THE DILIGENT STRUM of the koto had whisked Onikiri away from the subject at end between Yorimitsu and the officials as they sat there, only the thin paper screen separating the entry to the courtyard where just across the way his lord’s wife played before her attendants in her own confined room of the estate. He felt the ethereal notes pluck his heart higher and higher from his immortal coil until the sudden shift of fabric snapped the tsukumogami to attention - so quick was his reaction that not even a fly might have flown past him and been safe from his cut.
In unison, he rose beside them, head bowed respectfully as the officials gave Yorimitsu an appropriate show of gratitude for giving him their time, limited as it was. No doubt Onikiri could sense the itching desire to move on to his next conquest just being in the same proximity; the never ending ambition, the thirst for his ultimate achievement: peace in the Heian-Kyo.
❝ and him, my lord ? Does this vassal of the Minamoto clan even know the bushido ? ❞
This made a bright eye lift sharply, the other closed tight as a seal, settling upon one heavy set kuge with his patchwork beard and mustache and criticizing stare. Yet the warrior’s lips remained pressed tight, poignantly and obediently so until Yorimitsu ushered them away from the room -- the officials merely earning a curt but still respectful bow in farewell from Onikiri, then the casual rest of a hand on the hilt of his blade before they were gone.
❝ Master. ❞ He murmured upon his turned back, bowing low this time and letting his gaze drift from snow white hair to dark stained cherrywood, as he awaited his next order. The koto’s last note struck too high, off key.
🗡️ @onibind liked.
