[ Mitsutada doesn't really have any complaints about his normal chores. Oh no. That wouldn't be very neat of him if he did. He leaves the complaining to Kasen, mostly, who is much better at it than he is. Instead, he goes about picking weeds, feeding horses, or training without fussing too much. After all, a sword is only as good as what he's weakest at, right?
However, he can say there's a bit of relief as he's asked to perform a different sort of task instead of weeding the garden for the third time this week. The relief turns into a bit of anxiety as he's told what exactly needs to be done. A ceremonial performance?
He has to make this look cool!
What's the point otherwise? He doesn't want to be embarrassing. Except, he's never really been one for ceremony. Just what is he supposed to do here? Concentration clearly etched into his expression, he walks down the hall of the Citadel, murmuring ideas to himself. ]
Maybe...?
[3]
[ If there's one thing Mitsutada feels absolutely good about, it's his sense of fashion. He and his two brothers all have this down pat, he thinks, as he pulls a nicely pressed overcoat out of the closet. Tsurumaru looks great with his bright and sparkling whites, Ookurikara may not dress very formally, but he still had this edge to him (ha).
As for himself, he knows he looks best in colors that are darker, accentuating his height and the sharpness of his features.
This is unfortunately backfiring on him right now, because he can't choose which looks better. Will it be the navy blue and cream trim or the black and gold? Making a soft noise of frustration, he lays both coats out on the futon, deciding the pros and cons.
He's going to be late if he keeps thinking about this.
Stepping away from the futon, he pokes his head out of his room, seeing if there's anyone passing that can help him with this small thing. Nevermind that he's only half dressed. ]
Excuse me, do you have a moment?
[5]
[ With all the chaos around them, it's nice to be enclosed in a small area of relative silence.
The shrine is bright, a flickering flame ensconcing everyone near it in a red-orange glow. Mitsutada doesn't stand too close– he remembers, somewhere deep in his chest, how the fire feels. To be forged and repaired. He's seen fellow swords shatter or break clean. Some are re-forged and others are beyond help. Here, it's the latter he watches. It's a quiet send off, there aren't any hushed whispers he can offer them.
They fought well and they'll get their rest now. He'll look forward to fighting alongside their familiar auras again someday. With a respectful bow of his head, he wishes for peace, even if it means he won't be in this form afterwards. ]
no subject
[ Mitsutada doesn't really have any complaints about his normal chores. Oh no. That wouldn't be very neat of him if he did. He leaves the complaining to Kasen, mostly, who is much better at it than he is. Instead, he goes about picking weeds, feeding horses, or training without fussing too much. After all, a sword is only as good as what he's weakest at, right?
However, he can say there's a bit of relief as he's asked to perform a different sort of task instead of weeding the garden for the third time this week. The relief turns into a bit of anxiety as he's told what exactly needs to be done. A ceremonial performance?
He has to make this look cool!
What's the point otherwise? He doesn't want to be embarrassing. Except, he's never really been one for ceremony. Just what is he supposed to do here? Concentration clearly etched into his expression, he walks down the hall of the Citadel, murmuring ideas to himself. ]
Maybe...?
[3]
[ If there's one thing Mitsutada feels absolutely good about, it's his sense of fashion. He and his two brothers all have this down pat, he thinks, as he pulls a nicely pressed overcoat out of the closet. Tsurumaru looks great with his bright and sparkling whites, Ookurikara may not dress very formally, but he still had this edge to him (ha).
As for himself, he knows he looks best in colors that are darker, accentuating his height and the sharpness of his features.
This is unfortunately backfiring on him right now, because he can't choose which looks better. Will it be the navy blue and cream trim or the black and gold? Making a soft noise of frustration, he lays both coats out on the futon, deciding the pros and cons.
He's going to be late if he keeps thinking about this.
Stepping away from the futon, he pokes his head out of his room, seeing if there's anyone passing that can help him with this small thing. Nevermind that he's only half dressed. ]
Excuse me, do you have a moment?
[5]
[ With all the chaos around them, it's nice to be enclosed in a small area of relative silence.
The shrine is bright, a flickering flame ensconcing everyone near it in a red-orange glow. Mitsutada doesn't stand too close– he remembers, somewhere deep in his chest, how the fire feels. To be forged and repaired. He's seen fellow swords shatter or break clean. Some are re-forged and others are beyond help. Here, it's the latter he watches. It's a quiet send off, there aren't any hushed whispers he can offer them.
They fought well and they'll get their rest now. He'll look forward to fighting alongside their familiar auras again someday. With a respectful bow of his head, he wishes for peace, even if it means he won't be in this form afterwards. ]