I do not own Sengoku Basara franchise, only original characters. I write for meaning, not monetary gain.
Can you catch this chapter's irony? Happy reading!
Ch 5.5 Sentiment
"What the hell is this?" Mitsunari glowers at the purple, potted atrocity besides his odachi stand. His gaze returns to the woman kneeling before him with a bowl. She must have snuck it into his room while he was unconscious. How dare she!
"A flower, Mitsunari-dono," came her simple reply, with a lightness that narrows his eyes.
"I know that," he spats, the indignant sting of an encounter past. "Why is it here?"
Ran raises her head to connect with his sharp eyes. "The iris is a symbol of valor and faith; a most suitable companion for you," she provides with leveled grace.
"It's unsightly," he scowls, half at her words and half at the floral. If she thinks flattery will get her out of this, she is mistaken.
"It is the last of the patch," she gazes forlornly past the shoji into the garden, "the rest have been withered away by the elements in the last two days. They are so fragile."
Ran was not oblivious to Mitsunari's reaction. In fact, she expected it. She had seen the purple curling out of his balled fist the first night at the Tokugawa residence. Of course, he wouldn't know, unless she desired a swift demise. But the temptation had been too great, and what better way to placate her current dismay than to bring the last one to the individual she thought responsible, even if minimally.
She notes the décor of his room, or rather, the lack of it. If not for the futon Tschiyo-san "neglected" to take out, there would only be candles and an odachi stand. Silently, she supposed if the general was not capable of guilt then at least his room would have something inside.
He follows her eyes, tracing the strong stalks and the rich, soft petals. The last two days, she said. When he had his brush with death. Had she spent all her time tending to him? He certainly had not asked that of her. Mitsunari grimaces. The war to express gratitude or tell her to mind her own business rages, but eventually concludes with a stalemate of the Ishida general's default reply.
"…"
Ran decides he may not be as articulate where things that require a delicate touch is concerned, and spares him. "But, this one is strong, different. I hope it stays with you throughout the winter. The iris is my favorite amongst the garden variety". Her smile distantly reminds him of a time bright and carefree.
A time of calm…
A time of normalcy…
A time before the sword…
"The character embodied by this flower- may it become a preference of yours one day as well," Ran continues.
He is yanked away by cold as his fingers alight the weapon; a guarded weight of steel portending a code of moral rectitude and stipulation of honor. A sword bearing convictions of his soul to protect frivolities of a former life. A life he thinks from long ago that in essence, when he beholds her demure eyes or the defaming floral, is indeed not so.
"As if", he scoffs, reaching for the bowl before her, and in fell swoop drains the bitter liquid. "You preference concerns me not. This better be gone by my return at dusk." He had strength to restore and enemies to repay in blood than to deal with a peon's petty circumstances- a weak, sentimental peon at that.
Did you catch it? :D
This concludes the saga of Mitsunari's poisoning. Next up is a controversial piece which will either earn me confetti or pitchforks in the rump (likely the latter), but it must be written. It begets some intense, heavy drama with a pinch of dry humor. I'm dead $$ about this, so schedule a trip to the hardware store. Don't forget torches.
Holy…thank you for the feedback!
Crimsonlotus: I appreciate your reading and wow, to be stalked! Such honor! *beams*
Konoha'sYellowFlash: lol, Mitsunari tolerates Ieyasu. He has to since Ieyasu's all mi casa es su casa in terms of his crib…jk. They're on speaking terms, not friendly ones :T
SakuraSky09: I had no idea my footnotes were misplaced! Pardon the myopic sloppiness. Thank you for catching that. Bravo! It's true readers see what writers cannot.