The days after the return from Egypt had been flurry of activity. Muramasa had set Yuta to work from the moment he'd shown up looking aimless and they'd sorted out the issue of the barrier: clearing the spring brush that began to grow around the building while they were halfway across the globe; finishing replacing old boards in the walls; sanding down lengths of wood for other prjects to a smooth finish. Most important is the fuel. An endless parade of transporting charred logs from the smattering of mounds of dirt and wood that Muramasa'd set in the woods, then an endless pile of fragile, crumbling, charred wood, sitting next to the smithy that splinters with a glass-like sound and leaves soot in every crease of Yuta's hands until its time to wash up and make dinner, and finally the endless task of cutting and sorting the charcoal into usable pieces for the forge itself, which sits empty, hungry, and cold inside.
After a week of splitting glass sounds and quiet chopping, Muramasa starts the work of melting down some of the scrap metal he's collected: rusty nails, an old bike chain, the despised carpentry hammer that was in the toolbox they found in an old storage room. The charcoal pile stops growing but Yuta's chore of cutting and sorting remains as the forge begins to consume the fruits of his labor. Tools begin appearing unannounced, like the spare charcoal hatchet that has become Yuta's out of necessity, and a small fleet of hammers.
One afternoon, a week after the forge begins to eat through the charcoal pile, there's a second bundle next to Yuta's hatchet when he arrives to begin cutting and sorting, wrapped in plain dark fabric. Peeking out from under the bundle is a bright scrap of paper, addressed to "Okkotsu" in a sharp, decisive hand. The unsigned note inside reads:
This one's yours.
Inside the bundle is a long wakizashi, sized perfectly for Yuta's lanky frame. Sheathed in an unadorned saya of plain wood, stained in a warm, handsome, dark color, it has an unassuming air at first glance, but the other fittings are clearly meant for use in battle rather than storage. The tsuba is sturdy iron, shaped like a swirl of flower petals, and the tsuka-maki is a simple dark blue cotton, laced up in an expert manner.
If Yuta unsheathes the blade, he will find an edge so sharp that it barely even needs any pressure to cut things pressed against it. That's as much of a signature as the wave-shaped hamon, or the name hidden on the tang under the handguard.
Of course, this is an afternoon where the old man's off on a patrol without him. It just seemed better to save them both the trouble of fussing with the rigamarole of courtesy, is all. ]
as you shouldn't. i know i wouldn't have if someone else were to do what i did. out of everyone, i think you're the only one who cares about gojo-sensei the way i do.
that's a relief. i'm glad they finally came to their senses.
[ It's a monumental weight off his shoulders... which he relishes for maybe a few seconds before he's right back to worrying. ]
or at least for now. i imagine with everything going on at the moment, they might just not want to deal with keeping him in check. they've sent people home and later brought them back again before, haven't they?
Either because they've progressed within their own lives - which with Sukuna dead seems doubtful, or because they needed a fresh copy of him. We might be better still continuing with our research, just in case.
A friend gave me the name of a doctor. One of the natives. Prone to difficult work, unlikely to ask questions.
i agree. i don't trust them not to do anything foolish down the line. whether that's bringing him back or doing something worse like deciding to give kenjaku a try. it would be good to keep contingency plans in place for that.
[ Which means still continuing to scheme together which... U G H. But at least the urgency of it is gone now. ]
that doctor sounds promising. it's probably better that it's one of the natives since kaladin-san is gone too. can you give me the details?
[ Over the course of May, Muramasa's speed at churning out blades has only sped up as the month has gone on as the stock of scrap metal shrinks and the pile of smelted iron grows. The charcoal pile has likewise shrunken considerably without their old routines of going into the forest to build new kilns and fire them up. Lately, when Yuta goes into the smithy while Muramasa is manning the forge, the smell of woodsmoke is undercut with ozone and magical energy, as he supplements his fuel sources with his own reserves to keep up the production speed necessary for the prodigious amount of work he's turning out. Timelines that ought to stretch over months are compressed and overlapped into days and weeks, without a single moment to sacrifice the quality of the work.
Three days after Geto's visit, there's a parcel for Yuta when he arrives to take his "break" from the medical wards and recover his energy, this time left in Aventurine's care. Inside is a full-sized katana, with koshirae that match Yuta's wakizashi. The blade has the same signature sharp edge and wave pattern on the hamon as the shorter blade, a matched pair perfectly complimentary to each other.
If Yuta tries to thank Muramasa, he's rewarded with a reserved expression (which might be called "fond" on someone who is more forthright about his feelings) and a dismissive wave of the hand before the smith returns to his work.
He said he'd take care of Yuta, didn't he? This is all that is. ]
( Since he's fed the brother and the boyfriend it feels like Yuta is the next stop. Which means there'll come a singular scraping sound at his door as one of Geto's curses announces itself, scurrying away when it hears noise inside. There's a covered bowl of oyakodon and a note, Geto's scrawl. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
... delivery?
The days after the return from Egypt had been flurry of activity. Muramasa had set Yuta to work from the moment he'd shown up looking aimless and they'd sorted out the issue of the barrier: clearing the spring brush that began to grow around the building while they were halfway across the globe; finishing replacing old boards in the walls; sanding down lengths of wood for other prjects to a smooth finish. Most important is the fuel. An endless parade of transporting charred logs from the smattering of mounds of dirt and wood that Muramasa'd set in the woods, then an endless pile of fragile, crumbling, charred wood, sitting next to the smithy that splinters with a glass-like sound and leaves soot in every crease of Yuta's hands until its time to wash up and make dinner, and finally the endless task of cutting and sorting the charcoal into usable pieces for the forge itself, which sits empty, hungry, and cold inside.
After a week of splitting glass sounds and quiet chopping, Muramasa starts the work of melting down some of the scrap metal he's collected: rusty nails, an old bike chain, the despised carpentry hammer that was in the toolbox they found in an old storage room. The charcoal pile stops growing but Yuta's chore of cutting and sorting remains as the forge begins to consume the fruits of his labor. Tools begin appearing unannounced, like the spare charcoal hatchet that has become Yuta's out of necessity, and a small fleet of hammers.
One afternoon, a week after the forge begins to eat through the charcoal pile, there's a second bundle next to Yuta's hatchet when he arrives to begin cutting and sorting, wrapped in plain dark fabric. Peeking out from under the bundle is a bright scrap of paper, addressed to "Okkotsu" in a sharp, decisive hand. The unsigned note inside reads:
This one's yours.
Inside the bundle is a long wakizashi, sized perfectly for Yuta's lanky frame. Sheathed in an unadorned saya of plain wood, stained in a warm, handsome, dark color, it has an unassuming air at first glance, but the other fittings are clearly meant for use in battle rather than storage. The tsuba is sturdy iron, shaped like a swirl of flower petals, and the tsuka-maki is a simple dark blue cotton, laced up in an expert manner.
If Yuta unsheathes the blade, he will find an edge so sharp that it barely even needs any pressure to cut things pressed against it. That's as much of a signature as the wave-shaped hamon, or the name hidden on the tang under the handguard.
Of course, this is an afternoon where the old man's off on a patrol without him. It just seemed better to save them both the trouble of fussing with the rigamarole of courtesy, is all. ]
@VESSEL
i'm sorry.
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you have nothing to apologize for, itadori-kun.
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i'm the one who hurt you and you have nothing you need to feel sorry for.
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and you did what you thought was best
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if i had just planned better, it all could have been avoided.
i am truly sorry.
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it's not the kind of thing i would accept.
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i know i wouldn't have if someone else were to do what i did.
out of everyone, i think you're the only one who cares about gojo-sensei the way i do.
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we both did some pretty bad stuff in the end, didn't we?
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@ soba
Sukuna's gone.
Not like the others, not through a rift. Like LILITH has sent him back.
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mentally stableweak. ]you're sure?
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ah, it's because his name disappeared from the network, right?
they delete someone's profile after sending them back?
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No lingering for LILITH's enslaved. At least this time it works in our favour.
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i'm glad they finally came to their senses.
[ It's a monumental weight off his shoulders... which he relishes for maybe a few seconds before he's right back to worrying. ]
or at least for now.
i imagine with everything going on at the moment, they might just not want to deal with keeping him in check.
they've sent people home and later brought them back again before, haven't they?
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Either because they've progressed within their own lives - which with Sukuna dead seems doubtful, or because they needed a fresh copy of him. We might be better still continuing with our research, just in case.
A friend gave me the name of a doctor. One of the natives. Prone to difficult work, unlikely to ask questions.
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i don't trust them not to do anything foolish down the line.
whether that's bringing him back or doing something worse like deciding to give kenjaku a try.
it would be good to keep contingency plans in place for that.
[ Which means still continuing to scheme together which... U G H. But at least the urgency of it is gone now. ]
that doctor sounds promising.
it's probably better that it's one of the natives since kaladin-san is gone too.
can you give me the details?
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Let's not. Geto might actively throw all his progress out of the window if that was the case. )
I can. But you shouldn't go alone. He's not exactly your type of person and I wouldn't want you to fuck it up.
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do you think me that incapable?
i was able to fool the jujutsu elders just fine.
[ He can give an Oscar-worthy performance when he needs to, thank you very much. Still, if it will keep Geto in his orbit... ]
but alright, if you insist.
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( Show him your best villain, Okkotsu Yuta. )
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delivery.
Three days after Geto's visit, there's a parcel for Yuta when he arrives to take his "break" from the medical wards and recover his energy, this time left in Aventurine's care. Inside is a full-sized katana, with koshirae that match Yuta's wakizashi. The blade has the same signature sharp edge and wave pattern on the hamon as the shorter blade, a matched pair perfectly complimentary to each other.
If Yuta tries to thank Muramasa, he's rewarded with a reserved expression (which might be called "fond" on someone who is more forthright about his feelings) and a dismissive wave of the hand before the smith returns to his work.
He said he'd take care of Yuta, didn't he? This is all that is. ]
delivery!
It's not poisoned!
... Or is it? :) Eat it anyway. ~ G.S.