thehometree | Glimmer, glitter, shine...

Yoshitsugu's actual voice and the weight of his hand upon Takatora's shoulder were visceral, the answer to his silent prayer. Yoshitsugu was here, alive, even though Takatora had cut off his head, removed the knife from his stomach and buried him in two pieces in a beautiful camellia grove.

Takatora pressed his face against his living friend's hip and truly wept, grieving as he had never allowed himself to do so. It was loud and messy, but once his tears had dried there was space in the wake of his grief for joy to fill.

He wiped his face dry roughly, and pulled himself back up onto his feet. He released Yoshitsugu only so that he could throw his arms around his friend and hug him tightly.

"I buried you," he said hoarsely, "You'd like your grave. The way the camellia blossoms fall around it..."

It was a morbid thing to say, but he wanted Yoshitsugu to know that he had never stopped thinking of his friend. Every year he returned there and spent the day with Yoshitsugu's grave.

"Suits you," he murmured.

Yoshitsugu said and did nothing while Takatora, his hopeless, nostalgic friend, cried out all of his tears. How long had he held onto that burden of grief, exactly? The sheer strength of feeling combined with his natural understanding of Takatora said 'a long time' to Yoshitsugu.

When Takatora stood up and pulled him into that tight hug, it was finally time for more to be said. Yoshitsugu had to admit, he did like the sound of a burial beneath camellia trees. Usually a positive symbol in Japan, for samurai the red camellia was often a loathed and almost feared flower thanks to the way it was shed. That was precisely why Yoshitsugu was so fond of it. It appealed to him on countless levels.

Takatora understood that, and in turn, Yoshitsugu understand why it had been chosen. Understood the message in what had been said.

"Was that chosen for your affection for a fallen friend, or as symbolic of his life as a warrior?"

His voice was still soft when he added:

"Regardless, your stream of tears has left my lap wet. A devious ploy, Takatora. I am now truly awash in the flow."

It was light humour by his standards, but the darker type of which Yoshitsugu was prone to wasn't really appropriate right now.

Hearing Yoshitsugu joke, even if it was milder than usual, hurt in a good way -- he smiled, though it was an expression tinged with the remnants of his sadness.

"It's the least that you deserve," Takatora replied.

His answer applied to all of Yoshitsugu's words, in different ways. Considering that Yoshitsugu gave Takatora no choice but to be his second he deserved a little discomfort.

"Bastard," he added, though it was meant with deep affection.

Takatora's hug continued; it seemed that he wasn't about to let go any time soon without prompting from Yoshitsugu.

To have been reunited with his dearest friend... this was a blessing, and not the curse that Takatora had initially suspected.

Yoshitsugu would have called that an incredibly naive thought indeed, considering that they knew next to nothing about their situation. There was a good chance of everything going horribly wrong, of everyone here being under threat; Takatora was unwise to consider this a pure blessing.

Still... right now the flow did not demand that they discuss the harsh realities of their situation. It was a time for settling in and finding their feet, which also meant that Yoshitsugu could offer some measure of comfort to his friend.

It was the least he could do, and would barely contribute to what he owed this man.

"Of course I am."

That went without saying. Yoshitsugu considered his plan of action for a few seconds, drumming his fingers lightly on Takatora's shoulders, before he said:

"I need one of your handtowels."

No need to ask if Takatora had any handtowels with him; Yoshitsugu wasn't fool enough to consider any reality in which his friend didn't have at least a couple on his person. Some things wouldn't change no matter what situation they found themselves in.

(And there was comfort in focusing on the things that felt familiar and normal).

Edited 2015-03-16 21:03 (UTC)

"All right."

Takatora was slow to release Yoshitsugu, but he eventually did, in order to reach into one of the inner pockets in his overcoat. He always packed extra hand towels when he went surveying since hiking up mountainsides was rarely free of complications -- a true stroke of luck considering the sudden dearth of cloth in their lives.

"Keep it."

He held one out for Yoshitsugu to take, all the while taking the opportunity to look his friend over properly, now that tears no longer impeded his vision. He needed Yoshitsugu to be well. What if there were consequences for returning to life?

Takatora's hold had been rather tight; Yoshitsugu took a moment to steady himself and breathe in deep before taking the offered handtowel. One might have assumed that he was going to use it to dry up his lap, but that was not so. Tears could not drench him enough to make him uncomfortable.

Glancing around first, Yoshitsugu looked over what everyone else was doing before turning to face the wall (tugging Takatora to his side as he did so, before letting go again). He raised a hand, removed his hat and placed it temporarily on Takatora's head.

From this angle, one might notice that his clothing was most definitely not in pristine condition all over. The back of the facecloth bore the most notable damage; it looked like it had been cut right along the back, and was only just being held on right now by the red cord Yoshitsugu had adjusted to keep it in place. Now, instead, Yoshitsugu undid the cord and pulled the damaged cloth away from his neck.

An untouched, pale neck, completely devoid of any kind of damage.

"I am uninjured and healthy, Takatora," he said, glancing at his friend before quickly wrapping the handtowel around his face in place of the facecloth and using his cord to keep it there. A decent alternative, until he could find something to make fixes with.

Takatora let Yoshitsugu manoeuvre him without resistance. He must have looked ridiculous in Yoshitsugu's hat, but all thoughts along that line vacated when he saw the sliced cloth. As he stared he was seized by the vivid memory of his saiken cleaving flesh and bone, and the phantom scent of blood filled his nostrils.

It was only when Yoshitsugu spoke that Takatora blinked back into the present, and caught a flash of his friend's miraculously unmarred neck before it was covered.

"Right. Good. That's... a relief," he said as he pushed back his distress.

After Sekigahara he had nightmares for months revolved around their harsh parting, and he'd always woken with one accusation ringing in his mind: you could have convinced him. For a moment he felt the weight of his weapon at his hip -- it was difficult being confronted with physical evidence of what he had done.

The fact that Yoshitsugu's neck lacked any sign and none of Yoshitsugu's own blood stained his friend's clothes was a mercy, at least.

Takatora took a deep breath, then turned his gaze to Yoshitsugu's new wings. He didn't want to think about the past anymore and they provided a convenient distraction.

"Ha. So you've become your own crest."

Yoshitsugu did not immediately retrieve his hat; the sight of it perched on top of Takatora's head was amusing enough that he wanted longer to enjoy it. Instead he turned back around and flicked his hair back into place, amusement showing in his eyes and wings flickering.

When he spoke now it was in his usual dry tone.

"In that case you ought to be careful. If I am now a butterfly I shall surely descend on any mochi you acquire and suck the sweetness from it."

Soon they should look around. Considering the packages left for them, Yoshitsugu was almost certain there would be some form of housing here as well. Best they claim a spot as their own while they could.

That was more like the memories that Takatora wanted to relive -- and for once he chose to follow Yoshitsugu's example and let the flow carry him.

Emotionally drained, embracing it felt comforting. They were carefree first, before everything had become mainly about the Toyotomi and the Tokugawa.

"Why would I even want a mountain of those disgusting confections?"

The distaste he feigned wasn't as on point as normal, but under the circumstances, it was passable.

"Besides, there are better ways to share."

Takatora evidently decided that he'd worn Yoshitsugu's hat long enough and took it off, setting it back on his friend's head.

Purposely wonky.

Yoshitsugu did exactly nothing to fix the position of his hat, leaving it lop-sided without comment.

"You'll have to demonstrate them to me the next time you have a pile whose existence offends you."

Leaning down to the floor again for a moment, Yoshitsugu patted the firefly on the head again before picking up his saihai, which he had left there, and drawing himself up straight. This moment of brief, surface calm in Takatora was ideal for moving them forward.

"I intend to find the homes now. Are you coming, or do you wish to wait and end up living under a mountain of people instead?"

His wings fluttered, began to move in earnest,and, yes... Yoshitsugu left the ground. Step one complete. No doubt this flying business would not go all so smoothly, judging by the examples he'd already witnessed, but it had to be done, did it not?

Takatora huffed a rusty laugh, before he shrugged and put his own wings to work. He still felt dubious about their ability to bear his large form, but that was mental rather than physical -- he felt no actual strain.

"I'm coming. Try not to crash."

Which was a concern for him too, of course. From a practical viewpoint this was more dangerous than their first times swinging real blades. Hopefully the strange gem that gave them these wings also instilled in them some slither of instinct.

Probably not.

"I merely intend to go with the flow."

Of course. Not the most reassuring of words, but they were pure Yoshitsugu, and really, wasn't a crash likely at some point? If not in their first attempt at flying then probably in their third, fourth or fifth... at some point it would happen.

Glancing over his shoulder just once, Yoshitsugu immediately sped off without even trying to start slowly. The firefly, apparently already attached, took off itself in pursuit.

Yoshitsugu being himself only made the inevitable mid-air collision all the more likely.

That was Yoshitsugu through and through, wasn't it? No survival instinct. Takatora sighed and followed. The pace was faster than he would have liked but there was no other way to keep up with his friend. He kept a little distance between them, that said, in hopes of avoiding barrelling into each other. His own balance wasn't brilliant and he didn't fly paticularly steadily or straight, but there was no other way to improve except through practice.

"If you break something, you'll have deserved it."

He could only hope bruises were the most in store, rather than serious injury -- and that if anyone got hurt, that it was him.

Right now he wasn't emotionally prepared for Yoshitsugu to get hurt.

Yoshitsugu said nothing in reply, though he smiled to himself beneath the facecloth. This was indeed like old times.

There was nothing encouraging about the way he zipped through the air; usually a man of effortless grace and body awareness, his flight pathway right was extremely erratic and uncontrolled. He didn't barrel into anyone, however, and there was at least an obvious direction he was headed in.

Up. Above the gem floor, away from the place where they had stumbled into this odd tree, and to whatever awaited them there.

(Hopefully homes and not immediate danger and peril, though of course the possibility could not be discounted).

Quickly disappearing up into the gap, and out of Takatora's view for a moment, Yoshitsugu attempted to land and only succeeded if one could call 'falling over the moment one hit the ground rather clumsily' a success. Fortunately he made little sound about it and was quick to recover, drawing himself up into a sitting position and dusting himself down.

He was going to end up despairing over Yoshitsugu's lack of concern for himself. Takatora knew it.

He managed to very briefly land on his feet once he reached the next floor, but it was a short-lived victory as his momentum was too great and his balance completely off. All of his mass and weight tumbled straight into Yoshitsugu with a wordless exclamation.

Not the most promising start.

So much for sitting up; knocked straight back down, Yoshitsugu was still and quiet for a long moment before laughing quietly, the sound genuine and fond. How was it that this strange situation was fast becoming so familiar? Takatora was Takatora, no matter where they were, and this tripping over one another like some out of their earliest days of learning to fight at one another's side.

They had not always been perfectly in tune.

"Am I fated to lay forever on this floor, or do you intend to move enough that I might be capable of standing again?"

Though Yoshitsugu had always spoken in that same impish manner.

"Don't tempt me," Takatora growled, his cheeks faintly coloured by embarrassment.

Clearly Yoshitsugu was none the worse for wear.

There was more prodding with elbows and knees than was strictly necessary as he got off of his friend -- but that too was like old times, long before they'd learned the true meaning of sacrifice.

Still, once he was up, Takatora took Yoshitsugu by the arm and pulled him back up onto his feet.

It's good for them to be like this, considering Takatora's current state; Yoshitsugu hummed, amused, letting the memories of their early Azai days wash through him and settle in like a comforting blanket.

He was technically dead now, so why not allow himself a moment of nostalgia? No doubt he would be meeting Lady Oichi and Lord Nagamasa again in time.

"So you were tempted to keep me pinned to the ground?"

Yoshitsugu didn't even look at Takatora when he said that, instead bowing his head briefly in thanks before marching straight off to the nearest door and opening it up. There were four of them on this floor, and judging by what Bucky had said each one led to a house.

Nobody was inside, so he went straight in with a manner that would suggest to anyone he already owned the place.

Takatora's brain momentarily stuttered at those words, and he sputtered, his face burning -- really, it was fortunate for his remaining dignity that Yoshitsugu had simply wandered off.

He shook his head and followed his friend's lead again.

In their time apart he had forgotten the full experience of spending time in Yoshitsugu's company. Funny, how memory worked. Yet even being teased as he was, his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

Unlike Yoshitsugu's lack of care, Takatora took the extra time to make sure that there were no obvious signs of the house they'd just entered being occupied.

"Just look at this place..." he said in wonder, as he idly inspected the structure.

First waiting for the firefly to also come inside, then shutting the door very firmly behind them, Yoshitsugu set his saihai, pack and sliced facecloth down on the first surface he passed.

Everything in here was a far cry from the kind of home they were used to but made with expert care. Either this tree had been home to another kind of folk not that long ago or had been well prepared to house the new arrivals, with either prospect throwing up many more questions than it gave answers.

Which was why the solution wasn't worth contemplating right now.

"We have been washed into a myth, our souls thrown into an entirely new current."

He wandered towards the wooden table and idly ran a finger across the leaf that served as a cloth. There was what looked like a small cup on top, carved from some kind of... nut? Beneath his make-shift handtowel facecloth, Yoshitsugu smiled to himself. The word for all this was 'endearing.'

Glancing over his shoulder, Yoshitsugu watched his friend for a moment while thinking quietly before saying:

"Sit down, Takatora."

Takatora halted his inspection and returned his attention back to Yoshitsugu, blinking at the (to his knowledge) sudden request.

"I'm not your trained pet," he said, with no actual bite.

Once he and Yoshitsugu had been perfectly in sync -- while those days were long gone he still knew his friend well enough to guess at Yoshitsugu's trail of thoughts, and --

He took a seat heavily as his mind reminded him of the enormity of the situation. He slouched forward over the table as though dragged down by the phantom weight of his thoughts. What if it was only an extremely realistic dream? His instincts said otherwise, but the fear was there. Abruptly, it felt like everything was spiralling out of his control. Though the truth was that it was long beyond that point, for better and for worse.

"Shit. What do we do?"

Edited 2015-04-04 23:22 (UTC)

Yoshitsugu took a seat himself, facing Takatora, and closed his eyes for a moment. Right now he was frankly tired himself, obviously in a physical way but mentally as well. Despite the many rumours that were believed about him he was human and had, well, died.

Sekigahara had been a trying battle for all involved, in every way possible.

"Talk."

Pausing, Yoshitsugu raised his hands to remove his hat again and place it on the table. Then he took off his clawed gauntlets, gloves and, yes, his makeshift facecloth. Here in private, just the two of them, he felt quite comfortable doing so. More to the point, an honest baring of himself was something Yoshitsugu perhaps owed Takatora.

"And then sleep. Further plans can wait, Takatora."

For a long moment Takatora stared at Yoshitsugu's bare face, taking it in, before he ran a hand over his own face and sighed heavily.

"What is there to say? The only mystery is this place. You didn't exactly leave me with any questions. Our last encounter was final in every sense of the word."

Blunt words, but true: he knew that Yoshitsugu had planned it all knowing that Takatora would do as Yoshitsugu asked, and later treat his remains with respect. Yoshitsugu knew how it would have impacted him. It wasn't as though Takatora was even left wondering 'why?' -- Yoshitsugu had chosen to die for Mitsunari over living for him. It had been definitive.

"It's been years, for my part. I learned how to cope."

That first year following Sekigahara had been hell. The only blessing was that it had left the Tokugawa so busy that he'd had no choice but to function until he was ready to accept reality for what it was, and necessity became choice again. Even if it felt dulled compared to how it once did, he found pride and purpose in his duty.

So why was he afraid of the nightmares returning, now that Yoshitsugu was here with him, returned to the living?

What Yoshitsugu wanted to talk about was a lot less... heavy than that, though he had somewhat anticipated that things would go this way. Takatora wasn't one to expose the delicate parts of himself very often, but faced with this it was probably hard to do anything but dwell on his wounds.

Tilting his head, Yoshitsugu reached out with one hand to grab one of Takatora's wrists and pull it close to him. His expression was somehow as serene and calm as usual, except that being able to see his lips exposed Yoshitsugu's content smile.

"I am very happy that you gave me an end, Takatora, though I did not deserve it."

Turning Takatora's hand over, Yoshitsugu briefly kissed his palm before letting the hand go in full and straightening up on his chair. Of course Takatora had coped, he'd had every faith in that. When one put so much into the idea of living on being the greatest thing one could do it had to be the case.

Whether Takatora would cope a second time, however? That was less certain.

"If there's nothing else to discuss on the matter, then we should discuss the beds. Only screens divide them into different areas."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Unless you wish to sleep in your own area? If so we can leave them as they are."

There was an intake of breath at that gesture, before Takatora shook his head at Yoshitsugu's following comments. It was simple: he did not want to be alone. Though he had no plans to voice it, he needed the reminder that this was all real, and not the manifestation of his lonely mind.

"No," he answered, and pushed himself up. "Come on. Let's get to work."

Glimmer, glitter, shine...

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