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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


( 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#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.]
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[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?
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[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-08-18 04:16 am (UTC)(link)
[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.]


[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...
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[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-08-18 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
[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.]


[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.]
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[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-08-21 05:59 am (UTC)(link)
[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.]
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[personal profile] thriceunified 2017-08-23 07:32 am (UTC)(link)
[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.]