08-12-2017, 06:38 AM
The alcohol was setting in. Takezo felt the warmth fill his face and the tips of his ears and a smile split his features. He refilled his small paper cup with another round of the warm sake. "There is little to tell you, my friend. My mother left when I was young. Even sober, I struggle to remember her face." The old scars still sometimes burned, but right now the slight burn of warm sake helped masked the fragility that hid beneath Takezo's toughened exterior. The smile he bore did not fade, but a look of his eyes told just a hint of the sense of betrayal his mother instilled in him.
"My father trained me with the sword. He was a renowned samurai, I suppose he hoped that I would attract more glory to his name."
Dust chimed in with a small grin. "Sounds like he did a great job then, I've seen that sword in action!"
Takezo's gaze flicked to his friend. The look was not unkind, it was almost a laughing gaze. "He tried to cut me down when I shared his dream to become invincible under the heavens." Dust withdrew a bit, wincing at his poor choice of words. Don't compliment the abusive parent, that was a big no-no. "I ran away." Takezo turned, revealing his backside. There was a long scar on the left side of his spine, slanting from his neck to his hip. "He was almost successful, had I not been such a coward as a child."
Gildarts frowned. Something about this reminded him of his days of Fairy Tail. The advice he gave Natsu when he submitted in their fight on the island. He wanted to say something, but Takezo did not seem to be ashamed as much as he was willing to admit past failures. The intoxicated warrior did not speak in regret, more a slightly slurred historical recollection. Gildarts grinned a bit at the thought. "Fear can be a good thing. I take it that is the real reason you got stronger?"
He nodded in reply to the crash mage. "I lived alone in the forest for a while before I met an old woman... she was forgetful and a bit delirious. I stayed with her, but she hardly knew I was there. She cooked enough for her two sons, but I believe they were dead and gone. I never saw them. Just like she never really saw me. As long as I kept fire wood cut and meat in the smoke house, she never questioned where her sons were." He chuckled, not mischeviously but the sound was horribly misplaced. He took another swig of his wine, savoring the taste.
"Wait, she didn't know you were there? How is that possible?"
"She must have been senile. I imagine if you weren't there, she'd have died too."
"There is no doubt. Bandits and wild animals were both common as the rains in that mountain. She provided shelter and meals, I provided game and protection. She would wonder which of her sons left her to butcher their catch, but she did so, cooked and sold the pelts at market."
"But she didn't know you were there?" Dust seemed stuck on the fact.
Takezo rolled a shoulder. "I was the perfect parasite. Out of site and painless. I even warded off other, less honorable parasites." He chuckled again, as if there was anything to laugh about in this situation. "Though I would not say I protected that old woman for her sake. She was bait that made training easier. Challengers came to me." For a moment he had sounded almost benevolent and kind, but then he spun it into selfishness.
That is how Takezo saw himself, and all humans: selfish. They did what they wanted, and even benevolent acts could be rationalized as selfish acts. Do good to feel good. It is what separated the ronin from samurai. What would prohibit him from becoming a Kensei. "After that, my life is rather dull. I killed my first man when I was a boy. I stabbed him with a wooden stake when he refused to accept my challenge." A smirk split the man's rosy expression. "I took his sword as my winnings too, and left the fool with his own sign buried in his chest."
Dust and Gildarts seemed a bit shocked at that brutality. Not overly so, they both knew at this point Takezo grew up in a dark time, and that his personality was definitely more brutal and bloody than most. "How young, exactly?" Dust dared to guess.
"Thirteen winters."
"Why'd you kill him?" Gildarts inquired, without hesitation.
Another roll of the ronin's shoulder, Takezo hummed. "He had a sign issuing a challenge to any warrior in the village. Defeat him, earn a reward. He would not accept my challenge, so I forced him to fight. "He hesitated because I was a child... I called myself a warrior, even then. My age should have meant nothing to him, so long as I could fight. Children with no hand for war should be protected, not a boy with callused hands and scars deeper than his." Takezo took another swig from the paper cup, only to find it empty. He frowned at the realization, before tossing the paper cup into the flames.
He continued to drink from the gourd. The alcohol had loosened his lips quite a bit. His eyes were glazed, the lids weighted. The ronin swayed with the whims of the alcohol in his blood. "What about you?" It was a circle. Dust asked Takezo, Takezo asked Gildarts, and the swordsman assumed Gil would complete the cycle by asking Dust.
"My father trained me with the sword. He was a renowned samurai, I suppose he hoped that I would attract more glory to his name."
Dust chimed in with a small grin. "Sounds like he did a great job then, I've seen that sword in action!"
Takezo's gaze flicked to his friend. The look was not unkind, it was almost a laughing gaze. "He tried to cut me down when I shared his dream to become invincible under the heavens." Dust withdrew a bit, wincing at his poor choice of words. Don't compliment the abusive parent, that was a big no-no. "I ran away." Takezo turned, revealing his backside. There was a long scar on the left side of his spine, slanting from his neck to his hip. "He was almost successful, had I not been such a coward as a child."
Gildarts frowned. Something about this reminded him of his days of Fairy Tail. The advice he gave Natsu when he submitted in their fight on the island. He wanted to say something, but Takezo did not seem to be ashamed as much as he was willing to admit past failures. The intoxicated warrior did not speak in regret, more a slightly slurred historical recollection. Gildarts grinned a bit at the thought. "Fear can be a good thing. I take it that is the real reason you got stronger?"
He nodded in reply to the crash mage. "I lived alone in the forest for a while before I met an old woman... she was forgetful and a bit delirious. I stayed with her, but she hardly knew I was there. She cooked enough for her two sons, but I believe they were dead and gone. I never saw them. Just like she never really saw me. As long as I kept fire wood cut and meat in the smoke house, she never questioned where her sons were." He chuckled, not mischeviously but the sound was horribly misplaced. He took another swig of his wine, savoring the taste.
"Wait, she didn't know you were there? How is that possible?"
"She must have been senile. I imagine if you weren't there, she'd have died too."
"There is no doubt. Bandits and wild animals were both common as the rains in that mountain. She provided shelter and meals, I provided game and protection. She would wonder which of her sons left her to butcher their catch, but she did so, cooked and sold the pelts at market."
"But she didn't know you were there?" Dust seemed stuck on the fact.
Takezo rolled a shoulder. "I was the perfect parasite. Out of site and painless. I even warded off other, less honorable parasites." He chuckled again, as if there was anything to laugh about in this situation. "Though I would not say I protected that old woman for her sake. She was bait that made training easier. Challengers came to me." For a moment he had sounded almost benevolent and kind, but then he spun it into selfishness.
That is how Takezo saw himself, and all humans: selfish. They did what they wanted, and even benevolent acts could be rationalized as selfish acts. Do good to feel good. It is what separated the ronin from samurai. What would prohibit him from becoming a Kensei. "After that, my life is rather dull. I killed my first man when I was a boy. I stabbed him with a wooden stake when he refused to accept my challenge." A smirk split the man's rosy expression. "I took his sword as my winnings too, and left the fool with his own sign buried in his chest."
Dust and Gildarts seemed a bit shocked at that brutality. Not overly so, they both knew at this point Takezo grew up in a dark time, and that his personality was definitely more brutal and bloody than most. "How young, exactly?" Dust dared to guess.
"Thirteen winters."
"Why'd you kill him?" Gildarts inquired, without hesitation.
Another roll of the ronin's shoulder, Takezo hummed. "He had a sign issuing a challenge to any warrior in the village. Defeat him, earn a reward. He would not accept my challenge, so I forced him to fight. "He hesitated because I was a child... I called myself a warrior, even then. My age should have meant nothing to him, so long as I could fight. Children with no hand for war should be protected, not a boy with callused hands and scars deeper than his." Takezo took another swig from the paper cup, only to find it empty. He frowned at the realization, before tossing the paper cup into the flames.
He continued to drink from the gourd. The alcohol had loosened his lips quite a bit. His eyes were glazed, the lids weighted. The ronin swayed with the whims of the alcohol in his blood. "What about you?" It was a circle. Dust asked Takezo, Takezo asked Gildarts, and the swordsman assumed Gil would complete the cycle by asking Dust.