◟ʀᴇǫᴜɪᴇᴍ.◝

Too forgiving?

What a joke. How was any of this forgiving? He had nothing… nothing. Not the slightest bit of anything here was… was something Rui would have described as forgiving. As sympathetic. Everything had been taken from him, and more.

“How nice for you. How did you die, then? Loved? Content?”

How could this be forgiving to anyone? There didn’t need to be flames lapping at their ankles for this to be Hell.

“Doing just enough to be trapped here, but not enough to deserve any suffering.”

It burned in his chest, in his throat. To think anyone would consider this something worthwhile – how? Why? He had been brought here to suffer; were there others who had not? Why did they get to move on in peace while…

…no, he knew the answer to that. He knew why. It didn’t matter how often he apologized. What he’d done wasn’t anything you could apologize for. He didn’t know what faces would roam the streets at night to haunt him, but he knew none of them would be his parents. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to rest.

“I could pity you for having had that false hope. Did it burn you when Heaven slipped out of your grasp?”

  What, exactly, had he the misfortune of walking into? An air of nonchalance had quickly thickened as the child spoke up, lips pursing and muscles weighed down with distaste. The way in which this child wished to respond; chose to speak to him plagued the swords mood with disgust. A soul that wished to assume and pass judgement when they knew nothing.

  Not long, did it take for eyes to narrow in the form of piercing slits. And even less time, still, did it take for Muramasa to move again -- to walk forward. Each step a deliberate breach in space, a growing warning with each word this boy let slip from his tongue.

  It could have gone overlooked had the topic not dipped so far. How did he die, they asked. Loved? Content? He could almost gag on the lump of bitter laughter that built in his throat.

    “You would do well to swallow that pity. Choke on it, even.”

  Another step, another. Once more.

    “No such place would ever offer open its doors to me, nor would I waste time reaching for that which doesn’t exist.” Slowly did an arm begin to stir, pulling forth a hand from the confines of a pocket. It was extended, carefully, to follow as he spoke. Each finger stretched and extended.

    “... have you any idea why a place like this could be seen as forgiving? That it is seen as something almost relieving. I’ve walked the plains of Hell, already. I’ve tasted the flames and choked on copper wine from its chalice of false promises -- yet you dare assume otherwise? Speak as if you’ve any idea.”

  A second passes and lavender is what engulfs the eyes, steel brandished in the palm of previously held out hand. The fang held almost eagerly forward, but it knew restraint. He wished for their silence.

          @mukojochu.

He had spent as little an amount of time in whatever his supposed new house was supposed to be as possible – he’d practically just popped his head in, acknowledged that he didn’t like it, and left. Rui was very much almost in a trance; lost… alone.

He felt so weak, so drained – not to the level as he had as a human, but he was aware of his own… what? Mortality? He couldn’t call any of his threads; any webs he wanted to form between his fingertips never came to fruition.

Was this–

           Where were–

–it stung, somewhere deep inside his chest. He had raised a hand, balling his fingers into a fist above his chest for a moment before forcing it to fall back to his side. He could still hear their voices, echoing in his head. He could still hear his own apologies.

And yet, he had woken up alone. Perhaps it was simply due to the late hour, but he had encountered nearly nobody.

Until footsteps reached his ears, and Rui came to a pause in his own walking. His head tilted to one side, slowly. For a moment, all he did was stare.

His voice came to him slower still.

“Hey, you…”

“…tell me… is this Hell?”

  That was his only company for the evening, the gentle sounds of his own footsteps and what thoughts chose to linger. A nightly ritual of sorts. For no matter how well things may be there always would remain the scars of regret, of anguish and failure. They clung to his person, infested him like a disease -- something incurable. Taken away only by death itself and kept at bay with the help of a soul far too kind to one such as himself.

  Other things came to aid him, at times. Small distractions that would pull him back to reality and have the leisurely pace he kept come to a slowed halt. A careful stare meeting that of another; locking in place and waiting for a voice to break the nights quiet.

  A simple address... and then a question. One which had Muramasa forcing back a laugh. It echoed his own thoughts without him having to speak them himself, how unfortunate that he was not one to give a favorable answer.

    “That’s for you to decide.”

    “Personally, I find it far too forgiving to be Hell.”

  There was far too much given for it to be such a place. A realm of pain and torment; a world in which to repent and suffer through your committed sins. Yet, here he was given less of that... there were chances that should not be provided. There were individuals he should not have the pleasure of seeing, of feeling.

      ♪ ❝ … Isn’t that how the saying goes, though? ‘Word travels fast’, ❞ so says the blonde, her quiet voice popping out from behind the stranger now.

      ❝ Fortunately I have seen a ‘hive mind’ mentality of a beast tribe before… So I can safely tell you this is not the case here, ❞ for now, in any case.

    “Hm. A bit too fast, perhaps.” An exaggeration on his part, but one he felt had some merit given the rapid spread. A sigh is all he offered to that.

“… it…”

True though that may be, Tensa still felt as if he was intruding on something. It was still so bizarre to him to care this much, and it ached in his heart. If–if things hadn’t turned out the way they had, it might have stung less. Instead, even with how in wonder Muramasa seemed about the whole sight, it just… it was as if this wasn’t something to be celebrated.

Why hold what no longer could be over Muramasa’s head like this?

Tensa ducked his head down to the side, unable to keep his eyes on either the scene in front of him nor on Muramasa. He shouldn’t be seeing this. A pain burned deeply in his chest, an anger on Muramasa’s behalf even if Muramasa didn’t feel it himself.

No natural sleep, nor an ordinary dream.

A memory, then. As he’d suspected. One no doubt playing out exactly as it had at the time, when Kouga first learned to call upon Muramasa for help. When he’d first achieved Shikai.

“I–I still feel as if I should not be witnessing this,” he admitted after a brief silence, having finally pieced the words together in his head. He tried to tune out Kouga’s voice in the background. “Given everything, is this not–something too personal to be sharing this way.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but seemed to be searching for some sort of validation nevertheless. His grip on Muramasa’s hand tightened.

“You should be dealing with this by yourself, not with – this was something for you. Not me.”

Tensa slowly lifted his head again, glancing back up at Muramasa. He couldn’t stop the wistful smile that crept over his lips.

“… he really was a persistent one, wasn’t he. It’s no wonder where you got it from.”

  Intruding, is how Tensa seemed to view it, but Muramasa couldn’t even begin to possibly see it the same way. There was much he always kept hidden, always kept quiet on. A man of secrets and deceit -- something like this would never be shared with any other soul.

  It was true that a memory such as this was meant for those properly involved, but what good was a memory once shared when there was no longer that second half to share it with? Only one remained to remember, only one was left to relive it. Even if the heart beneath his ribs ached, sank... there was still something bittersweet about it all. Enough to keep him watching and to enjoy, deep down, having another half witness the beginning of it all.

    “... I’ve dealt with far too much alone for far too long.”

  Muramasa’s voice was presented softly, quietly. Perhaps closer to that of a mumble, if anything.

    “Yes, this was something meant for Kouga and I. The beginning of our partnership... of a growing bond. I would feel the same as you should this be played the other way around.” A pause, “...however,”

  Voice trails off, allowing himself a moment to relish in the moment he can hear his name spoken in such a familiar voice. To be able to hear that first call once more, to feel that partial surge in his chest and the instinctive desire to respond; to come forth as he was asked. Lips manage to part as if wanting to do just that; to be able to speak up and call back... instead, they came together again and pursed.

  Next he speaks, there’s a waver in his tone.

    “... He’s no longer here,” There’s a gulp and a stuttered inhale, but a smile manages to be worn, regardless. “--nor would he care to recall this...”

  Before his eyes stood a young man full of such bewilderment and joy, a pure sense of accomplishment for what he had managed to achieve. Muramasa could remember so vividly that triumphant laughter, that wave of pride. The skies above the waters had brightened so beautifully that day, the reflection was breathtaking upon the waters surface, too.

          @mukojochu. / dreamscape starter.

Tensa didn’t know when the haze had effected him, only that it had; he didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, only that he was. Flashes of different scenery zoomed quickly past him – he could only catch glimpses, but never enough to know what he was looking at – and then… stopped. They faded solidly into one scene; a green field, with a few stray trees scattered about. Off in the distance, Tensa could see speckles of buildings he felt he should know, but with his head still foggy he couldn’t quite pin it.

A voice echoed out across the field, one that was familiar enough that Tensa’s breath hitched and he spun quickly around, his sword quickly materializing in his hand.

But the sight in front of him didn’t match up with what he’d expected from the voice alone.

There was Kouga, for certain, but much too young – too… innocent-faced. Not a Kouga that Tensa had ever seen through Ichigo’s eyes. Not one he’d ever expected to see. He could see Muramasa standing there, but attributed it to whatever scene was playing before his eyes – until he realized just what Kouga was saying.

          “I’m not about to give up!”

The sun was low enough in the sky that clearly whatever he “wasn’t about to give up” on had been happening for a while.

          “Not until I’ve heard your name–!”

Tensa’s brow furrowed. Ah – if Muramasa was visible in front of him, but this young spectre of Kouga was claiming to not be able to know his name… this wasn’t Kouga’s inner world. Tensa knew that much. And Muramasa shouldn’t have been able to manifest like that with no Shikai to speak of.

Tensa took a few steps to close the distance between the two of them. His free hand reached out to grab a gentle hold of Muramasa’s. It was solid; real. Too real compared to whatever else was happening around them.

“… I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

… but he was. He knew enough about this city to know it was capable of a good many things, given what had last happened in it. So… if he could think coherently enough, could remember that he had fallen asleep… was this because of the city, then?

Regardless, Tensa didn’t feel as if it was his place to witness this. It felt – overstepping a boundary, somehow.

“… my apologies for intruding, Muramasa.”

  Never had it been so easy to fall into the heavy spell of slumber. No sooner had he been aware of a strange haze did he also find himself cast in to the depths of sleep, body having grown heavy and left to rest where it had been. Yet, despite knowing he should be asleep, that he was asleep he could still think clearly. Knowing that the shift and turn of the environment was no more than the mind working to fabricate thoughts and memories, forming them like soft clay into some abomination of an experience.

  One moment he was aware of it all, then all had gone black. A split second in passing until made aware of the area he was thrust into. Every dream he managed before were something better left forgotten, yet amongst the hellscapes of nightmares rested a few worth remembering. This seemed to be one of those few.

  In fact, it did well to have him softly gasping at the realization of what now took place before him. Briefly had Muramasa attempted to interact; to outstretch a hand and grasp the young master stubbornly set in front of him. It took only a single swipe for him to quietly set aside a past yearning and to accept the reality for what it was. 

  It was nothing more than an illusion; a dream. Memories of a time of peace, of moments he would forever hold dear to an aching heart. 

  Far too entranced with the recreation of his own memories Muramasa barely noticed the other spirit until he had drawn closer. Lips parted curiously, eyes dropping to the hand that soon grasped at his own. The vision before him was something unobtainable, but the person beside him now had a solid touch. His surprise was short lived and the grasp on his hand was slowly returned as attention shifted back tot he scene that played.

    “You needn’t apologize. This is no natural sleep, nor an ordinary dream. Even if it were, I hold no qualms with your being here.”

 He could never.

“I… feel as if I would be dragged down regardless,” he mumbled in response, staring down at his feet for a moment but letting go of Muramasa’s arm nevertheless. Muramasa certainly seemed to be having much better luck than Tensa was, at least, though the bar was… not very high. In fact the bar was so low it might have as well been laying on the ground.

And–

“–oh!”

Real, genuine excitement flooded through Tensa for a moment. Muramasa was moving forward – not by much, but he was moving. Tensa’s face lit right up, his hands clapping together in a mini little applause for his husband.

“You’re doing it!”

It was the most emotion Tensa had exhibited in months, and it was over Barely Wheeling Forward On Roller Blades. It had given him the motivation to try himself, and so he slowly pushed forward–

–with much more strength in one foot than the other, he hadn’t meant to do that, his leg was slipping forward, he was–

–Tensa Zangetsu was flat on his ass on the ground.

“…ah,” came his deadpan realization. “I see.”

  All it took was the sound of a miniature applause and the excited exclamation of his progress to have a smile forming along Muramasa’s lips. Pride showing through the previously stoic, albeit somewhat irritated, expression worn just moments ago. It truly didn’t take much to spark that proud nature, now, did it? It would perhaps have grown had he taken a moment to look behind him at the smile Tensa no doubt wore, but he could hear it in tone alone and that would have to suffice.

  He needed to concentrate on where he was going and how he was proceeding, however, so he couldn’t--

    “--?”

    “Tensa, are you alri--”

  Oh, right. He couldn’t -- or rather, he shouldn’t -- look away from what he was doing.

  With the turn and shift to be able to look back behind him it was only a matter of seconds before his view on Tensa became a clear view of the floor, an audible gasp escaping a gaping mouth as arms shot out to try and catch his fall. Out went his legs behind him, quickening his plummet.

  What a short lived moment of victory.

  There’s a scowl in place of where that prideful smile once sat. Oh, no. Correction. There’s a glaring pout Muramasa has directed to the ground below him, as if it was somehow its fault instead of his own.

“Pah.”

His sword was set back down beside him on the rock, and he let his tail slowly dip back down into the water.

“It isn’t that I’m ‘wishing for a fight.’ It’s that you never know what might creep up on you the way things are lookin’ now.”

Faris held his gaze firmly on the other Siren’s claws, unable to withhold a snort in response to the gesture. Certainly their claws were longer than his, but that didn’t stop him from lifting a hand of his own to give a little flex of his fingers to show off his own, regardless. Two could play at that game or what have you.

“If you aren’t planning on snatching my body from me like those misty whatsits are, this place is just as well your own as mine for the night.”

No matter how little he might typically place faith in others, he would have to swallow that down for now. It certainly wasn’t the time for him to be acting like – well, like a princess more than a captain, unfortunately – given the circumstances of the “city” now.

It was better to have allies if you didn’t want to sink.

“Suppose if we’re about to spend the night in the same spot I may as well introduce myself.” He didn’t stick a hand out for a shake or any such thing; rather, he merely gestured at another free rock ledge in the cave, a solid spot for the other Siren to sit if they so wanted. Or they could stay in the water all night, but that hardly seemed like the safer alternative. “Name’s Faris. Looks like both of us got the same end of the stick here, aye?”

As in their forms.

He certainly assumed that they weren’t typically a Siren, at least. They had some sort of… haughty air to them. Didn’t look the type to normally be some sort of beast.

  Nostrils flared in a brief huff, remaining tense in the shoulders despite the rest of his posture growing lax. He knew better than to fully relinquish his guard, but it wouldn’t hurt to feign comfort in whatever temporary moment of reprieve he might have earned. Other denizens thrown into this mess were just as troublesome as those pesky shadow copies.

    “As if I’d have any need to do so.”

    “Though I’m loathe to admit it, I’m just as much seen as prey to them as you are. I’m only here to relieve myself from the rowdy bunch on land and that glorified forgery.”

  There had been a run in with it once so far and that singular time was enough to help paint Muramasa’s impression on it. Whatever mockery this world wished to create of him he would be having none of it. There;s an almost involuntary jerk of his tail at the thought which he used to propel himself forward, taking the rock gestured to and pulling himself upon it.

  What an absolute pain this form proved to be when wishing to perch on that of dry land. The use of an illusionary shapeshift helped in most other attempts, but it was a waste of energy here.

  Once comfortably -- as comfortable as he could get like this -- set, eyes were directed back towards his acquired company.

          @mukojochu.

“Perhaps we should… rethink this…?”

To their credit, it had sounded like a good idea… at the time. It was the sort of thing that seemed, you know. Cute. Even if it was roller and not ice skates, it was these sort of things that couples did that seemed cute. One of them would teach the other and the one learning would stumble and fall into the other one’s arms – it was cute.

Except neither of them knew what they were doing, and they’d barely gotten anywhere as everyone else zoomed by them, with Tensa clinging to Muramasa’s arm for dear life – though likely if either of them moved, they’d both go collapsing to the floor.

“What good are a series of Shunpo and our swords going to do here…”

Maybe if Muramasa had at least had his threads, they could… what, fake it or something? Cling to the rails invisibly and–well, no, Muramasa would probably find a way to fit backflips or some such in there.

And Tensa would think it was wonderful, but that was neither here nor there.

“Do–er–do you want to try going, or should I?”

But his grip on Muramasa’s arm had subconsciously tightened, which meant neither of them was going anywhere fast.

  Nothing more than a quiet hum came in response to Tensa’s question, a concentrated stare directed downward at the ‘blades’ fastened to his feet. The constant state of imbalance was far from what had been envisioned when watching countless others partake in the same activity, it appeared easier in theory.

  He had, however, discovered a way of keeping himself fairly still, bringing his feet together to point in a triangular formation. Something he’d witnessed another do, the blades seemed to halt well enough and it helped with the added weight of his husband clung so tightly to his arm.

    “Perhaps more than we are currently imagining, surely.”

  But he would be damned before turning his blade into anything similar to some walking cane, all for the sake of keeping his balance. How absurd. A Zanpakutou could do plenty and he refused to let something like this hold him back. He would learn -- they both would.

  There’s a moment taken to observe the others around them, the movements of their legs in particular. How they shifted the weight of their roller blades and what they did to catch themselves should their weight falter.

  This had sounded like a good idea... at first.

    “... I’ll attempt it. Just -- be ready to let go, I don’t wish to drag you down.”

  What worth is a Zanpakutou if they’ve no blade? It ripped away the very essence of what they were. So, bitter as he was to be stripped of all power, to have this back in his possession was well enough.

  He may even breathe a sigh of relief.

“… it’s a lot of… effort…”

“… and money…”

Ahem.

“It–it was a… decision! I’m glad you’re happy.”

    “A home takes effort to maintain. To that, I am no stranger. However, I’m content to have a place I may truly call my own, again. That, in itself, is already more than I could ask for.”

  Hmm.

@mukojochu replied to your post:

u wu

“We have to furnish it.”

“Did you…” Sigh. “Did you think about that, or did you just think, ‘oh, I get to say I live in a mansion now’?”

    “...your point?”