things get awesome and fuzzy and derpy and everyone will hate me and things will get even more interesting. point being, we're thisclose to reaching transition when the fun times end and the real story picks up :D get ready for the serious female awesomeness from this point on, my dear readers. shit's going to hit the fan.
As much as he hated it, Katakura Kojuro found himself in a muddle. A big one. He'd learned a big lesson on judging by appearances just today and it left him beside himself with frustration. With Katsumi out-of-commission and not wanting to let the little monster loose on his lord, the Right Eye of the Dragon had inadvertedly offered himself up to supervise Sayuri after she signed her contract-which she did while leaving a little heart next to her name-so she would know where the supplies were because she wanted to make Katsumi happy knowing she was working hard.
He admired her spunk in that regard, but even though she was so enthusiastic about it, all the woman-child was doing was running back and forth over the dead earth and looking like she was enjoying it. This he watched for some time, curious as to what exactly she was doing, but he kept silent until she'd made her way to him, singing under her breath.
"Sayuri," he said, drawing her to a wiggling stop.
"Yuppers?" she answered cheerfully.
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Measuring," she told him matter-of-factly, her tongue poking out between her lips. "When I run like this my stride is always one-and-a-half-meters, so by counting my steps and the number of turns I make I can get an accurate measurement of the field."
Kojuro was taken slightly aback by the simplicity behind her random running around and the somewhat-calmer behavior she exhibited while she was doing so. "I see."
"It's exactly twenty-feet-by-twenty-five, and given borders it'll be reduced to nineteen-by-twenty-four."
He nodded.
Sayuri faced him, a big, kind smile on her face. "Koju, can you show me where the tools are kept so I can start marking everything, please?"
"Oh, yes," he stuttered out, having zoned out while imagining the girl-woman as a little peach; a fault in his thinking caused by watching her do something related to his only other passion, and not something unusual for him. Crossed wires happened a lot when he started thinking of his garden up on the cliffside.
Rising, he held his hand out and helped the little woman onto the patio, once again seeing her hair flutter back perfectly into place. He much prefered this calm Sayuri to the ball of energy he'd chased throughout the castle just that morning; however, as he'd feared, her calmness didn't last long as she started skipping along behind him, gaining speed until she was quite literally skipping circles around him.
"Stop," he told her, halting at a door just down the west hallway.
She balanced on one foot in front of him, holding her forefingers to the sides of her mouth and grinning up at him with her eyes squeezed shut, innocent as a young child. "Smile, Kojuro. Smiles make everything better."
"What is there to make better?" he inquired, opening the closet that held some spare tools used for the inner gardens.
"Everything can be made better!" she chirped, opening her shining eyes and looking right into his. "You look like you're stressed and you always frown. If you smiled more you'd be really handsome!"
He grunted in surprise, his cheeks turning pink at such forwardness, wondering if she understood what she'd meant.
Completely blanking after that, Sayuri grabbed up a couple of the tilling tools and a rake and started walking back to the garden, still singing her nonsense song, oblivious to his reaction. Thinking about how odd she was, Kojuro shut the closet and followed, taking his position back on the patio edge to watch her work, determined to leave her to her job and see this so-called "talent" Katsumi claimed she had.
Which was proving difficult to do.
Sayuri pick up the trowel to start breaking the soil up so she could fill in the dry pond and level everything, but when she swung it down it barely punctured the ground and when she tugged it slipped out, so she tried again, got it caught on a rock and fell on her butt with a little oof. Shaking his head, Kojuro got up and walked over, picking her up by her arm and wondering, "What are you trying to do?"
"I'm... plowing," she murmured, embarrassed.
"Then why is it being so difficult? Don't you have a garden at home?"
"Oh, well, yes," the girl-woman cooed, feeling his grip loosen and slip away, hiding her mouth behind her hands. "But... well, my dad always tilled the ground for me and my mom helped me plant. I'm not used to doing it by myself."
"Then why not ask for help?"
She brightened, looking up at him. "Would you? Katsu told me you work the fields a lot!"
"I do," he affirmed, feeling his lips turn up at the edges, also preferring this cheerful outlet as opposed to her hyper-activity. "I can assist you."
"Thank you, Koju!"
His eye ticked. "Kojuro. Actually, it would be master Katakura to you."
"Taku-sama," she replied, beginning to bounce in place.
"No," he growled, knowing the moment had gone south quickly. "Master Katakura."
She pouted. "But I like Taku-sama. Everyone's name is unique and it's the name you make friends and enemies with, but sharing one name with everyone makes it less special than if each person has a unique name known only to one other person. It makes that bond special, more than being known to everyone by the same thing. Bonds are special, and when I like people, I give them a special name because I want our bond to be special, too."
That made sense... sort of. But once again, he was taken aback and unable to speak as she jumped onto the patio and took off, calling, "I gotta go find an irrigator now!" and he snapped out of it, taking the short step up onto the porch and jogging after her.
"Sayuri, this hallway leads to the barracks, get back here!"
That evening found young Date helping Katsumi to sit in the green garden where they'd had their first heart-to-heart, the sky bright with twilight flames, her breath harsh as she worked through the pain and leaned her shoulder against one of the pillars, his hands gentle at her back and on her upper arm, lingering as he sat beside her, much closer than he usually was, concern plain in his features. "Hey?" he murmured to her, but she held her hand up, puffing.
"I'm alright. Just trying to figure out how to be comfortable."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. The painkillers will kick in soon."
He hummed, looking at how the sky was reflected in the pond, making it seem as if a piece of the heavens had fallen right there on earth, it's pinks and oranges bright against the golden-washed green around it, the flowers swaying in the soft wind that curled by. Surely, if not for Katsumi's pain, this would be perfect.
Her luscious hair cascaded down her back and over his hand, thick and soft and perfectly straight now that it wasn't bound into a tight braid, a light perfume wafting from it that reminded him of flowers and honey, his thoughts wandering vaguely to whether she tasted as sweet as she smelled. He caught himself, shaking his head a bit to shake off the stray thoughts, knowing it was inappropriate when they hardly knew anything about each other-odd when one considers how long she'd worked with him now. Then again, they hadn't had much time to talk either.
But they did now.
"You look upset," he remarked quietly, gently brushing some of her bangs away so he could see the golden reflection of the sun in her eyes, knowing she was far away and wanting her to come back; oddly enough, he found himself seating her on his right when he only ever did that with Kojuro, though it provided the perfect excuse for him to be facing her directly constantly. He enjoyed looking at her, her graceful form and silent beauty that made him think of a cat, so balanced and well-tuned to her own body.
"Oh," she muttered, coming out of her thoughts and repressing a shiver; he was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. "I was just thinking about how ridiculous I am."
"Ridiculous? What do you mean?"
"I mean," she laughed humorlessly, her smile pained, "it's pathetic how every fight I get into, no matter how hard I try, I always mess up and get hurt. It's inevitable. I'll be part of any campaign you orchestrate, but with what's been happening lately I'll just be a detriment, not an asset. Twice now I've been hurt because I-"
Masamune's hand clamped over her mouth and he growled, "Shut up," which effectively cut her off, her eyes wide as she tried to turn her head toward him. "Look, being hard on yourself won't do you any good. How many times do we have to have this talk, Katsumi?" His brows were drawn together, betraying that he was mildly annoyed. "All you lack is experience. Fighting instinct and skill comes when you develope them, just like physical strength and perfect aim. Getting into skirmishes, getting hurt and recovering make you stronger because if you want to be good, you learn from them. You figure out what you did right and wrong and roll with it. Getting upset when you get beat up is stupid because it keeps you from moving forward and you'll keep sucking and getting hurt because you didn't try to fix it. You see?"
Taking his hand away, Masamune saw her expression lighten as she absorbed what he said, glad he could give it to her straight and know she wouldn't go nuclear because of his words; he hated sugar-coating everything because of how damn sensitive women were. It made him feel stupid.
This time, Katsumi's smile was genuine. "Yes, I see. You're right, lord Masamune, I'm sorry. I'm just sick of it."
"Hey, I've been there. It's kinda like a phase. It'll end eventually."
"Yes..."
"If you ever want to spar when you get better, just let me know, I'll always be game."
She giggled. "Thank you. I'll remember that."
"And if it's any consolation," he went on softly, leaning forward a little, her scent becoming rather intoxicating at this distance, their faces hardly centimeters away as he looked into her fiery orbs deeply, wanting to see right through her and know everything about her, almost dying of curiosity now that he'd thought about the fact he knew little more about her than her stubbornness and palpable Oda-hate, his lips barely moving and dragging his words into a quiet murmur only she could hear, "you're probably the toughest woman I've ever met."
Katsumi's heart pounded painfully, but for once, she didn't care, her lips parting as she tried to breathe past his heavy, earthy, masculine scent that made her think of the forest she grew up wandering and leather, probably from wearing his armor for many years, denoting his maturity though he sometimes acted half his age. It was a wonderful, strong smell that suited him and made her want to bury her face in his neck and take a deep breath to burn that smell into her memory, but she was captivated by that one, mesmerizing, amazing eye of his; one eye that seemed to do the talking for two, his gaze a complicated, deep mixture of memories and emotions and thoughts she wanted to slowly take apart and understand. She wanted to know him. Needed to.
Those parted lips caught his attention and robbed him of his reason for a moment, and before he knew it he'd reached across her to cover her hand with his, her breath fresh and sweet as she breathed against his own, a little gasp slipping through as he moved closer, wanting to feel those pink lips on his; wanting to taste her, to know if she was really as sweet as she smelled; needing to before he went crazy with it. Katsumi wanted the same, was practically screaming in her head at him, wanting him to kiss her, to let her know if maybe her feelings weren't one-sided after all.
And he did.
Almost.
Movement made him pause, his attention moving to their linked hands where a horrid terror lingered, approaching leisurely. "Don't move," he hissed, feeling her freeze up while he continued to watch the monster that creeped around, only inches away from their hands. Knowing her habit by now, Masamune reached into her sleeve, his fingers brushing the deliciously tender skin of her forearm before finding the flat, cool face of a throwing knife and pinching it between his middle and ring fingers, moving slowly and trying to be subtle, unaware of the kind of sweet torture he was subjecting poor Katsumi too; she felt drunk from over-exposure to him, her mind beginning to wander.
Folding the knife into his palm, Masamune lifted it slowly and she came to, turning her head when he suddenly grunted and brought the small blade down with blinding speed, stabbing it through the intruder and splitting it nicely in two. There, now dead as a doornail, was one of the monstrocities found throughout the country: the Japanese Giant Hornet-and it had been close to giving Katsumi a nasty little surprise if she'd moved, so his grip on her had actually saved her from a horrid and possibly lethal sting.
"God!" she breathed, deflating and feeling dizzy as she slumped painfully against him, feeling his body jerk as he removed the knife from the floor.
"That was too damn close," the lord muttered under his breath, reaching up and lacing his fingers against her head as she tried to remain calm. "Little bastards. Used to use 'em as target practice when I was little."
She shook her head. "You're crazy!"
He grinned. "Yeah, and?"
Feeling completely ridiculous for thinking they'd been about to kiss, Katsumi lay in her bed that night, one arm over her face as she replayed those intense moments over and over again in her mind. Surely he'd only done what he did because he'd noticed the hornet and didn't want her to panic and startle it; even so, if getting nearly stung by a hornet is all it took to get that close to him, she'd gladly do it again.
I'm crazy, she thought sadly. Why would he kiss me? We barely know each other and I have nothing to offer him. I'm not strong, not from a noble family... I'm nothing. What man in his right mind would want that? Unless he's crazy too, which wouldn't surprise me. Katsumi sighed, sliding her arm off her face.
What a cruel existence she'd put herself into.
Morning came with sunshine instead of clouds and greeted the Yonezawa household with a promise of warmth. Doctor Yao came and went, having given the woman a sleeping draught because her pain had kept her up most of the night wanting to turn over but unable to; so too, did Date arrive and depart upon finding her asleep. He'd wanted to spend a little time with her before he began his day, but when she didn't answer his knocking he slid the panel-door open and peeked in. Everything was still and clean, the only giveaway that she was even there being her oil-black hair tumbling over the side of her bed; most people would leave the poor girl to sleep, but Masamune was not most people and so he slipped in and shut the door quietly, stealing over to her bedside and looking down at her.
Once again he was struck with just how serenely beautiful she was, even when sleeping with her hair in tangles; Katsumi had long eyeslashes as black as her hair and her eyelids were a flushed, rosy pink just like her cheeks-he'd stooped down to notice that little detail, unable to help himself-and her lips were parted as she breathed, her chest rising and falling steadily under the white blanket. Absently, his hand came down and cupped her face, her skin warm to the touch and so very soft; it was almost shocking to see how delicate she was, how his palm could cover most of her cheek by itself, and think that this young woman had been in battle, had suffered hardships and fought to survive for half her life, was able to fight and outthink most of the people he knew. It was surreal.
Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her, never mind how damn gorgeous she was. She was different, tough, willing to do her part rather than sit pretty and do what she was told. He'd gotten so used to that growing up it made him sick to think his parents had expected him to marry someone like that; though somewhere inside he felt his father would much prefer Katsumi over the pussywillows his mother prefered. Certainly if he had a say, he'd choose the rogue-turned-ally over a simple noblewoman. She was smart, worldly, she had depth to her soul and her heart was stronger than anyone else's he'd ever met. Not to mention she was absolutely captivating, and understanding-usually-so he found himself unwinding his personal barriers to bring her closer. So many times he'd caught himself giving away his thoughts and feelings to this woman when only Kojuro could be privvy to know what was actually going through that one-track mind of his.
He trusted her. And Masamune knew in his gut she trusted him, even though they hadn't been together for very long. Leaving Kojuro as the only real problem, as his Right Eye's opinion had always mattered greatly to him, and he was thankful Kojuro spoke his mind. The attempted suicide, though, was another matter entirely, which made him thankful for Katsumi as well for being able to bitch at him without wanting to off herself for it.
Perhaps one day soon, the three of them could all get along normally, but knowing his second-in-command like he did, that day was far from coming. Until then, he would have to bide his time and help show the stubborn mule that Katsumi was truly on their side; he walked a precarious line between the two most important people in his life now, one he'd grown up admiring and respecting, the other coming in like a storm, swift and sudden with no warning, and leaving her mark on his heart like a bolt of lightning on the earth. The strain on his nerves was getting unbearable because he wanted desperately to have the mysterious woman in his arms, close and warm and safe from harm; to taste her and mark her and make her his own so no other man could touch her. But he couldn't because disappointing the man who'd taken better care of him than his own family was something his heart also couldn't bear, and for the life of him he couldn't decide which was stronger: his desire for Katsumi or his need to make Kojuro proud of him.
Dammit all.
Watching her wasn't improving his ability to think straight either, and the young lord found himself leaning in, wanting to kiss her in the hopes it might ease his neediness a bit; it was too tempting, he wanted to, her breath was warm and sweet and slightly minty from the draught she'd been given and it was getting him drunk-in the vaugest sense of the term-from overexposure; she smelled so damn good. Sense took a holiday on him and he knelt on the edge of her bed, the hand he'd touched her face with now sliding gently down her neck, revealing she was soft and warm everywhere, and he bent his face closer to hers, hovering just centimeters above those lush lips of hers, waiting to see if she woke up at all. But she didn't, so he closed in until their lips touched just the faintest bit. Masamune froze.
He couldn't.
There was no way he could just steal a kiss. He wasn't that kind of person. No, if he was going to kiss her he was going to do it properly, when she was awake and had the option of stopping him if she didn't want it; he was raised better than that.
Masamune backed away slowly, trying to clear his head and get control of himself and not let his desires get the better of his common sense. Reaching into his robe, he pulled out the little paper bundle he'd found while in town during the weeks Katsumi had been away, having not had a decent chance to give to her yet. He moved over to the trunk by her bedbox and lay it on top, the characters for her name printed on one corner so she would know it was meant for her and not left by accident, and then he left before he could lose his mind again.
Katsumi awoke sometime in the early afternoon and found water and some rice balls on a tray at her bedside which she picked up and ate carefully, her ribs still aching and stinging and being a general nuisance. Groggily, she looked around, wondering what time it was and if she should even bother to get out of bed; chewing slowly, Katsumi swallowed as she saw a little brown package sitting by its lonesome on her armor trunk, unable to make out the smudge in the corner from where she was. Leaning, she stretched her arm out to grab it and hissed, hand flying to her side as her ribs protested against the strain, but she wanted to know what that thing was so she sucked in a breath and reached again, snagging the twine that tied it with the tips of her fingers and yanking it into her lap while moving back into a comfortable-ish position, groaning in pain.
The smudge in the corner turned out to be her name, written in a very bold print that made her think of a particular person; suddenly, she could swear she could smell the leather-and-man scent she'd inhaled the night before lingering around her bed, but she shook her head, thinking she was just having a memory-smell like she sometimes got when thinking of her family, the acrid tang of smoke haunting her nostrils as the visions came and went.
Like now.
The man in silver armor with his head thrown back, laughing as fire burned around him, bodies littering the ground, men, women, children, pets...
Katsumi shook herself, regretted it, then shivered, hugging herself as the horrid sight came and went, the package dropping softly into her lap. God damn! she shrieked to herself, feeling hot tears in her eyes as the lingering images burned themselves into the backs of her eyelids. Who the devil was that? Did he do all of that? Once more she found herself on a tirade about why she was plagued by such sights, her heart pounding; just the sight of that man instilled rage and fear in her, blended together so completely as to be inseperable and making her stomach knot sickly. Just visions of him are horrendous. I hope I never meet him.
Wanting to distract herself, Katsumi focused on the little package in her lap, tracing the kanji with her fingertips and wondering whether she should open it now; it was thin and light but the contents felt stiff, one side bulging out slightly, making her wonder what it was. Curiosity got the better of her, so she tugged on the twine and heard the paper crinkle as she pulled it away, letting the string drop into the empty food tray below before carefully unfolding the corners, treating it like ripping the paper would be an unforgivable offense.
There in her lap was a comb. But not just a plain comb like normal women used; no, this one was beautiful. It was wood of course, but painted with swirling sapphire, black and silver enamel that made it look like it was carved out of marble or agate, the teeth thin and spaced apart to accomodate thick hair, which is what she had; if that weren't beautiful enough, the buldge had been caused by the carved lotus that took up the upper-right-hand side of the comb's face, the many delicate petals arching upward around the open middle, big enough to fit in her palm but detailed enough to look as if it were a true lotus doused in paint and not a carving. Peering closer at it, her eyes widened as she found nestled in the heart of the flower, enclosed by the many, many needle-like petals, was a pale blue moonstone that seemed to glow milky colors in the golden afternoon sunshine.
Who on earth had given her such a gift and why?
Lifting it reverently and turning it over to feel the smooth, glossy surface, she was almost afraid to leave fingerprints on it; that's when she noticed the writing on the paper underneath the comb.
This proabably seems like a stupid peace offering, it read, a distinctive voice in her head ringing about as she slowly read each character, but I hope it helps you know I really am sorry for being an idiot. The next line the handwriting altered just a tiny bit, making her wonder if it was added later on. I've noticed your hair getting messy lately. Probably a dumb observation, but it got me thinking this wasn't such a stupid idea after all. This probably sounds weird coming from me, but you have really amazing hair and it's a shame to see it getting all tangled like it is when it's not all braided up.
Get well soon. You owe me a sparring match.
Masamune.
A smile found its way onto her lips as she read, shaking her head slightly and feeling her heart lift a little bit. He was so straightforward and honest, just like a samurai should be, and it was always a relief since as a woman she often got short-sided by men who wanted to spare her the awful details and the painful truth because they thought her too delicate to handle it. Once more, she was amazed at his observational abilities to be able to decipher that she didn't own a comb or brush of her own because it was a useless waste of space when she only had so much room on her to carry things, hence why she kept her hair tightly braided for so long: it minimized the need to brush and helped it grow out faster, maximizing her reach when she needed to clobber someone with her stone ring.
Heart pounding at being reminded one of the reasons she was falling for him-his ability to understand her without being told-she let her eyes trace the characters for his name; just his first name, no family name, no title, just from Masamune to Katsumi, person to person, not master to servant.
Equals.
Holding the precious comb to her heart for a moment, she tucked the note into the nook between her mattress and the wall and debated using the comb for a moment when there was a knock on her door. Jolting, she slipped the comb under her blanket and said, "Come in," only mildly surprised to find it was Kojuro.
"Ah, I'm glad you're awake this time," he commented, shutting the door behind himself.
"Oh, really?" she mused sarcastically, unable to help herself and seeing his usual frown deepen irritably. "Sorry, force of habit."
He brushed it off. "I've come by several times today to find you still sleeping so I began to think you wouldn't be up until tonight."
She quirked her brow. "Why? Do you need something?"
He nodded, lifting his hand to reveal he was carrying a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick. "In the confusion and chaos, we've compeltely forgotten to debrief you about your jaunt to the country. You're obliged to share anything you deem necessary."
"Ah, well, that shouldn't take long," she sighed. "Everything ended up being a dead end. All I learned for certain was that the group is a bunch of mercenaries that call themselves the Saica Renegades and that they've undergone a change of leadership recently after Oda,"-the Devil King's name came out in a nasty growl that didn't go unnoticed-"killed their original leader, which is why they have it in for him. That's seriously the only consistent information I've gotten; everything else ended up being rumors people made up."
"Alright, that's all I needed to know." Kojuro scribbled down what she'd said and folded the paper twice over into a square before tucking into a pocket in his coat with the charcoal stick and then knelt to pick up the empty tray she'd left at the foot of her bed.
"Oh, you don't have to take that," she began, wondering why he was being so nice.
"It's fine, I'm going by the kitchen anyway."
"Thank you."
He nodded and turned to leave, hand on the door when a thought came to Katsumi's mind.
"Did Sayuri give you a break or did you tie her up to give yourself the time to come see me?"
He flinched, freezing.
Katsumi quirked her brow, grinning. "You tied her up, didn't you?"
"I did no such thing!" he denied hurriedly, cheeks flaming up as he refused to face her. "I merely left her to work on the garden she's been put in charge of as it seems to occupy her insane mind for some time."
"You're being nice because you're beginning to like me more than her, aren't you?"
He blanched and remained silent.
"You had no idea what you were signing up for when you decided to play babysitter, did you?"
Kojuro's head inclined and his shoulders slumped. "No," he admitted gruffly, "I did not. I've never met anyone with so much energy before. She doesn't listen, doesn't sit still, she's loud and doesn't act her age at all."
Katsumi tapped her lip, thinking. "Did you ever consider why she acts that way?"
Kojuro turned and looked over his shoulder, his brows furrowed; no, he hadn't considered why. At least not seriously. "Because she need medication?"
The woman laughed and then coughed painfully as her ribs played the revenge card. "Ow... no. Well, yes, I suppose she does, but that's not it. I spent days walking with her back here to Yonezawa. I got to see how she behaves and when we talked I got to understand how she thinks. She may be a grown woman, but she still sees the world with the eyes of a child; show her a meadow and she sees a huge field of flowers, give her a set of chopsticks and suddenly she has tiny knives, let her loose in a barren patch of land and she sees a blooming garden. Her imagination is immense and she doesn't let initial appearances affect her perceptions of people and places.
"We stopped in a tea house along the road and she struck up conversation with a shady bohemoth in the corner while I wasn't looking. I worried for her safety but she got him to laugh, and when she bumped the table of a lesser, respactable-looking lord and spilled his tea he got up and demanded she either pay to replace the ridiculously expensive robe he was wearing or have her feet cut off so she couldn't bump tables anymore.
"The man she'd talked to before stood up and defended her right alongside me. He ended up being a really nice guy and Sayuri instinctively knew that."
Kojuro was astounded.
She went on, "And also, when you have to spend long amounts of time with her, her energy starts to rub off on you. Sayuri enjoys"-this she couldn't emphasize more-"seeing other people enjoy life."
"I enjoy life," Kojuro cut in. "I am not afraid to die, but never once have I thought of dying." He paused, knowing that wasn't necessarily true, so he amneded, "Outside certain circumstances of course."
She laughed softly but humorlessly, shaking her head. "Not dying and enjoying life aren't the same, Kojuro. Sayuri knows this. To her, getting people to loosen up and have fun," this was meant specifically for him, "is best done by showing them how much fun she has, kind of like monkey-see-monkey-do. If she has fun, other people will start to have fun too. And it works. I never laughed so much in my life at one time than I did on the road with her. We played games, had funny conversations and just enjoyed our time instead of worrying about everything. She's happy when others around her are happy. You," she raised her brows for emphasis, "don't exactly scream 'fun'. For her, you're a challenge, and she bothers you and causes you trouble because she wants you to have fun. Get it?"
Now that was food for thought. Nodding, Kojuro quietly said, "Yes, I believe I do," before leaving, lost in his mind and it's vast network of thought tracks.
Alone once again, Katsumi pulled the little comb out, smiled, and began to carefully brush her hair, loosing herself in a fantasy.
Evening came swiftly, the sun beginning to set as Katsumi, hair shining and brushed and fanned out around her, sat in the training yard and enjoyed the twilight, her favorite time of day. Before her, the biggest distraction in the field, was Date whom was practicing his basic swordskills, his blade flashing, his movements precise and controlled, his face creased in concentration as he struck down imaginary enemies over and over; unbeknownst to her, the Dragon was showing off slightly and the enemies he fought happened to be the three goons that had caused her grief the few days before derriving a kind of sick enjoyment out of seeing them die over and again in his mind. Kojuro waited off to one side, as he usually did, awaiting any call to spar with his lord, when he heard the faint sound of the guards as the gate shouting.
He turned and stopped dead.
Masamune felt his discomfort, even from several yards away, and lowered his katana, brows furrowing; he looked over and bristled in confusion.
Katsumi noticed this and followed his sight, her mouth falling open when she saw the stranger approaching from the gate.
A woman, tall, beautiful and slender with short, red-blond hair, tight and somewhat-inappropriate clothes and a confident smirk across her distinctively-foreign features with a large contraption on her back wrapped in white cloth, strode easily across the stone walkway, striaght to the trio, pausing several feet away and cocking her hip out, laying one hand on it while the other rested over her shoulder, keeping the whats-it in place and taking a deep breath. "Hey," she called in a strong, femininely-low voice, glancing between the three of them, "I'm looking for the One-Eyed Dragon."
Kojuro moved to block her path from Masamune instinctively, but the younger man came forward, hand gripping his blade tightly but easily, trying not to seem like an unnecessary threat, his one eye narrowing suspiciously. "That would be me. What d'you want?"
"Lord Masamune," Kojuro chided quietly, sharing a quick glance with each other.
"Don't worry," the woman called easily, setting the thing down with a loud thud and flipping her hair out of her face as she did so, "I'm not here to fight or anything. I've gotten into a bit of trouble and need a place to hide out for a while."
"Right," the younger man drawled, getting defensive. "Why should I let you?"
"Because I hear you're currently unaligned with the Devil King."
Katsumi shot up in a hurry. Blood rushed from her head and spots danced in front of her eyes and she staggered, her ribs flexing and making her gasp sharply. She knows Oda?!
Both men cast a glance at her, stabs of worry hitting them both, but they didn't want to move from this woman just yet; Katsumi sensed this and waved her hand to let them know she was alright.
"Oshu," Kojuro cut in, hand going to his own katana, Kokuryu, his gaze fierce enough to set her expression flickering, "never allies itself with anyone. State your name and your business clearly, woman."
"Oh, right, right," she mused, waving her hand casually. "Sorry. Guess it'll help clear this up. My name is Magoichi Saica of the Saica Army and I need a place to hide out where Oda's men won't find me."