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|kaito shin himura||
Posted on: Feb 1 2018, 11:17 PM
kubo & the two strings
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
while my guitar gently weeps
He'd had both his mother's shamisen and his father's sword strapped to his back when he crossed the portal bridge in San Francisco and found himself stepping through the archway in the animated world. Kaito had gotten prepared earlier that morning, taking his time in ensuring that he would be ready for the journey ahead. Not only did he pack a small rucksack of food and emergency supplies, he polished his blade and tuned his instrument. Before he left, he donned a clean kimono-like jacket; not his father's beetle clan robes but one of his own, as the keepsake was one he did not wish to lose or ruin when he crossed.
But for all his careful preparation, when he stepped out the door and hurriedly made his way to the portal. Long legs making quick strides down the stairs of his apartment building, taking several steps at a time. Once outside, he made his way as fast as he could to the park that held that special bridge to his home world, or, as fast as he could without bringing too much attention to himself. Because the portal's magic worked on some sort of mystical timer, he didn't have the luxury of taking his time if he wanted to end up where he planned. The dense forest he had in mind would leave him only a few hours' journey to the resistance encampment that he wanted to reach by the time night fell.
His haste was not futile, and Kaito reached the portal just in time to cross, for the archway was still in his line of sight when it disappeared, moving on to its next location. He only paused a moment before turning back in the direction he was headed. The wooded landscape was not unfamiliar but he also knew better than to trust it; dark things lived here and he couldn't take his time leisurely as he would have otherwise. With his guard and his chin up, Kubo made his way through the forest, keeping an ear out for any signs of danger and an eye on the path ahead. Only a few times he felt the need to reach for the katana at his back, but he did not yet need to unsheath it. A few false alarms though they were, he was glad he hadn't actually had cause to draw his sword. Otherwise, the journey went slowly - and silently. For a boy that made his own music whenever he had a quiet moment, he knew better than to do so now. Long gone were the days of his careless youth where he laughed at the threat of danger and welcomed the promise of an exciting story instead. He may still appear as an adolescent, but he was far more aware of the consequences of these dangers now.
The camp was in his sights by the time the sun began to set, and Kubo breathed a sigh of relief. The fire roared and people gathered around it, some sharing food or stories of their journeys. Whenever he visited the encampment, he was quick to join in, eager to listen to them talk about what they'd been through. It had always been a weakness of his, collecting stories from those he met on this side of the portal or the other. This time, however, Kubo sat a bit apart from the rest, taking a seat on a log-turned-bench out of the way. He left his father's katana on his back while he retrieved the shamisen, carefully setting it across his lap while he reached in his pocket for the pick. He started out with a quiet melody, something a little light-hearted but not too flippant. Kubo didn't mind if none of the resistance members or others listened to his playing (more often he played for himself than anyone else). But perhaps it would lift their spirits if they did - or maybe he was hoping it would lift his own.
Admittedly, being out past sundown still made him wary. Not 'out' in the sense that he was anywhere that was any more dangerous than the rest of the animated realm. No, he meant 'out' in the sense that the stars could still see him, even in relative safety. The moon was rising in the sky by the time Kubo had truly settled in by the fire, and he kept a wary eye on it though he felt more secure now than he did in the surrounding forest. He didn't fear the moon. In fact, he adored it; its shining beauty could make even the darkest of places alight with the glow that he yearned to see. It reminded him of his mother, even if it also reminded him of his grandfather.
Absentmindedly, his tune had hit a melancholy chord. The sound lifted him from his thoughts as viscerally as of someone had shaken him from a daydream. Kubo drew his gaze from where it had drifted into the night sky to the instrument in his hands. His mother's pick had paused over the strings, the lingering sound of his last strum reverberating still. He brought his fingers to quiet them and sighed. It wasn't long before he picked back up again, this time a more upbeat melody formed by his careful plucking.
His chance in tune did not go unnoticed. The others around the fire seemed to perk up the same way his playing had, and a sort of guilty smile crossed his face when he realized. Kubo had a half a mind to apologize for the abrupt change in style, tempo, and mood but unless anyone mentioned it, maybe he'd be able to get away with it.
tag lydia bernou eferhild words 950 notes hope it's ok! sorry for the wait.
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