08-02-2017, 03:11 AM
It seemed to be a running theme for the adults in the group to dislike marshmellows. Takezo could not even swallow the raw puff. Instead, while the instructing lass was turned to scold Gildarts, he spat the glob of starch into the fire pit. His face was a momentary look of horror, his tongue nearly touching his chin, as if he were afraid to bring it back into his mouth. To get rid of the taste, he licked his own dirty forearm, preferring a mouth full of sand over whatever foreign food this was supposed to be.
Against his better judgement, he tried one after it was roasted. Another marshmellow found its way soon after into the fire. Takezo would not forget the taste of his arm hair if he suffered through any more of this poor excuse for "food." He would prefer the stuffed bread from earlier to this.
Through the conversation he and Dust held, Takezo tried not to let the face of disgust distract from the topic at hand, though Dust might get the sneaking suspicion that simply licking his arm had not saved the swordsman from weird modern taste of heavily processed sugar and animal byproduct.
A thoughtful expression found his features when Dust mentioned summoning the "doll." He would ask about it in private, if not to spread the fact of his absolute ignorance of everything Prime related. In reality, Takezo was aware only that he was in the dark. Gildarts had summoned a ball he seemed pretty unfamiliar with, and cratered the ground twice during the game. Magic was abundant and unlike the legends told where he was from. Humans were no longer the only sentient beings either; that was perhaps the most difficult to get used to.
Slowly, Takezo's involvement in conversation waned. It was an odd sensation, feeling so distant. He was a Vagabond, he lived, he adapted, he moved on. That was the cycle of his life. He held the cord around his chest, shifting the sword upon his back slightly. The weight was comforting. At least that had not changed. This whole world was so... different.
A sudden realization hit the ronin. He felt homesick. He did not even have a home to return to. The more he thought about it, he realized that he missed familiarity. Dust was familiar enough, if only by assisiation. The rest of these people were foreign to him, in more ways than one. The talking midget horse, the bipedal animals, the nude beach: everything felt so confusing. That was being modest; he deliberately did not think of the level of competition he would have now that magic was a factor, and new technology that his ignorance could never have dreamed of before arriving.
He watched Dust consort with an odd looking woman for a brief moment. His gaze diverted quickly to the fire, which smelled sickly sweat with so many marshmellows birning to nothing within it. Takezo had almost shut down. One question crept to the forefront of his mind. "Why am I here?" If Omni was the god of this world, then why would a god pick him for their own private realm?
The existential crisis had the ronin in almost the same withdrawn state as the doll sitting not too far from him. Pondering life, as he were.
Against his better judgement, he tried one after it was roasted. Another marshmellow found its way soon after into the fire. Takezo would not forget the taste of his arm hair if he suffered through any more of this poor excuse for "food." He would prefer the stuffed bread from earlier to this.
Through the conversation he and Dust held, Takezo tried not to let the face of disgust distract from the topic at hand, though Dust might get the sneaking suspicion that simply licking his arm had not saved the swordsman from weird modern taste of heavily processed sugar and animal byproduct.
A thoughtful expression found his features when Dust mentioned summoning the "doll." He would ask about it in private, if not to spread the fact of his absolute ignorance of everything Prime related. In reality, Takezo was aware only that he was in the dark. Gildarts had summoned a ball he seemed pretty unfamiliar with, and cratered the ground twice during the game. Magic was abundant and unlike the legends told where he was from. Humans were no longer the only sentient beings either; that was perhaps the most difficult to get used to.
Slowly, Takezo's involvement in conversation waned. It was an odd sensation, feeling so distant. He was a Vagabond, he lived, he adapted, he moved on. That was the cycle of his life. He held the cord around his chest, shifting the sword upon his back slightly. The weight was comforting. At least that had not changed. This whole world was so... different.
A sudden realization hit the ronin. He felt homesick. He did not even have a home to return to. The more he thought about it, he realized that he missed familiarity. Dust was familiar enough, if only by assisiation. The rest of these people were foreign to him, in more ways than one. The talking midget horse, the bipedal animals, the nude beach: everything felt so confusing. That was being modest; he deliberately did not think of the level of competition he would have now that magic was a factor, and new technology that his ignorance could never have dreamed of before arriving.
He watched Dust consort with an odd looking woman for a brief moment. His gaze diverted quickly to the fire, which smelled sickly sweat with so many marshmellows birning to nothing within it. Takezo had almost shut down. One question crept to the forefront of his mind. "Why am I here?" If Omni was the god of this world, then why would a god pick him for their own private realm?
The existential crisis had the ronin in almost the same withdrawn state as the doll sitting not too far from him. Pondering life, as he were.