[WIP] untitled;

mood: ---
music: ---


prompts: secrets, debt;


He arrived short of dawn, when the sky was still dark, the moon sleepy overhead and clouds seemed to linger closest to the mountains in the not too far off distance, as if preparing themselves for the ascent of the sun.

He'd snuck over the wall, it's mechanical guardian still broken and in need of repair and wondered on how long had it been since he'd left this place, with it's streets alive long past the midnight hour and the music filling people's ears with the noise of merry-making. The streets were silent as he walked through them, and the lamps that stood like thin sentries on either side were either dim or broken, casting a host of shadows that made the village seem like a ghost town.

He had traveled from Kanna mostly on foot, stopping only when fellow travelers asked him to join them for a meal. Apparently, in the short time since their defeat of the Nobuseri, people from all over the nation had heard word of seven noble samurai who stood up for the villagers of a tiny village suffering under the bandit's cruelty. All samurai were now viewed in a new light -- not as wayward strays from a previous era, but as men and women deserving of consideration and kindness.

He stood now before his intended destination, the windows dark from lack of life within. The signboard that normally glared a bright fuschia pink with the character for the establishment's name slumbered, it's light shut as an eye might from exhaustion.

He eased his footsteps up the wooden steps, each seemingly in time with the quiet beating of his heart. They had sat here on numerous nights, speaking to each other of fireflies and debts, or staying but never of going. They had sat, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the perfume on her neck whispering his secrets and desires back towards him in the breeze.

"Welcome home," a voice seemed to come from the darkness, and he stopped, his stance shifting briefly to allow him enough room to defend himself if the need would arise. What time he had spent away had roused his warrior's instincts from their slumber, causing him to once again treat the unknown as a guarded man might.

He spotted her figure in the darkness, the solidness of her form darker in contrast to the space around her. The the line of her hand melted into the shadowed form of her koto, unifying two separate pieces into once.

Her face was shrouded, but he didn't need to see to know that she would not stop him from entering. Shichiroji relaxed then, his body straightening as he walked towards this who he had once known, if briefly, as a lost, little girl. "It is far too early for you to be awake, Kotori-chan."

"Yukino-san is sleeping still within," she smiled, her sightless gaze focused onto the space beyond him. She ignored his statement as if it mattered little, and her head tilted the slightest, her long lashes like twin butterflies, folding half-moons right above the apples of her cheeks. "She will be glad that Shichiroji-sama has returned safely."

In the east, the sun rose, peering lazily over the wall of mountains and spilling excess light into a gradually brightening sky. The clouds turned different hues at their tips, like paint seeping onto canvass.

"Thank you," Shichiroji smiled, the first notes of a new piece singing softly into the air, frail and breakable as the thinnest glass. He turned then, the house still dark and still, but no less welcoming than the home that it had become to him.

[WIP] untitled;

mood: ---
music: ---


prompts: disdain, scarecrow


The footfalls moved over the thin floorboards, the steps somewhat muffled by the mats. "Where is the youjo?" Their voices grated her ears as they approach, and the smell of powder made her nose itch. "Still down there, my lord. Do we retain her for aiding wanted criminals?"

There was a pause after the reply, and it seemed as though even the crickets stopped chirping; waiting, perhaps for the next words. The air felt ripe with malice. It disrupted the peace that normally accompanied the flow of the wind.

"Bring her to me. I want to speak with her."

"Ukyo-sama, I do not think--"

"My father decreed that all samurai would be arrested. While I really don't care much for the fuss, these are an exception. They had Kirara." The tone in this man's voice was as spoiled as fish left uncooked for too long. "And if you had not stopped me down at the cave, I'd have her back by now." They walked past the door, and though she could not see their movements, her other senses compensated for that handicap. The faint breeze that drifted in told her that her door was slid roughly four inches apart, and on that same breeze the smell of perfume and make-up that she assumed covered at least one face carried itself over to her.

"Go. Bring her." The command was haughty, as if time was a commodity fast losing it's value. "If she struggles, I trust that you'll handle her."

She shut her eyes, a statement to herself more than anything else, and when she rose from where she sat, her fingers traced an upward line along the wall, using the solidness of the wood for balance and as a guide that would lead her out of the room.

"Are all merchant's sons incapable of seeing to their own dirty work," The words were fluid upon her tongue, and even if she wanted to, the disdain in them was thinly veiled. She tilted her head towards them, as if listening to the wind. Her blank eyes stared ahead at nothing. "Or perhaps it is only those who dress in the way of glorified scarecrows?"

She heard him bristle, and even as her heartbeat quickened at his rushing footsteps, she anticipated his actions. He would push her in the way that spoiled children tend to do, but she would not fall alone into the koi pond.

The water was chilly and she heard his attendants scatter, one in particular calling his name and lacing each syllable with distress. She heard the movement behind her, felt the shift in the water, but she didn't move, not even when her head was shoved under the water, the liquid coming around her like a shroud. She didn't flail or fight, though she heard Yukino's strangled plea to let her go. She was not afraid of drowning mostly because she believed that this one didn't have the courage to really kill her with his bare hands. Those like him elected others to do their dirty work; this boy, if she was correct would be no different.

She clung to that thought, even as she swayed, the lack of oxygen making her light-headed, and told herself that even if he did decide to kill her, then at least she would know inside that she did not stand idly by as he ordered them to hurt Yukino.



Three hours later she awoke to the feeling of warmth of her body swaddled in blankets and the gentle feel of fingers as they threaded through her hair. The Firefly House was hushed as if in a vigil, and the silence was broken only by the soft, sad lullaby sung from Yukino's lips.

Heihachi: Once A Yojimbo;

music: ---
mood: ---


prompts: season, rice balls;


She'd offered him the rice balls with a simple smile, her eyes betraying none of the sadness he'd glimpsed earlier on when the procession stopped for a brief breather. "Thank you," she'd told him, though he wasn't quite sure what she meant. After all, from the way she'd looked in her palanquin, her long silver hair set loose from it's bindings, anyone could forget that it was springtime, the most promising season of all.

He didn't know who she was at first, the curtains were often drawn. But when he'd asked the other samurai, they had simply told him that she was the daughter of the man whose body they bore on their shoulders.

Heihachi watched her go, her posture perfect as she walked gracefully back into the house with all the dignity that she'd been born with. He had never known the General, though many others within the ranks spoke the name Kakita Nobu with pride. The short samurai was new to the Isawa family, having pledged his sword and his service to the Isawa Mori's eldest son, Hiroshi only recently.

Though from two completely different clans, both generals had a long history of friendship together. Mori and Nobu had known each other as young boys, and then later had stood by each other on the battlefield as grown men. It was not simply courtesy for a fellow samurai then that had compelled this particular branch of the Isawa family to attend if not participate at Nobu's funeral procession. It was out of love for a lifelong friend who had died with honor, though too soon by the standards of many.

"Leave it to Kotori-chan to think of seeing to everyone else even at a time like this," the samurai glanced over his shoulder to see his leige-lord approach, the younger Isawa brother, Seiichiro, at his side. Hiroshi smiled at him, the tall Phoenix samurai's normally stern features softening just a little. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Heihachi-san?" He asked, his eyes wandering back to where the girl had gone. "You should hear her play the koto. My mother and father told me that her beauty multiplies a hundred fold when she weaves her music. Though I am not that surprised." Heihachi noted the way his leige-lord slid a meaningful glance at his brother. The shugenja, Heihachi noted, had his hands hidden in his sleeves, and his head was turned to where the young maiden had gone. "She is her mother's daughter."

The Phoenix samurai shifted his footing and looked kindly upon him, a simple newcomer to his retinue. "I have been invited to stay awhile longer. My brother and myself are to sit close to the front when Kotone-san and Kotori-chan play a duet in honor of General Nobu."

"It is too high a privilege, Hiroshi-sama."

"Nonesense." The Phoenix let out a soft snort. "You are my yojimbo, and I will be offended, Heihachi, if you did not join us." His features sobered once more, and Heihachi followed the path of his gaze.

The crowd was gathering and mother and daughter stepped from behind the sliding doors and onto the clean cut grass, still moist with the day's early dew. He noted how the guests seemed almost handpicked: family, with few others from the various clans. "Where is Hideaki, brother?" He heard his leige-lord ask. "He will be here, aniue. I suspect he is retrieving Nobu-san's sword. I heard Kotori could not bring herself to look upon it herself." The shugenja replied.

So sad, Heihachi thought then, as he watched her smile, his steps following those of his leige, wondering inwardly why the girl felt the need to hide her grief in a smile.