07-23-2017, 05:29 PM
The grounded man proved reluctant to talk, so Takezo left him on the ground. He did not pay much attention to the blonde beach woman either, despite her eyeing. Instead, he moves closer to the hustle and bustle’s main bulk.
It was difficult to hear one thing out of so many, but he heart chitchat reminiscent of shopkeeping. “How much is this?” and “Does it come in red?” as well as “One order of noodles.” Clothing was a definite must. The relatively short swordsman had to crane his neck and rise to his tip-toes to see into some of the shops over the heads of the crowd. He was not too short to see the signs, but those with odd names like “Barnello’s” left him in the dark about what they actually sold.
Eventually he discovered a clothing shop with maniquins bearing more than thongs in the window. Not long after he entered, Takezo was fascinated by the strange material that many of the shorts were made of. They were like some sort of silk, but not quite as fine. Not only that, but they had strings inside them, like belts made right into the shorts. It was almost ingenious, if not obvious now that he had witnessed it. The cloth pants came with pockets, a feature only noble born would know in his era.
There were so many scattered through the store, and dozens of each kind. He could not imagine how many children this store had crammed into the back to fill these shelves. There were at least twenty or so people walking around, plucking items off of shelves and racks. The simple swordsman was bewildered by this modern achievement.
“Can I help you find something?” A young man with tanned skin and sun kissed blond hair greeted inquired.
Takezo turned, eyeing him up for a moment. “I need clothes and new shoes.” The bamboo slats were soaked with blood and beginning to tear from wear.
The salesman eyed Takezo up in turn, then without a word guided the swordsman to a back rack. “You sir, look like the king of the beach type, so I suggest some King of the Beach wear. This here is our top-of-the-line G-string men’s line, meant f—“
“No.”
“But—“
“I said… no.” The swordsman glared at the strings this man dared call Men’s attire.
“Well…” the clerk sounded a bit defeated. “How about these?” He gestured to the slightly-more-than-string underwear next to the assortment of strings.
“No.”
The clerk sighed. He turned away from the wall of man-thongs and gestures to the nearest rack of swim trunks. “Then by all means, look through our various assortments of quick-dry swim trunks.” Takezo was not giving him much to work with.
“I believe that is what I was doing before you suggested I try to tie my cock and balls with twine.” His words dripped with venom. He snatched a pair of shorts from the rack and held them to his hips. Their black background with red splatters caught his attention. They looked the right size, enough that the string would keep them up. “These are fine. Where are your shoes?”
Before the clerk could get a word in edge wise, Takezo had already spotted a wall with sandals. He left the man trying to speak. Takezo did not need a “king of the beach” offer in footwear either. The sandals that caught his eye were woven like those he wore now, but in a much more uniform manner. He took off a pair and placed them against the sole of his current sandal.
Close enough. “I want these.” He gestured to the clerk, who begrudgingly showed him to the register. Even as the man was ringing up the items, Takezo dips his hand into the small poucn at his side, hidden beneath the scraps of his clothing, and retrieves a handful of coins.
“Keep the change.” The coins are dropped onto the counter, with one or two rolling off. The swordsman continues onwards and outwards, departing the clothing store in favor of the nearest outhouse.
It smelled absolutely rancid… yet even this was nicer than the outhouses he remembered. Takezo was quick to change his attire, retiring his old, bloodied scraps for the new, odd material. After the rushed change, he escaped to fresh air, gulping it in.
That was definitely a familiar sensation. He dumped the old wardrobe in the nearest trash can to be done with it.
It was odd how light this cloth felt on his hips. He wore nothing beneath so it felt as if he were absolutely nude, waltzing about in public. Was this why Dust wore nothing more than these trunks?
Dust. He had almost forgotten about the giant. Lately he had only met foul characters who dominated his attention span with disgust and malice. I wonder where he is now. His mind wondered for a moment. Takezo expected the man to be off in the distance, wondering some other verse.
Instead, his attention turns in the opposite direction of the gate. Dust was close. Dust was very close. Takezo held firm to the scabbard and brought it in close as he again pushed through the crowd. The sense of direction lasted for only a few moments before becoming vague.
The sand beneath his feet was hot. He peered across the beach, looking for a giant. His gaze fell upon the back of a familiar head. “Dust?” The Swordsman announced his presence as he approached.
The smiling contractor turned to a familiar voice. “Takezo! Woah, you look like shit.” He eyed the man’s wounds of varying freshness. There were a few that were only a day or two old. One particularly nasty scar over his heart appeared to have just barely healed over. The rest were anywhere from months to years old and almost faded to mere lines across his olive skin.
The swordsman had on attire similar to Dust’s, carrying his weapon in hand by the sheath. “I should have known I’d find you in a place like this; surrounded by nearly naked women.” The swordsman chuckled.
It was difficult to hear one thing out of so many, but he heart chitchat reminiscent of shopkeeping. “How much is this?” and “Does it come in red?” as well as “One order of noodles.” Clothing was a definite must. The relatively short swordsman had to crane his neck and rise to his tip-toes to see into some of the shops over the heads of the crowd. He was not too short to see the signs, but those with odd names like “Barnello’s” left him in the dark about what they actually sold.
Eventually he discovered a clothing shop with maniquins bearing more than thongs in the window. Not long after he entered, Takezo was fascinated by the strange material that many of the shorts were made of. They were like some sort of silk, but not quite as fine. Not only that, but they had strings inside them, like belts made right into the shorts. It was almost ingenious, if not obvious now that he had witnessed it. The cloth pants came with pockets, a feature only noble born would know in his era.
There were so many scattered through the store, and dozens of each kind. He could not imagine how many children this store had crammed into the back to fill these shelves. There were at least twenty or so people walking around, plucking items off of shelves and racks. The simple swordsman was bewildered by this modern achievement.
“Can I help you find something?” A young man with tanned skin and sun kissed blond hair greeted inquired.
Takezo turned, eyeing him up for a moment. “I need clothes and new shoes.” The bamboo slats were soaked with blood and beginning to tear from wear.
The salesman eyed Takezo up in turn, then without a word guided the swordsman to a back rack. “You sir, look like the king of the beach type, so I suggest some King of the Beach wear. This here is our top-of-the-line G-string men’s line, meant f—“
“No.”
“But—“
“I said… no.” The swordsman glared at the strings this man dared call Men’s attire.
“Well…” the clerk sounded a bit defeated. “How about these?” He gestured to the slightly-more-than-string underwear next to the assortment of strings.
“No.”
The clerk sighed. He turned away from the wall of man-thongs and gestures to the nearest rack of swim trunks. “Then by all means, look through our various assortments of quick-dry swim trunks.” Takezo was not giving him much to work with.
“I believe that is what I was doing before you suggested I try to tie my cock and balls with twine.” His words dripped with venom. He snatched a pair of shorts from the rack and held them to his hips. Their black background with red splatters caught his attention. They looked the right size, enough that the string would keep them up. “These are fine. Where are your shoes?”
Before the clerk could get a word in edge wise, Takezo had already spotted a wall with sandals. He left the man trying to speak. Takezo did not need a “king of the beach” offer in footwear either. The sandals that caught his eye were woven like those he wore now, but in a much more uniform manner. He took off a pair and placed them against the sole of his current sandal.
Close enough. “I want these.” He gestured to the clerk, who begrudgingly showed him to the register. Even as the man was ringing up the items, Takezo dips his hand into the small poucn at his side, hidden beneath the scraps of his clothing, and retrieves a handful of coins.
“Keep the change.” The coins are dropped onto the counter, with one or two rolling off. The swordsman continues onwards and outwards, departing the clothing store in favor of the nearest outhouse.
It smelled absolutely rancid… yet even this was nicer than the outhouses he remembered. Takezo was quick to change his attire, retiring his old, bloodied scraps for the new, odd material. After the rushed change, he escaped to fresh air, gulping it in.
That was definitely a familiar sensation. He dumped the old wardrobe in the nearest trash can to be done with it.
It was odd how light this cloth felt on his hips. He wore nothing beneath so it felt as if he were absolutely nude, waltzing about in public. Was this why Dust wore nothing more than these trunks?
Dust. He had almost forgotten about the giant. Lately he had only met foul characters who dominated his attention span with disgust and malice. I wonder where he is now. His mind wondered for a moment. Takezo expected the man to be off in the distance, wondering some other verse.
Instead, his attention turns in the opposite direction of the gate. Dust was close. Dust was very close. Takezo held firm to the scabbard and brought it in close as he again pushed through the crowd. The sense of direction lasted for only a few moments before becoming vague.
The sand beneath his feet was hot. He peered across the beach, looking for a giant. His gaze fell upon the back of a familiar head. “Dust?” The Swordsman announced his presence as he approached.
The smiling contractor turned to a familiar voice. “Takezo! Woah, you look like shit.” He eyed the man’s wounds of varying freshness. There were a few that were only a day or two old. One particularly nasty scar over his heart appeared to have just barely healed over. The rest were anywhere from months to years old and almost faded to mere lines across his olive skin.
The swordsman had on attire similar to Dust’s, carrying his weapon in hand by the sheath. “I should have known I’d find you in a place like this; surrounded by nearly naked women.” The swordsman chuckled.