The Hawk's Eye: Part 4 of the Empty
Kaito's practicality was always a mere garnish to a well woven cloak of careful study, patience, and commitment to a cause. His cause was here. In Kugane. With these people. Not friends, no, Kaito would not give away much of himself for friendship. But the citizens of Kugane, the natives? They were comrades. Compatriots. Distant relatives in a communal sense who all knew what it meant to be Hingan.
No one could quite net in fish like they could. No one could quite weave silk from the silkworm in such a precise manner. Or create such lovely prints onto soaked cloth. Kaito’s own office showcased prints that were replicated from ukiyo-e prints of an esteemed nature. As he ventured to his dusty wooden chair that served as an office chair his form would pass replicas of scenes of previous heroes of old ages squaring up against primals of ancient ferocity.
He would stop to pause at the image of Seiryu, his almighty serpent form fighting against angered villagers that rose against him. Next to such an image was paintings of Seiryu's children. Sons and daughters, as they each get hunted in turn. Then the image of Bismark, leaving a foreign land for islands in the sky. With a procedure of unlooking humans, no doubt jeering him onwards. The next image was of Lakhma. Her beauty radiating in a serene pose. while her subjects would die underneath her light. Terrifying. Powerful. Great. Yet there were always second parts to these stories. A man who pacified the great serpent and inviting him to his journey. A shaman who brought beast tribes out of their stupor of blind adoration. The introduction of the Bismark to beast tribes in the skies. And then prints of hero upon hero who helped defend the lands over and over again. Individuals with special magicks. Special powers. Legends onto themselves.
Kaito was so caught up in his own thoughts he missed the dry tone of the man who would have taken that moment to observe right along with him. "Why is it that no matter the primal, there always has to he that -one- powerful individual who just swoops in and saves the day like they're some sort of -savior-?" There was a brief pause, before the voice chided in a singsongy voice, dripping with its amusement. "Kai~...to~...chan~..."
"....Kindly step away from my display Buteo. Mayhaps I'll be able to decide your right to keep that hand with good favor…" Kaito turns his head to stare bemusedly at the hand of Buteo pyr Ambustus. The hand would have been lifted then, so it might light pet Kaito's bald head with humor. "OH, please ser! How many times have I told you? Call me Teo!"
The mid aged blond would take a step back with his hawkish grin. Peaks of silver scruffing out from the sides of his face which would meet with a sharp beard. The wildness of his hair prominent all throughout his scalp which sported that disgusting white pearl like object right in the center of his forehead. Oh how he wanted to take some tools from the nearest clinic and scoop out that third eye like it was--
"When was the last time you defeated a primal...Mmm, Kaito-chan?"
"-Don't-...call me that…!"
Any of Kaito's attempts to push Buteo away however would be easily parried. Shrugged off. Treated like a game of cat and mouse for the Garlean's amusement…
"When was the last time you defeated a primal -successfully-?..." His leg, he was talking about Kaito's leg. A leg which dragged across the floor wherever he went. Which limped, and pulsed with unbearable pain at the latest in the night. Unhealable by the best of healers. Untreatable by the best of medics.
"You only need to say the word my dear. My people will build you a -better- leg. A -stronger- leg. At least. Much better than those ironwork wannabes can dream up. Pft~huu~huu~"
The priest stared warily...as he dragged himself to his desk. Almost falling onto his seat, with a distinct lack of care for it. "Why are you here?" He demanded. "What the hell do you and your 'delegates' want."
His question was met with a thin smile as the Garlean takes his spot upon the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Kicking his feet up, making himself -comfortable-. "I want you to tell me as much as possible about Hitoshirezu...Your…'secret place'. Specifically the whore guiding its entrance." He would say pleasantly, with warmth. Though there was a clear hint of menace in his words. "You've given the whores of this district their sacred names, have you not, my dear friend? Praytell, share this secret with me."
"And?... For what reason should I breach my trust with the hostel mother, whose place of business I must remind you has -burned to the ground- because of your sort." He flowers. "If she were here she would toss you into the canals."
"-Because-, oh dearest Kaito-chan…" That bastard smile upon the weasel's face would begin to widen significantly. "We have reason to believe that your charges are tethered to this beautiful maiden." He tilts his head to the side, almost looking sick in the way his face would twist around with words laced with toxicity.
"It would be a shame, if the poor resolute are guilty of...hmmm...accidentally summoning any primals?"