#akaigeta

It’s funny--after all that’s happened, so little yet more than it ever should have--it is Imanotsurugi he seeks first.

...Except, it is not so much seek as it is find, and not so much find as it is simply drawn to. Glimpses of red guide him, from a girl’s red dress to a parked red car, from the red apple in a fruit stand to the red of a lit lantern, until finally, he catches sight of red geta. They’re as familiar as old temples and older mountains, even if they have grown much smaller than he once knew them to be.

❝ We used to be very good friends; Imanotsurugi and I. ❞

❝ Our masters were very close; brothers, of course, Lord Yoritomo and Lord Yoshitsune. Imanotsurugi seemed just as eager to meet my Lord as his master. A day to remember, that was. There were tears falling from both Lord Yoshitsune’s and my own brother’s eyes. And there was Imanotsurugi, small and adorable as I remember. I have never had anything against him, nor I have any now. But he… He seems to have grown bitter of me.

It’s understable, of course, after what my Lord has done to his beloved and only master. But I think Imanotsurugi is a bit spoiled, if I have any rights to say so. He’s a sword, and while he was meant to protect Lord Yoshitsune, he served him until the very end – even if it came to the point he had to take his master’s life. But that’s the life a tantou has to live. They should always expect the worst, and know that it’s their duty to deliver their master a honorable death.

But it makes me feel like Imanotsurugi is looking down on the situation. He gives off the feeling that he would like to go back in time and change the outcome that was Lord Yoshitsune’s seppuku. But wouldn’t that take away his honor, and give him shame instead?

Imanotsurugi is just a child. He doesn’t seem to understand what the real world is like. ❞

Under the looming buildings of the cityscape the warrior pauses, wooden blade bouncing against her leg and pork bun halfway to her mouth - her eye caught by a flash of lustrous silver and ruby red belonging to someone... well. Rather small.

A child, in a place like this? Saya’s unable to look away, vaguely disquieted by the boy until she can pin her feelings on what it is that bothers her: his garb, which gave her the impression of having been tailored from a time not too distant from when she was born, and his eyes, gleaming with the color her own took on when fueled by blood in the heat of battle. 

She looks away from them quickly, focusing instead on the spot behind him.

          But memories of times of glory & power weren’t at all forgotten; memories of several spirits together for as long as it had lasted, memories of his brother, finally reunited with him, and someone else... A small tantou, wasn’t he? A sword said to protect his master, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, and yet...

          And yet.

          ❝ Ah, Imanotsurugi, was it not? It truly has been a long time since I saw you. I hope you’ve been faring well? ❞ Memories were a tricky thing, and Higekiri could only hope they didn’t play tricks on the tantou.

“Excuse me. Which way leads out of the city?” 

Elsa stood a good five feet away as she called to the stranger, hoping he could shed light on how to navigate the labyrinth of a city. For no matter how far she trekked, the roads turned back and tall buildings obscured the skylines. There seemed to be no easy escape from this unnerving place.

       The only memories from his hometown & birth place was the district the youkai had been assigned to.

       It’s an unwelcoming feeling, and it’s something that is not well welcomed. Leaving Mountain Kurama has always been one of his fears; to be apart from everything he has always known, his homeplace, his lair. He expects, of course, to be back -- someday, one day. Surely Sojobo-sama would not let one of his Tengus go missing; although he wasn’t one to be amidst his children, they all knew perfectly well how protective the King was.

       But it’s weird -- how slowly, slowly and painfully, things that surrounded his company back home were now with him. Or, better said, things that used to surround him, things that left because they could, things that left because they had a path to take, and now, they reconnected again. After years, decades, centuries; after so long that one would’ve forgotten face, sound; but all of it was too hard to forget.

       Like the color of his hair, long, silky, a bright, soft shade of pink. Like the color of his eyes; red as the blood that flowed through the veins of his master. Like his voice, once deeper & able to send chills down anyone’s spine, but now soft & gentle and enthusiastic like he remembers from when he left, bidding his family -- that’s what he liked to call them -- farewell and, he remembers, how the red of his eyes were so delicate and small and wet because it was hard to say goodbye when one knew there was a chance they’d never see each other again.

       But he doesn’t remember it, nor he knew the reason tears were falling, because being reforged & made into a shorter sword came with the possibility of forgetting.

       ❝ Imano... Imanotsurugi...-dono... ❞ And it hurts; like would a blade through his skin, through his heart, through the years behind them that were only a memory, only an once upon a time. ❝ It’s-- I-- How-- ❞ I missed you.