Ghostwriting [P]

[OOC Note: What follows are excerpts from Yasahiro's journal. As a result, they will largely be in first person and will likely jump around Yasahiro's personal timeline based on what I feel like writing at any given moment, if you're not interested in that kind of writing I recommend looking elsewhere.]

The shrill shriek of his mother still rang in his ears as Yasahiro, leather-bound journal in hand, sat down for his first night in exile. The humid air clung to his body adding a certain degree of discomfort to an already uncomfortable situation and never failing to remind him of the world all around him despite his best efforts to forget it. The past twelve hours had passed in a frenzied blur of fear, guilt, and adrenaline; his brother, Kenchi, was dead and he was to blame...

August 10th

What have I done?

I don't know quite where to begin, so I'll start with the argument. It all began with an admittedly off-color remark about Kenchi's fiance, something said in jest about her appearance and its relation to those of the bovine persuasion. It wasn't my proudest moment and, in reflecting, I suspect it had something to do with the sake we had all imbibed...or maybe that wasn't it? Truthfully, I'm not certain anymore.

Perhaps answers will come in time.

We went back and forth, Kenzo and I, until banter escalated into threat and threat into the drawing of swords—all over one silly comment. Oh, it was horrible; we squared off in the center of our home, you remember, right? It was where mother maintained the rock garden and by that small bubbling spring. The sound of the blades and screech of the metal still haunts me even now.

And then there was the pain..."

Yasahiro stopped writing and looked down at his right forearm, at the fresh wound Kenzo had inflicted on him in error. All it had been was an error, nothing else, and yet he was dead. He had died for nothing.

[WC: 288]

August 10th (con.)

...It was unlike anything I'd felt before, sharp and visceral. Kenzo's blade was faster than normal or maybe my blade was too slow, I'm not sure anymore. Either way, his blade slipped through my forearm like butter; at first, I felt nothing and then the pain washed over me like a wave. Even now as I write this, it still throbs in spite of the dressings Asahi applied.

Asahi, the boy who spoke with ghosts everyone used to call him. He stood in as my second in this fight and, though he did not lift a blade, because he did not stop me he paid the price. I would have preferred to go alone, but even now he sleeps across from me. More than a few times I've considered leaving him behind, but that would be cruel. We're in the same situation now, out of house and home with not a single friendly face in sight. But here I am digressing once more from my point and rambling about something that matters very little to the events I was describing previously...

Asahi stirred slightly from his sleep, rolled over, and resumed snoring.

...After the pain, I barely remember what happened next. One moment I was clutching my injured arm and the next I was standing over Kenzo. Looking back it feels as if I had lost control of my body. I knew what was happening, but could do nothing to stop it...

Once more Yasahiro paused and glanced down at his injury. What had he done?
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TWC: 534

August 10th (con.)

...And then there were the screams, not from Kenzo—for he lacked the vitality to do so—but from my mother. Oh, they were horrible, the screams of a wounded animal issuing from a woman whose very soul must have been torn from her body at the sight. For, if the sight impacted me in such a way, I can only imagine the pain and agony mother was in at the sight.

What followed was a bunch of yelling and what was probably the most foolish decision in my twenty-seven years: running. My vision blurred I ran so fast with tears running down my face the whole time. I'm not quite sure when I stopped, but I started when it was light and stopped long after the sun had fallen. Even now I feel the burning of my muscles and am endlessly surprised by Asahi's ability to keep up.

Well, that leads me to today. I sit in a dark wood about to rest without know whether I will see tomorrow. Will an errant blade find my throat as I sleep? I can't be sure, but perhaps I deserve it—we shall see.

With that written, Yasahiro lay down to sleep. Neither dreams nor nightmares visited him as he slept. Anyone who would happen upon him and his companion would surely mistake him for a corpse, for he did not move or stir once. Rather he floated in an abyss of unconsciousness, a sea of nothingness awaiting the end that would not come.

TWC: 791

August 22nd

Today is my birthday.

Back home this would mean a modest celebration. I wouldn't be required to attend training and had the day to myself. Most birthdays, however, I wouldn't do much of anything with this free time. I remember a few where I spent much of the day reading and another where I actually used my free time to train, away from the watchful eyes of my father—he was always a stickler for form no matter the occasion.

My favorite tradition, though, was the family dinners we would have together whenever a member of the household had a birthday. Unlike our normally more scattered dinners, this one brought the extended family all under one roof and around a single table. We would drink liberally, eat excessively, and while away the night with conversations of memories long past and plans yet to come. It was a nicer, simpler time that I now find myself missing more than anything in the world—I would even forego the eating and drinking for just another normal family dinner again.

Unfortunately, that is all in the past.

Today, instead of a day of relaxation and festivities, Asahi and I were on the road again. It has been twelve days since our 'departure' and I fear we may never find a place to call home again. Our next destination is a town by a swamp known for absolutely nothing and spectacular in no other way than its export of peat, perhaps this place will do?

Well, I guess we'll see; for now I need to sleep.

And so Yasahiro lay back against the makeshift bed he'd pulled together from branches and underbrush. Sleep came quickly and soon he found himself enveloped in a dreamless state between worlds, between life and death.

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TWC:  1090

August 23rd

Well, we arrived.

I'm not sure the village really has a name and calling it a village might be a bit too generous. The village—for lack of a better word—consists of maybe a dozen buildings on the edge of a swamp. It seems to be nothing more than a waypoint on the map for merchants, the locals have adapted their lives to the ebb and flow of business. There are large gaudy signs meant to pull passersby in and keep them in, though I suspect that this facade is, frankly, just that.

Asahi and I are staying in a rundown inn by the name of 'The Manky Boot' that doesn't appear to have any other patrons at the moment. It is a quaint, nice place run by an elderly couple. My only real gripe about it, however, is the price; we won't be able to stay here long or we'll find our funds quickly depleted. The merchants that come through this way must do decent business because prices throughout the town seem to be quite inflated. I guess if you have a captive market that has nowhere else to go you can charge whatever you want—I don't think I could ever go into business, it's an unsavory practice.

One thing on my mind of late is whether mother and father are looking for me. And, I suppose more appropriately, do they want to see me answer for the death of Kenzo? I can't be sure, but I doubt I'll be able to run forever. One day I'll have to return or be dragged back, but I'll leave that for another day.

Yasahiro closed his journal, placed it back in his bag, and made his way back down to meet his cousin. Asahi had promised to buy him dinner as a belated birthday present—the exile could worry about the future another day.
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TWC: 1408

August 27th

We're broke.

I just got done paying for our final night at 'The Manky Boot' and, much to my chagrin, after paying I found that Asahi and I had just about enough ryo to get us another six meals. Six more meals before we're officially destitute and find ourselves begging on the side of the road. Funny how things end up working, we have always lived a relatively easy life and now here we are trying to figure out where our next meal will be coming from. Fate has a strange way of playing with humans, I suppose.

Fate notwithstanding, however, we will need to find work and a place to rest our heads. Asahi is still out "interviewing" and I've only just started mapping out where I might be able to find employment. The obvious choice is something to do with the sword, it feels like ages since I've properly sparred with anyone and it would be nice to do so again even it meant teaching some merchant's brat how to defend themselves in a pinch. I guess we'll see, I doubt I will have much room to be picky given the size of the village, but maybe I'll get lucky.

Only time will tell.

Slipping the journal away into his belongings, Yasahiro picked up the village guide provided by their host and began to plan his upcoming job hunt. Frankly, he wasn't all that optimistic and didn't have much room to be picky.
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TWC: 1655

August 28th

Home at last.

Well, not my home, just a home. Asahi started his job as a waiter of some sort and heard about an abandoned structure deep in the nearby swamp. Apparently, some poor old fisherman used to call it home until the bog swallowed him up after a particularly brutal bender. Who'd have thought another's vices would end up being our boon?

Frankly, the poor old coot didn't leave us much to work with. The whole building is falling down around us. As I write this I'm certain I saw a few snakes slither out from the floorboards and only to disappear through a rather gaping hole in the structure's facade. It sits on the swamp so each night Asahi and I are assailed by bugs of every shape and size leaving me to count the days until my cousin gets his first paycheck—we're in dire need of nets and perhaps something akin to bug repellent.

For my part, I have yet to find employment in spite of my best efforts. It seems no one needs or wants an unknown sword instructor. They only want someone with a good name and thousand feats beneath his or her belt, I have neither. The latter I never saw a need to develop and for the former would only expose me and my cousin to unwanted scrutiny. I'm sure I'll find a job sooner or later, but as the days pass by I doubt it will be far from savory—I suppose only time can tell.

For once I'll have to rely on Asahi for a while...
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TWC: 1924

August 28th (con.)

...It has been a pleasant surprise to see Asahi start to grow into his own. Back home he was called strange, weird, and a bunch of other names that escape me at the moment. Frankly, he was an outcast in his own home for his actions and, more often than not, his inactions. On the road, however, he seems to have grown to a point where he moves in and out of conversations with ease and without deferring into the supernatural. Granted, he does sometimes meander from reality at times, but such instances are few and far between.

It's odd not being the responsible one for a while.

Though, while it is odd, I do now see the appeal of eschewing responsibilities. In the time since our departure, neither my cousin nor I have been told what to do or how to do it. Who would have thought that in leaving behind our home that we would find such freedom? Indeed, at times it scares me; I can do whatever I want without fear of father or mother's disapproving eye on me. After all, I have already disappointed them enough—there is nothing more that I could do that would disappoint them further.

Sighing to himself, Yasahiro glanced up from his journal and out at the fast-darkening swamp. In the distance, he spied the bobbing light of Asahi's lantern weaving its way back home. He needed to get started on dinner, it was his turn to cook.
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TWC: 2174

September 1st

I found a job.

Goro Yakiyami, a local entrepreneur and suspected con artist, saw fit to hire me. Not for any other reason than—to use his words—'You're cheap and you have a pulse, that's all I ask for in a worker'. I'm sure you can imagine the type of person who might say such a thing. He is, without a doubt, the consummate capitalist always ready to make a deal where he sees value. In this case, he saw value in hiring a man down on his luck and without any other options to work as a teamster for his local shipping enterprise.

It's not the most stimulating of jobs, but it does keep me reasonably fit and my stomach full, which is all I can really ask for at this point in time. Goro and I worked out a deal where I get paid daily as opposed to monthly or biweekly. The scheme benefits both of us, me by putting funds in my pocket more immediately and Goro for committing to nothing long term—he seems to abhor the idea of keeping a permanent staff on hand, something about business agility.

All in all, however, I can't complain too much...
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TWC: 2380

September 1st (con.)

...Not that Goro would care if I complained or not. He'd probably fire me and hire some other poor sod in a heartbeat.

My coworkers are nothing to write home about either. All three of my fellow teamsters seem to be drifters much like myself with no real inclination towards talking about their pasts. Rather, we spend our time discussing the latest local news and the work at hand. In all, our conversations are about nothing deeply engaging, but my coworkers do their job well enough and don't complain so it makes for a pleasant atmosphere and a brief reprieve from the nonstop energy of Asahi.

I will say I do often find myself reflecting on the past and how my whole life has amounted to this, but I try to avoid such musings as much as possible. They only lead to a dark place that I'd rather not unpack just yet. Instead, it is far better to—as Asahi would say—'live in the moment'. Indeed, it is only now that such a lifestyle has been thrust on me that I find some value in it. Sure, I can't say I don't look forward to the day things return to something resembling normal, but everything is alright now. We'll see if that continues to be the case as time goes on.

Well, I'm rambling now, I'll call it there for this evening.

With that Yasahiro closed his journal, extinguished his lamp, and laid back in his hammock.
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TWC: 2631