a shiv, probably.
Well, it sure as hell wasn't a shank.
As far as forays into dementia went, the minute he was out of the danger zone of post-abduction lethargic trance (presumably triggered by being drugged up with enough narcotics to keep a third-world country afloat for at least three months), he hurled that stupid makeshift knife they'd given him at the nearest wall. It didn't even make a good projectile, missing its mark by five feet solid. Mizuki petulantly swiped it from the ground with the full intention of lobbing it down the storm drain in a childish fit of irritation, then reluctantly backtracked his train of thought to consider his options.
It was a blunt combative implement, for one. Maybe it'd give someone a tiny splinter if he swiped it just right, but if his future in Hive City ever necessitated vicious self-defense, then a stick would do absolutely crap at keeping his mortality intact. In comparison to the inhabitants he'd seen careening past him in just about every form of vehicular transportation known to man, his hometown might as well have been a suburban locale. He wouldn't find any answers by squinting at the dust and attempting to make sense out of the existential crapshoot his lots in life happened to turn up.
Despite not being in the best shape, Mizuki managed to maneuver his way through the various intersections and thoroughfares without dying, which definitely said something about the external grit of one (1) quasi-gangster possibly under the influence of daytime hallucinations. Meandering farther from the main populace en route to District Beta (wherever the heck that was), he soon ascertained the whistling swipe of something striking out against air. Displacement. Puzzled, he ventured further down the lane and caught sight of a woman expertly cutting her cutter blade in deft strokes, precise movements that evocative of another swordmaster he'd known in Midorijima.
After a minute or two of standby, he raised one hand in a slight wave, mouth automatically curving into a sheepish grin. "I didn't mean to intrude on your practice session, but you really remind me of a friend. He's not half-bad with swords, but between you and me, you definitely strike faster." Plunking back a moderate distance away, he folded his arms and appraised her with some inquisitiveness. "You know, it's weird that they gave everyone different weapons. I mean, there's no point to fighting here. It’s more out of necessity than something fun." Awkwardly trailing off, he follows up with a self-conscious laugh. "You look like you know what you’re doing, so I'll cut straight to the chase." Shifting from foot to foot, Mizuki eventually straightens his stance, acquiescing a single nod.
"Mind if I challenge you to a fight?"
