warriorslash Challenge; Prompt#46 Authors Choice
Fandom: Samurai Warriors
Title: Painted Smile
Author(s): fightingoutside
Pairing(s): None (genfic)
Prompt: #46 Authors Choice (Painted Smile)
Rating: PG13 // FRT
Word Count: 1594
Warnings: Some violence and blood, nothing too bad.
Author's Notes: First meeting of Musashi and Kojiro at Sekigahara. Taken me a while to finish, but I got there in the end. Pretty pleased with how this turned out! I'll probably end up doing one for their Kyoto encounter as well.
~
He'd never expected it to be this way. Not this total slaughter, this annihilation. The bodies of his allies covered the floor, many of them cut down as they tried to flee the field of battle, and now he himself feared for his own life. But he couldn't run. No, Miyamoto Musashi would not leave this battle until his surviving allies had retreated. No more could die, and neither could he.
Even if wasn't really sure what he had to live for anymore.
Face set in an expression of grim determination, he stepped over a fallen body and charged into a small group of enemies, trying desperately to ignore the dizzying scent of blood and death that threatened to overwhelm him. It cloaked everything now, blocking out all else and making the teenager long for the fresh air of the mountains, for the smells of the wild untainted by such human horror. But they were far away, and he'd need to concentrate on survival and his blades if were to ever see them again.
The first enemy went down quickly, making a gurgling sound as Musashi sliced through his torso and brought him down in one strike. It was important not to fight many at once, instead ensuring that he took on each one individually as long as it was still possible, and he managed this quite well until the last couple of the group finally realised what kind of warrior they were facing and charged together. Musashi managed to block this attack and kicked one away, bringing his right sword up in a vertical slice to take the other down before finishing the first off. The next few groups he took on didn't prove much of a challenge either; apparently, he was not in the right part of the battlefield to face any warriors of exceptional talent. That was a disappointment. It would have been good to have at least got to fight someone of skill in this losing battle, to see just what the generals of the Eastern Army could do (except for Inahime; he just wouldn't feel comfortable fighting a woman).
Grunting, he countered a spear attack and cut straight through the attacker's heart with both of his blades, staining them an ever darker red. How many had he killed now? The fact that he couldn't remember made him feel a cold kind of horror.
But no. No thinking of that right now.
More time and more kills passed in a haze of blood and sweat, the young but extremely gifted swordsman making short work of the enemy around him. His mind almost shut conscious thought off, leaving just enough there to quickly analyse what was going on around him and respond in kind. The rest was pure instinct; he didn't think about the moves he pulled off, just moving through the steps with the ease of a master. Certainly there was something missing, but it was not something in his swordplay. Not at all. The man who spotted him now, however, did not recognise this missing thing at all. He stopped in his tracks and stared.
Only when the last enemy in the group he had been taking on was cut down did Musashi feel the gaze of this man, and he turned to look, expecting just another mediocre fight.
Instead of charging in, though, he froze, and stared.
The first thing he really noticed about this new opponent was his painted smile. The guy's lips were red, red as blood, and the smile unsettling in its joy. Nobody on a battlefield should appear that happy. Nobody. No matter what kind of challenge you got to experience you simply should not look that way. Musashi didn't like it, especially as his second thought about the man was that he was most definitely a killer, and a skilled one at that. The long blade he was holding in his right hand was soaked in blood, his violet eyes were too bright, and his stance suggested a calm confidence that really wouldn't be held by anyone who wasn't heavily talented with a sword.
"You've worked up quite a sweat," said the man. "I bet you'll be worth chopping to pieces!"
His voice was soft. Really soft, in a way that was not at all pleasant. It sent shivers down your spine.
"Not going to happen!" snapped Musashi in reply, holding his stance and eyeing this unsettling creature with wary eyes.
The man merely laughed; no, he giggled. It was definitely a giggle. Creepy.
"Oh yes it will..."
Then he struck.
Anyone of lesser skill would have been dead in an instant. The attack came out quicker than any Musashi had ever seen, but he was nevertheless able to block it and push back, getting a slash of his own in. This was dodged, and the man attacked swiftly again. A pattern of attacks, dodges and blocks were established before Musashi's twin blades eventually clashed against the longer blade in a deadlock. His opponent was a good deal taller than him, but less muscular and therefore probably not quite as physically strong as he was. Eventually he'd be be able to push him back, if he put enough strength into trying.
But before he managed this, the man spoke again.
"What's your name?" he asked, watching Musashi carefully through the gap in the wall of metal that parted them.
Musashi just glared in reply, and made something of a 'hmph' sound.
"What's your name?" repeated the man, looking... amused? "Did you want to know mine first? Oh, of course, you should know the name of the one who is going to cut you down. It's Sasaki Kojiro. Now tell me yours!"
Kojiro? Musashi had never heard the name before, which meant this guy couldn't have been fighting that long; anyone with his level of skill would surely be famous if he'd been around for years. Looking at him, the shorter man realised Kojiro wasn't any older than he was. Still young, with an incredible amount of natural ability but not enough experience to have become a well-known warrior yet.
"...Miyamoto Musashi," he said slowly, before giving a great push and sending Kojiro stumbling backwards.
The strange man quickly recovered though, and took a few steps back, taking a stance and smiling oddly again.
"You're different from all of the others, Mu... sashi..." chuckled Kojiro, speaking the name slowly as if to make sure he'd memorised it right. "You're strong. Very strong. Not an innocent, not someone who needs cutting down for their own good. You might be the only one truly worthy of a beautiful death at my hand."
Musashi stared.
"What the hell?" he spluttured. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't act like you don't know," replied Kojiro. "The moment our swords clashed, it became clear. We're the same. I saw you cutting those worthless peons down. Saw that bloodlust in your eyes. It was a beautiful thing, Musashi. Being near you like this gives me the shivers; I can smell the scent of death all over you, strong even on this battlefield."
There was something severely wrong with this guy. Musashi had sensed it earlier and those instincts had proven correct. The things he was saying were insane... and wrong. Very wrong. No way was he bloodthirsty, and he definitely was nothing like this Kojiro! Nothing like him at all!
"Shut up," Musashi growled, a slightly wild expression in his eyes that could only convince Kojiro he was right. "You don't know anything about me. I'm nothing like that!"
Kojiro giggled again, giving him a look which clearly said that he wholeheartedly believed otherwise.
"Our swords, they talked. I know everything I need to know, Musashi..."
Musashi grunted, and stepped back. This man was skilled, very skilled, and offered a good fight, but he didn't want to be around him anymore. The things he said, the way he looked, and that smile, above all that damned smile, creeped him out too much.
"You're wrong," he said. "But I won't give you the chance to find out how wrong you are."
His allies had to have retreated by now. He and Kojiro were mostly alone on the battlefield now, with only a few clearly disorientated soldiers still running past. That meant he could get the hell out of the place, and most certainly should before the Eastern Army sent more units in to sweep the area. After backing away a few steps, eyes watching the tall man before him carefully, the young man turned and ran.
He'd expected Kojiro to follow, but he didn't. Musashi heard him call out to him though, the voice fading away as his feet guided him out of the field of slaughter.
"I'll see you again soon, Musashi. When that happens, I will give you a truly beautiful death. Stay out of trouble until then..."
Like hell, he thought. What were the chances that he'd run into the guy again? Pretty slim, by his reckoning.
Still... something about the words chilled him, and the image of Kojiro's red-painted smile wouldn't leave his head. An insane man, a bloodthirsty one clearly, if he were to find beauty in massacre. He was a killer, and yet, his blade had only been as blood-soaked as Musashi's own, hadn't it?
Shaking his head, and trying to ignore the spark of fear in his stomach, Musashi focused on running, leaving Sekigahara behind him. Right now he just had to keep going. What came after all this... he'd figure it out later. Somehow.
Title: Painted Smile
Author(s): fightingoutside
Pairing(s): None (genfic)
Prompt: #46 Authors Choice (Painted Smile)
Rating: PG13 // FRT
Word Count: 1594
Warnings: Some violence and blood, nothing too bad.
Author's Notes: First meeting of Musashi and Kojiro at Sekigahara. Taken me a while to finish, but I got there in the end. Pretty pleased with how this turned out! I'll probably end up doing one for their Kyoto encounter as well.
~
He'd never expected it to be this way. Not this total slaughter, this annihilation. The bodies of his allies covered the floor, many of them cut down as they tried to flee the field of battle, and now he himself feared for his own life. But he couldn't run. No, Miyamoto Musashi would not leave this battle until his surviving allies had retreated. No more could die, and neither could he.
Even if wasn't really sure what he had to live for anymore.
Face set in an expression of grim determination, he stepped over a fallen body and charged into a small group of enemies, trying desperately to ignore the dizzying scent of blood and death that threatened to overwhelm him. It cloaked everything now, blocking out all else and making the teenager long for the fresh air of the mountains, for the smells of the wild untainted by such human horror. But they were far away, and he'd need to concentrate on survival and his blades if were to ever see them again.
The first enemy went down quickly, making a gurgling sound as Musashi sliced through his torso and brought him down in one strike. It was important not to fight many at once, instead ensuring that he took on each one individually as long as it was still possible, and he managed this quite well until the last couple of the group finally realised what kind of warrior they were facing and charged together. Musashi managed to block this attack and kicked one away, bringing his right sword up in a vertical slice to take the other down before finishing the first off. The next few groups he took on didn't prove much of a challenge either; apparently, he was not in the right part of the battlefield to face any warriors of exceptional talent. That was a disappointment. It would have been good to have at least got to fight someone of skill in this losing battle, to see just what the generals of the Eastern Army could do (except for Inahime; he just wouldn't feel comfortable fighting a woman).
Grunting, he countered a spear attack and cut straight through the attacker's heart with both of his blades, staining them an ever darker red. How many had he killed now? The fact that he couldn't remember made him feel a cold kind of horror.
But no. No thinking of that right now.
More time and more kills passed in a haze of blood and sweat, the young but extremely gifted swordsman making short work of the enemy around him. His mind almost shut conscious thought off, leaving just enough there to quickly analyse what was going on around him and respond in kind. The rest was pure instinct; he didn't think about the moves he pulled off, just moving through the steps with the ease of a master. Certainly there was something missing, but it was not something in his swordplay. Not at all. The man who spotted him now, however, did not recognise this missing thing at all. He stopped in his tracks and stared.
Only when the last enemy in the group he had been taking on was cut down did Musashi feel the gaze of this man, and he turned to look, expecting just another mediocre fight.
Instead of charging in, though, he froze, and stared.
The first thing he really noticed about this new opponent was his painted smile. The guy's lips were red, red as blood, and the smile unsettling in its joy. Nobody on a battlefield should appear that happy. Nobody. No matter what kind of challenge you got to experience you simply should not look that way. Musashi didn't like it, especially as his second thought about the man was that he was most definitely a killer, and a skilled one at that. The long blade he was holding in his right hand was soaked in blood, his violet eyes were too bright, and his stance suggested a calm confidence that really wouldn't be held by anyone who wasn't heavily talented with a sword.
"You've worked up quite a sweat," said the man. "I bet you'll be worth chopping to pieces!"
His voice was soft. Really soft, in a way that was not at all pleasant. It sent shivers down your spine.
"Not going to happen!" snapped Musashi in reply, holding his stance and eyeing this unsettling creature with wary eyes.
The man merely laughed; no, he giggled. It was definitely a giggle. Creepy.
"Oh yes it will..."
Then he struck.
Anyone of lesser skill would have been dead in an instant. The attack came out quicker than any Musashi had ever seen, but he was nevertheless able to block it and push back, getting a slash of his own in. This was dodged, and the man attacked swiftly again. A pattern of attacks, dodges and blocks were established before Musashi's twin blades eventually clashed against the longer blade in a deadlock. His opponent was a good deal taller than him, but less muscular and therefore probably not quite as physically strong as he was. Eventually he'd be be able to push him back, if he put enough strength into trying.
But before he managed this, the man spoke again.
"What's your name?" he asked, watching Musashi carefully through the gap in the wall of metal that parted them.
Musashi just glared in reply, and made something of a 'hmph' sound.
"What's your name?" repeated the man, looking... amused? "Did you want to know mine first? Oh, of course, you should know the name of the one who is going to cut you down. It's Sasaki Kojiro. Now tell me yours!"
Kojiro? Musashi had never heard the name before, which meant this guy couldn't have been fighting that long; anyone with his level of skill would surely be famous if he'd been around for years. Looking at him, the shorter man realised Kojiro wasn't any older than he was. Still young, with an incredible amount of natural ability but not enough experience to have become a well-known warrior yet.
"...Miyamoto Musashi," he said slowly, before giving a great push and sending Kojiro stumbling backwards.
The strange man quickly recovered though, and took a few steps back, taking a stance and smiling oddly again.
"You're different from all of the others, Mu... sashi..." chuckled Kojiro, speaking the name slowly as if to make sure he'd memorised it right. "You're strong. Very strong. Not an innocent, not someone who needs cutting down for their own good. You might be the only one truly worthy of a beautiful death at my hand."
Musashi stared.
"What the hell?" he spluttured. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't act like you don't know," replied Kojiro. "The moment our swords clashed, it became clear. We're the same. I saw you cutting those worthless peons down. Saw that bloodlust in your eyes. It was a beautiful thing, Musashi. Being near you like this gives me the shivers; I can smell the scent of death all over you, strong even on this battlefield."
There was something severely wrong with this guy. Musashi had sensed it earlier and those instincts had proven correct. The things he was saying were insane... and wrong. Very wrong. No way was he bloodthirsty, and he definitely was nothing like this Kojiro! Nothing like him at all!
"Shut up," Musashi growled, a slightly wild expression in his eyes that could only convince Kojiro he was right. "You don't know anything about me. I'm nothing like that!"
Kojiro giggled again, giving him a look which clearly said that he wholeheartedly believed otherwise.
"Our swords, they talked. I know everything I need to know, Musashi..."
Musashi grunted, and stepped back. This man was skilled, very skilled, and offered a good fight, but he didn't want to be around him anymore. The things he said, the way he looked, and that smile, above all that damned smile, creeped him out too much.
"You're wrong," he said. "But I won't give you the chance to find out how wrong you are."
His allies had to have retreated by now. He and Kojiro were mostly alone on the battlefield now, with only a few clearly disorientated soldiers still running past. That meant he could get the hell out of the place, and most certainly should before the Eastern Army sent more units in to sweep the area. After backing away a few steps, eyes watching the tall man before him carefully, the young man turned and ran.
He'd expected Kojiro to follow, but he didn't. Musashi heard him call out to him though, the voice fading away as his feet guided him out of the field of slaughter.
"I'll see you again soon, Musashi. When that happens, I will give you a truly beautiful death. Stay out of trouble until then..."
Like hell, he thought. What were the chances that he'd run into the guy again? Pretty slim, by his reckoning.
Still... something about the words chilled him, and the image of Kojiro's red-painted smile wouldn't leave his head. An insane man, a bloodthirsty one clearly, if he were to find beauty in massacre. He was a killer, and yet, his blade had only been as blood-soaked as Musashi's own, hadn't it?
Shaking his head, and trying to ignore the spark of fear in his stomach, Musashi focused on running, leaving Sekigahara behind him. Right now he just had to keep going. What came after all this... he'd figure it out later. Somehow.