| A Call to Action (narrative) |
[26 Apr 2008|11:47am] |
He was sprinkling a fresh layer of red brick dust in a line before the front door of his home in the French Quarter when she approached. The dust kept a person of ill-intent from crossing the threshold into one's home. Not that Bes needed it, of course, he could protect himself just fine, thank you very much. He did it because it was what the locals had come to expect, and far be it for him to scorn tradition. Especially if it lent a bit of confidence to his abilities should someone feel the need to approach him for his aid.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see someone who was likely here to do just that. A slight black woman, wearing a thin, over washed but clean cotton dress, faded yellow with large, even more faded blue flowers. As was his habit, he checked out her figure before even looking at her face. A bit scant, to be sure, but likely more due to circumstance than genes. Her body spoke of a need for nourishment, and the natural curve to her hips would fill out nicely.
In the curve of her left arm was cradled a small boy of about 3 years old, according the the deity's estimation, sucking a thumb and eyeing Bes warily but sleepily. Slight for his age, he was obviously suffering the same lack of nutrition as his apparent mother. He was clothed in a plaid shirt and well-worn bib overalls. His feet were bare.
Raising his eyes, they locked with her dark ones, eyes holding both a plea and a look of defiance at once. Her hair, also washed but dull and limp, was partially pulled back, letting the back hang freely. Her mouth was set in determination.
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| Another Drink (Susa-no-O) |
[26 Apr 2008|10:51pm] |
Sunlight was in great supply this afternoon. For a moment Hachiman merely stared at the sakura in front of him. Himeji Castle had been a powerful fortress once upon a time. Now it was a relic of the past, like so many other things. The gently rising stairs were surrounded on either side by high walls. High walls meant to turn the castle approach into something of a maze. Hachiman could remember being here many hundreds of years ago, when the daimyo sought to hold out against the Meiji government for one last stand. There had been a variety of problems in holding the position even without an actual attack. More than once Hachiman had tried to convince someone, anyone, to put their guns away and fight with honor. None of it had ever been successful, of course. This was the last place he'd shed the blood of a man, what seemed like years ago. Hachiman could still feel the bone and muscle of the man's stomach behind his wrist. Forcing him to recoil from the deed as though a criminal caught in the act.
Even then, perhaps, he hadn't truly believed that blood could be...
( ...so vivid. )
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