Tayuki

The unmistakable thwack of a combat pole against a wood crate, followed by the wet, slapping sound of airborne fish, was how most residents of Waterfall City first met Tayuki. "Apologies, friend! A momentary lapse in spatial awareness!" they'd call out, their serious goatee betrayed by the playful glint in their eyes. Sensei had instructed them for years, hoping to instill a deep, meditative calm. Tayuki absorbed every lesson, every scroll, every kata. The problem was their calm had a tendency to trip over things. Their wisdom was profound, but it often arrived right after their pole knocked over a market stall. They wore their fox beanie as a silent promise to themself not to get too lost in thought. A frog merchant, scooping a trout from the stone plaza, simply sighed and tossed it to them. It was easier than waiting for the apology poem.