[ he speaks like a lord, too. as expected of a scion of the mighty abe family -- tsurumaru would have expected no less, in both directness and composure. but being old as all hell has given him an advantage in reading people, and the silence he hears before the order, the one that mulls and stretches on and looks unto him, sounds thoughtful, calculating-- and a bit displaced, like gears turning slowly to account for an odd arrangement of teeth. if they're keeping score, it'd be a point in tsurumaru's favour. tsurumaru never keeps score because he prefers to let outcomes surprise him.
still, while it's hardly his intention to dishonour sousei, he also has no intention of getting up yet. the spread of his kimono is like the wings of a bird at rest by his side, his eyes demurred, but once again-- the smile spoils the picture of serenity. ]
By the way, this is what you've been speaking to this entire time.
[ he says this cheerfully, even as he takes his sword from his side, sheathe and all, and presents it to sousei length-wise. it's a beautiful sword, white with gold trimming, and with the symbol of a crane pressed into its hilt like a brand. old and lovely, battle-scarred.
it's also what he is, a reminder that the human form that you see is but a spirit given form for the first time in hundreds of years. ] I am a sword, Sousei-san. I was made to protect men like you from other men like you. Saying that it's your duty to protect me is akin to putting the cart before the horse -- which, goodness, is surprising enough on its own, but coming from a man as seemingly serious as you, I can only be twice as surprised.
You're very kind, Sousei-san, perhaps too kind, but a sword shouldn't be protected. [ however here, his smile turns a little more serious, a little more... vicious. and suddenly, he is no longer a paradox of appearance and personality as at once they align and become one and the same. ] I do have to say, however, that I didn't dislike your words. I would not mind being drawn to slice apart those who would disgrace those sentiments.
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still, while it's hardly his intention to dishonour sousei, he also has no intention of getting up yet. the spread of his kimono is like the wings of a bird at rest by his side, his eyes demurred, but once again-- the smile spoils the picture of serenity. ]
By the way, this is what you've been speaking to this entire time.
[ he says this cheerfully, even as he takes his sword from his side, sheathe and all, and presents it to sousei length-wise. it's a beautiful sword, white with gold trimming, and with the symbol of a crane pressed into its hilt like a brand. old and lovely, battle-scarred.
it's also what he is, a reminder that the human form that you see is but a spirit given form for the first time in hundreds of years. ] I am a sword, Sousei-san. I was made to protect men like you from other men like you. Saying that it's your duty to protect me is akin to putting the cart before the horse -- which, goodness, is surprising enough on its own, but coming from a man as seemingly serious as you, I can only be twice as surprised.
You're very kind, Sousei-san, perhaps too kind, but a sword shouldn't be protected. [ however here, his smile turns a little more serious, a little more... vicious. and suddenly, he is no longer a paradox of appearance and personality as at once they align and become one and the same. ] I do have to say, however, that I didn't dislike your words. I would not mind being drawn to slice apart those who would disgrace those sentiments.