onto the roof.

“I did not say you claimed Batman does not understand loss.”

Tatsu Yamashiro’s voice stays even.

“I said I understand it.”

A brief pause.

“Your father is probably not hidden by strength or brute force. He is most likely hidden by movement… by people who know how to disappear in plain sight.”

Her grip loosens slightly on Soultaker.

“You will not find him by thinking like a vigilante.”

Another beat passes.

“You will find him by thinking like them. I will help you.”

Silence settles between the sound of rain and the distant hum below.

Then, she says more quietly-

“Do you remember anything… or anyone your father was tracking before he was taken?”

I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t remember, but because once I start pulling on that thread, I won’t be able to stop. I lower my gaze to the street, watching the flow of people. Movement. Patterns. Disappearing in plain sight. Not rooftops. Not shadows. Crowds.

“Yeah…”

I say finally and reach up, brushing rain from my cowl like it’ll help me think clearer. It doesn’t, but it gives me a second.

“He was working something off-book. Not GCPD official. Too many gaps in the reports, too many redactions that didn’t make sense.”

I continue and shift slightly, pacing once before stopping myself. Stay still. Think.

“Imports.”

I add.

“That’s where it started. Shipping manifests flagged coming into Gotham Harbor. Small batches, high frequency. Nothing illegal on paper, but…”

I shake my head.

“The routing was wrong. Too clean. Like someone wanted it to look boring.”

My mind keeps pulling pieces together now, faster.

“He mentioned a name once. Not to me directly. I wasn’t supposed to hear it.”

I say quieter and pause.

“Just ‘Kuroda’. No first name. No context.”

I frown slightly behind the mask.

“At the time, I thought it was local. Gotham-level. Maybe a shell contact.”

I glance out at the city again, neon reflecting in the rain.

“But then he started digging into international ties. Japan came up more than once.”

I exhale slowly.

“And then he stopped looping people in.”

I pause briefly again.

“That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

I cross my arms loosely, more to ground myself than anything else.

“He left a partial file behind. Encrypted. I cracked most of it on the flight over.”

I add with a slight, humorless smile tugs at my mouth.

“Patterns again.”

My gaze sharpens, focusing.

“There were references to movement schedules. Not shipments. People. Rotations, hand-offs, timed transfers between groups.”

I glance sideways briefly.

“Like a relay.”

I look back down at the crossing.

“Disappear in plain sight.”

I murmur. It clicks a little more.

“He wasn’t tracking a location. He was tracking a system.”

I say, more certain now, and pause.

“And if they grabbed him… it’s because he got too close to understanding how it works.”

My jaw tightens slightly. I finally turn my head just enough to look in her direction.

“Kuroda.”

I repeat.

“Does that mean anything here?”

Rain continues to fall. This time, I don’t wait passively. I’m already thinking ahead.

Katana goes still at the name.

Rain slides from the edge of her mask as her gaze lowers slightly, thinking.

“…Kuroda is not an uncommon last name,” she says at first. “But paired with overseas travel, hand-offs, and harbor routes…”

Her grip shifts subtly on Soultaker.

“That is not street-level trafficking.”

The distant thunder rolls across the skyline.

Another beat passes before something clicks behind her expression. Her eyes widen as realization strikes.

“…Kuroda.”

Rain taps softly against the roof as her grip tightens around Soultaker.

“He is the Yakuza 組長 (kumicho)”

"The boss. The one who makes all the decisions."

Not a question.

Her gaze turns distant, searching memory.

“If that name is attached to Gotham Harbor, then this is bigger than smuggling.” A pause. “The Yakuza do not move without structure. Their every route, every exchange, every silence means something. Every operation is meticulously planned.”

She looks back out over the city, eyes narrowing at the rivers of headlights below.

“It's how they've managed to survive for so long. It is because people only look for violence. Guns. Bodies Visible power.” Her voice stays calm, but colder now. “But the Yakuza understand systems. Ports. Finances. Shipping companies. Customs officials. Ordinary people paid to ignore the wrong crate at the wrong time. They don't want violence. They want power.”

A brief pause.

“If your father traced a pattern through all of that…” Her grip tightens again. “Then he came dangerously close to someone important.”

The rain intensifies slightly, tapping against rooftops and neon signs alike.

“And if Kuroda noticed he was being followed…” Katana’s expression hardens. “Your father would not have been treated like a normal problem.”

My stomach tightens at the way she says it. Not fear exactly. Something colder. Because suddenly this isn’t a kidnapping anymore. It’s infrastructure. An entire machine hiding behind paperwork and routine and people who never ask questions. And my father walked straight into it. I stare out at the traffic below, headlights smearing across wet streets like veins of light.

“He knew.”

I say quietly. The realization settles heavier with every second.

“Not everything, but enough to scare someone.”

I correct myself and replay the last conversation I had with him before he disappeared. The exhaustion in his face. The way he kept checking the windows even inside his own office. At the time I thought it was stress. Now it feels different. Calculated.

“He started acting careful. More than usual.”

I murmur and fold my arms tightly against the cold rain.

“He stopped using department servers. Switched to handwritten notes.”

A bitter little laugh escapes me.

“Which, honestly, should’ve been my first clue something was seriously wrong. Dad hates paperwork.”

I look down for a second, jaw tightening.

“There was one thing I couldn’t figure out in the files. A repeating timestamp.”

My eyes narrow slightly as I think through it again. I pull the memory apart piece by piece.

“Every few days, same hour range. Late night in Gotham. Early afternoon here. I thought it was cargo movement.”

I glance toward the harbor skyline in the distance and pause.

“But if this is structured…”

I slowly shake my head.

“Then maybe it wasn’t shipments being tracked.”

People. Transfers. Movement. The word relay comes back hard. I feel the pattern trying to lock together in my head.

“They move him constantly. Not because they’re hiding him in one place. Because the movement itself is the hiding place.”

I say, more to myself than anyone else. My pulse kicks slightly faster as the implications hit.

“No digital trail long enough to follow. No static location. No witnesses who see the same face twice.”

I exhale sharply through my nose.

“That’s why nothing in Tokyo flagged him entering officially.”

I look back over the sea of umbrellas below.

“Because to them, he’s not a prisoner.”

He’s cargo. The thought makes anger flare so suddenly I have to rein it back in before it shows. I force my hands to unclench.

“If Kuroda personally noticed him… then dad saw something he wasn’t supposed to.”

My voice lowers before pausing. Then another realization hits me.

“The harbor.”

I turn slightly, thinking aloud now.

“The schedules in the file weren’t random. They overlapped with specific docking windows. Not commercial peaks. Gaps between them. Quiet periods.”

My mind races ahead. I look toward the distant glow beyond the buildings.

“They’re moving people through legitimate shipping channels.”

I finally glance toward her.

“And if the Yakuza care more about systems than territory…”

I feel my heartbeat steady again, focus replacing panic.

“Then somewhere in this city there’s a point where all those systems touch.”

Customs. Shipping. Transit. Money. A center. I stare into the rain.

“And that’s where they’ll keep someone important.”

“…No,” Tatsu Yamashiro says quietly.

Her gaze lowers slightly, still thinking.

“Not Tokyo.”

“The routes pass through Tokyo because they must.” Her voice remains calm and precise. “For money or transit or distraction.”

Another beat passes.

“But they would never keep someone important here.”

She looks out past the skyline, toward the dark stretch beyond the city lights.

“It is too crowded. Too visible. Too many variables they cannot control.”

Rain taps softly against metal.

“I have a suspicion of where your father might be,” she says with a faint grimace. “But in order to be certain…”

Her grip shifts slightly on Soultaker.

“…we will need information from someone inside the system.”

A pause.

“Yokohama.”

The word lands quietly between them.

“The harbor there is older than Tokyo’s. Less modern. Easier to bury things beneath routine. It is one of the largest port cities in Japan, and it is very close to Tokyo.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “I was researching them earlier. So many shipping companies and private docks. Warehouses that officially no longer exist.”

Rain runs steadily down the edge of the rooftop.

“There is a place near the Yokohama port controlled by one of Kuroda’s affiliated groups.” Another beat. “A gambling establishment.”

“Gambling is illegal in Japan,” she says, “Which means places that survive from it are usually protected by someone powerful.”

Her expression hardens faintly.

“Most people who enter believe it is only for cards and alcohol.” A pause. “It is not.”

She finally turns slightly toward Batgirl.

“I know someone there.”

“He hears things because men underestimate him.” Her voice lowers faintly. “Schedules. Transfers. Which docks are active before sunrise.”

Thunder rolls quietly over the city.

“If your father was ever held in near the ports of Tokyo, then his movement had to have passed through the Yokohama district at least once.”

Another pause.

“But you must understand something before we go.”

Katana’s eyes sharpen slightly.

“A place like that runs on restraint.”

The neon below flickers across rain-soaked steel.

“You observe first.”

A beat.

“And if Kuroda’s men recognize you before we reach my contact…” Her expression darkened. “Then your father will vanish before we ever reach the harbor.”

Silence settles between them for a moment.

“We leave for Yokohama tonight.”

Yokohama. The name settles into my mind immediately. Close enough to Tokyo to disappear beneath its shadow, far enough to hide what matters. I look past the skyline with her, toward the dark beyond the city lights. Ports. Warehouses. Water. Movement. Not Gotham. God, she’s right.

In Gotham, criminals mark territory. They build fear with visibility. Here, everything sounds quieter. Cleaner. Like the whole system survives by making sure nobody notices where the bloodstains are. I pull in a slow breath through the damp air.

“Observe first.”

I repeat softly. Not exactly my strongest skill when my father’s life is involved. Still, I nod once.

“Okay.”

The word comes out more serious than confident. I crouch briefly near the ledge, pulling a cellphone from one of the pouches of my utility belt. Rain spatters against the screen as I bring up the fragments of dad’s files again: shipping routes, timestamps, names, partial manifests. Yokohama lights up almost immediately. My stomach drops.

“There.”

I murmur. Several entries overlap near the same coastal district over a three-week period. Small transfers. Different companies. Same time windows. Designed to look unrelated. I zoom further in, pulse quickening.

“God…”

I stare at the screen.

“He already suspected Yokohama.”

The realization hits hard enough that I almost miss the next thought chasing behind it. And he still stayed on the case. I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat and shut the feeling down before it can spread. Focus later. Emotion later. Alive first. I stand again, slipping the tablet away.

“If your contact can confirm active docks or movement schedules, that gives us a pattern to track.”

I glance toward the city below.

“And patterns mean predictability, no matter how careful Kuroda thinks he is.”

I pause before looking down at myself. Cape. Suit. Bat symbol. Right. I let out a short breath that almost becomes a laugh.

“I’m guessing this screams ‘subtle foreign vigilante’.”

I gesture lightly to the suit. Then I reach up and pull the cowl back just enough to let the rain hit my face directly for a second. Cold. Sharp. Grounding.

“Good thing I packed civilian clothes.”

I glance toward her again, more focused now.

“What’s the plan once we get there?”

I think through possibilities as I speak.

“We walk in separately? Blend in? I stay quiet and let you handle introductions?”

I pause for a moment again.

“I can do that. I know I talk too much when I’m nervous.”

I add before she can argue it. The admission slips out before I can stop it. I grimace faintly.

“That probably wasn’t strategically useful information.”

Rainwater drips from my hairline as I pull the cowl back into place. Then my expression settles again.

“But I mean it. I’ll follow your lead.”

I say quietly and look back out toward the unseen harbor beyond Tokyo’s glow.

“Tonight we observe.”

And silently, beneath the words: tomorrow, we get him back.

#Translation Izakaya (いざかや)：japanese pub or tavern

Katana watches Batgirl carefully for a moment after she speaks.

Rain falls steadily across the rooftops of Shibuya, turning neon signs into blurred streaks of red and white.

“Good,” Tatsu Yamashiro says quietly. “Then listen carefully.”

Her gaze shifts toward the distant harbor lights beyond Tokyo’s skyline.

“The establishment is near the Yokohama docks. Above it is a small izakaya (いざかや).” A pause. “From the outside, it appears forgettable.”

Rain slides from the edge of Soultaker.

“That is intentional.”

A train rumbles faintly somewhere below the city.

“The first floor is ordinary. Dockworkers drink there after shifts. Men too exhausted and drunk to pay attention.” Another beat. “The gambling rooms are underground.”

Her expression hardens slightly.

“That is where Kuroda’s affiliates conduct business.”

Thunder rolls softly over the skyline.

“There are cameras at every entrance, but the staff are more dangerous.” Katana’s eyes narrow slightly. “They remember faces. Patterns. Especially foreigners.”

Another pause.

“My contact works there as a dealer.” Her voice lowers faintly. “Men speak freely around him because they believe he is invisible.”

The city hums endlessly beneath them.

“When we arrive in Yokohama, we change first. Civilian clothing. Nothing memorable.”

Her gaze flickers briefly toward Batgirl’s cape.

"Try to speak as little Japanese as possible unless necessary. Foreigners who try too hard attract attention faster than foreigners who stay quiet.”

Rain taps softly against the rooftop.

“You enter before me. Sit near the back wall if possible. Order something.”

Rainwater gathers along the rooftop ledge before spilling into the street below.

“I will arrive several minutes later.”

Katana finally turns slightly toward Batgirl.

“If someone questions you, you are a university student visiting Tokyo.” Another beat passes.

A faint breeze moves through the rain.

“My contact’s name is Ren.”

Silence settles briefly.

“If he asks whether you are waiting for someone…” Katana’s expression sharpens slightly. “You answer: ‘Depends. Has the tide changed yet?'”

Another pause.

“If he responds with 'The tide already changed', we will continue.”

Her hand settles lightly against Soultaker once more.

“If he does not reply with that…”

The neon below flickers across rain-soaked steel.

“We leave immediately.”

smarterthantonystark

Tag game! Take this quiz (mod: as your character), then share the result

Mine:

My tags (no pressure!): @katiestark @guy-with-a-metal-arm / @caffeinefueledmechanic @the-spider-collective @polymerclasher (yes SS, it became a whole thing) @potatogunkid-official (aaaand another for your inbox. I had to do it) @april-barnes @emiliakane @definitely-not-ira (I don't know if you do this type of thing, ignore me if you don't :) )

guy-with-a-metal-arm

Thanks for the tag!

I’m trying to put the evil behind me.

No pressure tags: @alpine-barnes @seemenoyoudont @ancient-siren and anyone else who wants to!

seemenoyoudont

RAHAHHAHA

Tysm @guy-with-a-metal-arm

Fun people:

@timothy-drake-way-wayne-robin

@arsenal-not-speedy

@romanakathebetterstark

@keep-movin-on-pm

@lildickiebird

@theamazingnightcrawler

thefutureisbulletproof-saidmcr

Got this one with Tim ( @timothy-drake-way-wayne-robin ):

Got this one with Pietro ( @keep-movin-on-pm ):

@batty-old-man @wanda-the-scarletwitch @dickgraysonoffical @damianwayneisntgay @damianalghulwayne @timdwayne @katana-the-soultaker @robin-no-not-that-robin

Thanks for the tag.

@batgirlspain @arkhams-knighted @worlds-greatest-journalist /nf

fleetnflorpn

godd as someone who prefers literate /semi literate to one sentence rps, one/short/empty sentence can be so annoying to me now 😭

like please please please can we go a little more in depth? literate? you could add onto your words and instead of writing ' He said "skibidi." ' could you add onto that? like, let's say, a facial expression. Great. Now we have:

' He smiled as he said "Skibidi." '

but we could add more? movements, pacing, thoughts. let's work on this.

' Would character x appreciate the brainrot? Surely, she would. She'd glazed mustard mango before, he thought.

"Skibidi." He said, smiling at her. Was that the right thing to say? '

there now it's literally so much better 😭

RP starter

Making his way through the city, after a while of patrolling his area of Gotham, he leads himself to a high up rooftop. Tucked away from the neon glow of the city, he lets himself take a break, taking in the dark sky and cold night air. He doesn't expect to be bothered, here.

Far down in the streets, he listens to the bustle of nightlife. Fights, clubs, friends. Gotham has it all.

Part of him doesn't know why he bothered coming back to Gotham, for any reason other than ending Batman. But he's tired. So tired.

After a few minutes, he takes off his helmet, bored of the constant mask wearing. There's no one to hide from up here, after all.

He takes a slow inhale, ignoring the burn of his ribs, forever damaged after their breaks. He focuses on the glow of the moon, brought back to nights at the manor spent coming back from patrol. Sketching, reading, falling asleep. He had liked staring up at the moon back then.

Katana stepped onto the rooftop without announcing herself, her footsteps barely a whisper against the concrete. She had been watching him long enough to know he wasn’t paying attention, not really. His guard was down, exhaustion clear on his face.

Typical.

She stopped a few paces behind him, her arms folded, as she let the wind carry her voice forward.

“Your awareness is slipping, Todd.”

No greeting. No softness.

Jason stiffened, just enough to prove he hadn’t heard her coming.

Katana moved closer, her gaze flicking to the helmet beside him, then to the bruises he would pretend didn’t hurt. She had- is living that life, of constant pretend and lying of being fine.

“Resting is one thing,” she said, “but inviting danger onto your back is another.”

She looked out at the city with him for a moment, moonlight catching on the curve of her blade.

“If you do intend to brood, at least do it somewhere you cannot be pushed off a roof.”

A beat passed.

Then she said in a quieter yet firm voice,

“Move over.”

AK tenses as he hears her voice, and debates turning to glare at her for a moment.

She knows him. Whoever this is, surely. Knows who he was– and which, he'll have to be fine with being called Todd for now, he guesses. It's not like he needs to start arguments every time someone does call him that.

"I don't plan on being pushed off a roof." He counters, idly.

But still. He listens to her, and scoots over, moving his gear with him across the concrete roof.

"Why are you here?"

Katana didn’t answer immediately.

She stepped forward just enough to stand beside him, not quite shoulder to shoulder but close enough to watch him, far enough to move if she needed to. The wind tugged at her hair and sleeves, carrying the distant hum of Gotham up to them.

“For the same reason you are,” she said at last.

Her eyes didn’t leave the skyline.

“This city attracts unfinished business…”

A slightly shifted her grip on the hilt of her sword.

“And my sword yearns for souls.”

He raises an eyebrow at her words, gaze flittering from her to the illuminated city. It's hardly dark in Gotham, there's always some neon sign on. Different from Venezuela's warmth and tropical beauty, so different.

"Soultaker." He nodded. His eyes hovered on her form beside him, warily.

"I hope this encounter doesn't mean you'll try to take my soul, but I've never been that lucky." He murmured, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“If I intended to take your soul,” she says, “you would not be wondering.”

Her hand rests against the hilt of her blade.

“You would have already felt it,” she continues, her voice calm but certain, “there's a moment where the body lingers and something else is… taken.”

“But I do not draw my blade without reason,” she adds, turning her gaze back to the skyline, “and you are not a reason I have decided on tonight.”

"Then why are you here, if you have other business?" He asks, looking up to her. He shifts his posture, facing her more instead of the edge.

He pauses. "I'm not too interesting. And who's your target?"

"Is it for one of the rogues? Some Gotham elite?" He murmurs. AK follows her gaze to the sky, bright and glowy.

“You think too literally,” she says. “If I were hunting someone, you would not need to ask. They would be long gone by now and I would not be here talking to you.”

Katana doesn’t look at him at first.

She lets the wind pull at her sleeves, eyes fixed on the city.

“I am here because you sit on a roof with broken ribs and no helmet, pretending you are fine.”

Only then does she turn her head toward him.

“That is enough to warrant attention. Nothing more.”

Her hand stays loosely on her sword, at this point it’s a reflex, a habit she developed after surviving worse nights.

“And as for tonight, Todd… I have no target.”

He huffs, adjusting his posture, trying to make his ribs look less.. pained.

"My ribs aren't broken. And am I not allowed to take off my helmet?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Knight leans forwards, avoiding her gaze. Instead, he focuses on the streets far below.

"I don't need your attention. I hardly know you."

Katana watches the shift in his posture, the way he guards his side without admitting it.

“I did not ask for a diagnosis,” she replies.

Her gaze lingers a moment longer, unimpressed by the deflection, before she looks back out over the city.

“As for the helmet, remove it if you wish,” she adds. “But do not mistake privacy for safety.”

"What if it was someone else out here?"

"And neither did I." He hisses, frustratedly.

He stares down at the crowded streets, people still out even this late.

Knight scoffs at her next words, incredulous. He turns his head and raises a brow.

"No one else would be up here. And, I'd kill them."

Katana’s gaze hardens slightly.

“Killing ends a problem. It does not resolve it.”

Her hand rests on Soultaker, steady.

“It leaves consequences behind, ones you still have to face.”

A brief pause.

“I used to be just like you,” she continues, “I thought that strength meant ending things permanently.”

Her eyes flick back to him.

“It does not. It means choosing when not to."

"I don't care for resolving a problem." He says, hands trailing onto the concrete. He stands up, after a moment.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Consequences can be dealt with the same."

He frowns, rolling his eyes as she continues.

"Strength is power. Resilience. Fighting, and having the ability of control."

Katana watches him rise, her expression unreadable.

“Power without restraint is not strength,” she replies. “It is impulse and it will get you killed”

Her hand shifts slightly on Soultaker.

“Control is not just what you can do-”

A loud scream cuts through the alley, cutting Katana off mid-sentence.

Her head snaps toward the sound, already leaping down from the ledge, her blade drawn as she landed without hesitation.

"Control is power. Power is control." He huffs, and rolls his eyes. He steps closer, starting to counter.

At the scream he pauses, looking idly down alley. He follows her jump, pulling out his pistols.

Katana lands in a low crouch, blade already drawn as the scream echoes again through the alley below.

Her eyes narrow towards the movement.

A man stumbles backward into view, nearly falling as two others close in after him, one gripping a knife.

Soultaker catches the attacker’s arm before the blade can swing, redirecting the strike hard into the brick wall beside her. The man cries out as she twists his wrist sharply and forces him down.

Katana catches sight of Red Hood from the corner of her eye, both pistols already drawn as he lands behind her.

“Red Hood,” she said, wrenching the knife from the attacker’s hand before driving him to the pavement.

“Try not to shoot me.”

"Red Hood." He muses. "I won't." He turns, shooting at the second assailant's ankles before they can notice, and they fall down with a cry.

He sighs, glancing to Katana as he kicks the fallen attacker in the side, hard, then shoots him in the head. AK stares for a moment, before looking back to Katana.

"I'm not going to play by your rules in my city. So don't expect it."

The gunshot echoes through the alley.

Katana stills instantly.

“My rules?” she repeats, voice calm in a way that feels far more dangerous than anger.

She steps toward him once, measured.

“You executed a man who was already down.”

“Do not mistake brutality for control, Red Hood.”

Closed rp

@batgirlspain

Katana stands at the edge. Her hand rests lightly on Soultaker, her posture is calm and controlled.

“You rely too much on height, Batgirl.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not turn as she speaks.

“It makes you predictable.”

The rain taps softly against steel.

“You are far from Gotham. Welcome to Tokyo. こにちは”

I land beside her, not as clean as I’d like. My boot slips slightly on the wet steel before I steady myself. Subtle, but not subtle enough. Yeah. She saw that.

“Predictable doesn’t mean ineffective.”

I say, straightening a bit, brushing it off. The rain keeps coming down, soft but relentless. Tokyo glows underneath us. I hesitate, then add, a little more carefully.

“こんばんは、タツ (good evening, Tatsu).”

It feels… formal. Maybe too formal. I exhale lightly through my nose.

“I’m still working on it. The language. I get the structure, but… speaking it out loud is different.”

I admit and shake my head slightly. I glance toward her, just briefly, then back out at the city.

“I didn’t come here for the view. My father’s been taken. The Yakuza are moving him through Tokyo.”

I continue. Saying it out loud tightens something in my chest, but I push through it.

“And if they’re involved, there’s a good chance you already know how this works.”

I add, quieter now. Rain slides down the edge of my cowl. I don’t move. I take a breath, then try again, simpler this time.

“父を探しています (I’m looking for my father).”

The words feel heavier than they should.

“I could ask nicely, but I don’t think that’s how you operate.”

I go on and shift my stance, grounding myself beside her. Not above, not behind.

“So I’ll just be honest. I’m not leaving without him.”

I say and pause briefly.

“And if that means working with you again… I’ll adapt.”

I let out a quiet breath, almost a half-laugh, and glance at her again, just for a second.

“言葉だけじゃなくて (not just the language).”

The city hums beneath us. This time, I don’t try to sound perfect. I just wait.

Katana is silent for a moment.

The rain runs off the edge of Soultaker.

Then she says suddenly, as if in a fit of emotion, yet still in a flat, monotone voice, “You think I do not know that feeling.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not look at her when she speaks.

“Loss is not foreign to me.”

Below them, the crossing shifts again, and there is another wave of people, unaware and ignorant.

“You came here alone,” she continues, voice even. “That was your first mistake. How did overprotective Batman let you leave alone, and come so far from home?"

Katana stares at the street below, filled with innocents.

“But if you are here to stay,” she says quietly, “then you must stop thinking like Gotham.”

I let the silence sit for a second after she finishes. Not because I don’t have a response, but because I do. Too many, actually.

“Yeah, he didn’t.”

I say finally, quieter than before. A small breath escapes me, almost lost under the rain.

“I didn’t exactly ask for permission.”

I shift my weight, eyes following the movement of the crowd below. Patterns. Habit. Always habit. She’s right again.

“I know it was a mistake.”

I admit.

“Coming alone.”

I pause.

“But staying in Gotham while my father’s out here? That wasn’t an option.”

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers slightly inside the gloves. Steady.

“You think Batman doesn’t understand loss? That’s the problem. He understands it too well.”

I add, not defensive. Just factual. My gaze lifts back to the city.

“And that’s exactly why he told me to stay.”

I pause briefly again.

“But I’m not him.”

The words come out firmer now.

“I don’t get to compartmentalize this. I don’t get to treat it like just another case file.”

I shake my head slightly.

“He’s my father.”

Rain runs down the edge of my mask, dripping from my chin. I exhale, slower this time, forcing myself to ease the tension in my shoulders. Then, I add more quietly.

“I know you understand that.”

I don’t look at her when I say it. Instead, I follow her line of sight, down to the people crossing below. Lives moving forward. Oblivious.

“Stop thinking like Gotham.”

I repeat under my breath. That one sticks. I let it settle, turning it over in my mind the way I would a puzzle in the library. Something to be studied, not rejected.

“Alright.”

I say after a moment and straighten slightly, but not into that rooftop stance she already called out. Something lower. More grounded.

“Then tell me what that means here.”

I pause and glance at her, just briefly.

“Because right now, Gotham thinking is all I’ve got.”

I hesitate, then add, careful, a little unsure but genuine.

“教えて (teach me).”

The word feels simple. Honest. No strategy. No edge. Just truth. I look back out at the city. And wait.

Katana does not answer immediately.

Rain gathers at the tip of Soultaker before slipping off onto the roof.

“I did not say you claimed Batman does not understand loss.”

Tatsu Yamashiro’s voice stays even.

“I said I understand it.”

A brief pause.

“Your father is probably not hidden by strength or brute force. He is most likely hidden by movement… by people who know how to disappear in plain sight.”

Her grip loosens slightly on Soultaker.

“You will not find him by thinking like a vigilante.”

Another beat passes.

“You will find him by thinking like them. I will help you.”

Silence settles between the sound of rain and the distant hum below.

Then, she says more quietly-

“Do you remember anything… or anyone your father was tracking before he was taken?”

“Yeah…”

I say finally and reach up, brushing rain from my cowl like it’ll help me think clearer. It doesn’t, but it gives me a second.

“He was working something off-book. Not GCPD official. Too many gaps in the reports, too many redactions that didn’t make sense.”

I continue and shift slightly, pacing once before stopping myself. Stay still. Think.

“Imports.”

I add.

“That’s where it started. Shipping manifests flagged coming into Gotham Harbor. Small batches, high frequency. Nothing illegal on paper, but…”

I shake my head.

“The routing was wrong. Too clean. Like someone wanted it to look boring.”

My mind keeps pulling pieces together now, faster.

“He mentioned a name once. Not to me directly. I wasn’t supposed to hear it.”

I say quieter and pause.

“Just ‘Kuroda’. No first name. No context.”

I frown slightly behind the mask.

“At the time, I thought it was local. Gotham-level. Maybe a shell contact.”

I glance out at the city again, neon reflecting in the rain.

“But then he started digging into international ties. Japan came up more than once.”

I exhale slowly.

“And then he stopped looping people in.”

I pause briefly again.

“That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

I cross my arms loosely, more to ground myself than anything else.

“He left a partial file behind. Encrypted. I cracked most of it on the flight over.”

I add with a slight, humorless smile tugs at my mouth.

“Patterns again.”

My gaze sharpens, focusing.

“There were references to movement schedules. Not shipments. People. Rotations, hand-offs, timed transfers between groups.”

I glance sideways briefly.

“Like a relay.”

I look back down at the crossing.

“Disappear in plain sight.”

I murmur. It clicks a little more.

“He wasn’t tracking a location. He was tracking a system.”

I say, more certain now, and pause.

“And if they grabbed him… it’s because he got too close to understanding how it works.”

My jaw tightens slightly. I finally turn my head just enough to look in her direction.

“Kuroda.”

I repeat.

“Does that mean anything here?”

Rain continues to fall. This time, I don’t wait passively. I’m already thinking ahead.

Katana goes still at the name.

Rain slides from the edge of her mask as her gaze lowers slightly, thinking.

“…Kuroda is not an uncommon last name,” she says at first. “But paired with overseas travel, hand-offs, and harbor routes…”

Her grip shifts subtly on Soultaker.

“That is not street-level trafficking.”

The distant thunder rolls across the skyline.

Another beat passes before something clicks behind her expression. Her eyes widen as realization strikes.

“…Kuroda.”

Rain taps softly against the roof as her grip tightens around Soultaker.

“He is the Yakuza 組長 (kumicho)”

"The boss. The one who makes all the decisions."

Not a question.

Her gaze turns distant, searching memory.

She looks back out over the city, eyes narrowing at the rivers of headlights below.

A brief pause.

“If your father traced a pattern through all of that…” Her grip tightens again. “Then he came dangerously close to someone important.”

The rain intensifies slightly, tapping against rooftops and neon signs alike.

“And if Kuroda noticed he was being followed…” Katana’s expression hardens. “Your father would not have been treated like a normal problem.”

“He knew.”

I say quietly. The realization settles heavier with every second.

“Not everything, but enough to scare someone.”

“He started acting careful. More than usual.”

I murmur and fold my arms tightly against the cold rain.

“He stopped using department servers. Switched to handwritten notes.”

A bitter little laugh escapes me.

“Which, honestly, should’ve been my first clue something was seriously wrong. Dad hates paperwork.”

I look down for a second, jaw tightening.

“There was one thing I couldn’t figure out in the files. A repeating timestamp.”

My eyes narrow slightly as I think through it again. I pull the memory apart piece by piece.

“Every few days, same hour range. Late night in Gotham. Early afternoon here. I thought it was cargo movement.”

I glance toward the harbor skyline in the distance and pause.

“But if this is structured…”

I slowly shake my head.

“Then maybe it wasn’t shipments being tracked.”

People. Transfers. Movement. The word relay comes back hard. I feel the pattern trying to lock together in my head.

“They move him constantly. Not because they’re hiding him in one place. Because the movement itself is the hiding place.”

I say, more to myself than anyone else. My pulse kicks slightly faster as the implications hit.

“No digital trail long enough to follow. No static location. No witnesses who see the same face twice.”

I exhale sharply through my nose.

“That’s why nothing in Tokyo flagged him entering officially.”

I look back over the sea of umbrellas below.

“Because to them, he’s not a prisoner.”

He’s cargo. The thought makes anger flare so suddenly I have to rein it back in before it shows. I force my hands to unclench.

“If Kuroda personally noticed him… then dad saw something he wasn’t supposed to.”

My voice lowers before pausing. Then another realization hits me.

“The harbor.”

I turn slightly, thinking aloud now.

“The schedules in the file weren’t random. They overlapped with specific docking windows. Not commercial peaks. Gaps between them. Quiet periods.”

My mind races ahead. I look toward the distant glow beyond the buildings.

“They’re moving people through legitimate shipping channels.”

I finally glance toward her.

“And if the Yakuza care more about systems than territory…”

I feel my heartbeat steady again, focus replacing panic.

“Then somewhere in this city there’s a point where all those systems touch.”

Customs. Shipping. Transit. Money. A center. I stare into the rain.

“And that’s where they’ll keep someone important.”

#//OOC:yokohama is the first modern trading port of japan; it was created in around 1860. Shibuya is 30-40 mins away from Yokohama.#//OOC yokohama and tokyo are different cities #//OOC also gambling is acc illegal in japan

“…No,” Tatsu Yamashiro says quietly.

Her gaze lowers slightly, still thinking.

“Not Tokyo.”

“The routes pass through Tokyo because they must.” Her voice remains calm and precise. “For money or transit or distraction.”

Another beat passes.

“But they would never keep someone important here.”

She looks out past the skyline, toward the dark stretch beyond the city lights.

“It is too crowded. Too visible. Too many variables they cannot control.”

Rain taps softly against metal.

“I have a suspicion of where your father might be,” she says with a faint grimace. “But in order to be certain…”

Her grip shifts slightly on Soultaker.

“…we will need information from someone inside the system.”

A pause.

“Yokohama.”

The word lands quietly between them.

Rain runs steadily down the edge of the rooftop.

“There is a place near the Yokohama port controlled by one of Kuroda’s affiliated groups.” Another beat. “A gambling establishment.”

“Gambling is illegal in Japan,” she says, “Which means places that survive from it are usually protected by someone powerful.”

Her expression hardens faintly.

“Most people who enter believe it is only for cards and alcohol.” A pause. “It is not.”

She finally turns slightly toward Batgirl.

“I know someone there.”

“He hears things because men underestimate him.” Her voice lowers faintly. “Schedules. Transfers. Which docks are active before sunrise.”

Thunder rolls quietly over the city.

“If your father was ever held in near the ports of Tokyo, then his movement had to have passed through the Yokohama district at least once.”

Another pause.

“But you must understand something before we go.”

Katana’s eyes sharpen slightly.

“A place like that runs on restraint.”

The neon below flickers across rain-soaked steel.

“You observe first.”

A beat.

“And if Kuroda’s men recognize you before we reach my contact…” Her expression darkened. “Then your father will vanish before we ever reach the harbor.”

Silence settles between them for a moment.

“We leave for Yokohama tonight.”

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Katana Collage

#katana collage I made cause I was bored

Closed rp

@batgirlspain

Katana stands at the edge. Her hand rests lightly on Soultaker, her posture is calm and controlled.

“You rely too much on height, Batgirl.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not turn as she speaks.

“It makes you predictable.”

The rain taps softly against steel.

“You are far from Gotham. Welcome to Tokyo. こにちは”

I land beside her, not as clean as I’d like. My boot slips slightly on the wet steel before I steady myself. Subtle, but not subtle enough. Yeah. She saw that.

“Predictable doesn’t mean ineffective.”

I say, straightening a bit, brushing it off. The rain keeps coming down, soft but relentless. Tokyo glows underneath us. I hesitate, then add, a little more carefully.

“こんばんは、タツ (good evening, Tatsu).”

It feels… formal. Maybe too formal. I exhale lightly through my nose.

“I’m still working on it. The language. I get the structure, but… speaking it out loud is different.”

I admit and shake my head slightly. I glance toward her, just briefly, then back out at the city.

“I didn’t come here for the view. My father’s been taken. The Yakuza are moving him through Tokyo.”

I continue. Saying it out loud tightens something in my chest, but I push through it.

“And if they’re involved, there’s a good chance you already know how this works.”

I add, quieter now. Rain slides down the edge of my cowl. I don’t move. I take a breath, then try again, simpler this time.

“父を探しています (I’m looking for my father).”

The words feel heavier than they should.

“I could ask nicely, but I don’t think that’s how you operate.”

I go on and shift my stance, grounding myself beside her. Not above, not behind.

“So I’ll just be honest. I’m not leaving without him.”

I say and pause briefly.

“And if that means working with you again… I’ll adapt.”

I let out a quiet breath, almost a half-laugh, and glance at her again, just for a second.

“言葉だけじゃなくて (not just the language).”

The city hums beneath us. This time, I don’t try to sound perfect. I just wait.

Katana is silent for a moment.

The rain runs off the edge of Soultaker.

Then she says suddenly, as if in a fit of emotion, yet still in a flat, monotone voice, “You think I do not know that feeling.”

Tatsu Yamashiro does not look at her when she speaks.

“Loss is not foreign to me.”

Below them, the crossing shifts again, and there is another wave of people, unaware and ignorant.

“You came here alone,” she continues, voice even. “That was your first mistake. How did overprotective Batman let you leave alone, and come so far from home?"

Katana stares at the street below, filled with innocents.

“But if you are here to stay,” she says quietly, “then you must stop thinking like Gotham.”

I let the silence sit for a second after she finishes. Not because I don’t have a response, but because I do. Too many, actually.

“Yeah, he didn’t.”

I say finally, quieter than before. A small breath escapes me, almost lost under the rain.

“I didn’t exactly ask for permission.”

I shift my weight, eyes following the movement of the crowd below. Patterns. Habit. Always habit. She’s right again.

“I know it was a mistake.”

I admit.

“Coming alone.”

I pause.

“But staying in Gotham while my father’s out here? That wasn’t an option.”

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers slightly inside the gloves. Steady.

“You think Batman doesn’t understand loss? That’s the problem. He understands it too well.”

I add, not defensive. Just factual. My gaze lifts back to the city.

“And that’s exactly why he told me to stay.”

I pause briefly again.

“But I’m not him.”

The words come out firmer now.

“I don’t get to compartmentalize this. I don’t get to treat it like just another case file.”

I shake my head slightly.

“He’s my father.”

Rain runs down the edge of my mask, dripping from my chin. I exhale, slower this time, forcing myself to ease the tension in my shoulders. Then, I add more quietly.

“I know you understand that.”

I don’t look at her when I say it. Instead, I follow her line of sight, down to the people crossing below. Lives moving forward. Oblivious.

“Stop thinking like Gotham.”

I repeat under my breath. That one sticks. I let it settle, turning it over in my mind the way I would a puzzle in the library. Something to be studied, not rejected.

“Alright.”

I say after a moment and straighten slightly, but not into that rooftop stance she already called out. Something lower. More grounded.

“Then tell me what that means here.”

I pause and glance at her, just briefly.

“Because right now, Gotham thinking is all I’ve got.”

I hesitate, then add, careful, a little unsure but genuine.

“教えて (teach me).”

The word feels simple. Honest. No strategy. No edge. Just truth. I look back out at the city. And wait.

Katana does not answer immediately.

Rain gathers at the tip of Soultaker before slipping off onto the roof.

“I did not say you claimed Batman does not understand loss.”

Tatsu Yamashiro’s voice stays even.

“I said I understand it.”

A brief pause.

“Your father is probably not hidden by strength or brute force. He is most likely hidden by movement… by people who know how to disappear in plain sight.”

Her grip loosens slightly on Soultaker.

“You will not find him by thinking like a vigilante.”

Another beat passes.

“You will find him by thinking like them. I will help you.”

Silence settles between the sound of rain and the distant hum below.

Then, she says more quietly-

“Do you remember anything… or anyone your father was tracking before he was taken?”

“Yeah…”

I say finally and reach up, brushing rain from my cowl like it’ll help me think clearer. It doesn’t, but it gives me a second.

“He was working something off-book. Not GCPD official. Too many gaps in the reports, too many redactions that didn’t make sense.”

I continue and shift slightly, pacing once before stopping myself. Stay still. Think.

“Imports.”

I add.

“That’s where it started. Shipping manifests flagged coming into Gotham Harbor. Small batches, high frequency. Nothing illegal on paper, but…”

I shake my head.

“The routing was wrong. Too clean. Like someone wanted it to look boring.”

My mind keeps pulling pieces together now, faster.

“He mentioned a name once. Not to me directly. I wasn’t supposed to hear it.”

I say quieter and pause.

“Just ‘Kuroda’. No first name. No context.”

I frown slightly behind the mask.

“At the time, I thought it was local. Gotham-level. Maybe a shell contact.”

I glance out at the city again, neon reflecting in the rain.

“But then he started digging into international ties. Japan came up more than once.”

I exhale slowly.

“And then he stopped looping people in.”

I pause briefly again.

“That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

I cross my arms loosely, more to ground myself than anything else.

“He left a partial file behind. Encrypted. I cracked most of it on the flight over.”

I add with a slight, humorless smile tugs at my mouth.

“Patterns again.”

My gaze sharpens, focusing.

“There were references to movement schedules. Not shipments. People. Rotations, hand-offs, timed transfers between groups.”

I glance sideways briefly.

“Like a relay.”

I look back down at the crossing.

“Disappear in plain sight.”

I murmur. It clicks a little more.

“He wasn’t tracking a location. He was tracking a system.”

I say, more certain now, and pause.

“And if they grabbed him… it’s because he got too close to understanding how it works.”

My jaw tightens slightly. I finally turn my head just enough to look in her direction.

“Kuroda.”

I repeat.

“Does that mean anything here?”

Rain continues to fall. This time, I don’t wait passively. I’m already thinking ahead.

#//組長 (kumicho) is used to refer to the boss of the yakuza

Katana goes still at the name.

Rain slides from the edge of her mask as her gaze lowers slightly, thinking.

“…Kuroda is not an uncommon last name,” she says at first. “But paired with overseas travel, hand-offs, and harbor routes…”

Her grip shifts subtly on Soultaker.

“That is not street-level trafficking.”

The distant thunder rolls across the skyline.

Another beat passes before something clicks behind her expression. Her eyes widen as realization strikes.

“…Kuroda.”

Rain taps softly against the roof as her grip tightens around Soultaker.

“He is the Yakuza 組長 (kumicho)”

"The boss. The one who makes all the decisions."

Not a question.

Her gaze turns distant, searching memory.

She looks back out over the city, eyes narrowing at the rivers of headlights below.

A brief pause.

“If your father traced a pattern through all of that…” Her grip tightens again. “Then he came dangerously close to someone important.”

The rain intensifies slightly, tapping against rooftops and neon signs alike.

“And if Kuroda noticed he was being followed…” Katana’s expression hardens. “Your father would not have been treated like a normal problem.”

RP Starter #1

The training hall is quiet except for the sharp rhythm of a blade striking wood.

Katana exhales through her nose, tightening her grip on the practice sword as she snaps forward. Again. And again. Her strikes fall far too fast, and far too forceful. It splinters slightly on impact with the post.

She freezes.

“…Again,” she mutters under her breath, resetting her stance.

Her movements are precise, almost rigid, like she’s trying to force perfection instead of flow. At sixteen, she’s already better than most, but that doesn’t matter. Not to her.

Not yet, anyways.

A faint breeze slips through the open doorway, brushing against her sleeves. She notices it, uses it, adjusts her footing, and swings again. This time it's cleaner.

Still not good enough.

Katana lowers her blade, eyes narrowing slightly as if replaying the strike in her head.

“…You were watching, weren’t you?”

Her voice cuts through the silence as she talks without turning around.

“I could hear you.”

A pause.

“Are you going to step in… or just stand there?”

"hm. perceptive, I should've expected it"

Sherry grinned, the journalist leaning against the wall. She wasn't really meant to be here.

"You're talented, it's very interesting"

Katana doesn’t turn right away.

Her grip on the practice sword tightens just slightly.

“Talent,” she repeats, "I have no talent. It's just practice."

Her gaze flickers briefly to where Sherry is leaning.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Katana steps closer, bare feet silent against the floor.

“And journalists,” she adds, with a hint of disapproval, “don’t usually sneak into training halls unless they want something.”

"what? Can't someone have good natured curiosity?" She pouted in a show of mock offense

"you intrigue me, that's all."

Katana studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Curiosity is rarely without motive.”

Her gaze flickers to the pout, unimpressed.

“And intrigue is not a reason. It is an excuse.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Try again”

Sherry laughed, voice breaking into a silvery sweet sound

"oh dear, seems I've not clarified, but you're the reason I'm here. You make me curious, so curious in fact I'm definitely breaking a couple laws right now"

Katana’s expression doesn’t change.

“That is not very reassuring.”

Her gaze sharpens, assessing.

“But if you wish to continue to interrupt my training…”

“...then you will train with me.”

"afraid I wasn't exactly made for fighting, more as a propaganda machine." She shrugged

"But I'll give it a shot… I suppose. Apologies in advance for being bad at a lot…"

Katana exhales softly in exasperation.

“First step, stop apologizing.”

She steps back, handing the practice sword over to Sherry, before holding her own sword, Soultaker in her hand.

“Skill is built. Through practice and dedication. There is no one not made for fighting, just like there is no one not made for being a propaganda machine.”

"fair" she replied, tilting her head.

She lifts her blade slightly, indicating Sherry should mirror her.

“Focus. Show me."

She copies. Sherry's movement is based on analysis, her movements as precise as she could make them.

Katana watches closely, her eyes tracking Sherry's every movement.

“…Too stiff.”

She steps in, nudging Sherry’s shoulder, then her wrist.

“You’re thinking too much, not moving enough.”

“Relax.”

She nodded, trying to relax a little

“Better,” she said with a sliver of a smile on her face.

“What is your journalism mostly about? Technology? Fashion? Sports? Business?”

"Whatever I'm sent on, usually fashion and business. The elite partying it up whilst people do nothing for the poor." She rolled her eyes

"Wayne at least tries to do something"

“You must hear a lot of information,” Katana’s eyes widening with possibilities.

“People say many foolish things at parties. Tell me… what is the most absurd claim your elite have made?”

"hm… something about Batman being a cryptid or a meta." She laughed at the memory

"oh it's dumb, it's like they can't fathom a human who's strong"

Katana exhales softly, almost dismissive.

“People invent stories when they don’t understand what they see.”

"mm, they do" she shrugged

"still, it's laughable"

"That it is...That it is..."

"You know, I've been wondering, how did you find me?"

"I'm very good at investigating and finding things" she hummed

"So I won't be learn your secrets anytime soon..."

"Are you sure I can't know?" Katana asks her.

"It was a lot of digging through records and footage" she replied, shrugging

“You are far more persistent than most journalists,” Katana tells her.

"You would be a good undercover agent, if you ever decide to give up journalism"

RP starter

Far down in the streets, he listens to the bustle of nightlife. Fights, clubs, friends. Gotham has it all.

Part of him doesn't know why he bothered coming back to Gotham, for any reason other than ending Batman. But he's tired. So tired.

After a few minutes, he takes off his helmet, bored of the constant mask wearing. There's no one to hide from up here, after all.

Typical.

She stopped a few paces behind him, her arms folded, as she let the wind carry her voice forward.

“Your awareness is slipping, Todd.”

No greeting. No softness.

Jason stiffened, just enough to prove he hadn’t heard her coming.

Katana moved closer, her gaze flicking to the helmet beside him, then to the bruises he would pretend didn’t hurt. She had- is living that life, of constant pretend and lying of being fine.

“Resting is one thing,” she said, “but inviting danger onto your back is another.”

She looked out at the city with him for a moment, moonlight catching on the curve of her blade.

“If you do intend to brood, at least do it somewhere you cannot be pushed off a roof.”

A beat passed.

Then she said in a quieter yet firm voice,

“Move over.”

AK tenses as he hears her voice, and debates turning to glare at her for a moment.

"I don't plan on being pushed off a roof." He counters, idly.

But still. He listens to her, and scoots over, moving his gear with him across the concrete roof.

"Why are you here?"

Katana didn’t answer immediately.

“For the same reason you are,” she said at last.

Her eyes didn’t leave the skyline.

“This city attracts unfinished business…”

A slightly shifted her grip on the hilt of her sword.

“And my sword yearns for souls.”

"Soultaker." He nodded. His eyes hovered on her form beside him, warily.

"I hope this encounter doesn't mean you'll try to take my soul, but I've never been that lucky." He murmured, a bitter taste in his mouth.

“If I intended to take your soul,” she says, “you would not be wondering.”

Her hand rests against the hilt of her blade.

“You would have already felt it,” she continues, her voice calm but certain, “there's a moment where the body lingers and something else is… taken.”

“But I do not draw my blade without reason,” she adds, turning her gaze back to the skyline, “and you are not a reason I have decided on tonight.”

"Then why are you here, if you have other business?" He asks, looking up to her. He shifts his posture, facing her more instead of the edge.

He pauses. "I'm not too interesting. And who's your target?"

"Is it for one of the rogues? Some Gotham elite?" He murmurs. AK follows her gaze to the sky, bright and glowy.

“You think too literally,” she says. “If I were hunting someone, you would not need to ask. They would be long gone by now and I would not be here talking to you.”

Katana doesn’t look at him at first.

She lets the wind pull at her sleeves, eyes fixed on the city.

“I am here because you sit on a roof with broken ribs and no helmet, pretending you are fine.”

Only then does she turn her head toward him.

“That is enough to warrant attention. Nothing more.”

Her hand stays loosely on her sword, at this point it’s a reflex, a habit she developed after surviving worse nights.

“And as for tonight, Todd… I have no target.”

He huffs, adjusting his posture, trying to make his ribs look less.. pained.

"My ribs aren't broken. And am I not allowed to take off my helmet?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Knight leans forwards, avoiding her gaze. Instead, he focuses on the streets far below.

"I don't need your attention. I hardly know you."

Katana watches the shift in his posture, the way he guards his side without admitting it.

“I did not ask for a diagnosis,” she replies.

Her gaze lingers a moment longer, unimpressed by the deflection, before she looks back out over the city.

“As for the helmet, remove it if you wish,” she adds. “But do not mistake privacy for safety.”

"What if it was someone else out here?"

"And neither did I." He hisses, frustratedly.

He stares down at the crowded streets, people still out even this late.

Knight scoffs at her next words, incredulous. He turns his head and raises a brow.

"No one else would be up here. And, I'd kill them."

Katana’s gaze hardens slightly.

“Killing ends a problem. It does not resolve it.”

Her hand rests on Soultaker, steady.

“It leaves consequences behind, ones you still have to face.”

A brief pause.

“I used to be just like you,” she continues, “I thought that strength meant ending things permanently.”

Her eyes flick back to him.

“It does not. It means choosing when not to."

"I don't care for resolving a problem." He says, hands trailing onto the concrete. He stands up, after a moment.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Consequences can be dealt with the same."

He frowns, rolling his eyes as she continues.

"Strength is power. Resilience. Fighting, and having the ability of control."

Katana watches him rise, her expression unreadable.

“Power without restraint is not strength,” she replies. “It is impulse and it will get you killed”

Her hand shifts slightly on Soultaker.

“Control is not just what you can do-”

A loud scream cuts through the alley, cutting Katana off mid-sentence.

Her head snaps toward the sound, already leaping down from the ledge, her blade drawn as she landed without hesitation.

"Control is power. Power is control." He huffs, and rolls his eyes. He steps closer, starting to counter.

At the scream he pauses, looking idly down alley. He follows her jump, pulling out his pistols.

Katana lands in a low crouch, blade already drawn as the scream echoes again through the alley below.

Her eyes narrow towards the movement.

A man stumbles backward into view, nearly falling as two others close in after him, one gripping a knife.

Soultaker catches the attacker’s arm before the blade can swing, redirecting the strike hard into the brick wall beside her. The man cries out as she twists his wrist sharply and forces him down.

Katana catches sight of Red Hood from the corner of her eye, both pistols already drawn as he lands behind her.

“Red Hood,” she said, wrenching the knife from the attacker’s hand before driving him to the pavement.

“Try not to shoot me.”

RP Starter #1

The training hall is quiet except for the sharp rhythm of a blade striking wood.

She freezes.

“…Again,” she mutters under her breath, resetting her stance.

Her movements are precise, almost rigid, like she’s trying to force perfection instead of flow. At sixteen, she’s already better than most, but that doesn’t matter. Not to her.

Not yet, anyways.

A faint breeze slips through the open doorway, brushing against her sleeves. She notices it, uses it, adjusts her footing, and swings again. This time it's cleaner.

Still not good enough.

Katana lowers her blade, eyes narrowing slightly as if replaying the strike in her head.

“…You were watching, weren’t you?”

Her voice cuts through the silence as she talks without turning around.

“I could hear you.”

A pause.

“Are you going to step in… or just stand there?”

"hm. perceptive, I should've expected it"

Sherry grinned, the journalist leaning against the wall. She wasn't really meant to be here.

"You're talented, it's very interesting"

Katana doesn’t turn right away.

Her grip on the practice sword tightens just slightly.

“Talent,” she repeats, "I have no talent. It's just practice."

Her gaze flickers briefly to where Sherry is leaning.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Katana steps closer, bare feet silent against the floor.

“And journalists,” she adds, with a hint of disapproval, “don’t usually sneak into training halls unless they want something.”

"what? Can't someone have good natured curiosity?" She pouted in a show of mock offense

"you intrigue me, that's all."

Katana studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Curiosity is rarely without motive.”

Her gaze flickers to the pout, unimpressed.

“And intrigue is not a reason. It is an excuse.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Try again”

Sherry laughed, voice breaking into a silvery sweet sound

"oh dear, seems I've not clarified, but you're the reason I'm here. You make me curious, so curious in fact I'm definitely breaking a couple laws right now"

Katana’s expression doesn’t change.

“That is not very reassuring.”

Her gaze sharpens, assessing.

“But if you wish to continue to interrupt my training…”

“...then you will train with me.”

"afraid I wasn't exactly made for fighting, more as a propaganda machine." She shrugged

"But I'll give it a shot… I suppose. Apologies in advance for being bad at a lot…"

Katana exhales softly in exasperation.

“First step, stop apologizing.”

She steps back, handing the practice sword over to Sherry, before holding her own sword, Soultaker in her hand.

“Skill is built. Through practice and dedication. There is no one not made for fighting, just like there is no one not made for being a propaganda machine.”

"fair" she replied, tilting her head.

She lifts her blade slightly, indicating Sherry should mirror her.

“Focus. Show me."

She copies. Sherry's movement is based on analysis, her movements as precise as she could make them.

Katana watches closely, her eyes tracking Sherry's every movement.

“…Too stiff.”

She steps in, nudging Sherry’s shoulder, then her wrist.

“You’re thinking too much, not moving enough.”

“Relax.”

She nodded, trying to relax a little

“Better,” she said with a sliver of a smile on her face.

“What is your journalism mostly about? Technology? Fashion? Sports? Business?”

"Whatever I'm sent on, usually fashion and business. The elite partying it up whilst people do nothing for the poor." She rolled her eyes

"Wayne at least tries to do something"

“You must hear a lot of information,” Katana’s eyes widening with possibilities.

“People say many foolish things at parties. Tell me… what is the most absurd claim your elite have made?”

"hm… something about Batman being a cryptid or a meta." She laughed at the memory

"oh it's dumb, it's like they can't fathom a human who's strong"

Katana exhales softly, almost dismissive.

“People invent stories when they don’t understand what they see.”

"mm, they do" she shrugged

"still, it's laughable"

"That it is...That it is..."

"You know, I've been wondering, how did you find me?"

"I'm very good at investigating and finding things" she hummed

"So I won't be learn your secrets anytime soon..."

"Are you sure I can't know?" Katana asks her.

"It was a lot of digging through records and footage" she replied, shrugging

“You know, being a vigilante and journalist doesn’t sound much different.”

“ I too, have to dig through extensive records and footage to find information, and then I strike,” Katana replied to her.

RP Starter #1

The training hall is quiet except for the sharp rhythm of a blade striking wood.

She freezes.

“…Again,” she mutters under her breath, resetting her stance.

Her movements are precise, almost rigid, like she’s trying to force perfection instead of flow. At sixteen, she’s already better than most, but that doesn’t matter. Not to her.

Not yet, anyways.

A faint breeze slips through the open doorway, brushing against her sleeves. She notices it, uses it, adjusts her footing, and swings again. This time it's cleaner.

Still not good enough.

Katana lowers her blade, eyes narrowing slightly as if replaying the strike in her head.

“…You were watching, weren’t you?”

Her voice cuts through the silence as she talks without turning around.

“I could hear you.”

A pause.

“Are you going to step in… or just stand there?”

"hm. perceptive, I should've expected it"

Sherry grinned, the journalist leaning against the wall. She wasn't really meant to be here.

"You're talented, it's very interesting"

Katana doesn’t turn right away.

Her grip on the practice sword tightens just slightly.

“Talent,” she repeats, "I have no talent. It's just practice."

Her gaze flickers briefly to where Sherry is leaning.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Katana steps closer, bare feet silent against the floor.

“And journalists,” she adds, with a hint of disapproval, “don’t usually sneak into training halls unless they want something.”

"what? Can't someone have good natured curiosity?" She pouted in a show of mock offense

"you intrigue me, that's all."

Katana studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Curiosity is rarely without motive.”

Her gaze flickers to the pout, unimpressed.

“And intrigue is not a reason. It is an excuse.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Try again”

Sherry laughed, voice breaking into a silvery sweet sound

"oh dear, seems I've not clarified, but you're the reason I'm here. You make me curious, so curious in fact I'm definitely breaking a couple laws right now"

Katana’s expression doesn’t change.

“That is not very reassuring.”

Her gaze sharpens, assessing.

“But if you wish to continue to interrupt my training…”

“...then you will train with me.”

"afraid I wasn't exactly made for fighting, more as a propaganda machine." She shrugged

"But I'll give it a shot… I suppose. Apologies in advance for being bad at a lot…"

Katana exhales softly in exasperation.

“First step, stop apologizing.”

She steps back, handing the practice sword over to Sherry, before holding her own sword, Soultaker in her hand.

“Skill is built. Through practice and dedication. There is no one not made for fighting, just like there is no one not made for being a propaganda machine.”

"fair" she replied, tilting her head.

She lifts her blade slightly, indicating Sherry should mirror her.

“Focus. Show me."

She copies. Sherry's movement is based on analysis, her movements as precise as she could make them.

Katana watches closely, her eyes tracking Sherry's every movement.

“…Too stiff.”

She steps in, nudging Sherry’s shoulder, then her wrist.

“You’re thinking too much, not moving enough.”

“Relax.”

She nodded, trying to relax a little

“Better,” she said with a sliver of a smile on her face.

“What is your journalism mostly about? Technology? Fashion? Sports? Business?”

"Whatever I'm sent on, usually fashion and business. The elite partying it up whilst people do nothing for the poor." She rolled her eyes

"Wayne at least tries to do something"

“You must hear a lot of information,” Katana’s eyes widening with possibilities.

“People say many foolish things at parties. Tell me… what is the most absurd claim your elite have made?”

"hm… something about Batman being a cryptid or a meta." She laughed at the memory

"oh it's dumb, it's like they can't fathom a human who's strong"

Katana exhales softly, almost dismissive.

“People invent stories when they don’t understand what they see.”

"mm, they do" she shrugged

"still, it's laughable"

"That it is...That it is..."

"You know, I've been wondering, how did you find me?"

"I'm very good at investigating and finding things" she hummed

"So I won't be learn your secrets anytime soon..."

"Are you sure I can't know?" Katana asks her.

RP Starter #1

The training hall is quiet except for the sharp rhythm of a blade striking wood.

She freezes.

“…Again,” she mutters under her breath, resetting her stance.

Her movements are precise, almost rigid, like she’s trying to force perfection instead of flow. At sixteen, she’s already better than most, but that doesn’t matter. Not to her.

Not yet, anyways.

A faint breeze slips through the open doorway, brushing against her sleeves. She notices it, uses it, adjusts her footing, and swings again. This time it's cleaner.

Still not good enough.

Katana lowers her blade, eyes narrowing slightly as if replaying the strike in her head.

“…You were watching, weren’t you?”

Her voice cuts through the silence as she talks without turning around.

“I could hear you.”

A pause.

“Are you going to step in… or just stand there?”

"hm. perceptive, I should've expected it"

Sherry grinned, the journalist leaning against the wall. She wasn't really meant to be here.

"You're talented, it's very interesting"

Katana doesn’t turn right away.

Her grip on the practice sword tightens just slightly.

“Talent,” she repeats, "I have no talent. It's just practice."

Her gaze flickers briefly to where Sherry is leaning.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Katana steps closer, bare feet silent against the floor.

“And journalists,” she adds, with a hint of disapproval, “don’t usually sneak into training halls unless they want something.”

"what? Can't someone have good natured curiosity?" She pouted in a show of mock offense

"you intrigue me, that's all."

Katana studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Curiosity is rarely without motive.”

Her gaze flickers to the pout, unimpressed.

“And intrigue is not a reason. It is an excuse.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Try again”

Sherry laughed, voice breaking into a silvery sweet sound

"oh dear, seems I've not clarified, but you're the reason I'm here. You make me curious, so curious in fact I'm definitely breaking a couple laws right now"

Katana’s expression doesn’t change.

“That is not very reassuring.”

Her gaze sharpens, assessing.

“But if you wish to continue to interrupt my training…”

“...then you will train with me.”

"afraid I wasn't exactly made for fighting, more as a propaganda machine." She shrugged

"But I'll give it a shot… I suppose. Apologies in advance for being bad at a lot…"

Katana exhales softly in exasperation.

“First step, stop apologizing.”

She steps back, handing the practice sword over to Sherry, before holding her own sword, Soultaker in her hand.

“Skill is built. Through practice and dedication. There is no one not made for fighting, just like there is no one not made for being a propaganda machine.”

"fair" she replied, tilting her head.

She lifts her blade slightly, indicating Sherry should mirror her.

“Focus. Show me."

She copies. Sherry's movement is based on analysis, her movements as precise as she could make them.