[ Humans usually have the benefit of having short enough lives that they don't often get old enough to learn the extent of burden a perfect memory creates. She can only guess the older rivers have long memories indeed... as do any of the spirits of nature, or objects. She's met few related to objects; more nature spirits, as far as she's aware. Though from Kashuu's declaration earlier, she figures he may be a kind of spirit himself.
The Radish spirit had been a helpful sort, as it turned out, and Kamaji, and Lin, and the frogs and slugs at the bathhouse by the end. Some regard is freely given. In other cases, it's earned. Not even necessarily fickleness so much as having their own minds and priorities and thought processes that may be significantly different from her own.
Ink splatters from the severed wrist, which proceeds to flail around before being abruptly pulled back into the portrait tv. Chihiro scrubs the back of her hand against her cheek, rubbing at a splotch of ink she'd felt land there. Outside of a blink at how swiftly Kashuu had moved, she doesn't seem surprised; which isn't a lack of surprise, but instead a reprioritisation. He struck, there's a hand and ink on the floor, and the ink is moving even as the hand is twitching and then, ah. Flipping him off? M U R D E R E R scrawls out in several languages in the wet ink on the near wall, on the floor, and on either of them where it hasn't been smeared. ]
Uh, yeah.
[ Do they get anywhere to bathe actually, that would be nice. City please don't be a let down! Or too unaffordable... oh goodness, that's something she'll worry about once out of here. ]
Kashuu-san, are you a swordsman?
[ She's moved back toward the main hall, ready to book it if needed. The ink she's smeared on her cheek is traveling slowly toward her upper lip and giving her a most dastardly, pencil thin mustache. ]
no subject
The Radish spirit had been a helpful sort, as it turned out, and Kamaji, and Lin, and the frogs and slugs at the bathhouse by the end. Some regard is freely given. In other cases, it's earned. Not even necessarily fickleness so much as having their own minds and priorities and thought processes that may be significantly different from her own.
Ink splatters from the severed wrist, which proceeds to flail around before being abruptly pulled back into the portrait tv. Chihiro scrubs the back of her hand against her cheek, rubbing at a splotch of ink she'd felt land there. Outside of a blink at how swiftly Kashuu had moved, she doesn't seem surprised; which isn't a lack of surprise, but instead a reprioritisation. He struck, there's a hand and ink on the floor, and the ink is moving even as the hand is twitching and then, ah. Flipping him off? M U R D E R E R scrawls out in several languages in the wet ink on the near wall, on the floor, and on either of them where it hasn't been smeared. ]
Uh, yeah.
[ Do they get anywhere to bathe actually, that would be nice. City please don't be a let down! Or too unaffordable... oh goodness, that's something she'll worry about once out of here. ]
Kashuu-san, are you a swordsman?
[ She's moved back toward the main hall, ready to book it if needed. The ink she's smeared on her cheek is traveling slowly toward her upper lip and giving her a most dastardly, pencil thin mustache. ]