The Shimabara Rebellion is a heavy mission indeed. The slaughter of 37,000 commoners, led by outrage and religious zeal into a rebellion against the shogunate in what is an otherwise peaceful era. You know of their mission: to take the place of Amakusa Shirou, the killed leader, and ensure the course of history.
To recruit thousands of people, only to lead them to slaughter.
Tsurumaru Kuninaga, a vision in white, carries his cross and flag - and leads. He follows his orders correctly, he does not falter in his steps, and he paves the way for his team to witness the slaughter of a child they had recruited to their cause.
(This is, at once, your Tsurumaru Kuninaga and not your Tsurumaru Kuninaga. Yet how easily they could be one and the same is not lost on you.)
You watch on from a distance. Matsui Gou throws his fist at Tsurumaru’s face - and you know the crane’s answer before it even leaves his mouth.
This is history.
One of your subordinates - a human that you have recruited to help the Touken Danshi upon their missions - collects the unconscious body of fallen child’s brother. You know he will be taken to safety.
It is one life, out of thousands. But it is one life, even still.
The others leave - but Tsurumaru Kuninaga shouts his dare for you into the sea.
“Help them! Save them! All these 37,000! They’re not just a number. Each one of them had their own life! They were alive! Take them with you! To the quiet sea, to Paraiso! If you can do it, go and try!”
Something in this treacherous heart of yours whispers:
‘Do you not think I would, if I could?’
You watch him stumble - caught only by the steadfast Ookurikara - and disappear back to the Citadel.
The ache in your heart does not subside even after they are gone. The blood of the fallen stain the water red. You do not let your anguish show even now.
This is your punishment, you suppose. To not be able to save them all. To never reveal the endless cracking and breaking of your heart over and over again.
For humanity. For your swords. For the world.
To follow this course of history is to always be in mourning. ]
[he takes another breath after that's over, his other hand coming to join the first in covering his face for a long moment. the emotion, the sheer mass of that number, thirty seven thousand—
it takes him a moment to come back from it, to set the heartbreak and anguish, the grief from both memories aside. he still sounds near tears when he looks towards him.]
even if mikazuki is occasionally reckless with sharing the knowledge of what their missions entail - if only to see if they can be helped in any way, by anyone at all - he does not often share the details. the horrors of war. the blood that must be paid.
when he hears rupert's voice - he does not necessarily say anything.
he merely raises his arm, letting it settle around the young man's shoulders, and draws him closer for an embrace.]
[he pauses for a long moment, surprised, even he doesn't resist. still, after he processes what's happening - his shoulders draw together, tense, and that tension is echoed in his voice when he speaks.]
I hate this.
[what they've both had to live through, over and over.]
... we come from different Citadels. Homes. Our masters who summoned us are different, though the blades themselves are meant to be the same throughout history.
He knows another Mikazuki Munechika, just as I know another Tsurumaru Kuninaga.
But it is as I said.... there are some individuals who we are meant to be with.
Not - the kind of sorry where I did something wrong, just... It seems really hard. To witness something like that and never be able to do something about it.
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... Rupert.
[mikazuki begins - and he will finish what rupert started. he will hold his hand out to his arm, as if to help steady him.
the stardust continues on.
Your beloved comrades are falling apart.
The Shimabara Rebellion is a heavy mission indeed. The slaughter of 37,000 commoners, led by outrage and religious zeal into a rebellion against the shogunate in what is an otherwise peaceful era. You know of their mission: to take the place of Amakusa Shirou, the killed leader, and ensure the course of history.
To recruit thousands of people, only to lead them to slaughter.
Tsurumaru Kuninaga, a vision in white, carries his cross and flag - and leads. He follows his orders correctly, he does not falter in his steps, and he paves the way for his team to witness the slaughter of a child they had recruited to their cause.
(This is, at once, your Tsurumaru Kuninaga and not your Tsurumaru Kuninaga. Yet how easily they could be one and the same is not lost on you.)
You watch on from a distance. Matsui Gou throws his fist at Tsurumaru’s face - and you know the crane’s answer before it even leaves his mouth.
This is history.
One of your subordinates - a human that you have recruited to help the Touken Danshi upon their missions - collects the unconscious body of fallen child’s brother. You know he will be taken to safety.
It is one life, out of thousands. But it is one life, even still.
The others leave - but Tsurumaru Kuninaga shouts his dare for you into the sea.
“Help them! Save them! All these 37,000! They’re not just a number. Each one of them had their own life! They were alive! Take them with you! To the quiet sea, to Paraiso! If you can do it, go and try!”
Something in this treacherous heart of yours whispers:
‘Do you not think I would, if I could?’
You watch him stumble - caught only by the steadfast Ookurikara - and disappear back to the Citadel.
The ache in your heart does not subside even after they are gone. The blood of the fallen stain the water red. You do not let your anguish show even now.
This is your punishment, you suppose. To not be able to save them all. To never reveal the endless cracking and breaking of your heart over and over again.
For humanity. For your swords. For the world.
To follow this course of history is to always be in mourning. ]
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it takes him a moment to come back from it, to set the heartbreak and anguish, the grief from both memories aside. he still sounds near tears when he looks towards him.]
Mikazuki, I...
[he's so sorry.]
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even if mikazuki is occasionally reckless with sharing the knowledge of what their missions entail - if only to see if they can be helped in any way, by anyone at all - he does not often share the details. the horrors of war. the blood that must be paid.
when he hears rupert's voice - he does not necessarily say anything.
he merely raises his arm, letting it settle around the young man's shoulders, and draws him closer for an embrace.]
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I hate this.
[what they've both had to live through, over and over.]
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... it is cruel, and difficult.
You are strong, for continuing to walk forward... even then, I wish you did not have to experience such pain at all.
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You, too.
[he's seen so much more.]
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I will walk alongside you, for as long as I can. Until we are able to see our loved ones again.
[that is his promise.
but.]
... and you can shed your tears, and know they are only testament to the generosity of your heart.
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I don't know if... I don't know if I can. See them again, I mean. They're all gone.
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... you will.
At one point or another... you will. For there are people who we are meant to be with, even if it is not in this life.
And until then... carrying what pieces of them you have with you - that is how their memory lives on.
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Do you believe in that, then? An afterlife.
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I am only a spirit myself and so I offer no certainties... but I believe more in reunions than I do farewells.
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[and, as ever, he thinks there's nothing wrong with hoping. he seems to be calming down, at least enough to say:]
What I saw... Do you want to talk about it?
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... that is not the Tsurumaru Kuninaga you know.
[that just seems most important]
So I only hope you will not allow that to affect your understanding of him.
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They have the same name, but they're different?
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He knows another Mikazuki Munechika, just as I know another Tsurumaru Kuninaga.
But it is as I said.... there are some individuals who we are meant to be with.
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[but all the same...]
I'm sorry you had to go through that.
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What is it that you are apologizing for?
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.... it is the push and pull.
Of being told that history must be one way... and yet also believing that it may be able to shift into something different, if just given the chance.
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For that is not allowed.