[ but if he's going to go change, then tsurumaru decides to remain seated while he waits, nodding passively at the last statement, because by then, his wispy dove has hobbled over towards hijikata's ankle and is now pecking at it with all of its Tiny Bird Might. therefore, nodding passively is all he can really manage, as he rests his head on the table and tries not to be sick. as for what hijikata sees —
it starts off in the midst of a nameless royal court (from the 1500's, but for once, the year really isn't too important). a mere look around will confirm the fact that this court exudes wealth, with all of its excessive gold/silver adornments and its stiff mannerisms and hushed noble gossip. as for tsurumaru, his vessel rests on a table, with several agitated nobles crowded nearby; some right next to it, while others are standing a bit away, sneaking dirty glances over at it. but the most notable thing is that all of these nobles are dressed in funeral processionary clothes — as if they've just returned from attending a funeral.
"isn't it this thing's fault that your son is dead?""isn't it cursed? that's what i've heard.""how many people has it killed?" why don't we just throw it away? i don't even want it near me. i don't even want to touch it.
the loudest statement is, of course — "no one will ever trust a sword that kills everyone that owns it. what kind of sword is that? it doesn't deserve to be around people."
"hold on. don't you know how much it's worth? look at its mounting. wasn't it redone to be more... decorative?" offers one of the older men from the group, wiser and more aged in the ways of corrupt human greed. to that, there's immediately pleased nodding from the remainder of the group. nobles, a bunch of people that would follow one another over a cliff, as long as they were all in agreement. "then, we'll offer it to some lord to win over his favor. that's all it's good for anymore, anyway."
it cuts off there, but right before it does, there's a glimpse of a bundle of white fabric beneath the table where his vessel rests, gloved hands pressed against its ears. the bundle is doing its best to make itself smaller — to make itself shrink and disappear as much as it can, because that's what the people had said, hadn't they?
it's in this way that his hands close over his ears in the apartment, seeing the same flashback, and when he's a little more sure that he isn't going to be sick, he tries to sound as cheerful as he can, even if he completely looks otherwise. ]
no subject
it starts off in the midst of a nameless royal court (from the 1500's, but for once, the year really isn't too important). a mere look around will confirm the fact that this court exudes wealth, with all of its excessive gold/silver adornments and its stiff mannerisms and hushed noble gossip. as for tsurumaru, his vessel rests on a table, with several agitated nobles crowded nearby; some right next to it, while others are standing a bit away, sneaking dirty glances over at it. but the most notable thing is that all of these nobles are dressed in funeral processionary clothes — as if they've just returned from attending a funeral.
why don't we just throw it away? i don't even want it near me. i don't even want to touch it.
the loudest statement is, of course — "no one will ever trust a sword that kills everyone that owns it. what kind of sword is that? it doesn't deserve to be around people."
"hold on. don't you know how much it's worth? look at its mounting. wasn't it redone to be more... decorative?" offers one of the older men from the group, wiser and more aged in the ways of corrupt human greed. to that, there's immediately pleased nodding from the remainder of the group. nobles, a bunch of people that would follow one another over a cliff, as long as they were all in agreement. "then, we'll offer it to some lord to win over his favor. that's all it's good for anymore, anyway."
it cuts off there, but right before it does, there's a glimpse of a bundle of white fabric beneath the table where his vessel rests, gloved hands pressed against its ears. the bundle is doing its best to make itself smaller — to make itself shrink and disappear as much as it can, because that's what the people had said, hadn't they?
it's in this way that his hands close over his ears in the apartment, seeing the same flashback, and when he's a little more sure that he isn't going to be sick, he tries to sound as cheerful as he can, even if he completely looks otherwise. ]
Hijikata, are you done?