Trilby dropped to his knees, resting his back against the gravestone as he glared angrily towards the mid-day sun. "Stop dehydrating my prosthetic." he grumbled towards the sphere of burning gas that was tormenting him, casually digging a thumb into his eye socket, causing his false eye to pop out and dangle from the nerves connecting it to his brain. Naturally, it wasn't a normal prosthetic. He could see through this eye, and it was connected to his optic nerve in much the same way as a real eye would be. Forming a quick hand seal, Trilby touched the eye, adjusting the rate at which it created liquid. It needed to be re-calibrated for the summer sun.

Forcing his prosthetic back into his skull with a groan, Trilby rested his head on the tomb stone. It was quiet here. He liked it. No one stepped foot here, he was free to just... relax. His armor felt heavy on his shoulders, as it always did during the mid-day. Still, he couldn't afford to take it off. He had to be comfortable in it if he hoped to be able to function with it on during a real combat situation. Drawing Yamato from it's sheath slowly, Trilby raised it before him, examining it in detail. It was a beautiful blade. Sure, he wasn't the most talented with blades, but he was learning quickly. Soon, it seemed, he would master their art entirely.

"Long time no see, Trilby..." Trilby almost dropped Yamato as he heard the voice. He had known someone was approaching him from behind, but he had never expected who it belonged to. "Shibirin?" he muttered, sinking Yamato softly into the soil of the gravestone. He used it as a crutch, pulling himself to his feet before turning around. It had been over a year since they had seen each other, and a lot had changed. Trilby was a Jounin now, and he looked completely different. He wore thick, heavy steel plated armour. It was a deep red, and soaked in dirt, blood and grit. His right hand sat gently on the hilt of his sword, a weapon he had no talent with during their previous time together. And then there was the prosthetic. His left eye was completely artificial, a simple white prosthetic with a black seal on it, twisting, churning and reacting like a normal iris.

"It's been too long, sir. Years at least, no? You still a chuunin?" as he spoke, he dislodged Yamato from the dirt, slowly sliding it into it's shealth, allowing it to dangle on his left hip.

Trilby leaned softly on the gravestone he previously rested against, listening intently. He hadn't ranked up since their last encounter, it seemed. "Jounin. I've been busy, I suppose. You missed a lot, sir. I was a monk for a year, studying dead forms of Fuuinjutsu. then I trained with the Mizukage and Kazekage, met my grandfather, learned my real name, freed the slave colony I was raised in. I've been busy. How about you?" It seemed, at least to Trilby, as though nothing had changed with Shibirin. His look was mostly the same, he had the same three blades he used to wield back when they first met, and he had held the same rank. Still, he wasn't required to change just because Trilby had been busy. Having something in his life stay constant was nice.