Some people were able to dance in the rain, while others just got wet. Itto was distinctly the latter due to the life he’d weathered, of living in abject fear of shelters and structures most would find unthinkable to be terrifying, but for him, they were. Rain saturated through his long, silvery mane and weighed it, wind howling past tapered tears, but his clothing was thankfully waterproof thanks to the tailoring genius of the gang’s deputy.
Sure, it wasn’t comfortable, but at least he wouldn’t be drenched forever.
The patrons in the smoky, dim izakaya next door regarded him with trepidation and wariness, as if the entire establishment held its breath upon sighting his horns, inhuman eyes, and wild hair. The din of conversation froze, and as floor-creaking, heavy footfalls of his approached the countertop, the barkeep averted his eyes and asked what he’d be ordering in a muted, unsteady tone. At the order of ramen, he rushed towards the back and swiftly bumped his up to first, because it would get him out faster.
Whatever. At least it meant a certain samurai wouldn’t have to wait long.
With the steaming bowls of ramen covered with lids, he returned to their room and shut the door behind with a firm clack. Fetching a wooden tray to set their bowls on at Kazuha’s bedside, he couldn’t help but feel rankled that he was technically waiting on a nobleman, a realization that brewed indignant and tarry in his chest despite knowing it couldn’t be helped.
“So, what’s bein’, er–disagreed upon? I dunno, I’ve leaved in the streets or outside pretty much… all my life. Almost five full decades of this and… Eh, rain’s only ever made me wet. Storms just were wetter, violent kinda.”
Beginning to shovel ramen down his gullet, he sighed at the meaty aroma and flavor of having something solid and warm to fill him that instantly evaporated any unpleasantness from the cold. He smirked at Kazuha’s remark, slurping down a mouthful of the soba noodles.
“Not anymore, my man! ‘sides, what about you? Everything’s probably chilly when you’re burning up, so might as well eat. You can wax poetic after ya get somethin’ in ya, sound good?”
Indeed. The disagreement outside, the storm, it is curious exactly what the reason is. However, as it so happens, he simply observes, voices out his own emotions rather than opinions. For how can he, a mere mortal, understand the grievance of mother nature? He simply smiles, it is a tired smile, but one nonetheless as he gratefully reaches for his own bowl. Truly, he must find a way to repay his kindness.
“I believe I will live. It is only a fever and nothing more than a discomfort on my part. Though, I must apologize for the inconvenience this might have caused you”
A content sound falls from his lips as the broth hits his tongue. The warmth spreads throughout his body, adding to the heat of his fever. The fever he is certain will break sometime during the night. He is rarely sick for long, after all. ( or perhaps it is due to his restlessness that he ignores such trivial matters )
“The flavor is amazing. You must allow me to repay you this kindness”
The bowl rests in his lap, a small break, for his appetite doesn’t seem to be present at this time, even if he knows how beneficial it is for his well being. So, it is simply a break as he watches with a soft smile as Itto heartily enjoys his own bowl.