nysalogs | . all you have's your axe to grind . closed

Camping. Ca-mping [Their answers are in unison, and the glance they exchange now is more fleeting than the last, possessing none of the vitriol. Gintoki leans forward; in his effort to stand he slaps one palm onto the log near Takasugi, and the other (mud covered) palm onto the teen's shoulder.

With a groan, he's up, and digging into his ear with his clean(?) pinky.] Hey, okay. Okay. I'll let you in on it. C'mere. [Gintoki waves his hand to beckon the woman closer, but he's scooting near enough to whisper into her ear all on his own.

His breath stinks.] We're out looking for the passage way into the Lost Kingdom.

[Takasugi has turned his focus away entirely, head tilted to survey the grime on his shoulder. A frown sets in on his face, almost as deeply etched as the smile Rosalind has come to know.

Whatever bullshit Gintoki's spouting, he's content to leave the intruder with. The albino is a nuisance, but he won't give away anything important. Takasugi stands, circling the extinguished firepit to crouch and scrape the last of the previous night's meal out of an upturned pot.]

[His breath is as bad as his manners, and a look of disgust crosses over her face.]

If you can't say anything informative or clever, don't say anything at all.

[She leans back, putting some distance between them. Her eyes dart to Takasugi again, and oh, it's odd to see him with both eyes.]

Tell me instead about him. I doubt he's just wandering around, is he?

[Gintoki wrinkles his nose, clearly posturing that he's the one offended in this exchange. He thinks he's very clever, and the Lost Kingdom could be real. Don't write it off so easily!

With a huff, he squints over his shoulder, looking at Takasugi with mild disgust.]

Eh? Him? [Utter disappointment.] He's just a pretentious, richie-rich brat. Even though he's got an army, he's still lurking around here by himself!

You're better off not wasting your time with that antisocial bastard. [SCOFF!

Takasugi's heard most of this, judging by the aggressively loud clink of metal on metal that concludes his breakfast.]

[The thing is, every bit of information about Tani is useful. Rosalind focuses on him, frowning.]

So you're . . . what, in some kind of war? Scouting, likely, if you two are alone. I hadn't any idea he was rich, though . . .

[That would be a suspicious thing to say if this were real, but Gintoki isn't anything more than a figment of Tani's imagination.]

Is he your friend?

[Is he your friend?

Gintoki's lips contort; he coughs, the wet sound of phlegm gargling in his throat as he works a wad of it up to spit onto the ground.

That's what he thinks of that.]

Yeah, yeah! He wishes. But he can't buy me like he buys everyone else-

[A foot - Takasugi's - plants itself squarely on Gintoki's back. He stumbles forward, reaching for Rosalind for support but just as easily missing her and careening into a tent instead.] I don't have any fortune to speak of, idiot.

[That ended long ago, when he'd run away from home days before they could disown him on their own.] You're as suspicious as we are, out here.

Who are you working with?

None of your concern.

[She'd come up with a better answer if this were real, but as it stands, a memory can't hurt her. Besides: any story she gives is still being listened in on by the real, present-day Tani; she wo'nt risk giving something away accidentally.

She stands, approaching the younger one, still a little surprised by seeing both eyes instead of just one.]

Now. Was that a case of disinheritance, running away, or your fortune being spent?

[She's audacious, Takasugi will give her that much. Most spies would try to weave themselves a bullshit story, or feign collaboration with their cause. This woman's interests are at once too vague and too focused to be pinned down.

Takasugi clicks his tongue.]

I thought you were interested in him.

Go on, ask. [He stands rigid, none of the fluidity, the languid drop of his shoulders or sway of his hips. Arms crossed, Takasugi doesn't look like a man - a boy - ready to divulge anything.]

You won't get any truth out of him.

Then why should I bother with him, hm?

[He may not want to give her anything, but she won't give up just yet.]

At least you seem inclined to be blunt and honest. I'll guess . . . hmm. Disinheritance, I think, combined with a spiteful sort of running away. You're too clever to have allowed all your money to be spent.

[Flattery gets somewhere with Takasugi - his pride a fundamental bulwark of his being. But defamation of Gintoki gets farther; Takasugi quirks a smile and spares one fleeting, dismissive glance over his shoulder to the shambling idiot.

There's no reason to bother with him.

He hadn't been trying to be honest, and what was blunt he'd thought to be brusque - but she's directly on the mark about his situation.

It makes his expression drop.

And that's all the confirmation she needs.] Do you have something worth discussing?

A clever woman wandering around in a war zone isn't doing it for fun.

I'm doing it to find out about you, Takasugi.

[Time to be direct. Rosalind takes a step forward, her eyes glittering. There's a noise in the distance, some faint clash, but her ears are untrained for that kind of sound. She doesn't pay it any mind.]

[He's dully aware of the faint roar of fighting, but what makes his gut twist is that she knows his name.

Takasugi isn't unheard of in this conflict - he's been called one of the four great fighters for years - but to so easily put a face to that legend.

She knows more than she lets on. She's dangerous-

He brings his hand to hover over the hilt of his sword.]

Oi! OI! Get down! [Gintoki's shout breaks the tension, and he comes barreling towards them. Mud coated white tackles both into the dirt as a hail of arrows rains over the camp.

Takasugi's grunt is muffled by Gin's arm, but he's protesting, shoving the man off of him to stand, sword drawn and ready. He stays near, a symbol for the rest of their companions to rally to.

He only spares the woman one more glance. If she's still here when the fighting's done, they'll talk.

But somehow, he doubts that.]

Get out, hurry-

We'll cover you, so remember that when we meet again. I want three hours for free! [Gintoki draws his blade too, and rushes aside to flank the advancing troops.]

I'm not a bloody--

[It's a snarl as she hoists herself up to her feet, but Gintoki is gone before she can finish the sentence. An arrow flies past her head, and with a grimace she turns, looking for her Takasugi. Older, one eye, and she wonders if he'd heard her use his name. It doesn't matter.

She wants him to know.]

Edited 2018-05-09 06:10 (UTC)

[With her back to him, the younger Takasugi rushes forward, joining a throng of men who have only now stumbled alarmed and confused from their drunken slumbers. He's shouting, his voice a tremor in the swelling din of battle.

Takasugi pays the upheaval no mind.

When Rosalind sets sights on him, he's slipping from a tent several away, smoking a crudely wrapped cigarette. He looks no different from usual, but for the extra satchel of alcohol he's tied around his waistband.

Now, his voice wouldn't reach her, nor hers him. But moments before, in the strained silence, he'd heard his name.

Ah-

That's the end of that little charade. What a pain.

Rather than approach her, Takasugi slinks aside, rounding the outer circle of tents. His pace isn't too fast to follow or reach, but he's not meandering; he's heading in the same direction the younger Gintoki had run off in.]

[And of course she follows him. She thinks she can teleport them both out, but that isn't why she keeps her gaze on him and picks up the pace. She wants to confront him; she wants to offer him his name and . . . what? It isn't as if he'll be guilty. It certainly isn't some kind of bargaining chip. But it feels like a small victory, learning his true name.

And really, all that aside: she's simply curious as to why he's heading in that direction.]

[As the end of the outer row of tents approaches, the small canvas shelters fall into deeper disrepair. The last is in tatters, half submerged in muddy footprints with only one wooden support jutting upwards. Like a pike, ready to skewer a man should he fall on it.

Beyond that, there's nothing but a battlefield. The line of rebels - with Gintoki at the forefront - is holding, but the enemy teems, numbers far beyond the men who rush to meet the attack.

Takasugi slows, stopping to watch as Gintoki (the white demon, they call him) tears through rank after rank of the advancing army. The carnage is visible from where they stand, limbs flying and bodies contorting as they're mangled by sword.

But Takasugi isn't smiling.

He's finished with this memory. It's nothing more than any other flashback he sees, when he shuts his eyes.

Their men fall back, a retreat calculated to lead the enemy closer to camp, where the younger Takasugi has rallied the rest of their men. The fighting will soon reach them - and Takasugi intends for it to.

He'll wrench himself, and Rosalind (he's noticed, but she'll glean too much from this without his commentary), from the scene with blood.]

Takasugi.

[She calls his name purely to feel it on her lips, four syllables that are laced with delight. Hello, she knows a secret she wasn't meant to, and isn't that satisfying? She catches up with him as she says it, standing at his side, watching the battle coming closer. It's a horrid sight, screams filling the air as limbs are cut and blood soaks the ground, but she doesn't seem affected by it.]

Your friend is a good fighter, for all he's a fool. At least you weren't stupid enough to think I was a prostitute the first night we met.

[His name almost sounds sweet as it rolls from her tongue. Takasugi had thought she'd snarl his surname at him, face reddened and scrunched in anger as the lie came unveiled. Some sort of great betrayal.

But she's not stupid. The deception would come as no surprise to her.

Now, with Rosalind at his side, Takasugi smiles. A familiar tightness in his chest replaced with something he can't pick apart. Relief that she'd understood the name as part of their game, or chagrin for her arrogance in thinking she's somehow won.

He doesn't know, and walking through his memory, he prefers the feeling to the reasons behind it.]

That's all he's good for. [And even that...

Takasugi draws his sword as the front line falls back, groups of fighters quickly enveloping them in the battle. They don't seem to notice either of the pair, the mob of enemies not distinguished enough in his memory to have anything beyond their singular purpose.

Die fighting.

That's Gintoki's purpose too, and Takasugi begins to weave through the crowd to ensure this ghost is laid to rest properly.]

. all you have's your axe to grind . closed

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