middleofsomewhere | The Waking of Neran

The Waking of Neran

"Good morning Voidtreckers and passengers. Today is day twenty one of the month of Orchestra. We will be arriving in System #78961112094711 later today and the dressing carriage is open for your use."

It is indeed, with thick winter coats, hats, scarves and gloves in all sizes. There are also some bags suitable for carrying food, for anyone who wants to add to the festival food with more food!

They have the morning to prepare before another announcement.

"Shortly arriving in System #78961112094711. The weather is extremely cold, voidtreckers and passengers should wrap up warm and wear their SCA's at all times. Arriving in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."
The train shakes as they leave the void and they will see dark skies with glowing flecks of light falling down around them. It's only a glimpse before there is rock to both sides as they enter the landing area.

The Waking of Neran

... ARRIVAL TO OSIGA

THE VOIDTRECKER EXPRESS PULLS INTO AN OPEN HIGH-STACKED PARKING STATION, FILLED ALREADY BY A VARIETY OF VEHICLES. Darkness and the cold spills into where they pull in, lights and signs around to guide the Voidtreckers who exit the craft where they need to go, elevator and teleporting systems available to choose from.

For those turn their gaze to where the cold comes, they will see a view of the world: a landscape of mountains lit in burning bright blue. Like Christmas and city lights, they can be seen in the far distance, and the sky too glows with a shimmering, falling blue. It looks like a slow rain, while farther up, the twinkling of actual stars can be glimpsed.

This will be their view of the world for three Osiga days - 210 hours, give or take.

The lower floor widens into a train-like station, shuttles ready to take them into Osiga proper in short five minute rides. They just need to figure out they need to scan their SCAs at the turnstiles, which will beep with approval, and send a map to their SCA of the grotto.

With a handy dot to their hotel.

... THE IRUE GROTTO

HOTEL. THE EXTERIOR OF THE HOTEL IS STONY, A WALL OF UNEVEN ROCK WITH SLITS FOR WINDOWS CLIMBING UPWARD. It gives off a sparse, cold impression, but the interior is anything but. Inside the floors are smoother, a carpet in the middle of a lobby, and the walls are decorated with colourful paints and endless rugs and furs. There's seating, a roaring fire in one corner, and lighting set to a cosy mood.

There's stairs that can be taken, but also elevators. The bedrooms are much the same as the lobby, with paints and furs all around - the furs especially covering the beds, along with hand stitched quilts. In the centre is a fire pit, set with heatstones than wood or coal, and extras in a container by a wall with safety instructions of how to move them (with tongs and gloves).

Outside the rest of the grotto can be seen, a mish-mash of layers closer to a labyrinth. There's curtains for privacy, and also a screen to help blot out the sound.

FOOD & SIGHTS.

NOW, THE IRUE GROTTO CAN BE EXPLORED. The grotto is easy to get lost in, with stone stairs and archways doubling as bridges to lead to different levels, but always with something to see. Museums and art galleries fill most of the lower layers down, a few shops between of traditional trinkets and garments for those who come out interested in taking a piece of Osiga back with them. There are also day classes, with candle-making a big one on the first night.

Water runs through constructed streams, small but always in travel. They fall off into small waterfalls, eventually gathering into pools that always ensure drink is around. But there's also drinking spaces around, wall coves where servers mind the drinks, and people gather around on crouched seating. Privacy isn't a big deal in Osiga; visitors welcomed into conversation freely. The drinks favour the strong, spicy and sweet. Their traditional drinks are a fiery whisky and a sweet creamy milk drink flavoured by spices that taste very much like cinnamon and nutmeg. It is strongly alcoholic though there is a non alcoholic version as well. There are other drinks available of course from other planets but visitors are encouraged in a good natured way to try the good stuff.

And let's not forget the food. Most traditional Osigian dishes are spicy yet sweet, fatty, and largely meat. There are also food baskets all over, filled with wrapped snacks free for taking, or to add your own. Never let your neighbour go hungry. What will you find, dipping your hand in: a treat, or a mistake?

SORS PARKS, OPEN SKIES. THE FARTHER FROM THE HOTELS AND STATION VISITORS GO, THE MORE THE SKY BECOMES VISIBLE, AND WITH IT THE FALLING SNOW. Except this isn't snow, and those who venture out will figure this soon enough. There are sors parks up ahead, hard to miss for how they glow a brilliant blue, tall erratic sculptures shaped like an abstract mess. They're cold, even colder than the rest of the grotto, and near every entrance are wooden racks with coats and scarfs hanging from pegs, a bucket of heatstones to stick in pockets.

Keeping company is better than not. Anyone who goes in alone will find the chill uncomfortable to those who have someone else nearby, SCAs working stronger together. Paths somehow stay free from being covered in the icy mess, and every few yards are grit bins with small bags to put the contents in, instructions as to what to do.

And that's to throw them at the sculptures, into the air, and watch as the hardened ice disperses into a fizzle of lights. The sight is considered beautiful, and especially fun for kids and couples.

... ANAN & THE MINISTRY

It's maybe an hour or so after their arrival when a message comes through the comms on their SCA's.

boop beep boop beep / boop boop boop/ boop boop/ beep//
beep beep / boop beep//
beep beep beep boop/ boop boop boop/ beep beep/ boop beep beep / boop / beep boop beep/ beep/ boop beep boop beep/ boop beep boop/ beep/ beep boop beep/ beep beep beep//

"It didn't close the hack. I think your Voidtrecker Express likes me." Anan sounds almost triumphant. "Glad you all came. I'm at the drinking space next to the Irue Museam of Osigan Art."

For those that wish to go and meet her, they can.

... THE WAKING OF NERAN

NIGHT ONE: REMEMBERING. It's hard to tell when 'night' begins when the world is in darkness and there are more hours in the day then they are perhaps used to. But things begin to wind down a little, the art houses and museums close and the day activities are wrapped up.

People begin making their way to the main streets where the parade will go. Some people may have made candles throughout the day but there are also long candles for sale and 'fire' bearers carrying large torches to light the candles. The main lights are all turned off, plunging the streets into darkness lit only by the candles and the faint distant glow of sors.

The parade itself has large lit floats, literally floating above the ground, the lights are in intricate shapes. There are light dancers- people dressed completely in black to blend in to the night, with ribbons of light doing feats of acrobatics to music- instruments and volcaless voices weaving melodies.

After the parade passes by people move to the streams, where their floating candles that can be lit and sent on their way. There are designated areas for the tall candles to be placed- almost shrine like with areas to pray or think or sing- the helpful guides will assist anyone and are very open to the different ways people from various worlds and cultures may wish to remember their dead.

Afterwards people are encouraged to drink, eat, spend time with the living and swap stories of the dead. Dance and sing. It is upbeat, joyous and the tears are meant to be cathartic.

NIGHT TWO: PERSEVERING. After another day of activities- or resting and recovering from the excess of the night before the grotto again is ready in anticipation. The side of the grotto open to the sky is packed with people, ledges and railings packed with people. Even the buildings on this side of the grotto have opened their doors to allow people up on their roofs to watch the firework display.

Sparklers are sold, as are snacks and drinks and a voice comes through speakers throughout the space.

"NERAN! On this night you fight!" The crowd cheers. "Hear our dedication, return to us! For tonight is a night of COURAGE!"

The crowd cheers again and the fireworks begin. Loud and colourful, beautiful shapes, almost like dances in the sky. It's loud and it's busy but the atmosphere is great, throughout the night within the crowd there are marriage proposals, declarations of new jobs, decisions to travel the void. Bravery and courage abound- helped probably by the strong whisky that is flowing freely.

NIGHT THREE: UNITY. The festival continues, though it's a slightly later start on day three for many who are nursing hangovers, having a well earned sleep in preparation for the final night or just frantically trying to remember what declarations they had made the night before.

But the activities are still happening throughout the grotto- though the guides might advise any obvious voidtravellers that they may wish to nap before 'night' time, especially if they are not used to day/night cycles this long. The final night doesn't stop til sunrise after all and no one wants to miss the sun rising!

As the time comes for the party to start every square and every street is packed, music blares through speakers. Traditional Osigan music mixed with styles and music from other planets in the galexy. The traditional Osigan music has many layers, deep bass instruments that seem to make the ground itself rumble.

There is dancing, led by guides and locals. They are big circle dances, loud energetic and done in unity. There are callers who keep everyone in time and remind them of the steps but it is mostly an exercise in organised chaos.

But very fun organised chaos. There's extra chairs and benches set around for people who would rather watch or need a break from the endless swirl of dancers. There's plenty of water in large barrels for people to help themselves and other drinks are available to buy.

The party goes on for hours but eventually the music stops and there is an announcement that they have an hour left until sunrise. People begin moving out to find the best spots to watch. Up high on the cliffs people spread out rugs and blankets and settle, waiting.

The atmosphere is one of anticipation, people passing around drinks and snacks. Then there is a hush, a cry as for the first time in a month the first ray of light streaks across the sky.

Neran has awoken. The sun has returned once more.

OOC NOTES

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He's become quite accustomed to the energy that Yondu emits, though different than chakra -- but more than that, the way Yondu walked and carried himself was equally as telling. Most people knew his abilities in tracking through his sensory skills but from the era he was, tracking was useful for more than war. Hunting and the like. Stories (or not) for another time. Nevertheless, Tobirama didn't seem surprised by the arrival just as expected.

With a slow breath out, the Senju turned his head over a shoulder. Red eyes looked over the man and his offering. A great part of him wished to stay here longer and the guides seemed to hold no time-limit or rush on the process for those that needed it. So, Tobirama unfolds a hand gesturing for Yondu to join him. A nod, wordlessly receiving the thermos and taking a sip of it's contents.

Yondu was a hunter, but still distractable enough that he could be crept up on. Tracking, he got, and was very good at when he was focussed on it. When his fin was active he was even better.

He does join him, and if he stoops again he'll just sit beside him with his legs folded under him.

"Sounds like an amazing guy, your brother. Ever' story I've heard has made 'im sound good to know. Even the bad ones."

Its a warm comfort. He'd already shared a few drinks with the other man but being one to so rarely if ever let loose so to speak the tea furthered any sobering that the cold and time did not. A slight chill force the man's shoulders up and fingers to grasp that fur around him. Exhale.

For some time, Tobirama considers his words carefully. Even after all these years, over a hundred it's been now, he remembers them vividly. The ones who never made it past their youth. How dedicated Kawarama was; how soft and loyal Itama was. Useless deaths. His fingers tense around that thermos for but a second before calming it with another sip.

"They all were," he finally chooses to speak it.

Yondu knows that offering a touch might be unwelcome, but he offered him a warm drink. That should work, right? Yondu didn't know family all that well, and his friends hadn't died, but he did understand his own brand of loss.

So he just shifts a little closer, holding his own drink, glancing over at Tobirama being as far from an ice fortress as one could imagine.

"If you wanna tell me about 'em... I wouldn't mind hearin' it. It sorta helped, knowin' other people'd remember my crew an' what happened to 'em. If it ain't too hard on ya, I'd like to know."

Give it some more time. Some more time and a conversation, actually, because he's not an idiot nor as oblivious as some people like to think. You don't lead a village and live to sixty being that emotionally thick. He'd hope, at least, but then again... this was all points aside. For the time being, Tobirama considers in silence. Weighing his thoughts and choosing his words carefully.

Hands reach out to light a few more candles. He's only lit one for Hashirama, but now Kawarama and Itama needed one, too. He's a temperate man, Yondu. There's not much that's too hard on him to speak about. The question is if he will or will not. He exhales. "Kawarama was seven. We found him face down in the river. Itama was ten. We were too late to come to his aid, Hashirama and I. Taken down by several adults." His head turns toward the other man. "A child, Yondu. Hunted down by grown men."

His eyes return to the altar, "Hashirama died younger than he should have because he was an idiot. I mourn his loss, but I mourn them more."

Yondu has enough experience to know, even if he still intrudes sometimes if he thinks the person needs it. Even he occasionally shrugs off the kind advances of someone else when they try to comfort him while he's upset. But he keeps his hands assigned to his cup rather than patting his heavy shoulders. There's a heavy burden on there as it is. "I wish that didn't feel as normal as it does. I wish it shocked me, an' wasn't just damn tragic."

After some thought he puts down his cup to light his own candle, but he doesn't say who this one is for right now. Just focuses on this other thought and how heavy a burden just failing to get there when someone is in danger. The worst kind of survivor's guilt.

"What was eventually done about it?" Probably involving more tragedy. That's the way these stories go.

Hashirama was an emotional man, some might say the complete opposite of Tobirama, but he's never seen his elder brother cry like that before when they reached Itama just a moment too late. He'll never get that image out of his head. Cradling their younger brother as the light faded out and he just stood there, useless.

Itama had the potential to be a great Shinobi, too. They both did and if Kawarama hadn't been taken at such a young age perhaps they'd have seen more of that potential. Learning how to kill as soon as they could walk. Though Yondu was right in that such a thing was far too normal. His head nodding slight for but a moment. In his own world and, it seemed, in Yondu's as well. It was pathetic as far as Tobirama was concerned. Sending children out on the behest of the experienced just to claim a kill. No honor, unlike what his father believed.

There's a moment or two after the other man's question. He takes another sip of his tea and brings his attention back to those similar red eyes. "What has Mito told you?"

It's difficult. He had to beat the hell out of Peter to make him a proper Ravager, and the boy was only eight when he picked him up. But he'd ended up an exemplary one, and one that was very good at avoiding taking life if he wanted to. He could trick himself out of any situation.

Sometimes a talent for violence didn't have to be a talent for death. They could have been great influences too. It's still a commonality that neither of them should have, and one that's difficult to live with. But when he mentions the conversation with Mito, he tears his own red gaze away, looking to the shrine instead since that's how he deals with this particular brand of awkwardness.

"She talked up your brother a bunch for one. There's a lotta love there. Told me more about the Uchiha clan massacre. Told me about Madara. Told me you killed his brother. Said Hashirama threw his head on a chopping block to make peace." Not accusingly, more like it was a fact that was dispensed. He doesn't mention the thing about Tobirama being a possible catalyst for what happened. He doesn't even know how to go about that bit of conversation.

Then he says. "She told me some other stuff, about you in particular. Some of it didn't even matter, plenty of people here do weirder. Like the soul-binding move. She mentioned that you could come off an ice fortress, but you weren't. I said you never came off as one at all. You just don't smile a whole lot. But from the sound of it, life wasn't favorable enough to get you into the practice."

Edited (STOP TYPOING BINKY) 2021-12-13 19:50 (UTC)

Imagine a culture where this was measured in training and not abuse. He'd tried to make such a thing but... like all systems seem to, it eventually became just as corrupt and violent as the times before such structures. Four great wars and hundreds of years later. Maybe, finally, now.

Thoughts that stopped with the sharp redirection of Yondu's head. An interesting and curious response though as the man spoke he understood that quite a lot was the answer to his question. What brought this entire situation into what it'd become was a whole other curiosity but what's done is done. Though she was right. His heels would and will dig in.

A hum and a nod comes with 'some other stuff'. Edo Tensei, no doubt. Tobirama's eyes turn back to the candle. It's no secret in his world, either. His flaws, his failures, all well documented. Why, though. That conversation will have to happen some other time. As for right now? He stands, returning the thermos to its owner. "Well, then. You already know."

It's the habit of a former slave, one who was used to returning to being a thing when he was emotionally stunted. An object that looked like it didn't have feelings, but in a different way than Tobirama.

He's jarred by him standing, though, taking the thermos back in confusion and stands himself.

"Hold up... she didn't say what 'caused what exactly, she-"

There's a sick sense of hold that grips him. He has a choice in that moment, as his heart threatens to break. He can wrap it in ribbon and hope it holds through the battering undamaged and cushioned. Or he can wrap it in more barbed wire and know it'll be torn but it will last, like it always has.

The hand around the thermos goes pale-knuckled as some lava-flavored words burn up his throat. But enough has happened aboard the train that he knows a certain priest would be disappointed in him for disrespecting a shrine in that particular way. That another of his stronger friends would rightfully think anything that came out of him at the moment was pathetic.

"You ain't the only with big screw ups.."

Yondu doesn't raise his voice to defend himself for just knowing like he wanted, 'cause there's no point but pride. And even if his heart throbs with the weight of metal he managed to control the bit of him that wants to claim he didn't ask to know, he was warned.

He turns away again and settles back down, picking up another candle to light, focussing on that instead.

Tobirama would be one of those people quite willing to stop short any physical destruction or flavorful words spoken in a place like this. It would take them less than half a minute to find their feet on grounds that were perfectly suited to scathing words and bursts of violence. Then again, he did break a wall in an old shrine once but to his bullshit excuse it was long since abandoned.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips. What the hell had all been said, he wonders now. Still, he has no desire to get into a place of heated conversation where he'd been remembering the people he'd lost. They deserved more respect than that. The people Yondu was remembering deserved more respect than that. So for now, he'll turn on the ball of his foot. "Find me when you want to continue this conversation."

It's not until fully the next day when he does eventually find him, just because the first two ended up being a lot. Conversations were heavy and hearts were raw all over, and he tempered himself back into more of the person that he wanted to be rather than that selfish, defensive thing he could be.

So he's much calmer when he finds him, if tired looking. He knocks lightly on his door and shuts his eyes.

"Tobirama? You in there?" He calls out quietly. "...I just wanna talk."

The silence doesn't trouble Tobirama. They both had their remembrances to do and things to take care of. So he did, and strangely slept a decent amount for the night. The Senju had just finished a shower when that knock came but it wasn't too long after the knock that the door opened with a nod for Yondu to enter after a moment spent looking over him.

"Apologies for taking so long to answer. You look tired," he points out, "was the rest of your night just as eventful?"

"Nah... just had a few more people to mourn but ones what no amount of memorials'd do right by."

He slips inside and can smell shower warmth throughout the room. There's a particular brand of clean steam to it. He sighs. "But I need to get better at apologizin'," so he doesn't just kick myself in the teeth. "Just wanted ya to know uh... sorry for raisin' my voice. An' I'm sorry about your brothers. I was just hopin' they had some kinda justice. Didn't mean to make it more difficult."

Though nothing can truly make the deaths of children right. "I don't take what people say at face value. I've seen how ya act, heard how ya feel, watched what you prioritize. That's all I need to know to give a shit about how ya feel." Because that doesn't feel as abrasively potent and loaded as 'care about you', even if that's true. Even if it really shouldn't be. People should be able to care about each other.

Tobirama gives a nod in understanding. He knows how that feels, and perhaps he feels this way for his brothers to be honest. This is far from the first time he's honored their death. Every moment he's capable of doing so, he takes it. He inhales, slipping a damp white hair out of his face.

"Apology accepted," the Senju wanders further into his room and sits cross legged on the bed. A tea he'd been steeping gets picked up to further warm his hands. "The justice would have been a peaceful village where children were safe from war, where Shinobi could be trained properly and assigned tasks and jobs based on skill and merit rather than casually thrown to their death."

This was not what ended up happening. It seemed no matter how hard they tried, war was inevitable. Only now does there seem to be unity, but is that because the threat comes from the outside world and not their own? "It was Itama who believed justice should be paid an eye for an eye. I suppose it was just to end up being the one who killed Izuna, Madara's brother. Hashirama could never, and Madara never deserved the love my brother gave him."

He gives it a long pause, takes a sip of his tea, and sighs. "It's the principle of everything that frustrates me, not the topics spoken about."

He comes over to join him, sitting on the edge of the bed side-saddle, one leg curled up and bearing most of his weight.

"Still feel kinda bad. Planned on askin' you some questions but I think Mito just wanted to look out for ya. Didn't want me to turn out to be a fairweather friend of some sort, but I don't think there's nothin' fair about me, just 'weathered'. But I did learn what a piece of shit Madara was... at least up until your brother had to finally kill him. Which must have taken a big ol' hunk out of his heart."

He frowns some, mostly to himself. It's a rich and troubled history they have. He remembers Wuxian speaking with the tribesfolk in their last legitimate mission. He remembers not understanding what it was like to lose a home. It's an error in understanding he regrets even now, only able to liken it in his mind to wanting to be a part of the Ravager council again and how badly he did actually want to respect those rules even if he failed at the most important one. He recognizes he's stunted in that regard.

"At least it wasn't just one guy tryna fix it all. Sounds like y'all were. Just sometimes things went all sideways. You're doin' 'em proud."

He observes, silently. Many thoughts running through his mind. If she wanted to look out for him she would have respected his privacy and his ability to critically determine who was and wasn't worth his energy but that's a conversation for them both to have later when the time is more appropriate. He chooses not to comment on anything further surrounding the topic for now.

"It did," Tobirama confirms. "To push someone like Hashirama that far is quite a feat, and telling of Madara's level of madness." Still, in the end he was thankful they made their peace. For Hashirama's sake. He loved that man deeply and to be driven to kill those you care for is not easy on the heart. Though his elder brother was incredibly resilient the weight of such a task was something Tobirama could pick up on easily.

"In his way, though, Madara did want the same as us. He just went, as you say about 'things', sideways." And Tobirama knew that he would. His chakra always felt off even when he was young. Those who say it's nurture not nature that carves a person were wrong. As often as it was that the situation and life carved a person, sometimes they're just born wrong. "But to obtain praise from others has never been my motive or driving interest. I have a reputation back home, apparently and I'm annoyed by some things history puts on me but if people want to pass blame onto me that's their prerogative."

He knows who he is, what he does, and the purpose behind it.

Yondu's obviously thinking hard about something. "I ain't judgin'... either way."

He finds something else to look at again, but it's more like he's looking at a memory than anything else. He did what he did, whether he sees it as a mistake or not, other people did. He may not be seeking praise but lacking appreciation can sometimes be taxing

Yondu takes a moment to unwind some of that barbed wire wrapping up his heart. It means he'll bleed out a little, but it's necessary to let him do this. His mistakes? He knows are his mistakes. What he did right, he'll stand by too.

"Mind if I tell you a bedtime story? I'll just.... shut up with all the planet shit in it so a bunch don't get lost in technicalities. It's the core of it that's important." He clears his throat. And he finally drags himself out of that memory to lock a sharp red gaze with Tobirama's own.

Tobirama would never admit that, even if it was indeed taxing. He'd make quips about it in heat of the moment situations when someone was particularly irritating (hint: Naruto). Outside of such instances, though, Tobirama was the suffer in silence type. In the end, if there was even a modicum of good that came from all the blood he shed, the work he put in, then it was worth it. He'd done his job. He brought Konoha to prosperity even if the choices of those he mentored does, inevitably, fall on him. The many things he'll never speak without some teeth pulling. Pride.

"By all means," comes with a nod, the tea cup returning to his lips. Something heavy, Tobirama imagined. With the way he's looked away and saddled up himself just this moment.

One half of Yondu screams for him to shut the hell up. Quit while he's ahead. This isn't gonna go well, why would it ever? But others had heard him out. Soldat knew, and had still managed to see the real him. Della knew, but she was gone. Rocket knew, eventually Peter knew. He enjoyed this man's company. He wanted to keep enjoying this man's company and that means he had to tell him. Finding out any other way was too big a risk in a place like this, and he had to hope despite everything he'd hear him out.

This is a struggle, and without the barbed wire in place there's nothing to hold his heart together..

"So uh..." he rubs under his nose, obviously calculating a way around the technicalities, but not around the story itself. He finds a path to follow there. "There was this immortal spirit that lived on a mountain, old as time but he looked young, that had a palace full of riches. He got around, too. Went to all the neighborin' towns, sowed his wild oats wherever he could. Left a lotta women wantin' for a man to help 'em raise their kids, or kids that were just outright unwanted."

He could explain Celestials later. Not now. It wasn't important. "Now there was a clan of honorable warriors, led by a real good man. He had rules about turnin' on each other, about helpin' each other, about profitin' at the expense of the helpless. This lazy ass immortal knew that the warriors and their bands were the best at findin' people and after some searchin' learned that one of band leaders was still... he'd never had any idea of family. No siblings. No romanctic interest- what was felt back for him, anyhow. No name to live up to. He'd been sold by his own parents as a kid." That's where Yondu's eyes veer off. Because that's the part of the story he doesn't tell normally; he wasn't vengeful towards the Kree because his blame lies with his parents. "He knew this man was weak-" and then with all the contempt he has for himself in the world, practically hisses the words "-and needy. That havin' been owned, this asshole thought money'd save 'im from ever bein' in that state again. It made him greedy and stupid and easy for someone like him.

"The immortal picked this one to go to, an' asked him to go find his kids an' bring 'em to him. It was just deliverin' kids to their daddy, right? Just bein' an escort. Surely that didn't break the rules that'd been set, right? Such a small thing..." That part, distantly, and even knowing, now, looking back, it's still easy to see how he'd convinced himself that it'd be fine. "And the immortal? He could bring him so much wealth. Showed him all the gold and riches he could want. So, the warrior fucks off with his band and goes and visits each town. He finds the guy's kid. Brings it back. He had too much of a disconnect in the beginnin' but... each time he'd see these kids get real excited to travel, or to meet their daddy, or just be little shits to his men and make him laugh. An' he started really feelin' he was givin' 'em a better life than he ever got. Got real attached."

He thinks of a little Krylorian girl at his ship's window, her hair in curly brown pigtails. He thinks of her small pink hand reaching out to grab his. Even with the promise of her father ahead, still seeking that kind of comfort from a man she barely knew.

He hopes it was quick. That's all he can hope for.

"So there's this village with a boy. His mama died the day the warrior came to get 'im. Just up and died, an' the immortal told him where and when like he knew. Probably the only one of these kids formed outa any kind of love. But the warrior finally decides to look a little closer to where he was takin' 'im. The immortal said somethin', did somethin'... Showed the warrior the truth by accident. The mountain was a demon. The palace was its mouth. An' the man he'd been dealin' with was its tongue. All of those kids never lived in a nice home never wantin' for nothin', they was eaten 'cause the demon was lookin' for a certain kind of power."

And that's the admission that's a struggle to get out. Each sentence a chore. He'd not stopped to look soon enough, only then.

"So the dumbass warrior tried to go to the clan leader and ask for help. But he was panicked an' angry an' the leader was so pissed with him... They coulda all razed that mountain together, the whole lot of 'em, but instead the warrior left alone with his band, never tellin' his men outside of his second about the demon. The warrior got wise, and some of his men got wiser too an' agreed to stick with the rules alongside 'im after that, but some of 'em never got over bein' sick with greed. Kept the boy, made sure the demon never got 'im, trained him up to fight and did the best he could."

He finally fully looks away then, scrubbing at the back of his head, under his fin. This bit practically embarrassing 'cause he'd convinced himself somewhere along the line that he shouldn't want any affection. That his facade was his true self, and it wasn't. "And to keep control, the warrior never was allowed to let anyone love 'im. Not once in his natural life. He had to have his own reputation that was hard an' ruthless. Nothin' about 'im could be soft. That was the price he paid, an' it hurt to be hard all the damn time but it was worth it if the boy lived. He was the only one of 'em he could save. Messed up thing was, it was livin' in that state, an' thinkin' of what he lost, that he finally figured out what the word 'love' even meant. Just always feelin' it as much as he felt life bein' empty of it."

And that's it, he supposes. Some point he wanted to make, or... he doesn't know. He's so scarce with the story it's hard to say. "Well, end of the story is the boy grew up an' got strong enough to raze the mountain himself, and the old warrior died makin' sure he lived through it. Spent his last breaths making sure his boy knew he did good."

But then returning the narrative to his own person he adds, "The day my crew turned on me was the day my first mate demanded to know why I wouldn't just kill Quill whenever he did somethin' that messed things up for us, an' I'd let Quill get away with so much an' I wouldn't do the same for them. The rest is history. And reputation means fuck all to me, whether it fits or not."

Tobirama listens, catching immediately that this 'warrior' was Yondu himself. Listens to the way he speaks about this honorable clan and their leader. Listens to the way he speaks about that which, presumably, now haunts him. His mistake, and if it weren't for the fact that they'd previously spoken about the importance of protecting and caring for what he believes is the future, the youth, the next generation, he might have harder opinions on what Yondu had done.

Himself, he'd investigate first if someone who left their children all of a sudden wanted them to return back but that's just his skepticism. Though it was clear the other man didn't not because he hadn't thought about it but because he wanted money. A selfish cause. Although it seemed this weighed heavy on the man, though. That he knew the error he'd made. This boy, he imagined, was Yondu's 'boy'.

Its at this point that he realizes that this is not something he's good with -- relating to the latter half of this story. The former? Certainly. Mistakes made. Regrets or lessons learned long after the damage was done. Resentfulness, defensiveness. All things that Tobirama knew well. The desire for affection, though? An exhale falls from his lips. Heavy.

"In the end, you did the right thing." He thinks that the boy and this leader, should the leader find out, would be proud in the sacrifice that was made. That the boy lived. That the 'demon' had been slain. There was something of a pause before he asked, "did you give him favor, or was it the imagination of your crew?"

It wasn't just romantic affection that Yondu had sought, though. It was the sort that made his last moments worth it for the look Peter gave him during them alone. It was the sort that left him ice cold when Martinex waited for him to look up on Contraxia before storming off. He had no real connection to the idea of siblings, not until Soldat had shown him in his own memories, but teammates? Camrades? That was a love he felt deeply.

"Of course I did." He snorts. "Just a kid. Didn't have no family. Just had us. An' he had no choice in bein' there. Ego- that was the guy's name -woulda found 'im if I took 'im back. I found every excuse in the world to find him chances. It was easier when he was small, but when he grew up an' started doin' things outa spite, it got tougher and tougher. But he turned out a good man, though. Took some of the better parts of me with him, too. So at least I knew I gave him somethin' decent."

"I was never such an asshole I forced him to like me. But I'm pretty sure he did 'cause of how he looked at me at the end. He was real unhappy to see me dyin'... But at that point I was ready to go, an' couldn't have been prouder of him. He'd won."

He wrinkles his nose up with a wince before clarifyin'. "It ain't guilt, either. What makes me try so hard. Sure, I do regret what happened, but it ain't guilt that makes me wanna make a better future. It's me wantin' to make a world where people ain't treated like we were, an' the kids can handle themselves if they need to."

He'd assumed wrong but with the recent events it was the first assumption to his mind. Perhaps, though, Tobirama took for granted that the type of love Yondu felt at the end of it all was the type of love he'd always had. It was, in many ways, the only thing that kept him from losing himself completely sometimes. He had his brother, and when his brother had passed he had Mito, had his team, had his peers, his village and people.

A short chortle at Yondu's reply. Of course he did. Tobirama had a lot of thoughts on the previous choices Yondu had made but knowing the man now and hearing his confessions and guilt paints a fairly big picture. And though the death that Yondu experienced was a noble one he had some issues with it. Knowing how much losing someone you love, watching someone you love's light go out, effects someone. Couldn't help think that the other man already knew, though. Given he admitted that he was ready to die.

"You don't have to convince me what is or isn't guilt, Yondu. I'll make my own judgements." A pause, a sip. Eyes flick up to the other man.

"Well you already know I'm an idiot so I have to say it all to hear my own head rattle." He has to turn it into a little bit of a joke, the subject matter just too heavy to bear. The guilt there is real, and he has to acknowledge it, even if it's not a driving force. It's always there.

He pauses then, knowing the other elephant in the room that he should address.

"As for uh... What Mito was sayin' out in the open. I never said more to her than what I said to you." Except that he was afraid of taking risks. Why? Because of what exactly happened.

"I just like your company. And I liked it a lot quicker than I like a lotta people's. I like runnin' over plans and intel with ya. I like listenin' to ya talk about your people an' family all proud. I like your sense of humor. I like when I can pick-pocket a little sneak of a smile out of ya ever' once in a while. I like them little annoyed looks. Not real annoyed, just them littluns." Again, he has to ease into some light ribbing. "I don't expect nothin'. An' I know you don't look for people likin' ya in any way. But ya didn't do nothin' special an' you managed it so... Sorry. I reckon."

And there, that's enough. He's bled out enough for one day, enough that his chest is sick with it so he needs to put his heart back in there. "Just take it as someone sayin' somethin' nice to ya. I'll set Mito right what when I speak with her again." Can he slip a lie by her if he skews his emotions enough? Maybe. Possibly.

In the end many great acts were doubly selfish ones. No one person was wholly altruistic, selfless, or anything else. People, whether it human or otherwise, were often complex. Nuanced. Measured in how history remembers them. Measured in how those who matter think of them and the legacy they leave behind.

This topic now, though, he needs to think of how to address it. Then decides quickly his standard is best. He frank. Be forward. Rip the bandaid off, so to speak. "Counter to popular belief I'm not that oblivious." He takes some time calculating his words properly, even still. Eyes find the other man, watches his body language for a few moments. A sigh, slowly rolling up to walk through the process of his thoughts as he speaks. Slow pace. Thoughtful.

"So I'll be blunt. My lack of marriage, of children, had nothing to do with being too dedicated or preoccupied with work or business. I've never wanted it." He's not unaware of how some people looked at him or thought of him. "I didn't marry for politics because I'm not interested in pretending for the sake of image." Tobirama stops, a heavy sigh. Arms cross. "I know that I'm... different. I've been like this my entire life."

A few more moments and he walks to pick up the last of his tea. "No need to speak to Mito if you wish to, anyway. I need to have a discussion with her about this. Why she thought airing out my business to the public was something of a good idea, I'll never know." Though she did predict that he'd dig his heels in so at least she knew the consequences of it, he supposed.

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