[ Muramasa trails off and makes a gesture with his hand that has Yuta moving before he's even fully cognizant of his body obeying the unspoken instruction, mind still hanging on the unfinished sentence with bewildered interest while sheer force of habit kicks in. Already halfway to his usual seat, Yuta opts to just go with it, carefully setting his first responder's bag down off to the side, safely out of the way, and slinging his sword bag over it before he sits down.
His first real hesitance happens there. The inspection shouldn't take long given that there's truly nothing wrong with his sword, yet his eyes are drawn to the kettle, the same habitual urge that has him listening to wordless commands within these four walls making his fingers itch with the impulse to pour them both a cup. Is that too presumptuous when this hasn't been his home in two months?
Yuta gets distracted from his hesitant contemplation by what Muramasa goes on to say, blinking hard at his master as the words fully sink in. ]
No, Shishou...
[ He protests faintly. From how Muramasa's singular focus stays on the blade even as he meanders over, Yuta can already tell how this is likely going to go. (Not as planned, taking longer than it should.) He refrains from sighing in the swell of fond exasperation that blooms, instead settling in proper by shrugging off his coat and reaching for the tea set, explaining while he lets himself cave further to old habits and find refuge in the familiar motions. ]
That had nothing to do with the sword. I just wanted to test out LILITH's technology. The whip syncs with your ocular to respond to your thoughts and does extra damage with high frequency vibrations that you can control the intensity of.
[ A sword will always be his preferred weapon, the very first placed in his hands by the man who saved his life and gave it purpose, but he was trained by a master weapons specialist and he can't have those skills getting rusty. Familiarizing himself with the futuristic weaponry of this era also seems a sensible thing to do. He's meant to keep up his training and he'd chosen the whip simply because it was of a sort he needed more practice with. It seemed extra handy when it can be used as more than just a weapon, able to grab hold and pull on objects or to be used as a tool to traverse a distance with via swinging. That's all. He really hadn't put much more thought behind it than that. ]
The sword is fine.
[ It bears repeating even if it falls on deaf ears. Hopefully the poured cup he makes sure to set down with a little noise for Muramasa won't. ]
[ Is it any wonder Muramasa let Tasuke be his face instead of try to lie to Yuta, in Windsor? He can't hide things in moderation for the life of him. The silence, the cold demeanor, the clipped instructions of the last two months that have made the lessons in the forge a miserable experience, all of those are the best he can do to keep himself from slipping up. The extreme of it is his only option, or divesting himself of care entirely. And he can't make himself not care about something like this... so coldness was his only option. But the cracks have started to splinter their way along the ice, and he's not going to be able to keep it up. He's the one who chose to only care about his work, instead of his heart, and now he has to pay the price.
With easy expertise making the motions seem casual, Muramasa begins to disassemble the mountings on the tsuka, fingers weaving deftly despite the burns. In comparison to Yuta's fumbling attempts in the forge these last two months, Muramasa has lost none of his finesse. His hands move exactly how he wants it to. His expression, not so much; the look of consternation doesn't quite match the ease with which he unwinds the ito, removes the kashira. ]
If you wanted something different you could have just said... You know the stuff they make is garbage. They've got no finesse.
[ Even though the whip had clearly worked fine in Yuta's hands, slicing through kaiju and ensnaring legs and debris. ]
[ Maybe Yuta should be offended or hurt that Muramasa chooses to ignore his reassurances about the sword, but he simply cannot muster it. He knows how Muramasa is about his work. Knows, too, how stubborn the old man can be. It would be a waste of energy. Besides, this buys Yuta some time to enjoy his home again and let the forge's soothing barrier ease some of the nerves fluttering around in his belly as well as provide some much needed energy after all his continued sleep deprivation. With Muramasa's tea served and his own cup soon poured, he quickly runs out of things to keep himself occupied with though.
All he can do is watch Muramasa. His eyes are naturally drawn to the movements of those expert now-scarred hands, gaze tracking nimble fingers as they divest his sword of its mountings with deft ease. The more he watches, the more he feels... some type of way he's struggling to pinpoint. The attraction is there, familiar at this point, and no surprise when he's always loved Muramasa's hands—strong yet capable of being so gentle, so telling of what he is at just a glance—long before his inappropriate feelings ever came into play. Naturally watching someone do what they do best with such easy confidence is always appealing as well. But there's something else.
Something that... kind of makes him want to snatch his sword out of Muramasa's hands?
Yuta's still trying to make sense of the odd urge, gaze glued to the process of his sword getting taken apart, turning his response somewhat absentminded. ]
It was more about the tech than the weapon itself...
[ He knows better than to argue and point out how well the whip had functioned, the special nanometal it is made out of, nor does he particularly care to jump to LILITH's defense. He's a little too distracted anyway. ]
And what happens when one of those little bastards have got an EMP in them, huh?
[ He's barely listening as he grumbles; all of Muramasa's focus has been centered on the blade in hand, eyebrows furrowed, concern growing as he removes each subsequent mounting. The tsuba, the habaki, each part is carefully removed with a preciseness that wastes no movement, and set aside next to the teacup with a quiet clank each time. The sword looks nearly as perfect as it was when he left it in Windsor, repaired with the last touch of his mana as Yuta went and restored his memories. It's perturbing. Yuta insists there is nothing wrong with the sword, and it looks like he's right, but...
Perhaps, with another blade for another customer, or one of the other students, Muramasa would leave it at a visual inspection on its own. But the itching feeling, that empty spot where up until October, there had been the steady comforting effort of taking care of someone, just won't stop bothering him. Instead of leaving it be, he breaks one of his own rules — he runs his fingers the length of the blade, following the edge with a feather light touch. The grain remains unbroken, the hamon perfectly mirrored in that gentle wave pattern, the edge as sharp as ever. Even under the extra scrutiny his work remains flawless.
So. ]
Mn. Guess I was wasting your time, having you come all the way out here for no reason.
[ Still balancing the bare blade in one hand, Muramasa finally casts his gaze back towards Yuta and the offered teacup. He's been serving his own drinks for over a month, now, which is to say he hasn't bothered while he's been working.
At least the tea's still hot. Probably will stay hot until he's finished. ]
[ There's the slightest flicker of surprise at the mention of an EMP, there and gone again, dragging his gaze up to Muramasa's face for only as long as it lasts. Sometimes Muramasa surprises him with the more modern day things he knows (and then also doesn't), but this one isn't so weird to know between Tasuke and him having been in this world for months now if nothing else. ]
Ah, well, then it's still a serviceable whip.
[ A light argument when he's aware that Muramasa's barely listening and his own eyes are drawn right back to his master's skillful hands and the strange new feelings they're currently inspiring. Watching the sword get stripped down with proficient fingers, it takes the distant, errant thought of wishing that Muramasa would touch him again—to have those hands on him instead—to realize what the nagging feeling is.
[ The indecent thought itself and the realization that quickly follows it are more than enough to leave him deeply embarrassed. It's utterly absurd and he knows it and yet... The dark feeling is there. It takes everything not to squirm and flush with the shame of it and Yuta forces himself to look away when Muramasa runs his fingers down along the length of the blade in a gesture that seems downright tender. This yearning of his is getting so ridiculous.
Pretending not to feel the faint heat under his collar, he forcibly concentrates on his cup of tea, taking a sip to ease his suddenly dry throat. It helps not to make him stumble over his words too much when Muramasa speaks and it's time to reply even if being looked at increases the urge to fidget on the spot. ]
It's okay. I was on my way back and it's not like it's far... It's good to be sure.
[ It's not exactly why he came even if it is good to know he's been doing his maintenance to Muramasa's standards. Now is likely the best time to bring up his real reason before his sword is swiftly put back together and Yuta runs out of an excuse to linger and might lose his nerve. Still, he hesitates, eyes darting from his half drunk cup to familiar figure, teeth worrying his bottom lip until he just forces the words out. ]
Actually, there's something I would like to ask of you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His first real hesitance happens there. The inspection shouldn't take long given that there's truly nothing wrong with his sword, yet his eyes are drawn to the kettle, the same habitual urge that has him listening to wordless commands within these four walls making his fingers itch with the impulse to pour them both a cup. Is that too presumptuous when this hasn't been his home in two months?
Yuta gets distracted from his hesitant contemplation by what Muramasa goes on to say, blinking hard at his master as the words fully sink in. ]
No, Shishou...
[ He protests faintly. From how Muramasa's singular focus stays on the blade even as he meanders over, Yuta can already tell how this is likely going to go. (Not as planned, taking longer than it should.) He refrains from sighing in the swell of fond exasperation that blooms, instead settling in proper by shrugging off his coat and reaching for the tea set, explaining while he lets himself cave further to old habits and find refuge in the familiar motions. ]
That had nothing to do with the sword. I just wanted to test out LILITH's technology. The whip syncs with your ocular to respond to your thoughts and does extra damage with high frequency vibrations that you can control the intensity of.
[ A sword will always be his preferred weapon, the very first placed in his hands by the man who saved his life and gave it purpose, but he was trained by a master weapons specialist and he can't have those skills getting rusty. Familiarizing himself with the futuristic weaponry of this era also seems a sensible thing to do. He's meant to keep up his training and he'd chosen the whip simply because it was of a sort he needed more practice with. It seemed extra handy when it can be used as more than just a weapon, able to grab hold and pull on objects or to be used as a tool to traverse a distance with via swinging. That's all. He really hadn't put much more thought behind it than that. ]
The sword is fine.
[ It bears repeating even if it falls on deaf ears. Hopefully the poured cup he makes sure to set down with a little noise for Muramasa won't. ]
no subject
With easy expertise making the motions seem casual, Muramasa begins to disassemble the mountings on the tsuka, fingers weaving deftly despite the burns. In comparison to Yuta's fumbling attempts in the forge these last two months, Muramasa has lost none of his finesse. His hands move exactly how he wants it to. His expression, not so much; the look of consternation doesn't quite match the ease with which he unwinds the ito, removes the kashira. ]
If you wanted something different you could have just said... You know the stuff they make is garbage. They've got no finesse.
[ Even though the whip had clearly worked fine in Yuta's hands, slicing through kaiju and ensnaring legs and debris. ]
no subject
All he can do is watch Muramasa. His eyes are naturally drawn to the movements of those expert now-scarred hands, gaze tracking nimble fingers as they divest his sword of its mountings with deft ease. The more he watches, the more he feels... some type of way he's struggling to pinpoint. The attraction is there, familiar at this point, and no surprise when he's always loved Muramasa's hands—strong yet capable of being so gentle, so telling of what he is at just a glance—long before his inappropriate feelings ever came into play. Naturally watching someone do what they do best with such easy confidence is always appealing as well. But there's something else.
Something that... kind of makes him want to snatch his sword out of Muramasa's hands?
Yuta's still trying to make sense of the odd urge, gaze glued to the process of his sword getting taken apart, turning his response somewhat absentminded. ]
It was more about the tech than the weapon itself...
[ He knows better than to argue and point out how well the whip had functioned, the special nanometal it is made out of, nor does he particularly care to jump to LILITH's defense. He's a little too distracted anyway. ]
no subject
[ He's barely listening as he grumbles; all of Muramasa's focus has been centered on the blade in hand, eyebrows furrowed, concern growing as he removes each subsequent mounting. The tsuba, the habaki, each part is carefully removed with a preciseness that wastes no movement, and set aside next to the teacup with a quiet clank each time. The sword looks nearly as perfect as it was when he left it in Windsor, repaired with the last touch of his mana as Yuta went and restored his memories. It's perturbing. Yuta insists there is nothing wrong with the sword, and it looks like he's right, but...
Perhaps, with another blade for another customer, or one of the other students, Muramasa would leave it at a visual inspection on its own. But the itching feeling, that empty spot where up until October, there had been the steady comforting effort of taking care of someone, just won't stop bothering him. Instead of leaving it be, he breaks one of his own rules — he runs his fingers the length of the blade, following the edge with a feather light touch. The grain remains unbroken, the hamon perfectly mirrored in that gentle wave pattern, the edge as sharp as ever. Even under the extra scrutiny his work remains flawless.
So. ]
Mn. Guess I was wasting your time, having you come all the way out here for no reason.
[ Still balancing the bare blade in one hand, Muramasa finally casts his gaze back towards Yuta and the offered teacup. He's been serving his own drinks for over a month, now, which is to say he hasn't bothered while he's been working.
At least the tea's still hot. Probably will stay hot until he's finished. ]
Sorry.
1/2
Ah, well, then it's still a serviceable whip.
[ A light argument when he's aware that Muramasa's barely listening and his own eyes are drawn right back to his master's skillful hands and the strange new feelings they're currently inspiring. Watching the sword get stripped down with proficient fingers, it takes the distant, errant thought of wishing that Muramasa would touch him again—to have those hands on him instead—to realize what the nagging feeling is.
Jealousy.
He's feeling jealous of his own damn sword. ]
no subject
Pretending not to feel the faint heat under his collar, he forcibly concentrates on his cup of tea, taking a sip to ease his suddenly dry throat. It helps not to make him stumble over his words too much when Muramasa speaks and it's time to reply even if being looked at increases the urge to fidget on the spot. ]
It's okay. I was on my way back and it's not like it's far... It's good to be sure.
[ It's not exactly why he came even if it is good to know he's been doing his maintenance to Muramasa's standards. Now is likely the best time to bring up his real reason before his sword is swiftly put back together and Yuta runs out of an excuse to linger and might lose his nerve. Still, he hesitates, eyes darting from his half drunk cup to familiar figure, teeth worrying his bottom lip until he just forces the words out. ]
Actually, there's something I would like to ask of you.