( OPEN ) MARCH CATCH-ALL

[cranekin]

WHO: Tsurumaru Kuninaga and you
WHAT: Open prompts for looking for a healer, sparring, and tour around kyoto + closed prompts
WHERE: Kyoto, Tokyo
WHEN: March and into April
WARNINGS: N/A for now

catch-all for the month, open to using event prompts, setting up starters, etc.
if you would like an original starter or have your own idea, hit me up yosakoi | discord: diejoubus

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( open ) kyoto

[cranekin]

❀ NEEDED REPAIRS / TEXT ➜ ACTION

(Some time in the middle of the month, a message will go up on the network, )

user: shiro
I'm looking for someone who can heal spirits or repair swords.
Let's meet up!
If you can help, I'll make sure to repay the favor.

(Attached are coordinates for a small, local shrine about 20 minutes from the Kyoto base.

If you have questions, you can ask try to message him first and he'll answer for a bit but eventually, he'll want to meet up at the shrine. (Basically, we can start threads as text but eventually move them over to action so I don't have to do multiple posts please).

If you decide to just meet him at the shrine, Tsurumaru will be sitting on a bench where the shrine's old office would have been. It no longer sells charms or offers any services but it looks like there are some abandoned trinkets at the front desk still. Tsurumaru will be petting a stray cat that immediately scurries off when someone else approaches. He sits up to give his full attention to his new guest,)

Ah, someone really came.

ooc: Tsuru's sword was damaged in the last kaiju fight. Since it's his true form, he has some physical injuries that can't be healed until the sword is repaired. I've decided anyone with spiritual healing powers or the ability to repair swords will be able to help to some degree so come help an old man out.

action.

[misclassed]

[ Rather than bothering responding to the message itself, Muramasa sets out immediately at the prospect of maybe a job that suits his tastes, rather than rote patrol work and minor kaiju elimination.

(The mostly abandoned areas of Kyoto are far more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of the convention that's taken up what feels like so much time this month. He's almost sad to see it start to collect new inhabitants, but it's just as wrong for Kyoto of all places to be as empty as this. So he won't complain, either.)

Ascending the stairs to the old shrine with the jacket from his civilian disguise stuffed under one arm, Muramasa comes to stand in front of Tsurumaru; he spares the cat disappearing off into the brush nary a second glance. ]

You the one who's looking for a swordsmith?

[ He may only have his hammer on hand, but he can spare the magical energy to supplement his materials if he's gotta, surely. ]

[cranekin]

(He raises a bandaged hand in the air, waving to him. Actually, it looks like he has quite a few bandages on him-- wrapped around his neck, both of his hands, and even a couple slapped onto his face. Despite it all, he seems to be well and in good spirits.)

Mhm. I am.

(Lowering his hand, he sets it down neatly on his lap. )

There aren't many left in this world. Well, it isn't surprising; the age of swords ended a long time ago.

(And he tilts his head to the side, pale gold eyes studying the boy in front of him carefully for a moment. He doesn't say anything but it's clear that he's trying to assess him.)

... You're young.

(If this kid is supposed to be a smith, he looks more like an apprentice than a master.)

[misclassed]

[ This fellow isn't a human. He looks like one, certainly, but there's something off about him that stands out. Even with the bandages and the airy countenance, Tsurumaru's movements are balanced and graceful. He's definitely not a Servant either, but something that gives Muramasa the familiar impression of a perfect edge, or a bird in the moments before taking flight. The message had asked for a smith or a healer of spirits, and... hm.

That comment about his "youth" though—that immediately gets a rise out of Muramasa, who had been about share his own melancholy about the irony of the age of swords ending being a good thing for civilization but not his profession.

Instead, it's a cranky outburst: ]

Oh? And lucky for you I am too, 'cause there'd be hell to pay for makin' an old man walk all the way out here just to find work, otherwise!

[ There's equipment back at the base! Not a lot, but at least a little. He's even managed to collect enough stone to begin to lay the foundations for a small forge in one of the outbuildings, though a bellows made out of actual wood instead of mana is still a ways away.

Ah. Oops.

He huffs, wary that his harsh words might cost him the job, and rushes to modulate his tone. ]

Don't mind that—it's a complicated situation, but rest assured I got the experience of age and the blessing of a second chance in life to work good steel. Show me what needs done, and we can talk about materials.

[cranekin]

(Oh.

He'd expected some sort of reaction. Most people don't enjoy it when you point out their age. Children whine, adults groan, they make snippy little remarks, and try to prove their maturity to others. What Tsurumaru hadn't expected was for this boy to sound like such an old soul, though.

It's impossible to hide the smile. He's so totally amused, that he breaks into a grin and lets out a light, airy laugh.

Are you looking for an easy job? (He isn't bothered at all by the outburst. In fact, maybe that's why there's a teasing edge to his voice when he speaks. He isn't bothered-- he's having fun, and if he wanted, he could probably do more.) In that case, you already know how to go back from here.

(And he settles with Muramasa, taking on a more cordial tone,)

You're eager. I am too but this isn't a request I can trust anyone with. It's... very special. At the very least, tell me what sort of experience you have.

[misclassed]

[ Easy work, hard work, any work—whatever the job is, he'll take it. He wants to strive for excellence, to put his all into his craft for the love of it. He was never meant for just monster slaying, and it's a poor joke that he keeps finding himself in arrangements where that's what's wanted from him, first and foremost. If Master Spirit here wants him to be patient and judge his suitability, Muramasa knows that he has to comply.

He scratches at the back of his head, a habitual gesture blurring the line between the youth and the old man for a moment as he tries to decide how to explain who he is and what he can do without relying on his own name. In Olympus and Britain, it hadn't mattered how much his name was thrown around, but for some reason, he feels like it's better to take it slow here. Thankfully his passion for blades burns like a steady, reliable bed of coals more than a flickering flame. He'll take his time, work his way up into the good graces of this strange patron, and hopefully find a project worth putting his whole heart into at the end of the road. ]

Well... In life, I was a swordsmith from Kuwana, in Ise Province. Got plenty of custom from the local samurai, had a batch of apprentices—you know... the usual. Worked the forge until I ran out of life to use.

[ As one does, as a successful swordsmith with enough students to have three generations of blades in your name. ]

I'd hoped that I'd get the chance to work my craft again when I was summoned like this, but instead I find myself with a new employer that doesn't seem interested in my blades, and all I've gotten to do so far is hunt monsters and hammer nails.

[ Um. Right. This fellow wanted his credentials, not to hear him bitch. ]

Anyways. In this kind of situation, proof speaks better than words, right? Here.

[ Without waiting for agreement, and in a flagrant disregard for the rules of secrecy, he summons his favorite sword out of the ether; the elegantly unadorned scabbard lands in his hand without a sound, which he then offers to Tsurumaru to take a closer look if he likes.

Definitely taking it slow and steady, sure. ]

[cranekin]

(He waits patiently for an answer. When you're as old as he is, short moments of time like this feel like nothing. He could wait even longer if he had to but the boy in front of him gets started soon enough. He gives him his full attention even before he speaks. After all, for all of his teasing and despite all of his pride, if this boy is going to help him, he deserves at least some respect from the beginning.)

...

(Depending on how observant Muramasa is, he might notice the way Tsurumaru's attention shifts. It's subtle, but instead of sitting straighter and more alert, he merely goes still, as if he doesn't want to change a single thing in his posture or body language in case it gives something away. Even his face remains largely unchanged. His mouth is turned ever slight into a cool but friendly smile but in his eyes, something seems brighter. Like a steel being struck in the forge, his eyes spark as he's struck with a realization that this boy might be more than he appears.

"In life?" He says, implying he's speaking from a different sort of perspective

In Kuwana, in Ise, evoking the image of a long destroyed castle but also of a certain sword that bears its name only for it all to be erased as he continues. No, the Gou weren't defined to only one area. They were scattered across the nation as their techniques spread.

There's so much more to process before he even summons his sword. He isn't sure what he was expecting at that point but it certain wasn't this. He leans back, eyes wide with surprise but his smile widening. Yes, this boy is definitely more than he seems.

He swings his legs out and jumps up, whimsy in each step as he comes closer. He gives it a quick cursory glance and then looks back at Muramasa. Ever calm but clearly amused, he exclaims,)

My, my, what a surprise...

(And he returns his attention to the sword. He studies the curve of the blade, the pattern of the hamon, the luster of the steel, and appreciates technique that went into the blade. He doesn't dare touch it. As audacious as he can be, he wouldn't be that disrespectful,)

I know a blade like this one. He's a colorful spirit, surprising in nature, and difficult to understand but reliable. What a fine blade...

(And slowly, he raises his eyes to level them with Muramasa. Sharp like an edge, cool like the water used to quench steel, gleaming like the embers in a finished forge,)

... A Muramasa, perhaps?

(Whether he means the sword or the one in front of him isn't quite clear.)

[misclassed]

[ Muramasa likes to think he's too well grounded and too used to the fantastic to really be awestruck anymore. He's met gods in human vessels and machine divinities. He's fought against the last dragon on the planet. Two divine spirits are a part of his core, tempering his edge to the point he can cut down a titan with a single swing. He's worked the forge at the heart of the planet, at the very center of paradise — how many mortal swordsmiths can say that?

But something in Tsurumaru's eyes has caught his attention. It's like looking down the plane of a freshly sharpened blade, following the steel to the apex of the edge where metal becomes air — and he can't bring himself to look away. Like the way Tsurumaru's hands carried the anticipation of movement of a flying bird, his eyes have a sharpness to them that some smiths can only dream of. He just can't help but stare back.

It's almost embarrassing, being perceived for who he is without admitting it himself. All this fellow did was listen, and look at his steel. ]

Ah, yeah. But I made this one for me, so I never signed her.

[ Human spirits with swords that represent them are one thing. A sword that walks as a spirit, taking on the characteristic of a human... that's... that's different. ]

... You know one of my blades?

[cranekin]

(He can't help but raise his head a little higher. Even if it's slight, this is the sort of reaction he thrives off of. From the moment he was forged, he was renowned for his beauty and captivating others and he knows he's managed to catch Muramasa's attention. It helps that he's even a little... shy? Flustered? It makes him cute, endearing, the type of person he would have fun teasing at another time.)

Oh? You know, names are powerful. Whether you give something a name or share your own with it, you would bestowing it with a special power.

(Stepping back, giving the smith his space, he crosses his arms in front of him. By now, Muramasa has definitely noticed the bandages but now that they're up close, he may notice some of the smaller details. A miscolored line peaking from under the bandage on his cheek, scratches on his fingers that give shadows too dark to be normal scarring almost like... cracks or chips in something not quite flesh.)

I've fought alongside Sengo Muramasa and Tonbokiri. (When he speaks, there's a fondness; like a soldier praising another, like an officer proud of those under his command,) Are you surprised?

(To meet someone like him? To be known?)