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thewhitereaperCharacter(s): Suzaku Kururugi and [Closed, complete] Baldwin the Leper.
Setting: The Training Grounds at the southernmost portion of Asgard.
Content: Worksafe
Summary: A young, weathered soldier contemplates his decade of conflict.
Status: Completed
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Genbu had laughed that sandpaper laugh of his whenever the young boy would declare that to an unoccupied tatami room, feigning cleaving apart portions of imaginary foes in daring heroics. He'd ask his son, parting a bit of the mop of brown atop his head, whether he was the good guys or the bad guys this time. "Good guys, father!" The young boy would always say, hotly demanding of Genbu why he could never remember. Genbu would throw his hands up in mock surrender to this brave warrior, and apologize for his failing memory in his ripe old age.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Declared the boy in oversized gray fatigues, to which Kyoshiro Tohdoh would give him a respectable thwack on his forehead. He'd ask the boy if he was immature or stupid, sharply reminding him that those titles and uniform carried weight and should only be wielded by those prepared to defend their homeland. The boy would assert that he was prepared, and get himself beaten soundly by the old soldier several dozen times. Fresh bruises would be fussed over by his mother, and the old soldier would apologize excessively for the boy's failings.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Declared the young soldier in well-fitting riot gear to the duke clad in white and gold. The duke narrowed one pudgy eye socket occupied by a gaudy, fogged monocle. The young man always wondered whether one day the glass would shatter and put out the duke's eye. The young man wished very much for that faraway possibility. The duke would spit out the day's orders, jowls shaking like they a possessed great dane. The young man never questioned, never faltered. His spirit waned every time he heard the thunder of his weapon.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! The young pilot in white resisted declaring as the glimmering machinery at his fingers surged and purred, as though it had spent its entire existence eagerly anticipating his touch. The young man winced as Lloyd Asplund tittered in glee in his ears, urging him to take his shiny two-ton toy on its first date. He felt fear of the power in his hands, but conviction that quieted it.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The young knight had imagined declaring as the princess with curls pinker than the sweetest rose had laid the blunt blade on his shoulder in a silent oath. She looked more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. He felt hope.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The knight had declared bitterly under his breath when he had donned the ornate vestments and raised a holy sword, looking at six other faces he neither recognized nor cared about.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The fake revolutionary had heard declared in his mind beneath the faceless black mask, tears he didn't understand falling as the man he once called brother shuddered and went limp.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The fist of the Empress had thought for the final time as he rose, standing beside the small monarch with more pain in her eyes than he'd ever seen.
And now, here he stood. Suzaku Kururugi casts his brown gaze towards the horizon, called once again to do what he did better than anything and loathed even more than himself.
Private Kururugi, Reporting.
Setting: The Training Grounds at the southernmost portion of Asgard.
Content: Worksafe
Summary: A young, weathered soldier contemplates his decade of conflict.
Status: Completed
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Genbu had laughed that sandpaper laugh of his whenever the young boy would declare that to an unoccupied tatami room, feigning cleaving apart portions of imaginary foes in daring heroics. He'd ask his son, parting a bit of the mop of brown atop his head, whether he was the good guys or the bad guys this time. "Good guys, father!" The young boy would always say, hotly demanding of Genbu why he could never remember. Genbu would throw his hands up in mock surrender to this brave warrior, and apologize for his failing memory in his ripe old age.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Declared the boy in oversized gray fatigues, to which Kyoshiro Tohdoh would give him a respectable thwack on his forehead. He'd ask the boy if he was immature or stupid, sharply reminding him that those titles and uniform carried weight and should only be wielded by those prepared to defend their homeland. The boy would assert that he was prepared, and get himself beaten soundly by the old soldier several dozen times. Fresh bruises would be fussed over by his mother, and the old soldier would apologize excessively for the boy's failings.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! Declared the young soldier in well-fitting riot gear to the duke clad in white and gold. The duke narrowed one pudgy eye socket occupied by a gaudy, fogged monocle. The young man always wondered whether one day the glass would shatter and put out the duke's eye. The young man wished very much for that faraway possibility. The duke would spit out the day's orders, jowls shaking like they a possessed great dane. The young man never questioned, never faltered. His spirit waned every time he heard the thunder of his weapon.
Private Kururugi, Reporting! The young pilot in white resisted declaring as the glimmering machinery at his fingers surged and purred, as though it had spent its entire existence eagerly anticipating his touch. The young man winced as Lloyd Asplund tittered in glee in his ears, urging him to take his shiny two-ton toy on its first date. He felt fear of the power in his hands, but conviction that quieted it.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The young knight had imagined declaring as the princess with curls pinker than the sweetest rose had laid the blunt blade on his shoulder in a silent oath. She looked more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. He felt hope.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The knight had declared bitterly under his breath when he had donned the ornate vestments and raised a holy sword, looking at six other faces he neither recognized nor cared about.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The fake revolutionary had heard declared in his mind beneath the faceless black mask, tears he didn't understand falling as the man he once called brother shuddered and went limp.
Private Kururugi, Reporting. The fist of the Empress had thought for the final time as he rose, standing beside the small monarch with more pain in her eyes than he'd ever seen.
And now, here he stood. Suzaku Kururugi casts his brown gaze towards the horizon, called once again to do what he did better than anything and loathed even more than himself.
Private Kururugi, Reporting.