Japan, July, 1876
The boat (ship, really) that Nathan and Tony had been whisked away to was none other than the same one that Nathan had been passenger on, en route to Japan before he'd even wound up in Fandom. He supposed it was entirely too kind of the universe at large to have his own timeline wait up for him to return, but the circumstances of his arrival could have stood to be a little less... Unannounced.
Portalocity did send a letter of apology, which somehow made it to Nathan on the ship, informing him that it was going to take them some time to work out the kinks in their system, but he would be able to collect a full refund and a lift back to Fandom as soon as things were in order. Of course, he'd have to be the one to order the replacement portal. It was on his credit card, after all.
Needless to say, Tony bitched all the way into Yokohama Harbor. He bitched to their translator, one Mr. Simon Graham. He bitched to Nathan. He bitched to Nathan's friend, Zebulon Gant. And he bitched all the way up the steps en route to Nathan's appointment with the Emperor himself.
Tony
"You owe me," Tony informed Nathan, straightening his suit and continuing to carry himself like he owned the mother fucking world. Because he was Tony Stark, damn it. "And I'm suing Portalocity."
Nathan
"Duly noted," Nathan replied, pointedly ignoring Mr. Graham's ongoing natter about how no foreigner has laid eyes on the Emperor in over 2000 years, and something or other about how his suit was a little tight about the midriff.
The sooner they could get this over with...
"I suppose here is where I wonder what in the world I could possibly repay you with, Tony."
Tony
"I wouldn't be opposed to sexual favours," Tony replied, mostly to get a reaction from the rambling translator.
Nathan
Nathan allowed himself a grin as Mr. Graham seemed to choke half to death on whatever it was he was talking about.
"We'll see."
For a reaction like that, he'd almost consider it.
Nathan
The room that they were to meet the Emperor in- his quarters? Throne room? Meeting room? Nathan wasn't terribly familiar with the terminology in these situations- was simple. Paper walls with a stylized forest mural scrawled across them, and a seat draped in rich reds were easily eye-grabbing, but there was a protocol to this. Don't speak unless directly addressed. Stand when he stands. Bow... pretty much as often as possible.
Of course.
They weren't three steps into the room when Mr. Graham started in with his 'step, step, step, and bow' ramble. Which, Nathan supposed, was what he was being paid for. It was also damn annoying. Almost as annoying as when Mr. Omura started in with a ramble about what the Emperor was hoping to achieve, getting Americans to train his military. A segue into the meat of the meeting, really. More Omura's words than the emperor's own.
The Emperor finally did speak, though his words were in Japanese, and all in the room paid rapt attention as they waited for one of their translators to tell the foreigners what had just been said.
Formalities. Captain Nathan Algren hated formalities.
Tony
"He wants to know about the Cheyenne," Tony said before the other two translators had a chance. What? He was a business man who dealt in technology. Of course he understood Japanese.
He was just a dick and liked to get a pretty translator normally.
Nathan
Mr. Omura and Mr. Graham took a moment to give Tony a somewhat disparaging look. He was going to put them both out of a job, if he kept that up!
Nathan looked bemused for all of a heartbeat, before the other man in their party, Colonel Bagley, spoke up for the both of them.
"We've fought against them, Your Highness," Bagley replied. "The red man is a brutal adversary."
Nathan's gaze flicked down toward the floor, at that. Oh, did he ever hate that man.
Tony
Tony shot him a look that was nowhere near disguised amusement. "Do go on about the colors of the world, Sergeant. I'm fascinated to hear your enlightened take on the matter."
Nathan
That? That was Nathan's elbow, en route in as subtle a manner as possible toward Tony's ribs. For as much as he enjoyed telling off the Colonel, this was probably not the time.
... He did manage a brief flicker of a smile, however, before the Emperor began to speak again.
Tony
Tony smirked once, ignoring the poor translators looks of horror. "He wants to know if it's true about them painting their faces and wearing eagle feathers." He looked like he was focusing on an equation for a moment before the last part. "That they don't have fear."
But Daredevil is Irish!
Nathan
Nathan's gaze flicked toward Tony. Putting them out of business, indeed.
And then he looked back toward the Emperor, quiet for the longest time. This wasn't exactly the sort of subject that he was in the habit of discussing lately; even less since he'd wound up on Fandom. And so he settled for the best answer he possibly could.
"They are very brave."
And a small nod.
Emperor Meiji
There was a moment, then, while Mr. Graham translated, while Emperor Meiji let those words sink in.
And then he stood. And he stepped from the shadows that he had been sitting in.
"Thank you... Very much."
And he bowed, deeply, at the men assembled.
Nathan
And so, the preparations for war began. For six months of training, Algren was to receive three years of Captain's pay, teaching Japanese men to soldier. It was an army of conscripts, most of them peasants who had never even seen a weapon. Much time was spent speaking to General Hasegawa of his knowledge of the Samurai. It was through him that Algren learned that their enemy, one Samurai by the name of Katsumoto, had his men fight without firearms.
Hasegawa had a wealth of such information to offer. After all, Hasegawa was Samurai, himself.
It was another meeting, this time between Nathan, Zeb, Tony, and Mr. Graham, discussing the way of their enemy. There was sake to be passed around, and, while Nathan couldn't read the Japanese texts in front of himself, he was idly slicing pieces from an apple, poring over the illustrations and paying some vague sort of attention to the words their translator was saying.
Blah blah blah, a Samurai's sword is his soul.
Right, then.
Zebulon
Zeb leaned over for a moment to look at the book that Nathan was absorbed in, and he barked out a laugh.
"The bastards are still wearin' armor," he pointed out.
Tony
"There's nothing wrong with armor."
Nathan
"We can't all wear it as well as Tony Stark," Nathan noted, dryly, not so much as glancing up from the book until he decided, quite firmly, to speak again. "I need to know more about their battle tactics."
He was slurring. Possibly because of the sake. Possibly because he had a cheek full of apple. He was still only half paying attention as Mr. Graham assured him that there were plenty of books just waiting to be translated, yes.
Zebulon
"Oh, the Captain'll be speakin' the lingo in no time," Zeb, only slightly more sober than the rest of them as he stood around with his cigar, felt inclined to share. "You should hear him, blatherin' on in Blackfoot."
Thank you, Zebulon.
Mr. Graham
"Really?" Mr. Graham seemed entranced by the idea. "A fellow linguist? Oh, capitol!"
... Huh. They really did say that when they came from London.
"Oh, come, sir! A word or two in the savage tongue! Just, hello, or goodbye, or- No, no, no! Cut his tongue out and boil him in oil!"
The look that he got from Algren, there, suggested that perhaps Mr. Graham himself was about to meet that very fate.
Zebulon
A somewhat... pained look crossed Zeb's face at that. Well, a fine situation he'd just stuck Nathan in, wasn't it?
"Early day tomorrow, Captain darlin'." He bent over a little to try to catch Nathan's eye. Strong hinting time was now. "About bedtime, isn't it?"
No, not dirty.
Mr. Graham
Mr. Graham, unfortunately, couldn't seem to take a hint, himself. And so he soldiered bravely, and stupidly, onward.
"I've a dread fascination with scalping," he noted, making a sawing motion with one hand. "I've never quite understood its technique."
And then silence that couldn't have been cut with a knife.
Nathan
The look on Nathan's face was not the look of a pleasant, well-adjusted war hero, no. And his tone dropped low and dangerous as he spoke.
"Imagine someone who hates you with the utmost intensity," he hissed, setting his apple down, "grabbing a handful of your hair while you're lying prostrate and helpless."
There was a slight clatter of dishes as he shoved himself to his feet, starting to make his way across the room to where Mr. Graham was sitting.
"Then scraping the dull blade of a rusty knife," he held up the knife that he was slicing his apple with, to demonstrate, "across your scalp, in a sawing motion. Let your imagination grasp if you can, Mr. Graham, the effect a strong upward jerk," and this was accentuated by a sudden, solid yank on Mr. Graham's own hair, the knife in his hand hovering dangerously close to the man's chest, "on the turf of your hair to release any clinging particles would have on your nervous system."
He let go of his hair. The knife was now right under Mr. Graham's nose. Algren's mind was a million miles away again, a bullet singing in his ears, blood spraying from the chest of a Cheyenne woman who had done nothing to deserve death.
"You'll have some idea of what it is to be scalped, Mr. Graham."
He lowered the knife.
"How soon can you translate those books?"
Mr. Graham
Mr. Graham needed a moment to form words.
"... Right away." He ran a tentative hand over his hair, and then added, "I didn't know you had such an interest in Samurai."
Nathan
"I don't give a damn about the Samurai." Nathan sat down. Nathan reached for the whiskey. Screw the sake. "I want to know my enemy."
Mr. Graham seemed... more or less content to settle for that answer, swearing that he wouldn't rest until the books were translated before fleeing from the room.
Which left the other three men behind.
Nathan was sitting in silence with the shadows in his head.
These people had nothing to do with the raids!
Washita River. Women and children.
Tony
"Well." Tony sipped his sake. "That was enlightening."
Nathan
Nathan gave his head a shake. Chase the cobwebs out. Take another mouthful of whiskey.
Not enough alcohol in Japan for this moment.
Zeb was quick to excuse himself from the room, too.
"A little rusty on basic American history, Tony?" Look, that was about the best Nathan had to offer at the moment.
Tony
"A little rusty on the details, you could say," Tony replied, dry as the desert.
Nathan
"And yet, suddenly enlightened." Oh, Nathan was just as dry, yes. "Hallelujah."
Tony
Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't be a drama queen."
That was his job, thanks.
Nathan
Aaaand there went the rest of Nathan's whiskey. He'd pour more in a moment. "Fine."
See? Totally fine, except for the trauma.
"Were you hoping I'd elaborate?"
Tony
"Not in the slightest."
Nathan
"Good."
Nathan reached for his apple again. Pointedly carved a few more pieces from it. Frowned.
"Early morning tomorrow, Tony. Probably time for bed."
[NFB and NFI for distance and tiiiiime. Preplayed with the loverly not_ironmaiden, who rocks my socks. Large chunks of script lifted from The Last Samurai, and as such, there are spoilers within.]
Portalocity did send a letter of apology, which somehow made it to Nathan on the ship, informing him that it was going to take them some time to work out the kinks in their system, but he would be able to collect a full refund and a lift back to Fandom as soon as things were in order. Of course, he'd have to be the one to order the replacement portal. It was on his credit card, after all.
Needless to say, Tony bitched all the way into Yokohama Harbor. He bitched to their translator, one Mr. Simon Graham. He bitched to Nathan. He bitched to Nathan's friend, Zebulon Gant. And he bitched all the way up the steps en route to Nathan's appointment with the Emperor himself.
Tony
"You owe me," Tony informed Nathan, straightening his suit and continuing to carry himself like he owned the mother fucking world. Because he was Tony Stark, damn it. "And I'm suing Portalocity."
Nathan
"Duly noted," Nathan replied, pointedly ignoring Mr. Graham's ongoing natter about how no foreigner has laid eyes on the Emperor in over 2000 years, and something or other about how his suit was a little tight about the midriff.
The sooner they could get this over with...
"I suppose here is where I wonder what in the world I could possibly repay you with, Tony."
Tony
"I wouldn't be opposed to sexual favours," Tony replied, mostly to get a reaction from the rambling translator.
Nathan
Nathan allowed himself a grin as Mr. Graham seemed to choke half to death on whatever it was he was talking about.
"We'll see."
For a reaction like that, he'd almost consider it.
Nathan
The room that they were to meet the Emperor in- his quarters? Throne room? Meeting room? Nathan wasn't terribly familiar with the terminology in these situations- was simple. Paper walls with a stylized forest mural scrawled across them, and a seat draped in rich reds were easily eye-grabbing, but there was a protocol to this. Don't speak unless directly addressed. Stand when he stands. Bow... pretty much as often as possible.
Of course.
They weren't three steps into the room when Mr. Graham started in with his 'step, step, step, and bow' ramble. Which, Nathan supposed, was what he was being paid for. It was also damn annoying. Almost as annoying as when Mr. Omura started in with a ramble about what the Emperor was hoping to achieve, getting Americans to train his military. A segue into the meat of the meeting, really. More Omura's words than the emperor's own.
The Emperor finally did speak, though his words were in Japanese, and all in the room paid rapt attention as they waited for one of their translators to tell the foreigners what had just been said.
Formalities. Captain Nathan Algren hated formalities.
Tony
"He wants to know about the Cheyenne," Tony said before the other two translators had a chance. What? He was a business man who dealt in technology. Of course he understood Japanese.
He was just a dick and liked to get a pretty translator normally.
Nathan
Mr. Omura and Mr. Graham took a moment to give Tony a somewhat disparaging look. He was going to put them both out of a job, if he kept that up!
Nathan looked bemused for all of a heartbeat, before the other man in their party, Colonel Bagley, spoke up for the both of them.
"We've fought against them, Your Highness," Bagley replied. "The red man is a brutal adversary."
Nathan's gaze flicked down toward the floor, at that. Oh, did he ever hate that man.
Tony
Tony shot him a look that was nowhere near disguised amusement. "Do go on about the colors of the world, Sergeant. I'm fascinated to hear your enlightened take on the matter."
Nathan
That? That was Nathan's elbow, en route in as subtle a manner as possible toward Tony's ribs. For as much as he enjoyed telling off the Colonel, this was probably not the time.
... He did manage a brief flicker of a smile, however, before the Emperor began to speak again.
Tony
Tony smirked once, ignoring the poor translators looks of horror. "He wants to know if it's true about them painting their faces and wearing eagle feathers." He looked like he was focusing on an equation for a moment before the last part. "That they don't have fear."
But Daredevil is Irish!
Nathan
Nathan's gaze flicked toward Tony. Putting them out of business, indeed.
And then he looked back toward the Emperor, quiet for the longest time. This wasn't exactly the sort of subject that he was in the habit of discussing lately; even less since he'd wound up on Fandom. And so he settled for the best answer he possibly could.
"They are very brave."
And a small nod.
Emperor Meiji
There was a moment, then, while Mr. Graham translated, while Emperor Meiji let those words sink in.
And then he stood. And he stepped from the shadows that he had been sitting in.
"Thank you... Very much."
And he bowed, deeply, at the men assembled.
Nathan
And so, the preparations for war began. For six months of training, Algren was to receive three years of Captain's pay, teaching Japanese men to soldier. It was an army of conscripts, most of them peasants who had never even seen a weapon. Much time was spent speaking to General Hasegawa of his knowledge of the Samurai. It was through him that Algren learned that their enemy, one Samurai by the name of Katsumoto, had his men fight without firearms.
Hasegawa had a wealth of such information to offer. After all, Hasegawa was Samurai, himself.
It was another meeting, this time between Nathan, Zeb, Tony, and Mr. Graham, discussing the way of their enemy. There was sake to be passed around, and, while Nathan couldn't read the Japanese texts in front of himself, he was idly slicing pieces from an apple, poring over the illustrations and paying some vague sort of attention to the words their translator was saying.
Blah blah blah, a Samurai's sword is his soul.
Right, then.
Zebulon
Zeb leaned over for a moment to look at the book that Nathan was absorbed in, and he barked out a laugh.
"The bastards are still wearin' armor," he pointed out.
Tony
"There's nothing wrong with armor."
Nathan
"We can't all wear it as well as Tony Stark," Nathan noted, dryly, not so much as glancing up from the book until he decided, quite firmly, to speak again. "I need to know more about their battle tactics."
He was slurring. Possibly because of the sake. Possibly because he had a cheek full of apple. He was still only half paying attention as Mr. Graham assured him that there were plenty of books just waiting to be translated, yes.
Zebulon
"Oh, the Captain'll be speakin' the lingo in no time," Zeb, only slightly more sober than the rest of them as he stood around with his cigar, felt inclined to share. "You should hear him, blatherin' on in Blackfoot."
Thank you, Zebulon.
Mr. Graham
"Really?" Mr. Graham seemed entranced by the idea. "A fellow linguist? Oh, capitol!"
... Huh. They really did say that when they came from London.
"Oh, come, sir! A word or two in the savage tongue! Just, hello, or goodbye, or- No, no, no! Cut his tongue out and boil him in oil!"
The look that he got from Algren, there, suggested that perhaps Mr. Graham himself was about to meet that very fate.
Zebulon
A somewhat... pained look crossed Zeb's face at that. Well, a fine situation he'd just stuck Nathan in, wasn't it?
"Early day tomorrow, Captain darlin'." He bent over a little to try to catch Nathan's eye. Strong hinting time was now. "About bedtime, isn't it?"
No, not dirty.
Mr. Graham
Mr. Graham, unfortunately, couldn't seem to take a hint, himself. And so he soldiered bravely, and stupidly, onward.
"I've a dread fascination with scalping," he noted, making a sawing motion with one hand. "I've never quite understood its technique."
And then silence that couldn't have been cut with a knife.
Nathan
The look on Nathan's face was not the look of a pleasant, well-adjusted war hero, no. And his tone dropped low and dangerous as he spoke.
"Imagine someone who hates you with the utmost intensity," he hissed, setting his apple down, "grabbing a handful of your hair while you're lying prostrate and helpless."
There was a slight clatter of dishes as he shoved himself to his feet, starting to make his way across the room to where Mr. Graham was sitting.
"Then scraping the dull blade of a rusty knife," he held up the knife that he was slicing his apple with, to demonstrate, "across your scalp, in a sawing motion. Let your imagination grasp if you can, Mr. Graham, the effect a strong upward jerk," and this was accentuated by a sudden, solid yank on Mr. Graham's own hair, the knife in his hand hovering dangerously close to the man's chest, "on the turf of your hair to release any clinging particles would have on your nervous system."
He let go of his hair. The knife was now right under Mr. Graham's nose. Algren's mind was a million miles away again, a bullet singing in his ears, blood spraying from the chest of a Cheyenne woman who had done nothing to deserve death.
"You'll have some idea of what it is to be scalped, Mr. Graham."
He lowered the knife.
"How soon can you translate those books?"
Mr. Graham
Mr. Graham needed a moment to form words.
"... Right away." He ran a tentative hand over his hair, and then added, "I didn't know you had such an interest in Samurai."
Nathan
"I don't give a damn about the Samurai." Nathan sat down. Nathan reached for the whiskey. Screw the sake. "I want to know my enemy."
Mr. Graham seemed... more or less content to settle for that answer, swearing that he wouldn't rest until the books were translated before fleeing from the room.
Which left the other three men behind.
Nathan was sitting in silence with the shadows in his head.
These people had nothing to do with the raids!
Washita River. Women and children.
Tony
"Well." Tony sipped his sake. "That was enlightening."
Nathan
Nathan gave his head a shake. Chase the cobwebs out. Take another mouthful of whiskey.
Not enough alcohol in Japan for this moment.
Zeb was quick to excuse himself from the room, too.
"A little rusty on basic American history, Tony?" Look, that was about the best Nathan had to offer at the moment.
Tony
"A little rusty on the details, you could say," Tony replied, dry as the desert.
Nathan
"And yet, suddenly enlightened." Oh, Nathan was just as dry, yes. "Hallelujah."
Tony
Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't be a drama queen."
That was his job, thanks.
Nathan
Aaaand there went the rest of Nathan's whiskey. He'd pour more in a moment. "Fine."
See? Totally fine, except for the trauma.
"Were you hoping I'd elaborate?"
Tony
"Not in the slightest."
Nathan
"Good."
Nathan reached for his apple again. Pointedly carved a few more pieces from it. Frowned.
"Early morning tomorrow, Tony. Probably time for bed."
[NFB and NFI for distance and tiiiiime. Preplayed with the loverly not_ironmaiden, who rocks my socks. Large chunks of script lifted from The Last Samurai, and as such, there are spoilers within.]