The story of how Kyuzo got his twin katanas, his red coat and also earned a friend. Featuring Kyuzo, an OC, a pup hound named Mushi, some people from Kougakyo and some Nobuseris too.
(1)Note! I apologize for any setting mistakes and if there are some elements in the story that are incoherent when it comes to the setting or descriptions. I don't fully grasp the Samurai 7 universe so I filled in the lacks with imagination!
(2)Note! The story starts 3 years prior to the actual story.
Disclaimer: Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa.
Soundtrack! When it comes to writing, music is muse. The story is divided in multiple parts that each have their soundtrack. Samurai – Samurai 7 OST is to 'unfulfilled desire'. Kirara's theme – Samurai 7 OST is to 'a ticket out'. Set fire to the rain by Adele is obviously to 'rain on fire'. The Meadow by Alexandre Desplat is to 'flourish'. Niji Musubi (Tying Rainbow) by Rin is to 'the red bird'. You are invited to listen to those songs while reading.
Edit 04/11/13: Separated the story into individual chapters to make it easier to read. :)
RED BIRD
.flourish
Summer whittled itself away, along with its whining cicadas and rushes of summer breath that would make children think of games. Autumn came down with a tumult of the brightest of leaves, erasing the weightlessness summer had enstored and turning the world into an array of the most bucolic shades. Gone was youth nostalgia of summer and into vintage savour it slipped. Winter brought gelid puffs of breath and many deaths.
Kougakyo went on being the merchant city it was, without much predicament to ruffle its bustling life style, and Kyuzo went on with being the silent body guard who wore his heart heavy against his chest. And then spring returned, and it was a spectacle to be breathed in, sought for, and embraced. Months passed by quickly, and the word 'samurai' came to die once again, wilting away with the warm days' breeze.
He came to see her often, although often was not often enough, and he did not try to slip out of his frame too much.
The first time he found her sitting on the stairs behind, staring at the grave he had dug up for Mushi beside the sleeping rose bush. The front doors had been opened, and he had slipped inside, still in his everlasting read coat, to sit close beside her.
Her scars had healed into pale rough line work. The two scars on her face ran along her right cheek, criss-crossing beside her nose, and although they did not touch her lips they would bend with a smile. She did not show him her back and so he could only guess.
Upon those first days they did not speak, and they allowed silence to be their conversation. Omine did not hover much around her workshop anymore, and one day he was the one to take the katana she had started a long time ago, resuming the polishing. When he did this she'd stare and he'd look up, and there went the vast and free world. He had been afraid she'd had lost an eye after the happenings, but her green gaze was the same, although it was not challenging or pressing anymore. Just quaint and slowly breathing in his presence.
During one rainy autumn evening, when night was being tucked in, he found her lying on the floor of one of the many empty rooms of the house. She had changed into a kimono the color of sapphire, her wild, curling red hair and pale face contrasting. She had her arms wrapped around herself and he could see the start of the scars on her neck, where the kimono was loosened, and his steps quickened.
"Don't come closer, Kyuzo."
He stood quietly for a minute before sitting down and turning his back to her lying form.
The rain was plundering overheard, but it felt as if it was hanging dry around them. He said nothing, giving her space to soak up her subconscious, hoping she could pardon him for his lack of comforting words.
"I feel like I've lost something. But I don't know what. And I'm not talking about skin or the dog."
He heard the silk of the kimono ruffle as she lifted herself up to sit, their two bodies now back to back. Her voice was poised and devoid of emotions. She didn't seem saddened, or nostalgic. Maybe a bit regretful. Discouraged, too.
"I can't put my finger on it. It's like… like…" He turned around, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I've dishonoured my father, and my brother. They would have never let something like this happen. I guess I was wrong with myself. I thought I was stronger. I…"
He turned her around and wrapped her in his arms, carefully lying one hand on the back of her head and the other at the end of her back. He tucked her into the folds of his red coat, and she obliged. Without a tear, without a sob or a weep. She did not cry and only wrapped her own arms around his torso, laying her head on his shoulder.
"We're not born as gods," her whispered.
But, as he held on to her, he couldn't stop thinking that she had not deserved such cruel punishment. She was not the one who killed men without a second thought and gathered blood on her hands only to wipe it away without a care later. If there was anyone that should have received a punishment it was him, he who turned the art of killing into damning. And accepted it whole heartedly.
"If I had come sooner,"
He felt her tense.
"I should have known. I knew." But I didn't do anything. I knew the Nobuseri were still around but I didn't even bother.
She was wriggling away from his embrace, and her gaze had soaked up with anger. "I know what you're doing. Blaming yourself. Thinking that it shouldn't have happened to me. I thought you smarter than that!"
He blinked, slightly taken aback.
"Nothing is ever fair. There's nothing you could have done, there was nothing you were entitled to do. I didn't ask you to come back. You're a warrior, you've been on the battlefield, and you should know all this better than me. If you want to survive you'll have to be more pitiless."
She brought a hand to her face, frowning, and she was about to get up when he held her down and ran his thumb over her scars. "Omine, you're still a beautiful woman."
She laughed; a bitter sound of mockery. "You think I care about beauty? Please. I'm even grateful for those scares. They make me look intimidating."
But its hurts, he thought as she turned around.
There, the scars on her neck were blinking at him again. He lifted a hand and gently pulled the kimono off her shoulders and down her back.
Scars, large and small, long and short, criss-crossing or curving. It was a shocking sight, and where her own knife had cut the flesh had turned white and glistening.
He saw a smirk tug at her lips. "Admit it, I look tougher than you."
That night she saw him out again, red hair waving softly in the wind as she spoke that same curious sentence again. "See you later, maybe never."
After that, he was worried she'd never be nudged back to normal. He did not know how to help, and even though she did not fall into a hysterical fit of despair, she had closed up. Like a flower, she seemed more remote. Angry with herself and resolved to fix the dishonour she had caused, but he knew she was at lost as to how to do it. When he was not with her he worried internaly, and his manners became brusquer, causing intimidation to turn to fear, and he could not find himself a woman fit for distraction. They always looked at him with such a frightened stare. But her old self flickered back to life bit by bit, somehow, and she took up a habit of expecting his visit. She would sometimes take out a flute and play for him little melodies that rung sweetly in the air, and when he gave her a questioning look she only said 'one of my many secrets talents.'
She resumed the polishing of the katana, and he'd come by when he could, always leaving with the same little phrase escaping her lips. See you later, maybe never.
"Why do you say that," he asked her once. Spring was on the brim again, and it had been one year since they had enjoyed it together for the first time.
"Because it's true," she said as she kept on rubbing the blade with a stone, carefully, making sure not to disrupt the hard work she had put into the blade. It was turning out into a beautiful weapon. "You might not come back. You might meet someone and start a battle, and die like a true samurai. Or you might indeed show up a week later." She smirked, and he said nothing, resting his chin on his arm placed over his knee.
Dying in battle was the best way for a samurai to die, but he had not yet had a good battle since the war ended.
"I think it's done."
He glanced at her. She had lifted the blade in the sun, and the star was caught in the steel. She picked up the pommel and started putting the pieces together. The finished product was a simple but sturdy blade, with a discreet shape of a dragon incrusted at the beginning of the blade, just below the habaki.
"For who is it?"
"For me," she said matter-of-factly, and somehow he had known she'd say just that.
He got up and marched down the stairs, unsheathing his twin katanas. Omine blinked.
"Get up," he said, but she didn't budge.
"I won't be able to even put a scratch on you."
"Try me."
"I wasn't able to defend myself against those bandits."
"You didn't have a proper weapon."
"I did. You're going to be disappointed, I assure you."
He lifted a brow, and when she still didn't budge he made her rise to her feet himself. He ran his thumb over her scars. "I believe you can. I bet your father taught you how to fight as well."
She locked her hands around the pommel with some unease. "My brother, actually."
Kyuzo tightened his grip and waited for her to attack. Omine sighed and shook her head. But when she stroke he knew she was giving it her best, and then he replied with his own sequence.
For many minutes they spared, springing backwards, then forward, angling on the sides and falling into a rhythmical dance. Omine's speed and strength grew bigger as they fought, and slowly he started seeing the skills she had been taught, the strength she had earned in her every day work finally reflecting in her strong, precise blows. The grass stirred under their footsteps, the wind toned around the clangs of their blades as they met and left. He saw how glee soared in her eyes, too be moving once again, and for the many heart beats that followed they were kept alive, anchoring themselves to each other with each strike. She was good, maybe not as good as a properly trained warrior, but for once he was fighting without facing an arrogant or boastful opponent, and inwardly he smiled.
Until he locked her blow and sent her katana flying behind her. It buried itself in the ground and Omine dropped her arms. She was flushed, her cheeks having become roses of blush that made her scars stand out, and her blue kimono heaved under each of her breaths. Wisps of her red hair had freed themselves from the not, and she looked lovely. This was the first time Kyuzo swallowed the desire to bring his lips to hers.
"I pity those who have fallen under your blades," she said with a little smile, before going back to fetch her katana. He sheathed his own swords and looked away as something in his chest swayed.