the samurai is a storyteller
A/N: I'm back, and surprisingly the Unohana vs Kenpachi fight in Bleach TYBW was just the thing I needed to complete this update that's been in the drafts bucket for more than a year.
"A story, just to pass the time."
The samurai is a storyteller. The Akatsuki are the audience.
A flash of lightning. A clap of thunder. The downpour echoes in the distance. In this small clearing, there is no rain. In this small clearing, there is only cold wind and even colder bodies. Kisame watches as the samurai lifts her sleeves and ties them back like those noble fighters he'd seen during his time as a Swordsman. She does this quietly, methodically, and he wonders again how a samurai could find their way into the Akatsuki and why.
"Shall we?" She asks as she finishes tightening her sleeves.
He feels giddy. He hasn't been asked that in what feels like decades.
"Any rules?" He asks in response, because he still has respect for bouts like this.
"This is just a simple spar, Hoshigaki-san," she smiles, "let us try not to kill each other."
Try?
He laughs.
"Best of three?" He suggests.
And she smiles wider, "Best of five."
He feels Samehada thrum in anticipation. It's out for blood, it's hungry for violence.
"Best of five." He agress, "When you're ready."
She nods, readying her stance.
It's been so long since he'd last seen a samurai's initial stance, even longer since he'd last witnessed it himself. Her movements are fluid and sure. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth is tight. She's breathing slowly and evenly. He knows she's gathering chakra to her arms and feet. If she's going to fight like how he knows a samurai would, she's going to aim straight for his hands to disarm him.
She leans forward.
He steadies his footing, not grabbing Samehada just yet.
She tightens her grip on the katana.
He breathes in—
She opens her eyes.
—and breathes out.
She charges.
He breathes in again, grabs Samehada—
She disappears.
—and slashes downward.
Damn!
She is fast, but he expected that, and he expects her to attack from above—
He blocks the katana with Samehada's edge.
—but she attacks from behind instead, and cuts the smallest bit off.
One.
She moves back, and he laughs when he turns to see her holding up the katana with both hands.
"Sharp." He comments, noticing the drops of blood on the ground.
"Samehada truly is alive," she huffs, "it's… amazing."
He's heard his opponents call him and Samehada many things, foul and terrifying things, but never a compliment. He can tell she's excited by the way she looks at it, by the way her eyes are glued to it. And he's getting excited too. It's not every day that one gets to spar with a samurai.
"Wait until you feel it," he chuckles.
He makes the next move before she does, swinging Samehada towards her. She moves back, strikes the face of Samehada with the blunt edge of her sword. He swings it again, she evades. She delivers a quick jab, he blocks it. He spins, she ducks. She cuts, he jumps.
He hasn't been in a swordfight in so long, and he can tell that she hasn't either. Fighting with shinobi is all pomp, with elements and summons, that he hadn't really missed the bare tactics of kenjutsu. There aren't many shinobi who'd openly fight him without any secret techniques. But then there's her, a samurai, equipped with only the barest techniques. The barest and the best, as he used to believe.
She cuts a single scale of Samehada, and he can hear the sword scream—
Two.
"Heh," he chuckles as she catches her backward step, "you might actually win."
"You are too kind, Hoshigaki-san." She tilts her head to the side, listening.
A single thunderclap echoes around them and the electric scent fills the clearing.
"It's going to rain."
The sound of the downpour rushes closer.
He snorts, gauging her reaction, "Wouldn't want to catch a cold now."
She chuckles in reply, "It's just a little rain, isn't it?"
She looks at him then, knowingly. And he looks back. The rain comes crashing down on them. Lightning flashes up above. This time, they charge together. Samehada comes to life. Kunishige starts to sing.
Above them, lightning.
Ah.
He laughs. She does too.
Sparks, if one can call it that.
Kunishige sings to the beat of the rain. Samehada howls to the sound of thunder. It's a conversation only swordsmen like them understand.
Still, he wonders if she truly does find enjoyment in this, knowing that he is criminal, that he is beneath the samurai's noble principles and teachings. No, he doesn't wonder because she is already here, treating him like he is no different from her, like they are the same. Maybe she's been branded a criminal. Maybe she is one.
He doesn't know what he'd think of her if she is.
"Will you mind me asking, Hoshigaki-san," she asks with Kunishige held to her side in a neutral stance, "how do you find the rain?"
She's joking. No, she's distracting him, using a tactic only children would use. So he scoffs, laughs, but charges at her all the same.
Samehada laughs along with him, still thirsty for blood because water can never satisfy it. He doesn't know whether to believe her story about the Isonade, but he knows that bloodthirsty beasts and monsters exist. The literal kind. Beasts and monsters like him.
"Better the rain than the heat," he says, smiling with his teeth.
He's a monster, see, with his inhuman features and his bloodlust.
"You are stronger in the rain," she notes, evading Samehada's reach, "how interesting."
He doesn't understand why she's so interested on the blade, is she after it? Is she a collector? But the referred to him and not Samehada, does she find him so interesting? Is she one of those types who cut open something to see how it works? Does she plan to do that to him?
He can laugh at the idea, but then she does a quick step, something he'd never seen a shinobi do before, and cuts another scale off Samehada.
Three.
The single scale flies upward into the air, and she uses that momentary lull to charge straight at him, to use the full force of her might to throw him off guard and force Samehada to taste the dirt, the mud. And he lets her because–oh, what is she going to do?
Out of curiosity, he lets her.
The blunt edge of Kunishige snags on Samehada's scales–
And Samehada lets her too.
–and it forces the sword upward and out of his grasp.
"Hoshigaki-san,"
She is close, very close; he can hear her, he can feel her breathe. Samehada falls to the group behind him. Where had she gotten that strength? Had she been hiding it all this time? Was she holding back before?
"Look, listen."
Rain and thunder, he doesn't know what to look at except her eyes. Like steel, he thinks. Like steel, they glimmer with the faintest hint of sharpness, the smallest promise of bloodshed. No, she wasn't holding back. This isn't her true strength, this is just a sudden burst, a quick shot of energy and power. She is not any stronger than him. She is not any better than him.
Behind him, Samehada growls, hungry. Before him, Kunishige whispers, coy. Above them, rain, lightning, thunder.
She doesn't look up and neither does he. The space between them feels sharp, solid, pointed. Like steel. Like a knife. Increasingly cold and increasingly difficult. Tense. But which one of them holds it?
"You have sharp teeth," she says under her breath, "I might cut myself if I was close enough."
She smiles. Her hair sticks to her face. Their clothes stick to their bodies. A thought flickers briefly in his head, but he refuses to let it linger. Then she jolts back as if struck; maybe she had the same thought too. Maybe one of them should act on it. Maybe he should stop thinking about it.
He picks up Samehada easily, the mud doesn't stick to its skin, its scales, its teeth. The blade itself is missing three scales, but they will grow back. One of the best things about living weapons is that there is no need to sharpen them, they only need to feed, and Samehada is hungry for blood.
But the fight is over. Best out of five and she's won. He swings the bulk of Samehada over his shoulder, hearing it groan. When he turns to her, she is standing with the blade of Kunishige turned downward. She does not make any other movement.
"Would you consider that a test run, Hoshigaki-san?"
He makes a sound of amusement.
"You really want for a fight?"
He can hear Samehada grin.
"If you will allow me," she gives a slight bow, "I wish to see what else the Isonade's skin is capable of."
He is sure she is one of those collectors, one of those lunatics who'd do and give anything to find out if a so-called mythical treasure is real and then have it for themselves to attempt to compensate for everything they've done to get it. Why is she in the Akatsuki, then? Surely the Seven Swords isn't what she's after, the samurai have hundreds of legendary and mythical items. Maybe her blades, Kunishige and Kuninobu, are legendary in their own right.
"Seeing's just half the fun," he sneers, "wait 'till you feel it."
There's a small quirk on the side of her mouth.
"I shall see, then."
She readies her stance, and offensive one this time, and he barely gets Samehada off his shoulder when she rushes forward.
Above them, the storm continues.
In the end, they're both completely drenched and heaving.
"Shikai-san! Hoshigaki-san!"
Tenkou Asayake looks at them in disbelief, like a mother seeing her children playing in the mud. There is mud on their clothes, some grass and leaves too, but no blood. In the end, he'd won three rounds but she'd managed to surprise him with her stamina. Her footwork is quick, almost like a shinobi's, and he wouldn't have a doubt if she'd trained with one before. Or if she'd somehow managed to steal a shinobi's ability.
"Come inside!"
He hears the samurai's laugh over the downpour and feels like his younger self again.
"Come now, Tenkou," the samurai says, "It's just a little rain."
He thinks it's like a little catchphrase for her, how she thinks she won't be affected by it. Her clothes are sticking to her body, and mud and grass, and he has no doubt it will be a pain to wring dry. He has no doubt it won't be so easy to wash off.
"I am grateful for the bout, Hoshigaki-san," she turns to him and bows, "it is not so often I can approach a member of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, much less one with great skill such as yourself."
"Former member," he corrects her and shrugs, noticing how she's never taken her eyes off Samehada, "but thanks all the same."
He doesn't often come by samurai like her either.
"You shouldn't get sick, Shikai-san."
The way the younger woman says it makes him curious. Why shouldn't she?
"Don't worry yourself, Tenkou," the samurai says, "I won't."
Tenkou returns inside the building and the samurai follows swiftly. She shakes off the rain and sets her swords by the door. She is so at home here, Kisame thinks. The way she talks to the younger woman is casual and familial. She must come here often. But why? Who is she? Why is a samurai like her among the ranks of the Akatsuki underlings? Surely it just can't be out of convenience in her fairytale quest of collecting… whatever it is she's after.
Later, when they've both changed into dry clothes and are sitting by the fire, he hopes to have these questions answered. But she is the one who questions him instead.
"Have you ever heard of the Kojin, Hoshigaki-san?"
Her hair is still damp. The cot where Itachi had lain is now empty. There is no sight of the young shinobi or of the Asayake runt. Kisame thinks there is no escaping the samurai here.
"No."
He decides to add quickly, "Am I supposed to?"
"Hm," the samurai blinks, "no, I guess not."
And it's quiet again. The fire between them flickers, sending embers into the air, and part of him thinks it's both literal and figurative. Part doesn't want to think that way, knows that it's just the adrenaline, just the tense high, just Samehada's bloodthirst taking root in his mind once more. There is a fire between them, part of him thinks, the same kind of fire that showers a battlefield each time swords clash.
Swordsman to swordsman, he has much respect for her. As a shinobi, he has as much distaste towards the samurai as anyone else, but he isn't sure whether the same kind of distaste can apply to her. After all, she's already in such unsavory company and she treats it as nothing. Maybe she is as despicable as them, as criminal as them.
So he decides to ask this now, "How did you find yourself here?"
He isn't sure which honorific to use with her, if she even is deserving of any.
"The same way most had," she replies easily, "how did you?"
He knows there are some things one likes to keep to themselves, and he understands that. But this? What does she mean by "same way" and who does she mean by "most"?
"Mizugakure branded me a criminal," he encapsulates his entire life in one sentence, "I had nowhere else to go"
"No, you could have gone to the samurai."
She says it so quickly that it seems like it's an obvious answer. But the sentiment is idealistic, if not childish, because what samurai country would accept shinobi so freely, more so one who'd been branded a criminal? Wait, had that happened before? Was she a witness to it? His questions about her just seem to pile up.
"Your people would sooner behead shinobi like me," he replies because he knows all the stories about shinobi who'd dared cross the samurai, "else they risk war for harboring a criminal."
"You would be given an honorable death," she continues, "in a ritual that would grant you pardon."
He doesn't think any ritual or any prayer or any offering to any god would grant him pardon. It's probably by a god's wrath that he is the way he is, halfway between man and monster. Well, if his death would appease that god and give me another shot at life–
Do the samurai believe in the same afterlife as the shinobi?
"And you will be reborn," she looks at him then, like a wise sage offering worldly advice, "if the gods find it fit."
Well, that's it then. The gods won't ever find him fit.
"No god would," he mutters, staring at Samehada and wondering what ever became of the Isonade whose skin had been torn to create it.
"Then find one," she says it like it's so simple, "you find one god who will."
She is giving him more questions than answer. Just who is this samurai? Is she even a real person?
"Have you?" He questions her, noting how she fixes her position opposite him. She's going to tell another story, he can tell.
"Have you ever heard of the Kojin, Hoshigaki-san?"
She repeats the question with mirth and the fire reflected in her eyes.
"I already told you," he huffs, "no."
She smiles then, looking very much like the first storyteller Kisame had seen visit Mizugakure.
"But I am sure you have heard of its more common name, the Samebito."
He hasn't heard of it either, and so she begins another tale. Between them, the fire crackles. Outside, the rain continues.
In this story, she names the protagonist Tatara.
"He is a fisherman, just like all the others."
And he wonders if this Tatara lived in the same village as Sachi.
"That would be very fantastic, wouldn't it, Hoshigaki-san? Perhaps this village lay the foundation of Mizugakure."
He doesn't admit that he likes the idea.
"Tatare lived a simple life in his simple house, and dreamed of simple things."
Kisame wonders quietly what those could be.
"Food, warmth, shelter. Tatara is simple man with a simple soul, a friend to all and a foe to none."
He also thinks Tatara is a coward.
"Then one day, as he was returning home from the sea, he spotted amongst the rocks a strange creature. It resembled a man in its shape, but its body was coal black and had the face of a beast, a monster."
Kisame images the creature to look like Zetsu, or at least half of him.
"But its eyes were a brilliant green, like the sea during early mornings, or emeralds glittering in the sun. It was an otherwise terrifying creature, but its eyes showed a kindness Tatara knew well."
Now, Kisame thinks, Tatara is not only a coward, but he also an idiot. He thinks the man is going to end up dead.
"I think Tatara is extremely lucky in this case, because the creature does not attack him. Instead, it introduced itself as a samebito, once a servant in the great halls of Ryuuguujou, and said it was banished into exile for a minor offense. It had wandered the seas in search for a new home, but had found none."
Kisame wonders if she was making this up.
"Tatara took pity on the samebito and invited it to live with him, in the waters beneath his house on stilts. And for six months, Tatara and the samebito lived together happily."
Now, Kisame thinks, the story is about to go where he expects it to go.
"On the seventh month, a travelling merchant had come to their village along with his daughter, Tamamo. Now, I think the rest of the story is fairly obvious… Tatara falls in love with her at first sight and vows to marry her, however, her merchant father demanded a dowry of a thousand pristine jewels– He wanted her to live a good and wealthy life, you see."
Kisame comments that the father is like Kakuzu in that way.
"I think you're right, Hoshigaki-san."
She laughs, and he really thinks about it now. Has she met everyone in the Akatsuki? Is she is speaking terms with them all? Even that stuck-up Kakuzu? And she's… still… alive?
"And so, Tatara fell into a deep despair, as do most people during that time, I think. It was a despair so deep that he refused to eat or sleep, he was starved both physically and spiritually. The samebito feared Tatara would soon die of a broken heart, and through its sadness, began to weep for the man."
Kisame doesn't like this story.
"The samebito cried bitter tears, and as they rolled down its cheeks began to solidify and crystalize. And by the time its tears hit the floor, they had become sapphires."
Ah, Kisame comments, Kakuzu would want to catch of these samebito if he ever heard this story.
"Maybe he would, but he wouldn't want to go through the hassle of conversion. Jewelers are as shrewd as they are scarce."
She replies easily, and Kisame really wonders then, if was in speaking terms with only Kakuzu and no one else. Otherwise, he would have heard of her at least.
"But anyway, upon the sight of these, Tatara instantly found new hope and began to count the sapphires rolling onto the floor. At the sight of the newly energized Tatara, the samebito stopped crying. Tatara begged for it to continue until a thousand of these sapphires filled the floor of his house. But the samebito replied regretfully that it can only cry if it experienced true grief and sadness."
Kisame begins to think about how this story will end, and knows it won't be a good one.
"With this knowledge, Tatara began to think of how to make such a create feel that way, but then he remembered their friendship, their months spent together, and regretfully demanded for the samebito to leave, telling it that it was nothing but a burden to him all this time, a nuisance in his home."
Kisame thinks it's a cruel thing to do, but then again, how can a plain man live with a creature like that?
"And so the samebito cried and it cried profusely, refusing to believe their friendship was not true. Its tears formed into sapphires, and the floor of Tatara's home began to flood with these gemstones. He began to gather them in his arms, quietly cheering to himself as the gemstones are already too many to count, knowing that with these alone, he and Tamamo will live very happy and very wealthily all their lives."
Kisame thinks the story is about to end.
"But neither he nor the samebito anticipated the weight, and Tatara's house on stilts falls into the sea, along with him, the samebito, and all the sapphires."
She pauses.
"What do you think happens then, Hoshigaki-san?"
Kisame tells her that Tatara drowns, or will drown, had the samebito not chosen to save him. He's a little embarrassed at his own answer, but from what he understood from her story, both Tatara and the samebito are kind to a fault.
She smiles then, knowingly, "Will you believe me if I say you are correct?"
He shakes his head as he laughs. Loudly.
"But you are!"
She exclaims and claps her hands.
"Tatara rushes into the water, trying to gather what sapphires he can reach, not realizing he is already so deep into the water and is running out of air. As he struggles to swim back up with what he has gathered, the samebito notices him, notices–even in the water–Tatara's tears. And out of its kindness, it rushes to him, swims quickly and delivers Tatara to shore."
Kisame frowns a little, wondering what the moral of the story is, if there is one.
"And Tatara, realizing the samebito's unbound kindness, apologizes for his earlier actions and begs for its forgiveness. The samebito, seeing Tatara's honesty, dives back into the water and gathers the sapphires from the bottom of the sea. It presents these to Tatara, and he happily embraces the samebito. Soon, Tatara and Tamamo are married and live in a big merchant ship, with the samebito swimming along with them in their travels."
She bows to signal the end of the story, and Kisame hums in amusement.
"Did you not like it, Hoshigaki-san?"
She leans close to the fire to stoke it.
"It's too good of an ending," he says, "maybe the Isonade from your other story overturned the ship and they all died."
She chuckles, "With the samebito as their guard?"
"The samebito's a wimp," he scoffs "it'd sooner cry than fight back."
He looks out the window, the rain's gone and so are the clouds. He can almost see the sky, it's late in the afternoon. Almost sunset.
She hums, "Maybe so, but it's nice to hear a happy ending once in a while, right?"
Part of him agrees with her, the part of him that never really grew up. He wonders again what lesson is there in her story. Was it about kindness? About repaying debts? About greed?
"A story means whatever you want it to mean," she says abruptly, turning to look out the window as well, "but I'd like to think the story is a warning."
"How?"
"The samebito could have let Tatara die, but it didn't. The choice there is important. It's a choice not many are faced with, but to those who are, the decision should be simple."
To live or die. To kill or not– No, to kill or be killed, more like.
"Will you choose what benefits you more, or what is rightfully deserved?"
Does she mean that letting Tatara die is deserved?
"Tatara had a choice too," she continues, "drown in an attempt to gather the stones, or live just as he had been living all this time."
And there's an even deeper meaning in that, he thinks, whether to strive for something better with no guarantees, or continue the way one is living now. He wonders what she had decided, thinks that she'd chosen the first option, to strive for something not guaranteed, that's why she's here.
"We make decisions every day, all the time, Hoshigaki-san," she stares at the fire, "it's only a matter of what benefits us in the present."
In the present? What does she mean–
"Ah, good," Tenkou Asayake's voice comes in from the entryway, "you're both dry now."
She has hands on her hips like she's scolding them– how brave of her.
"Dinner is almost ready," she tuts.
"Thank you, Tenkou," the samurai bows slightly, "we'll be there shortly."
Tenkou turns to Kisame, "He's awake now too."
He smiles back at her. Itachi is awake? Well, this will be an interesting dinner. He turns to the samurai then, and notices the small shift in her expression before her face returns to the same neutral expression. It's not shock or anger or even fear, but it is a small reaction he doesn't see so often, especially when it's about Itachi.
Excitement.