Fic: Midnight Fireflies (SW2)
First off - orochiroleplay JOIN. You don't need to be familiar with the game! REPEAT: PLAYING THE VIDEO GAME IS NOT NECESSARY. Basic info is all you need. All the characters can be summed up in two sentences max, anyway.
Title: Midnight Fireflies (aka I LOOK AT TOO MUCH J-ART)
Category: Samurai Warriors 2
Rating: PG
Rough Word Count: 1800
Summary: First part of a miniseries focusing on Mitsunari. And foxes. Because apparently SI isn't enough.
Notes: I figure if game canon can screw over history, I have the right to screw over both. In other words, if you like your Japanese history this may be painful to read.
A moonless night had fallen, but the pitch black could not dissolve the image of the dust-strewn battlefield of Sekigahara in Mitsunari's mind. The sun had gone down on his defeat, lighting the field in burning red that seemed to set the fallen soldiers ablaze. Torn banners had stuck up like pitiful monuments in dead summer air. The situation couldn't have been more dramatically pathetic if it had tried. He and the straggling remains of his army had escaped and were on the run, but what did it matter? His command was a joke. The only reason they followed him now was because there was nowhere else to go. It was just a matter of how fast they could run. Even if he made it back safely to Osaka Castle, regrouping was going to be near impossible. He might as well have handed Japan over to Ieyasu on a silver platter.
Perhaps he'd been wrong to follow this code. Perhaps Mitsunari had relied on a mere word instead of himself, expecting honor to win his battles for him. After criticizing Yukimura so harshly about his reliance on friendship, Mitsunari found that he was only a hypocrite. If he hadn't been so stubborn about fair, honest fighting, then maybe his less-than-noble men wouldn't have been so reluctant to act. Maybe they wouldn't have betrayed him. Selfishness was the way of war - what did he expect to gain by such sacrifice if not utter loss?
Now he wasn't certain that his soldiers wouldn't turn him in at first opportunity to save their own necks. They were a craven lot, already spared from a death in battle by running at the first sign of trouble. Dependence on ideals aside, that fact turned Mitsunari's stomach. He could hardly think of them as warriors. They jumped and shook their swords at every rustle in the brush, imagining an ambush from any side. Truth be told, they were right to be paranoid, but the more he tolerated their company, the more he wished to abandon it. He couldn't bring himself to get caught along with this lot. He'd rather die alone.
But he'd really rather not die at all.
Yukimura and Kanetsugu would have gone out in a glorious last stand, admired even by their enemies, with pretty words like honor on their dying breath. Honorable, but pointless. Dead was dead. Forget about justice, he was fueled by pride now - no matter how impossible the odds, he was going to regroup and try again. Mitsunari couldn't bring himself to just roll over and die, letting Ieyasu win. He'd be a thorn in that man's side if nothing else.
There was a shout, and the grass rustled as their meager group scattered, clumsy and haphazard. Mitsunari ducked down cautiously, listening. There was no light, no wind, but a steady buzz of crickets and cicadas mingled in the background. He crept forward, attuned to that noise and whatever irregularities might occur. All of a sudden something burst from his right, and a man went past him...running the wrong way. As he neared a copse of trees, tall black towers against a star-patterned sky, arrows whistled through the air and thunked into the body. A brief rain fell upon the field, scaring others into their own desperate runs with considerably better directional sense. Some of the swishing in the grass could have been the enemy relocating to finish picking off their targets. Or the group of archers could still be there, just in case. Mitsunari waited until the insects started up again, and swiftly made a dash for the trees.
It was impossibly darker in the woods, deprived of the meager starlight the evening offered. He heard no death cries from those in the field, which only unnerved him more. Ordinary soldiers weren't so skilled at tracking in this darkness. Hanzo's ninjas must be on his trail. At a time like this, even grinding his teeth in frustration was a sound he could not afford to make. Nor could he stay in one place.
He couldn't map his way with the sky anymore, couldn't see three paces in front of him, damn it. By sunrise, he might bumble his way back to Sekigahara and the hours would be wasted. What would his friends do?
They'd fight of course. And die. Obviously, if he was caught (at this rate it was inevitable) he wouldn't calmly let himself be killed, but...
He couldn't accept being helpless. That was it, wasn't it? There was a way out, there had to be, because Ishida Mitsunari had never been helpless a day of his life. His rational mind knew if he was going to do anything, now was the time, when the others were as much of a distraction he'd get. If only it wasn't so maddeningly dark...!
But there, just ahead, a tiny light, hardly more than a glow. Mitsunari blinked and the glow faded. Several beats later it reappeared, a bit more to his left. He hadn't moved. Then, in and out, more lights drifted close by. Fireflies, he acknowledged, and dismissed them with some disappointment. Just common fireflies. He walked on, gathering his train of thought once more, a little calmer.
Mitsunari knew he wasn't stupid; he couldn't have gotten too off track when he came into the forest. He'd have to assume he was more-or-less heading the correct way and wait until daylight proved him right. However long that would be...
There was a lull in the forest's noise and Mitsunari came to a sudden, silent halt. He waited, but the fireflies' dim light never returned. If not for the complete quiet he wouldn't have heard the soft whirring, turning at the last moment so the blade sliced through his shoulder instead of his neck. He ignored the wound, though it momentarily incapacitated his right arm, fumbling with his left for a weapon. The slender tanto blade was easier to access, but a lot less helpful against an agile enemy. If the ninja was far enough to be throwing stuff at him, Mitsunari should have some extra time to unsheathe his fan.
The metal unfurled in a small, protective barrier, deflecting another projectile by sheer luck. At the sound of bushes shivering to his right, he turned, fan raised against the scrape of a dagger and the force of a man driving it. They broke off and Mitsunari swiped at empty air, following through with his strike to catch the enemy behind him. More luck, or carelessness on the other's part. Mitsunari was slower with his left hand than his right, he'd barely scraped him. Speaking of which, his shoulder was throbbing. He flexed his hand stiffly.
When the next blow came, the blade stuck in one of the open spaces between the fan's ribs. He snapped the folds shut, grasped both ends and twisted the weapon away. Before the opponent could distance himself, solid iron clubbed him in the side of the head. The body dropped along with the fan, and Mitsunari fell back against a tree, hand pressed to his shoulder.
It was bleeding a lot, but he couldn't fix it with only one arm. Furthermore, the skirmish hadn't exactly been silent. Mitsunari couldn't hold back a short, barking laugh at his own expense. Maybe he'd go down fighting after all.
His fingers found the hilt of his tanto, wrapping around it briefly and drawing back. No matter how he thought of it, waiting for the enemy was too much like giving up. Mitsunari wondered if he even knew how to admit defeat. He retrieved his fan and marched on, but an indeterminable length of time later he realized the fight had truly disoriented him. He had no idea what direction he was going in.
Dizziness from his wound wasn't helping. He leaned on another tree trunk, hating the idea of bleeding to death before morning, hating just about everything. Ieyasu for winning. Yukimura and Kanetsugu for their damnable honor. His useless, spineless soldiers and his own notable cowardice that kept his thoughts going in circles. If for nothing else, Mitsunari would prefer death over losing his mind.
The whole forest seemed to sway and shuffle, aglow once more in pinpricks of light. He slid to the ground, head tilted upwards, but not even the tiniest glimmer of starlight pierced the trees. A firefly drifted into view, joined by others, almost in a row... They lit up together and he found himself staring in disbelief at a constellation.
Jerking upright, he stretched out a hand. The lights burst into larger globes of cool flame, dancing just out of reach. Everything was quiet again except for a breeze, rustling like low, throaty laughter. The firefly lights were gone, except for two. They blinked and drew closer, glinting gold irises that came into the unnatural firelight to reveal a slender, snow-white muzzle.
"You think yourself wise for one so young and about to die. Humans suffer such short lives. What mortal foolishness has brought you here?"
The fox's ears were twitching and alert, but its keen gaze remained fixed. There was a mocking playfulness in it. Above their heads, the magical foxfire continued to float and bob merrily. For all that he was a reasonable man, Mitsunari was still a man of his country; he did not scoff at the gods or their creatures. So his answer was serious, even courteous.
"Foolishness, you say? Then I've only myself to blame. If I've stumbled into your territory or some other holy ground, I apologize. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Perhaps I am not here merely for curiosity's sake," she replied - somehow her 'voice' had a female quality to it. "Tell me, foolish one, would you accept a gift?"
Mitsunari dredged up a pained smile. He wasn't that much of a fool. "Tricky thing, a gift from a fox. As you have noticed, I am probably dying, and your gift will be of no use to me then. What is the meaning of your gracious offer, if not for curiosity?"
"Ahh," she sighed, yellow eyes narrowing with pleasure. "You may learn something of wisdom yet, if you were to live a longer life. In that case..." She stepped forward, white fur shining in the light with two bushy tails curling around her dainty feet. The number was interesting, not the expected three, or five, or nine. She could be a servant of Inari, but even those auspicious foxes were not so generous that they would freely save a human life.
"This is no simple gift. This is your birthright, Sakichi."
His childhood name was like a lullaby, though there had been nothing soft and soothing about those times. He must be dreaming. Somehow, he spoke his thought aloud and she laughed, the grass and branches laughing with her.
"So, my foolish son who is known as the fox of Sawayama," she chuckled with a distinctive gleam in her eye. "This is my gift to you."
to be continued
You see, no J-art website is complete with Mitsunari in a skirt, or with fox ears/tail(s) (alternatively, you can also find Yukimura in a lot of skirts - I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH JAPAN OKAY?)
I love Mitsunari to a ridiculous degree, seeing how very little characterization he gets in the game (actually, he gets a lot compared to the others, but overall it's still practically nothing). I hatehatehate pairing him with Sakon because he's portrayed as such a girl. Mitsunari is totally dominant, too. >| So my pairing of choice would be with Yukimura (whom I also adore to tiny bits and dislike him being girlified, what). Though Mitsunari himself is kind of, "Fine, I'll tolerate that, but what the hell?" about it. He's so difficult.
BONUS QUIZ TIME (hahayeahright)
The Fox is Mitsunari's real mother. T/F?
And did I mention JOIN orochiroleplay? Because you should.
Title: Midnight Fireflies (aka I LOOK AT TOO MUCH J-ART)
Category: Samurai Warriors 2
Rating: PG
Rough Word Count: 1800
Summary: First part of a miniseries focusing on Mitsunari. And foxes. Because apparently SI isn't enough.
Notes: I figure if game canon can screw over history, I have the right to screw over both. In other words, if you like your Japanese history this may be painful to read.
A moonless night had fallen, but the pitch black could not dissolve the image of the dust-strewn battlefield of Sekigahara in Mitsunari's mind. The sun had gone down on his defeat, lighting the field in burning red that seemed to set the fallen soldiers ablaze. Torn banners had stuck up like pitiful monuments in dead summer air. The situation couldn't have been more dramatically pathetic if it had tried. He and the straggling remains of his army had escaped and were on the run, but what did it matter? His command was a joke. The only reason they followed him now was because there was nowhere else to go. It was just a matter of how fast they could run. Even if he made it back safely to Osaka Castle, regrouping was going to be near impossible. He might as well have handed Japan over to Ieyasu on a silver platter.
Perhaps he'd been wrong to follow this code. Perhaps Mitsunari had relied on a mere word instead of himself, expecting honor to win his battles for him. After criticizing Yukimura so harshly about his reliance on friendship, Mitsunari found that he was only a hypocrite. If he hadn't been so stubborn about fair, honest fighting, then maybe his less-than-noble men wouldn't have been so reluctant to act. Maybe they wouldn't have betrayed him. Selfishness was the way of war - what did he expect to gain by such sacrifice if not utter loss?
Now he wasn't certain that his soldiers wouldn't turn him in at first opportunity to save their own necks. They were a craven lot, already spared from a death in battle by running at the first sign of trouble. Dependence on ideals aside, that fact turned Mitsunari's stomach. He could hardly think of them as warriors. They jumped and shook their swords at every rustle in the brush, imagining an ambush from any side. Truth be told, they were right to be paranoid, but the more he tolerated their company, the more he wished to abandon it. He couldn't bring himself to get caught along with this lot. He'd rather die alone.
But he'd really rather not die at all.
Yukimura and Kanetsugu would have gone out in a glorious last stand, admired even by their enemies, with pretty words like honor on their dying breath. Honorable, but pointless. Dead was dead. Forget about justice, he was fueled by pride now - no matter how impossible the odds, he was going to regroup and try again. Mitsunari couldn't bring himself to just roll over and die, letting Ieyasu win. He'd be a thorn in that man's side if nothing else.
There was a shout, and the grass rustled as their meager group scattered, clumsy and haphazard. Mitsunari ducked down cautiously, listening. There was no light, no wind, but a steady buzz of crickets and cicadas mingled in the background. He crept forward, attuned to that noise and whatever irregularities might occur. All of a sudden something burst from his right, and a man went past him...running the wrong way. As he neared a copse of trees, tall black towers against a star-patterned sky, arrows whistled through the air and thunked into the body. A brief rain fell upon the field, scaring others into their own desperate runs with considerably better directional sense. Some of the swishing in the grass could have been the enemy relocating to finish picking off their targets. Or the group of archers could still be there, just in case. Mitsunari waited until the insects started up again, and swiftly made a dash for the trees.
It was impossibly darker in the woods, deprived of the meager starlight the evening offered. He heard no death cries from those in the field, which only unnerved him more. Ordinary soldiers weren't so skilled at tracking in this darkness. Hanzo's ninjas must be on his trail. At a time like this, even grinding his teeth in frustration was a sound he could not afford to make. Nor could he stay in one place.
He couldn't map his way with the sky anymore, couldn't see three paces in front of him, damn it. By sunrise, he might bumble his way back to Sekigahara and the hours would be wasted. What would his friends do?
They'd fight of course. And die. Obviously, if he was caught (at this rate it was inevitable) he wouldn't calmly let himself be killed, but...
He couldn't accept being helpless. That was it, wasn't it? There was a way out, there had to be, because Ishida Mitsunari had never been helpless a day of his life. His rational mind knew if he was going to do anything, now was the time, when the others were as much of a distraction he'd get. If only it wasn't so maddeningly dark...!
But there, just ahead, a tiny light, hardly more than a glow. Mitsunari blinked and the glow faded. Several beats later it reappeared, a bit more to his left. He hadn't moved. Then, in and out, more lights drifted close by. Fireflies, he acknowledged, and dismissed them with some disappointment. Just common fireflies. He walked on, gathering his train of thought once more, a little calmer.
Mitsunari knew he wasn't stupid; he couldn't have gotten too off track when he came into the forest. He'd have to assume he was more-or-less heading the correct way and wait until daylight proved him right. However long that would be...
There was a lull in the forest's noise and Mitsunari came to a sudden, silent halt. He waited, but the fireflies' dim light never returned. If not for the complete quiet he wouldn't have heard the soft whirring, turning at the last moment so the blade sliced through his shoulder instead of his neck. He ignored the wound, though it momentarily incapacitated his right arm, fumbling with his left for a weapon. The slender tanto blade was easier to access, but a lot less helpful against an agile enemy. If the ninja was far enough to be throwing stuff at him, Mitsunari should have some extra time to unsheathe his fan.
The metal unfurled in a small, protective barrier, deflecting another projectile by sheer luck. At the sound of bushes shivering to his right, he turned, fan raised against the scrape of a dagger and the force of a man driving it. They broke off and Mitsunari swiped at empty air, following through with his strike to catch the enemy behind him. More luck, or carelessness on the other's part. Mitsunari was slower with his left hand than his right, he'd barely scraped him. Speaking of which, his shoulder was throbbing. He flexed his hand stiffly.
When the next blow came, the blade stuck in one of the open spaces between the fan's ribs. He snapped the folds shut, grasped both ends and twisted the weapon away. Before the opponent could distance himself, solid iron clubbed him in the side of the head. The body dropped along with the fan, and Mitsunari fell back against a tree, hand pressed to his shoulder.
It was bleeding a lot, but he couldn't fix it with only one arm. Furthermore, the skirmish hadn't exactly been silent. Mitsunari couldn't hold back a short, barking laugh at his own expense. Maybe he'd go down fighting after all.
His fingers found the hilt of his tanto, wrapping around it briefly and drawing back. No matter how he thought of it, waiting for the enemy was too much like giving up. Mitsunari wondered if he even knew how to admit defeat. He retrieved his fan and marched on, but an indeterminable length of time later he realized the fight had truly disoriented him. He had no idea what direction he was going in.
Dizziness from his wound wasn't helping. He leaned on another tree trunk, hating the idea of bleeding to death before morning, hating just about everything. Ieyasu for winning. Yukimura and Kanetsugu for their damnable honor. His useless, spineless soldiers and his own notable cowardice that kept his thoughts going in circles. If for nothing else, Mitsunari would prefer death over losing his mind.
The whole forest seemed to sway and shuffle, aglow once more in pinpricks of light. He slid to the ground, head tilted upwards, but not even the tiniest glimmer of starlight pierced the trees. A firefly drifted into view, joined by others, almost in a row... They lit up together and he found himself staring in disbelief at a constellation.
Jerking upright, he stretched out a hand. The lights burst into larger globes of cool flame, dancing just out of reach. Everything was quiet again except for a breeze, rustling like low, throaty laughter. The firefly lights were gone, except for two. They blinked and drew closer, glinting gold irises that came into the unnatural firelight to reveal a slender, snow-white muzzle.
"You think yourself wise for one so young and about to die. Humans suffer such short lives. What mortal foolishness has brought you here?"
The fox's ears were twitching and alert, but its keen gaze remained fixed. There was a mocking playfulness in it. Above their heads, the magical foxfire continued to float and bob merrily. For all that he was a reasonable man, Mitsunari was still a man of his country; he did not scoff at the gods or their creatures. So his answer was serious, even courteous.
"Foolishness, you say? Then I've only myself to blame. If I've stumbled into your territory or some other holy ground, I apologize. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Perhaps I am not here merely for curiosity's sake," she replied - somehow her 'voice' had a female quality to it. "Tell me, foolish one, would you accept a gift?"
Mitsunari dredged up a pained smile. He wasn't that much of a fool. "Tricky thing, a gift from a fox. As you have noticed, I am probably dying, and your gift will be of no use to me then. What is the meaning of your gracious offer, if not for curiosity?"
"Ahh," she sighed, yellow eyes narrowing with pleasure. "You may learn something of wisdom yet, if you were to live a longer life. In that case..." She stepped forward, white fur shining in the light with two bushy tails curling around her dainty feet. The number was interesting, not the expected three, or five, or nine. She could be a servant of Inari, but even those auspicious foxes were not so generous that they would freely save a human life.
"This is no simple gift. This is your birthright, Sakichi."
His childhood name was like a lullaby, though there had been nothing soft and soothing about those times. He must be dreaming. Somehow, he spoke his thought aloud and she laughed, the grass and branches laughing with her.
"So, my foolish son who is known as the fox of Sawayama," she chuckled with a distinctive gleam in her eye. "This is my gift to you."
to be continued
You see, no J-art website is complete with Mitsunari in a skirt, or with fox ears/tail(s) (alternatively, you can also find Yukimura in a lot of skirts - I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH JAPAN OKAY?)
I love Mitsunari to a ridiculous degree, seeing how very little characterization he gets in the game (actually, he gets a lot compared to the others, but overall it's still practically nothing). I hatehatehate pairing him with Sakon because he's portrayed as such a girl. Mitsunari is totally dominant, too. >| So my pairing of choice would be with Yukimura (whom I also adore to tiny bits and dislike him being girlified, what). Though Mitsunari himself is kind of, "Fine, I'll tolerate that, but what the hell?" about it. He's so difficult.
BONUS QUIZ TIME (hahayeahright)
The Fox is Mitsunari's real mother. T/F?
And did I mention JOIN orochiroleplay? Because you should.