Commander Rosinante Donquixote loved getting out of paperwork. Therefore when the opportunity to be a consult for a new movie came up, he jumped on it. He had always been Fleet Admiral Sengoku’s favorite so it was easy to worm his way into the position.
Apparently this movie was catering towards actual military accuracy instead of the normal Hollywood bullshit. Battleship had been atrocious, and don’t even get him started on NCIS. Civilians easily dismissed the small yet important things for more ‘entertaining’ elements. Parking his bike in the lot right next to the studio, he started mentally preparing himself to deal with what the director thought was accuracy.
The director was nice enough, if not a little too excited about his production. Rosinante winced a few times when the man explained the premise of his movie. Hopefully constructive criticism will be welcome, because it needed a lot. For one thing, ships could NOT sail at 100 knots. Even the fastest cigarette racers could barely match that.
After hours of being shown around the set, Rosinante was free to roam about on his own. He let out a sigh. It really wasn’t as painful as it could have been. At least they didn’t have enlisted men saluting each other like idiots. That particular film had been unsalvageable. This director had done at least some research, but not enough.
Trying to get his mind away from terrible war movies, the Commander wandered outside the studio to the surrounding buildings. Some of them were storage for props. Others were studios currently making the props.
Rosinante caught sight of a wide open area surrounded by a short fence and his curiosity was piqued. He looked over the fence and saw… was that a forge?! Whoa, he’d never seen someone making weapons before.
Passing through the gate he spied a number of swords on a rack. Being nosy, he had to get a better look. Unfortunately, right before he was able to reach out and touch one, his boot caught on a piece of uneven dirt. He stumbled into the display knocking everything over and finding himself on the ground.
“Okay~” With her fingers entwined, Emil lifted both arms and stretched. Humming a carefree melody, she left her blade on the rack just outside the smithy. She had just finished forming the blade; all there was left was to polish and sharpen it. Well, she still would have to make the guard, handle and pommel, but all that was a story for after the lunch.
Minutes later, she sat on one of few benches outside, just under the fence. While a container with steaming hot fried rice with chicken rested beside a cup of black, peach-flavored tea Emil pulled out a tube of hand cream and applied some onto her palm.
She was spreading the cream all over her hands when an unfamiliar man stepped through the gate. Even though Emil didn’t avert her eyes from him for a moment, she wasn’t alarmed. Whoever he was, he had to have gotten a permit to get into the company grounds. For strangers, the whole area might look like an array of random workshops and warehouses with an occasional cafeteria, but it all belonged to the company wand was surrounded by a wall with guards. If he wasn’t anyone from the crew, then he had to be an actor or at the very least a visitor whose details had to be recorded in the visitor’s book.
Curious what he would do, Emil simply watched the unreasonably tall man, who seemed to be entranced by the view in front of him. Emil followed his gaze and looked inside the open smithy. A tender smile appeared on her lips. It brought up the memories… Closing her eyes, Emil tried to recall the very first time she had ever entered a smithy. She was six at the time.
Emil jumped up to her feet; her eyes as wide as saucepans. She looked at the man and snorted. He had had to fall into the rack with unfinished blades while her eyes were closed!
Shaking her head, Emil trotted up to the man. “Are you okay?” She asked, offering him her hand. She looked inside the smithy and waved at her coworkers. While the man might have gotten a few bruises, he shouldn’t be seriously injured - they could get back to their projects. “You’re lucky you picked this rack to fall into. None of those blades has been sharpened yet.” She pointed at a rack indoor, further to the left. “I don’t recommend falling into this one unless you plan on becoming a human-sized voodoo doll.”
“Hmm…” Now that they were closer, there was one thing about this man that piqued Emil’s interest. “Your hair seems very fluffy.” She chuckled and lifted her hands, wiggling her freshly moisturized fingers. “Can I touch it?”
Rosinante’s answer to the first question was a drawn out groan. He was definitely going to start bruising later from that fall. It was fortunate that the objects he was drawn to were unable to hurt him badly.
The woman drew closer and he assumed it was to help him back to his feet, but she reached out for his hair instead. He reared back with shock making even more of a ruckus as the unfinished weaponry shifted around him.
He shifted his eyes to her face then to her moving fingers and back. “Sure...” The Commander said slowly. In his confused state it didn’t cross his mind to refuse.
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