Mitsuru would forever be a tough act to follow.
Managing to hit every last target with a gun made of corks and plastic without a shred of practice. Her talents lay with the sword, not the gun, and yet her eye was quick, and her wit was quicker. Manicured fingers pulled the flimsy trigger with a veteran’s grace and Akihiko could only feast on the sight in awe. She was a tour de force in all she did– nothing short of what one could only define as a prodigy. That unbridled joy as she won her precious prize was contagious, however, and he was snorting in laughter before he knew it. The prim-and-proper empress allowing excitement to get the better of her was positively side-splitting.
The second cork was serendipitously caught in an impressive mid-air slap by their handler as it bounced off his mid-section. The amused twinkle in his old eyes assuaged her of worries, even if she continued to voice them. The spent munitions were nonetheless retrieved, and set onto the counter to be loaded.
Akihiko’s own giggling at her expense was cut short by her handing off the weapon in question. Sharp with pride, she raised the bar without even trying. He took it up, but not without an amused rise of his brow.
Studying the design briefly in his hands revealed that it loaded in an odd sort of way that a normal, western-style rifle’s anatomy would never permit. As per instructed, a cork is loaded in through the barrel as he figured the best way to aim left-handed. Targets were set, the rifle cocked, and he set out to put his partner to shame.
One, two, three shots wasted as they fell short, bouncing off sides, and ricocheting off the back of the stand uselessly. Three more fire with an annoyed sigh, barely hitting their marks yet downing two– surely this had to be fixed. Festival games never boasted to be for skill– but of luck, right? It wasn’t just him, right?
Akihiko lowered the gun, brief, only to take back his stance with renewed vigor. Six shots spent with four more to go; prizes no longer mattered as he narrowed eyes at a particular target. Seven and eight both hit their marks square, managing to down it with the combined momentum of the wobble. Nine and ten held no more luck than his first. The last target must have been made of solid steel– it barely moved.
His score remained three out of ten when he lowered the rifle once more, this time in utter defeat. Akihiko was certainly no crackshot.
Its their handler’s turn to snicker now, in wheezy mirth, handing off a prize that seemed more consolation than reward. It was a flimsy fan made only of wood and paper that did very little to ease his wounded pride. A curious unfurl revealed a double-sided kimono print– the kind that would be as useful for as long as the glue held out– and welcome, perhaps, in this cloying weather, but of little use to him.
“ Damn thing’s rigged, anyway, ” Akihiko’s barely audible mumble was certainly not a pout, nor was the sigh that followed.
“ You want it…? ” he offers his meager share once before feeling two, large, and very brown eyes staring up from down below. A young girl, barely to their knees, had been watching the exchange with bated interest, but a mere glance of his own, as soft as it may be, was enough to send her bashfully diving behind Mitsuru’s legs. Their spy hid, red-faced behind a cloud of her own half-eaten cotton candy. “ Oh…? ”
The strange effect he had on the fairer sex continued to be worrying. Just a simple peek around sends the young girl farther into Mitsuru’s sleeve hem. An odd power, indeed; as concerning as it was worthless. She wanted the prize, that was for certain, but not by his hand.
He looks once to Mitsuru, who stood before him, and then to the unwanted fan that lay in the balance, and back again.
“ Looks like you’ve got some competition. ”
She watched with intent his performance, as proudly and expecting as she’d been back in her school days, in the fencing club she did manage, when she’d teach younger students the basics of the discipline. That though was far less serious than handling swords, but to her, it still remained equally as entertaining. For a moment, she hoped to see him do better than her, but the chance to see such prodigy in action is lost around his last three or four shots.
It wasn’t like her to giggle under her breath, but the occasion did somehow call for it. And the instant she saw the man handing him a cheap paper fan, a wave of soft chuckles - lost in the clamour of the crowds surrounding them - forced the heiress to turn around for a second, a hand to her constricted side as it started to hurt for the laughter she tried to repress. It was adorable; the situation, his innocent yet childlike frustration too... but no, she’d have never admitted it.
« Maybe, you’ll be luckier with some other game-- » she let out, eyes narrowed and a small smile on her lips. Or perhaps he just needed glasses. She imagined him wearing some for a moment. Those accessories would have made him look older, she presumed - which wasn’t in itself a bad thing ! -- and Mitsuru knew the right pair would have even looked pretty good on him. As if to confirm her assumption, she examined the bridge of his nose longer than necessary, blinking rapidly as mind did process different mental images, possibilities and shapes of glasses on his visage. The funny assumption, though, was never voiced, and died right away as she realized they were being carefully watched.
Perhaps, the right word would have been ‘studied’. Yes, there was a child studying them, with such intent and concentration mixed with wonder, that even Mitsuru remained stupefied by her. But having been quite the extrovert type in her childhood herself, she didn’t find such behavior unusual -- till the little girl noticed Akihiko gazing at her and found the best solution to that inconvenience being hiding behind Mitsuru, little hands on the yukata fabric to assure herself complete protection.
She could see her better now, given the child was literally using her sleeves to cover her eyes - a shield from Akihiko’s line of sight. Her dress was similar to her, while more colorful, more fitting for a young kid. And her black hair was tied in a little bun, crowning over her head. Once or twice, Mitsuru thought she’d have fallen on the ground due to the momentum of the child’s grip on her dress, moving now right and now left according to which side Akihiko chose to give a peek.
« Competition... » she repeated, with a smirk. Why did that take her back to her school days ? To a one-sided sense of competition she had never truly understood, maybe ? « At least she’s more polite than your old fans. » she concluded with a whisper, a hand reaching for the girl’s to soothe her, as she then turned around. She leant forward to appear less tall, and asked for her name. « Chiyo, I hereby gift you my prizes. Treasure them, alright ? » she made it sound excessively pompous and important for no reason at all, while accompanying the expression with a big smile. After all, the child had been brave enough to approach them, to begin with. First, she gave her the Jack Frost keychain she had won herself, then Mitsuru gestured for Akihiko to pass her the fan. When he obliged and the kid realized she now had two prizes, Mitsuru could read the joy in her big dark eyes.
Perhaps, she’d have loved to only have Akihiko’s fan, as a memento. But Mitsuru had imagined children being quite acquainted with the little mascot too to ignore its brand of keychains too. Chiyo’s shyness dissipated for a moment, as she bowed her head to both of them with a big smile -- she was missing a tooth or two, thanking both of them. When she ran off, though, she kept staring at Akihiko.
« I’d say it was a success-- where to next ? »
origamiaround
germansingergirl
janainaart
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romaincrisis
