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[gabriel-gabdiel]

【Draft】 Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 58: Déjà Vu

For this chapter, we’ll be harkening back to things like “The Mark of Zorro (1940)” and the impressive on-screen duel between Captain Esteban Pasquale and Don Diego Vega. 

Yahiko is feeling a bit of déjà vu from battling The Faceless. What is it about him that’s so familiar anyway?

Yahiko Myojin remembered the first time Yutaro "Cat Eyes" Tsukayama came back to Japan and the Kamiya Dojo after years of living abroad to seek treatment for his arm injury.

Yutaro was supposed to be injured by his traitorous "master", Raijuta Isurugi. He went overseas for treatment, which enabled him to regain use of his right arm for the most part but he still went "southpaw" or left handed during sparring matches.

Yes, that was right. Mr. Tsukayama had decided to still practice kendo instead of retire.

Inspired by this, Mr. Myojin promised to give his rival the match of his life, showing off his skill honed by his past battle experiences.

When they had their first sparring match in years, Yahiko expected to blow the one-armed Yutaro out of the water, only for Yutaro, with a one-handed handicap, end up making the fight close.

The goddamn magnificent bastard really was a kendo prodigy. Yutaro's careful counters from Gedan-no-Kamae (Earth Stance)`made Yahiko second guess his shots and miss his attacks from the Jodan-no-Kamae (Fire Stance).

Feeling indignant by these turn of events since he went through so much more than him after they last met, Yahiko dug deep into his soul to summon his past battle experiences into the match point blow that literally blasted Tsukayama's helmet off of his head.

He rocked his socks off and then some.

However, to Myojin's annoyance, he still had to do his best against the one-armed student.

Not only did Yutaro remember what little kendo instruction he got from Kaoru Kamiya. He expanded his knowledge somehow when he went overseas to get his arm treated.

He did not waste his time while undergoing treatment and rehabilitation for his nerve-damaged right arm that Raijuta had nearly lopped off.

The cunning "Cat Eyes" somehow added western martial arts and weapon techniques to his solid kendo arsenal, somehow merging east and west together to form a truly unique repertoire.

His approached his kenjutsu like fencing, fighting at a controlled tempo then bursting in speed at the right moments with fluid motion.

It took some time for Yahiko to figure out how Yutaro bested him half of the time, but he eventually realized that Cat Eyes was using mind games and what was known as the "Tactical Wheel" to outsmart him at every other match.

It was from this flashback that Yahiko figured out what this Brigands Guild member's sword techniques reminded him of.

***

Rurouni Yahiko

A Rurouni Kenshin Continuation Fan Fiction Story by Chester Castañeda

Yahiko has seen the sword style of The Faceless before.

Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some others) are the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Viz, Sony Studios, Fuji TV, Studio Gallup, Studio Deen, and ADV. This disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material that are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.

***

Chapter 58: Déjà Vu

***

Back at a narrow alleyway in the Yokohama Chinatown near the Minakata moneychanger offices…

Multiple things happened at once. Like a hurricane of events.

Meanwhile, the lion dance mascot full of martial artists retaliated against Gan by stretching itself like a snake around him and kicking him with spiked shoes and hidden daggers.

Like a wounded animal fighting for its life, even though it was actually multiple men wearing a costume.

"AUUUGH!" cried The Distressed Gan, who did his best to parry and block the slashing and lacerating kicks with his metal bat.  

"GAN!" cried out Yahiko Myojin and Munenori Minoe at their comrade.

Because Fabian La Cerca lost his dagger, he thought fast, grabbed hold of Tatsuya Minakata, and threw him through the already broken windows of a probably abandoned house in Chinatown.

This distracted Yahiko long enough for him to withdraw his thin rapier sword before the frightening strength of the eye-patched Munenori beside him could break his weapon in twain as well.

Then, for a split-second, a shocked Myojin and a pale-faced Minoe stood and stared at each other and the violent scenes before them, this brains barely registering what had just happened.

"H-Hey. Thanks for saving me, Minoe," said Yahiko, sheathing his sword and slipping it back on his cloth belt.

"N-No problem," stuttered Munenori. "You better go, Yahiko-chi! We'll keep the mercenaries occupied while you retrieve, uh, Kinta-chi's uncle."

"Of course. Thanks again. I owe you one! Thank Gan for me too!" answered Myojin before both turned and went opposite directions.

Or they would've had the lion mascot not suddenly appeared beside Munenori and snatched him off the ground with its unhinged puppet jaws, like a real lion biting its prey.

From behind the mascot hobbled the Gasping Gan, spurts of blood making small fountains on his legs and calves.

"AH! Minoe!" yelped Yahiko, intending to run after the eye-patched dual wielder but Gan stopped him cold with an outstretched hand and an open palm.

Without looking at him, Gan said, "Don't worry, Yoshi-boy. I'll take care of Patches. Go after The Masked Rider instead. Time is running out!"

"…Fine. Make sure you finish that mascot off!" said Yahiko, who finally sprinted towards the abandoned building where The Faceless threw Tatsuya.

Their brief hellos and goodbyes kept them from realizing how naïve their presumptions were.

***

Back at the exterior facade of the Minakata moneychanger office building…

The cackling Kai Hidaka briefly distracted the two brothers from the same mother.

One was a Eurasian bastard child who somehow ended up as part of the Brigands Guild of international mercenaries.

The other was the grandson of a samurai turned pharmaceutical tycoon with generational wealth and significant government clout as an oligarch.

They then realized that somehow, the high-flying spidery ninja somehow defeated the formidable shinobi that the bastard with the bastard sword couldn't finish off.

"…You know what? I don't hate you, mate. You're a fine bloke to me," Lucas Grant said to his estranged half-brother, Kinta Minakata. "You spared me from having to deal with both you and that troublesome ninja bodyguard of yours so this ends up a fair fight."

Kinta spared a glance at the motionless Zan, whom he presumed had critically injured Lucas, but was actually somehow like a steam train running on fumes.

Maybe they should've double-teamed the bloody Prodigal Son while they had the chance. Maybe he was too "honorable" for his own good.

Their pattern from before resumed. The wounded but aggressive Luke plodded on, only blocking the most bone-cutting of sweeping slashes from Kinta to avoid getting his limbs lopped off.

Meanwhile, on Minakata's part, every last chopping blow or lunging stab from Grant was potentially a one-hit kill. He also had to watch out for his half-brother's pommel strikes too.

This was confirmed with how, despite outlanding Lucas in strikes, the Sanada Demon Zan succumbed to internal bleeding from a blow or stab.

Nevertheless, like with most of his fight with Zan, Luke couldn't land a significant blow on his big brother and his superior swordsmanship skill.

However, the bastard son of the Minakatas had started clipping and slicing bits and pieces of Kinta's flesh.

"It kind of irritates me that you're as good as you are despite being given everything in the world," confessed Luke.

They clashed swords again. The Akatsuki held true, but it could not stave off the longer reach and thicker steel of Lucas's bastard sword and its superior steel.

"I didn't know what to expect. A spoiled little rich boy, maybe? Someone who has no idea how cruel the world can be. An entitled dishrag of a man drowning in wealth and privilege. But you're something else, Big Brother."

Like a lion to a gazelle, Lucas stalked his prey, his strikes that previously whiffed and got countered slowly clipping and slashing his tiring brother, wearing him down.

However, like a gazelle to a lion, Kinta evaded Lucas. The bastard child of the Minakatas had yet to land a significant blow on him even as his collection of flesh wounds increased.

Even when Luke blocked the Mangetsu O Tsuku Nari (Full Moon Slash) with his much longer, sturdier bastard sword, Kinta's Akatsuki (Red Moon) katana could still penetrate the block and leave cuts on him.

Deep cuts. Cuts that almost dug deep into his bone. His nerves. His veins. Or even his very soul.

Like a dashing stag's horns piercing through the lion's hide from mid-pounce. The prey fighting for its life, injuring its predator.

'Of course it wasn't going to be that easy,' thought Lucas with a smile that formed on his bloody mouth, his teeth dyed red. 'Fine. Anything that's worth anything should be this hard to get!'

***

Inside the nearby abandoned warehouse building…

Yahiko wandered into the area where The Faceless threw Tatsuya Minakata into, the banker's body messily crashing through the structure's western-style windows.

His slippers stepping on shards of glass that glistened in the moonlight, crushing them under his soles.

"HEY! Thin Man! Where are you? Are you still alive?" called out Yahiko, referring to the V.I.P. he was guarding.

Tatsuya Minakata, the banker son of the famous hatamoto-class samurai oligarchs of both the Shogunate and the Meiji Government, the Minakata Family.

One of the heirs of the huge Minakata Zaibatsu (Conglomerate), Tatsuya was next in line to inherit his family's vast fortune after his mother kicks the bucket. Or so Myojin heard.

He was followed by his younger brother the lawyer and their swordsman nephew, the former member of the Shogunate's special guard.

These people were so filthy rich, they'd make Chizuru Raikouji's family look poor. Or the drug dealer Kanryu Takeda look downright middle class. Or fellow oligarch Jusanro Tani quaint.

'Wonder what that's like,' thought Yahiko with a smirk and a head-shake, repressing memories of him pick-pocketing for the mob to help pay for his family's debts.

Even just one of the trinkets or heirlooms here, like a painting or a suit of armor, would've been enough to pay for his parents' debt with the yakuza. Maybe. It looked like they wanted to have him for keeps.

He maneuvered his sandaled feet through the glass shards like he were walking on eggshells. Shiny, sharp, painful eggshells.

He found Tatsuya in the nick of time. He lay there but not in a pool of his own blood, though he did receive several cuts from going through the window.

"Whew. Thank goodness I found you before The Faceless could get you, Thin Man," said Yahiko, his voice barely above a whisper. "…Uh, Tatsuya-san? You okay, bud?"

"…Y-You're fired," groaned Tatsuya. "I'm going to have my brother sue you for the injuries I've sustained, you teenaged brat!"

Myojin sighed in both relief and exasperation. "Yeah, you're welcome. Save your life? No prob. Think nothing of it."

"Save my life? My assassin just threw me through a window! I almost died!" yelped Kinta's uncle.

Yahiko then barely had time to parry and back away from the attacking Faceless in his next breath, its tip clipping his clavicle, drawing blood.

He cursed under his breath. If John Rathbone could get away with it, he'd kill him with a thousand cuts.

"You didn't kill Minakata Tatsuya yet?" accused Yahiko. "You had every chance to do so."

"I like to play with my prey," answered The Faceless, who now wore a different mask than before. "Half the fun of my assassination missions is the thrill of the hunt and triggering the primal instincts of my victims. Fight or flight."

Yahiko groaned, realizing he now had to deal with this pantomiming foreign invader with a mask shtick worse than the late Hannya from the Oniwabanshu (Castle Guardians).

Tatsuya himself said to The Faceless, "Forget the kid. Whatever your sponsor is paying to assassinate our family, I'll double it! Triple it, even! Stay and become our bodyguard and you could earn a fortune!"

"Watch your filthy mouth, my little piggy bank," said the master fencer. "Once the kid dies, I have no reason to let you live either."

"What a coincidence. I feel the same way about you, Faceless," said Yahiko, surprising even himself with the boldness of his words.

The Faceless smirked. "O-ho. You wouldn't care to translate that feeling into action, would you?"

"I might be tempted," the Son of Tokyo Samurai said.

"Would you, now?" The Faceless proceeded to put his right sword arm forward, pointing his rapier at Yahiko's face while his other hand rested on his hip, his left arm bent on its elbow.

He also had his right leg bent forward, his lead foot pointed at his opponent while his left rear leg and foot pointed to his left side.

The Faceless—who now decided to refer to himself as John Rathbone instead of Fabian La Cerca—told the samurai kid, "Didn't realize you brought your friends along. I miss my dagger. Now I can't show off Fabian's sword and dagger technique."

'Good,' thought the teenager, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the fencer lest he cut it out. 'I can barely land a hit on you with that dagger around as is. Thanks, Minoe.'

As the moonlight touched the naked blade of Yahiko's inherited sakabatou, The Faceless remarked, "What is with that sword of yours? Is it a sickle you're wielding or a sword? The blade is on the wrong side. You can't cut someone down like that."

Yahiko then said, "It's not for cutting down people. It's for saving people. It's the sword of life."

***

Kinta Minakata didn't mean to retreat. He got forced to do so.

Like sheep being herded back to their corral by a farm dog. Or a pack of wolves picking the herd apart for lunch.

Was he really luring his half-brother to a trap or was he being herded by him instead? It depended on which one of them would ultimately survive this encounter.

He'd actually been waiting for a counter opportunity that never came. Instead, he faced constant, unrelenting pressure from his supposed half-brother.

The literal Minakata bastard.

He didn't know what to think about it. His mind whirled of memories of being bullied and made fun of by his peers for having his father cuckolded or invaded by a foreigner, stealing away his wife who birthed a bastard.

The child whose father ruined his parents' marriage and led his own father to commit sepukku (ritual suicide) by hara-kiri (disembowelment) and later decapitation.

This devilish blond man was like all that past trauma of his personified. This son of a bitch.

No, wait. He'd never call him that. He'd never shame his mother that way.

Rather, he was a son of a gun by the truest sense of the term. A "gun" referred to a foreign military person, he believed. Sons of guns tended to be children of navy sailors.

The phrase potentially originated in a Royal Navy direction that pregnant women aboard smaller naval vessels had to give birth in the space between the broadside guns to keep the gangways and crew decks clear.

He would've pondered on this more had his relentless half-brother gave him enough breathing room and time for his brain to process this bombshell of a revelation.

He'd nailed several counters at Lucas already but he wouldn't go down. As if him attacking while already bleeding and injured by Zan was a lie or ruse to get Kinta's guard down.

The man's stamina was impressive. Unlike his stamina, which was the complete opposite.

Lucas had been fighting, beating, and killing bodyguards left and right for what felt like hours and there he was, fresh like a daisy.

Or rather, the presence of blood seemed to sharpen his senses, activating his fight-or-flight instincts. Or a shark going into a feeding frenzy. Even if it was his own blood.

Luke's wild, beastly eyes shone in the dark, lit by a sliver of moonlight. Like the eyes of an animal ready to pounce. To prove that sometimes even the savviest of humans had to let nature take its course and succumb to getting mauled by a lion or bear.

Cunning and careful planning could only take you so far in the wild.

Kinta also had one serious problem. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to hate this stranger who tried his best to kill the entire Minakata Family.

He shouldn't feel this way, especially against such a dangerous man who already murdered so many of his family's elite guards as well as several of the Sanada Ninjas.

Everyone's lives were at stake against the Brigands Guild of assassins and mercenaries.

***

Yahiko remembered Kaoru's words like it was yesterday.

"The Kamiya Kasshin Ryu is a sword style that my father developed during the Meiji Era after surviving the turbulence of the Bakumatsu."

Her father and the founder of the Kamiya Dojo, Koshijiro Kamiya, didn't approve of murderous swords. With the ambition for swords that gave life, Koshijiro and his daughter Kaoru gave this sword style everything they had for 10 years.

"The sakabatou is a sword that gives life instead of takes it. A life-giving sword," said Yahiko, echoing what Kaoru and even Kenshin had told him in the past on why they chose to teach him Kamiya Kasshin Ryu instead of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu.

"A life-giving sword? What utter hogwash is that? Next you'll tell me you want a healing gun, or a bomb that puts your limbs back together!" mocked The Faceless.

"You're lucky because I follow a non-killing sword style. Even though I want to kill you to avenge the people you've killed, I'll settle on defeating you," said Yahiko while falling into his Water Stance.

He inwardly cringed at his audacity for saying those words but knew deep down that even though he didn't share Kenshin's past regrets, he also wasn't too keen to spill blood himself.

He promised both Kenshin and Kaoru he wouldn't. Let the endless murders end with the Bakumatsu, they said.

"You are aware that this is a duel to the death, child. I'm under no obligation to spare your life even if you're foolish enough to spare mine," said The Faceless.

"A sword is made to kill. Let me teach you that painful lesson, boy."

"Spare me the speech. I've heard it all before.  'Swords are weapons.' 'Swordsmanship is the art of killing.' But even if you think I'm sugarcoating the truth, I can and will show you what a life-giving sword is all about."

Myojin wondered if he could back up his bluster or if he wasn't merely bluffing. A sword that gave life instead of taking it away was patently ridiculous and totally contradictory.

What pushed him to say such things? What made him choose to believe Kaoru's flowery words and her father's idealistic beliefs like Kenshin did when they first met?

"Heh. Is that so? Spoken like a child who has never gotten blood in your hands," harrumphed the masked Faceless, his mask-covered nose seemingly upturned at Yahiko.. "You're a child."

"Yeah, and? So what?" said Yahiko. "I'd like to keep it that way. I don't want to be a murderer. I just want to beat you."

Yahiko did a Simple Attack from the Jodan-no-Kamae (Fire Stance) of having the sakabatou raised high up over his head, his muscles tense and his shuffling footwork gauging the distance by feel.

Whether it was a slash or a thrust after a miss from any of the eight directions as shown in the Kuzu Ryu Sen, it didn't matter.

He expected the Parry Riposte to happen and was actually baiting him to strike to do a combination strike or Compound Attack (attacks with feints) or even a Counter Attack (responding in a way that avoided the riposte while landing the counter).

Patiently, Rathbone's riposte turned into another circular parry as he danced around Yahiko's probing swings and answered with blocks and deflection, as though figuring out the kid wasn't committing fully to the strikes enough to land an effective counter to the counter or Counter Time.

Yahiko did more feints to draw out a possible counterattack from John Rathbone that he could counter or do his own Counter Time. Or he even countered an obvious feint from Rathbone, hoping to react fast enough to counter the resulting Counter Time with his own Feint in Time or a feinted counterattack.

'So he's another samurai who knows the Tactical Wheel,' thought Rathbone. 'Fascinating. Kenjutsu isn't the primitive, ineffective martial art I thought it was.'

The Faceless then read and parried all his feints until he found an angle where he could do an off-time riposte before Yahiko could react.

The thrust didn't stab the teenager in the heart, but only because John slashed at the last second to avoid Myojin's Hadachi (Sword Catch) technique.

"You're a funny fellow, kid," said Rathbone with a chuckle while wiping Yahiko's blood from his triangular blade. He then turned towards the injured Minakata and declared, "You have a champion with you, Minakata Tatsuya. And what a champion."

For his part, Tatsuya Minakata managed to crawl to the nearest boxes and rest his back there, sitting away from these two dueling fools.

He'd give a king's ransom to have both of these dangerous idiots beheaded.

***

Judging by the additional wounds Kinta Minakata gave his bastard brother, the gulf in skill between the two was apparent.

So why didn't it matter? Why didn't the long-lost "Takuto Minakata" crumple down and die from his strikes?

Did he really need to cut him through the bone, lop off his limbs, or decapitate him to kill him? Otherwise, he wouldn't die?

He still kept standing. Biding his time. Parrying endlessly, like his (presumably) sword master The Faceless would, in order to find an opening.

Luke's defense was practically nonexistent compared to Rathbone. However, he more than made up for it with his limitless stamina and out-of-this-world resiliency.

In comparison, the only blood staining Kinta's clothes were that of his brother's or any of the Brigands Guild he'd faced off against so far.

And yet a he felt a sense of gloom at the back of his head. He had to keep his guard up as long as Lucas kept moving.

The blonde foreign devil looked injured but to be honest, none of his bleeding wounds were fatal. They were just flesh wounds.

Also, Lucas noticed that he hadn't landed a significant strike on his brother for quite some time. Injured and bleeding, Luke charged forward, cutting the distance between them and making it harder to land full-strength counters.

Like he'd been prolonging this fight to memorize his older brother's tempo, range, tells, tactics, techniques, tendencies, and rhythm. As though a war of attrition favored him the most.

Now every time Kinta attempted a Full Moon Slash, Luke braced himself to block the strike with a two-handed parry before it could reach its apex.

He also sidestepped the slash with a blade deflection. He even minimized the impact of an unblocked or belatedly blocked technique by hopping backwards and letting the arcing slash push him away.

And just like that, Kinta's ultimate attack had been sealed. He couldn't even do a Blue Moon Slash anymore because Lucas wouldn't let him even land one Full Moon Slash.

On his part, Luke didn't relent on any of his attacks either, with every slash, stab, and chop of his with the potential to maim, bisect, dissect, draw, or quarter anyone it hit.

Again, Minakata felt like a helpless child dodging carriages or a stamped of spooked horses in open traffic.

His brother really swung for the fences. And even if his full commitment to his strikes left him wide open, he was more than willing to take a shallow slash to land a deeper one.

How very Japanese of him for a gaijin. He embodied the very definition of the Japanese saying, "Let them cut your flesh, and you will break their bones."

***

By the age of fifteen, Yahiko had become a national champion level swordsman feared and revered in Tokyo as "The Catcher of a Thousand Blades" thanks to his shirahadori (blade catching) mastery.

At that time, he had also mastered Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, proving as much with the feat of stopping the first five attacks from Kenshin's Kuzu Ryu Sen (Nine-Headed Dragon Flash) technique once.

Nevertheless, Myojin grit his teeth as he faced off against The Faceless' comparatively tamer yet more methodical attacks.

Having to deal with an elusive opponent who picked his spots, took his sweet time to attack, you couldn't hit, could read all of your attacks and feints felt like pulling teeth.

Or a thousand paper cuts while submerged in a lemon bath. These little nicks that were shallower than a wound yet somehow felt worse, like you'd been set on fire.

The difference between death and torture, even.

"We have a hero with us," mocked Rathbone, daring Yahiko to strike all the way with circular parries and inviting thrusts. "I'll gladly play the role of the villain now. Don't disappoint me, hero."

John Rathbone really was the spirit and image of Yutaro Tsukayama's fencing-like kenjutsu, right down to slowing the pace to a crawl in order to peck and prick the enemy to death.

Or at least anger an opponent enough to make him charge recklessly and commit with full bone-cutting slashes then make him pay for his recklessness.

'…How did this gaijin defeat the echolocation ninja anyway?' Yahiko thought as they again exchanged parries and dodges. 'A ninja who could detect and react to him instantly. And could mess with his rhythm. What is his secret to solving those problems?'

Yahiko observed that no matter how hard he feinted or attempted to interrupt The Faceless' rhythm, he'd find a way to recover, parry, or dodge then reset the assault or counter off any of the samurai teen's attempts at charging.

He had a safety zone he could shell up into or retreat towards to cover up any gaps or openings in his stance or his actions.

Even when the Sanada Demon interrupted his rhythm, he could still counter off any openings presented to him by a charging opponent.

He always set the pace and countered at more flexible or awkward angles compared to the comparatively frigid stances of kenjutsu.

He was one step ahead every time and did mind games on what he'd do next. His wait-and-see strategy also allowed him to adapt and counter any tactics thrown at him.

Just like Yutaro's modus operandi.

Because of his injured hand, Tsukayama relied more on an overall strategy that used his opponent's strengths against them instead of relying on tactics and discovering his opponent's weaknesses throughout the course of the battle.

However, this persistent sense of déjà vu (French for "already dreamed") merely pushed Yahiko further, his curved sword clashing in sparking flashes with Faceless' thin straight blade with endless probing parries to find openings or to create them.  

Fortunately, Yahiko's newly acquired skills of dodging, blocking, parrying, and cutting the distance from a retreating opponent limiting the amount of thrusts and ripostes from John.

His endless drills with May Brooks/Satsuki Sakaguchi had paid dividends. Otherwise, he would've been skewered by the Faceless long ago.

The Kamiya Kasshin Ryu master also remembered why he went into his Musha Shugyo (Warrior's Pilgrimage) in the first place. To defeat his rival, Yutaro, and his defensive kendo skills.

***

You shouldn't let his crimson mask of blood deceive you. Lucas Grant was more dangerous now than he was before he started bleeding.

It could be that Lucas was stronger and more durable than Kinta the same way Luke's bastard sword could break the samurai's katana because of its higher grade, carbon-rich steel.

However, it didn't necessarily matter.

Kinta was no mere injured animal fighting tooth and nail for his life by letting his base instincts take over either.

The Mimawarigumi Battousai was as dangerous to his fellow men as men were to animals.

Humans were weaker than most animals yet they somehow ended up becoming the dominant species in the world.

Kinta was no mere beast. He was more than a lion. He was a man. A hunter. The human animal that was on top of the food chain. The apex predator of apex predators.

Granted, a human wasn't faster than a cheetah. Nor stronger than a gorilla. Nor more brutal than a tiger or lion. His nails weren't as sharp as bear claws. Without clothes, he was as exposed as a naked mole rat or a chick that fell off its nest.

By all accounts, in the animal kingdom, a human should be prey instead of the apex predator.

However, humans weren't as weak as one would think.

They had opposable thumbs like apes and monkeys, allowing them the ability to make tools and tightly grip sharp weapons to make up for their lack of claws and raw strength.

They were long-distance endurance runners. While animals could outrun any human at any given time, a human was adept at stalking and tiring such animals down with unrelenting determination.

Any animal could beat humans in a race but they'd tire out trying to outpace a human in a marathon race.

Humans could also sweat, which allowed them to efficiently cool down and prevent themselves from overheating due to activity.

Most animals did not have as effective of a cooling system as humans, so any exertion of commensurate effort on their part, like fleeing or fighting for their life, will leave them more exhausted compared to the self-cooling human.

However, the weapon Kinta had in between his ears was what made him the most dangerous.

The human weapon of intelligence.

A human was able to plan, work with groups of other humans, and make tools. He was no mere animal acting on instinct.

The most intelligent and methodical of humans could turn hunters like any of the big cats into the hunted by springing traps on them or using projectiles against them, from rocks to spears.

Humans could also communicate with each other through language. They could take down even huge animals like elephants, rhinoceroses, and hippopotamuses by tactics, traps, subterfuge, and cooperation.

Even as Lucas pressured Kinta to retreat from an endless barrage of decapitating strikes—knowing his large chunk of steel he called a sword could withstand a strike better than the thinner though sharper katana—the samurai conserved his energy.

He'd memorized Luke's tactics, which kept him safe from even the wildest strikes through pattern recognition. Like a human stalking his prey and memorizing their movement and habits before going in for the kill.

Even as Kinta panted and sweated from the effort, his intelligence kept him from succumbing to wild beasts like his reckless brother.

Even as he tasted the rusty tang of his own blood in his mouth after clearing his throat, his brother still could barely touch him.

Alas, his brother was no mere beast either. Lucas also resembled the human animal, particularly in terms of his tireless stamina, quick recovery, hand-eye coordination, and ability to outlast his prey like an ancient hunter-gatherer.

A modern human with caveman-like strength and instincts.

***

"…In the next attack, I'll parry thrice then do a riposte," said The Faceless all of a sudden, alarming Yahiko. "Pay attention now."

Was he going to really do it? Was he going to tell him his next attack and still land, confident that Myojin couldn't come up with a counter? Or was he lying about doing that and he'd counter a different way?

And so Yahiko attempted to fly and bash Faceless on the noggin, only for him to get parried.

He then attempted to break the sword with the Tsui Gami (God Hammer), with got neutralized with two parries, followed by a riposte that he tried to counter with the Shippu Jinrai Dotou no Ken (Gale Thunderclap Billow Sword) to the wrist.

However, the riposte ripped through regardless, with Rathbone turning his wrist to parry the blow with his elongated sword handle.  He was landing at will now.

Damn you, Cat Eyes. Oh wait, this wasn't Cat Eyes. This was The Faceless.

Rathbone said, "Wipe yourself, kiddo. You're bleeding."

"…I needed that scratch to awaken me!" responded Yahiko.

Fine. Whatever. He'd been planning to use this technique against Yutaro but… what the hell. He might as well use it on this mirror image of Yutaro's kenjutsu.

Yutaro's swordsmanship was such that it didn't matter if you used your best techniques at him, he'd use your strengths as your weakness with a strategy that figured the whole essence of your own kenjutsu out.

Yahiko was different. He was the Yang to Yutaro's Yin. Or vice-versa.

Instead of figuring out a strategy to take out an opponent, he'd rather wing it or improvise, like when he figured out the weakness of the high-flying Hennya Kariwa was someone who could fly like him.

Any strategy Yahiko exhibited was purely incidental. He was more a think-on-your-feet kind of guy who relied on gut instinct to think up new tactics on the fly.

And his gut instinct told him that The Faceless had the same fundamental weakness as Yutaro.

"Next we'll do a Beat Parry Riposte," bragged Rathbone, only for him to frown when Yahiko charged at him. Like an enraged bull annoyed by all the cape waving of the matador.

'Huh. Fine. If he wants to play to my strengths, I'll indulge him,' thought John, preparing to do a Beat Parry Riposte regardless of what attack, counterattack, or feint Myojin had in mind.

Yahiko instead responded with a Counter Time. So it was a feint.

'No problem, time to adjust…?!' thought John before getting blindsided by a simple head strike, the blunt end of the sakabatou hammering his noggin and leaving a crack on his mask.

To himself, Rathbone wondered, 'What just happened?'

"Maybe next time, you'd have the common sense to not tell me what you're about to do next, old man," the petulant teenager answered back.

***

Back after The Faceless recently faced-off against Kinta Minakata, he relayed the following information to Lucas Grant.

"...I didn't notice it at first since I'm no a spring chicken myself, but Minakata Kinta has stamina problems. He slows down the longer you prolong a fight. Just like me, because of my age. Your youth will win out as long as you can withstand his extensive swordsman experience."

"Does he now?" Luke had asked with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "That's fascinating. Tell me more about Niisan (Big Brother)."

"Make your duel into a war of attrition. I haven't met anyone who has ever outlasted you in a fight. Turn it into a brawl. Throw away all technique. Don't bother outthinking him, just keep on striking. Take him into deep waters. Drown him. Show him how you've survived after all these years."

And thus Lucas did just that. Running high on adrenalin and testing the limits of his monstrous stamina, Luke kept his breathing low to conserve his energy.

He kept his frenetic pace by taking breaks while Kinta second guessed his next move and using twitch reflexes to counter or respond without thought in the middle of his rest period.

Boy, was his big brother a tough nut to crack. Most other swordsmen would've succumbed to him by now. However, the Minakata boys were apparently built different.

He'd thrown everything at him but a kitchen sink, and all he had to show for it were minor scratches and bruises.

Like he'd merely been roughhousing him on the playground like his childhood bully instead of doing his best to assassinate him then and there.

He'd poured the pressure on him, each of his full-power strikes killing blows in their own right, but the high-ranking hatamoto samurai remained cool under pressure. He had ice water in his veins.

The plan was to push his half-brother to his limits and run him ragged, knowing full well that he had respiratory problems stemming from his time with Hidden Christian rebels.

However, the red-faced Luke himself ached all over. He had a splitting headache as well. He underestimated the toll of exerting himself so much, yet he ended up swinging at nothing but air every time.

That cunning bastard. Even as Grant attempted to tire Minakata out, Minakata turned the tables on him and tired him out instead with all his missed swings and over-exertion.

His threshold for pain might be high, but he was testing its limits with all the cuts and lacerations he kept barely blocking from the Mimawarigumi Battousai.

He was also left to wonder: Was Kinta's deadpan face the look of someone out of breath and dying from his effort? He couldn't tell.

Kinta looked like he just went through a light jog. He'd broken a sweat, finally, but what of it? Did it compare to the buckets of blood Luke had already spilled?

Which one of them really was the more tired of the two?

Luke gulped hard, bracing himself for a long volley of attacks to come just to break apart his half-brother's clam shell defense and counters.

He had to do this though. Kinta Minakata was the biggest hurdle towards him getting his revenge against the family that abandoned him and his mother. That turned his life into a living hell.

Even with The Faceless' cunning strategy in mind, everything was still going to go down to the wire. Survival of the fittest.

'No hard feelings, Big Brother.'

***

Yahiko fell into his neutral Water Stance once again.

A basic kendo stance that invited all sorts of fencing attacks or counters at every corner from the more mobile sword style.

The Faceless' sword arm swung like a pendulum again, ready to parry, slash, or thrust at a moment's notice, with it serving as his means of gauging his opponent's next…!

The floor buckled beneath him. In a second, Yahiko had struck the ground with a Dou Gami (God on Earth).

Dammit. That technique had a wide berth and swing! Why couldn't Rathbone anticipate it this time?

Caught flatfooted, John Rathbone hopped to stable ground, away from the sudden explosion of rubble and debris, his sword ready to preemptively attack or counterattack.

Yahiko emerged from the smoke with a running start. Rathbone did a counter thrust that turned into a parry at the last second.

They ended up pushing off against each other with the strength of their swings, John's rapier trembling from Myojin's attempt at a blade-breaking Tsui Gami.

"The Faceless's blade is not so firm," the samurai kid said in jest.

The Brigands Guild member answered, "Still firm enough to run you through."

"Is that right? Make sure to keep your wrists safe from harm, then."

"What…?"

While Myojin was initially intimidated by The Faceless calling out his attacks, he realized it was no different from kendo matches calling out the part of the armor they hit when they were having formal matches.

It was up to the opponent to register what was said and respond. And respond he did.

"KOTE! DOUTOU NO KEN!"

As Yahiko's original signature move as a child—the Gale Thunderclap Billow Sword—landed on Rathbone's wrist, disarming him, the samurai teen inwardly grinned.

That was the weakness of The Faceless. Same as Yutaro Tsukayama.

When push came to shove, they'd wait for an opportunity to counter rather than attack 9 times out of 10.

Even when they attacked, they tended to bait a counterattack first to make their attack a counterattack.

The only time they attacked was when they had run out of options, but at that point they become vulnerable to counterattacks themselves.

Timing a Counter Time right in a way that they didn't see it coming was the key to success.

To John's chagrin, he heard Tatsuya holler at him. "Well, well, well. The fencing master has met his equal."

'My equal, you say?' thought the indignant Faceless while rubbing his wrists. 'Excuse me? Him? My equal? Balderdash.'

***

From the high-pace exchange of slashes and parries, the fight between blood brothers ground to almost a halt.

They paced themselves equally, with Luke pushing for the action while Kinta defended and kept an eye out for counter opportunities.

Their breathing was heavy. They panted like tired dogs in the middle of a summer heat wave. Their fight that lasted minutes felt like hours of nonstop trench war.

Neither willing to give ground. One fought to salvage his honor. The other fought to enact revenge upon the family who abandoned him.

On one hand, there was Kinta Minakata. He glistened with light perspiration from the effort and a couple of cuts and bruises, but his breathing was as ragged as his half-brother's.

The only blood on him was his brother's, among others. As expected of the sole Mimawarigumi survivor given the same moniker as the Ishin Shishi's own Battousai.  

His wheezing and occasional coughing belied his pristine condition. He also looked paler, perhaps even bluer, then usual.

On the other hand, there was Lucas Grant. He was supposed to be named Takuto Minakata, but his blond hair and blue eyes after he was born gave him away.

He looked like he'd gone from hell and back after taking on two of three Sanada Demons. However, his movements looked somehow sharper and livelier than his brother from another father.

For someone who looked like he was tortured, there remained a spring in his step. As though the blood on him was not his own. Or perhaps bleeding somehow invigorated him.

Which one of them was more exhausted? Which one of them was on the verge of death? The one who looked like he was almost dead or the one who sounded like he was almost dead?

Those were the thoughts filling Lieutenant Satoru Sakaguchi as he cradled his daughter near him while warily giving the side eye on the other remaining Brigands Guild member.

For his part, Kai Hidaka himself watched the bullfight of a match between fellow brigand Lucas and his brother, Kinta. If he were unmasked, perhaps he'd show an agape mouth.

Neither of the three moved from their positions as tensions rose between the panting, gasping Minakata Brothers.

The heavy breathing and groaning soon relaxed and slowed until they stopped altogether.

The two Minakata Brothers then stood up at the same time. They had saved up all their strength for this last salvo.

They controlled their breath and measured the distance between them by eyesight. They seemed to breathe almost in cadence with one another.

Slowly but surely, Kinta sheathed his blade. Meanwhile, Lucas kept his hunk of sharpened iron stabbed into the ground, waiting for the right moment to pull it out and lift it for an attack.

***

Yahiko thought about running after or even stomping on Rathbone's rapier on the factory floor to break it apart, but its owner had already dove to get a hold of it.

Oh well. Thusly, the Tokyo Samurai Descendant said, "For my next trick, I'll break that sword of yours apart."

John harrumphed. So now the kid was calling his shot as well? "You dare use my own gimmick against me, Myojin Yahiko?"

"Yessir. I sure do dare." The Tokyo Samurai Descendant fell back to his familiar Water Stance.

Rathbone himself fell into his En Garde fencing stance in kind, bouncing on his heels and measuring the distance with probing rapier thrusts.

Knowing what would happen next. They both knew, actually.

Rathbone had figured out how Yahiko was landing his strikes. The samurai kid used the same preparatory stance to initiate all of his offense, transitioning suddenly to other stances from the basic kendo stance if he had to.

This way, he gave no "tell" or "signal" to what he was about to do next. His stance remained neutral at every exchange.

All of his techniques, from the Revisal Techniques to the original Kamiya Kasshin Ryu and even his imitation Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu moves could be done from the Chudan-no-Kamae.

Making Rathbone second-guess which attack to counter allowed Yahiko to react to his belated counters in time and do the appropriate Counter Time.

In this scenario, even a "telegraphed" attack like Dou Gami could land, because if John were to notice it in time and counter, Yahiko had enough time to react and turn the strike into a feint and Counter Time.

"Genei Gami (Phantom God)," Myojin whispered.

Hiding all his techniques' preparatory movements from the neutral stance to better read his opponent was the next step of his Revisal Techniques.

And as the blocked Dou Gami finally gave Yahiko enough room to execute the Tsui Gami, Rathbone's rapier finally broke into two pieces.

Alas, this was what Rathbone bet on.

With a gloved hand, he grabbed hold of one piece of the broken sword and dual wielded the blades, blocking the samurai kid's follow-up strike with the bottom half and stabbing him in the shoulder with the top half.

"My equal? Really? ¡Qué huevá más grande! (What an annoyance!)" said John Rathbone, who'd transformed into the Spaniard Fabian La Cerca at the last second upon finding a way to turn his rapier into his favored sword and dagger weapons.

"AUGH!" said Yahiko, who had gripped The Faceless' wrist in time to keep the rapier from reaching his vital organs, his face twisted in anguish.

"You're 100 years too early to be facing me, child."

***

To Lucas's surprise, it was Kinta who spoke first after his katana slid to its scabbard with a click. He had one question for him.

"What happened to Mother?" asked the heir to the Minakata Zaibatsu fortune.

"She's dead," said the Prodigal Son matter-of-factly. "Your family killed her. Called her a traitor to her nation. A whore to the gaijin invaders. Disowned her. Cast her aside. Banished her as their black sheep. Forgot about her altogether, like she didn't exist. Does that answer your question, Big Brother?"

"…."

Despite himself, Satoru murmured, "So the rumors were true. Damn."

Beside him, the officer's daughter stirred, pretending to be asleep but clearly hearing what Kinta's yonger brother said.

Azuma Minakata committed ritual suicide after his wife slept with a foreigner and bore their bastard son. Afterwards, Aoi Minakata was never heard from again.

The Minakatas pretended she never existed and thus she didn't. Until now.

The two finally addressed the elephant in the proverbial room, clearing the air between them.

It was the very thing that held them back and kept them from going all out. It left them wondering what they were even fighting for.

Now they know. The Minakatas committed an unforgivable sin and their unknown grandchild had come to collect.

Also, like cowards, they used their precious heir to the throne to defend themselves against retribution, making him implicit to their crimes. An accessory to murder.

Lucas would've rather drawn and quartered his cowardly Uncle Kaneda. Or tortured the pride out of his arrogant Uncle Tatsuya before beheading him.

Maybe even mercy-kill his Grandmother Mieko. Then piss on the grave of his late Grandfather Toshiro.

Luke had been disguising himself as their bodyguard all this time for a reason. To gauge whether they deserved retribution or if they changed from their evil ways. What he saw of them steeled his resolve. Most of them deserved what was coming to them.

Alas, their honorable nephew or grandson Kinta was in his way from committing justified familicide.

It couldn't be helped. They were both victims of circumstance.

The two then charged at each other, Kinta waiting for the right moment to draw his Akatsuki (Red Moon) katana and Lucas preparing a full two-handed swing of his bastard sword.

***

The Faceless's body stood up in attention, as though preparing to march. He then shifted to his fencing stance, his free arm settling on his hips, his jousting or fencing hand moving in circles in front of him.

Yahiko was now faced with two problems. One, his shoulder got injured, so his reaction time had been physically diminished.  

Two, The Faceless was back to using two swords, so even the Genei Gami's ability to hide which attack he was using could not overcome Fabian La Cerca merely blocking or parrying with his other arm.

They were back to square one. Only this time, the game of cat and mouse was over. The cat won and the mouse ended up too injured to still play with.

The cat was about to eat him now.

'Oh yeah? Well screw that!'

Throwing caution to the wind, Yahiko shifted to the offensive Fire Stance this time. His true signature stance—an all-offense one focused on striking at the precise moment.

He feinted and baited the dual-wielding fencing master for all he was worth.

However, he couldn't land a counter-counterstrike this time because Faceless had one other trick up his sleeve other than the broken tip of his rapier. He also broke his rhythm.

He stopped. Paused. Avoided committing into a regular tempo or pattern to allow himself to react even at the last second in case he again misread an attack or feint from Yahiko's Phantom God.

He shifted from fast to slow at irregular intervals, like the clumsiest and drunkest dance partner determined to step on your feet at every turn.

For, unbeknownst to Myojin, this was how La Cerca ultimately beat the tempo-altering, echolocating techniques of the bat ninja Baku.

Furthermore, La Cerca could shift between attacking and defending with either sword arm. He could turn his swords into dual shields or shift between sword and shield on either hand at a moment's notice, depending on the exchange.

The Faceless outclassed the injured and slower samurai in every single way.

However, before the fencer could finish the samurai off with another stab or even an arterial cut to make him bleed so much he'd pass out and die, he had to deflect shuriken from out of the blue and retreat.

A certain ninjutsu master just came back from retrieving the horses and carriage that got spooked earlier by paid Chinese mercenaries.

The steadfast ninja arrived just in time and almost blinded La Cerca with twin kunai to the two exposed eye slits on his mask.

"Kinta! I mean, Kaita!" said Yahiko, mixing up the names of these people he only recently met. "You came back! I thought you abandoned us!"

"Of course I did," said Kaita with a shrug. "I still have a mission to complete, Yojimbo (Bodyguard)."

"Where's the carriage?" asked Myojin.

"It's parked near an open field. The horses are tied there," answered the shinobi. "I originally wanted to run The Faceless over, but then you entered this building."

"A shadow dares defeat me?" said Fabian, his chuckle echoing from underneath his plain white face mask. "Mierda (Shit). The only shadow allowed to defeat me is the Kagemusha (Shadow Warrior)."

Kaita looked at Yahiko then at La Cerca. "You're right. I am but a mere shadow. And that's how we'll defeat you."

The next thing they knew, like a magic trick, Tatsuya had disappeared, prompting The Faceless to action. He had no choice, they took away his bargaining chip.

***

Just like with Yahiko and his Genei Gami, Kaita's invisibility trick made it tough to predict the trajectory of his projectiles.

Thusly, Kaita disappeared from their midst, melting into the darkness of the already dimly lit building in order to attack in the shadows like the coward that he was.

Such was the deviousness of these so-called oriental assassins. They were the yellow peril for a reason, or so Fabian thought.

Either warrior proved tricky for The Faceless to handle on their own, but now they'd decided to join forces, they were double the trouble.

Fine. He'd take them both on at the same time, if need be.

Yahiko and La Cerca clashed blades once more, only this time the kid samurai wielded his iron sheathe like a second blunt sword but with a reverse grip to counteract Fabian's sword-and-dagger technique, just like before in the narrow alleyway.

Interesting. But what about The Faceless' broken rhythm?

Yahiko answered the baits to counterattack by simply attack. He didn't need to dance to the broken rhythm of Faceless' tempo. He'd rather force Faceless to move to his own beat or get smacked  by a wayward strike.

A Simple Attack. Or a series of simple attacks. No Compound Attacks. No feints. No parries.  No counters. Nothing fancy. Just pure relentlessness.

His offense was his defense (along with occasional dodges and whiffs).

However, it wasn't all predictable. He swung for the fences using slashes that changed levels from high to low. Head to body. Or even hips, thighs, and knees.

His adrenalin rush allowed him to persevere, his shoulder throbbing from the stab earlier.

"Good effort, Faceless-san," said Yahiko with a smirk after Fabian countered another God Hammer with a crisscrossing double-bladed block.

The Faceless answered, "My next will be even better, my fancy clown."

Yahiko's unrelenting attacks and chase down then became unintentional counterattacks because he wasn't timing them to counter any responses from La Cerca.

He merely overwhelmed him with his own responses, like a talkative person talking over and silencing someone else with his endless stream of words. He did multiple Dou Gami blasts on the floor to mess with his footwork or Tsui Gami attempts to break or disarm what was left of his rapier.

The Faceless couldn't even parry anymore due to rough state Yahiko's sword-breaking techniques left his swords at. However, Fabian couldn't be easily overwhelmed.

He reestablished his broken tempo by finding counter opportunities from Yahiko's own overwhelming offense. Like slipping in side comments or sarcastic quips here and there that silenced even the chattiest fellow.

He also upped his reaction time, knowing he was basically taking on a tiring one-armed young man, before figuring out his tempo and countering the attacks in kind but stopping short from getting baited into a Counter Time.

He also bided his time, knowing full well Yahiko had to exert more effort to land his strikes than he did, who in contrast merely had to react to him and his frenetic pace.

"Are you tiring, Yojimbo?" asked Kaita from the shadows.

"Just sit tight and I'll take you on in a moment!" retorted Yahiko with a bloody grin.

To himself, he wondered if this was how a duel with "Cat Eyes" Tsukayama would've unfolded at this point. A tug of war between timing and tempo.

The Faceless, on his part, had also been dodging shuriken, spikes, nails, and other projectiles from the shadow ninja's guerilla tactics and assistance to slow him down and give Yahiko more opportunities to strike.

His broken rhythm that saved him from even Baku's screaming tempo-dictation technique and Zan's echolocation accuracy also made him a reactive mobile target that avoided both Yahiko and Kaita's shared attempts at swatting him down.

For an attack to land, it needed timing and positioning. The purely instinctual Yahiko made up for missed or whiffed strikes with even more strikes or follow-throughs.

Combinations on top of combinations to the head and torso that forced Fabian on the defensive in an endless series of parries and blocks.

'Ah. He fights just like Luke,' The Faceless realized. 'An endless stream of follow-through attacks and recoveries.'

It really was feast or famine with this child. No middle ground.

Hesitation was what increased the effectiveness of La Cerca's broken rhythm. Yahiko counteracted that by not caring if he missed and simply striking in bunches, using the misses to adjust his range from the target better and correct the miss with successive blows.

However, the untouchable Fabian La Cerca started figuring Yahiko's tempo out while avoiding or parrying Kaita's shuriken from the background with his makeshift dagger like it was an afterthought.

He danced around both Myojin's close-quarter strikes and the Sanada Ninja's long-range projectiles, while sneaking in cutting counters that stopped the samurai kid's charge cold.

Like with Baku, La Cerca assimilated and countered off of his opponent's rhythm completely while dodging their attacks and counters at the same time.

Everyone had their own rhythm. However, everyone else couldn't counter The Faceless in kind because of his own broken rhythm that changed in accordance to the circumstances.

Unrelenting offense was no solution to his broken rhythm because it only made the attacker vulnerable to his counters.

Their dance of parries and thrusts continued as Fabian swooped in for the kill, with him completely memorizing Yahiko's tempo and countering at every turn.

Beat. Parry. Beat. Parry. Parry. Dodge. Counter. Over and over. Predictable. How utterly predictable.

Yahiko started looking pretty rough, like the bloody Lucas did after facing off against Zan.

The kid's tight mini dodges, constant head movement, sword-stealing attempts, and his own school's cross-armed parry and riposte (Hadome and Hawatari) kept him in the match, though.

Yahiko, Kaita, and even Fabian noticed a small window of vulnerability whenever he shifted from defending against the ninja's projectiles and the samurai's swings from his sword and sheathe.

A fraction of a fraction of a second. It was a small window, but the Tsui Gami also used a small window of reverberation to strike the same point three times fast. It was in Yahiko's bag.

Confident he was landing his sharp counters and ripostes at will at this point, Fabian went ham and stopped hesitating.

He indulged in continuous counterattacks without fear of any traps or counter times from Yahiko while having that vulnerability in his mind. Determined to do a parry and riposte if that happened.

A shuriken flew from overhead instead of straight-on to La Cerca's head, which he deflected by reflex. For that split-second, his timing was predictable. Yahiko thusly attacked.

However, expecting this, The Faceless feinted a counter (Feint in Time), only to get smacked in the head with a simple attack. His knees buckling slightly, he sidestepped a follow-through and did a riposte.

He knew Yahiko's pattern by heart now, errant attacks that slipped through aside.

However, his every riposte and counter got blocked and parried themselves with the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu succession technique, the Hadome (Sword Halt) and Hawatari (Sword Crossing).

Myojin couldn't time him while he was waiting for a counterattack, so he baited him with a predictable pattern while spring-loading his own counter time.

It took his shuffling feet and upper-body movement to get out of range of Yahiko's counters and ripostes, with him figuring out that the kid had timed him by baiting him and drawing out his counters.

Thusly, he paused and waited to see if it was bait or a real attack.

Kaita attacked again at that moment, triggering La Cerca's reflex. At the same time, Yahiko attacked again.

On this toss-up, he predicted another bait-and-switch from Yahiko and got a face-full of sakabatou for his trouble.

He then defended again with his footwork and mindless stab to keep the kid off of him, only for his dagger to get stuck inside the samurai's waiting sheathe.

Yahiko pulled the fencer towards him within his range and then wrenched out the dagger from his hands.

Meanwhile, La Cerca himself smiled behind his cracked mask. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this excited to complete a mission. Who was this Yahiko Myojin character anyway?

If it were up to him, he would've devised a proper plan to take him out, just like with Kinta Minakata. The boy proved himself a formidable foe in his own right.

The fencer dodged, slipped, parried, riposted, and countered Yahiko's strikes even at close range, bewildering him.

Then everything went dark, his mask shattering from a concussive Tsui Gami to the side of his temple. Perhaps his skull might've cracked as well.

He fell in a boneless heap at the scratched-up and bleeding Yahiko's feet, his vision swimming as if underwater.

What just happened?

***

To Be Continued...

The dialog between Yahiko and The Faceless is based on the banter between Captain Esteban Pasquale (played by Basil Rathbone) and Diego Vega/Zorro (played by Tyrone Power) during their duel in the movie "The Mark of Zorro (1940)".

Also, naturally, all this shadow talk is based on Tetsuya Kuroko. In my mind, I've transformed the original Kaita from the Rurouni Kenshin Black Knight filler arc into a Kuroko-like ninja.

Danke, Abdiel

[lemonfairyd]

Angela with a @color-palettes palette, "Strength to Awaken"

[just-some-random-blogger]

Dragon Rider

The Blonde Boys Club

Aemond Targaryen x Ranger!Reader + Legolas Greenleaf x Ranger!Reader

Summary: It had been nearly a century since you've seen a dragon, and the sight was as captivating as the first time (the dragon rider shared the sentiment [of you], your mountain ranging partner did not).

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, elf!reader, reader is also blonde, sassy!legolas, puppy!aemond, vhagar wingman?, jealousy, possessives, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this has a p1 and since the first section is quite like a direct continuation of what happened there, mayhap you would like to read it before continuing with this. also my moodboard <3 also legolas in my moodboard <;3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"Thír, Legolas! Im'm bo caw -o a lúg!" I exclaim with a toothy grin.

Aemond looks up at me, smiling softly to himself as he thinks of how calming the sound of the language was. It sounded like a leaf blowing with the wind, a butterfly making rounds in the early morning. In comparison, he always thought High Valyrian was a commanding language, a fiery tongue that possessed a power to have even dragons obey.

As the Targaryen prince looked at the golden hair flowing in the wind, he felt something for Elvish he had not felt for High Valyrian before.

"Yes, you are on top of a dragon," Legolas repeats my words as he looked up at me with a wrinkled forehead. He continues in our mother tongue, "I don't see how any different it is for when you climb a tree."

"It's not like climbing a tree at all!" I shake my head, "I feel as though I could conquer the whole world! Show my might! Lay waste to my enemies!"

"You don't have enemies," Legolas mutters in annoyance, eyeing the human prince beside him when he heard him chuckle under his breath.

"You're my enemy," I tease as I give the elf a lopsided smirk.

He rolls his eyes. Aemond beams.

I give Vhagar a pat on her thick scales before I shift on my spot and announce, "I'm jumping down."

Legolas steps back, unfazed.

Aemond steps forward, concerned. He raises his hands, "it is a high fall."

The elf crosses his arms and furrows his brows, "for a man, mayhap."

Aemond turns to Legolas, just as the latter looks back up at me, "she can handle it."

The next thing Aemond knows, he is ripped back and his stomach drops as he watches what plays out before him.

I swan dive down, not forfeiting a roll and a leg tuck, all while being quick enough to land on my feet with my arms stretched out.

Legolas releases Aemond as I flip my blonde hair back. The former eyes me, "poppinjay."

"Wrinkler," I snip back.

Legolas steps forward, "mooncalf."

"Nincompoop," I step forward.

Aemond watches the two of us stare at each other, our chests nearly brushing as we press forward in challenge. He clears his throat loudly. Neither of us break our gaze or pull back.

He releases a terse breath, "would you like me to give you a ride back?"

This was what made both of us turn to the human prince.

Aemond's eye widens a fraction at the faces we throw at him. He blinks, finding difficulty to keep eye contanct.

"If you would like a legion of archers to be upon your dragon, then certainly," Legolas states, nonchalant, as he raises a brow.

I nudge him with a tight expression, "Legolas."

"It's true," he turns to me, replying in Elvish.

"Mmm," prince Aemond hums. He turns to his feet and places his hands behind his back. He shifts back and forth, "will I..." then lifts his gaze upon me, "...see you here tomorrow on your patrol?"

I am quite caught off-guard by his question that my lips part. Legolas furrows his brows. A bit of red climbs up Aemond's neck.

A chuckle leaves me.

"She will not be patrolling tomorrow," Legolas narrows his eyes.

I snap at my prince, "and why wouldn't I?"

Legolas does not turn to me when he says in our mother tongue, "I forbid it."

That's enough for me to roll my eyes and turn to Aemond with a grin, "I would love to meet you here tomorrow if you will be coming."

The prince before me breaks into smile, nodding his head excitedly, "yes. Yes. I will be here tomorrow."

The prince beside me narrows his eyes and mutters a string of Elvish curses under his breath. It's honestly so disgraceful, I cannot holdback my eye twitch and quickly dig my heel into his foot.

Legolas lurches in pain and curses loudly.

I smile as I curtsy at prince Aemond, " 'til tomorrow, prince Aemond."

Aemond bows, eye fixed on me, then shifting to Legolas, who pulls me away.

"Farewell, dragon!" I call as I am dragged off.

Aemond eyes crinkle as he watches me, "geros ilas, zaldrīzes."

"Geros ilas, zaldrīzes," I wave.

"Farewell, prince... ranger," Aemond says.

Legolas shoots Aemond a glare.

"If your mother caught you here-"

I turn over my shoulder.

"-she would not hold back her rebukes," Legolas raises a brow at me and crosses his arms. He looked like a had soot on his cheeks, and his attire was dusty with dirt and gravel. His hair contrasted mine; though his was braided like usual, it was greatly unkempt and the bonds were loose, and my hair, though undone, was perfectly combed and silky down my back.

I turn to the book in my hand, replying in the same language, "you're one to talk. You look like you fought a gang of orcs."

"That's because I did," he says in Elvish, walking over to where I was sprawled out on the grass. He pokes my raised bare feet behind me and I snap at him, raising up a bit from my chest. I push myself up as Legolas sits beside me, "help me get cleaned."

I roll my eyes, "you're such a prince."

"You know how I feel about orc smells," he mutters, "I am loathe to do all the work myself."

I do not respond as I refocus on the page of the book I had been examining.

Legolas looks at my long, golden hair, sprawled all the way down to my thighs, untied, unbraided, barely fluttering with the wind. He removes the arrow quiver on him and gets on his chest as well beside me. For a moment, Legolas thinks to himself how glad he is for this constant. No matter how much time has passed, it was always here in the secret spot he could find comfort.

He leans on his shoulder, "read to me, doe."

I hum, "I don't think you'll like it."

When he notices the language of the book in my hand and it's Elvish counterparts, he purses his lips, "is that truly so interesting?"

I turn point to the inscription, "I think this might be a mistranslation but I am sure it's talking about how to care for dragonlings in their early years."

Legolas huffs. I vaguely hear him mutter something about burning the book, but I don't care much for it.

"Honestly," I turn to him, "I don't understand why our kind has not cared for dragons when they can live for centuries like us."

"By the goodness of the earth, you are poisoned."

I roll my eyes at him.

"Need I remind you that those humans consulted a dark magic to bind their line with the fire breathers in a chase for power."

I huff, propping my head on my hand, "I did not say we do the same, spoilsport."

With a grunt, I push myself up and get to my feet. Legolas looks at me with a grave expression. I roll my eyes at him once more before kicking his arrows, "get up, you reek of orc."

Legolas huffs and does as I say, just as I grab my shoes and walk out of my secret reading spot. I push the vines on the entrance away and make my way down the gardens.

The next moment, Legolas is trailing after me, "put your shoes on."

"No."

He calls out my name.

I ignore him.

We make our way into the hall when we are both alerted by a strange, distant sound. We turn to each other before we rush towards the walls where there was a window that gave view to the outside.

The sound is louder, and more unmistakable.

"It's the dragonling," Legolas scoffs a few moments before I spot Vhagar, "that fool was warned not to tread near the fortress again."

I watch as she lands on the cliff across the river bed. I break into a smile, pulling away form the window, scurrying off, hastily putting my shoes on as I go down the halls.

Legolas turns, calling my name out, furrowing his brows, "you cannot seriously be thinking of going to him at this hour!"

"Well, I cannot leave him waiting when he clearly came here for me."

Legolas calls out my name louder. I give him no retort and instead run off as quickly as I could, golden hair flying off as I did.

I was light on my feet and quick like a rabbit. I gather my skirt up and make my quickly out of the palace. Once I find myself outside, I hear a bunch of palace guards asking me where I was off to this time. I ignore them and make my way into the forest.

The travel is deep, but I knew the path well.

I break into deep huffs when I reach the edge of the woods, just by the shores of the river. I look up to the cliff of the mountain grinning ear to ear. I catch my breath, placing my hands on the sides of my mouth. I inhale deeply and scream, "RYTSAS, ÑUHA DĀRILAROS!"

I catch my breath as I await a response.

I see a mop of blond hair and an eye patched face look down from the height. I grin, waving up at him, "I SHALL BE THERE MOMENTARILY!"

I watch him smile, mouthing something I could not make out, for it was probably in High Valyrian.

I pull my skirt up and skip onto the rocks, forming a path across the water. I gracefully get across, catching my breath in the process. I then begin to climb up the side of the mountain, but before I do, I bunch my long hair up and tuck it into my dress. The climb was not hard, the steilhang was not too steep and there was a clear upward path that made the climb all the more easier.

In no time at all, I made it halfway my ascent.

"I did not know where else to land Vhagar!" the voice of the Targaryen prince calls from the top.

I chuckle, "worry not yourself," sparing a moment's glance to look up at Aemond, who was carefully and concernedly looking down at me, "this is much like climbing our watch towers, prince."

Aemond starts when my foot slips. He says, what I could only assume to be, High Valyrian cusses.

I quickly regain my footing and continue my travel up.

"Give me your hand," he calls from above.

I look up at him, finding that he is on his chest, dangling out his hand for me to reach. I knit my brows and chuckle, "prince Aemond, that is unnecessary. Please, retreat. I do not know what I would do if you slipped and fell."

Aemond furrows his brow, "are you quite certain? You nearly slipped yourself."

"That is more the escarpment's fault than mine," I mutter, turning back to my path, taking the last few steps up.

Once I am finally at the top, Aemond is standing nearby, offering his hands out to me. Although, in truth, I did not need it, I still took ahold of him and allowed to help me up.

His hands were incredibly clammy. I was honestly surprised how hot my hands were in comparison to his. I thought, if anything, his hands would have been warmer. He brings me near him, stepping back until we are far enough from the cliff; it is only then he releases me. I huff as I look at him, observing the look upon his face.

Though it seems relief was beginning to wash over him, the agitation on his face was still visible.

Aemond seems to find heaviness in my stare. He releases my hands and turns away, moving to my left, so that I could only see one side of his face. I continue to watch him as he places his hands behind him.

I press my lips into a smile at his rigidness, breaking into a chuckle, "suilad."

Aemond turns to me. I pull my hair out from where it was tucked in my dress, allowing it to flow with the wind, "it means greetings, hello."

Aemond's face softens, nodding his head, "soilad."

"Suilad."

"Suilad.

I grin, nodding my head, "well said, my prince."

Aemond hums as I walk over to his ride, smile growing wider at the sight of her. I mutter Elvish under my breath, "she is truly mighty." I look to her head, resting on some boulders, "hello, Vhagar."

"Your prince does not take kindly to your regards to me of such," Aemond says, following after me, "it would be better if you do not refer to me as 'my prince' as, truly, I am not."

I turn to the Targaryen, who had a solemn look about himself. I offer a playful look in return. I mimic his stance, placing my hands behind my back, "do you not enjoy the reverence in which I regard you, prince?"

He gulps, parting his lips, "it is not a matter of enjoyment, more so a desire not to steward ill sentiment towards an entire race by upsetting their prince."

I roll my eyes, "Legolas is not the representative of Elf-kind."

"Still, he is Prince Legolas."

I give him a look, pouting my lips in thought, "honestly, he should give you more credit. You're about as stiff as he is when it comes order and rules."

Aemond presses his lips. I turn back to Vhagar, stepping close enough to touch her. I steal a glance from the man, "may I?"

He nods once. Immediately, I turn back to the dragon and lay my palm upon her scales.

"The weight of the royalty sits heavily even on the shoulders of an Elvish prince."

I knit my brows softly, recalling just how I had rolled my eyes at the orc smelling princeling moments ago, "but he is not alone with his duties," I turn to Aemond, finding that he is now beside me, "and certainly, neither are you."

For a moment, Aemond watches as I caress his colossal companion. He presses his lips into a smile then sucks in a breath. "Prince Legolas," he starts, placing his hand upon Vhagar's side, "what is your relation to him?"

I knit my brows, "what do you mean?"

"He is your prince, and you are a ranger," Aemond trails off.

I take a moment to think, then perk up, "oh. Well, he is my partner and commander."

"Ranging partner you mean."

I raise a brow, "well yes, of course."

He nods.

Another thought spring into mind, "he is not my brother, if that is what you meant." The thought makes my lips curl.

Aemond chuckles, shaking his head in disagreement, "that is not what I meant at all, ranger." He breaks his gaze to motion his head upward, "can you reach my satchel?"

I turn to where he regarded, just a little bit above me, by the reins. I turn back to Aemond, giving him a look, brushing my hair back, "of course I can."

Aemond watches as I make haste to reach the satchel, dangling at the side of Vhagar. In that moment, the dragon stirs, huffing hotly, loudly, making me squeak in surprise.

Aemond calls out in his mother tongue as runs towards me, hands out, ready to catch me if I fell.

I do not, and make my way quickly back to his side with his satchel.

"Apologies," he grunts as he gets his bag from me, "I should not have-"

"Oh, by the stars," I huff, "I was merely spooked, is all."

Aemond looks at me with his violet eye then turns to what was in his hands. From the leather skin, he pulls out three books, bound in similar material, then hands it over to me.

I take it from him and give the items a quizzical look.

"This," he presses his fingers on the large, brown book, "is a tome on High Valyrian," he moves onto the wide, green one, "this is a brief history of all the dragons and their riders," he points to the thin, blue one, "and this-"

"Is about stars?" I ask, vaguely able to make out the Valyrian inscription on the cover.

Aemond chuckles, "not quite. It is about a star and a dragon."

I raise my brows in shock, "your family has a history with the stars?"

"Oh," the prince straightens up ,"no." He rubs his nose then places his hands behind him once more, "no," he clears his throat, "it is... a work of fiction."

My jaw slacks, "ah," I brush my hair away from my face when the wind blows at it, "I see."

I look back at Aemond, finding his hair blowing. When it brushes against his cheek, I nearly reach out and push it away, much like I dp with Legolas, but thankfully, I hold back before I do.

"Tis my favorite piece of literature," he says.

I break into a smile.

Aemond's purses his lips then words softly, "se qēlos hen biare dārys," he translates, "the star and the happy king."

"Oh," I chuckle, "what fun."

Aemond shakes his head, "do not be fooled by the title, my lady."

I snort, "well, consider me twice as intrigued. I am honored to be lent such exquisite scripts, your grace."

He shakes his head, "no, please. Add it to your collection. You have been telling me how you have been going through all the resources you have about dragons, and I have been meaning to give this to you since last time we met."

My jaw slacks, "but these appear to be from a royal library."

He chuckles softly, "a keen eye," he shakes his head, "but no. These are my personal copies."

My lip part wider.

"I have read them enough times," he smiles, "and I rarely have time to read as of late. It's better to give them to you, than let it keep collecting dust. After all, knowledge is meant to be shared, not locked away."

I press my lips into a smile, "you sound like my father."

"Well, he is a wise man."

Aemond's smile fades as he corrects himself, "elf."

I snort, shaking my head.

Whatever I was meant to say is immediately blown into the wind when my ears twitch at the sudden harsh strings of Elvish chastising being barked by my side.

I turn, and alas, tis Legolas, red in the face, seemingly fresh from the bath, muttering things under his breath like, 'you're lucky I haven't told your mother about your escapades.'

"Legolas," I call as he approaches me.

"I've had enough of you," he blurts in Elvish once he's in front of me

"Prince Legolas," Aemond calls, making him turn to the Targaryen.

He huffs, returning the nod in regard he is given, albeit begrudgingly, "Prince Aemond," he continues in our shared language, "your condescending regard is most irritating."

"He is not being condescending," I call.

Legolas hums, turning to me, "you think you know him so well now, do you?"

"Legolas-"

He cuts me off by grabbing my arms and turning me about, "I warned you about your hair, once before," he begins to braid my hair behind me. He gathers my blonde streaks from the top of my head then makes his way down, "you mean to tell me you climbed the cliff with your tresses flying everywhere?"

I roll my eyes, clutching the books in my hands into my chest, "I-" I cut myself off when he pulls my hair a little harder than he could have, "tucked it into my dress- stop it!"

Legolas gathers more hair and threatens to cut my locks off in my sleep.

Aemond, clears his throat from the side, "is it safe to assume you have you come to fetch your ranger, prince Legolas?"

"Retrieve, more like," Legolas says, fingers grazing my scalp. He turns to Aemond, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, "I told you not to come back here on dragonback."

"You told me not to come to Mirkwood on dragonback," Aemond retorts, "I am not in Mirkwood."

I huff through my mouth. He's not wrong. And yet, I practically feel the anger thicken from the elf behind me. I decide not to speak at all in the moment. I am glad Legolas does the same.

When a gush of wind blows, I snort at the rank scent in the air, "what is that?"

"That would be the dragon slobber," Legolas notes insensitively.

Aemond opens his mouth to retort, but I beat him to it, "no, that is orc."

Legolas stills in his braiding, hands now just by my shoulders. When he continues his braiding, I turn around when he reaches my shoulder blades.

"Quit moving," he quips as another wind blows

I ignore him and lean into him, reeling back when I smell the telltale scent of rank orc on him, "that is foul."

Legolas frowns at my reaction to him, angrily twisting my hair, "I told you to help me clean up."

I roll my eyes and push his damp hair back when it flutters with the breeze, "you truly cannot wash your hair without me, can you?"

"Why should I when you can do it for me?"

I scoff, "what a prince."

"More than him," he jabs in Elvish.

In that moment, I decide to turn to Aemond, whose attentions were focused on my hair, which Legolas was braiding.

I offer him a soft smile, raising the books in my chest, "thank you again for the gift, Aemond."

Legolas' braiding comes to a halt. Aemond turns to me, shocked. His lips part as they curve into a soft smile, "you are welcome."

Legolas scoffs, finishing the tail of the braid, tying it up with itself.

"I hope to see you when we begin our rounds," I offer the Targaryen.

Legolas hums, "yes. Perhaps you would even like to join us sometimes-"

I turn to him when he says this, shocked by the proposal.

"-without your dragon," he adds, "but then again, I doubt you could keep up on foot."

And there it was.

"Legolas."

"An enticing offer," Aemond smiles, "I accept."

I turn to Aemond, who was absolutely oblivious to my prince's rage. I cut in, "well, actually, we would be work-"

"Tomorrow then," Legolas calls, "bright and early, we start our patrol. We'll meet you where we met before."

Aemond nods, "fair enough."

"Legolas-"

"And you," the said being interrupts, "you will draw me a bath at once."

I sigh, shoulders sinking as I hold back an eye roll, "as you wish, sire."

Legolas purses his lips, "precisely."

[akhuna]

The Little Lion's first sock is done! Pattern is Poppinjay by Karolina Adamczyk (freebie on ravelry)

[pixiedust-poppers]

NEVERLAND REAL?? NO CLICKBAIT?? (Real world AU)

Been Thinking about this majority of the day and putting it to paper now.

“Neverland” in this context is a little county in South Carolina, close to north Myrtle beach. It’s in a mostly rural-ish community with a small town and a few shops. Not the fanciest place but modern-ish enough, it has a costal community vibe.

Residents are both young and older, there’s a strange aura around the people, they never seem to age. Even the oldest residents barely look past 60.

A majority if not all the residents work on the beach strip in some way whether it’s shop owners, bar owners, clerks, entertainers, etc. it’s not uncommon to see kids working the roles of waitresses or gig jobs either.

Speaking of kids and the youth, there are a surprising amount of them despite the amount of families living In neverland being mostly low. The kids do live in either ranch or trailer homes, in groups.

They also have cars it’s not uncommon to see a kid behind the wheel either, they’re modded so the kids use hand controls instead of foot petals. Yes they do have fake licenses don’t look too hard :)

The newest residents are 3 particularly in puny poppinjays. They stay in a ranch style 1880 sq/ft plan home perhaps something like this (it’s subject to change)

(The master bedroom is reserved for Peter when he visits)

These are their work and work casual cars

And this is ‘Bucky’ and ‘the mighty colossus’

Now you be wondering how these kids have these cars and trucks well. Peter is such a loving father, that he gave them rewards for meeting their quota and hustling.

Where is Peter Pan? Why he’s in Florida! Celebration, Florida to be exact. He has a few nice homes in celebration, Miami, and LA ofc. He runs a successful airline called NeverLost (“with us you’re never ever lost!”) and is the big Mouse man circle. Why did Peter adopt these guys? He saw something in them, he saw they had the smarts, coordination with one another and how deeply their loyalty runs if you treat them right. It was perfect.

Does he have ulterior motives? Of course not :).

[have-a-hiddles]

ridiculous popinjay

✨

[lumiereswig]

plumiere finding each other across lives, stories, and universes

The little tin soldier falls into the flames. Wait! says the paper ballerina, and follows after him. Every story says they melt.

~~~~

"What's your name, mademoiselle?" The boy is young, sixteen, dressed up in cockeyed gold scraps he found at some village fête. She is fifteen and wearing a feather the Queen left in the sewing room.

"Plumette," she says, and stares hard at the sun to hide her grin. He sees her looking and tries to strike a dashing pose.

~~~~

"Tell me a story," she begs, up on the roof long after everyone else is in bed, and they're in their twenties and cross-eyed in love and if they weren't dating other people they'd be in each other's arms this minute. "One with a happy ending."

"Happy endings?" The boy is dramatic and despairing. He would ask Plumette to the ball in a minute if she would just stop seeing that damn Armande from the stables. There are twenty thousand stars in the sky and he can't see the light in one. "There are no happy endings. What's that one I told you before? The brave little tin soldier and the paper princess he loved? I never finished it, did I, the little lovers on the nursery tabletop. They fell into the fireplace; a draft catches her, or gravity propels him. They burn. They're on fire and they burn."

"Oh," says Plumette, thinking this is a gloomy tale, and not watching her hand creep over the shingles to catch his.

~~~~

"Of course it didn't end that way," says Lumiere, a dark night when his candles barely burn. They're glowing, slowly, in the dark. "I would never tell a tale that dark. In this winter? No."

"You did! They burned. Or they melted? I can't remember." Plumette tries hard to remember every minute of when she had hands, when he was a bright gold poppinjay with a blue-eyed face, when his hair was auburn and she was dressed all in white. Now she floats beyond his reach, her feathers slowly falling away.

"Never, never." Lumiere has forgotten the story, watching her. Who cares for a paper princess? Who cares for a fairytale? My god, she's beautiful, and he's alive here to see it. "Come here, mon coeur."

"Lumiere! Your flames!" He's burning too bright. His flames are inches high, throwing their shadows huge on the wall. For half a moment they look human.

"Yes, so there were flames. Who cares? The soldier was made of metal, strong and stern stuff! And the beautiful paper princess—she would be too beautiful to burn. Maybe they were in the fire. The fire didn't touch them."

~~~~

Ten days after the end of the curse, and Plumette isn't over the joys of being herself again. She was looking at the stretch marks on her thighs earlier in the evening, the little wrinkles at the edges of her eyes—dear god, she thinks, I'm beautiful, and pushes the candle closer to the mirror so she can see every little thing. Lumiere, sneaking up behind her, kisses her head and smiles into her neck.

"Lumiere? What happened to the paper princess?" asks Plumette, letting down her hair and dropping her feathers. He's forgotten the tale, but something about it keeps drifting through her mind.

"The what? Oh, the princess." He hasn't a clue what she's talking about but something nudges him—a princess, cut from paper and lace, floating over fire. Did she have feathers? Why not, why not? "Oh, she's dancing still. She floated over the flames and dragged her lover after her. Who can resist a good breeze? Anyone as beautiful as she was, cut from the best paper with her beautiful lace, she could survive anything."

"And her lover?"

"Ah, well, he's susceptible to fire—but she makes him brave. Dance with me, darling. I do not burn you anymore."

~~~~

Melting, dancing, floating, burning—who knows which way the story goes? But in every version the boy follows the girl. And this version is no different.

[charlesandmartine]

Sunday 6th Oct 2024

Perhaps the most noticeable and improbable thing about HK is that it is pinned up against a hillside of immense proportions. Noticeable because it is so steep, improbable because somehow they attach buildings of such monstrous proportions to it. These are tall buildings; Liam's apartment includes a rooftop on floor 28 and his is a shorter building than many. Land is so expensive that it has to be managed and be efficiently utilised. To this end, outdated buildings are demolished and the city echos to the sound of pile drivers fixing foundations and clearing space for new ones. Foundations go deep through many meters of sand before they hit bedrock. A thoughtful aid to the weary wayfarer, city planners have installed escalators that will convey you effortlessly up the steep roads whilst also being sheltered from the effects of the sun although during the course of the day they will change direction; down for the morning, up afternoon for workers going to and fro to work. Space is at an absolute premium so cost of property is astronomical. Most people rent the smallest of space for a huge price; the most expensive real estate in the world. The streets as well being narrow and steep, charmingly retain the vestages of colonial rule, Peel St, Staunton St, Elgin St, Wellington St. Shelley St. We looked round market halls selling everything including frogs. Saw ladies working a Singer sewing machine in a roadside cabinet the size of an office cupboard. In a city built on commerce, there's a place for everyone.

We then caught the rattling tram to Kennedy Town which is at the furthest extent of the underground system. The old tram unit, running off overhead wires clattered its way through streets and streets of anonymous identical tower blocks, the sort you would wonder if you would ever find again, especially after an SB or two. Breakfast was interesting. Pretty much every meal is structured the same way; what do you want with your rice? Chicken, pork or in my case goose. It was fatty, tender, tasty, greasy and absolutely fantastic.

Underground back into town , Wan Chai and up to top floor in Poppinjays for a refreshing tonic and then take the Peak Tram to Peak Hill, the highest hill on Hong Kong island at 552 meters. The funicular railway system which is 130 years old but recently renovated climbs swiftly up the hill of gradients between 4 and 25.7 degrees! The views from the top are completely stunning, looking down on the tops of buildings which from below seem to dissappear to the skies but from here look like spikes in the road. But then raise your gaze to the horizon, across the sea, across Kowloon Island and beyond passing the mountain range and there's the mainland of the People's Republic of China! It is remarkable that when creation looks about as good as it gets, mankind can add a finishing touch with the built environment to make it look just perfect.

A short stroll through shaded lanes and we reached the Governor's Summer Lodge. Now a park open to the public and an extremely lovely relaxing place to end an afternoon with tremendous views across the city.

ps. It's has been very warm today and the humidity seemed higher.

pss. Calamari tonight!

[tortoisesshells]

Ooh, "F" and "O" for the fanfic ask meme please and thanks?

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

Answered here, but since I'm a vain little poppinjay:

“So, our Seccesh nurse is our Juliet, our hapless Chaplain not our Friar but a Romeo, and Mary Phinney takes for herself the humble roll of Nurse. Where am I in this production?”

“You seem a Mercutio to me,” Mary said, and a small smile, like a cat’s, crept onto her face.

Jed could not help but smile in return. It was not at her words, though he minded them, but at her voice, her smile, the weak candle-light in her hair, the ease with which she engaged him and – yes – smiled.

“Are you saying you’d see me run through?”

“Not in the least.”

“Well, then, I pray thee, Nurse,” he said, grandly, to his audience of one, “explain thyself.”

“You’re clever,” she replied, her gaze frank and eyes sparkling in the lamplight, “And you enjoy your own cleverness. You perform it, at times, I think, and not for any persons’ benefit but your own.”

“A hit! A very palpable hit, Nurse Mary.” He mimed a wound as they turn on the stair.

“And yet, Doctor Foster, under your medical texts and your wit, you are a loyal friend.”

from the second-earliest fic I posted on AO3, her eye discourses & I love it because: 1. "Are you saying you'd see me run through?" is still one of my favorite lines of dialogue I've ever written, because Jed Foster has to prove he is the smartest man in the room at all times and he knows it makes him irritating as hell, and he's asking, indirectly if his crush either likes him or wants to kill him. bless. 2. Mary may be too kind to him here, but, you know. The crush is mutual.

O: How do you begin a story—with the plot, or the characters?

Characters, all the way. I don't know what a plot is and at this point in my life I'm too afraid to ask. I think that, the vast majority of the time, I pick characters I want to write about, and where I want them to end up, and then find a scenario to suit.

Fic Ask Game!

[i-don-world]

Sticks

Ms. Poppinjay

[lemonfairyd]

here's some stuff thats also on my artfight. its my guys! i love them. Markus, Sven and Angela!

[senwitt]

The last thing Benny sees before he dies

[seeyouguyslater]

-barges in doorway- Sorry i’m late! I wanted to join in on the drawings. Hope you feel better! -jumps out the window-

thank you….

[artemisstratus]

I recently commissioned the wonderful poppinjay to draw a character I’ve had for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier with the result.

They still have quite a few slots open. If you’re interested, you can find their commission info here!

[brimstone-cowboy]

Hhhhhh Okay so Goodsir is a bit gay coded in this huh

[tovanori]

you should do more original stuff! i'd like to see them

let’s see if I have what it takes :’D thanks jay!