fuckingsnakes | Not the voices of the dead, but the voice of the living [Closed]

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Not the voices of the dead, but the voice of the living [Closed]

WHO: Akechi Mitsuhide (

wavesoakedlegs) & Chōsokabe Motochika (

behisstrength)
WHAT: A chance reunion that should not be possible.
WHERE: A currently quiet spot in Komaki-Nagakute, somewhere close to the river. The watery one, not the lava-filled one. 8'D
WARNING(S): Buckets of angst (with a touch of fluff hidden away in there somewhere)?

~

Mitsuhide stared into his campfire, deep in thought.

He had fought quite a few battles since arriving in this mixed up world, all under the name of 'Tenkai,' but had not yet encountered anyone who would immediately recognise him. There had been some who had looked upon in confusion a few times, but none who knew him quite well enough to see behind the mask and cloak. This did not reassure Mitsuhide, however. He knew it was only a matter of time until it happened, and he still did not know what he was going to do when it did.

Broken he might be, and without enough worth to truly claim a name of his own, but running away when his blade might save lives and help in the struggles against the snake demons was unthinkable.

Something moved close by. Mitsuhide startled, on his feet with a hand on his blade in seconds, but sighed when a rabbit ran past. His hand dropped, and he tipped his head back to stare at the mostly unfamiliar night sky. The area had been cleared out and deemed safe for the moment, which was why he had taken the opportunity to slip away from any company and camp by himself for the night. It was supposed to help relax him, but apparently was not working very well.

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As fate would have it, the rabbit that startled Mitsuhide was first startled itself.

Motochika had been following the river when he caught sight of a plume of smoke in the air, in the near distance. With no trace of the Demon Army in the vicinity he was willing to take the risk of venturing in alone, and so, indulging his curiosity, he altered his course.

Soon he was close enough to make out the bright glow of a small camp fire -- by which he then noted a single, partially illuminated figure. Human, male by silhouette, but too far away for him to form a proper impression beyond that. Motochika pressed onward.

Disturbing the local wildlife had not been part of his plan, but it worked in his favour when the disturbed rabbit ran the path he intended to take, straight to the camp. He stopped to observe the consequences with keen eyes.

The man was armed with a blade; swift; on edge. He waited for a handful of seconds more. The man looked to the stars, distracted – bound to startle again.

A tense warrior's instinctual reflexes were dangerous.

A good thing, then, that quiet entrances had never suited him.

Motochika shifted his grip on his shamisen, then brought his bachi down upon the strings and moved. He let his music announce his approach before he strode into direct view.

Timing and impact.

Mitsuhide startled, of course, whirling around to face the direction the sound came from almost immediately. His hand was not only on his blade by the time his gaze settled upon Motochika, but he had partially drawn the well-crafted katana from its sheath.

It soon clattered back into said sheath when the samurai realised who stood before him.

"Lord... Motochika?"

The serious frown he'd born changed into something shocked, uncertain; Mitsuhide straightened up and pulled away the mask from his face, gaze running over Motochika's form like he expected it to simply vanish into thin air.

The last time he had seen the Hero of Tosa had been after the Battle of Yamazaki, and in that moment Mitsuhide had been able to do naught but watch his dearest friend die. Something in him had broken in that moment, the sheer power of his grief (combined with everything that had come before) leaving him unable to continue fighting. Now, of course, he'd had to take up his blade again for the sake of survival, and to protect those who could not fight, but that grief had definitely not disappeared...

...and despite knowing that many who should be dead were now alive again, walking and talking and smiling like they'd never perished at all, Mitsuhide had not even considered the possibility that Motochika might be amongst the revived.

It was too much to hope for, and with that, a selfish wish as well.

"Lord Motochika..." Mitsuhide repeated, taking a few steps forward as he spoke. His voice was cracked, and heavy with feeling. Was this really happening?

Motochika recognised the voice as Mitsuhide's before the mask came off. He stilled his hands and lowered both his shamisen and bachi.

Motochika closed the distance between them immediately.

His eyes roamed over Mitsuhide as he moved. His mind grew turbulent as he absorbed his friend's state. The cloak was understandable, but the mask -- when had Mitsuhide ever concealed his face so? Even after Honnōji Mitsuhide had not obscured his indentity, despite the threat of retribution.

'Mitsuhide was alone in his time of weakness,' he thought, grim.

He recalled too well the impact of Mitsuhide's despair following their rebellion. Already this felt worse. Mitsuhide looked at him as though he was a ghost, and Mitsuhide's tone...

It was directed at him.

Motochika had vowed to be Mitsuhide's strength when his friend wavered, and fate had forced them apart. There were consequences.

When he stopped directly before Mitsuhide, his gaze was sombre, searching -- yet Motochika did not surpress the familiar joy that their proximity rose in him.

"It is good to see you, my friend," he said warmly.

Reunited with Mitsuhide, profound relief washed through Motochika and with it an accompanying wave of conviction. Whatever Mitsuhide had suffered during their separation they would face together.

Edited 2012-09-20 23:28 (UTC)

With Motochika close now, Mitsuhide could see that his friend was whole and unharmed. A living, breathing man, and most definitely not a ghost. This really was happening; the one he had lost and grieved for, the one without whom Mitsuhide felt unworthy of name, stood before him.

For a moment the samurai said nothing, did nothing, merely staring at Motochika. After a few seconds, however, he stepped forward and in one swift movement did something he very rarely did unprompted.

Mitsuhide embraced Motochika tightly, pressing his forehead against the other man's shoulder in order to hide his face.

"It is... good to see you too," he said quietly. "You cannot know how much."

Edited (things =/= seconds 8'D) 2012-09-26 20:51 (UTC)

While Motochika was most definitely surprised by Mitsuhide's embrace he took it in stride, and brought his hand grasping his bachi to Mitsuhide's back, returning the hold with the same firmness.

Mitsuhide clearly needed the visceral comfort of contact and Motochika would not deny his friend.

"You are not alone, Mitsuhide," he soothed. "Share your burden."

Mitsuhide did not immediately reply. He lingered in Motochika's embrace for a little while longer, drawing comfort from his friend's physical presence, before stepping back in deference to propriety and bowing his head.

This was not going to be easy for him.

"Lord Motochika, you... you died..."

His voice was cracked and uncertain; there was obvious sorrow there, the mark of a man who had been in mourning for the most important person in his life.

"At Yamazaki. Kuroda Kanbei's unit defeated you, left you to die. I reached you too late..."

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