[closed]

[roeh]

Who: roeh & okitactless
What: Catch all for a couple logs between Shep and Yams, prompts inside
When: Various
Where: The near shore mostly
Warnings: None yet

Comments

[roeh]

They've been together for what? Over a month now? They live together in a way that can't even compete with her crew mates on the Normandy, close quartered with no escape. But perhaps that's why she's drawn him at home, with no one else around to really confide in.

As such they've come to know each other, preferences and nuances alike. And what she sees now is a kind of quiet elation that is new to her, along with a restrained excitement that she doesn't often see outside their practice. She smiles, softly. This was definitely the right thing to do.

"Of course," she laughs, stepping forward to give his hair a ruffle though not so hard to mess it up completely. "Whatever you want."

Her eyes follow his, and she's not surprised to see where it lands. They've been together long enough for her to know exactly what size sword makes for the right fit in hand at least. "I tried to pick one out but then I thought about what you said. They have a spirit right? So only you'll know feels best."

[okitactless]

Yamato's hair is practically its own living entity; how it doesn't poof up and carry him off like a balloon is a mystery for the ages. But no matter how ridiculous he looks, there's a reverence on his face that speaks of soul-deep familiarity. She's right--as much as he'd like to insist that anything she chose for him would be perfect, this is a little different. Besides, he hasn't lied to her yet. Every sparkly-eyed compliment has come from a genuine place in his heart, and he isn't about to change that now.

So with a quick bow to the master, he shuffles over to the uchigatanas, swords that just about match him in size and weight. He reaches out towards one, then hesitates, withdrawing his hand. He wraps his fingers around another, brow furrowed in thought for a long minute, before he pulls away from that one too. It's hard to tell exactly what he's looking for, or listening to, but eventually, he comes to rest on one of the newest. Just barely 70 centimeters, a solid curve with those ripples of masterful creation in the blade--it's a beautiful sword, one far too young to have ever known a human master. Its steel is fresh and bloodless, and this knowledge settles into him so naturally, he doesn't even think to question it.

"This one," he says carefully, reluctant to jump into any decisions, despite Shepard's reassurances. "It's new, isn't it?"

[roeh]

Shepard watches him carefully, thinking maybe she can learn something in this moment. But though each of them look unique in their own way the differences seem superficial, not something that would make ones sword superior to another. Something like age and wear as slight as the one that mars these blades doesn't make itself apparently to such an untrained eye. She's simply out of her league.

"That's correct. You have a good eye Yasusada-sama." The man nods instead, seemingly impressed, if not overtly so. Shepard herself had set lofty expectation in her descriptions of the shinki, ones a stranger and a master at that would have trouble believing until he witnesses it for himself. "We only finished in the last month and haven't even put it through its tests. Perhaps you would like to do the honors?"

The commander knows that look, that sound. The guy clearly wants to see the curiosity that is Yamato in action now. As for her, her smile widens slightly as her chest swells with pride. "Go ahead, if you want." Not that he needs her permission.

[okitactless]

It would be the same for him, were their situations reversed. Yamato would be happy to listen to her espouse the different virtues of her favorite weapon for hours, if she wanted to, no matter his personal feelings about them. But neutrality, and even open eagerness, can't match the wisdom of a masterful eye. Yamato is young for a sword spirit--someone like Mikazuki or Tsurumaru would surely be even better at understanding the blades around them.

But even then... he'd been earnest, that first lesson between them. Weapons have spirits, he truly believes that. And he would never dream of choosing a sword for her, no matter how much she asked him for advice. It would be like choosing a shinki for her, or a child to adopt. It's something that simply can't be done for another person, at least not in Yamato's mind.

He doesn't react to the compliment, though his hands close around the sword in question, lifting it from its stand with the utmost care. He doesn't need her permission, but he looks for it anyway, and he smiles at the encouragement. Taking it home without testing it himself would've been out of the question, and he can't deny he's eager. He has no way of knowing that the only sword testing he's been present for, of course, was the testing of his own blade, all those centuries ago.

"If you'll allow me to perform such a task," he says with another low bow, but the sword is already resting comfortably in his hand, ready for the challenge. Will it be bamboo, he wonders, or tatami? It could be something new, but with the traditional air of this place, he doubts it. Still, with Shepard and a master here to watch, he could he not be a little bit excited?

I hope you don't mind deciding how this goes lol I'm as clueless as her

[roeh]

Perhaps it's ironic or maybe it just makes sense that Shepard herself was thinking of that very same moment, witnessed like a photo reel, chopped into fragmented pieces and and only now does it start to make sense.

A sword, wielded by men who look nothing like her shinki, but the blade itself is one she's held in her own hands. She's witnessed the conception, in the instance when the sword swings down and cleaves its way through one, two, three corpses. It's a grim scene, but efficient. One she can appreciate even as the epiphany leaves her in awe.

But it also begs a question. In 20XX she's certain dead bodies are no longer in vogue.

"Alright, I'm the novice here so I'll ask the stupid question." She address their master friend and he perks up immediately. "How does this work?"

She does it for her sake just as much as Yamato's anyway. Maybe it wasn't her style but that didn't mean she couldn't respect that it was his.

haha nw!! we can trade off master-san

[okitactless]

"It's called tameshigiri," the master says, leading the way outside. Yamato stays quiet for this; he'd absconded with some of the swordplay books in Elsa's library (Will he ever return them? A mystery), but he doesn't know how outdated they might be. Not only that, but it's easier to feign polite curiosity than it is to ponder the gaps in his own knowledge.

The testing ritual is, naturally, vital to the blade itself--swords that can't cut might be popular these days, but in the past, it was a fast ticket to the other side. Warriors needed to know just the right angles to take a life, and how fast their sword could swing. But more than the sword, the master explains, it tests the swordsman, allowing him to put his physical and mental attributes to the test. Anyone could swing a sharp object and eventually destroy their target. But fewer cuts and certain patterns set the masters apart from the novices and the artless. And most importantly, he adds, it matches the sword to the swordsman. A blade that sings in the hands of one warrior might be mute in the hands of another, after all. And just as the best warriors wouldn't settle for any old sword, the best masters wouldn't part with their dearest creations for money alone.

In the present, of course, it's mostly just a fun ritual. Even the master has no way of knowing they aren't just dedicated history fanatics. Yamato moves like a swordsman, like it's strange not having a blade at his side, and there's no denying he gives off an air of... something that isn't quite suited to the modern era. But then, who is a master of a dying art to judge?

Out in the back, several different targets are set up, in a variety of configurations. No dead bodies, thankfully--just the standard of tatami wrapped around bamboo. "To mirror the density of flesh and bone," the master tells Shepard, as Yamato takes his spot in front of the first target.

"Three cuts?" He confirms, but it's not really a question. Three cuts could mean any number of techniques, but it does confirm one thing--he's no beginner.

He waits for confirmation before he lifts the blade, and his eyes seem just a little brighter, a little more intense than usual. Just like when they train together, there's a deceptive lack of tension in his body, masking whatever movements he's planning. When he swings, it's fast and nigh effortless, and the pieces of the target tumble onto the ground like limbs.

And yet, Yamato's face doesn't light up. He doesn't turn to them, seeking praise or looking pleased with himself. There's a thoughtful expression on his face, brow furrowed as he looks down at his sword. Three strikes-- he'd been confident, and he'd done well, but there's something...