I'm a soldier / Wounded, so I must give up the fight [Closed, Complete]
WHO: Shinomori Aoshi and Okita Souji
WHAT: Character death and drop.
WHERE: The home the two share, progressing to the jungle.
WHEN: Day 275
He should have seen it coming. The day he walks into Souji's room and finds the smaller swordsman kneeling in the center of the wooden floor, dressed only in a light white yukata. His eyes are closed, his pale hands resting delicately atop his knees, his long hair pulled up into an elegant twist that bares his neck.
Aoshi stops in the door, simply stands there, the tray with Souji's breakfast clenched in hands that are suddenly nerveless. And then those deep violet eyes open, and Aoshi doesn't even hear the glass break on the floor when his hands refuse to hold on any more.
"Please, Aoshi-san," Souji asks quietly, and really, that's all that needs to be said. Aoshi knows. He's known all along, somewhere, that this day would come. He's watched Souji grow weaker and weaker, wasting away in his bed as he spends day after day there, unable to move any longer. His body, so lithe and so trained, devolving to nothing as he watches.
And he can't do it any longer. For a swordsman to waste away like that - it's the ultimate degradation. Souji deserves better. He deserves to die a warrior's death, on the sword, and who else can understand that? Who else can he trust enough to ask for something like this? And how can he know that Aoshi will break?
It's his own fault, Aoshi realizes. Maybe if he'd only said something... But he's being selfish. Who is he to ask that Souji prolong his suffering, just to keep Aoshi happy? He doesn't deserve that.
He leaves the room without a word, and Souji must know that he's won, because he doesn't follow. And sure enough, Aoshi returns just moments later, holding his blade. Souji smiles, the last one Aoshi will ever see, and in two steps, Aoshi is standing in front of him.
One hand on the hilt, one on the very end of the scabbard, Aoshi pulls, and the center drops out, leaving him with a kodachi in each hand. Quicker than quick, one of Souji's hands darts out before the scabbard can hit the floor, and he draws it back into his body, laying it across his knees.
Aoshi should be behind him, but he can't. He wants to see that smile, wants it to be the last thing he sees. Souji looks up again, blue eyes meet violet, and the blades flash.
He doesn't know how long he kneels there, in the blood pooling beneath him, soaking through his pants, cradling Souji's body. He only knows that he's alone again, and if there is a moisture on his face that is not due to the blood, there is no one there to call it tears.
No more. No more will die because of him, Aoshi vows, as he carries Souji's body through the streets, not noticing how people stop and stare at him, liberally smeared with blood. He hears how they murmur behind their hands, wondering if they should call the guards, he must have killed that poor boy, and who knows what he could have done before that? but he doesn't care. Souji is dead, like Beshimi and Hyottoko and Hannya and Shikijyo before him, and all because Aoshi isn't strong enough.
No more.
There's wood enough to build a pyre at the edge of the jungle, and Aoshi stands and watches, long enough to see Souji's body crumble into ashes, ignoring the sick smell of flesh burning in the cold air. And then he turns, and without a backwards glance, he walks into the depths of the jungle.
He must be stronger. That is the only thing he knows. Nothing else matters.
Not anymore.
The title of 'strongest' will be mine. And I will lay it as flowers upon your grave.
WHAT: Character death and drop.
WHERE: The home the two share, progressing to the jungle.
WHEN: Day 275
He should have seen it coming. The day he walks into Souji's room and finds the smaller swordsman kneeling in the center of the wooden floor, dressed only in a light white yukata. His eyes are closed, his pale hands resting delicately atop his knees, his long hair pulled up into an elegant twist that bares his neck.
Aoshi stops in the door, simply stands there, the tray with Souji's breakfast clenched in hands that are suddenly nerveless. And then those deep violet eyes open, and Aoshi doesn't even hear the glass break on the floor when his hands refuse to hold on any more.
"Please, Aoshi-san," Souji asks quietly, and really, that's all that needs to be said. Aoshi knows. He's known all along, somewhere, that this day would come. He's watched Souji grow weaker and weaker, wasting away in his bed as he spends day after day there, unable to move any longer. His body, so lithe and so trained, devolving to nothing as he watches.
And he can't do it any longer. For a swordsman to waste away like that - it's the ultimate degradation. Souji deserves better. He deserves to die a warrior's death, on the sword, and who else can understand that? Who else can he trust enough to ask for something like this? And how can he know that Aoshi will break?
It's his own fault, Aoshi realizes. Maybe if he'd only said something... But he's being selfish. Who is he to ask that Souji prolong his suffering, just to keep Aoshi happy? He doesn't deserve that.
He leaves the room without a word, and Souji must know that he's won, because he doesn't follow. And sure enough, Aoshi returns just moments later, holding his blade. Souji smiles, the last one Aoshi will ever see, and in two steps, Aoshi is standing in front of him.
One hand on the hilt, one on the very end of the scabbard, Aoshi pulls, and the center drops out, leaving him with a kodachi in each hand. Quicker than quick, one of Souji's hands darts out before the scabbard can hit the floor, and he draws it back into his body, laying it across his knees.
Aoshi should be behind him, but he can't. He wants to see that smile, wants it to be the last thing he sees. Souji looks up again, blue eyes meet violet, and the blades flash.
He doesn't know how long he kneels there, in the blood pooling beneath him, soaking through his pants, cradling Souji's body. He only knows that he's alone again, and if there is a moisture on his face that is not due to the blood, there is no one there to call it tears.
No more. No more will die because of him, Aoshi vows, as he carries Souji's body through the streets, not noticing how people stop and stare at him, liberally smeared with blood. He hears how they murmur behind their hands, wondering if they should call the guards, he must have killed that poor boy, and who knows what he could have done before that? but he doesn't care. Souji is dead, like Beshimi and Hyottoko and Hannya and Shikijyo before him, and all because Aoshi isn't strong enough.
No more.
There's wood enough to build a pyre at the edge of the jungle, and Aoshi stands and watches, long enough to see Souji's body crumble into ashes, ignoring the sick smell of flesh burning in the cold air. And then he turns, and without a backwards glance, he walks into the depths of the jungle.
He must be stronger. That is the only thing he knows. Nothing else matters.
Not anymore.
The title of 'strongest' will be mine. And I will lay it as flowers upon your grave.