JL Sigman (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} jlsigman) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} gen_challenge,@ 2008-05-08 05:12:00 |
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May 9th - (untitled)
Author:jlsigman
Rating: G
Word count: 509
Prompt: May 9 - Final Fantasy 7, Sephiroth, weapons maintenance
A/N: Posted a day early with permission. Information about sword cleaning found here: http://www.historicalweapons.com/Howtou
He had a room in his apartment dedicated solely to the care of Masamune. While some would wonder at the waste of space that could be put to other uses, in this case it was a necessity. The blade was nearly 6 feet long and laser sharp from tip to tang, and the ritual of maintenance involved moving it around quite a bit. Any touch to the blade during this, whether by something or someone, meant that the whole process would have to start from the beginning.
He sat cross-legged on a small woven rug, the sword across his cotton-covered knees. In front of him was the cleaning kit, containing cotton cloth, a small whetstone, a cloth covered ball, and jars of oil and polishing powder. His hair was pulled back and braided tightly, so that no smooth strand would escape. He pulled one of the cotton cloths out of the kit and started rubbing the blade in long strokes, starting at the hilt, removing the old oil and any contaminants that could cause it to fail him at a critical moment. His sensitive fingers were feeling for any imperfection, any minute chip in the edge, that could spell disaster. Those would be patiently ground away with the whetstone.
Once he was convinced that the sword was in perfect, if unprotected, condition, he reached for the ball and determined how much polish was inside by its weight. He nodded to himself once, deciding it was enough, and gripped the hilt. He would have to hold it up off of his knees to both apply and rub the powder into one side of the blade, and then repeat the process for the other side. He got a clean cloth – the dirty ones would be burned later – and started. It was a silent showcase of his inhuman strength and patience that the sword never moved unless he meant it to.
Once that was done to his standards, after one area that had deflected a fireball was polished twice, he dropped the used cloth with the other, put the ball back into the kit, and removed the jar of oil, still holding the sword above his knees. The cotton on his knees was almost removed and replaced, so that the sword would touch only touch a pristine cloth before being sheathed. The jar of oil was opened, releasing a faint scent of cloves, and very carefully the exact number of drops needed to coat the blade was dripped into the exact locations determined by years of practice. These were rubbed in until the blade shone like a mirror on both sides.
The scabbard was brought from behind him, and he gave the blade one last critical look before sliding it home. He set it aside to put the kit back together, making a mental note that he needed more cloth before he could do this again. The used rags were taken to the small kitchenette sink and burned with a high-powered Fire spell. Then, mentally and physically drained, he went to sleep.
Author:
jlsigmanRating: G
Word count: 509
Prompt: May 9 - Final Fantasy 7, Sephiroth, weapons maintenance
A/N: Posted a day early with permission. Information about sword cleaning found here: http://www.historicalweapons.com/Howtou
He had a room in his apartment dedicated solely to the care of Masamune. While some would wonder at the waste of space that could be put to other uses, in this case it was a necessity. The blade was nearly 6 feet long and laser sharp from tip to tang, and the ritual of maintenance involved moving it around quite a bit. Any touch to the blade during this, whether by something or someone, meant that the whole process would have to start from the beginning.
He sat cross-legged on a small woven rug, the sword across his cotton-covered knees. In front of him was the cleaning kit, containing cotton cloth, a small whetstone, a cloth covered ball, and jars of oil and polishing powder. His hair was pulled back and braided tightly, so that no smooth strand would escape. He pulled one of the cotton cloths out of the kit and started rubbing the blade in long strokes, starting at the hilt, removing the old oil and any contaminants that could cause it to fail him at a critical moment. His sensitive fingers were feeling for any imperfection, any minute chip in the edge, that could spell disaster. Those would be patiently ground away with the whetstone.
Once he was convinced that the sword was in perfect, if unprotected, condition, he reached for the ball and determined how much polish was inside by its weight. He nodded to himself once, deciding it was enough, and gripped the hilt. He would have to hold it up off of his knees to both apply and rub the powder into one side of the blade, and then repeat the process for the other side. He got a clean cloth – the dirty ones would be burned later – and started. It was a silent showcase of his inhuman strength and patience that the sword never moved unless he meant it to.
Once that was done to his standards, after one area that had deflected a fireball was polished twice, he dropped the used cloth with the other, put the ball back into the kit, and removed the jar of oil, still holding the sword above his knees. The cotton on his knees was almost removed and replaced, so that the sword would touch only touch a pristine cloth before being sheathed. The jar of oil was opened, releasing a faint scent of cloves, and very carefully the exact number of drops needed to coat the blade was dripped into the exact locations determined by years of practice. These were rubbed in until the blade shone like a mirror on both sides.
The scabbard was brought from behind him, and he gave the blade one last critical look before sliding it home. He set it aside to put the kit back together, making a mental note that he needed more cloth before he could do this again. The used rags were taken to the small kitchenette sink and burned with a high-powered Fire spell. Then, mentally and physically drained, he went to sleep.