Jigen --> 12th Shot
Who: m19_lover, ishikawa_juusan and anyone who wants to watch this oh so exciting event!
When: Backdated to December 14th, because I'm a HUGE procrastinator and was meant to post this earlier
Where: THE COLISEUM!
Style: Third, this time
Status: Fight is closed between Jigs and Goemon, anyone is invited to watch though!
( Look, there's nothing sexual about two guys, one beating the other with a sword, both grapling and fighting and firing guns... (Unskipable references FTW) )
When: Backdated to December 14th, because I'm a HUGE procrastinator and was meant to post this earlier
Where: THE COLISEUM!
Style: Third, this time
Status: Fight is closed between Jigs and Goemon, anyone is invited to watch though!
( Look, there's nothing sexual about two guys, one beating the other with a sword, both grapling and fighting and firing guns... (Unskipable references FTW) )
Daisuke Jigen.
His fiercely loyal partner in crime, his closest friend - and on the best of days, almost a surrogate brother.
He was someone who acknowledged the times when Goemon locked himself inside, someone who understood when a hand on his shoulder was consolation enough and when it would be unwelcome. They communicated in murmurs and grunts when words were unneeded, bonding over cards, over drinks, over disapproval of Lupin’s lecherous ways, although they knew in their hearts they too were guilty of naïvely trusting lovers whom had worn masks of kindness. After Futaro Jinen's death, the gunman was the closest Goemon had to a person to confide in if he needed to - and if he ever came around to dredging up the secrets that ate at him in the small hours of the morning, he believed Jigen would probably listen, uncomfortable but trying hard to be tolerant while gazing grimly and thoughtfully into the horizon. The ronin knew, deep inside, that he would never speak of certain events in his past - but if he had managed to overcome his shame and indignation and disgust long enough to wrangle up the foolish courage to speak of such dishonour, the gunman would have been the first to know.
Gazing into the shadows cast by the brim of Jigen’s fedora, the ronin saw his own feelings of camaraderic admiration and respect reflected in the man’s eyes - and found himself cracking a grin. “Like old times.”
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There was a whole bunch of people the gunman knew in the past that he never bothered talking about, and didn't plan to, but if such topic ever came up during a conversation between him and Goemon, he wouldn't feel bad or uncomfortable while talking about them. It had been forever since he trusted anyone, so that could be considered a great achievement.
And despite all that trust and sympathy, there he was ready to face him in some kind of duel. Of course it wasn't Jigen's intention to hurt his pal. The only reason why he picked Goemon to fight him is because he knew that the samurai was more than competent to match his skills. He knew because such thing happened more than once.
"You are right," Jigen answered, checking the bullets on his gun. "How do you feel?"
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Taking a quiet breath, he centred his awareness on the deep, humming pulse of his own aura, the concentration of primal life-force just below his navel. A small, flaring flame. Stillness within him. And in a gradual motion, he shifted into a stance of readiness, knees bent, back straight albeit not stiff, his breath fluid and calm.
“Ready.” He answered Jigen, waiting for after he had examined his gun. “Ikuzo!!”
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Of course he knew that Goemon wasn't going to kill him, so that helped to put him more at ease. Still, since they were in the strange place, their personalities could change in a split second, and things could only go downhill from there.
Disregarding that slightly negative thought when he finished checking his gun, as soon as he heard the samurai talk, he knew he was already. He always was.
Without hesitating, he started shooting at lightning speed, taking careful aim not to point at any vital spot on Goemon's body. After all, if anything bad happened, he didn't want to be the cause of his friend's death.
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A powerful kiai erupted from the innermost part of him as he whipped Zantetsuken from its sheath while in mid-stride, sliding it horizontally through the bullet; body, spirit, and mind were in harmonious synergy, his blade the extension of his indomitable will. The smouldering halves of the bullet peppered the snow, left behind - and he pressed on inexorably with fierce resolution scintillating in his eyes, his hair wildly blown about, his body angled forward.
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Producing a new round of bullets from out of his sleeve - who would ever thing one could hide those there? - he quickly loaded his gun once again, giving yet more steps back. Admittedly, even though it took him mere seconds to finish such action, that did put him into a spot of disadvantage against the samurai, whose weapon was always ready.
But that didn't seem to lower the gunman's spirits. In fact, that made everything a lot more exciting. And with his gun properly loaded, he started shooting again. Better not give his pal too much time to lunge towards him.
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But more shots ripped the air in rapid succession, demanding even greater focus and keener reflexes than before. Without batting an eyelash - although sweat was beginning to dampen his hairline - he angled his sword against the onslaught with hair-splitting accuracy, metal sparking with every ping and twang of bullets meeting his blade. He then shifted from fighting defensively to offensively; and turning the hilt in his grip so that Zantetsuken’s blunt edge faced Jigen, he followed up with a fierce diagonal slash.
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Doing his best to dodge the non-lethal, but imminent slash being inflicted upon him, he loaded just three bullets to his revolver. After all, loading the gun just partially was a lot faster, and those bullets could distract Goemon for a second and buy Jigen some time to try a better evasion.
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Several rounds came at him fast - and with lightning-fast swipes he was able to cleave the first two, numb to the sting of a fresh wound as a stray half-bullet scraped his cheek. Blood snaked down to his jaw, his face steely and cooly expressionless despite the turbulent thrill of battle raging inside him. His muscles quivered with barely restrained, tensile strength.
When the third bullet entered his range, he roared, whipping Zantetsuken with a strength that had once cleanly separated heads from shoulders - and caught the bullet at a diagonal. And it was while his blade was just beginning to slide through that he was struck with the chilling realization that something was very wrong; that the weight, the feel, the texture of Zantetsuken he had familiarized himself with over dozens of years was suddenly and irrevocably changing in a way he couldn't identify.
Something exploded to pieces an instant later, a searing pain burrowing through the meat of his shoulder. A strained grunt escaped him - but it sounded distant and far-away as he stood frozenly, staring at Zantetsuken trembling imperceptibly in his hands… realizing, at last, that the blade had snapped jaggedly at the middle. His eyes jerked open wider.
At his feet were shards of metal; or what had once been metal. All there was were chips of fondant glittering with sugar.
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He shifted his sight back and forth between Goemon and the now candy-made sword shattered on the ground. What kind of stupid thing was that? Who's idea was that?
That actually didn't matter at the moment though. Jigen would have time to worry about that later. What mattered now was that Goemon was hurt. He didn't know how badly hurt he was though.
"Good God! Are you OK?" Jigen ran to his friend, sounded a little bit more desperate then he should as he talked.
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The ronin sank to his knees as if someone had taken him out with a blow to the back of his legs, radiating fury and shame. He hadn’t imagined for one instant that his katana - the soul of a samurai - would succumb to the same irrational curse the rest of Somarium had suffered… But now, seeing a piece of fondant-blade crumble between his fingers, he desperately wished he could have foreseen this - wished he had sensed it, somehow. And gradually, almost reluctantly, he came to terms with the fact that his own carelessness, for once, wasn’t truly to blame. Somarium’s evolution into a world made of candy had been beyond anyone’s control; this too, was beyond him. A fact that was difficult to bear.
Where Jigen’s words would have bounced of him like pebbles only moments ago, he now snapped to attention, his chest heaving with powerless anger. It was the most he could do to have shakily gathered up the pieces of precious fondant and wrapped them in his tenugui with the fierce hopes that his blade could be mended. A muscle rippled in his tensely clenched jaw, his head bowed.
“I will be going.” He managed brusquely, brushing off pity, concern, and any attempt at a conversation before promptly turning on his heel.
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