Toyoshima, Japan

[13utterfly]

Like a spiderweb, the Zonbi pathways shot off in all directions before him. The bushes lining across part of the road grumbled hauntingly, reminding him of surprise attacks during the Sekigahara. One such attack had taken his uncle's life. Akira had killed his uncle's attacker, and watched both him and his relative die right before him. That had been the worst and best of the War, besides being on the winning side, of course. Worst being that his uncle, whom had been almost like a father to him by teaching him shimin skills after his father became a cripple, died and the best being that his uncle's death had taught him an important lesson. The way of the samurai was to ultimately accept death.

Akira stood still on the path, completely silent and in meditation mode. There was something awful about the way the bushes were creeking. Maybe an enemy? Or a mischevious soul? Let's see...

[Itonami]

He hadn't noticed the time when he had crashed into the bushes.

In fact, Hamano Masakazu wasn't aware of the last time when he had known of time itself. Days ago? Months? The encampment he had stayed at had some primitive form of telling time, so unlike the ringing of bells heard all over his hometown. What a change it was as a wartorn samurai and a poor farmerboy. The samurai Masakazu was an empty shell, a weak representation of his former gleeful self. Something inside him had dulled as bad as the brittle katana he was dragging in the leaves. Parts of the blade had chipped already.

If figuratively shined, Masa's true colors would show through. Throw-your-head-back laughter, sparkling eyes, the whole smile mile. There was nothing better in his life back then than to harvest rice for the samurai passing through the town. And now that he was one of them, he could humbly admit that it pretty much sucked. There wasn't anything great about being a warrior. The only thing he gained from the Battle of Sekigahara was a bitter taste in his mouth and a broken hand. Here, stories were stories were stories and they weren't coming true ever. Kazu was an example of this, a dream-ridden storychaser who found truth.

Truth was that the way of the samurai was nothing special. But, he'd still pretend like he was all that, because he knew that there'd be the priviledges and he'd have stories to tell to naive little dreamer boys just like himself several weeks ago.

Masa arose from the bushes, causing them to crick incessantly. His hazy eyes landed on someone else on the path. Like him, he must've been young, maybe a little older but it was hard to tell because of the aging beard on the farmer's face. From the way he was standing, Masa guessed that this other warrior was both trained and on the winning side. Nice. Masa's knuckles turned white, gripping the hilt of his katana tightly in preparation.

"Wh-who are you?"

[13utterfly]

[ooc: Ah, finally. I was waiting for someone to show up.]

"Who am I?" Akira dropped the meditation, scowling in disgust at the way Hamano Masakazu was holding his sword. Didn't he realize that, once a blade was drawn that it'd have to be used? If not, then that was a lot of dishonor, so Masakazu was either a pretender or plain stupid. Akira betted that Masakazu was some fly-in samurai, one of those that had wandered in thinking it was cool to fight in some big battle. Idiot. "I'm Akira of the Natsuko clan."

If Masakazu truly were a samurai, then he'd know of Akira's lineage of noble samurai people. They dated back to atleast a hundred years ago, fighting in miscellaneous wars for various leaders. Natsuko was a top of the line name, something that you would be proud of. By the looks of it, the dirty man in front of him right now hardly looked like he deserved a first name let alone a family name. Pathetic.

"East or West?" Akira hoped, for Masakazu's sake, that he'd say East. That way, he'd leave the vagabond alone. If not, by Tokugawa's wishes he'd strike this weakling down where he stood.

[Itonami]

"West," Masakazu half-groaned, half-spoke the heavy word. West meant the losing side, which meant instant extermination. There no longer was any doubt that this Natsuko clan guy had been fighting for Tokugawa. The way he had said his family name made Masa's skin crawl. Definitely shimin; his rank had probably gone to his head. "I'm not afraid of you."

That was a lie. On the inside, he was scared out of his wits. On the outside, he channeled his anger at his own stupidity into giving himself a twisted up, wild man look. Maybe it'd be enough to scare Natsuko Akira off. Er...hopefully? To keep up the act, Masa raised his weak sword, as if he really were ready for the challenge.

"I've killed before, you know, and I can do it again." His damaged hand shook.