[Okami] Mousehunt
My dog came home. She is aching and suffering from the hot weather, but she is doing as well as can be expected given the circumstance. The vet ruled out the major things, it seems mostly to have been her arthritis finally getting to her in a mean way. She's been eating regularly again, which is the big thing.
Speaking of DOG, I am sort of gay for Okami right now. Have some experimental pre-game fic. Vague end-game spoilers, particularly regarding the identity of certain TRES CHIC individuals who felt the need to spend most of the game nancing around at my expense. And thus naturally cementing themselves as my favorite character. Fruitcake.
Warnings for some really bad French.
Now, Tachigami was the eldest of the sun goddess’ children, and so had been trusted with great responsibilities. Long had he prospered on the prayer of those who had honored his Aspects and, by natural course, it had all gone a little to his head. He went where he pleased, and all corners of Takamagahara were to his liking. Difficult, it was to find him. More difficult, it was to ask him for a favor. There were always those who tried, however. This was how a fair maiden came to wander down from the great heavenly peaks. She carried a woven basket under one arm, and dish of fresh mochi in the other. She wore a long white veil covering her face, back, and arms, but her movement was graceful, suggestive of great beauty beneath. She searched out the largest boulder in the valley and, upon finding it next to a waterfall, smiled. She laid the basket down beside her to lean against as she sat, and laid the dish out at her knees in offering, bent like a rabbit in the field. The rich, dough-y scent stirred the god from his resting place beneath the stone, and he soon ventured out to partake. The moment his gleam appeared in the boulder’s shadow, the maiden uncoiled, and in a flash brought the basket down over him and the dish both, forcing him to reveal his form in true.
“Accursed moon child!” hissed Tachigami, drew ink to slice the basket. The maiden flipped backwards to avoid the wind from the sharp stroke, the veil parted nearly in two. A few strands of gold hair drifted from this gap. Beautiful, but no maiden.
“And voila.” Ushiwaka, the moon hermit, smiling widely. He had come not long ago to the mountains, where he lived alone like a bandit. “I smell a rat! O, great Tachigami, it is an honor at last to meet you.” He bowed his head nearly in after thought, pulling the remnants of the damaged cloth out of his face.
The god glared furiously, one paw still resting upon one of the sticky buns. “An honor that is yours alone. I thought you were Yumigami,” he said. “Come to share with me a meal.”
“I am flattered by the comparison,” said the moon hermit. He blinked. “But when did mademoiselle decide to be so generous?”
Tachigami bristled in irritation. He passed his hands quickly over his face, one after the other, to calm himself. “That is none of your concern, bandit,” he said, scratching one of his wrists. He had not yet fled, and the hermit knew he would not. A proud god, the rat was. He showed his tail to very few when faced with such an affront.
“Planning some banditry of our own, were we?” The god stiffened from nose to tail with a tiny ‘erk!’, and covered this particular slip by lifting up one of the rice cakes. He gave a tentative sniff. “I do hope my own offering will do.”
Tachigami took a bite. “It is satisfactory,” said the brush god, partly mollified, though he now eyed the hermit with suspicion. “Odd, though, that one of the moon tribe should seek one of us, after all this time. We have,” he took another bite, “No’ forgodden’,” he sputtered through stuffed cheeks, “ ‘e in-salt,” he swallowed, “Your people once leveled against the great Amaterasu, mother to us all.” He swiped the paste off of his mouth and nose, and began the anew.
“And which one was that?” asked Ushiwaka. “There have been a few.”
“You must know very well!”
“My people is a subject on which I am remiss. Remind me, s’il vous plait.”
“That Incident.”
“Incident?”
“The one of which we Gods do not speak,” said Tachigami. He said it hurriedly, glancing back and forth and twitching his tail to an irregular beat.
“Hm,” said Ushiwaka, moved by force of revelation to throw up his hands in graceful surprise, “Something like that ruined banquet?” A sharp wind picked up, the skies grew the color of twilight, temperatures dropped five degrees.
Tachigami’s head dropped immediately. “That’s the one of which we do not speak.” He swallowed, and added, “It upsets Mother.”
The hermit craned his head upwards, “My apologies,” he said, to company that was most certainly not present in the valley. The skies returned to their normal luminance. Ushiwaka looked more mildly amused than penitent, however. Nevertheless, he got back to the point. “Is it so surprising? You are a God of Power. You must have believers from all reaches, non?”
It pleased Tachigami to hear this. His ears flicked up once more, and his small chest puffed up with pride. “Of course,” he said, whiskers bobbing. “But why you?”
“I have an academic interest.”
“You wish for me to teach you the way of the sword.”
“Yes,” said Ushiwaka, sitting up. “Yes. That is what I want.”
The twitch began in the rat’s nose, it rolled down his shoulders, to his stomach, where it stayed as he squashed his next mochi so hard that the contents oozed out. The air became filled with the sound of tiny bells. The rat god was laughing. “You. A member of the moon tribe wishes to learn to fight. Ushiwakamaru, your people are scholars and astrologists.”
“And I am neither,” said the moon hermit, bowing his head, the ends of his hair spilling onto the grass. “Where does that leave yours truly?”
“Here, it seems.”
“Do not doubt my resolve.”
All the lingering mirth fell out of his voice at these words. Tachigami paused, and crawled over the dish. He stopped beneath the shadow of his chin, stretching up onto his haunches. He took a few dangling strands of that impossibly long hair, and tugged expectantly. Ushiwaka bent further, so that the god might be satisfied in this inspection. He did not avert his eyes. Observing this, Tachigami sat back again, and touched the hilt of his blade; tucked in its red sheath, so deceptively compact.
“Do not think we do not know you and your ways,” he said. “But if you can elude my strokes ‘till my Mother’s brush touches the peaks, I will consider your request. We begin now,” he added, and with no further ado, drew steel four times his length and chopped off a quarter inch of the moon hermit’s hair.
Speaking of DOG, I am sort of gay for Okami right now. Have some experimental pre-game fic. Vague end-game spoilers, particularly regarding the identity of certain TRES CHIC individuals who felt the need to spend most of the game nancing around at my expense. And thus naturally cementing themselves as my favorite character. Fruitcake.
Warnings for some really bad French.
Now, Tachigami was the eldest of the sun goddess’ children, and so had been trusted with great responsibilities. Long had he prospered on the prayer of those who had honored his Aspects and, by natural course, it had all gone a little to his head. He went where he pleased, and all corners of Takamagahara were to his liking. Difficult, it was to find him. More difficult, it was to ask him for a favor. There were always those who tried, however. This was how a fair maiden came to wander down from the great heavenly peaks. She carried a woven basket under one arm, and dish of fresh mochi in the other. She wore a long white veil covering her face, back, and arms, but her movement was graceful, suggestive of great beauty beneath. She searched out the largest boulder in the valley and, upon finding it next to a waterfall, smiled. She laid the basket down beside her to lean against as she sat, and laid the dish out at her knees in offering, bent like a rabbit in the field. The rich, dough-y scent stirred the god from his resting place beneath the stone, and he soon ventured out to partake. The moment his gleam appeared in the boulder’s shadow, the maiden uncoiled, and in a flash brought the basket down over him and the dish both, forcing him to reveal his form in true.
“Accursed moon child!” hissed Tachigami, drew ink to slice the basket. The maiden flipped backwards to avoid the wind from the sharp stroke, the veil parted nearly in two. A few strands of gold hair drifted from this gap. Beautiful, but no maiden.
“And voila.” Ushiwaka, the moon hermit, smiling widely. He had come not long ago to the mountains, where he lived alone like a bandit. “I smell a rat! O, great Tachigami, it is an honor at last to meet you.” He bowed his head nearly in after thought, pulling the remnants of the damaged cloth out of his face.
The god glared furiously, one paw still resting upon one of the sticky buns. “An honor that is yours alone. I thought you were Yumigami,” he said. “Come to share with me a meal.”
“I am flattered by the comparison,” said the moon hermit. He blinked. “But when did mademoiselle decide to be so generous?”
Tachigami bristled in irritation. He passed his hands quickly over his face, one after the other, to calm himself. “That is none of your concern, bandit,” he said, scratching one of his wrists. He had not yet fled, and the hermit knew he would not. A proud god, the rat was. He showed his tail to very few when faced with such an affront.
“Planning some banditry of our own, were we?” The god stiffened from nose to tail with a tiny ‘erk!’, and covered this particular slip by lifting up one of the rice cakes. He gave a tentative sniff. “I do hope my own offering will do.”
Tachigami took a bite. “It is satisfactory,” said the brush god, partly mollified, though he now eyed the hermit with suspicion. “Odd, though, that one of the moon tribe should seek one of us, after all this time. We have,” he took another bite, “No’ forgodden’,” he sputtered through stuffed cheeks, “ ‘e in-salt,” he swallowed, “Your people once leveled against the great Amaterasu, mother to us all.” He swiped the paste off of his mouth and nose, and began the anew.
“And which one was that?” asked Ushiwaka. “There have been a few.”
“You must know very well!”
“My people is a subject on which I am remiss. Remind me, s’il vous plait.”
“That Incident.”
“Incident?”
“The one of which we Gods do not speak,” said Tachigami. He said it hurriedly, glancing back and forth and twitching his tail to an irregular beat.
“Hm,” said Ushiwaka, moved by force of revelation to throw up his hands in graceful surprise, “Something like that ruined banquet?” A sharp wind picked up, the skies grew the color of twilight, temperatures dropped five degrees.
Tachigami’s head dropped immediately. “That’s the one of which we do not speak.” He swallowed, and added, “It upsets Mother.”
The hermit craned his head upwards, “My apologies,” he said, to company that was most certainly not present in the valley. The skies returned to their normal luminance. Ushiwaka looked more mildly amused than penitent, however. Nevertheless, he got back to the point. “Is it so surprising? You are a God of Power. You must have believers from all reaches, non?”
It pleased Tachigami to hear this. His ears flicked up once more, and his small chest puffed up with pride. “Of course,” he said, whiskers bobbing. “But why you?”
“I have an academic interest.”
“You wish for me to teach you the way of the sword.”
“Yes,” said Ushiwaka, sitting up. “Yes. That is what I want.”
The twitch began in the rat’s nose, it rolled down his shoulders, to his stomach, where it stayed as he squashed his next mochi so hard that the contents oozed out. The air became filled with the sound of tiny bells. The rat god was laughing. “You. A member of the moon tribe wishes to learn to fight. Ushiwakamaru, your people are scholars and astrologists.”
“And I am neither,” said the moon hermit, bowing his head, the ends of his hair spilling onto the grass. “Where does that leave yours truly?”
“Here, it seems.”
“Do not doubt my resolve.”
All the lingering mirth fell out of his voice at these words. Tachigami paused, and crawled over the dish. He stopped beneath the shadow of his chin, stretching up onto his haunches. He took a few dangling strands of that impossibly long hair, and tugged expectantly. Ushiwaka bent further, so that the god might be satisfied in this inspection. He did not avert his eyes. Observing this, Tachigami sat back again, and touched the hilt of his blade; tucked in its red sheath, so deceptively compact.
“Do not think we do not know you and your ways,” he said. “But if you can elude my strokes ‘till my Mother’s brush touches the peaks, I will consider your request. We begin now,” he added, and with no further ado, drew steel four times his length and chopped off a quarter inch of the moon hermit’s hair.