Despair and Wisdom: Imperial March

He knew the XO enjoyed a bamboo shoot, so there was a certain logic to trying to find the mysterious ronin in Bamboo Shoots, an eatery within the village. Hametsu, interested in running down and perhaps using a bit of the loose talk in the legion for his (and his family's, mustn't forget them!) benefit, presented himself at the door of the restaurant, peering through the busy dining room for his superior.

"You know, you can just go in, Doji-san," comes a voice from behind him, and the voice comes from a wiry man with long gray hair.

"But you look like you could use some company," the voice adds, "so why don't you join me. I know the best seat in the house."

And the shireikan leads the way to a table, where he sits himself, raising a hand in greeting to the kitchen staff, who respond warmly.

Hametsu follows as bidden, his eyes curious at his ease with the staff. "The shireikan is kind to extend the invitation. He seems familiar with the place?" he asked as he took the seat opposite Osoroshii.

"I've been by a time or two, yes," Osoroshii replies. "It's a welcome reminder of better days."

To his credit, the table does seem to be the best positioned in the house. And the food does smell good as servers carry others' orders by, one of them leaving a bottle and two cups behind.

"You've got the look of someone with something on his mind, Doji-san," he continues.

Hametsu nodded once. "Hai, I am." He paused for a moment, considering avenues of approach, and then...

"Part of my duties concerns maintenance of unit discipline. And, well, I have encountered a developing flaw. One that my usual methods will have some difficulty smoothing out."

"Oh?" Osoroshii asks. "And I guess there's a reason you're addressing it with me instead of, say, Daidoji Kumiko or Bayushi Najimi."

He pours the drinks.

"Would I be right to guess that it is, in fact, one of them?"

Hametsu frowned slightly. "Ie, it is not for me to comment on my superiors, whatever opinion I may hold. Rather, the flaw I have detected is in the rank and file. And it has much more to do with curiosity than with the murky boundary between pragmatism and moral relativism. In short, the ranks are wagging their tongues about you, Shireikan, and more intensely now that their circumstances have changed."

"Oh, are they, now?"

Osoroshii laughs and takes a drink.

"Let me guess, something to the effect of 'How is that ronin filth second in command?'"

He laughs again.

"Somehow it's never 'Damn, but he is the handsomest man I've seen!'"

"It is maddening, Shireikan. They are paying more attention to the way you maintain the lacquer on your saya than they do to their own."

"That's a new one," Osoroshii says. "Because I haven't really done anything special with it. I hear you've got a guy in Fourth who's more than a fair hand with armor and weapons, though. Maybe I ought to pay him a visit.

"Anyway, drink your drink, Doji-san."

He demonstrates.

"Are they not up to standard? Or is it just the gossip that bothers you?"

Hametsu drank as ordered, the strong liquid not causing a flinch.

"Words are like milk, when spilled recklessly, they curdle. In time, they will cause a great stench. But they are not ones to care overmuch about a variation in the Standard, unless you were grossly negligent, which you are not. Rather, their interest is in what color remains in the lacquer. A dangerous line of questioning, to be sure, but a stubborn one."

"That is a new one, then," Osoroshii says, somewhat more seriously.

"What color do they say they see?"

Hajime appreciated that the ronin was taking this a little more seriously, but did his level best to remain neutral in his presentation.

"A consensus appears to have developed around the color green."

"Well, they're not wrong in that," Osoroshii says.

"My saya isn't my hair; it hasn't lightened over the years," he adds, smirking wryly. "But, yes, there's yet some green in it."

He sighs and goes on. "Soldiers will gossip. The color of a saya's a lot less worrisome a topic than the color of a new fan in the obi.

"Unless," and he leans forward just a little, "you think there's more to it than that?"

"It is harmless now, perhaps, but green can mean so many things, Shireikan. Assumptions will multiply, and when the legion comes under pressure, perhaps at the Wall, but more likely when we return to the capital, you may find yourself at the mercy of a rather troubling narrative."

Osoroshii pours another drink.

"Do please explain, Doji-san," he says, and there is a smile on his weathered face. "What foul fortune do you foresee for me?"

Hametsu tilted his head. "Emperors wear green."

Osoroshii sits back, blinks a couple of times, and then laughs.

Uproariously.

Good-naturedly, but uproariously.

Were it not a Crab holding, it would attract lots of attention. As it is, there are a couple of glances his way, but only those, and maybe a shrug or two.

"Doji-san," he says among the guffaws, "I am damned near as far away from that as a samurai can be!

"Oh, no," he continues, getting more control of himself, "there's little if any worry on that end, I can assure you. I do assure you. There is no mistaking me for a member of any Imperial family. Oh, very much not!"

Hametsu nodded. "That does much to reassure me, of course, but stories have lives of their own, Shireikan. I should hate for who you truly are to be swept aside by the wagging tongues of bored, connected men."

"Their swords could not do so," Osoroshii replies, and there is a glint of something harder in his eyes. "And their wagging tongues are not less flaccid than other things they've waved about, I'm sure."

He grins.

"No arm strength is what I mean, you know."