EXT - Seiiki koi pond to smith's.; morning
[10:24] Calliope looks down, the expression softening into playful instead of cruel. "Must be these heels I'm wearing. you don't mind if I join you in waiting, do you? I'd been dying to catch up, see if you might like go for a run into the woods again and my saucy date can wait a minute or sixty." The now too tall woman has broader shoulders to match and they're made prominent as she crosses her arms. "Oh, you know I could have made a better soy pun there, but I'll have to save it."
Naoki Sato closes his eyes for a moment as if in mild irritation. When he opens them again he turns his head slightly to look Calli over, a little inhale taking in the appearance of the woman who, admittedly, is getting more sideward glances than he is. "Waiting. There's something to be done." It takes him a second to register that he has to look UP to meet Calli's stare and his brow furrows. "You're taller," he observes, slightly inquisitive before shaking his head as if it's not something he should dwell on. "I'm waiting for someone."
Dorian was ambling his way into the Seiiki looking for a certain someone. He frequented the place just enough that he had to pause on his path, twice to speak to people from what he considered social obligation. Each time he managed in stultified but burgeoning Japanese to greet and manage an exchange of small talk he felt a little more comfortable with the language. Having gotten out of those experiences okay, and taking in a small correction he'd earned so he'd do better next time, he continued to beat a path onward toward his friend(?) and quarry.
Grinningly he made his way on, after talking himself through the proper sentence structure once more. He always felt eyes on him for different reasons on this side of town, ones he preferred to consider over things over in Victoriana. He could sate his wanderlust by simply crossing a bridge.
Naoki Sato heard the footsteps even amid the crowd. Hunter that he was, he could tell Dorian's gait and pace from the rest of the masses and when he approached he turned to face him even as Calli spoke about puns. He heard the bits of Japanese and called to the blonde in that manner, raising his voice a little so the /"You're here. Good morning,"/ could be heard. It was less for being sociable and more because he figured it was a phrase Dorian would recognize - another little nudging from Thirteen to be thoughtful with his 'friends.'
"I wasn't running anywhere - you don't need to catch up to anything," he said blandly to Calli. It was the little mention of soy that had him glancing back to the colorful creature then at the merchant nearby with the big barrels of the stuff being poured out and portioned for people's purchases. "Did you change yourself for a date with Sumitani?" Clearly, he was assuming Calli was there for the same man.
There was a young man with a headband and a rolled up haori top assisting with t
Naoki Sato sales, his uniform matching that of the other workers in the soy sauce stall. His manner was as spritely as his youthful appearance despite the obvious working hands and creases at the corners of his eyes.
ᴄᴀᴇʟ (helio5igma Resident): the sales* ))
Calliope: "This is why we're such good friends. I don't need to catch up on anything." There's a brief pause as she considers Sato. "It's important to wear the right clothes for a good impression, but no." The words come with a half shrug, uncommitted to the answer. "This one was for me." She looks up as she hears his call across the way and waves when another familiar face is spotted in the crowd. Despite looking completely out of place, with the excited wave, she certainty seems comfortable in the space. "Normally I pass through here without so much as stopping, but all these sweet faces made me glad I was not not in such a rush today!"
Dorian's morning ride was already a bath and a change of clothes behind him, so the most freshly applied fragrance to his person was his imported soap and cologne which blended up olive oil, vetiver and myrrh. His hair was dry again, and fell in golden blond curls atop his head. Dress boots and pants had made it onto him, but he'd stopped at an undershirt, just shy of buttoning on a proper collared shirt, waistcoat or jacket. The weather was so nice he knew he'd send up carrying half of it instead of wearing it anyway. He was spotted before he could take notice of Sato, and when he did, that grin split wider from smirksome proportions into a genuine smile. Noting his company and that wave, he'd quicken his pace, shaking his head at the sound of the inward greeting he had received, a motion which he ceased doing nearly the moment he came to a stop.
Having joined the party by the koi pond just as she was finishing her answer, he'd look from Naoki to Calliope in turn, tuck a hand behind his back to do a small bow, then regale them in urbane British fashion, "Hello, how fine to see the both of you. Mr. Sato, I had hoped to find you today, and Miss Calliope, am I right? We have only briefly had the pleasure, but long have I wanted to commend your skills." Though they may have made quite a trio to behold anywhere they were, he was unshy in looking the both of them over with glittering grey eyes, and as unshy of displaying the amusement and amity either in a relaxed stance and warm grin presiding.
Naoki Sato raised his brow and stared at Calliope for a long moment as she mentioned what good friends they were. "We haven't done that yet," he said rather clearly though the statement was neither a chastisement nor said with derision. He eyed the dress and nodded. "Manner and thought-processes change the outcome of the blade more than what you look like. I can't say more - it's meant to be done without knowing." He turned to Dorian and nodded down the thoroughfare toward the soy sauce stall. He'd worn Japanese garments in similar fashion before, never properly tied as if his left arm were still half-severed and adorned with some metal and flesh contraption he'd made in the lab.
"Might be a good thing you're both here. You should keep in mind what kind of blade you're going to commission," he advised and turned to begin walking toward the merchants in question as if he expected them to follow. Little else was said on their meeting or the congeniality of it, ever a man of few words on that topic.
Calliope's hand might be mistaken for a fan with how it flaps from one side to the other when Dorian calls her by name. "So formal! If you'd like. Nicknames are always more fun though, don't you think?" Long nails press into her palm as the waving stops but the hand is still held up, now near her face as she studies the other two more carefully, Sato's words sharpening her friendly expression with keen interest. "We'll have to fix that." Whether that was meant for the fact it hadn't been done yet or that it should be done without knowing, is left ambiguous for now. She fllows inside, keeping watch of the figures more than the space itself.
Dorian looked to Calliope before moving after Sato. He was always on the verge of offering his arm to an unattended lady, but trying to change with the times. So after a subtle extending of his elbow to her, he'd take a spot in the march after the terse man, replying, "I fear Miss Calliope, that I must admit to accepting nicknames readily, for I am glad that anyone has called me at all." It was a response to be expected from a middle child, a bit of earnest expression dressed as a turn of phrase.
He'd carry on as they walked on, lending more thought to what Sato had said, "As regards blades, I had an unfortunate incident befall my previous blade. She served me a good long time though, I should admit. I rather have something different in mind this time. I have a thought to improve myself, learning new techniques. I am looking into a master of swordplay in the Japanese style."
Naoki Sato paused mid-step, his foot falling with a quiet pat on the stone. A minute or two of quiet and he simply stared at the line of people purchasing their soy sauce before turning to Calliope over his shoulder. "Then you should bring whatever blade is chosen for you here," he advised. Saying nothing else on the matter he nodded at Dorian's explanation of his chosen sword and skipped the line to tap the younger merchant on the shoulder. When he spoke it was in Japanese. /"I need to speak with a master about a blade,"/ he stated clearly to the man.
The merchant straightened up a bit, something passing across his features. He swallowed, frowned, then nodded and turned aside to ask someone else to man the distribution of sauce. The others seemed ready to accept this, either accustomed to this sort of exchange or too polite to decline. /"Let us go to the back,"/ the man said and gestured with an arm. Sato bowed his head and moved after him, clearly expecting the other two to follow.
Sumitani, as Sato had referredn to him in brief, rose the hair on the back of one's necks in a way that seemed incongruent to his appearance. Something otherworldly settled around the young merchant that was hard to place, even if his smile as he waited for them behind the soy sauce stall was friendly as could be.
Calliope sees the offered elbow and does not take it, but with her new found height does go to lean on his shoulder so she can whisper conspiratorially. "I see Southernwood about you, with it, the pale gold bells, so I'll call you Art for short." With the scientific name, a piece of her unknown past, and the better known language of flowers each acting as a single piece to explain the name, that leaves her words likely still confusing. Though her words are for Dorian, her eyes do not linger there, instead watching Sato talk with the merchant before moving to the back. She'd come expecting danger, with what little she knew already. How much was still unknown, but the merchant's expression, and the not quite a chill at the back of her neck only brought back the wild delight to her smile. "I can't wait to see." She has no blade, only flesh, yet that doesn't stop her from following when one can be presented once they're free of unawakened and curious eyes.
Dorian would, while strolling behind Sato, pull a small phial from his pocket and look at it. It was apparently empty, though also firmly sealed, whatever it was, Dorian put it back into his pocket, deciding to trust his native intentions over any enhanced version of them. Though the lady hadn't taken him up on his offer, he could walk and think at once, and began to pour his thoughts toward what he'd read about his favourites among the Sengoku era. There was the God of War, Uesugi Kenshin, whose blade was long and guardless, so perfect was his technique. But more prevalent in Dorian's mind was Date Masamune, the one-eyed dragon. A man who overcame great adversity, and showed grace, diplomacy, relentlessness, and artistry in the execution of his duties. A man who had all but ordered his father's execution in the name of progressing the fight.
Dorian's desires extended to using his blade to strike keenly and decisively for what he loved and honored, and that on the ever rarer occasion of his drawing it as the
Dorian: ages progressed. Despite it being old fashioned, his rearing, his old vows of knighthood, and his having been a navy man made it a drive to be well clad in fine weaponry, particularly of the bladed type. For all that he was capable of staying in the moment enough to respond blithely to Calliope, "Art? Well I have certainly been called worse. I hope you don't mind, perhaps Callie? It seems almost a shame to shorten such a musical and colourful name as Calliope, but I think Callie might do, if you find it agreeable for now?."
He'd cast his gaze over the merchant Sato spoke to and the environs, but he yet found only reason to be loose and enjoy what he was experiencing. In a long storied life, he was always happy to do something new, something extraordinary. Current circumstances met both qualifications, so he'd obliquely hint toward Sato, "May I ask, was the most recent exchange too much? I thought I remembered you saying the entirety was welcome?" It could have been a unit of livestock or a cake or barrel
Dorian: of wine or anything as far as Dorian's unsubtle considerations were concerned, and not actually a fallen gardener.
Naoki Sato gave no inclination of having heard the exchange between the other two. He did give a little exhale of amusement as Calliope expressed her excitement though. Once behind the shop he stepped to the side, offering the two who would be commissioning blades (or so he thought) the space in front of the young merchant. Sato did spot the little phial as Dorian pocketed it and as he did, reached out to take the man by the forearm. As if in response to the inquiry Dorian had put to him he stepped in close, his head lifting to speak quietly, close enough to the man's face to be intimate. "Don't enhance yourself. Be as you are," he cautioned, pale eyes boring into the other's own.
After a moment he stepped back to look to the merchant once again. Sumitani bowed to the both of them at once, his arms straight at his sides. One hand went to his chest as he straightened up. "I am Sumitani Yoichiro. If you permit me, I will be the eyes through with the masters will judge your skill and intent." His eyes lingered on Dorian.
Naoki Sato for a moment, a cloudiness coming over them as he stared. The voice that came then was a muddle of three, echoed and overlapping. The merchant himself spoke in accented English, the two deeper voices that accompanied him speaking in formal Japanese. /"I can feel something of your will and your purpose. But I must see it." Turning to glance between Calliope and Dorian, he nodded once coming to some conclusion about the pair. "Since there are two, they will do battle. A judgment will be made once a victor has been named. Do you accept?"/
Calliope gives a nod at the shortening. "Even were you to cut it down again, it would remain as true. Callie suits." Though as the merchant speaks, overlapped languages draws the fae's attention. "I suppose we'll see if the same can be said of me!" There's not exactly a yes of acceptance. "Oh, one question though, you care if I get naked here? I'd hate to ruin my nice dress." When what she really means has nothing to do with a dress but shifting her form instead, she looks between the merchant and Dorian, uncertain exactly what kind of fight they expect.
Dorian had taken the encouragement, as he interpreted it, to heart from Naoki and he'd nodded his shaggy head a few times in accession. This was just in time, because he was being beheld by a swordmaster. When he was addressed in Japanese, Dorian snapped to, like a soldier going from a stance of ease to attention. His shoulders perked and evened out broadly from his hips, and he held his head with his chin tucked. He was thinking almost as soon as he was answering, silently, and by shifting his stance. One booted foot slid forward in challenge of future enemy, and just after the other set itself in readiness for battle. "Callie, then. I was honoured to fight at your side for this island."
His heart was unencumbered compared to his mind, and he knew within the bald and fiery desire to protect his own, which is what he put forth. It was a vision of a flame so bright that it went starlike in it's proportions. That was the will and power and strength he was willing to pour into his fights to come. He didn't bear
Dorian shouts: through Eldritch magics the same patrons his twin did. His came forth to consume too, but on a different level. In opposition and search of the others. Pure bright flame flickered past his silvery eyes, and a more golden hue of skin, too not unlike a funereal mask presenting a vision of eternity, pressing against the veil. He subdued a certain portion of that burning, pressing those eyes shut, with a throbbing of deeply darkly discoloured veins in his face. Not because he tried to, but because he was mundane in his own considerations by comparison to his siblings. Ultimately he answered aloud, "My lady, I think you can be sure of yourself here, so long as we may also bare ourselves."
For his part, that was as much as he had before, golden-hued like the armour he wore. His sister had always called him her Apollo. It seemed that had sunk in been woven in, encouraged by the island's prime aether rich spot.
Naoki Sato looked around them. It was crowded in that part of the market, the many voices and goings-on of the standard day's shoppers just beyond the stalls. /"Should we move elsewhere?"/ he asked Sumitani and the two that possessed the man, only to be told in no uncertain terms, /"No. They will fight here,"/ which was answered by Sato with a bow. Considering the yokai's manner towards people otherwise, he either respected the man or the spirits that lingered around him. He sat himself cross-legged in the grass, hands on his knees to watch - and perhaps intervene if necessary.
Sumitani addressed the pair as they spoke of baring themselves. /"Be as you truly are,"/ the three spoke to them at once. He gave no indication of whether or not they would be seen or what to do about the possible witnesses. Sato provided no advice either though his eyes darted about the paths and stalls nearby. Backlash from the covenant would surely occur if the two of them got incredibly flambouyant with their combat efforts.
Sumitani waited until both of them seemed prepared before raising his hand and cutting it downward in a straight-palmed slice. /"Begin!"/
Calliope considers two paths for a moment, both familiar even as they are at odds with one another. Certainty lived on those paths, but she couldn't remain on them, not entirely. So when both flesh and dress twist together, they do not reveal the colors of dusk and mango. Instead the scent of fruit is faint as the shifting form sounds like the rush of water to her own ears. What's left once the metamorphosis is complete retain the smooth flesh of fruit but in colors better suited to a succulent. "If it were up to me no one would have to put on their clothes to go into town again." The change to both height and width remain, now with longer and thicker leaves that trail behind her. Each is nearly as thick as her arm, but bend and flex, liable only to break with sharp and decisive snaps, but still all too easy to cut.
Rather than rush ahead as every other time he'd seen her fight, now she stands still, studying that new golden hue. Though her tail waves in clear agitation as if standing still were an affront to intrinsic nature. Though one foot slides to widen her stance, knees bend and the long tendrils behind her curl upwards, protectively. When she moves tendrils rise up, almost mimicking how she used to fight, where her own mass would come loose to entangle enemies. however, the tangled mass reaching as if to grab, is only a distraction, meant to make him step sideways, where her own feet are taking her to encircle him.
Dorian: || The true form of the middlest Windgrace was somewhat between what he had become outside of his portrait and his born body. Yet even after the transformation he'd found himself outside of mundane form in comparatively few instances of trying to control his emotions. The first being his covenant with his sister on a fateful night where he'd consumed her heart, leaving few boundaries beyond it to his reckoning. After that his battles in the field with Niles or family foes had awakened the Eldritch form with fiery aether pouring into his form to aid his physical machinations. Floes of magic flowed into his body at the shoulderblades to feed a deathless form in it's bounds of human effort.
He'd unsheathe a blade made of thought from his hip, and heft it up to his shoulder as if fond of the tang of the metal when drawn. And beyond a cricket batter's stance, joyous about the chance for combat, no matter who the foe. His training would not ever yield killing blows over chances for striking inward at defences, given the nature of who he judged his fight was against, in Calliope. He never intended to shed blood in play, so neither would he in practice. Mastery of self was a large part to this particular warrior, of learning when to draw a blade.
Naoki Sato cocked his head as he watched them, shifting to stand and step backwwards. He seemed to stick to the bank and onto the water itself, though anyone paying attention might see that the blood seeping from his feet was anchoring him to surfaces. He seemed to be giving them room to fight, considering how mobile they were being. Both felt little stings of backlash from glances sent their way but nothing major - thusfar they hadn't drawn much attention, shielded as they were from the main street. When Calli spoke about never needing to clothe again he hummed but said nothing else, seeming to file something away in his mind for later.
For the swordmasters, they simply watched. Foggy eyes took in each stance and the movements given, keen minds observing the joy in both at the fight, the lack of actual bloodthirst in Dorian. Sumitani said nothing and it was clear enough they were not yet at a point to make their judgments.
Calliope, with the glow of the other's eyes so familiar for reason that have little to do with the man himself, doesn't pay nearly close enough attention to the weapon. Her lips part to show jagged grit teeth, and a hunger that pushes away all the soft affection before it's dampened. She still follows through on her feint, stepping in, but with the failure of her distraction, her next move is obvious, it's a push to break his stance in a range his sword would find difficult to build momentum for a power swing or thrust. With the movement, the tendrils which had threatened him as pulled along with her, their ends no longer pointed at him as they swing with her push to give her added momentum behind the shove. Her nature fights with itself when once she would have sought blood in play, but now instead treats this as an all too uneven wrestling match, where even in fierce and competitive fury, no lasting injury is intended. "Quick Q, Art. Have you ever wanted a wresting uniform?"
Murke (MurkeHeol Resident): *wrestling
Dorian had been fighting with a blade for long years. Part of that was always waiting and counter striking, versus drawing a strike upon him. He'd meet the violet gaze apart from his own with leveling his grey eyes upon her before attempting to strike at her midsection. Given their previous stance as cooperative, he'd not try any lethal strikes, but for body blows as could be easily countered.
A little fun for the fighting type.
His blade was mental anyway. It was not too long before he was locked up in a match of strength with his opponent to grit teeth against her. To say as strengths were matched, "This is why I knew you were capable when we fought side by side before. And I haven't ever been much of a wrestler to show the world, to be honest...."
Grunting and parrying away to look toward her once more, he'd bare his plain gladness at being able to let his sword sing. He'd look to Sato then the swordmasters, with a little grim grin. His next thought was for the next best strike, likely broadcast for
Dorian: someone of Callie's caliber. But a classic move. He'd only engage after showing her with his eyes that he was coming in once more.
Dorian: (+2 for speed)
Soc Dice HUD: Alexandros Lycomedes rolled a 3 at a plus 2.
Soc Dice HUD: MurkeHeol Resident rolled a 3 at a plus 1.
Naoki Sato sidestepped to avoid any careening bodies as Calliope went for a push. The choice of close quarters and hand-to-hand got another hum before the yokai glanced in the direction of the masters. Sumitani still stood stock still, seemingly unbothered by any movements of the fighters and potentially being in the way of the fight itself. Sato had seen them both fight before but the opportunity to observe in such detail was a new pleasure.
He stiffened for a moment and glanced sideways at Sumitani. Something had passed, mental direction or perhaps a bit of commentary that those with more telepathic inclinations were likely able to pick up. After nodding, Sato stepped forward and dropped his own glamour, the ghoulish grin splitting his face as blood and viscera seeped through his clothing. Without hesitation he stepped in, blood forming claws at his fingers to take advantage of Dorian's strike at Calli to strike at the golden knight himself. His own attack was reckless, leaving him open for either fighter to respond to it, or continue their combat with each other regardless of the consequences.
Calliope is caught off guard as his strike to her midsection catches her of guard, she's already pulling back out of instinct, but it's not fast enough to dodge what would have been a graze across her skin, had it been live steel and intent. He would have won first blood, even if not much of it, but it leaves her ears perked up and twitchy.
When Sato joins in, her target changes. Fairness should be met with fairness and the Windgrace had shown he would play by rules and there's an opening here, one for arms to wrap around and haul up into a hug to keep the third attacker from reaching his and her original target. "Hey! I'm not ready to swap out dancing partners! The song hasn't even ended!"
Soc Dice HUD: MurkeHeol Resident rolled a 7 at a plus 3.
Dorian had only scared up a scarring move against his opponent's midsection before he realized he needed to pull back from the ferocity he'd applied. He had so few sparring partners outside of standing dummies. He hopped back a few steps, his face shifting from deadly intent toward friendly apology in Callie's direction before he had a thought for his performance before swordmasters.
When Sato had joined in, the Englishman had only taken further pause and sheathed the blade again, his feet set for further motion, without taking that move. What he had done was shaken imagined gore from his blade before resheathing it. It wasn't sporting to duck in while his companion also did, though it was comforting.
While he was once again in a readied pose and not fighting, he'd answer Calliope, "Our dance is destined though, I think to be one without bloodshed. You move like a champion." It wasn't often that the soldier he was praised opponents, but it could be certain that it was merited given his years of experience.
Dorian met Calliope's earnest and sincere strength with that of a warrior, ready to join where he could, without fear, without framing death in his strikes. He joined for the pure joy of the fight, and with the wish for clashing further in his movements. So of course he'd stood back again after working to meet the other Shining Hunter in a clash. That alone was enough for him.
He considered where to strike another blow, but he didn't draw for it. His intent would have been plain upon redrawing, had he done so. That he meant to raise his blade to level it mercilessly. But he would not against a friend. The intention remained without the will. And Calliope was the former. So the deadly combination of strength and speed in a single blow would only be a mental exchange. One that could help them both when they next lifted arms to fight. He broadcast his intentions as well as his actions without ever lifting his blade. The mirror stayed intact.
And he settled his rear ankle again, as if he'd already made the move.
Dorian: Against an actual enemy, which he didn't consider the fae. Time had showed that everyone was not that. Even if they had the stringbean frame of one who did. His prowess was given freer reign than usual.
Naoki Sato exuded more of a bloodlust than either, even if the grin was more a physical necessity than an actual show of emotion. He didn't attack though, simply watched and listened and moved the blood about his limbs to keep himself from interrupting again. Once or twice he speared a fish from the nearby river and swallowed it whole as the two made their exchanges without trading actual blows. The masters, evidently having seen enough, raised Sumitani's hand.
/"Enough. Separate, and we will give our judgement,"/ they instructed. Sato took a half-step forward as if meaning to forcefully separate the two but not really expecting it to be necessary.
Even as they waited, a white haze like mist swirled around the soy merchant. It coalesced into a figure with broad shoulders and dark hair pulled into a neat knot atop his head. Triangular wedges of beard extended from the sides of his jaw, another at his chin that barely connected to the trimmed mustache above his lip. When the spirit spoke in his native Japanese the
Naoki Sato merchant behind him doubled the voice in English. /"I am Masamune Gorou, swordsman and smith. I have watched your combat and determined the nature of your fighting spirits. You will have my blades."/
That showing of attack, what could be, the joy in the movement and testing of skill. A hand clenches as she considers putting fingers to metal, not to catch, but to direct. Her body turns a hair to the side, the warning of should the time come, she'll do what she's already done, deflect and get in close to disarm. However, Sumitani's hand breaks the concentration and the moves are never brought from the mind into reality. She simply straightens and then bows. Decision made, she will absolutely send The Girls here. The Girls of course being anyone she likes enough to send on adventures rather than a group of actual girls. "Would you leave a blade resting on the mirror's surface? Seems a waste to me, but I would be honored to hold one all the same."
Dorian had already taken a stance up in answer. He would not meet any combatant unless they were ready to stand against him. But he didn't need to draw bis blade again to show that. He could look among the people he as near and instead bow. His sword as already at his hip again. His intentions toward others clear.
The will to destroy extended as far as family needed it and no further. His own intentions toward such an end were personal, and he'd extend them toward feeding a friend. Toward protecting a sister. And the roots of a worldwide business. That was as far as his will toward serving a liege went.
He'd bow to end his display for the sword-makers. Then look over the pair of his companions in earnest veilless display, to make certain he'd not gone too far. His crooked smile had come back to play upon his lips.
Naoki Sato glanced from Calli and Dorian to the manifested master. "You... will have to tell him what kind of blade. The shape, the size," he explained as Masamune looked on. "It's best if you bring him the material of choice, too." Sato's glamour finally replaced itself, piecing his face back together as he drew the blood that had seeped into his clothes out of the fabric for him to consume. He was clean as he had been prior to the shift after that.
/"A swordsman must know the mettle of his blade,"/ Masamune spoke. /"Steel will serve any. If no material is brought to me by the sunrise three days from today, steel it will be. You,"/ he said and turned to Dorian. /"I see the vision in your mind. So it will be done. But you..."/ his face adopted a puzzled frown as he looked to Calli. "...your wishes are ever-changing. Your weapon is your self, your edge one that hones and dulls with the ebb and flow of your mind. You must decide on the shape of your blade. Only then will I craft it."/
His instructions given, the spirit faded into that same mist, drawing into the mouth and nose of the merchant who collapsed to the ground with a gasp. Sato bowed at the master's departure before turning to address the pair. "I would choose your materials. The effects are stronger that way. The weapon more suited to you. I'll tend to him. Find me if you have questions," he told them. The yokai turned to Sumitani to haul him back into the shelter of the merchant stalls, leaving Dorian and Calliope to their own devices.
Dorian was as pleased with the stoney face as he'd emplaced, as he could be. Victoriana had given it to him. Along with the stoney face he had given over. It wasn't absolute victory, but what could be, apart from one's own intentions. Even those were just outside of reach, given that his twin and he were split apart in fundamental ways. Doing what was right and needful came ahead of doing what might be expedient.
Calliope had extended to that realm of not quite lethal, while dancing in to show what might be capable. And having shown her that he could damage her, he had stepped back and bowed. It wasn't too far from the damage his sister could do to him, her tail free. There were a great many thoughts turned toward how to turn a tail bared against him. But all his will went toward an intention went toward the shape of a one-sided blade. He didn't need both edges. Not to do what he would. But with his friends being who they were, he'd move as intention bent him.
Naoki Sato left Sumitani in the care of his fellow merchants of the sauce stall. He lingered in the doorway for a quiet moment as the man slept, recovering from the ordeal of channeling the old and willful spirit. Once certain there was no other information to be gained he pivoted to return to the two, unsurprised to find Dorian remaining. Calliope, by nature, was not one to sit still.
He stepped to the blonde, eyes roaming again the middle Windgrace's form before resting on his face. It was appraisal in part but something else two, sparks of hunger from even the sparse bloodshed shining in his eyes. "When your blade is forged, come and find me. We'll test it properly... as good friends," he said pointedly, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Dorian was so excited to see what the swordsmith bore, that he didn't spare a look to Sato nor Calliope. The terrible edge granted his blade was granted to him without asking for it. But when he finally had it handed to him, he sheathed the blade with a broad grin, feeling grand within himself. His heart always grew great with his sister as a counter weight.
That and it's short counterpart, got tucked to one side in Sato's view. The Vorpal blade. Two pieces of what he needed, would come to his hands. He held fast to the proximity of the reality he knew, with regretting the day he was born also holding on. All of the dear life needed to hold on past Charles Windgrace's will. A terrible sharp edge was ready to cut at what life had leveled at him.