[ this is a choose your own adventure within a choose your own adventure, because it's a rare day off, and you can't expect tsurumaru kuninaga to stick with just one shitty and mildly upsetting prank.
no matter where you are in the encampment, what you're doing and how much you think you've prepared for the onslaught of shitty surprise cranes in your life, one (or multiple, you poor soul) of the following will happen to you:
1. a pair of hands clap over your eyes while a voice behind you goes wah! when those hands lift, you may not immediately realize it, but tsurumaru's fingers will come off sticky and black. this is because he's left a gift on your eyelids, surprise!
2. the sudden sound of a very loud and booming trombone right behind you by your right ear, surprise!
3. the oldest and most juvenile trick in the book: as you open a door to walk through it, a dusty chalkboard eraser balanced up top falls onto you to the snickering of a certain shitty crane.
4. if you manage to avoid #3 by utilizing your excellent sword reflexes and dodging to the right, you'll find yourself stepping on a rope that you'd never realize was there until you tripped it (RIP you)-- three seconds later, to the guffaw of a rude crane, a large oepn bag of flour will tumble from the ceiling and decorate you white for christmas in march.
5. proof that crane is actually a ten-year-old, the moment you return back to your room for some much-needed respite, everything in your room is frogs.
6. no matter what you were drinking earlier, if you leave your mug unattended for more than 0.5 seconds, you'll find upon your return that the contents of your mug have been changed to water. yes, just plain water. meanwhile, a shitty crane to your right is happily sipping on whatever you were drinking before.
7. you're just walking along outside in the yard, minding your own business, when suddenly, the ground below you gives away in an echoed screech of 'goddammit tsurumaru'. if you manage to avoid the first hidden pitfall, there's the second one, and a third one, and a-- dear lord how many pitfalls did this crane dig, and how on earth did nobody see him do it? his camouflage skill is not that high... the old man crane in question will pop up a few minutes later with a shovel and a shit-eating grin as he peers down at you, finger-waggling in greeting.
8. when you wake up in the morning, your hair has been dyed the most hideous shade of neon ___ ever. choose your own colour. know that the reason is cranes.
9. no matter what you're doing today, there's theme music following you around. a cheery theme as you're skipping along, a sad theme when you break your favourite mug, muffled dubstep in the background while you're in the dojo, and, ah, sexy jazz when you're just iNNOCENTLY TALKING TO YOUR FELLOW SWORD, GOD TSURUMARU, GET DOWN FROM THE RAFTERS AND TURN OFF THAT IPOD.
10. make up your own surprise, laughs.
whichever of the unfortunately surprises (tm) that have befallen you today, the ending is invariably the same: tsurumaru pops out of the woodwork with a jovial laugh, looking exceedingly pleased with himself like he's just done a deed worth being hung for and a twinkle in his golden eyes. ]
Well? Were you surprised?
ii. who let him go in the kitchens unsupervised.
[ if you were expecting pikachu working merrily away in the kitchens when you peer in hoping for a quick snack, you'll be surprised-- and maybe utterly disturbed. poised at the counter is tsurumaru, decked in white and gold, all sleek lines and curves and elegant composure, wielding a knife and delicately chopping up something on the cutting board. he's so quietly engrossed with what he's doing that you'd almost be shocked into thinking that maybe he's actually doing some proper work around this encampment for once, the slacker?!
except, as always, his appearance is a total lie. a second glance will tell you that tsurumaru's smirking as he puts whatever he just cut into a box to his right. no need for more proof that he's up to no good, you have candid evidence here strong enough to take him to court and sue him for his existence alone.
unfortunately, before you can turn around and speedwalk out of the incoming disaster zone before tsurumaru drags you in on his mildly upsetting definition of fun, his radar homes in on you like a lion sniffing out a wounded gazelle on the serengeti. three seconds later, he's caught your wrist before you can leave, a wide shit-eating grin on his face as he leans in conspiratorially and, worryingly enough, sparkling. ]
You're just in time! I made a bento-- do you want to try it?
[ for the record, the correct answer is no, thank you, and then running the hell away from here. but what kind of bento did he make? he may be a shitty crane, but at least he's never boring. break free and run away screaming? actually humour him at your own discretion and see what new mischief he's up to? at any rate, his sparkling is intensifying, so you should probably give him an answer before he blinds you or something. ]
iii. he's only acting serious to surprise you, clearly
[ remarkably on an off-day, tsurumaru finds himself standing in front of the time travel machine.
he has a lot of thoughts about time travel, you know. most swords do, on account of the fact that it's now a part of their daily every day lives and the entire reason for their continued existence right now is to prevent people from wronging what went right in history. when it comes down to it, it's a very noble-sounding goal-- save for the stark realization that each and every sword must've had at some point or another during their dangerous forays in the annals of history: by saving history, they are condemning their past masters to death.
this shouldn't be much of a matter of consternation, really. history is history, and the thing history does best is march on regardless of how anyone felt about it. in essence, history was the world's oldest bully, unreasonable like a wild bull strutting over its charges, and the swords themselves are such a minor footnote in the world's oldest tale that they might as well not appear at all. the fact that they're even tasked to protect that history is already amazing enough. they should feel proud, honesty. they're protecting something worth protecting. they're protecting people's deaths, and their right to die.
sarcasm aside, it's unsurprising that many swords would find this a bit too bitter to swallow.
what is surprising, however, is that tsurumaru kuninaga, known for being 100% more childish than every other sword in the army and hell-mired in duty on the battlefield, has conflicting thoughts on the matter.
it makes more sense once you realize this much: his history had never been recorded properly. the grave-robbing, the shrine-pillaging, his dead fourteen-year-old master-- all of these were mere hearsay that never made it into the history books, instead glossed over with writing done by the victors. for every sword who fights to protect the past that they're proud of, no matter how tragic it was, there's tsurumaru who fights to protect a past that nobody even acknowledges as real.
if that doesn't make a sword at least a little salty, there's very little else that could.
however, he knows that he's being uncharacteristically serious as he stands in front of the time capsul. he fancies stepping in and going back to the day the ground had opened up above him, reaching down to steal him from his resting place. he fancies slashing down the young boy who did that to him. he fancies all this with the same expression he'd use to fancy putting seventeen more frogs in souza samonji's bedding, and indeed, when he notices that he has company, he turns a quick smile their way, his sleeves a flutter like crane's wings. ]
So I was wondering, if we sent an anpan back through the time machine, do you think it'd still taste the same?
[ redirect, misdirect and gloss over-- all things that tsurumaru excels best at. however, nothing can hide the sad tilt to the corner of his smile, the flash of bitterness in his eyes before he hides it with a twinkle. ]
iv. adults doing responsible adult things
[ it's night, the full moon smiles down on all the little shits at the encampment like a long-suffering parent, and an old man crane is sitting on the engawa in a rare moment of actual peace and tranquillity. no surprises up his sleeves, no shit-eating grin, no convenient pitfalls and bags of flour to trip over -- perhaps the lack of anything surprising is the most surprising as he turns to face whoever has approached, and waggles his fingers in greeting. ]
You're out late past your bedtime. [ almost everyone is a young whippersnapper compared to him, so he's allowed tos ay old man things that make you realize he's actually an old man sometimes okay. that being said, he shifts his sleeves to unveil a bottle of sake and two cups-- and a mischievous smirk that immediately destroys the illusion of sobriety. ] Care for a drink?
[ nobody's underage in this encampment okay, let's be real here. ]
tsurumaru kuninaga / i can't be trusted with short top-levels
[ this is a choose your own adventure within a choose your own adventure, because it's a rare day off, and you can't expect tsurumaru kuninaga to stick with just one shitty and mildly upsetting prank.
no matter where you are in the encampment, what you're doing and how much you think you've prepared for the onslaught of shitty surprise cranes in your life, one (or multiple, you poor soul) of the following will happen to you:
whichever of the unfortunately surprises (tm) that have befallen you today, the ending is invariably the same: tsurumaru pops out of the woodwork with a jovial laugh, looking exceedingly pleased with himself like he's just done a deed worth being hung for and a twinkle in his golden eyes. ]
Well? Were you surprised?
ii. who let him go in the kitchens unsupervised.
[ if you were expecting pikachu working merrily away in the kitchens when you peer in hoping for a quick snack, you'll be surprised-- and maybe utterly disturbed. poised at the counter is tsurumaru, decked in white and gold, all sleek lines and curves and elegant composure, wielding a knife and delicately chopping up something on the cutting board. he's so quietly engrossed with what he's doing that you'd almost be shocked into thinking that maybe he's actually doing some proper work around this encampment for once, the slacker?!
except, as always, his appearance is a total lie. a second glance will tell you that tsurumaru's smirking as he puts whatever he just cut into a box to his right. no need for more proof that he's up to no good, you have candid evidence here strong enough to take him to court and sue him for his existence alone.
unfortunately, before you can turn around and speedwalk out of the incoming disaster zone before tsurumaru drags you in on his mildly upsetting definition of fun, his radar homes in on you like a lion sniffing out a wounded gazelle on the serengeti. three seconds later, he's caught your wrist before you can leave, a wide shit-eating grin on his face as he leans in conspiratorially and, worryingly enough, sparkling. ]
You're just in time! I made a bento-- do you want to try it?
[ for the record, the correct answer is no, thank you, and then running the hell away from here. but what kind of bento did he make? he may be a shitty crane, but at least he's never boring. break free and run away screaming? actually humour him at your own discretion and see what new mischief he's up to? at any rate, his sparkling is intensifying, so you should probably give him an answer before he blinds you or something. ]
iii. he's only acting serious to surprise you, clearly
[ remarkably on an off-day, tsurumaru finds himself standing in front of the time travel machine.
he has a lot of thoughts about time travel, you know. most swords do, on account of the fact that it's now a part of their daily every day lives and the entire reason for their continued existence right now is to prevent people from wronging what went right in history. when it comes down to it, it's a very noble-sounding goal-- save for the stark realization that each and every sword must've had at some point or another during their dangerous forays in the annals of history: by saving history, they are condemning their past masters to death.
this shouldn't be much of a matter of consternation, really. history is history, and the thing history does best is march on regardless of how anyone felt about it. in essence, history was the world's oldest bully, unreasonable like a wild bull strutting over its charges, and the swords themselves are such a minor footnote in the world's oldest tale that they might as well not appear at all. the fact that they're even tasked to protect that history is already amazing enough. they should feel proud, honesty. they're protecting something worth protecting. they're protecting people's deaths, and their right to die.
sarcasm aside, it's unsurprising that many swords would find this a bit too bitter to swallow.
what is surprising, however, is that tsurumaru kuninaga, known for being 100% more childish than every other sword in the army and hell-mired in duty on the battlefield, has conflicting thoughts on the matter.
it makes more sense once you realize this much: his history had never been recorded properly. the grave-robbing, the shrine-pillaging, his dead fourteen-year-old master-- all of these were mere hearsay that never made it into the history books, instead glossed over with writing done by the victors. for every sword who fights to protect the past that they're proud of, no matter how tragic it was, there's tsurumaru who fights to protect a past that nobody even acknowledges as real.
if that doesn't make a sword at least a little salty, there's very little else that could.
however, he knows that he's being uncharacteristically serious as he stands in front of the time capsul. he fancies stepping in and going back to the day the ground had opened up above him, reaching down to steal him from his resting place. he fancies slashing down the young boy who did that to him. he fancies all this with the same expression he'd use to fancy putting seventeen more frogs in souza samonji's bedding, and indeed, when he notices that he has company, he turns a quick smile their way, his sleeves a flutter like crane's wings. ]
So I was wondering, if we sent an anpan back through the time machine, do you think it'd still taste the same?
[ redirect, misdirect and gloss over-- all things that tsurumaru excels best at. however, nothing can hide the sad tilt to the corner of his smile, the flash of bitterness in his eyes before he hides it with a twinkle. ]
iv. adults doing responsible adult things
[ it's night, the full moon smiles down on all the little shits at the encampment like a long-suffering parent, and an old man crane is sitting on the engawa in a rare moment of actual peace and tranquillity. no surprises up his sleeves, no shit-eating grin, no convenient pitfalls and bags of flour to trip over -- perhaps the lack of anything surprising is the most surprising as he turns to face whoever has approached, and waggles his fingers in greeting. ]
You're out late past your bedtime. [ almost everyone is a young whippersnapper compared to him, so he's allowed tos ay old man things that make you realize he's actually an old man sometimes okay. that being said, he shifts his sleeves to unveil a bottle of sake and two cups-- and a mischievous smirk that immediately destroys the illusion of sobriety. ] Care for a drink?
[ nobody's underage in this encampment okay, let's be real here. ]
x. punch me 2: punch harder
[ you do the thing. ]