Everyone's favorite grumpy general is back - with a vengeance for incompetent peons and a pathological lack of patience! Need I say more?
I do not own Sengoku Basara, only original characters. I write for meaning, not monetary gain.
Ch 7 Patience
Ran needed supplies. The last antidote she concocted depleted her personal inventory and she was not so artless to think her remaining materials can last another week. Tschiyo-san had been her first choice companion to venture into the adjacent village for said endeavor, but a poorly erected clothesline with fluttering laundry made the older woman indisposed. So imagine Ran's surprise when a certain general had volunteered.
"Don't be mistaken, I have matters of my own to attend," Mitsunari had said flatly in response to her gaping expression.
She ventured his matters must have been a priority because he had her follow him to the stables despite their destination being walking distance away. A heavy musk permeated the shed that housed its sole occupant with hay that clawed at the hem of her kimono. She had never seen a horse up close, let alone rode on one. Ran remembered the creature, sculpted by years of battle with sinewy flanks, ebony eyes and a smooth coat that glistened in the afternoon sun, whom had graced her entrance with a nonchalant snort. The resemblance was uncanny to say the least. Her features wrinkle. She preferred to walk but Mitsunari had squelched that idea before disappearing around a corner.
Fine. She exhaled. On horseback it shall be…
…so she decided to climb on the sable warhorse...
Without his permission…
Without his guidance….
Without her balance.
"Are you a moron?" the Ishida general had barked, a prelude to the ensuing remarks of scorn when he returned with saddle in tow.
Ran grimaces at the memory. In hindsight, she would've sustained grave injuries if not for Mitsunari's agility. In hindsight, she shouldn't have tried on her own, but it wasn't as if the arrogant general had plans to teach her. It was under these circumstances that she bowed her head under his wrath. The same circumstance had also stirred an unreadable expression in the Ishida general when both parties realized the ordeal had hitched Ran's yukata up to scandalous heights. She had gasped, scrambling to rectify her wardrobe dysfunction, and much to her relief by the time she was done he had already mounted his steed without so much as a sneer at her vulgarity.
But the horror continued shortly, when he had reached out to pull her on top of the mammoth creature. Determined not to make an obscene mess again, Ran had hauled herself up with matched vigor, but…
A sigh escapes her as the village gates near into view.
She had made it, but it was overdone, the momentum carrying her too fast and far for the other leg to follow. To make matters worse, Mitsunari had seized the opportunity to inquire how she'd like to sit while her extremities dangled from sides of the horse with air rent from diaphragm by the saddle.
"Up" she ventured weakly, blood rushing to her face that had nothing to do with hanging off the saddle. Ran also added that she had never been on a horse before. The confession sounded better in her head so it wasn't until it left her lips that she realized future attempts to salvage her self-respect were effectively sealed. Ah, surely then her dignity had been forfeit.
The testy general was clearly not pleased as he proceeded to seize her by the shoulders and whirl her upright and around with a strength that bordered violence. Ran had barely registered the string of muttered expletives when her vision returned upright and her seat shook.
"M-matte!" Her voice quivered. "Mitsunari-dono I need to sit-"
"You want to sit… in that?" he growled, a precursory glare at her outfit before returning to the road.
She was about to voice her dissent, but Mitsunari had beaten her to it.
"You'd do well to stay on. It will be a long road otherwise."
Her face is drained by the speed and the gravity of his words and before Ran could question his words, the turbulence takes a sharp hike. She is too preoccupied with grappling his overcoat to reach for the omamori nestled within folds of her yukata. The scenery had blurred with pounding hooves against the ground.
Kami…
To say she had been terrified is a severe understatement, but as they speed past the village gates, palpitations become a thing of the past as a frown bubbles beneath her mild features at the recent memory. Ran's gaze trails to the sleeves of her lilac yukata with silk trim. What did he mean by "that"? It isn't her usual doctor attire, but she figured a different piece would be appropriate for her first trip outside the Tokugawa residence. She did not think it flamboyant or inappropriate. Tschiyo-san had even said it was a bit mundane without any prints or embroidery so surely her insight held more weight than that of an arrogant, ill tempered, warring man. Did he expect her to wear devil armor and ride lightning horses like him?
Her eyebrows knit together, but they soften as the receiving stable comes into view.
Ran sighs, jumping off feet first after the long ride. The afternoon wind plays with strands of her hair that came undone. She absently rubs the painful crook in her arms as Mitsunari secures the reins to a post.
"Thank for bringing me here," she says, more out of propriety than gratitude.
If Mitsunari heard her words, he doesn't reply, which benefits her because the counter that they were meant for his horse instead is itching to slide off her tongue.
She waits until he retrieves his odachi to reach out for the horse's neck. The luster of its coarse appearance belies an impressive softness. Her other hand reaches out just as an uncouth chortle breaks through with a swing of the animal's neck. The motion sends her reeling, but her back connects to solid and she does not fall.
"Stop pestering him," Mitsunari glares, shoving her forward with his free hand before heading towards town.
She catches her balance before eyeing his steed again. Dark orbs meet her browns ones in a penetrating stare, before the owner tosses his head with a flippant swoosh of mane.
Ran hurries to catch up, because there is no persuading a steed that is one and the same as its master to kick the said man.
Mitsunari leads her to a wooden shanty, frayed by exposure, time and wrapped in shades of maple on the edge of town. The warm breeze drags along a thick, heavy odorous coal, but she continues.
"Mitsunari-dono, may I inquire-"
"You will know shortly," comes his terse reply as he swings the door open to reveal a dim interior and the bitterness of fire and metal.
Ran squints inside, and what she can make out is thanks to the roaring flame at the far end of the shack. She swallows at the sight of power hammers, anvils and various sharps strewn across stone counter tops. The razor pitch of metal cuts her breath in half, and she traces its origin to a drab figure hunched over a pool of water. There's a sizzling in the air and she tries to disguise the fact that it makes her skin crawl.
So this place…
The shanty occupant looks over his shoulder and Ran could just make out salt-and-peppered hair. "Back so soon, Sakichi?" The deep rumbling voice drawls as its owner raises the sharp before himself in scrutiny.
"Ah," Mitsunari states, rooted to the doorway.
"Unfortunately, I have more than my share of work for today. Come back for it tomorrow," the sword smith explained, returning to the cooled blade before him.
Mitsunari tosses a pouch onto a nearby countertop that clatters upon landing. The contents spill and roll on to the hay-strewn ground.
"Today, old man." Ran hears the grind of Mitsunari's gloves.
The elderly man turns to face the Ishida general. "You haven't changed a bit, Sakichi" he insists, hand slipping behind his back. "Always no manners when speaking to your elders."
To say Ran's eyes were the size of saucers when the sword smith unsheathed his blade is an understatement. The amount of people who drew against Mitsunari is numerous, but the number who lived to tell the tale, she surmised, must be few.
Lived?
She turns to the man at her side. Of course, if the sword smith was willing to fight, then….
Mitsunari grips his odachi, sliding the length of steel out of its scabbard.
"M-matte!" She clamps onto his scabbard and sword hand with her own tiny, trembling ones.
"This doesn't concern you" he spats at her, eyes ablaze and fixated on the elderly man. "Doke!"
Ran takes a deep breath, probably her last breath.
"Dame desu, Mitsunari-dono!" Her refusal rings louder than she expected and her knees almost buckle in absolution.
"What?" he demands, those very eyes angling down to hers. But Ran turns away because she knows her initial wind of rebuking him would only stoke his flame within. There had to be another way.
Her grip retains its strength as she meets the sword smith's eyes, weathered by age and tribulation. Eyes Ran knows well. Just like the Eyes that had taught her…
Her mouth runs dry as she summons the words from her pounding heart. "Please, there is no need for violence." The elderly man's gaze held her every word, but it also dictated a limit to them. She swallows, trying to find those few, measured words. "We can talk."
Ah, how feeble and hollow her words rang. Inwardly, her heart sinks. If only she had been smarter, more educated, more refined, more-
"Ii darou," comes the rumble deep in his throat as the weapon returns to its sheath. His eyes twinkle. "But I will only speak with you, ojo-san, not this vile ruffian."
Mitsunari shoots him a dirty look and before he can counter with an equally disdainful remark, Ran intervenes with her hallmark grin.
"Mitsunari-dono, this shop is quite arid. Might you wish to enjoy the breeze outside?"
"You-" His eyes fire a flurry of daggers her way, but it's useless. Emboldened by a glimmer of hope, she continues.
"I shall help you," Ran whispers with a discreet nod, smile unyielding. "Trust me. Go."
Mitsunari settles for a scowl before slamming his weapon shut just as the stubborn woman releases her grip. "Do what you want," he says under his breath before stalking outdoors.
If there was a difference between a moment and a minute, he would not know. As far his position is concerned, it's irrelevant because everyone waited for him; rarely is it the other way around. The only exception applied under the Toyotomi rule. His eyes trace the strong curves of maple trees in the distance, and the death-grip on his weapon loses the death-like quality.
In those days, he would wait days for Lord Hideyoshi's orders. He and his troops would be stationed in the mountains awaiting word of attack. The North was cold, he recalled- snow, sleet and rain, but he had waited for a purpose compared to today: a stubborn woman and her peace talks.
The sound of her plodding footsteps shakes him from his reverie.
"Masahide-san will repair your odachi, Mitsunari-dono," trying to catch her breath. "I was told to come back before we leave to retrieve it. Please allow me to bring your weapon inside." She holds her hands outstretched.
He hikes up an eyebrow and sneers. "As if you will-"
"Please, Mitsunari-dono. I have not failed you, have I?"
He brusquely reels away from her smile. It's too damn radiant for his liking and so is her stubborn logic.
"Drop it and you will regret," he glares in the horizon, tossing her the long sword.
Ran fumbles with the weight momentarily before securing it around her arms. "It shall not happen," she replies with a grin that earns her a scoff.
"Well?" Mitsunari eyes her, patience wearing thin as purchase for the last item of Ran's inventory drew to a close.
"Well…" she stalled from the countertop, awaiting for her supplies, "I bought 3 kin, but it sells 5 momme for 10 mon. I don't have any mon with me, only ryo. So that will be..."
She was going to figure this out before the clerk returns. She had to!
"The sun is setting…" he deadpans, attention towards the horizon.
Her eyebrows knit together. It's not like he knows! " one ryo is 60 mon. A kin is 160 momme-"
"Here you are ojo-san, 3 kin of reishi " the clerk returns, sliding the packaged mushrooms across the counter.
"A-arigato," Ran swallows, handing over 20 ryo. It should be enough, hopefully.
"Eh?" Her hand barely makes it over the counter when it seized by a black, gloved one.
"16." The Ishida general releases her and mutters an irritated "baka" before stalking outside the shop threshold.
"…it is…" she whispers as color drains from her face.
"Yokoso!"
Ran had resisted purchases since the last fiasco as she and the grumpy general strolled down town. Being upstaged is the last thing on her mind, and if that required turning a blind eye to beckoning shops and wares, then so be it. Generally she considers herself successful.
"Ojo-sama, we carry a plethora of designs and colors for this season and the next!"
Generally.
She struggled, but the magnetism of the local textile store with its vivacious clientele and luxurious products had pulled her in much to Mitsunari's dismay. Before she knew it, she was at the threshold with the ubiquitous greeting tossed her way.
"Welcome! Please have a look around!" A middle-aged woman, donning a silk kimono Ran would never have the money to buy, approached them with a sinking smile.
The young doctor wanted to say she sought a fabric for her winter kimono, but how could she when squeals fell to hushed whispers upon their entrance. The lady's smile flat-lines and her path towards them halts. Ran returns a weak smile and decides with grim chagrin that Mitsunari is no different without his sword for reasons she knows all too well.
Before silence ensues, Ran apologizes to the female clerk and ushers the samurai outdoors.
"What do you think you're doing?" he snaps when they stop a safe distance from the shop.
What did he think she was doing? Wasn't it obvious what HE was doing?
She sighed. "Mitsunari-dono, the ladies they…fear you. Perhaps you could be more…." Her mind swirls to find the right word that would preserve its container. "…approachable?"
"I did not ask them to be," came his miffed reply with crossed arms. "This concerns me not."
Rhetorical question, she decides. "You're right it does not," Ran concedes. Her gaze falls to another shop and a smile surfaces. "Perhaps you will allow me to properly apologize over tea?"
"Fine."
The first surprise of the day was acquiescing to accompany her to town. In the back of her mind, Ran supposed to it was Mitsunari's indirect way of repaying her for saving his life. Unlikely but possible, though probably the former since he didn't strike her as the type to return favors; not that she knew the ill-tempered general well enough to pass judgment. So imagine her second shock of the day when he silently slides the coins across the counter to the teashop lady.
"Iie Mitsunari-dono," she fumbles with her own change as he sits on a bench. "I have enough-"
"So you can overpay?" He snips at the recent wound.
Ran cringes just as a ball of fur pads over to them. Maybe it's not best to add salt, but curiosity was eating her insides. "Mitsunari-dono, how did you know the sum of my purchase from the store?"
She reaches down to ruffle the yapping, curly furball, but it evades her touch and scurries over to Mitsunari.
"Child's play," he scoffs, oblivious to the effervescent creature that was blithely weaving between his feet.
" I see," she feigns interest as her eyes track across to the merry banter.
"Leave me be," he says, dropping his gaze to passersby on the street, "go."
"But I cannot leave while-"
"Was that not your purpose in bringing me here?" He mocks with a smirk. He tells her leave to him in peace, and she thinks it's ironic with the yelping as his feet, but excuses herself back to the textile shop.
"Ran-dono, are you sure he won't be in need of anything?" The lady of the shop asks, inking measurements for the tailor.
"That won't be necessary," stealing a glance at the teashop, "he lives in armor."
Her answer ignites a string of giggles and even the older woman can't help but crack a smile.
"You know him so well, Ran-dono," the shopkeeper sighs, resting her chin on palms.
Warmth travels up her neck. "It is not what you think," she mutters with downcast eyes.
"Is that so…" the elder woman's eyes drift distantly, " and here I thought the two of you are close like Shiro and I. Ah, what joy to be young-"
"-I-I shall return soon for the kimono." Ran excuses herself before her skin tone changes. She hurries over to the bench, puzzled how people can talk about such things in broad daylight when she catches sight of the furball eating….off her plate.
"Mitsunari-dono it's-"
"About to finish if you idle any longer," he quips before taking a sip of his tea.
Ran slides the plate away and shoos it across the bench as she takes a seat on the edge. At least it isn't leftovers…
Her jaw battles with the sweet, starchy snack speared through bamboo while the snowball sits with panting breaths between the two of them. On her last stick, she absently reaches out to stroke its fur, only to have the creature pounce on to Mitsunari's lap.
The plate almost flies off her lap as the general shoots the tiny creature pawing at him the trademark glare.
"I should return to the shop," she forces a quick smile, snatching the furball away. Much to her dismay, it scrambles, barks and almost kicks out of her clutch. Mitsunari hikes an eyebrow at her wrestling with the frantic ball of energy. "I'll be back soon."
She whispers how fortunate the pup is to be alive after its reckless stint while crossing the fabric shop threshold.
"Ara?" The shop lady hurries to her from behind the counter. "Shiro? It is you Shiro-chan!"
Ran stopped short and performs a three-sixty.
"Shiro-chan…."
"There are you!" The older woman practically tears Ran's charge out of her arms with dewy eyes. "O-kasan wa shinpai desu yo!"
Ran forces an lopsided smile, not sure if she should be glad that the shopkeeper's "loved" one was found or offended that her relationship with the Ishida general was compared to that of a human and dog. She watches the lady coo and kiss a writhing, irritated "Shiro" and finds her insides turning; an imminent spell of nausea brewing.
"Perchance is my kimono ready?" She asks, not wanting to disturb the loving reunion, but not intending to turn green in the face.
"Ah, yes," her grip slips and the pup almost makes a run for the outdoors. She leaves the implacable animal with an assistant and returns with a mahogany box.
Ran strokes the fabric. "Thank you, it's perfect. May I ask how much is it?"
"Since Ran-dono found Shiro for me…" the clerk feigns a pause before breaking into a grin.
"Ten ryo," Ran announces with a triumphant grin, hefting her purchases under each arm.
"Your mind is too feeble to balance numbers," he sneers, ignoring her cumbersome state as they crunched through fallen maples on the dirt path.
"Iie, Mitsunari-dono," with a shake of her head, "that was a special price given to me by the owner." She cringed inwardly at the affectionate pair.
"For your flattery and lies, I presume?" He mocks with a knowing smirk.
"I found her dog," came her whisper, belying the indignant sting on her pride as they neared the derelict shanty. "No matter what needs to be said or done, people are more receptive to kind words and politeness."
She turns to him with eyes that catch an amber tint of the sun.
"Mitsunari-dono should try it some time."
Again, that small, radiant smile appears to defy all the barbarity and austerity of his military milieu, and the Ishida general could only counter with his trademark glare. The number of people who lectured him could form a line, but this diminutive, peon of girl was a hundred years too early to be on his line! His fists clench, but for a different reason as he approached the shanty door.
"Am I supposed to be like you?" He spats, electing a verbal reply because his odachi remains indisposed. "Shall I say things I neither think nor mean? Is that how you live?"
Her footing almost slips on the cobblestone at his outburst. She wanted to defend her claim, mollify his outrage and even apologize. But the sullen youth did not dignify her with a chance to reply as he tore open the door, ushering a gust of autumn inside the dank workplace.
Ran hurries over. If he didn't understand, then maybe her only choice is to prove to him wrong.
"I'm here for my sword, old man," Mitsunari announces to the figure hunched over the fire in tattered, dark robes.
The sound of crackling wood as the sword smith chucked more pieces into the burning furnace.
"Did you hear me, old man? I said-"
"Masahide-ojisan, tadaima!" Ran sidesteps Mitsunari and flounces over to the elder man with an air of joviality that the general finds absolutely repulsive.
The sword smith stops polishing the sword at hand and responds with gusto that Mitsunari finds just as disgusting. "Oh okaeri ojo-san! Here for the odachi, yes? It's ready." He gestures to the counter.
"Is that so? Thank you for the hard work!" Ran hands the weapon back to its owner. "Douzo."
Mitsunari snatches the sword from her and unsheathes it, scanning the steel surfaces for imperfection. The odachi whistles briefly when his arm arcs with practiced ease a few strokes in the air, and in a few seconds, it's over. The long piece of steel is slammed back into the shiny sheath.
"I did not ask to have the scabbard replaced," his solemn reply as Ran paled. After all her intrepid rapport and intervention, he was going to stoke the flames of aggression again?
"Ah, Masahide-ojisan! I would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation," she busied herself picking apart the package of mushroom.
If there was a fuming general and sliding of steel in the background, the sword smith didn't notice as he joined Ran over by the countertop to survey the goods. Ran plucked out a piece of wrapping paper from the package to place the largest mushrooms on it.
"They look quite tasty," he chuckled, sword in hand, selecting a particularly large one on the growing pile Ran created.
Whatever reply Ran had died in her throat as metal screeched and splintered the air. Sparks of heat volley her way, sending chills up her spine as she watches with bated breath, the sudden standoff between warrior and sword smith. User and maker. Eye to eye. Sword to sword. Each visage painted with unmatched conviction, as his weapon locks the other in a slow, arduous battle for dominance. She swallows hard but it doesn't prevent her knees from buckling.
"The scabbard was unnecessary," he growled, taking his stand.
"A good scabbard is always necessary," the older counterpart parried, holding his own.
"Mitsunari-dono," Ran pats the omamori on the inside folds of her yukata, her voice hardly a whisper. "P-Please stop."
"You'd do well to listen, Sakichi," Masahide added, maintaining his footing.
The odachi-wielder stole a glance at the curled figure with shiny eyes on the floor.
Inconceivable.
Had she never seen a fight between samurai? Granted, the old man was no samurai, but this was not mass murder or any horror liable to occur in the Sengoku Jidai. She wasn't involved either… so why was she cowering on the floor?
Mitsunari edged his foot forwards, biding to overpower Masahide's resistance. It worked wonderfully last time. Insidious, yet unstoppable; it could only succeed today as well.
Victory was close at hand when a sniffle reached his ears. He stole another glance. Was she being serious or feigning vulnerability? Immediately, Mitsunari regrets the split second glimpse as a smirk mirrored in the old man's eyes.
Damn it.
Mitsunari is no strategist, but even he knew there is more than one way to win a battle. A warrior is body and soul; thus he can be broken down by the same principle. The momentary amusement in the old man's eyes was all it took for the young general to realize the inherent defeat that no amount of his might or skill could change. But he wasn't about to concede defeat. His pride forbids it.
The sword smith noticed his plight and chuckled before retreating to disengage swords with an agility that debunked his advanced age. "I, Masahide, shall not bring tears to a lady's eyes," he states, re-sheathing his weapon and finding that the young general had already done the same.
Mitsunari scowls before turning to Ran, whom cringes under his stare.
"We're leaving," he snaps, and turns on his heels. "Get up. Now, least I leave you here."
With the help of the countertop, Ran pulls herself up. "I apologize for his behavior Masahide-dono." She straightens her yukata and bows.
"You are apologizing on his behalf?" He mulls, stroking his beard.
"Of course, for you to have done so much work and he repays you with aggression, I must apologize-"
A wave of his hand. "Ojo-san," he says with a smile, "that was not aggression."
She blinks. "Eh?"
"You have yet to see Sakichi's true nature as a warrior," a chuckle rumbling in his chest, "but I suppose one day you will."
She bit her lip. "Masahide-dono, is it wrong of me to hope that day never comes?"
The old man remains silent as he shuffles over to the counter by Ran. "One day, the warriors of this land will have to lay down their swords. Wars will draw to an end, and the way of the samurai will become obsolete." He mounts his weapon on a wooden stand, running his gnarled, calloused fingers along the lacquered sheath with a distant gaze.
"This truth, I thought, Sakichi will never come to realize," he turns to her with a wizened smile. "But with you, he has hope."
"I am flattered by your words, Masahide-dono," she replies with downcast eyes, "but the wisest person to teach him this is you, sir, not I."
He nods with a grin. "Ojo-san, from the day he first asked me fashion him a bokken until now, Sakichi has not heeded my teachings. As you can see from his manners."
"Is that so? But surely, Mitsunari-dono will not heed my words, I am but-"
The sword smith raises a staying hand, and Ran vaguely wonders if all elderly men talk with their hands and fists.
"I did not end the fight, ojo-san, that rascal allowed it to end. Sakichi does not miss counter-attacks. Neither has he permitted a fight to end at anyone's behest."
He smiles at her, a kindly smile that matches her's in warmth.
"A sword is only as strong as its scabbard. You hold more sway over him than you think," he says with a wink that colors her a deep crimson.
"How long did you intend for me to wait?" He demands of the hunched figure with heaving shoulders.
Her lungs burn and her voice protests when she ekes out an apology, but the problem is in her arms. Carrying her purchases down the darkening cobblestone path in a mad dash was too much to ask. Ran grimly wondered how she was going to carry the load back to the stables. It was too much to do and when the packages and lacquered box threaten to slide on to the floor Mitsunari surprises her for the third time by snatching the said objects out of her clutch.
"So you don't soil goods you wasted my time buying today," he snaps at her gaping expression, as if there was a prerequisite to helping others. He stalks ahead with odachi in the other arm, leaving Ran with a smile in the dusky, autumn breeze.
She is about to thank him openly for his kindness when the threat to leave her in town reaches her ears. Ran makes run for it down the maple-covered path, musing over how much "sway" she truly held over one of the most powerful generals in Japan.
Matte= wait
Doke= out of the way!
dame desu= it's bad (indicates refusal)
ii darou= it's fine/good/ok
ojo-san=Miss/ young lady
yokoso= welcome
O-kasan wa shinpai desu yo=mom was worried!
Jidai= era
Bokken= wooden sword
Kin/momme/mon/ryo= units of mass/currency
This chapter took 3 days to write. Hope it was as enjoyable for everyone to read as it was for me to write. =]
I've been sketching Ran and Mitsunari out but on account of my non-existent artistry I'm afraid the image panel won't be of much use at the moment. I apologize but any expression of creativity outside of literary diction is not my forte.