[ "i'm not starting new threads with claire until i do all my tags" i said, lying
towards the middle of the week, they are given a gift. A reward for your efforts, their captor says, and offers them the choice to regain something significant they've lost. for some of their fellow participants, it's an ability that was somehow stolen from them, the thing that makes them more than human. a few make more sentimental decisions, and others request utility rather than power. Miyamoto Iori doesn't need to spend any time thinking over his answer. what else is there? his capacity for magecraft? even if he wanted that, it would be of little use, especially without the gems for katon. a trinket from Kaya? as much as he misses her, the best thing he can do for her sake is return home.
no. whether or not it has a use, there should be a blade at his side. the weight of two katana (Gee, Iori, how come you get two? someone had joked, and he had laughed along with the others) on his hip is familiar, not comforting so much as it is necessary. he feels more himself now than he has since he first woke in this strange place.
some of the others are likely unsettled by his choice, he knows. calm, gentle Iori with a blade in his hand, in the midst of a situation where they are pushed harder every day to see each other dead. no matter how much he spoke of being a ronin before now, these people are from another time, and it's different for them to see him so confidently wield a weapon that they can only see as dangerous intent. he tells them, plainly, that he means no threat to them; this is a choice made for self-defence, and for protecting others. it isn't a lie. it's not a lie, but—
dawn the next day finds him in their enclosed courtyard, going through the motions of kata like steps in a choreographed dance, a blade in each hand. at first, his movements are fluid as water, one sword following the other as it slices through the air – and then he flips the katana in his left hand, blade pointing back, catches it and slides it into its sheath. it happens so quickly that there's hardly a scraping sound, just the click! like punctuation. the remaining katana he takes in both hands now, his next strike more brutal as he brings it down and his breath leaves him in a shout.
he stops. turns to regard his audience. ]
...?
[ Iori straightens, and the other blade is sheathed. as he said: he doesn't mean to be viewed as a danger to anyone. he won't keep his sword drawn in front of others unless he has a reason to do so. though, this is one person he probably doesn't need to worry about that with. ]
Eglantine. [ as always, Iori's gaze is clear and collected. despite his stoic expression, his stare never feels heavy. ] Did you need anything from me?
[ it is not a guarded question, neither suspicious of her motives nor bristling with hostility. he asks with pliant sincerity, offering himself the way one would any other tool.
out of everyone here, Miyamoto Iori was perhaps the quickest to accept Eglantine at its word when it identified itself as a sword. no, more than that – Iori is perhaps the only one who understood, in a way others could not. while she may not be something familiar to him, far from the path of the warriors he has always followed, he knows what it means to be a blade. everything she says makes perfect sense to him.
on that matter, at least. she is strange in plenty of other ways that surprise him. ]
some extremely vague murdergame setting
towards the middle of the week, they are given a gift. A reward for your efforts, their captor says, and offers them the choice to regain something significant they've lost. for some of their fellow participants, it's an ability that was somehow stolen from them, the thing that makes them more than human. a few make more sentimental decisions, and others request utility rather than power. Miyamoto Iori doesn't need to spend any time thinking over his answer. what else is there? his capacity for magecraft? even if he wanted that, it would be of little use, especially without the gems for katon. a trinket from Kaya? as much as he misses her, the best thing he can do for her sake is return home.
no. whether or not it has a use, there should be a blade at his side. the weight of two katana (Gee, Iori, how come you get two? someone had joked, and he had laughed along with the others) on his hip is familiar, not comforting so much as it is necessary. he feels more himself now than he has since he first woke in this strange place.
some of the others are likely unsettled by his choice, he knows. calm, gentle Iori with a blade in his hand, in the midst of a situation where they are pushed harder every day to see each other dead. no matter how much he spoke of being a ronin before now, these people are from another time, and it's different for them to see him so confidently wield a weapon that they can only see as dangerous intent. he tells them, plainly, that he means no threat to them; this is a choice made for self-defence, and for protecting others. it isn't a lie. it's not a lie, but—
dawn the next day finds him in their enclosed courtyard, going through the motions of kata like steps in a choreographed dance, a blade in each hand. at first, his movements are fluid as water, one sword following the other as it slices through the air – and then he flips the katana in his left hand, blade pointing back, catches it and slides it into its sheath. it happens so quickly that there's hardly a scraping sound, just the click! like punctuation. the remaining katana he takes in both hands now, his next strike more brutal as he brings it down and his breath leaves him in a shout.
he stops. turns to regard his audience. ]
...?
[ Iori straightens, and the other blade is sheathed. as he said: he doesn't mean to be viewed as a danger to anyone. he won't keep his sword drawn in front of others unless he has a reason to do so. though, this is one person he probably doesn't need to worry about that with. ]
Eglantine. [ as always, Iori's gaze is clear and collected. despite his stoic expression, his stare never feels heavy. ] Did you need anything from me?
[ it is not a guarded question, neither suspicious of her motives nor bristling with hostility. he asks with pliant sincerity, offering himself the way one would any other tool.
out of everyone here, Miyamoto Iori was perhaps the quickest to accept Eglantine at its word when it identified itself as a sword. no, more than that – Iori is perhaps the only one who understood, in a way others could not. while she may not be something familiar to him, far from the path of the warriors he has always followed, he knows what it means to be a blade. everything she says makes perfect sense to him.
on that matter, at least. she is strange in plenty of other ways that surprise him. ]