Mugen sauntered down the street, smirking as people changed direction when they caught sight of him. Everything about him seemed to make people nervous-his wild hair, unusual clothing, the scar dividing his right eyebrow, even his voice. And of course, the blue tattoos on his arms and legs. He tried not to think of the day he had acquired those….
He had been coiling ropes and tying down cargo as the boat prepared to cast off. There weren't many supply ships plying the route between Ryukyu and Japan and it had taken him a while to find a captain willing to take him on, but he had finally gotten a berth. He hadn't been happy, exactly-he couldn't remember ever being actually happy, but he was looking forward to getting away from the prison island. He finished checking the rigging and started to go below when a squad of guards came on board for a final inspection.
They poked around, prying open boxes and peering below deck, then one of them recognized him. "Mugen. What the hell are you doing here?"
Mugen straightened up, scowling. "Getting off this island."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "You know no one's allowed to leave without permission. You have no right to go anywhere unless you've applied for a permit and paid all the fees."
"Yeah, except no one can ever afford your fees without giving you everything they own." Mugen glared at the man. "I'm not a criminal-I can't help it that I was born here. I shouldn't have to stay if I don't want to."
The captain came forward. "Is there a problem? I hired this man-you can see he's not a convict." He pointed to Mugen's wrists and ankles. "He said he wanted to work his way to Japan."
The guard said coldly, "We were about to mark him when he got away. You're just lucky we caught him before you set sail." He gestured to his men and they surrounded Mugen and pulled him off the boat.
They took him to the little hut where the tattoo supplies were kept and worked on him for the rest of the day, tossing him on the beach when they finished and laughing as he crawled to the water and scrubbed at the marks in a frenzy. The prisoners always tried to wash off the blue rings and the salt water did nothing but increase the agony of the thousands of tiny wounds where the ink was pounded into the skin, never to be removed….
Mugen shook himself, nervously rubbing his wrists. It had been over a month before the swelling went down on his arms and legs and the marks stopped hurting. Worse was the pain of being branded like an animal. Three years and it still haunted him. His only consolation was that no one seemed to know what the tattoos meant. People didn't like the look of them, but they only signified a convicted criminal on Ryukyu.
His stomach growled and he paused outside a little tea house, spinning the yellow pinwheel set in front. A cheery voice called, "Good afternoon, sir!" as he pushed aside the curtain hanging in front of the door and went in.
