Hajime Saitou (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
path_of_sword) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vatheon2013-06-10 11:37 pm
path_of_sword) wrote in vatheon2013-06-10 11:37 pm
Entry tags:
A Lost, Lost Cause
Who: Hajime Saitou, OPEN
When: Tuesday all day~
Where: Plaza and around the middle district in general.
Style: Prose to start, will follow as to preference!
Status: Open, ongoing.
It was becoming more and more difficult to convince himself that this was, somehow, a dream.
That their ship had somehow capsized on their way to Edo was the most feasible reason that Saitou could come up with, and the least that he wished to think about. It seemed that he had all his belongings, wet as they were, and not much more than the kimono and haori he wore, aside from the pair of swords thankfully secure at his right hip. There was however one strange thing he had found that he knew he had not ever owned before, and yet something told him he should perhaps hold onto the strange object for the time being.
When mind could not fathom the situation, and words were already reserved, the swordsman trusted his feet to at least keep him moving. Better to do so than stand and stare. His clothing was not as soaked as when he had first come to, and his scarf that he usually had draped about his shoulders was folded in half and resting over one, the sky blue haori marked by white triangular teeth at the sleeves neatly folded over an arm. How long had he been wandering, now? He'd lost track of the time, and it was difficult to tell by the light above, though he noticed that it didn't pain him as much as he should have expected it to.
...that in itself was concerning. Another thing that he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The skies, or lack thereof, were wrong. The buildings, the streets, everything was different, considerably lacking in composition of wood and paper. But there were people here, oddly friendly, even more oddly dressed. Nothing they said helped to dissuade him from his initial thoughts of the place.
The only comfort was knowing that he still had his weapons at his side, and every now and then his left hand would brush over the hilt of his sword as minor reassurance.
When: Tuesday all day~
Where: Plaza and around the middle district in general.
Style: Prose to start, will follow as to preference!
Status: Open, ongoing.
It was becoming more and more difficult to convince himself that this was, somehow, a dream.
That their ship had somehow capsized on their way to Edo was the most feasible reason that Saitou could come up with, and the least that he wished to think about. It seemed that he had all his belongings, wet as they were, and not much more than the kimono and haori he wore, aside from the pair of swords thankfully secure at his right hip. There was however one strange thing he had found that he knew he had not ever owned before, and yet something told him he should perhaps hold onto the strange object for the time being.
When mind could not fathom the situation, and words were already reserved, the swordsman trusted his feet to at least keep him moving. Better to do so than stand and stare. His clothing was not as soaked as when he had first come to, and his scarf that he usually had draped about his shoulders was folded in half and resting over one, the sky blue haori marked by white triangular teeth at the sleeves neatly folded over an arm. How long had he been wandering, now? He'd lost track of the time, and it was difficult to tell by the light above, though he noticed that it didn't pain him as much as he should have expected it to.
...that in itself was concerning. Another thing that he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The skies, or lack thereof, were wrong. The buildings, the streets, everything was different, considerably lacking in composition of wood and paper. But there were people here, oddly friendly, even more oddly dressed. Nothing they said helped to dissuade him from his initial thoughts of the place.
The only comfort was knowing that he still had his weapons at his side, and every now and then his left hand would brush over the hilt of his sword as minor reassurance.
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