thefarshore | text

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Is it normal for items to just 'show up'? When I woke up this morning there was a sword in my bed--stabbed through my bed next to my face. I'm fairly certain it's not my god's or his other shinki's.

... if you misplaced a sword in Ler's temple, I'd like to know why it had to be next to my face while I was sleeping.

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[ Hubbawhatnow. Ryoma blinks, looking from Hak to the sword, brow furrowing as he watches the man swing the blade. ]

... are you certain? It may simply be similar ornamentation.

[ He crosses his arms at a loose fold, watching Hak with an unsure wrinkle to his forehead, a frown on his lips... as if he can't believe it, but there's something waiting right on the precipice of what he can actually remember. ]

Hm. Not a decoration, then. Perhaps you could find use in it?

Perhaps. But it's close enough to make me curious.

[Looking over it carefully, he nods and moves to hand it back to him.]

I think you should use it. There may be times when you or Qrow have to handle something until I can get there. The least you can do is have a weapon.

If you say so.

[ He takes it after a moment, frowning as he rests a hand on the hilt--and then quickly moves it away, glancing to Hak as he starts to ask, thinks better of it... and then asks anyway. ]

Was there anything strange about the blade, when you had it in hand just now?

...Besides it being incredibly long? No.

[Should there have been? He thinks on it for a moment.]

Why do you ask?

[ Ryoma touches the white hilt again, as if testing to see if it was all in his head, or he was making it up, but... no. There's a thrum, there, something like a pulse, something waiting to be unleashed. ]

There's a hum of... something in the sword. Like there's more to it than just a blade.

[Hak looks at him closely. Tilting his head to the side.]

...Try using it. Like a sword.

<[If it is his sword, he should be able to pull out whatever's inside... yes?]

[ Ryoma doesn't like that look. That's the look that made him eat salt-laced cake at Halloween, and was also the reason as to why Ryoma had fake cobwebs in his hair for two days. ]

Keep an eye on it, please.

[ He trusts Hak to back him up if something goes... wrong. He shifts his stance as he steps away from Hak, hand on the hilt of the blade as he closes his eyes and feels the thrum as it pulses in his hand, itching along his fingers. Power calls home, and Ryoma--

Ryoma draws the blade and lightning crackles along the metal, enveloping bright-blue and nearly enough to make Ryoma drop the sword, wide-eyed and wondering. ]

[It wasn't salt laced, it was booze lace, it's different, he swears!]

I will.

[What he doesn't expect is the crackling of electricity going through it. He has to pause and look at it carefully to determine exactly...

what the fuck.]

...What?

[ The booze tasted like salty boots and Hak's bad decisions. It's all the same, and in the end, Ryoma needed to lay down for a bit. You're supposed to let the alcohol cook out of something, Hak.

... with the sword now, though, he holds it steady as the crackle of lightning settles--still bright along the sword, thrumming with purpose and waiting to be unleashed. Ryoma looks--terrified and intrigued and absolutely confused as to what is going on here. ]

I--I don't know? I don't know why it's doing that.

[ ... he lets the sheathe hang at his side, bringing his other hand to the hilt, as if afraid the sword is going to jolt out of his hand if he lets it. ]

You felt none of this?

[What? No. Never. Leave him alone.

He blinks and looks from the sword up to Ryoma, and back to the sword.]

I didn't. It's something I didn't notice.

[Shaking his head.]

Then it's probably yours.

[ If you're going to serve cake that tastes like booze, just serve booze. Leave the poor little cake out of it.

Ryoma swings the sword, shifting his grip until it feels right, as if the sword were familiar to his hands. ]

Mine?

[ ... no, he doesn't want to think about it. He focuses on the blade, continuing to take a few practice swings, body going through the motions with practiced ease--and then without thinking, because thinking is bad, thinking is dangerous, he lunges to the side, sword up as the lightning bolts free of the blade, coming down with a crash on a stone. He studies the blackened surface, tracing the lattice-web of a burned-in scar with his eyes. ]

What a strange, wonderful blade... and you're certain I can keep it?

[Cake and booze is the perfect combination, leave him alone.]

It's yours. You should have a weapon.

[He believes that both of his shinki should have something. That's a fact. And if it was in his pillow, it has to be his.]

Unless you don't want it.

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