conversations: human
conversations:  This post will serve two functions:
  
  1) A delivery method for scenes happening outside the perspective of the players, posted purely to fill out the world and serve as a fluffy diversion.
  
  2) An emergency framework for SSST when life and work demands we have a poor schedule for live-play. If more than 14 days must pass without a session, we'll switch to PbP mode.
conversations: babel_matrix:
conversations: human
conversations:  Late Morning in Otosan Uchi, 1st Day of the Hare, 1023  
   The Home of Lord Kitsuki Yasushi 
  
  The aged lord stared into the pillow, and grimaced. At his flanks, as the only men with their blades sheathed and at the ready, were his two most trusted men: his son, Kitsuki Tamotsu, and Mirumoto Juro, both bushi of the Mirumoto School, both silent as their master observed the tarnished weapon brought before him. Across from the lord, unarmed and respectfully quiet, was Kitsuki Sho, the middle-aged courtier and new Emerald Magistrate. Yasushi was his senpai in every respect, and he had both the accolades and graying hairs to prove it. Even now, sitting in his audience chamber, staring down at what can only be a disgraceful sign of what became of another Dragon, one very close to Yasushi, he remained merely disapproving. Calmly, he raised his eyes to look at the young investigator who brought the weapon before him.  "I must thank you for bringing this to me, Kitsuki Sho,"  he said with an earnest voice,  "for it tells me that, perhaps, the ronin who wore this blade has ceased disgracing it." 
  
  Sho bowed his head, offering no response to the gratitude; it was the silent, approved way to address a dutiful disgrace delivered. Instead, he answered the hinted question, eyes alight.  "The one who surrendered this blade advised me as such... the ronin who wore this blade was named Nabuo. The one who slew him was also a ronin, one who claimed to be named Akira." 
  
  Yasushi looked back down at the blade. How it had tarnished so in a mere four seasons... how far his fool grandson had fallen. If he delivered this blade to the boy's father, the man may well gut himself with it in penance... the blade presented an especially troubling scenario, in that a ronin had slain a member of his family, disgraced or not.  "You say claimed... do you believe he was lying?" 
  
  For the first time since arriving, Sho's eyes rose to meet the lord's searching gaze.  "I believe so, my Lord, but such is the way of the wave men."  But this was a half-truth... in earnest, Sho had his suspicions not only because the man was incredible familiar, but more because of how Akira had carried himself, from entering the shrine to attending the festival. It had been guarded, balanced, and neither hand showed dominance in activity... it was the walk of a Mirumoto. A ronin did not carry himself that way.   But if he is on a warrior's journey... then why do I suspect...?  
   "Will you join me for tea, Kitsuki Sho?"  The lord's offer came as his son walked forward and scooped up the pillow and the offending blade. By the neutrality of his expression, it was clear it had not been his own son who had died on a road.
  
  Sho bowed graciously, letting the "Akira" character's familiarity rest for now.
  
   The River Gardens - The Emerald Crane Compound 
  
  The koi fish were, by far, the greatest persons among the Crane this morning. Hanakanao had come to this cynical conclusion as she stared at them, eager to be alone for a moment, away from the political jabs and humiliation of what happened at the Shrine of Bishamon. That savage disgrace was now sweeping through the ranks of Emerald Cranes: the shining star of the Doji clan, Hanakanao, had shown a promise that was still evident in her maintained poise and dignity, there upon the topmost point of a small stone bridge. That promise, when first tested... was found wanting. This, determined by a monk younger than she, who disgraced the ancestors before all their eyes, who wears a robe that cannot possibly reflect her enlightenment... but among the Crane youth, it was enough.
  
  Underneath her restless toes pointing just over the bridge's lip, koi fish swam lazily beneath her gaze, her smile earnest as she took a moment to forget what had inadvertently come to pass. Suddenly, as if detecting her improving mood, they daggered through the water... at the approach of another. Her eyes glanced aside, and found a familiar, black-haired Crane making his approach. Though shamed, and despite last night's festivities she did not let her appearance fall out of maintenance: her kimono was impeccable and made comfortable and tight in every place where it mattered the most, her folded hands were petite, non-threatening, and prepared at all times to communicate wordlessly with her allies... all of this contrasted against Jun, who's clothes were wrinkled, who's half-lidded eyes suggested a hangover despite his smug smile. Hanakanao maintained her smile, but the happiness had fled from the corners of her mouth; something told her Jun noticed, because he quickly put away his own smirk. Petite as she was, him standing at the bottom of the bridge meant they were at eye level and, despite what she was expecting from the raptor-like Crane, he did not seem eager to gloat.
  
   "Doji-sama... I am told you are in need of one to defend your honor."  Oh, but was a brag any better? She resisted the urge to show how taken aback she was by Jun's arrogance. She dared not interrupt, but let her smile fade as grim business entered conversation.  "My words remains as I spoke it one week ago... let be serve you. Allow me to be your blade, and your honor will never again be tarnished." 
  
  The last comment had been equivalent to phlegm spat upon her face. Before the chosen warriors, shugenja and courtiers of every other Great Clan, in front of none other than the great Sappun Hatsuo, she had been left behind, overlooked... for what? A frayed-looking child in samurai garb, never mind that he was undoubtedly her senior in years.   A ronin... I was turned away in favor of a sell-sword without honor.   It had been a devastating revelation, and one she kept inside, lest shame and anger rise up and dishonor her further. Compared to that moment, or to Asahina Eito's calm, but ultimately disappointed analysis of the situation, Jun's combination of verbally reaching out to her, and then slapping her, had been as harmful as the wind that played with the fool bushi's locks of black.  "You honor me with your request... I accept it, gladly." 
  
  Jun smiled, bowing deeply as he hid his eyes with his bangs.   So it begins... Makoto so wanted this girl's favor, hm? That lecherous wretch could never claim such a beauty... indeed, who but I could ever dream of it? Of course, I shall not disgrace myself by being caught in an affair... oh no, my dear Hanakanao, we shall be very discrete as I claim that which that fool Makoto could not.  
  
  Hanakanao mentally counted off the number of letters, rituals and favors she would need to properly keep Jun as her protector.   If only his falling on his sword would not mean bearing a further disgrace...   She gave him a pleased smile, and allowed him to escort her to see Asahina Eito.
conversations: babel_matrix: