06-11-2017, 12:33 AM
He laughed. The deep belly laugh that he laughed was not a sound that induced the laughter of others. It was a harsh, biting laughter. "Right! Matching costumes and masks! They can turn the fight into a high class Nogaku and dance us to death!" Takezo's empty hand thumps the table as a closed fist. Something about this seemed outrageously funny to the man.
Takezo had shed so much blood in his life, lived through so much death, this new light on combat was... down right unfathomable. His only response was to laugh. "No, no, we shouldn't mock them! Humor in the face of death is bravery at its finest! Plus if we call them fools, they might put bells on their hats and dance instead!" He was dying. His chopsticks were abandoned on his plate as his hands fall to his aching sides.
"No! No, they are absolutely right! We should wear making colors too!" Before Dust could complain, he forced down his laughter long enough to say; "The color of dirt and blood! And - and our team name will be Chef and the Hunter! Catch and Cut Calamari!"
He almost could not understand how the three treated warfare so lightly, especially with such small chances of their little group ever surviving. In the end... only one would win. He knew many "teams" that crumbled under normal conditions, but this was the ultimate test. "I think I'm dying..." Takezo doubles over, his head touching the table. "They act like children with bamboo sticks! Even immortals should have greater concerns than what to call themselves." He exhaled, slowly coming down. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Where I come from, this sort of thing usually ended in a mercy killing. It was better a swift death than being captured in silly uniforms and--" He couldn't even finish. "Just ... just imagining it is absurd..."
He finally reigned it in. It took a moment and a bit of work, but he calmed himself down to a reasonable level. "Forgive my outburst. I was almost intimidated by the odds, until I imagined them in skin tight, brightly colored uniforms... with .... choreographed..." and he was laughing again. "Demon of the sword, I vanquish you, by the power of the moon and all that is good and just!" He was quoting something, a play, by the dramatic tone in his voice. Dust might get the feeling the man was not quite in the know when it came to anime - but Japan's desire for dramatic and thrilling entertainment was nothing "new age." The medium only changed. He could not stop cackling, even though the major outburst had passed. Takezo clutched his sides still. "I almost hope they show up in full costume!"
Takezo had shed so much blood in his life, lived through so much death, this new light on combat was... down right unfathomable. His only response was to laugh. "No, no, we shouldn't mock them! Humor in the face of death is bravery at its finest! Plus if we call them fools, they might put bells on their hats and dance instead!" He was dying. His chopsticks were abandoned on his plate as his hands fall to his aching sides.
"No! No, they are absolutely right! We should wear making colors too!" Before Dust could complain, he forced down his laughter long enough to say; "The color of dirt and blood! And - and our team name will be Chef and the Hunter! Catch and Cut Calamari!"
He almost could not understand how the three treated warfare so lightly, especially with such small chances of their little group ever surviving. In the end... only one would win. He knew many "teams" that crumbled under normal conditions, but this was the ultimate test. "I think I'm dying..." Takezo doubles over, his head touching the table. "They act like children with bamboo sticks! Even immortals should have greater concerns than what to call themselves." He exhaled, slowly coming down. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Where I come from, this sort of thing usually ended in a mercy killing. It was better a swift death than being captured in silly uniforms and--" He couldn't even finish. "Just ... just imagining it is absurd..."
He finally reigned it in. It took a moment and a bit of work, but he calmed himself down to a reasonable level. "Forgive my outburst. I was almost intimidated by the odds, until I imagined them in skin tight, brightly colored uniforms... with .... choreographed..." and he was laughing again. "Demon of the sword, I vanquish you, by the power of the moon and all that is good and just!" He was quoting something, a play, by the dramatic tone in his voice. Dust might get the feeling the man was not quite in the know when it came to anime - but Japan's desire for dramatic and thrilling entertainment was nothing "new age." The medium only changed. He could not stop cackling, even though the major outburst had passed. Takezo clutched his sides still. "I almost hope they show up in full costume!"