Post by madeleine on Jan 20, 2018 20:14:35 GMT
Name Hayako (早 Haya (early) 子 ko (girl))
Name of Sword 点滅 Tenmetsu ("Blink"), a Katana
Race Half-oni (Tiefling: Oni heritage) — Class Samurai (Sword Saint) 1, Order (Ronin) — Created D 20 / M 01/ Y 2018
Gender Female — Age Young Adult — Height 5'5" — Weight 105 lb.
Myth-Weavers Sheet
Alignment Neutral Good (sees someone in trouble; groans, because she doesn't like getting involved, but can't just stand by and do nothing either)
History Bastard girl of some baka oni ogre mage Daimyō.
| ............................ | "......" Came her potently silent response to the potently non-silent agitation of her empty stomach. She swallowed dry—even her mouth was barren. Hungry...Ugh. "Ugh!" She repeated her last thought, verbally—only this was because she had just been hit by a rotten tomato. Her eye nearest the impact stung, and there was tomato seed and juice in her hair and on her face, and saturating into her soiled, ruined, once-fine Haori coat and Hakama trousers. A child had thrown it, at the behest of an older sibling; mother of the two didn't bother to apologize, peering at Hayako, the half-oni, warily as she ushered her children back inside her home. Hayako was more disappointed that the thrown food was inedible to begin with. After a trip to the village well in a poor attempt to clean herself, Hayako wandered further East. "Hiring?" Door closed. "Need a bodyguard?" Window shut. "Carry your groceries...?" Ignored. She could wear a hat to hide her horns, but she couldn't hide her pale violet, iridescent skin. The sun was setting now; another day, another missing dollar. Her empty stomach warned her that she was mortal yet again with its grumbling. She felt exhausted and weary, like a raincloud devoid of water—only dust on the wind. She slouched, backwards, against the wall post of the inn she had been (also) wracking up debt in. "It's not my fault," cried some other young woman, voice drifting from an alleyway nearby, "I did my best! Please, stop! I'm sorry, I'm—" A hard, male voice responds; cuts her off, "It is your fault. Dammit woman, you keep making me do this to you." The sound of a big fist reverberating off of delicate skin was heard. "Fuck...ing fuck." groaned Hayako, in a hoarse whisper to herself. "Fuck off, I'm trying to die here." She still whispered; her words weren't actually meant for the yet unseen troubled and trouble-maker. Despite her quiet words (to herself), the violence from the man to the woman only worsened with another fist, and a foot and a hard knee. He panted, a little out of breath from the pain he was inflicting on his girl. He took a moment to wipe some blood off his hands before fixing his edo comb-over. "You'll just...haah...have to...haff haahhf....work harder to make up for it, that's a—" Enter the sound of sheathed Tenmetsu's pommel connecting with the back of the man's head, and the exiting of said man—or so one might have hoped. "Hey, get up. It's okay, he's done. Run back to dad, or brother, and tell him the kind of awful shit this guy's being pulling." Said Hayako to the victimized woman, who looked at shocked at the sight of her savior as she did for other, obvious reasons of her poor circumstances. "You...geisha whore—" began the man, getting back up (not quite knocked out yet, apparently), only to realize Hayako wasn't just any young woman, "—m-monster...! Kyo! Yokai..." He unsheathed a wakizashi. It glinted in the fading light of evening; now the moon rose, bathing the three of them in its pale gaze. Hayako half-face-palmed, sighing into her own, small, soft hand. "I guess we're gonna do this then, huh." Her tone was just as groansome as before. He responds, harshly, with his last words, "You won't be doing ANYTHING." She points sheathed Tenmetsu at him and whispers to herself, "Challenge accepted, I guess." Simultaneously, there is a flash of moonlight and a choking gasp. Hayako now stands behind where the man stands. His chest then opens up, and his entrails fall into his own lap, as he falls into the lap of the earth. Tenmetsu finally tastes the cool, open air, and the blood of a Tian-Shu. Hayako flicks the katana in the opposite direction, then bends over to lift the back of the dead man's yukata as napkin for her blade. "Fuck... I hope he didn't mean the world to you. You'll get by without him. Surely, there can be no man worse." Hayako says—but the woman still only seems to stare, wide-eyed and long-jawed. Later that morning, Aiko (the victim woman's actual name) is cheering up, and cooking up a mighty fine smelling batch of rice cakes and curry chicken while Hayako salivates, seated at the dinner kotatsu at Aiko's father's house. Later, later, she's eating said cooked food, and struggling to keep her composure over how yummy it is. | ............................ |
