Post by Asahina Yuuto on Oct 31, 2011 0:28:23 GMT -5
OOC: I wrote this weeks ago, but lost interest until seeing Homura's sacrifice. I hate to see your character go, even if she could be a bit frightful in full form.
Concealed in billowing fog and deafening storm a faint flame finds life among the sounds and sensations of choking downpour. The trickle of rain collapses, dying upon make-shift wood facades, before rippling upon cobbled causeway below; the enclosed candles and incense that line the street in battered shrines shriveling in response, the inadequate shelter they find sanctuary under failing to secure their safety. Aching and wavering in such dreary conditions, faded and worn banners of red, teal, and green stand at attention, shivering in the chilling mist, the inevitable prolonged.
The dead, in quiet contemplation, complete their final duty as they stand sentry upon their Emperor’s demure street as sounds of war hum above; only the whispered pleas of last rites pierce the profane precipitation, crying candles and mourning wick responding to flame, the wind fermenting its lethargic flicker. Like torchlights in the night, one by one, the distilled blooms count off down the avenue; rarely before has a more loyal, disciplined, and vigilant army been seen.
Finishing the rites, Yuuto begins to light a dully colored, drenched, paper lantern of orange and yellow hue, its glow giving off a glare to the assembled soldiers already sounding off. From pocket he places deformed arrow point; from neck he slips simple necklace to pool on lantern’s base, trembling hands gently guiding the dissolving paper to quarrelsome path in the now raging river taking form in the street’s basin. His head shakes only once more, before nudging the symbol of his frustration on its way, the shugenja deciding only then to turn and face the day.
The current picks up, the paper base eroding to persistent pressures of water and rain as its fluid motions flank and defy the assembled dead; its sally across the street soon succumbing to the sandaled and pedicured foot of one of more prideful stride. The lantern’s base quickly fails, the encroachment of brashy filth crumpling and crippling its sail, dissipating its flame, and sinking the symbols of unsettled skirmishes it contains. The perverse interruption of dangling silk upon more silk hand begins, wresting precariously under wagasa canopy, as fingers dip towards the drowning glint of discarded necklace.
The storm conforms to the provocateur’s figure -- long strands of black hair flirting in the wind as she lowers herself to daintily hover above the now sunk lantern, concealed lips smirking at the misfortune. Dark blue trimmings of finely cut kimono flatter the wearer as it flaps and folds to the wind, but seamlessly flows to her movements as dripping silver chain finds a closer inspection, focused under the flutter of feminine eyelash. She pauses monetarily, the casual sweeps of curled lash intensifying the look, as she ascends from the street, her crimson lips showing teeth as she finds Yuuto among the fog, presentation adding penetration to her words,“Playing in the rain while your caged beast roams the streets, I see? Is this stray cat such a distraction that you can so easily lose your valuables as you walk in the rain,”sternly brandishing the trinket wrapped around her hand.
The clopping of approaching geta and galling aspersion coerce Yuuto’s attention to reality. Miga. His eyes arch in annoyance and frustration, as he turns to face his apprentice. Is there no escape from worrisome women in this world even in wartime? The shugenja fixates upon the spiteful steps as she closes, crane colored wagasa counterbalancing her sedulous swagger. A waterline rings the gilded trim of her kimono covered ankles, a reality to be accepted from her swimming footsteps, but the maelstrom fails to make its mark elsewhere in her pristine performance. The kami dance around her, a mere learner at her age, but to be feared in this environment if she is given time to learn.
Sucking her teeth, indignant to her superior’s annoyance, she eyes the lighted displays smirking another sluggish strike, “fire that finds freedom even in the rain,”her movement and words failing to find their opportunity, “what privileges of study you must hide?” Miga quickly rotates to Yuuto’s side, cloaking him under her command of the elements; her nuanced acrobatics maintaining the theatre of held wagasa overhead, her aloofness now making advance “yet tricks found to be lacking if you desire to stay dry?”
Silence follows. The trickling from ramparts and rooftops continues; the downpour draining through the streets without interruption. Miga casually reaches for her teacher’s hand, palming the once discarded necklace, her once arrogant words now apprehensive “You really shouldn’t leave such things lying around… you can’t be this careless?”
Memories from the past flood to the present, upheld and then challenged, and for a time ignored. Yuuto’s eyebrows relent, the contortions of his face easing as he glances upward, “It was my grandfather’s,” his thumb methodically tracing the Asahina emblem etched into the symbol, “a man who’s foolishness deserves the same regard we give the dead.”
Miga’s pride loses its stride, as a more serious tone find her now sullen frown, “I find you sulking in a storm, over a Lioness very much alive, which now stalks her prey in a sieged city with your family blade at her hilt?” Her face finds disgust, “You honor her with family heirlooms so readily; what is wrong with you?”
Yuuto clutches the pendant, quivering, trying to find his calm with teeth grating, “Foolishness.” His breathing slows, giving time for his statement to sink in, “I am foolish man who follows foolish rules, and you are right to be angry. I make my brothers and sisters of secondary concern to someone who fights them blindly, and I put my very Emperor at risk by allowing his enemy to walk in his home without escort. I am a fool.”
His eyes strain as he turns to directly face Miga’s scorn, “I foolishly believed I could change her, and through her change the entire mindset of the Lion. Maybe even the entire Empire.” The shugenja’s face fades from its once idealistic stance, swallowing reality, and closing his eyes to what he is about to say, “Ayumi-san was dead before she ever came to us. Whether she dies by our hands or survives to the next battle, her mindset can lead only to one conclusion. I can fix broken bones and mend scarred flesh, but I cannot turn her from the life she was been born into any more than I can change the path I must walk.”
Averting her gaze, showing for once a modicum of shame,“Do you think she even gave us her real name?”
Hiding a small chuckle, “We are gullible shugenja, of the most gullible lot in the land, what’s one more lie to pile upon us?” his words becoming more serious, “do you think we can trust the words of our allies to arrive in time?”
Shaking her head in uncertainty, “a fool would know better than me”
“Then lets prepare for the worst,” hugging his student’s shoulder tightly, they turn back towards the walls where their work is left unfinished. Yuuto, momentarily looks back, to make notice of the one extinguished flame among many, its flicker of life returning momentarily in submerged street before faltering in form once more; the two crane swim back to their own poorly sheltered sanctuary amidst a war that leaves all wanting for more.
Concealed in billowing fog and deafening storm a faint flame finds life among the sounds and sensations of choking downpour. The trickle of rain collapses, dying upon make-shift wood facades, before rippling upon cobbled causeway below; the enclosed candles and incense that line the street in battered shrines shriveling in response, the inadequate shelter they find sanctuary under failing to secure their safety. Aching and wavering in such dreary conditions, faded and worn banners of red, teal, and green stand at attention, shivering in the chilling mist, the inevitable prolonged.
The dead, in quiet contemplation, complete their final duty as they stand sentry upon their Emperor’s demure street as sounds of war hum above; only the whispered pleas of last rites pierce the profane precipitation, crying candles and mourning wick responding to flame, the wind fermenting its lethargic flicker. Like torchlights in the night, one by one, the distilled blooms count off down the avenue; rarely before has a more loyal, disciplined, and vigilant army been seen.
Finishing the rites, Yuuto begins to light a dully colored, drenched, paper lantern of orange and yellow hue, its glow giving off a glare to the assembled soldiers already sounding off. From pocket he places deformed arrow point; from neck he slips simple necklace to pool on lantern’s base, trembling hands gently guiding the dissolving paper to quarrelsome path in the now raging river taking form in the street’s basin. His head shakes only once more, before nudging the symbol of his frustration on its way, the shugenja deciding only then to turn and face the day.
The current picks up, the paper base eroding to persistent pressures of water and rain as its fluid motions flank and defy the assembled dead; its sally across the street soon succumbing to the sandaled and pedicured foot of one of more prideful stride. The lantern’s base quickly fails, the encroachment of brashy filth crumpling and crippling its sail, dissipating its flame, and sinking the symbols of unsettled skirmishes it contains. The perverse interruption of dangling silk upon more silk hand begins, wresting precariously under wagasa canopy, as fingers dip towards the drowning glint of discarded necklace.
The storm conforms to the provocateur’s figure -- long strands of black hair flirting in the wind as she lowers herself to daintily hover above the now sunk lantern, concealed lips smirking at the misfortune. Dark blue trimmings of finely cut kimono flatter the wearer as it flaps and folds to the wind, but seamlessly flows to her movements as dripping silver chain finds a closer inspection, focused under the flutter of feminine eyelash. She pauses monetarily, the casual sweeps of curled lash intensifying the look, as she ascends from the street, her crimson lips showing teeth as she finds Yuuto among the fog, presentation adding penetration to her words,“Playing in the rain while your caged beast roams the streets, I see? Is this stray cat such a distraction that you can so easily lose your valuables as you walk in the rain,”sternly brandishing the trinket wrapped around her hand.
The clopping of approaching geta and galling aspersion coerce Yuuto’s attention to reality. Miga. His eyes arch in annoyance and frustration, as he turns to face his apprentice. Is there no escape from worrisome women in this world even in wartime? The shugenja fixates upon the spiteful steps as she closes, crane colored wagasa counterbalancing her sedulous swagger. A waterline rings the gilded trim of her kimono covered ankles, a reality to be accepted from her swimming footsteps, but the maelstrom fails to make its mark elsewhere in her pristine performance. The kami dance around her, a mere learner at her age, but to be feared in this environment if she is given time to learn.
Sucking her teeth, indignant to her superior’s annoyance, she eyes the lighted displays smirking another sluggish strike, “fire that finds freedom even in the rain,”her movement and words failing to find their opportunity, “what privileges of study you must hide?” Miga quickly rotates to Yuuto’s side, cloaking him under her command of the elements; her nuanced acrobatics maintaining the theatre of held wagasa overhead, her aloofness now making advance “yet tricks found to be lacking if you desire to stay dry?”
Silence follows. The trickling from ramparts and rooftops continues; the downpour draining through the streets without interruption. Miga casually reaches for her teacher’s hand, palming the once discarded necklace, her once arrogant words now apprehensive “You really shouldn’t leave such things lying around… you can’t be this careless?”
Memories from the past flood to the present, upheld and then challenged, and for a time ignored. Yuuto’s eyebrows relent, the contortions of his face easing as he glances upward, “It was my grandfather’s,” his thumb methodically tracing the Asahina emblem etched into the symbol, “a man who’s foolishness deserves the same regard we give the dead.”
Miga’s pride loses its stride, as a more serious tone find her now sullen frown, “I find you sulking in a storm, over a Lioness very much alive, which now stalks her prey in a sieged city with your family blade at her hilt?” Her face finds disgust, “You honor her with family heirlooms so readily; what is wrong with you?”
Yuuto clutches the pendant, quivering, trying to find his calm with teeth grating, “Foolishness.” His breathing slows, giving time for his statement to sink in, “I am foolish man who follows foolish rules, and you are right to be angry. I make my brothers and sisters of secondary concern to someone who fights them blindly, and I put my very Emperor at risk by allowing his enemy to walk in his home without escort. I am a fool.”
His eyes strain as he turns to directly face Miga’s scorn, “I foolishly believed I could change her, and through her change the entire mindset of the Lion. Maybe even the entire Empire.” The shugenja’s face fades from its once idealistic stance, swallowing reality, and closing his eyes to what he is about to say, “Ayumi-san was dead before she ever came to us. Whether she dies by our hands or survives to the next battle, her mindset can lead only to one conclusion. I can fix broken bones and mend scarred flesh, but I cannot turn her from the life she was been born into any more than I can change the path I must walk.”
Averting her gaze, showing for once a modicum of shame,“Do you think she even gave us her real name?”
Hiding a small chuckle, “We are gullible shugenja, of the most gullible lot in the land, what’s one more lie to pile upon us?” his words becoming more serious, “do you think we can trust the words of our allies to arrive in time?”
Shaking her head in uncertainty, “a fool would know better than me”
“Then lets prepare for the worst,” hugging his student’s shoulder tightly, they turn back towards the walls where their work is left unfinished. Yuuto, momentarily looks back, to make notice of the one extinguished flame among many, its flicker of life returning momentarily in submerged street before faltering in form once more; the two crane swim back to their own poorly sheltered sanctuary amidst a war that leaves all wanting for more.