Somewhere between happy and a total fucking wreck || OPEN

[mansamune]

Who: mansamune and OPEN
What: A samurai who is far from his battlefield has entered a new one.
Where: Prom's main street and onward!
When: Dawn and moving into daytime
Warnings: Abuse of Engrish? Cursing? I'll add more if we need it.

Comments

Morning

[itaidakimasu]

Yako stretched as she exited House 15, before double checking that her mask was on properly. She had almost walked out without it several times in the past week, and felt that little acts of rebellion like that were more trouble than they were worth, in the end.

She set off down the road, aiming for the area where her office had popped up. Her Place of Solace (surprise, surprise) was the one place in the city she felt truly at home. Any bit of familiarity was more than welcome; it was why she had kept wearing her uniform skirt and shirt, though she had ditched the pink sweater.

Running a hand through her hair, she glanced around curiously. There was no telling when something new and interesting would pop up in Promenade.

[mansamune]

Masamune hadn't really taken much notice to the surrounding area at the moment outside of trying to place where exactly he was supposed to be. Scowling, the One-Eyed Dragon continued on his way, jaw set and a hand hovering over his weapons, ready to attack at a moment's notice. He would fight back whoever saw it fit to stick him here, and they would know who exactly they were dealing with.

[itaidakimasu]

Yako hummed lightly as she turned the corner, not noticing the other person until it was too late. Stumbling back a step, she rubbed her nose. The man she had bumped into had a particularly hard chest. "Sorry!" She bowed reflexively. "I should have been paying better attention." That was what she got for being so so cheerful in this place.

[mansamune]

He hadn't really noticed it right away, but by the time that Yako had bowed, Masamune had snapped out of his current thought process to raise an eyebrow at the girl.

"No problem." He waved a hand dismissively, not like he could do anything about that anyway.

[snowwhitesoul]

Rukia had taken to the streets of Promenade again for a few reasons. Food for the next few days, exploring, questioning, giving space to a certain housemate. One arm loaded with a bag full of produce, she comes around a corner from the cul de sac that housed a large gathering of merchants and goods hawkers to find someone yelling in the middle of the street. At nothing visible, as well.

Her eyes raked over him from head to toe - the three (three?) katana strapped to his side, the blue and gold armor, shaking his fist to the sky.

"Quiet yourself, there is no use in yelling."

[mansamune]

"Haah?" A scowl, and Masamune turned his head, eye narrowing. The mask was still gripped in one hand as he turned his body to stare down whoever was flagging him down, all Six Claws visible. To be honest, he was in a bad mood, and he really didn't feel like having to deal with people telling him what he could and couldn't do here.

Wherever "here" was.

And to be honest, he wasn't yelling - for once. His voice just had a habit of carrying; blame it on the fact that he had to be loud in order to make sure all his troops could hear him.

"Who the hell're you to be talking to me like that?"

[snowwhitesoul]

"Kuchiki Rukia," she answered primly, meeting the gaze of this man's eyes -- eye -- evenly. The swords did not impress her much, that much was obvious, and the tsuka of her own sword was visible on the far side of her hip, the saya a darkly polished mahogany and the tsukaito a pale violet.

"There's no use in being so loud, it will not get you to where you once were."

[mansamune]

Well, he got that much out of her. Times like this he wished Kojuro was here - he could handle situations like this better than he could. Though he could already hear his Right Eye telling him to at least give her his own name. Well, that much he could indulge, he supposed.

"Date Masamune, One-Eyed Dragon of Ōshū," he said, almost as an aside. His own tsukaito was white, saya polished, but there were definite signs of wear and many battles. Masamune was proud of his battle scars, whether they be on his body or on his swords, and he wasn't afraid to show them.

"Then, pray tell, how do I get back?"

[tearawaydestiny]

Fang's out and about this morning, as usual. In spite of having a home, it's not her nature to be cooped up inside, she'd rather spend the time in the outdoors, even if it technically wasn't hers.

But the sight of every day "neighbors" bores her slightly, since her own mask is more or less on, but nothing's changed in the past few days. Not that she's asking for it to, but it would be a nice change of scenery if things altered or they could actually go places from time to time. Not being able to is like caging her, in a sense

[mansamune]

Masamune was honestly the same way, he preferred to be outside, or at least, on the battlefield. Either that or back home in Oushuu, where he could train and do what he wanted to his heart's content. Which, honestly, mostly consisted of training.

But when the woman flagged him down, he turned, eye narrowing a bit before smirking himself. "Even if they aren't laughing, it's still a pretty lame joke to make fun of someone's title, don't you think?" He replied, tapping the mask with one finger.

[tearawaydestiny]

There's only a wry smirk on her end, and Fang raises an eyebrow beneath the feathers of her own mask, intrigued.

"Title, hmmm? Don't think I've got anythin' that fancy, but then again I don't need one. I can get along and go wherever I'm wantin' to just fine."

Though she's got a curious look at what the animal is overall. It kind of reminds her of Bahamut, only more organic and a different color. "Got a dragon o'sorts there, don't you?"

[mansamune]

Masamune chuckled a bit at the comments. "Well, you fight as many battles as I have, it's bound to come up." That and titles were actually something important to any samurai at the time. He was proud of his title - "One-Eyed Dragon". It showed that he wasn't the type to back down, and that if he needed to, he could get downright vicious.

"And yeah, it is."