Private Tales Blood of the Past, Memories of Tomorrow

[Wakasugi Touma]

"If some longing goes unmet, don't be astonished. We call that Life."
-Anna Freud​

Blood. A repugnant, yet familiar taste. It was a taste that the ronin, Tomua, had thought to have washed out of his mouth a long time ago. Once upon a time, Tomua wouldn't have thought twice about the act of spilling blood. It was a way of life, a part that was as normal as eating, drinking, and breathing. Blood had been common, but so too was tragedy. What connections Tomua had built would inevitably meet a violent end, always a result of Tomua's actions. Blood for blood, as the saving went, and so perpetuated a despondent existence that pushed the man to his limits.

And it broke the swordsmen.

Yet after a life time of misery living by the blade, here Tomua stood: standing against the rain, surrounded by the bodies of the dead, all cut down by the bloodied blade he held haphazardly in his hand. Not that many could tell whose blood was dripping down his blade, considering how many wounds he currently sustained. Indeed, whatever bout the ronin had gotten himself into, it was clear that it was not a simple fight. The swordsmen were bleeding badly, as numerous cuts and lacerations across his body allowed blood to flow freely. That shaft of an arrow sticking out of his chest only served to highlight the severity of Touma's situation, considering how easy it was for him to have deflect any incoming volleys.

But the worse part about his situation was the numbness he felt, as images of his past life flashed in front of him, flashing every time a bolt of lightning streaked across the stormy skies.

With a silent heave, the ronin grasped onto the arrow that had embedded itself into his shoulder, tightening his grip on the shaft before snapping it in half. Tossing the feathered end of arrow to the side, the broken projectile bouncing off those who had already fallen. The pounding of the rain had already soaked Tomua through, but no amount of water could wash away the blood that had stained him.

10 to 1, that was how badly Tomua was outnumbered, as his opponents began circling his position with their weapons drawn.

It had always been like this for as long as Tomua had remembered, even back in his own lands the fights were always lopsided. But that was what made him such a good killer; the odds never mattered, the feelings didn't matter, all that mattered was getting the job done. Saying nothing, feeling nothing, the ronin raised his weapon up towards the side...prompting a volley of arrows to be loosed directly upon him...

 

[Himitsu]

Another snap of lightning, another crack of thunder, as the stormy gale swept across the clearing, bowing trees and rolling the rain in a thick sheet in front of it. The mud splashed around the men's feet as they charged, overhead the arcs of arrows scattering the rain as they arced through the storm roil... all towards the man still standing -- somehow -- in the middle of the clearing, all with a deadly intent, all with a sort of impending finality to them. The bout was out in the forest, after all, the lone swordsman with no visible help, no coming backup, no chance --

The fire curled through the air like a gasp, a white-gold twirl of flame that snarled through the rain and the low-heavy clouds and the darkness of the evening and consumed the arrows. There was the sudden sizzle of wood being turned to ash, raindrops to steam, and the threat of a volley of arrows neutralized from out of the murk of the trees, all without any warning.

It was a punctuation that drew the attackers to a stop -- or at least a hesitation -- at the addition of an unknown, as rain dripped and blood dripped and the lightning screeched overhead. Just this collective inhale, the darkness and the gloom deepening as the storm ebbed momentarily, tense and silent around them, a dozen set of eyes looking for the answer to where the fire had come from...

Two weeks ago...
The sea stretched out in front of her like a dazzling blue field, disappearing into the line where it met the sky unfathomable distances away. The sun sparkled high overhead, dipping occasionally behind fleeting white clouds, interrupted by the zip of gulls and other sea birds. She knew most of them by their calls, if not their names; one of the perks of good hearing. A definite downside, considering as she stood on the worn wooden docks and swayed slightly, her hearing and the brightness of the glaring sun were making her regret, yet again, last night's bout of drinking.

Not that she'd drunk herself into oblivion of course, but that she'd had to wake up and hadn't the money to continue drinking.

So here she was, squinting at the ship's Help Wanted board, trying to parse through the thickness of her pounding head to try and figure out which of the listed jobs would get her the furthest away. Her fingers rubbed at the loop of ribbon around her wrist, a subconscious fidget that she'd found herself doing more and more over the weeks -- months? -- that she'd worn it. It was simple enough so as to almost be completely missable -- a white bit of fabric with a single red bead glistening on it. The moment she caught herself she snatched her hand away, stalking forward towards the first of the ships.

Time to get away. To get far away, and to stop running every time the bead so much as paled in color.
Like now --??? She stopped abruptly, peering down at it, bristling. No, no it was fine. She was just... seeing things. Hoping to see things? Hoping ... for what? A reason to crash into a life that she couldn't have, that she couldn't want to have, against all the rules that she had learned the hard way over, and over, and over again...?

No, time to do what she did best and run. She strode up the plank of the ship, hoping there was a chance this one would take her far enough.

Present...
Lightning snaked across the sky, plunging for one fraction of a heartbeat the world into stark black and white: white faces turned up, towards the darkness, white blades held up and out but hesitating, black shadow across the lone swordsman's face as he somehow, still, kept his feet underneath him. Then the shattering crack of thunder, the rumble that didn't die off completely before there was another, lower roar underneath...

... as flame snaked forward once more, blasting back the two fighters closest to the copse of shadow-draped trees. They tumbled backwards, end over end, glowing with embers and the ash of the blast, as overtop a figure dashed forward.

White-gold flames licked from the long, alabaster tails that flared out behind her, brilliant enough to nearly be a flash of light themselves. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, whipping around the two large, tapered ears that perked from top of her head, streaming across a face that was human, yes, but a smidge too angular, too feline, to be just that... and those golden eyes, fierce and sharp and full of fury. Her clothing was unremarkable, pants and loose shirt and leather jacket... but that small reassurance of normalcy was lost as her leap carried her further than normal could ever explain.

The sound of her landing was lost in the patter of rain, in the snarl that slid from her, as she came to a stop in front of the swordsman. Slowly, she stood, hands going behind her before drawing out the two tonfa that had been strapped to the small of her back, whipping them out at her sides.

She didn't say anything; she didn't have to. That pose and the slow twirl of her tails said everything.

The only way to him is through me.