Post by shaxper on Sept 12, 2015 22:53:52 GMT -5
Wrote this fanfiction about ten years ago specifically for The Usagi Yojimbo Dojo. It's a little dark for Usagi, but I tend to do that to the things I write. This is set roughly 12 years ahead of Usagi's present time (or at least 12 years ahead of Usagi's present time when I wrote this). If you've never read Usagi Yojimbo, this will absolutely confuse you.
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“An Ending”
A Usagi Yojimbo fanfiction, by shaxper
“I’ve never known you to refuse a bottle of sake, Gen.”
Miyamoto Usagi took a delicate sip of his tea, cautiously assessing the hulking rhino across the table from him.
“It creeps me out when you give me that look, long ears.”
Gen sat motionless, a vision of uncharacteristic serenity as his half-closed eyes seemed fully absorbed in the cup of tea before him.
Usagi noted the taste still lingering on his tongue. The balance was wrong. Too bitter without enough sweetness. He lamented the substandard quality of ‘inn tea’ and wondered whether the innkeeper had brewed it in a dirty washbasin.
Usagi took another sip and let out an involuntary wince as the stench of the piping hot liquid bit back at his taste buds.
“Too hot?”
“Too disgusting,” Usagi reflected with a disdainful tone.
Outside, the first chills of autumn were upon the land. The moon, ghost-like and clandestine behind a thin veil of clouds, cast a cold white haze upon the Western face of Moon Shadow Hill. A season was ending and, with it, the carefree song of summer. Soon the farmers would harvest their last crops, the tokages would begin their hibernation, and a solemn peace would overtake Nippon.
Inside, two old friends eyed each other with suspicion, each sensing the subtle approach of winter’s procession.
“What was the name of that old priest we took to Atsuta shrine...the one that used to be a samurai? Shano...Shonsan...Shobo...
“Actually, he took us to Atsuta, Gen”
“Took us? You know darn well Sanshobo never would have made it alive without us.”
“I thought you didn’t remember his name.”
Quiet.
Gen had always been a puzzle to Usagi, or maybe more of a labyrinth with new mysteries to uncover at every turn. Upon their second meeting, Usagi had found himself unfolding his entire life story to Gen, spelling out every detail, from childhood to that very moment, for a near stranger. It wasn’t until a long while later, when they’d already grown quite close, that Usagi had begun to realize how little his best friend had offered in return. He remembered the rage and embarrassment that followed Gen’s retelling of the story of his father. The story had been told to Usagi only because circumstances had required as much, and Usagi had learned to stop prying after that. A friendship like theirs wasn’t worth jeopardizing, so Usagi became content in allowing Gen to surprise him with unexpected actions and moods from time to time.
But now, something big was going on beneath Gen’s calm exterior, something that was eating him alive. Usagi listened intently to the quiet between them, waiting for Gen to unveil some clue as to what was happening within.
A merciless wind from outside battered the quiet out of the room, a gustful predator shaking the wall with unexpected fury. Failing to sense its prey, the wind shuffled off, still bellowing in the distance as it shook the very earth with a twisted moan, hunting the last frightened remains of summer.
“So I’ve been thinkin’ of Sanshobo lately. Thinkin’ about him a lot, actually.”
Usagi considered this confession. Gen had seemed to possess an enigmatic bond with priest Sanshobo, outright mocking the man, yet staying behind to speak with him at Atsuta, far from the reach of Usagi’s sensitive ears. Usagi wasn’t sure now, it had been such a long time, but hadn’t Sanshobo thanked Gen for something after that? Thanked him for what? Usagi wondered why this mystery hadn’t puzzled him more then.
“Really? Why Sanshobo?”
“C’mon, long ears. The man gave up the sword to become a priest. Haven’t you ever wondered what makes a man do something like that?”
Sanshobo had told Usagi his story once, though it had been so long ago. At the time, it hadn’t seemed so different from Usagi’s reasons for traveling the Warrior’s Pilgrimage, though the actual details now escaped him.
“What does a thing like that matter to you, Gen?”
Gen raised his hand and began to strike his fingers against his palm, one by one.
“Sanshobo...Ikeda...Zato Ino...Horishi... all Samurai that laid down their swords. Doesn’t that ever make you ask yourself things?”
“Well Ikeda and Horishi had lost their lords. Sanshobo had failed his. Ino...”
“...Things like what it would take to make you lay down your own swords.”
And there it was. Usagi had almost missed it, delivering the answers he’d always accepted without doubt. Apparently, he’d been asking himself the same question all this time. But yes, there it was, the source of Gen’s distress.
“I’d never thought of you, the bounty hunter, as one that would ever consider quitting the sword.”
Gen eyed Usagi severely.
“That’s cuz you don’t see me as being on their level. You see me as a bottom dweller that lives off of the deaths of others.”
He delivered his accusation calmly and carefully, as if he’d been rehearsing it in his head for some time.
“Gen, I respect you as a friend, but you can’t tell me that you conduct yourself with a samurai’s honor.”
Gen rose abruptly, towering over Usagi, yet still maintaining that facade of solemn composure.
“It’s about time you said it.”
He turned his back to the long eared ronin and promptly left the inn.
-----
The wind was cool on Gen’s face. Normally, he welcomed this feeling in autumn, particularly after having his face warmed by the familiar buzz of sake. But Gen hadn’t drunk any sake tonight and the cold was more persistent than usual.
“Gen, don’t go!”
Miyamoto Usagi burst through the inn door, almost stumbling over himself. An odd contrast to the unmoving, sure-footed tower of Gen under the moon’s white shadow.
“I didn’t come out here because of you, long ears. I came out here because of them.”
It took a moment for Usagi to regain his composure, but soon his senses were keen, telling him what Gen must have already known for several minutes now.
“Three of them” he announced to Gen, grateful to slip back into this familiar level of interaction.
“Not very skillful in their steps, but the cold will make them desperate.”
Usagi readied his katana and wakizashi, their weights familiar and reassuring in his hands.
“I didn’t come out here to fight them, Usagi”
“What?”
Usagi allowed his mouth to gape open, dumbfounded by another unexpected turn in the labyrinth of Gen.
“This is it, Usagi; the place where I decide whether or not I can stand holding onto these swords anymore.”
“Gen, these men probably mean to kill us.”
“I can’t stand death anymore, Usagi. I can’t take the smell of it that holds onto your clothes and never lets go. I don’t think I ever could.”
Usagi considered the weight of these words, still in disbelief to hear them coming from Gen, a bounty hunter and also his best friend. True, Gen had taken Inazuma’s death quite badly. They’d grown quite close after he and Sasuke had rescued her from Jei’s curse. Usagi supposed that she’d had more of an impact on Gen than he’d previously realized. Ino, Stray Dog, Inazuma. It seemed that Gen often formed the deepest bonds with those he’d been hired to kill.
With that thought, the bushes began to rattle.
“Put the swords away, samurai.” The voice rose out of the brambled darkness. “There’s more of us than there are of you.”
Gen was the first to speak, while Usagi opted for the intimidation of a warrior’s silence.
“Take what you want. There’s plenty of room for all of us inside,” announced Gen.
“Gen! What do you think they’ll do to us after they take everything they want? Sleep beside us? Trust us not to turn them in or kill them as they rest?”
The first bandit appeared from the bushes, short of figure but well built. His tunic was relatively new and in good repair. The same could not be said of his katana, which looked as though it needed a good sharpening and polish. His wakazashi was nowhere to be seen. Usagi immediately sized him up as an overconfident braggart, esteeming his concern with image to outweigh his concern for preparedness. It disgusted Usagi to see a ronin take such little pride in his swords, the very soul of a samurai.
The other two brigands now appeared from the left and right, effectively backing Usagi and Gen against the door of the inn.
“I’d take your friend’s advice, big ears. You don’t want our kind of trouble.”
Usagi remained in place, swords firmly drawn. He allowed a grimace to cross his face, a sign that he had no intention of moving.
“We’re not going to fight you. You can have the inn to yourselves. We’ll move on.”
“Gen!”
Gen turned to Usagi and, for the first time since they’d met, Usagi swore that Gen was pleading with him.
“If we leave with our purses, we can compensate the innkeeper on the way back. No harm done.”
“Where’s your honor, Gen!”
Usagi found himself barking at the rhino, another first in their friendship.
“This is my honor, Usagi! I honor life! The path of the samurai only leads to death.”
In the pale white shadow of the moon, Usagi swore something was gleaming in Gen’s eye. Still, the brigands were advancing, inching closer to them on all sides.
“Make your decision, samurai,” boasted the leader.
“It is you that must make the decision” warned Usagi, his eyes slit in preparation, his attention carefully balanced between the brigands and Gen’s unexpected protests.
“And what if you die, Usagi? What if you die over something as stupid as defending an inn from abusive deadbeats?”
Usagi assessed the three rogues. The two to his sides were nervous, stepping unsurely. The leader’s stance was wrong: confident, but amateur. Gen’s prediction seemed unlikely.
“Then such would be my karma,” he declared. “I am no coward.”
The thug to the left stepped closer, clumsy and unsure. The other two took this as their cue to advance.
The one to the right approached soonest. Usagi deflected the brigand’s sword with his wakazashi, as he met the leader’s sword with his Katana. With a quick twist of the waist, his Katana disarmed the leader and swung at the face of the rightmost thief, leaving the wakazashi to guard his frontside. The third thief approached from the left as the leader scurried for his sword and the left one slumped to the ground, lifeless. One on one, the third thief had no chance against Usagi, and was soon on the ground, cradling a sword arm with no hand. The leader came about with his recovered weapon, only to have it deflected with Usagi’s wakazashi, leaving him open for a strike from Usagi’s katana. The leader’s body fell to the ground, followed by its head.
Usagi stood with his swords out in preparedness, almost daring more unseen opponents to try him. To his side was Gen, silent, unable to find the right words.
“Thank you.”
“For what? You could have beaten them yourself.”
Gen sighed an air of reluctance.
“For making my decision for me.”
Usagi dropped his swords to his side. With a few words from Gen, his sense of victory was turning to one of helpless defeat.
“Come on, Gen! You know I had no choice! Why you should be thanking me for not being angry at you, making me fight those guys alone!”
“There is always a choice, Usagi. But, wherever I see that choice, you see only karma.”
Usagi wasn’t much for heavy debate. The life of a ronin had always been simple for him. He’d never stayed anywhere long enough for complexity to set in. There had only been the road and the adventures it had brought. Where had Gen found the time to consider anything more?
“Tell me, long ears, why do you travel the Warrior’s Pilgrimage? You avenged your lord and fulfilled your last obligations to him. Meanwhile, you have a son out there somewhere, a woman that I think you love, and a lord that she serves who’s been wanting you for a vassal for almost fifteen years now. You have such a life waiting for you out there, but nothing awaiting you on this pilgrimage, Usagi. Nothing awaiting you but death.”
Usagi had lost Gen at the mention of Jotoro. He hadn’t seen his son for almost two years now, and wondered whether he’d found a lord to serve yet. He imagined Jotoro, fully adorned in a warrior’s armor, fearlessly defending the life of his lord as they came under attack from all sides. It was Adachigahara again only, this time, maybe Jotoro would succeed where Usagi had failed.
Somehow, the idea left an unpleasant weight in Usagi’s stomach. A small chill climbed his back.
“I can’t travel your road anymore, long ears. I’ve lost the taste. Abayo.”
Gen walked off down the hill. As he felt a small chill whisp around him, he turned back to Usagi, now barely visible in the distance.
“I’ll report the bodies at the next town.”
Gen felt his way through the darkness, guessing at the direction of the nearest temple. He planned to spend the next few days atoning. Along the way down the hill, he felt for his sword handles with a parting fondness, laughing bitter tears at the appropriateness of leaving his friend with the bill one last time. It was a cold night, and the trip would undoubtedly take a while. Still, Gen stepped lightly and purposefully through the invisible grass and dirt. The wind hummed gently in his wake as the waxing moon cast new light upon the first falling leaves of the season.
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Usagi Yojimbo and all related characters are the property of Stan Sakai.
_____________________________________________________________________
“An Ending”
A Usagi Yojimbo fanfiction, by shaxper
“I’ve never known you to refuse a bottle of sake, Gen.”
Miyamoto Usagi took a delicate sip of his tea, cautiously assessing the hulking rhino across the table from him.
“It creeps me out when you give me that look, long ears.”
Gen sat motionless, a vision of uncharacteristic serenity as his half-closed eyes seemed fully absorbed in the cup of tea before him.
Usagi noted the taste still lingering on his tongue. The balance was wrong. Too bitter without enough sweetness. He lamented the substandard quality of ‘inn tea’ and wondered whether the innkeeper had brewed it in a dirty washbasin.
Usagi took another sip and let out an involuntary wince as the stench of the piping hot liquid bit back at his taste buds.
“Too hot?”
“Too disgusting,” Usagi reflected with a disdainful tone.
Outside, the first chills of autumn were upon the land. The moon, ghost-like and clandestine behind a thin veil of clouds, cast a cold white haze upon the Western face of Moon Shadow Hill. A season was ending and, with it, the carefree song of summer. Soon the farmers would harvest their last crops, the tokages would begin their hibernation, and a solemn peace would overtake Nippon.
Inside, two old friends eyed each other with suspicion, each sensing the subtle approach of winter’s procession.
“What was the name of that old priest we took to Atsuta shrine...the one that used to be a samurai? Shano...Shonsan...Shobo...
“Actually, he took us to Atsuta, Gen”
“Took us? You know darn well Sanshobo never would have made it alive without us.”
“I thought you didn’t remember his name.”
Quiet.
Gen had always been a puzzle to Usagi, or maybe more of a labyrinth with new mysteries to uncover at every turn. Upon their second meeting, Usagi had found himself unfolding his entire life story to Gen, spelling out every detail, from childhood to that very moment, for a near stranger. It wasn’t until a long while later, when they’d already grown quite close, that Usagi had begun to realize how little his best friend had offered in return. He remembered the rage and embarrassment that followed Gen’s retelling of the story of his father. The story had been told to Usagi only because circumstances had required as much, and Usagi had learned to stop prying after that. A friendship like theirs wasn’t worth jeopardizing, so Usagi became content in allowing Gen to surprise him with unexpected actions and moods from time to time.
But now, something big was going on beneath Gen’s calm exterior, something that was eating him alive. Usagi listened intently to the quiet between them, waiting for Gen to unveil some clue as to what was happening within.
A merciless wind from outside battered the quiet out of the room, a gustful predator shaking the wall with unexpected fury. Failing to sense its prey, the wind shuffled off, still bellowing in the distance as it shook the very earth with a twisted moan, hunting the last frightened remains of summer.
“So I’ve been thinkin’ of Sanshobo lately. Thinkin’ about him a lot, actually.”
Usagi considered this confession. Gen had seemed to possess an enigmatic bond with priest Sanshobo, outright mocking the man, yet staying behind to speak with him at Atsuta, far from the reach of Usagi’s sensitive ears. Usagi wasn’t sure now, it had been such a long time, but hadn’t Sanshobo thanked Gen for something after that? Thanked him for what? Usagi wondered why this mystery hadn’t puzzled him more then.
“Really? Why Sanshobo?”
“C’mon, long ears. The man gave up the sword to become a priest. Haven’t you ever wondered what makes a man do something like that?”
Sanshobo had told Usagi his story once, though it had been so long ago. At the time, it hadn’t seemed so different from Usagi’s reasons for traveling the Warrior’s Pilgrimage, though the actual details now escaped him.
“What does a thing like that matter to you, Gen?”
Gen raised his hand and began to strike his fingers against his palm, one by one.
“Sanshobo...Ikeda...Zato Ino...Horishi... all Samurai that laid down their swords. Doesn’t that ever make you ask yourself things?”
“Well Ikeda and Horishi had lost their lords. Sanshobo had failed his. Ino...”
“...Things like what it would take to make you lay down your own swords.”
And there it was. Usagi had almost missed it, delivering the answers he’d always accepted without doubt. Apparently, he’d been asking himself the same question all this time. But yes, there it was, the source of Gen’s distress.
“I’d never thought of you, the bounty hunter, as one that would ever consider quitting the sword.”
Gen eyed Usagi severely.
“That’s cuz you don’t see me as being on their level. You see me as a bottom dweller that lives off of the deaths of others.”
He delivered his accusation calmly and carefully, as if he’d been rehearsing it in his head for some time.
“Gen, I respect you as a friend, but you can’t tell me that you conduct yourself with a samurai’s honor.”
Gen rose abruptly, towering over Usagi, yet still maintaining that facade of solemn composure.
“It’s about time you said it.”
He turned his back to the long eared ronin and promptly left the inn.
-----
The wind was cool on Gen’s face. Normally, he welcomed this feeling in autumn, particularly after having his face warmed by the familiar buzz of sake. But Gen hadn’t drunk any sake tonight and the cold was more persistent than usual.
“Gen, don’t go!”
Miyamoto Usagi burst through the inn door, almost stumbling over himself. An odd contrast to the unmoving, sure-footed tower of Gen under the moon’s white shadow.
“I didn’t come out here because of you, long ears. I came out here because of them.”
It took a moment for Usagi to regain his composure, but soon his senses were keen, telling him what Gen must have already known for several minutes now.
“Three of them” he announced to Gen, grateful to slip back into this familiar level of interaction.
“Not very skillful in their steps, but the cold will make them desperate.”
Usagi readied his katana and wakizashi, their weights familiar and reassuring in his hands.
“I didn’t come out here to fight them, Usagi”
“What?”
Usagi allowed his mouth to gape open, dumbfounded by another unexpected turn in the labyrinth of Gen.
“This is it, Usagi; the place where I decide whether or not I can stand holding onto these swords anymore.”
“Gen, these men probably mean to kill us.”
“I can’t stand death anymore, Usagi. I can’t take the smell of it that holds onto your clothes and never lets go. I don’t think I ever could.”
Usagi considered the weight of these words, still in disbelief to hear them coming from Gen, a bounty hunter and also his best friend. True, Gen had taken Inazuma’s death quite badly. They’d grown quite close after he and Sasuke had rescued her from Jei’s curse. Usagi supposed that she’d had more of an impact on Gen than he’d previously realized. Ino, Stray Dog, Inazuma. It seemed that Gen often formed the deepest bonds with those he’d been hired to kill.
With that thought, the bushes began to rattle.
“Put the swords away, samurai.” The voice rose out of the brambled darkness. “There’s more of us than there are of you.”
Gen was the first to speak, while Usagi opted for the intimidation of a warrior’s silence.
“Take what you want. There’s plenty of room for all of us inside,” announced Gen.
“Gen! What do you think they’ll do to us after they take everything they want? Sleep beside us? Trust us not to turn them in or kill them as they rest?”
The first bandit appeared from the bushes, short of figure but well built. His tunic was relatively new and in good repair. The same could not be said of his katana, which looked as though it needed a good sharpening and polish. His wakazashi was nowhere to be seen. Usagi immediately sized him up as an overconfident braggart, esteeming his concern with image to outweigh his concern for preparedness. It disgusted Usagi to see a ronin take such little pride in his swords, the very soul of a samurai.
The other two brigands now appeared from the left and right, effectively backing Usagi and Gen against the door of the inn.
“I’d take your friend’s advice, big ears. You don’t want our kind of trouble.”
Usagi remained in place, swords firmly drawn. He allowed a grimace to cross his face, a sign that he had no intention of moving.
“We’re not going to fight you. You can have the inn to yourselves. We’ll move on.”
“Gen!”
Gen turned to Usagi and, for the first time since they’d met, Usagi swore that Gen was pleading with him.
“If we leave with our purses, we can compensate the innkeeper on the way back. No harm done.”
“Where’s your honor, Gen!”
Usagi found himself barking at the rhino, another first in their friendship.
“This is my honor, Usagi! I honor life! The path of the samurai only leads to death.”
In the pale white shadow of the moon, Usagi swore something was gleaming in Gen’s eye. Still, the brigands were advancing, inching closer to them on all sides.
“Make your decision, samurai,” boasted the leader.
“It is you that must make the decision” warned Usagi, his eyes slit in preparation, his attention carefully balanced between the brigands and Gen’s unexpected protests.
“And what if you die, Usagi? What if you die over something as stupid as defending an inn from abusive deadbeats?”
Usagi assessed the three rogues. The two to his sides were nervous, stepping unsurely. The leader’s stance was wrong: confident, but amateur. Gen’s prediction seemed unlikely.
“Then such would be my karma,” he declared. “I am no coward.”
The thug to the left stepped closer, clumsy and unsure. The other two took this as their cue to advance.
The one to the right approached soonest. Usagi deflected the brigand’s sword with his wakazashi, as he met the leader’s sword with his Katana. With a quick twist of the waist, his Katana disarmed the leader and swung at the face of the rightmost thief, leaving the wakazashi to guard his frontside. The third thief approached from the left as the leader scurried for his sword and the left one slumped to the ground, lifeless. One on one, the third thief had no chance against Usagi, and was soon on the ground, cradling a sword arm with no hand. The leader came about with his recovered weapon, only to have it deflected with Usagi’s wakazashi, leaving him open for a strike from Usagi’s katana. The leader’s body fell to the ground, followed by its head.
Usagi stood with his swords out in preparedness, almost daring more unseen opponents to try him. To his side was Gen, silent, unable to find the right words.
“Thank you.”
“For what? You could have beaten them yourself.”
Gen sighed an air of reluctance.
“For making my decision for me.”
Usagi dropped his swords to his side. With a few words from Gen, his sense of victory was turning to one of helpless defeat.
“Come on, Gen! You know I had no choice! Why you should be thanking me for not being angry at you, making me fight those guys alone!”
“There is always a choice, Usagi. But, wherever I see that choice, you see only karma.”
Usagi wasn’t much for heavy debate. The life of a ronin had always been simple for him. He’d never stayed anywhere long enough for complexity to set in. There had only been the road and the adventures it had brought. Where had Gen found the time to consider anything more?
“Tell me, long ears, why do you travel the Warrior’s Pilgrimage? You avenged your lord and fulfilled your last obligations to him. Meanwhile, you have a son out there somewhere, a woman that I think you love, and a lord that she serves who’s been wanting you for a vassal for almost fifteen years now. You have such a life waiting for you out there, but nothing awaiting you on this pilgrimage, Usagi. Nothing awaiting you but death.”
Usagi had lost Gen at the mention of Jotoro. He hadn’t seen his son for almost two years now, and wondered whether he’d found a lord to serve yet. He imagined Jotoro, fully adorned in a warrior’s armor, fearlessly defending the life of his lord as they came under attack from all sides. It was Adachigahara again only, this time, maybe Jotoro would succeed where Usagi had failed.
Somehow, the idea left an unpleasant weight in Usagi’s stomach. A small chill climbed his back.
“I can’t travel your road anymore, long ears. I’ve lost the taste. Abayo.”
Gen walked off down the hill. As he felt a small chill whisp around him, he turned back to Usagi, now barely visible in the distance.
“I’ll report the bodies at the next town.”
Gen felt his way through the darkness, guessing at the direction of the nearest temple. He planned to spend the next few days atoning. Along the way down the hill, he felt for his sword handles with a parting fondness, laughing bitter tears at the appropriateness of leaving his friend with the bill one last time. It was a cold night, and the trip would undoubtedly take a while. Still, Gen stepped lightly and purposefully through the invisible grass and dirt. The wind hummed gently in his wake as the waxing moon cast new light upon the first falling leaves of the season.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Usagi Yojimbo and all related characters are the property of Stan Sakai.
