elibe | omamori

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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--

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[By all rights, he shouldn't have found out about Mutsu's schemes like this. He should have found out on laundry day, when the omamori tumbled out of wherever Mutsu had slipped it, when the sword on duty asked him if it was his, when he could deny it, and when the attendant at the time could reassign it. It would have been simpler that way, easier, less painful in the end.

It wasn't to be.

The mission was more difficult than anyone could have anticipated, but they didn't lose anyone, by virtue of the omamori alone. He'd thought this would be it. He'd thought he'd taste freedom, peace, the cold finality of death after so very, very long, but instead, as everything faded away, his broken sword knit itself back together and he was able to get up, use the confusion and frustration to fuel him further.

They completed their mission, but only just barely, everyone coming home in severe need of repairs, exhausted, ready to collapse.

And there he is.

There's Mutsu's stupid, cheerful face, ready to greet them, ready to welcome them home, and it's all Souza can do to summon up the last of his strength to punch him clean in the jaw as hard as he can, broken omamori clutched in his fist and thrown down to the ground in front of Mutsu after the punch connected.]

I... didn't want this...

( "Welcome back, wow, ya look like the cat dragged ya in. Gahaha."

He can recognize right away that they've clearly had a difficult battle and as serious as that is, he isn't going to make a dramatic show out of it. These guys have had hard battles before and panicking won't do any good. If he can just use a little humor to get them to move along to the already prepared repair room, that would be real nice.

What he doesn't expect at all is to see Souza's all too familiar fist flying right at his face. Despite everything, it hadn't even occurred to him that someone would have actually broken. Swords go through difficult battles all of the time. Breaking is a real concern but rare.

Mutsu hits the ground, holding his face with both hands as he let's out a loud whine, )

Aiiiiishhhhhhhhhh…! The hell was that for?!

( He feels his jaw. He moves his tongue around. No blood. All of his teeth are fine. Hah! He's getting better at this. Not bad, not bad. And then right there, on the ground in front of him, he sees the charm. It's broken and worn but he recognizes it as the omamori the sanwia had given him earlier. He looks up at Souza concerned. He wants to ask, "You broke?" But it's obvious from his reaction that he had so what comes out next is a confident (arrogant?) and casual (honest), )

Then it's a good thing I didn't listen.

( Foot, meet mouth.

Around them, another sword begins to herd the others away. "But--..." Whatever is going on is clearly between Mutsu and Souza.

Still on the ground, Mutsu rubs his jaw, )

Welcome back.

[Foot, almost literally meet mouth, because Mutsu's commentary very nearly prompts Souza to hit him again, to kick him in the face this time - maybe he'll bite his tongue, maybe he'll shut up, maybe he'll regret what he's done, but today, he's lucky. A combination of the concern clear on his face and pure exhaustion sees Souza sinking to the ground instead, having raised one foot to lash out and finding that his balance simply wouldn't hold him this time.

A mental note - hit him again, when he can, and again and again until he regrets his decision to not listen, to not respect his desires.

It was well known in the citadel what Souza Samonji wanted most, and he'd thought that Mutsu - longtime friend, companion, would understand. Perhaps he was simply too young. Perhaps he was just that stubborn. They were both being selfish.]

I thought I...

[Was finally free. Wouldn't have to come back. Could rest. Could be done with suffering. He knows he doesn't have to finish his sentence, knows that Mutsu will be able to read the tremor in his voice and the way his entire body projects defeat as clear as anything.

He draws his sword, looks down at the blade, runs fingers over the barely-repaired cracks and the damaged state it's in. He could break it again now. One hard swing against something - anything - of substance; a tree, a supporting beam of the citadel itself, anything in the forge, would shatter it again.

If he thought he could do that, he would have long ago.]

...Why?

(Souza should know better. Mutsu is never one to hold back his words. Never the type to sit quietly and just allow things to happen for the sake of happening alone. He braces himself for impact again. He'd robbed Souza of his wish the very least he can do is take some of punishment for that. Besides, what's another punch or a kick or even being stabbed? They get beat up every time they go out on these missions anyway. He can handle it.

Souza sinks down in front of him and Mutsu relaxes some, knowing he's dodged a strike.

He knows Souza. He understands him more than he should despite the two of them pointedly avoiding their fair share of personal topics. There is no secret history in a museum. As long as it's been recorded, as long as it's remembered, it's known and both have had their pasts laid out for the world to learn. He knows Souza so why would he deny his final wish?)

What's your problem? (He won't dance around it. He'll be direct.) All that time sitting around sulking 'cause you were doing nothing and now ya got a master that gives ya stuff to do and you just wanna break?

[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...

(He's unashamed of everything, reaching to pick up the worn out omamori between them, curling his fingers around it protectively. It had done its job. He'd have to thank the saniwa later.

His attention is completely on Souza, eyes bright, burning, direct as he watches him. The only time his gaze ever shifts is when Souza cuts himself, eyes moving towards Souza's hand, softening just slightly when he sees the blood, and looking back at Souza again. This is Souza. The guy that hates being sent to repairs. The guy that wants to break. He isn't going to let Mutsu help him easily, especially if he's mad,)

What? (He's being purposely obtuse to make his point.) Instead of someone else carrying ya, you're carrying yourself? You can make your own choices now and that's not good enough?

( He doesn't really understand. At least, not anymore. It was easier back when they were just display swords in a museum.

"I'd rather be of use than behind a glass case."

"If I can't fulfill my purpose, I have no reason to be here."

It didn't bother him as much. He'd accepted his time was over centuries ago. But none of that made any sense now.)

You're not behind a glass case anymore. Ya have a purpose. We have a good master. What's still the problem?

[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...

He gave this to me. ( This ofuda. ) He said I could keep it or give it to anyone so I gave it to you. ( And isn't that something? He'd made his own choice and reaped the consequences for his own action. The saniwa had no say in that decision. ) I could've done anything.

( Doesn't that prove something? He says it like it does. Like it must. It's so clear to him but then again, Mutsu's always seems to see things a little more clearly. He's also always been a good listener. Even if he can't understand something, even if he can't agree, he's always a good listener when he needs to be. He can see Souza's anger receding and he lets everything set before he speaks again. He's quiet. And then he gets up, standing up straight and tall, )

Then let's go. ( Right now. ) We'll talk to master.

We'll ask him to summon a hundred swords. ( This will absolutely happen. ) We'll forge 'em 'til we run outta room. It won't matter where they came from or what they're called. ( This is clearly the solution. ) And we'll see who's right-- if he only cares because of our names or if he cares about us.

( Mutsu. It's him. He knows it. Just like he knew Ryouma was right. )

Maybe he picked me 'cause I'm Ryouma's. He sure didn't pick me 'cause I was any good. ( Low, quiet. This is for Souza and not all of those eavesdroppers out there to hear. ) He let me fight. When I got hurt he took care of me. And he let me fight again.

If he could replace us so easily, he wouldn't have given me this. He wouldn't have told me to give it to anyone.

So get up, Souza. We're gonna see master right now. We'll fix ya up and find out if you're right or wrong.

Edited 2017-07-21 13:08 (UTC)

[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.]

( Despite his confidence, he knows better. Mutsu is as much a realist as he is an optimist. He knows the saniwa won't waste valuable resources on random swords. Those were resources that could go to repairs, to creating troops... more practical things than just proving Mutsu's point. But that's fine. If the saniwa wouldn't grand his request then he would negotiate. Aim high so you can negotiate low. Dream big but understand bigger dreams yield as much succes ad they can failure. Ryoma had never settled for the lesser dream and Mutsu wouldn't either.

Souza gets up. Mutsu reaches to help him. His hand is on his shoulder and Mutsu stops just short. What if he's wrong? He isn't (not completely). Mutsu's hand reaches for Souza's sword, a finger on the flat of the blade as he gently guides it towards Souza's side, free hand moving toward's Souza's other hand-- only so his finger can touch Souza's injured thumb. )

If you're right. If master only wants us for show and if he doesn't care if we break and if he can replace us and if he doesn't want us― ( His words are rising from his chest, up his throat, spilling from his lips carelessly and without abandon, ) ― Then I'll take you.

If master won't take care of ya then I will. If he won't fix you up then I will. If he only wants you for what you stand for then I'll want you for you.

( His heart is beating against his chest. He feels powerful, like he's just returned from a successful mission. Like he's fought a hundred battles and he can keep fighting more. Nothing can stop him, he feels, and though he hasn't raised his sword once today and though spring is long past and far away, the air is warm like a spring's day and the breeze— with the scent of fresh flowers— brings petals.

A revolutionary sword stands in front of the sword of conquerors, bold and without shame, )

So what about that, Souza? What if I want you?

[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?

( He's surprised. He was ready to argue more with Souza, the way they have in the past like arguing with a wall before agreeing to disagree and go about their way. )

Hey...

( What's going on? He leans down a bit to support Souza better and loops his free arm around Souza's waist, holding him up right as he rests. His other hand squeezes Souza's hand tightly and he's left standing there, realizing the situation he's gotten himself into this time. Souza... he's... giving himself to him right now? Right now, he's supporting Souza completely and the realization almost makes his knees buckle.

Somewhere behind them, there's a quiet gasp, a loud "shhh!," and small feet scurrying away as bigger ones herd them away for good this time. They must have been worried about what would happened and gotten a little more than they'd expected.

The air around them settles, returning to normal and after awhile, Mutsu sighs heavily, shoulders dropping some as he everything begins to fall on him, )

... Ya sure ya don't wanna go to the repair room before ya let me see ya? ( It's hard to tell if he's whining or teasing. Maybe both. He's going to need repairs still. Mutsu's no saniwa and despite his promises and his every intention to stand by them, he's still limited in what he can do. There are things only the saniwa can do, after all. But then he adds, quieter, ) Or would ya rather rest first?

( He can't fix swords, at least, not in the way the saniwa can. But a place to rest? Some time to himself before he has to drag him to repairs? He can offer that much. )

[He'd been prepared to argue, and then Mutsu had hit him with something that he hadn't expected, something that made him stop short and realize that he didn't want to argue with that.

It was a strange realization.

But Mutsu's arm is around his waist, his hand is still squeezing his tightly, he's not letting go, not retracting the offer, not... doing much of anything at all, really, but that's fine. It's calm, now, almost peaceful, even if he was tired, even if he was still angry with him for wasting the omamori.]

Mm...?

[A gasp, a shushing, feet scurrying away, and there's still no real promise of any kind of privacy, but that never really mattered in the first place. All it meant, in the end, was that several someones would give them Knowing Looks until the entire citadel knew.]

I'm sure... [Teasing-whining is normal. Teasing-whining is Mutsu. But Souza doesn't want him to let go just yet, and repairs would necessitate that.]

Rest, first... repairs when... everyone else's are done...

( Of course. He isn't surprised at all and he just sighs and turns himself a bit so he can stand next to Souza for support instead of in front of him. There's some shifting but with Souza's arm still around his neck, he holds onto his hand and hugs him close by his side. This close, he can smell the blood from the previous battle and his stomach turns the way it always does when there's blood. It must have been a difficult battle... but Souza was safe. Going behind his back to keep him safe was worth it and he's certain Sayo and Kousetsu will be relieved to see he's fine as well. )

Alright! ( He's loud, ) Let's get ya rested up then, yea?

( And he'll start to guide him towards the citadel, up the steps to the veranda, down the hall towards his room. It's wide and open, the futon having been put up earlier this morning but that can be fixed. There's only a table in the corner used to write reports, some cushions underneath, and at the end of the room, Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki on the pedestal next to the swords of his room mates.

Setting Souza down on the ground against the wall, he'll reach to take Souza's sword and set it aside for the moment. He'll start to check for injuries first, moving close to get a better look at the streaks and flecks of blood to try to find the source. )

Where're ya hurt? Ya know I can't do any of master's magic... but I can still fix ya up a bit. We'll get ya cleaned up and changed and rested in no time.

[Even if he didn't usually defer his own repairs until the others' were done, he would have this time. The omamori had brought him back from shattering, and he actually wasn't sure what was still hurt and what wasn't. He knew he was tired, and sore, and bloody, but how many wounds were still open?

So rest is more important, first. Rest, and getting cleaned up, even if Mutsu has to help him with those things.]

Mmhm.

[The walk to Mutsu's room is a long one, and pride is the only thing keeping Souza from stopping him, from asking to be carried, though once he's settled on the floor he knows he won't be getting up on his own any time soon. Still, Mutsu is close, and trying to get a better look, and all Souza can do is sigh softly and shrug.]

I... don't know what the omamori fixed...

[But it's just the two of them. It's just the two of them, and Mutsu would likely still be scandalized, but to Souza's exhausted mind, it'd just be easier for Mutsu to look and see what needed help and what didn't, and torn, bloody, flowing silk was only in the way of that. So his obi was pulled off first, and then his kimono were shoved unceremoniously off his shoulders until he ended up sitting uncovered on a wrinkled pile of bloody fabric.

He did have to change anyway, after all.]

Everything hurts, but...

[But that wasn't helpful, where Mutsu's fussing would be.]

( Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki is casual and friendly and he doesn't think about things like status or societal norms. He does what he wants, when he wants. He follows the beat of his own drum. He's shameless and as proud as he is loud.

But he's also an old fashioned sword. Souza begins to shed his clothes and Mutsu holds up his hands, )

H-hey, wait a minute...!

( But he gets it. He understands. How else is Mutsu going to check for injuries? And Souza needs a change of clothes anyway so Mutsu hovers awkwardly, hands still held up like he isn't sure if he should help or stop anymore.

It's not like he hasn't seen anyone strip down before! He goes to the baths like all of the other swords! But this is just different and when Souza is finished, he glances away. It isn't something he shows very often but he can get shy easily under the right circumstances and right now, he hadn't had a chance to prepare for any of this. He mutters something to himself about how that's one way to answer the question he'd just asked and recovers, coming closer to check.

It looks like the omamori had worked most of it's magic. Despite the blood, there aren't many injuries. Any injuries sustained after the omamori had done its job are a lot less severe than whatever had been there anyway. But just to check, he moves some of Souza's robes to from his arms to check and then reaches to brush back some of his hair to check his face and head.

As he brushes away Souza's hair, there are footsteps outside the room and he freezes, close and personal with Souza right now. In his head, he thinks about what this might look like if anyone came in. Breath held, a nervous smile forming on his face, and the footsteps pass. )

Ya look good.

( CONDITION, WISE. )

Looks like you're mostly healed so ya won't need repairs for long. Ya're probably just tired from fighting twice as hard.

[Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki is casual and boisterous and shameless, and still Souza had expected this reaction. He's old fashioned. Easily flustered - at times - and shy more often than most would expect.

But he'd also said he wanted Souza to be his, and while Souza wasn't entirely sure how one should act regarding such things, what he did know was that there was no need for hesitance when it came to intimacy. Even if that intimacy was sitting naked in someone's room while they looked after you. It wasn't that different from letting the saniwa unwrap their blades for repairs, when it came down to it.

But Mutsu is still cute about it, still overreacts, and when Mutsu gets close to inspect him, Souza lifts a hand and drops it down on top of his head, letting fingers tangle in soft, fluffy hair, scratches lightly at his scalp as though he was actually an overexcited puppy before letting his hand drop back down into his lap.

Footsteps grow louder, and the thought of someone finding them like this is... well. It's clear it has Mutsu flustered, and Souza is almost painfully indifferent to the assumptions. They'd see them or they wouldn't. They'd think things or they wouldn't. They'd have heard the gossiping from the tantou who had seen them earlier or they wouldn't have. It didn't matter. He was Mutsu's, and it might take a while to ask if Mutsu would be his, too, but the sentiment still lingered in the back of his mind. That was what mattered.

So he leans forward just enough to bump his forehead against Mutsu's once the footsteps pass and he speaks again, nearly needs to put his foot right in his mouth.]

You... wouldn't mind cleaning me up... so I can sleep... would you?

[Definitely tired.]

( He can't help but lean into Souza's hand just a bit-- only the slightest bit. He doesn't even realize he's doing it but he's always been like this-- affectionate, craving for attention and touch. But the moment is short and passes quickly until he's left just holding his breath as he waits for the footsteps to pass and everything is fine and good and... )

Right...

( His voice trails slightly, just the smallest bit, like something else is on his mind but he focuses quick enough. He's close. He's really, really close but is quickly up and away, dashing out of the room in the direction of the medic's room. It's not like he actually keeps things like bandages and clean rags in his room so he needs to get them. He's only gone for a little while but he feels like he's taking too long.

When he returns, he has some clean rags, a first aid kit he's clearly borrowed from Yagen inside a bowl, and behind him is Midare, with another bowl and a pitcher of water. He sets up in front of Souza, Midare setting the bowl next to him and pouring water into it. He lingers, asking Mutsu if he's sure he doesn't need any help and Mutsu insists he's fine, thanking Midare with a warm smile, reaching to ruffle the tantou's hair and telling him to go check on his injured brother.

Alone again, Mutsu wets the cloth and begins to wipe at the blood on Souza's face. )

I'm not sorry, ya know. ( That he'd gone behind Souza's back to save him. ) I'd do it again.

( It's quiet work as he focuses on getting Souza clean-- first his face and then his collar and

His eyes glance down at the brand on his chest. Without a word or another glance, he wipes at the drops of blood around it and continues his work. It's just a brand. Like his own scar, it's nothing worth mentioning. )

[The moment - being close, really close - seems to stretch on forever, and... that's fine. Souza finds himself thinking that if they could just stay like this, in the calm of the night and the calm of coming back safely from a dangerous mission - but only just barely - then perhaps being saved would be alright.

It stretches on forever and ends too soon, with Mutsu up and away, dashing off to the medic's room, leaving Souza to his thoughts.

They're not pleasant, as they rarely are. He finds himself thinking how he'd still have rather died out there, even if some good had come out of Mutsu's scheming. If he had, then the omamori could have been used on someone who deserved it, on the saniwa's favorite, or on someone like Sayo or Yagen or Oodenta - valuable members of the citadel, whether by strength or knowledge or both. Not him. Not him, who had already lived too long, cheated death too many times and yet still wanted it to come. He'd cheated it again, today. He was lucky that the repairs didn't involve fire or reforging again.

He's lost in melancholy when Mutsu returns, Midare in tow, and at the sound of the door sliding back open, he looks up, startled for only the briefest moment, before offering them both a tired not-quite-smile, thanks Midare as he's shooed away, relaxes again as Mutsu settles in front of him, sets to work scrubbing the blood away.]

I know... [Both that he's not sorry and that he'd do it again.] I... wish you hadn't...

[Mutsu continues lower. Souza shifts ever so slightly every so often to bare more skin for him, watching idly as the water slowly grew pink and the cloth grew stained. Another inconvenience he'd caused. For once, there's a touch to his brand and he doesn't give it a thought, though, with how nonchalant the work had been and continued to be. But then, this was Mutsu. He knew. He knew, and knew Souza would give the same lack of consideration to his scar, were their positions reversed.]

( It's quiet work as he's focused on more important things in the front of his mind. He's never liked it. He's never liked blood and he doesn't like it on Souza right now. It helps that Souza is making it easy to take care of him right now.

Souza speaks and Mutsu's eyebrows knit together, a frown on his face. He doesn't say anything at first-- entirely focused on the task at hand for the time being-- but when he's coming to a close and almost finished, )

I don't get ya one bit sometimes. ( He doesn't even pretend to hide how frustrated he sounds. He's finished cleaning what he can without dumping Souza right into a fresh bath and he stops before he goes to get a change of clothes. ) All that time sitting around wishing ya'd be useful and now ya gotta chance and all ya wanna do is break.

All that time thinking how nice it is to have a master that cares for ya and now ya have one and ya don't care at all.

( It's the same conversation he'd snapped at Souza earlier. The same thing still driving him crazy with the contradictions. He squeezes out the water, forcing all of his frustrations out in the rag instead of at Souza. )

And what d'ya think'll happen if ya die? D'ya think about all the people who'd care if ya went away? Not if they'd understand but if they'd care?

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