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Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki (陸奥守吉行) | Ryusei Sakamoto ([personal profile] tosa) wrote in [community profile] elibe2017-07-21 12:57 am

omamori

( Mutsunokami's name is the first on the assignment board at the citadel. On the board with all of their assignments and chores, Mutsunokami's name is at the very top. )

Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki - Attendant

( Being the attendant sword, he'd found himself with a whole new set of responsibilities. It's nothing new for him. This is hardly his first time being chosen. One could probably even argue he was chosen this time because he'd proven himself so many other times. He's a rambunctious and troublesome spirit but when given responsibility, he always steps up. His room is lit late into the night as he writes up reports and oversees inventory. While he seems to casually help the saniwa assign duties to the other spirits, you can't deny that he's not bad at picking those who work well together. He remains by the injured who are stuck in repairs for days on end and he keeps the smith company as they wait for a new comrade to come.

But early in the week, things are clearly different. He leaves the saniwa's room, holding a blessed omamori carefully in his hand. So this was for him to decide to keep or give away? He holds it up and thinks carefully, looking over the tantou playing in the garden and then at the assignment board that shows which swords are due to head out soon. That was when he got his first idea.

Souza was the first person he asked.

"Do you want this?" Souza didn't even have to speak. The look he gave Mutsu was enough and Mutsu just laughed, "Yeah, I guess it was a stupid question." And that was it. Issue dropped.

When morning came for them to head out, it was only natural Mutsu would see them off. There was always a speech before these things and his words are ready-- he's used to this. "Come back safe. Don't do anything stupid. Keep outta trouble. There are people waiting for you here at home."

Later that night, as the oil burns in the lamp next to him, Mutsu thinks, "He'll be mad if he finds out." Because Souza would be mad if he found out Mutsu had some how snuck the omamori onto him anyway.

Time passes and when it's time for the unit to return home, Mutsu heads out to greet them.
)

Welcome home--
thriceunified: (pic#9789611)

[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-07-21 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
[Deep down, he does know better. He knows that Mutsu would never hold back his words, knows he would do everything he can to see to it that the best outcome - as far as he's concerned - comes to be. He knows Mutsu will be expecting a punishment that doesn't come.

And he knows Mutsu knows him, and still denied him the one thing he's ever said he wanted.

There could never have been any secrets between them, not really, not with them both sitting in the same museum, hearing the same histories repeated over and over, not with them sitting by and doing their best to calm restless nights, taking decades to get good at it.

Mutsu's logic is simple, straightforward, so very, very him, to the point where Souza has trouble finding the words to argue with him. So he sighs, keeps running his fingers over his damaged blade until he cuts open his thumb, the quick jerk back of his hand the only indication it wasn't intentional.]


You... must know... this isn't at all the same...
thriceunified: (pic#9715264)

[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-07-21 07:56 am (UTC)(link)
[It had done its job. It could have done its job for someone more deserving of its power, someone who would appreciate a second chance.

He can feel Mutsu's gaze on him, and that much doesn't bother him. It's Mutsu. There was very little that had gone unshared between them. His attention didn't bother him, even if his own gaze was cast to the ground, clouded over, a shade away from simply giving up, the spark of anger still burning in him the only thing keeping him going, keeping an argument.]


I... can't make my own choices now... can I? We still... belong to the saniwa, we still go where they tell us... do what they ask of us... right?

[Mutsu is right, though - they have a purpose again, they have a good master. He can't expect him to understand.]

They don't... care about us, Mutsu... they... care about our history, our... past masters... If... they cared about us, they... wouldn't have summoned me at all... right? I'm... not as strong as anyone else here... I've been shortened and burnt and reforged... but I'm the symbol of conquerors... that's what they want... You're Sakamoto Ryoma's treasured sword... What... about those of us who... never had names... or famous masters... they'll never be brought here... right?

[A sigh, quiet and defeated, as anger diffuses into something low and simmering, still present, but overcome - for the moment - with melancholy.]

Our master... doesn't want me here... they want... what I stand for... if I break, they'd just... someone someone else in my place...
thriceunified: (pic#9624809)

[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-07-22 07:54 am (UTC)(link)
[He could have done anything. The decision of who to give the omamori to was entrusted to Mutsu, and he'd chosen him. While that fact alone does spark a little bit of warmth in his chest, he can't be overly happy about it - it had taken his one wish away from him, and if their master truly cared about collecting important swords, they wouldn't give him another chance to die.

He was certain this was it, he'd be put in storage from now on.]


You... should've given it to someone else...

[Anyone else. Someone who had been slow to come home, who the master was excited to see. Or he should have kept it, as a favored attendant. Someone - anyone - their saniwa would have been sad to see go. Not him, who fought recklessly, ready to die, but unwilling to go down easily. Not him, who wasn't particularly good at anything at all.

But Mutsu stands. Speaks with the kind of conviction that Souza knows there's no arguing with, and that alone makes him push himself to his feet. He'll go. They'll - Mutsu will - speak to their master. They'll see who's right, in the end.

It's him. Their saniwa won't waste time and space and resources on nameless swords on Mutsu's whim to prove wrong a useless sword who wasted an omamori. The world didn't work that way.

But Mutsu could hope.]


But... you've proven yourself...

[Darker days in the past saw them laughing bitterly about being a pair of useless, no-good swords. Now, albeit with gun in hand, Mutsu had embraced his new purpose where Souza had rejected it, bitter and untrusting.]

He... trusts you... for some reason... [And he moves to lightly punch Mutsu's shoulder, ends up gripping it instead in some strange combination of fondness and being more tired than he thought.]

Mutsu... what if you're wrong...?

[As convinced as he is of his own conclusions, he still doesn't want to see Mutsu hurt like that, in the end.]
thriceunified: (pic#10210275)

[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-08-17 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
[The saniwa won't waste valuable resources on random swords, nameless swords without histories, without experience, who would need more training, more help than any of them could provide. They needed those resources for repairs, for troops, for other swords that the time government sent word to the citadel about being... available, about their spirits being able to be summoned, now. Mutsu's point would go unproven, but that wasn't to say that Souza's wouldn't, too.

He knew he was right.

He didn't want to be proven wrong just as much as he hated the idea of being proven right.

But Mutsu speaks, he keeps speaking, and the light breeze that kicks up carries with it the scent of flowers. Petals drift by and get caught in his hair, blending in where they didn't stand out starkly against streaks of blood. Mutsu speaks, and Souza listens, considers, lets the implications sink into him.

A revolutionary sword stands before the sword of conquerors and succeeds in toppling his resolve.

This must have been akin to what people felt like when Ryoma spoke to them of his dreams. Must have been, because Mutsu is confident and convincing.

It's one thing to have a master who - supposedly - loved you, who supposedly loved a veritable army of important, noteworthy swords, who Souza had always doubted could spare the thought to truly care about them all as individuals instead of as what they represented - or, worse, as soldiers in his army. It's another thing entirely to have someone speaking confidently, casting aside title and picking up... him. Not the symbol of conquerors, but just Souza Samonji.

The hand on Mutsu's shoulder slides back and the arm loops around his neck as Souza very, very nearly collapses into his chest. He's too tired for this. He grips Mutsu's hand tightly, where he'd reached out and touched the self-inflicted injury. He sighs, bends, presses his head to his chest and listens to his heart beat like he'd been the one to have just returned from the mission.

And he gives in.]


Alright... If... you want me, then... I suppose... I'll have to let you care for me... won't I?