felinguistic | puppysword

[ that's a win. ]

But you do it because he gave you something. He gave you something, and moulded you into something and now you can't not follow him.

I don't mind following him. He is a good master.

[Stop shitting on his master, Shiraishi. :pensive:]

He cares about others, and about us, and about history continuing on the correct path.

You don't. You don't know any differently.

[ his voice is a little quieter and more withdrawn, but he's running that finger down and over the nape of hizamaru's neck. ]

Would you feel the same if you did?

I trust I wouldn't ever feel that way.

[Goosebumps rise on the back of his neck, his shoulders, and his arms. The previous week's nice little touch aphrodisiac didn't do much to not condition him to get somewhat hot and bothered when people touch him.]

Does it bother you so much, Shiraishi-san? That we swear loyalty to a master?

Edited (my word) 2019-10-31 20:19 (UTC)

No.

[ his hands are still doing that absentminded petting. moving from the nape down his neck proper. ]

I'm just curious. What happens when someone does break away?

[He tries not to stretch under the petting like he enjoys it. It's a very subtle stretch? It's fine.]

A sword without a master... [He frowns, sinking his chin into the pillow while his lashes lower some over his eyes.] They would wander, and their spirit would be open to corruption. Sometimes, the army we fight... the Revisionist army, they feel... familiar. Dark and twisted, but kindred.

I think swords without masters are easily swayed and wielded by the Revisionists. It's a terrible fate.

[ he's a kittysword now. look at him. shiraishi's hand is just flat out stroking his spine now. ]

Hmm.

Not quite as simple as humans then. But a human running by their own rules... freedom and choice, but the uncertainty over where you go and when you'd die... I wonder if that freedom is a worthy pay off. What would happen if you found something that was worth it?

[NO. Mmmmmmm. It's not his fault he can't help but stretch, letting the hand follow the slope of his back.]

You say strange things sometimes, Shiraishi-san. [He's a himbo, please let him rest.] Freedom is what makes humans human, Shiraishi-san. But even some humans follow the leadership of others. They devote their whole lives to it.

One of my former masters... he had a retainer who was devoted to him. Benkei-san. It's said Benkei-san stood at the end of the bridge when my master's house was surrounded, and any who crossed were cut down. They decided to shoot arrows instead, and Benkei-san remained standing for a very long time, guarding the residence. He died standing.

Edited 2019-10-31 23:27 (UTC)

[ He shouldn’t have such fun reactions? Hello??
his hand is just resting on the small of his back now. warm and heavy. ]

Yes. I suppose so.

Devotion and the choice of who you direct that devotion to...

[ After a moment he just closes his eyes. his fingers starting to drum on the base of hizamaru’s spine the only sign he isn’t falling asleep. ]

[Ohhhhh. Shiraishi's eyes close, and now it's his turn to be the watcher. He lifts his head juuuust a little, enough to let his eyes wander over Shiraishi's face. Being able to look, to study, without it being weirdly disrespectful reminds him that he doesn't actually know very much about Shiraishi at all.

As close as they've been, they haven't become very close at all. Or, perhaps, it's one-sided.]

Shiraishi-san... [His voice is quiet, like he thinks it's a disturbance.] Your world... what is it like?

[ he’s not unaware of the scrutiny — hizamaru’s gaze is pretty heavy, like he can feel it on him while he rests. his fingers drum a couple more times, before he speaks. ]

Tokyo, modern era. 2010s. You said you’ve travelled through time, so maybe you know it.

[ it’s a very literal answer to the question. like a lot of things, it answers it without answering much else. ]

Mm. [He closes his own eyes slowly. Their Citadel is a little pocket lost protectively in a void. Not that he understands a whole lot about that.] I don’t think so. It isn’t a time I remember.

[When he opens his eyes again, there’s something familiar resting in Shiraishi’s hair, but the weight it very light. Pink and white and bloomed, a lotus flower.]

I’d like to see it. Our master’s time is far into the future, I think...

[He already knows what will happen, but he’s so curious. His fingers stretch out, brushing Shiraishi’s cheek before doing the same to the edge of a lotus petal. He feels it already in his chest. The past. He doesn’t have time to apologize when the barrier goes up, yet he also doesn’t startle about it at all.

This may not be a way Shiraishi has ever felt perhaps. It’s cold. Cold all around. But the cold doesn’t feel bad or dangerous, or scary. It’s a refined cold, a respectable one. The cold of steel. That’s what Shiraishi is, unable to discern any movements of limbs or body: a steel blade. At the core, however, is a spirit on fire. A gentle, honor-bound thing, feeling a little lonesome strangely but no less driven to perform, protect.

Resting for the moment on blankets on tatami. The being beside—feels human. A man, burning with fever, and there’s duty in Shiraishi’s spirit no less than a master would deserve.

The thin, rice-paper door opens on the other side of the room. Shiraishi doesn’t hear this, but what creeps in he can feel. Human, yet not human. The intent in the spirit is overflowing with dark desire and malicious intent. Shiraishi’s soul swells with the metallic taste of battle.

And pride when he rings out of the sheathe in his master’s grip. The handling is a bit uncoordinated, but Shiraishi bites sharply with full focus. The master yells, “Tsuchikumo!” What eases forward out of the dark is a spider, large and hairy, no different than a demon. Brown and smattered with the reds of clay and the green of mountain forests.

Shiraishi only knows bloodlust and devotion as he cuts.

The spider demon flees, and many more humans that have felt familiar being at the master’s side come running to join. They follow the blood through the halls, and outside, the last vestiges of the demon spider’s spirit fades away from its body. It has been slain.]

[ He can sense the shift as hizamaru reaching out, his eyes snapping open just a moment before those fingers brush against his cheek. it takes a moment for him to realise what's going on, and what hizamaru is reaching for next --

it's not like he can stop him in time. hizamaru's fingers are already brushing the petal when his hand shoots out to try and intervene, and the barrier snaps into place. he can't place the memory -- obviously, as it isn't his -- but what it is and what he's seeing is lost to him for a moment. hearing that some of the people here are swords with a human form is one thing, seeing the point of view of a blade; the bloodlust, and that devotion. the obscuring of his senses until the blade sings in the heat of battle.

it's enlightening and disorientating all at once. he opens his mouth to say something, but their surroundings are already shifting and changing.

the memory is just dark -- a true memory, a monologue (2:22 - 3:33). there's nothing there, not for a while. just cold facts and thoughts. the repetition of life, every second, every minute of every day the same. there was some unknown "we" and they were all expendable. objects to be thrown away when they were no longer useful.

"(I don't see the kid who came here after me any more. What was his name? ... I don't remember.)"

daily life just marched on. there was no change. locked away, in the dark where no one knew they existed and their lives hung at the end of one person's strings. no one would remember when they were gone. when it's apparent this isn't an aimless, pointless monologue, it's a person's thought process, it's also apparent who it's coming from. smaller, hair shorter, but undeniably shiraishi. dressed in a non-descript white outfit, more like a uniform that the clothes a young boy would choose to wear.

"(I wonder what they'll have me do. Will I meet someone from the outside? Or will I die without having ever interacted with one?)"

"No. 14, what are you doing? Move."

"Yes, sir."

(Today was another repeat of yesterday. My heart was empty. I felt nothing. At this rate, I--)--

And then nothing. Other than the room they're in, in the present. In the now. ]

Edited 2019-11-01 18:14 (UTC)

[Almost immediately, he's embarrassed. Even if he's curious, it feels as if he has stepped into a sacred place and disrespected it. Not at all is it like sharing one with his brother, the two of them comfortable even with secrets.

This is different. Like Wei Wuxian's, like something he shouldn't have seen.

He tries to jerk his hand away in case he's invading space, but falters with Shiraishi's fingers around his wrist. With others, he's always caught up in tumbling over every unknown emotion he hasn't felt before. It's like drowning, suffocating. It's a lot.

With Shiraishi, there's a weird familiarity. Nothing? Most times. It's quiet and predictable. It's routine and factual. It's so very different from Wei Wuxian's, so very like being a blade.]

Shiraishi-san...?

[His hand dips, and he very gently rests his fingers on the edge of Shiraishi's face, as if saying it's over.]

[ shiraishi jerks slightly, away from the touch on his face and staring -- a little wildly -- for a moment at hizamaru. and then that expression vanishes, somewhat like a light switch going out.

... ]

There wasn't one of those items here before, was there?

[ he's... sort of been avoiding them. as much as is possible to here. he just sounds level, maybe a little emotionless about the prospect. ]

[Surprised, but understanding, he draws his hand back when Shiraishi pulls away, resting it instead on the bed beside him. He studies Shiraishi's face, but doesn't say anything for a long time. Not until Shiraishi speaks first.

When he does reply, his voice is quiet.]

I'm sorry, Shiraishi-san. If there are familiar things... and you touch them, there's a memory. I forgot there's two. I was... just curious about mine.

[ he rubs a hand over his face. ]

I know about the familiar things. [ he peers over at hizamaru a little thoughtfully - anything that lets him distract from his own memory. ]

You wanted to see it? Rather than avoid it being seen?

I don't mind if anyone experiences them. It's not a history I can change, and so I'm not ashamed, even if sometimes it had been difficult.

[He glances away.]

I've been able to see things from long ago. Being able to look back with the eyes I have now, and the feelings... I can understand a little better.

Looking back on things with a different perspective.

[ he tips his head back a little on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. what you know now and what you knew then. "Will I meet someone from the outside? Or will I die without ever meeting one?" ]

Is this better or worse that aphrodisiac touch?

[Again, he looks at Shiraishi, but it's a gentle one instead of a studious one. Watchful without being prying.]

I didn't mind either.

[Most everyone was walking on eggshells--are walking on eggshells. But he's a sword. There isn't any room for shame when your body and world view is so new.]

Experiencing them was... very human. Getting to explore other people... It's interesting to learn more about others, to learn... what it feels like to be human. So I didn't mind last week or this week.

People seeing all your secrets and some of your most vulnerable moments is something you "don't mind", huh?

[ he usually doesn't care, but he doesn't have control of what others see, or what parts of his memory are paraded around for others to see. ]

It isn't something I would want others to be forced to experience... if it made them uncomfortable. But it also isn't something I'm worried about hiding.

[They're wild memories, and almost all of them make him feel things, sure... But he doesn't know if he would hide them.]

Does it bother you... to share yours? I'm sorry for seeing it. I won't tell anyone.

No, you won't.

[ it's not threatening, just sure. he won't say anything, because shiraishi has made it clear he doesn't like the idea of people seeing his memories like this. and hizamaru is the sort of honourable, or sincere soul that would take that to heart. ]

A lot of these are farfetched anyway. People would think they're made up.

[Shiraishi isn't wrong. Hizamaru won't tell anyone unless Shiraishi happens to die, and someone needs to know to verify information. Even then, Hizamaru won't tell the whole story.]

There are many strange things here people may find unbelievable, Shiraishi-san. Such as my comrades and me.

[Swords in bodies? Ha ha.]

For what it's worth... I did not mind yours, Shiraishi-san. Not what was happening, but... How you felt. It was... familiar. [Sorry, he's just very earnest.] It reminded me of when I was a blade without a body. I don't think feeling... nothing makes you not who you are.

Even when I didn't have these feelings, I was still Hizamaru... even if I went by other names at the time. I was still the same sword as I had been when I was forged.

I’m still working out how you all work, in case you assumed there were no sceptics left.

[ that memory now was undoubtedly from an object — maybe one with a soul, for lack of a better term, but an object that was more than the folded steel of a regular blade. but he’s slept with hizamaru a couple of times now, and he knows his body is human.

his skin bruises and reddens under touch and teeth. his hair is soft, and he knows tugging it elicits responses from hizamaru. it’s a human body, or remarkably close to one if not that. hizamaru is both human and not. ]

There is a difference between knowing you are still who you were, and being “forged” as nothing in the first place. [ he turns his head properly, studying hizamaru for a long and contemplative moment. ] You’re weirdly sincere and honest, for someone who’s still learning and growing into emotion. No one would pick you out as lacking in empathy.

bullies you by taking my time

fair

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