#monkeymaeda

There. Everything that could possibly hold him back, buried. The unlucky donor of yard space to dump such cliché keepsakes wouldn’t applaud the several holes dug into their yard, and certainly not the face that thought it was the best idea to come here and unload their belongings without asking. Unless they had children, since that’d give them something to do: dig up all the “treasures” buried throughout the ground and do whatever they want with them. That’d be the hopeful circumstance, but the odds were slim.

As he finished, the young male wiped his drenched face using his charcoal black coat (he probably brought the heat on himself wearing that), satisfied to not have such junk cluttering his pockets. Just looking at the things made him nostalgic and a bit…teary eyed. Fighters in the Last Ranker tournament wouldn’t last a day staring into the needless past and not the endless future. As Last Ranker, you were to be granted fame and fortune, two things humans lusted for. He actually didn’t care for the prize, mostly knowing he could wear the title of strongest acted as a motivator.

And thus, to keep the streak strong, getting rid of your weakness was key. His horrible weakness tied to the past, which led to the desire of becoming Last Ranker. The boy’s good friend, Faz, also entered the tournament, so he couldn’t completely forget what he left behind, but most of it had the ability to be buried and forgotten. Someone would enjoy the stuff, make good use of it, and everyone ended up happy. That or an animal dug it up and chewed on the more metallic objects and hurt itself. Not his fault if they mistook a knife for a chew toy.

“What’cha doing, Mago?” A semi-familiar vagabond snuck up behind him, calling out of curiosity. 

Mago, actually called Zig in this form, froze as though he got spotted burying a dead body. There was certainly “evidence” possibly pinning him to such a crime: he brought a sword, a shovel, and gloves with him after all. The last two items were harmless, but a hunk of deadly metal? Who would need that when burying inanimate objects? Still, Keiji hardly ever suspected the worst out of him, so he relaxed and patted the dirt of his newest hole.

“Burying things.” Zig stated plainly, “I don’t need this anymore, so I got rid of it.”

Keiji didn’t respond with words; he gave a slight nod of the head to show he was listening. His eyes focused on the most recent hole, bending down to admire Zig’s handiwork. The hole had to be shallow by the feel of it, but that didn’t stop his strange husband from throwing the most amount of dirt on top of his buried item and secure the thing until he dug it up…IF he dug it up.

“What are you burying?” Keiji somewhat pre-regretted asking, seeing that pained expression of obviously not wanting to share on Zig’s face.

“…Just an old keepsake. It was collecting lint in my pocket.” His answer actually remained truthful and avoided the actual name without tipping to a lie, “An old friend gave it to me when we were kids. It’s hard enough seeing his face in the tournament, so I took my precautions.”

Keiji stared at the underground keepsake, possibilities of what it could be running through his head. A tiny part of him urged he dig it up and see what could be so horrible that Zig had to bury it, though the other was concerned digging up Zig’s possessions would upset him and the ranker already had problems to begin with. He simply shook his head and decided to leave Zig’s things alone – for his husband’s sake.

“If you want to see it, I won’t stop you.” Zig piped up, handing Keiji his shovel, “They’re not mine anymore, so anyone who digs up these holes can keep the items.”

Keiji mounted the shovel into the dirt, contemplating should he go through with digging up Zig’s former belongings and learn more about him. He already barely spoke a full sentence during a conversation, and even less if he’s prompted to start one. Just confronting him couldn’t bring back acceptable results, and his old keepsakes could shed some light on his past. But…was it right to be so nosy and disregard Zig’s feelings?

“…I don’t need to see it.” The vagabond told both himself and Zig, “You already said what it is, so I’ll leave it be.”

Keiji’s response lifted his spirits, a faint smile gracing those pained features. If he could resist sparing a glance at his past, so could Zig. It might start a thousand needles stabbing his heart, but time would pluck them out one by one. And soon, his wish of just becoming Last Ranker Zig instead of Long-Suffering Zig Kraft would be in arm’s reach. All left to do is defeat the current Last Ranker and steal his title. Although half the battle was finding this mystery being.

“Keiji? You…don’t have to stay out here. I’ll be fine. Just have a few holes to check.” Zig shooed him to leave.

Keiji, somewhat regrettably, left Zig as he commanded. Testing his patience could be deadly, carrying that sword of his and the troubled aura. Everything began by trusting your partner, and he’d trust Zig now. Strange form or not, he was the womanizing, secretive, lazy man he came to love. Zig’s bitter personality wouldn’t hinder this as long as he had a say.

As Keiji left his eyesight, Zig broke to a panic and rushed to a hole much farther from the home than the others. A large oak tree hid the hole from plain sight at a “normal” view. You couldn’t see the hole unless you were the tree directly at its back. Impulse drove him to take precautionary measures hiding…it. Dare he speak the name of it, surely he’d want it back.

Of all the things Zig gave up, one thing stuck to his mind.

Without subconsciously knowing what he was doing, Zig dug out the hole before he ever felt himself touch the shovel. Covered in dirt was a small teddy bear custom made for a newborn child. The bear’s fur, made of soft fleece, endured a war from the looks of it, bits dyed dirt brown and red aside from its original dark cream.  Two black marbles mimicked eyes, and it forever wore a sadly memorable smiling face. 

Zig’s mother, who he hadn’t seen since he was one years old, gave it to him on his first birthday. A week later, this teddy bear served as his last memory and item from his mother. Zig’s father constantly fixed the teddy bear, since animals found it to be a tasty snack, much against Zig’s love for the bear. As a result, it could also be as a reminder of his departed father. Just thinking about his father summoned a rainstorm, and carrying a reminder of him seemed childish.

Childish…he must be a child then, grabbing the testament of his forgotten childhood and squeezing the life out of it. What common sense not suppressed by the nostalgia screamed for him to rebury the thing and forget about it. But…he couldn’t. Knowing someone could take the teddy bear and harm it…nothing measured as worse. Not even his own death.

With a calm breeze flowing through a crack in the door, Motonari had fallen asleep mid-read. His favorite calligraphy brush dripped ink on one of his coat sleeves, a sizable book in the hand not slowly swimming in ink. Reading constantly wasted time in short bursts; he’d go days without sleep and not realize a single day passed. No one stopped the laid-back warlord, as his retirement left him endless opportunities to spend his time minus planning war strategies and conquering land.

Serperior, Motonari’s sworn protector who resembled a long grass snake, monitored the door as his master snored away. Takamoto visited occasionally to deliver messages, check on his father’s health, and your typical childish worries. Anyone else possibly visited once and disappeared from the face of Greenleaf. Sometimes the solitude brought a plaguing loneliness, though Motonari had Serperior and could easily beckon his son for a while.

Footsteps creaked on the wooden step near the door, alerting Serperior to cry out and address the possible threat. Motonari hadn’t woken up and rolled to the opposite position, meaning he’d be close to useless for the moment.

“Just me, buddy!” The voice called cheerfully; Serperior recognized the sound of this person and opened the door using its long tail.

Keiji Maeda, a wandering vagabond who valued love and bonds above his own ambitions, also regularly visited Motonari for various reasons. The main reason, no doubt, had to be Motonari wasn’t who he appeared to be. In reality, a spell from a mysterious gray-faced figure transformed Magoichi Saika, a lady-flirting gunman, into the calmer and reserved Motonari Mori.

The conditions concerning the spell-breaker left a churning in Magoichi’s stomach: marriage. It wouldn’t be so hard to finish if the decision weren’t so…involving as a better term. Considering this would be marriage, a bond between a couple meant to preserve love till “death do us part.” Considering he died twice in the past, he wouldn’t stay down for a third death. …Oh the cruel jokes Lady Luck treated him to.

Keiji entrance alerted Serperior, though he returned to watchdog duty after their visitor entered the room. Motonari’s right glove dyed itself black from the ink pile spreading and seeping in his clothes. The previous book mountain behind the sleeping historian toppled over at the movement of the door; Motonari’s lower half couldn’t be seen through the binders and pages of numerous tomes, drabbles, etc.

“Magoichi!  Come on, you’ll be buried with your books if you don’t wake up!” Keiji called, lightly shaking the drowning Motonari.

He groaned, rising from his book-infested grave and (by pure chance) rubbed his eyes with the non-inked glove. Speaking of which, Motonari noticed the spilt ink and fixed the large blotches that would be absorbed initially without further work. Keiji covered his mouth and concealed a low chuckle, certainly amused by the flustered older man.  

“I apologize Keiji…I do not remember falling asleep, or that the sun had risen.” Motonari bowed in apology, “But may I ask  what reasons you have for visiting me today?”

Keiji suddenly grew the smile of ten Serperiors, rummaging through his pocket without breaking his gaze. Did he lose something leaving his room or the Mori clan in general? Takamoto constantly monitored his position, and forbade anything from stealing his father from the Mori territory; no reasons could be so important past his father’s safety. Rarely, Motonari escaped during the later hours by having a servant distract Takamoto or pour sleeping powder in his drinks.

Keiji’s mystery item was a sparking silver ring Motonari couldn’t recognize. The sun’s rays reflected against the ring, glittering like miniature stars. Seems like his friend bought him a gift while out traveling Japan. Hopefully Takamoto wouldn’t be paranoid and steal the gift out of fear. Older he may be, but defenseless far-fetched.

“Don’t you walk out on me this time…” Keiji blurted out, changing positions to kneeling right in front of Motonari, ring directly in sight.

“…Walk out?”

“Saika Magoichi! Will you marry me?”

Motonari paused, comprehending what he swore he heard Keiji say. That was an official proposal, correct? Not a convincing daydream?  Why would he ask such a thing? He missed a strong point long ago, most likely a session before this curse was inflicted on him. Curse described the transformation better; he lost track the amount of days he stayed as Motonari.

“I…er…I um…” Motonari struggled to complete an actual answered. A large portion of him, the normal side, wished nothing more than to accept immediately. Still, a fraction of his mind and heart denied this for the sake of himself, Keiji, and a certain recent letter writer who almost cost him a cup of tea. Could be betray either one of them for the other?

…No. He’d seen the results of choosing a person’s love over another’s. Fighting, betrayal…were they worth a possibly temporary commitment? Remaining as Motonari stopped bothering him after so much time elapsed as the warlord of Greenleaf. Motonari’s body could fit his clothes when in doubt; he sure missed his coat and iconic ribbon.

“I can’t…” Motonari replied, staring down the floor.

“You…can’t?” Keiji repeated, sounding shocked and disappointed.

“I can’t marry you, Keiji. Committing to someone…I would be fooling myself and everyone around me. Please…I hope you understand where I am coming from.”

Keiji fell silent and adjusted to a more comfortable position. He tried smiling, not that you couldn’t see the sheer disappointment in his eyes and demeanor. It pained him to stare at his friend, almost broken inside for refusing a heart-felt proposal without a real satisfactory answer. …Such is a fool’s fate, destroying those close to him.

“…If you would please excuse me for a few minutes, I have an urgent matter to attend to.” Motonari moved past Keiji and headed to a spare room not far from his own. It could be considered a guest room, as the place had nothing except a bed and a wind chime. Motonari’s private quarters were different by the amount of books swallowing what would be flooring and an actual room and not a book dungeon.

Seperior (he refused to leave Motonari’s side) held the door shut by Grass Knotting the edges together, effectively acting as a lock easily cut by a Leaf Storm or Leaf Blade. Other than Fire Pokémon, there wouldn’t be any opening this door. Not without Serperior’s approval.

Motonari wiped his wet face, sniffling and breathing deeply before he completely lost his composure. His emotions were winning the battle; a few tears broke through his defense. More and more slipped past, and the situation deteriorated where he began sobbing uncontrollably. Serperior sensed his distress and loosely coiled against Motonari’s lower half, nudging his face to wipe the tears.

It sucked. Being a stone’s throw away from home and inevitably never greeting your father a last time? Even an emotionless shell of a dying man felt a shred of sadness. He suffered from a gunshot wound piercing a spot on his heart, blood leaking through the hole where the bullet swept clean through. This man rivaled his own talents; the mystery shooter shot a moving target with perfect accuracy, and he’d walk away hands clean. Lady Luck must’ve chosen a new favorite.

With his heart losing its beat rapidly, he was reduced to scaling the various trees outside the Saika Village, arms extended to percept gaps between barks. Bloodshot eyes were just about useless in the aspect of their normal function, thus sound and touch were the last tools at his disposal. However, as time went on, just the thought of taking a step became painful, and the actual motion increased the pain tenfold. A sad way to die indeed.

But the saddest thing of all? He’d die alone.

He was born alone.

The majority of his life was spent alone.

And to top it off, this journey would end just as it began: alone.

There weren’t any objects concerning the trivial matter. Renegades chose the path of loneliness to keep food on the table, and possibly meet a few others like them on the road. And by meeting these people, the world wouldn’t be as unaccepting as the start of the path. He’d know that first-hand. Assisting the “unpopular” lords created bonds with those you might see once or twice in your lifetime, but even spotting a breathing human meant a lot.

 Speaking of breathing, he wasn’t having the best time completing the most essential and easiest task in life. The extra blood his heart leaked both inside and outside his body was clotting in random areas and blocking arteries as a result. To think, a single shot completely destroyed his entire existence…and this would all happen without a single person knowing. He’d leave this world breaking a promise, a morbid one, but a promise no less. Considering what little words he could speak, what could he change?

Collapsing onto the soft, recently red-tinted grass, the sounds of another’s footsteps met his ears. Sounds of an armored boot rang through the silence, stopping as it approached him. Their master stood there frozen; was it someone who knew him? Everything looked a shade of red and blurry; he couldn’t make out his own hands in front of his face.

 “Hey there…how’re ya?” He greeted, doing his best to smile.

Whoever hovered over him grunted, clicking his tongue in distaste. They stepped closer, kneeling down to meet him at an eye level. Right away he noticed the eye patch covering his right eye, driving his muddled thoughts to speculate who this person might be. The two people he knew who wore an eye patch were his lord, Masamune, and his much taller counterpart who hated his very fiber, Date. This man (ladies weren’t so tall, so it had to be a man observing him) matched his height, so…

“Da…te?”

 “Yeah.” Date replied, gaze narrowing, “I found these thugs talking their prey of the day and I followed your trail here.” He then stifled a laugh, almost seeming amused instead of worried, “You sure know how to up and disappear, Mago. I probably wouldn’t be here if Keiji wasn’t hounding me ‘bout how you suddenly went missing.”

…Keiji was worried? Hmm. He misjudged the actions he took preceding the events that led up to him taking a bullet. Though considering the time they spent together and the sights they shared, any sort of prolonged absence left seeds of doubt in their wake. Doubts aside, why was Date the one to come searching for him?  If Keiji got himself wondering where he left, why didn’t he investigate himself? …Magoichi’s mind couldn’t organize his thoughts anymore. All of his thoughts together were like a puzzle missing hundreds of pieces.

“Ha…figures. He’s such…” The word he wanted to say refused to come out; he let that sentence hang, “Well…at least…I kept…our promise…right?”

Date scowled, his hand instinctively grabbing the hilt of his top left “claw.” Oshu’s Hittou wished the bloody promise he made with Magoichi wouldn’t need to be fulfilled too soon, but he was powerless. No amount of medical attention had a chance of saving Mago after losing vast amounts of blood and the remaining drops clotting to worsen his condition. The crow’s salvation rested on a swift and painless end; a thing their promise ensured.

“Before I hold up my end, something’s bugging me. Why’d you ask me to kill you?” Date asked, hardly understanding Magoichi’s logic, “If you wanted one of your enemies to kill you, why not pick one closer and save me the trouble?”

 Magoichi burst out laughing before his laugh turned into a blood-filled coughing spree; Date stood rooted on the spot. He recovered his breathing after a few more coughs, clearing throat to speak, “’Cause I wanted two things. First, I wanted to die with at least someone I know who doesn’t completely despise me around. At the same time, I wanted this person to hate me enough so he couldn’t care if they killed me. Sounds like you, right?”

 Talking so fluently tore at his lungs, depleting the limited amount of air left inside. Breathing heavily barely gathered the oxygen required to take another breath, and the frequent coughs interrupted the breaths he prepared. If Magoichi wasn’t lying before a “friend,” he’d be crying or screaming out of fear of dying a second time. He once cheated death by enlisting the aid of the Goddess Kaguya, but she left years ago. This time, death meant a permanent end.

…And he couldn’t be any gladder.  

“Date…” Magoichi lifted his head, meeting Date’s lone blue eye, “I’ve got…one last favor.”

“Spit it out.”

“Please…apologize…to Masamune…and Keiji…for me.” A hand shielded his face for a pretty obvious reason, “They’ll be…so pissed…if I don’t…y’know?”

“Hah!” Date smirked, drawing a single blade as Magoichi, without plainly saying, requested, “You’re really somethin’, you know that? Alright, if it makes you happy turning me into your slave in the afterlife, I’ll humor ya one last time. If I meet you in hell a day later, you’ll be greeted by more than one of the Dragon’s Claws next time.”

Date raised his drawn sword, creating a clear path from above his own head to Mago’s neck. Magoichi stood as still as he could, occasionally jerking forward as he coughed his lungs out. His hand shook when he thought what’d be the result of his next move, yet there’s no backing down. Letting a comrade die slowly and painfully wasn’t what leaders did, even if they weren’t men from their clan. 

 “See you in hell, Magoichi.”

Snrk!

~~~~

Riding through the snowy weather of Oshu, Date found it difficult to stop scowling. He “lost” his claw during the trip back home, and turning around and heading back to Sakai was a fool’s action. In the place of an old promise, Date acquired a new one, and from the same idiot who entered his life as fast as he left.