Sengoku BASARA: Good Courage
Title: “Good Courage”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Yukimura discovers a new way to communicate with Masamune. [implied MasaYuki, implied ShinShin]
Warnings: Bad poetry, raping the English language, guaranteed to make your soul burn brilliantly.
Disclaimer: Sengoku BASARA belongs to Capcom, Production I.G. and whatnot.
A/N: Even vacation didn’t rid me of my horrendous writer’s block. But I did write some crack. XD Never mind bad poetry, it’s SanaDate after all!
Special thanks: to artsatalex for co-writing the poems with me and being an inspiration in general. <3
GOOD COURAGE
Oyakata-sama was undeniably great. Not only did he possess impeccable strategic foresight and unparalleled military prowess, but he could also harness inspiration from mere trivialities (not that his rivalry with Uesugi-dono could be viewed as such). All that in turn greatly inspired Yukimura who has sworn to become one day as undeniably great as his mentor.
Yukimura had long since noticed that whenever Oyakata-sama had any dealings with his esteemed rival, he would return in an uncanny state bordering on enlightenment. He would heartily smack Yukimura on the head, utter a profound speech, and ultimately retire to his premises to-.
That was it. Yukimura had no idea what he was doing there, but the light was on most of the time, so he had to be doing something. To ask would be an unthinkable display of impudence; instead he resolved to keep a discreet watchful eye on his lord and bide his time.
It was not, however, in Sanada Yukimura's nature to let things take their normal course.
Normally, when prowling around Takeda's tent like a curious tiger cub, he wouldn't see much. Oyakata-sama's bleary outline against the red fabric of the tent told him that his lord was either reading or poring over the maps or writing something. This one time was exceptionally enlightening, though.
Yukimura crept as close as possible, using all the ninja skills he had picked up from Sasuke. The inside of the tent was filled with calm, soft darkness. There was someone else there, right besides Takeda, a vague shadow that Yukimura initially failed to recognize.
Oyakata-sama's voice broke the silence. Yukimura held his breath. It struck him that he was intruding on something far more intimate than he could have imagined.
Oyakata-sama was reading a poem. Aloud. To someone.
Yukimura knew of course that it was customary for a warrior to compose lyrical texts every now and then, but his own poetic exploits had always been less than noteworthy.
Yukimura smiled. So that was the big secret. But why-?
Then, the shadow spoke.
"Thank you, Tiger of Kai," it said in the gentle voice of Kenshin-dono. "I have always admired your ability to combine high matters with trivial observations."
Yukimura tensed. No way!
Oyakata-sama laughed throatily.
"I should think it depends chiefly on the source of my inspiration."
Yukimura pulled away from the tent, his face burning. His heart fluttered. Oyakata-sama would not make such a mystery out of mere poetic exercises; the entire Kai admired the early examples of his verses. And yet, Yukimura thought, it was a very special sort of poetry, dedicated to and influenced by one's rival held in the highest regard.
It made him think of Masamune-dono.
Back in his tent, Yukimura promptly produced a sheet of paper and a brush. He stared at the utensils for a while, waiting for the right words to come. The feelings Date-dono had awakened in him were too large to be expressed in mere three or even five lines.
He tried to remember what Oyakata-sama's poem was about, but he had been too enthralled by the scene itself to pay heed to the contents.
Yukimura sighed and gritted his teeth and tried to recall any rules of writing poetry he may have known. Seasons. You should start with the seasons. If anything, it highlights your keen observation skills.
"The flowers are in bloom," Yukimura put down, readily. There. Summer. Point made. He bit the inside of his cheek and added warily, "Thou art my precious effulgent worthy rival." Right, like Date-dono is unaware of that. Yukimura stared at the two lines that appeared to mock him with their absolute lack of finesse and sense. "And my inspiration hath turned into a shallow stream..."
He'd wager Oyakata-sama's inspiration never betrayed him like that. But this time he would not seek his mentor's advice. He was alone in this.
Six ruined sheets of paper later Yukimura was positive about two things: he had no talent whatsoever and he had come across the challenge of a lifetime. It was because of that that he felt absolutely compelled to finish the poem. He knew that if he could only pick the proper words, it would mean that they - as rivals - would have reached the level of Oyakata-sama and Kenshin-dono.
* * *
There was one thing about Sanada Yukimura that at times made him both incredibly touching and incredibly frightening: his earnest, childlike approach to every undertaking of his. Date was not accustomed to dealing with such brutal sincerity. Most of the time it caused him to grit his teeth in helpless attempts to refrain from gaping at Sanada and to pretend he understood him even when he didn't.
Things were shaping up to be pretty much like that when after a minor skirmish between Date and Takeda troops Sanada rode up to the One-Eyed Dragon and solemnly handed him a sealed sheet of paper. Inside, it was covered in the most precise and accurate kaisho-styled writing.
"What's that?" Date asked, not without suspicion.
"A poem."
"Eh?"
"It's a poem," Sanada repeated, looking so painstakingly serious that Date was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable.
Okay. Apparently the guy expected him to read it. Date's frown deepened as he briskly looked through the five lines of the most insanely complex characters he had ever come across in his life. It was kind of like learning a foreign language at the beginner's level when you knew all the words but still couldn't piece a sentence together.
"Wouldn't peg you for the poetic type," Date snorted, stalling.
"I'm not afraid to reveal my imperfection. I'm a fast learner and I will surpass you one day."
"That's easy! I don't do poetry."
He looked up at Sanada whose eyes were getting oddly misty at an alarming speed, then back at the poem. As much as he hated to admit it, he required help. Now.
"All right!" he exclaimed with far less enthusiasm than usual. "I'm touched. Now get lost while I... reread this and get even more touched." In the head, most likely, he thought darkly.
"Kojuurou!" Date called as soon as the red freak of nature was out of sight. "I need this translated."
He shoved the paper into Kojuurou's hand and peered at him expectantly, hands folded across his chest.
Kojuurou remained unperturbed as he quickly read the poem.
"Dare I presume this is Sanada Yukimura's composition?" he asked calmly.
Date nodded, huffing impatiently.
Kojuurou's gaze returned to the poem, which said:
Like lilies in winter, I have sought thee far and nigh, my rival.
Thy strength! thy will! thy fierce spirit that have set my soul ablaze.
O, One-Eyed Dragon,
Thou canst not forget;
The wisht houre of our rendez-vous approacheth!
Kojuurou coughed. "He wants to... meet."
"We've met," Date said like he was talking to a very dumb listener.
"He wants to meet more... intimately," Kojuurou pressed. If Masamune didn't know him, he'd have thought Kojuurou was feeling uncomfortable.
"And he couldn't have told me that himself? Like five minutes ago?"
Kojuurou resisted the urge to roll his eyes in quite an unsamurai-like manner.
"Masamune-sama," he said, ingratiatingly. "I assume you need to respond in kind."
"What, write a fucking poem?" Date laughed. "You kidding, right?"
Kojuurou's impeccably blank face told him that he was apparently physically incapable of displaying humour in matters like this. Masamune ground his teeth, grumbled something along the lines of "Stop treating me like a damn kid!" and marched off to his tent.
* * *
Two nights later Sanada Yukimura had the honour of receiving the One-Eyed Dragon's first ever haiku, which said rather bluntly:
Good courage!
Put your guns on!
Let's party!
P.S. Your language sucks!
Well... perhaps they still had miles to go before they made it to Takeda and Uesugi's level, but you gotta start somewhere, dontcha?
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: Yukimura discovers a new way to communicate with Masamune. [implied MasaYuki, implied ShinShin]
Warnings: Bad poetry, raping the English language, guaranteed to make your soul burn brilliantly.
Disclaimer: Sengoku BASARA belongs to Capcom, Production I.G. and whatnot.
A/N: Even vacation didn’t rid me of my horrendous writer’s block. But I did write some crack. XD Never mind bad poetry, it’s SanaDate after all!
Special thanks: to artsatalex for co-writing the poems with me and being an inspiration in general. <3
GOOD COURAGE
Oyakata-sama was undeniably great. Not only did he possess impeccable strategic foresight and unparalleled military prowess, but he could also harness inspiration from mere trivialities (not that his rivalry with Uesugi-dono could be viewed as such). All that in turn greatly inspired Yukimura who has sworn to become one day as undeniably great as his mentor.
Yukimura had long since noticed that whenever Oyakata-sama had any dealings with his esteemed rival, he would return in an uncanny state bordering on enlightenment. He would heartily smack Yukimura on the head, utter a profound speech, and ultimately retire to his premises to-.
That was it. Yukimura had no idea what he was doing there, but the light was on most of the time, so he had to be doing something. To ask would be an unthinkable display of impudence; instead he resolved to keep a discreet watchful eye on his lord and bide his time.
It was not, however, in Sanada Yukimura's nature to let things take their normal course.
Normally, when prowling around Takeda's tent like a curious tiger cub, he wouldn't see much. Oyakata-sama's bleary outline against the red fabric of the tent told him that his lord was either reading or poring over the maps or writing something. This one time was exceptionally enlightening, though.
Yukimura crept as close as possible, using all the ninja skills he had picked up from Sasuke. The inside of the tent was filled with calm, soft darkness. There was someone else there, right besides Takeda, a vague shadow that Yukimura initially failed to recognize.
Oyakata-sama's voice broke the silence. Yukimura held his breath. It struck him that he was intruding on something far more intimate than he could have imagined.
Oyakata-sama was reading a poem. Aloud. To someone.
Yukimura knew of course that it was customary for a warrior to compose lyrical texts every now and then, but his own poetic exploits had always been less than noteworthy.
Yukimura smiled. So that was the big secret. But why-?
Then, the shadow spoke.
"Thank you, Tiger of Kai," it said in the gentle voice of Kenshin-dono. "I have always admired your ability to combine high matters with trivial observations."
Yukimura tensed. No way!
Oyakata-sama laughed throatily.
"I should think it depends chiefly on the source of my inspiration."
Yukimura pulled away from the tent, his face burning. His heart fluttered. Oyakata-sama would not make such a mystery out of mere poetic exercises; the entire Kai admired the early examples of his verses. And yet, Yukimura thought, it was a very special sort of poetry, dedicated to and influenced by one's rival held in the highest regard.
It made him think of Masamune-dono.
Back in his tent, Yukimura promptly produced a sheet of paper and a brush. He stared at the utensils for a while, waiting for the right words to come. The feelings Date-dono had awakened in him were too large to be expressed in mere three or even five lines.
He tried to remember what Oyakata-sama's poem was about, but he had been too enthralled by the scene itself to pay heed to the contents.
Yukimura sighed and gritted his teeth and tried to recall any rules of writing poetry he may have known. Seasons. You should start with the seasons. If anything, it highlights your keen observation skills.
"The flowers are in bloom," Yukimura put down, readily. There. Summer. Point made. He bit the inside of his cheek and added warily, "Thou art my precious effulgent worthy rival." Right, like Date-dono is unaware of that. Yukimura stared at the two lines that appeared to mock him with their absolute lack of finesse and sense. "And my inspiration hath turned into a shallow stream..."
He'd wager Oyakata-sama's inspiration never betrayed him like that. But this time he would not seek his mentor's advice. He was alone in this.
Six ruined sheets of paper later Yukimura was positive about two things: he had no talent whatsoever and he had come across the challenge of a lifetime. It was because of that that he felt absolutely compelled to finish the poem. He knew that if he could only pick the proper words, it would mean that they - as rivals - would have reached the level of Oyakata-sama and Kenshin-dono.
* * *
There was one thing about Sanada Yukimura that at times made him both incredibly touching and incredibly frightening: his earnest, childlike approach to every undertaking of his. Date was not accustomed to dealing with such brutal sincerity. Most of the time it caused him to grit his teeth in helpless attempts to refrain from gaping at Sanada and to pretend he understood him even when he didn't.
Things were shaping up to be pretty much like that when after a minor skirmish between Date and Takeda troops Sanada rode up to the One-Eyed Dragon and solemnly handed him a sealed sheet of paper. Inside, it was covered in the most precise and accurate kaisho-styled writing.
"What's that?" Date asked, not without suspicion.
"A poem."
"Eh?"
"It's a poem," Sanada repeated, looking so painstakingly serious that Date was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable.
Okay. Apparently the guy expected him to read it. Date's frown deepened as he briskly looked through the five lines of the most insanely complex characters he had ever come across in his life. It was kind of like learning a foreign language at the beginner's level when you knew all the words but still couldn't piece a sentence together.
"Wouldn't peg you for the poetic type," Date snorted, stalling.
"I'm not afraid to reveal my imperfection. I'm a fast learner and I will surpass you one day."
"That's easy! I don't do poetry."
He looked up at Sanada whose eyes were getting oddly misty at an alarming speed, then back at the poem. As much as he hated to admit it, he required help. Now.
"All right!" he exclaimed with far less enthusiasm than usual. "I'm touched. Now get lost while I... reread this and get even more touched." In the head, most likely, he thought darkly.
"Kojuurou!" Date called as soon as the red freak of nature was out of sight. "I need this translated."
He shoved the paper into Kojuurou's hand and peered at him expectantly, hands folded across his chest.
Kojuurou remained unperturbed as he quickly read the poem.
"Dare I presume this is Sanada Yukimura's composition?" he asked calmly.
Date nodded, huffing impatiently.
Kojuurou's gaze returned to the poem, which said:
Like lilies in winter, I have sought thee far and nigh, my rival.
Thy strength! thy will! thy fierce spirit that have set my soul ablaze.
O, One-Eyed Dragon,
Thou canst not forget;
The wisht houre of our rendez-vous approacheth!
Kojuurou coughed. "He wants to... meet."
"We've met," Date said like he was talking to a very dumb listener.
"He wants to meet more... intimately," Kojuurou pressed. If Masamune didn't know him, he'd have thought Kojuurou was feeling uncomfortable.
"And he couldn't have told me that himself? Like five minutes ago?"
Kojuurou resisted the urge to roll his eyes in quite an unsamurai-like manner.
"Masamune-sama," he said, ingratiatingly. "I assume you need to respond in kind."
"What, write a fucking poem?" Date laughed. "You kidding, right?"
Kojuurou's impeccably blank face told him that he was apparently physically incapable of displaying humour in matters like this. Masamune ground his teeth, grumbled something along the lines of "Stop treating me like a damn kid!" and marched off to his tent.
* * *
Two nights later Sanada Yukimura had the honour of receiving the One-Eyed Dragon's first ever haiku, which said rather bluntly:
Good courage!
Put your guns on!
Let's party!
P.S. Your language sucks!
Well... perhaps they still had miles to go before they made it to Takeda and Uesugi's level, but you gotta start somewhere, dontcha?