01-15-2020, 12:50 PM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]He had a plan, maybe. He knew how these sorts of attacks went, how simple constructions tended to play out - this was no different. Capture the flag was a game as old as time. The goal was simple. The assault on the defending team - the maskless, including him - was uncoordinated, based in one-on-one random attacks, with no formal rules to tie them down. Find somebody and incapacitate them, take their flag, work your way over to the next. A child's game, like tag. He'd trained harder than this, orchestrated more vicious training exercises, worked out more complicated scenarios in his head. Easy.
Who was to say they couldn't shake things up a little tonight?
The graveyard is a wide playing field. The headstones are old but vary in size and shape, offering fair cover, and the overgrown weeds would improve camouflage to those with the advantage of a natural fur pattern. It's dark enough that he doesn't need shades, and appreciates that - the mirror finish would reflect the moon and give away his location, anyway. A few mausoleums dot the landscape, stout and ivy-covered; they'd make good lookout points if he could move between them without interception. He chooses a thicket of dense bushes, first. Once decorative but now overgrown, the brown leaves still clinging to the branches alongside the yellowed, winter-dead grasses made for good cover against his tan, mottled pelt. Kazuhira keeps low, pressing his waist to the ground to obscure the yellow sash around his middle.
He waits, then, for the ambush to begin.
Who was to say they couldn't shake things up a little tonight?
The graveyard is a wide playing field. The headstones are old but vary in size and shape, offering fair cover, and the overgrown weeds would improve camouflage to those with the advantage of a natural fur pattern. It's dark enough that he doesn't need shades, and appreciates that - the mirror finish would reflect the moon and give away his location, anyway. A few mausoleums dot the landscape, stout and ivy-covered; they'd make good lookout points if he could move between them without interception. He chooses a thicket of dense bushes, first. Once decorative but now overgrown, the brown leaves still clinging to the branches alongside the yellowed, winter-dead grasses made for good cover against his tan, mottled pelt. Kazuhira keeps low, pressing his waist to the ground to obscure the yellow sash around his middle.
He waits, then, for the ambush to begin.