Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: Peacekeeper
May. 4th, 2019 03:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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prose_alchemistTitle: Peacekeeper
Author:jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Characters: Kibito, Takumi, Kajika, Ikoma, Mumei, assorted rabble.
Setting: During episode three.
Summary: Kibito spends the first day of the journey simply trying to do the right thing.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompts of “Feed” atfan_flashworks, and “What They Become” at ficlet_zone.
Through the heavy steel hatch of the Kotetsujo’s last passenger car, dull noises of a scuffle grew clearer as Kibito approached.
“Lemme go! What business is it of yours if I wanna go in there by myself?”
“It’s our business if you let those monsters come rushing out to kill us!”
“Maybe that’s his plan. Maybe he’s one of them!”
“Yeah, that has to be it. I’ll bet he’s got a cage around his heart, just like the other two.”
“Someone take a knife and find out!”
“No, wait—!”
Oh, boy. This doesn’t sound good.
Reaching the hatch, Kibito flung it open to see a burly man clutching at fistfuls of a stocky young steamsmith’s undershirt: plainly a moment away from tearing it open to look for a telltale glow beneath. Other townfolk were gathered around like spectators at a dogfight, some of them armed with whatever blunt objects they had found at hand. Kibito even caught the flash of a knife being hastily hidden away within a kimono.
“What’s going on here?” he boomed out with authority.
The sheer imposing size of the bushi was enough to give the aggressors pause. Swiftly if not quite guiltily, they drew back a little from their target. For his part, the steamsmith—Kibito recalled his name was Takumi—merely huddled into himself and began to tuck his clothing back into some semblance of order. It impressed the older man that he somehow managed to look more indignant than terrified at his treatment.
“This lunatic was going to let those Kabane out of the last car to come eat us!” a man snarled, still gripping a cast iron cooking pot by its handle like a club.
“They’re not Kabane!” Takumi snapped back, giving the accuser a scowl before he looked up helplessly at Kibito. “I only wanted to go see if Ikoma was okay—but then these people jumped all over me.”
“See what fell out of his jacket!” shrilled an old woman, pointing to a small wrapped bundle that lay on the deck. “He was going to waste our food on those creatures. As if they could even eat it!”
“That’s my ration. It’s not like I was trying to steal anybody else’s food, so what’s it to you if I wanted to give mine to the Kabaneri instead? And besides, even though you all owe them your lives, none of you have even bothered to ask them what they need.” Some of the anger faded from Takumi’s expression, replaced with a more haunted and uncertain look. “They’re different from Kabane. They are, so maybe…”
“If you care more about monsters than the lives of humans, we should throw you in there with them,” another woman hissed, to a chorus of muttered agreements from the mob. “You can see what they need for yourself—and then it’ll be too late for you!”
For a brief moment, Takumi flinched; but then he stiffened, folding his arms as he glared around at the townspeople. “Go ahead. One thing’s for sure—I’d be in better company with them than I am now.”
Murmurs of surprise met that brazen response.
He really has so much faith in the Kabaneri that he’s willing to risk calling a bluff like that, Kibito mused wonderingly. Even if Ikoma was his friend before… after seeing that Kabane heart in his chest, he’s got some kind of nerve not to be afraid now.
Either that, or he knows something more than any of us.
“Alright, that’s enough,” the bushi interjected, wading in between Takumi and the men who continued to cluster menacingly around him. “No one is locking anybody else up with the Kabaneri. It’s against Miss Ayame’s orders—and besides, we don’t have any steamsmiths to spare. The train crew is short-handed enough as it is. Now come on, I’ll take you forward again.”
Brooking no argument, Kibito firmly gripped the crestfallen Takumi by the elbow and escorted him from the car, past the surly glowers of the rabble. Along the way he picked up the fallen ration packet, and once they were alone in the connecting passageway between cars, he pushed it back into the hands of its owner.
“You’re really that sure about them, huh?” he asked gently.
Turning the packet restlessly between his fingers, Takumi raised his eyes to the bushi. Gone was the fierce defiance he had shown to the mob. Now he looked only distressed and heartsick; perhaps even on the verge of tears.
“Listen. When Ikoma and I were making our way from his house to the depot, he could’ve attacked me any time, but he didn’t. All he did was keep talking crazy about killing Kabane—just like always.” The young man laughed weakly, a sound that ended in a sniffle as he gave a small shake of his head. “That’s Ikoma. On the inside, he’s still exactly the same guy I’ve known for five years. He could never wanna hurt anyone… but right now, he must be just as scared and confused about what’s happened to him as everybody else is. And I just wanted to try to help him.”
For Kibito, the softly spoken words were more compelling than he had ever expected.
This nervous, fidgeting steamsmith hardly posed a heroic figure. No doubt he feared the Kabane just as much as any of the townfolk. No doubt he would react only with loathing and horror toward even a friend who was truly turned; but he wasn’t afraid of Ikoma. More than that, in defending Ikoma, he found the courage to stand up to the currently much more tangible threat of his fellow man. If he of all people was so certain in his heart that the Kabaneri were not dangerous… it was difficult not to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay,” Kibito said slowly. “You just go on back to your work, and keep your distance from that crowd in there for now. I can’t make any promises, but… I’ll try to see if there’s anything I can do for the Kabaneri.”
The way Takumi’s expression lit up was something of a reward in itself.
After sending Takumi on his way, Kibito passed through the train on a self-appointed tour of inspection. In the car where several women were preparing evening food rations, he stopped to observe the young lady steamsmith Kajika, who to all appearances was Takumi and Ikoma’s friend. Her hands worked with quick and graceful efficiency, but her face was pale and sad.
When at length the bushi leaned down and whispered to the girl, her eyes swiftly brimmed. She fought to hide her smile until no one else was looking; but then, as she turned to slip two wrapped portions of bean curd into his hands, he saw for a moment the look of grateful joy in her eyes.
The fractious townfolk at the rear did not challenge Kibito when he passed through again. They glowered and muttered, but no one tried to stop him as he continued into the connecting passageway of the boiler car. Once he shut the hatch behind him, he heard the surreptitious scrape and shuffle of hands making absolutely sure it was closed tight.
I really hope I’m not wrong about this.
Squaring his shoulders resolutely, Kibito drew a deep breath. He opened the boiler car’s hatch—only to be met with the sound of a thud that nearly made even the big bushi recoil.
“Idiot! It’s no wonder you got bitten so many times back at the drawbridge. You leave yourself wide open!”
The noise that responded to the shrill criticism was something between a growl and a groan.
Blinking in consternation, Kibito peered carefully around the edge of the hatch. What he saw was Ikoma lying sprawled on his chin, while little Mumei stared down at him disgustedly with her hands on her hips.
“…Am I interrupting something?” he ventured.
In an instant Mumei’s eyes flashed warily at him. She stepped back, her posture becoming more tense and defensive. Meanwhile, Ikoma seemed to take the distraction as a chance to sort himself out, and gingerly pushed himself up to sit huddled on the deck in forlorn fashion. Kibito could see fresh bruises already darkening on the pallid skin of his exposed upper body.
“I’m only trying to pound some basic fighting sense into this guy.” Mumei’s tone was flat. “So what do you want? You’re not afraid we’re going to eat you, like all those other morons out there?”
Kibito relaxed a little, cracking a half-smile. “I’ll take my chances—just as long as you’re only biting with words, missy.”
“Hmph,” the Kabaneri girl sniffed, turning her back to him as she fussed with her headband.
“So what about you?” Kibito took a step closer to Ikoma, looking down with mild concern at the wretched figure he presented. “Are you doing alright?”
Ikoma did not lift his eyes, and his only response was a faint shiver as he rubbed his battered arms.
Poor kid. Turned into who knows what, nearly killed half a dozen times, feared by the people whose lives he saved—and getting thrashed by that girl on top of everything. It’s no wonder he looks miserable.
“Well, I brought you two something,” Kibito began uncertainly, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder. “I don’t know if…”
Mumei cut him off, darting in to snatch the small gourd jug he withdrew. “Finally!” she declared with impatience, raising it to her lips for a long pull.
He sincerely hoped he was only imagining the surprised twitch of her eyebrows when she tasted what the jug contained. Regardless, there was little mistaking the much more slow and deliberate way she lowered it, or the grim new set to her mouth.
“…Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly much more subdued. “We did need water after all that exercise.”
Kibito wanted to ask what she had expected, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“There’s more,” he added cautiously, producing the two packets of bean curd from the bag. “That girl Kajika gave me these for you.”
At his friend’s name, Ikoma glanced up sharply, looking somewhat stricken. As for Mumei, she simply stared down at the food in Kibito’s hands, and then up at him—her expression filled with a sort of appalled incredulity that made the bushi’s heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
It’s really true, isn’t it… That old woman was right about what the Kabaneri need.
…Oh, hell.
As Mumei once again turned from him dismissively, Kibito clutched at his final straw of dying hope, crouching down to place one of the packets in front of Ikoma. “Come on now. Kajika and Takumi are worried about you. They’ll feel better if I can tell them you’ve eaten something.” And so will I.
Gaze still downcast, Ikoma shuddered and swallowed, his fists clenching and unclenching against his knees. “I’m… I’m not hungry yet.”
Not hungry yet, meaning he doesn’t feel like tearing out my throat with his teeth. That’s good.
Not hungry yet, meaning he doesn’t want this food even after being starved and abused for a whole day…
That’s very, very bad.
Stymied, Kibito awkwardly picked up the ration and set it aside. He forced his tone to remain light as he spoke. “That’s alright… You’ve been through a lot. I can’t blame you if your nerves are still too rattled to have any appetite. I’ll just leave it here in case you change your mind.”
There was no answer. Heaving a sigh, Kibito rose and moved toward the hatch.
“Wait.”
The bushi looked back. Ikoma had finally raised his head. His eyes were pained, but there was the faintest trace of a sadly appreciative smile on his lips.
“Would you let Takumi and Kajika know I said thank you? And please tell them not to worry about me. Tell them I said, whatever happens… I’ll be okay.”
Feeling a pang in his heart, Kibito nodded once, and turned for the hatch before the Kabaneri could see the reaction on his face.
Ikoma doesn’t even know what he’s become, but he’s still more concerned about his friends than himself. And Mumei… She’s no more than a child. A real pair of ‘monsters’ these two are. The whole time I’ve been alone with them, there hasn’t been a moment when I felt afraid.
Before he pushed open the hatch, Kibito stole one final glance over his shoulder: first at the dejected young man slouching on the deck, and then at the girl who had sullenly retreated into the pages of a book.
Maybe I don’t quite know what these Kabaneri are, but now I’m sure of one thing. They’re not a threat to us—and they just might be all that can stand between us and the Kabane.
…I only hope we can understand and trust each other before it’s too late.
© 2019 Jordanna Morgan
Author:
jordannamorganArchive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Characters: Kibito, Takumi, Kajika, Ikoma, Mumei, assorted rabble.
Setting: During episode three.
Summary: Kibito spends the first day of the journey simply trying to do the right thing.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompts of “Feed” at
fan_flashworks, and “What They Become” at ficlet_zone.Through the heavy steel hatch of the Kotetsujo’s last passenger car, dull noises of a scuffle grew clearer as Kibito approached.
“Lemme go! What business is it of yours if I wanna go in there by myself?”
“It’s our business if you let those monsters come rushing out to kill us!”
“Maybe that’s his plan. Maybe he’s one of them!”
“Yeah, that has to be it. I’ll bet he’s got a cage around his heart, just like the other two.”
“Someone take a knife and find out!”
“No, wait—!”
Oh, boy. This doesn’t sound good.
Reaching the hatch, Kibito flung it open to see a burly man clutching at fistfuls of a stocky young steamsmith’s undershirt: plainly a moment away from tearing it open to look for a telltale glow beneath. Other townfolk were gathered around like spectators at a dogfight, some of them armed with whatever blunt objects they had found at hand. Kibito even caught the flash of a knife being hastily hidden away within a kimono.
“What’s going on here?” he boomed out with authority.
The sheer imposing size of the bushi was enough to give the aggressors pause. Swiftly if not quite guiltily, they drew back a little from their target. For his part, the steamsmith—Kibito recalled his name was Takumi—merely huddled into himself and began to tuck his clothing back into some semblance of order. It impressed the older man that he somehow managed to look more indignant than terrified at his treatment.
“This lunatic was going to let those Kabane out of the last car to come eat us!” a man snarled, still gripping a cast iron cooking pot by its handle like a club.
“They’re not Kabane!” Takumi snapped back, giving the accuser a scowl before he looked up helplessly at Kibito. “I only wanted to go see if Ikoma was okay—but then these people jumped all over me.”
“See what fell out of his jacket!” shrilled an old woman, pointing to a small wrapped bundle that lay on the deck. “He was going to waste our food on those creatures. As if they could even eat it!”
“That’s my ration. It’s not like I was trying to steal anybody else’s food, so what’s it to you if I wanted to give mine to the Kabaneri instead? And besides, even though you all owe them your lives, none of you have even bothered to ask them what they need.” Some of the anger faded from Takumi’s expression, replaced with a more haunted and uncertain look. “They’re different from Kabane. They are, so maybe…”
“If you care more about monsters than the lives of humans, we should throw you in there with them,” another woman hissed, to a chorus of muttered agreements from the mob. “You can see what they need for yourself—and then it’ll be too late for you!”
For a brief moment, Takumi flinched; but then he stiffened, folding his arms as he glared around at the townspeople. “Go ahead. One thing’s for sure—I’d be in better company with them than I am now.”
Murmurs of surprise met that brazen response.
He really has so much faith in the Kabaneri that he’s willing to risk calling a bluff like that, Kibito mused wonderingly. Even if Ikoma was his friend before… after seeing that Kabane heart in his chest, he’s got some kind of nerve not to be afraid now.
Either that, or he knows something more than any of us.
“Alright, that’s enough,” the bushi interjected, wading in between Takumi and the men who continued to cluster menacingly around him. “No one is locking anybody else up with the Kabaneri. It’s against Miss Ayame’s orders—and besides, we don’t have any steamsmiths to spare. The train crew is short-handed enough as it is. Now come on, I’ll take you forward again.”
Brooking no argument, Kibito firmly gripped the crestfallen Takumi by the elbow and escorted him from the car, past the surly glowers of the rabble. Along the way he picked up the fallen ration packet, and once they were alone in the connecting passageway between cars, he pushed it back into the hands of its owner.
“You’re really that sure about them, huh?” he asked gently.
Turning the packet restlessly between his fingers, Takumi raised his eyes to the bushi. Gone was the fierce defiance he had shown to the mob. Now he looked only distressed and heartsick; perhaps even on the verge of tears.
“Listen. When Ikoma and I were making our way from his house to the depot, he could’ve attacked me any time, but he didn’t. All he did was keep talking crazy about killing Kabane—just like always.” The young man laughed weakly, a sound that ended in a sniffle as he gave a small shake of his head. “That’s Ikoma. On the inside, he’s still exactly the same guy I’ve known for five years. He could never wanna hurt anyone… but right now, he must be just as scared and confused about what’s happened to him as everybody else is. And I just wanted to try to help him.”
For Kibito, the softly spoken words were more compelling than he had ever expected.
This nervous, fidgeting steamsmith hardly posed a heroic figure. No doubt he feared the Kabane just as much as any of the townfolk. No doubt he would react only with loathing and horror toward even a friend who was truly turned; but he wasn’t afraid of Ikoma. More than that, in defending Ikoma, he found the courage to stand up to the currently much more tangible threat of his fellow man. If he of all people was so certain in his heart that the Kabaneri were not dangerous… it was difficult not to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay,” Kibito said slowly. “You just go on back to your work, and keep your distance from that crowd in there for now. I can’t make any promises, but… I’ll try to see if there’s anything I can do for the Kabaneri.”
The way Takumi’s expression lit up was something of a reward in itself.
After sending Takumi on his way, Kibito passed through the train on a self-appointed tour of inspection. In the car where several women were preparing evening food rations, he stopped to observe the young lady steamsmith Kajika, who to all appearances was Takumi and Ikoma’s friend. Her hands worked with quick and graceful efficiency, but her face was pale and sad.
When at length the bushi leaned down and whispered to the girl, her eyes swiftly brimmed. She fought to hide her smile until no one else was looking; but then, as she turned to slip two wrapped portions of bean curd into his hands, he saw for a moment the look of grateful joy in her eyes.
The fractious townfolk at the rear did not challenge Kibito when he passed through again. They glowered and muttered, but no one tried to stop him as he continued into the connecting passageway of the boiler car. Once he shut the hatch behind him, he heard the surreptitious scrape and shuffle of hands making absolutely sure it was closed tight.
I really hope I’m not wrong about this.
Squaring his shoulders resolutely, Kibito drew a deep breath. He opened the boiler car’s hatch—only to be met with the sound of a thud that nearly made even the big bushi recoil.
“Idiot! It’s no wonder you got bitten so many times back at the drawbridge. You leave yourself wide open!”
The noise that responded to the shrill criticism was something between a growl and a groan.
Blinking in consternation, Kibito peered carefully around the edge of the hatch. What he saw was Ikoma lying sprawled on his chin, while little Mumei stared down at him disgustedly with her hands on her hips.
“…Am I interrupting something?” he ventured.
In an instant Mumei’s eyes flashed warily at him. She stepped back, her posture becoming more tense and defensive. Meanwhile, Ikoma seemed to take the distraction as a chance to sort himself out, and gingerly pushed himself up to sit huddled on the deck in forlorn fashion. Kibito could see fresh bruises already darkening on the pallid skin of his exposed upper body.
“I’m only trying to pound some basic fighting sense into this guy.” Mumei’s tone was flat. “So what do you want? You’re not afraid we’re going to eat you, like all those other morons out there?”
Kibito relaxed a little, cracking a half-smile. “I’ll take my chances—just as long as you’re only biting with words, missy.”
“Hmph,” the Kabaneri girl sniffed, turning her back to him as she fussed with her headband.
“So what about you?” Kibito took a step closer to Ikoma, looking down with mild concern at the wretched figure he presented. “Are you doing alright?”
Ikoma did not lift his eyes, and his only response was a faint shiver as he rubbed his battered arms.
Poor kid. Turned into who knows what, nearly killed half a dozen times, feared by the people whose lives he saved—and getting thrashed by that girl on top of everything. It’s no wonder he looks miserable.
“Well, I brought you two something,” Kibito began uncertainly, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder. “I don’t know if…”
Mumei cut him off, darting in to snatch the small gourd jug he withdrew. “Finally!” she declared with impatience, raising it to her lips for a long pull.
He sincerely hoped he was only imagining the surprised twitch of her eyebrows when she tasted what the jug contained. Regardless, there was little mistaking the much more slow and deliberate way she lowered it, or the grim new set to her mouth.
“…Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly much more subdued. “We did need water after all that exercise.”
Kibito wanted to ask what she had expected, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“There’s more,” he added cautiously, producing the two packets of bean curd from the bag. “That girl Kajika gave me these for you.”
At his friend’s name, Ikoma glanced up sharply, looking somewhat stricken. As for Mumei, she simply stared down at the food in Kibito’s hands, and then up at him—her expression filled with a sort of appalled incredulity that made the bushi’s heart sink to the pit of his stomach.
It’s really true, isn’t it… That old woman was right about what the Kabaneri need.
…Oh, hell.
As Mumei once again turned from him dismissively, Kibito clutched at his final straw of dying hope, crouching down to place one of the packets in front of Ikoma. “Come on now. Kajika and Takumi are worried about you. They’ll feel better if I can tell them you’ve eaten something.” And so will I.
Gaze still downcast, Ikoma shuddered and swallowed, his fists clenching and unclenching against his knees. “I’m… I’m not hungry yet.”
Not hungry yet, meaning he doesn’t feel like tearing out my throat with his teeth. That’s good.
Not hungry yet, meaning he doesn’t want this food even after being starved and abused for a whole day…
That’s very, very bad.
Stymied, Kibito awkwardly picked up the ration and set it aside. He forced his tone to remain light as he spoke. “That’s alright… You’ve been through a lot. I can’t blame you if your nerves are still too rattled to have any appetite. I’ll just leave it here in case you change your mind.”
There was no answer. Heaving a sigh, Kibito rose and moved toward the hatch.
“Wait.”
The bushi looked back. Ikoma had finally raised his head. His eyes were pained, but there was the faintest trace of a sadly appreciative smile on his lips.
“Would you let Takumi and Kajika know I said thank you? And please tell them not to worry about me. Tell them I said, whatever happens… I’ll be okay.”
Feeling a pang in his heart, Kibito nodded once, and turned for the hatch before the Kabaneri could see the reaction on his face.
Ikoma doesn’t even know what he’s become, but he’s still more concerned about his friends than himself. And Mumei… She’s no more than a child. A real pair of ‘monsters’ these two are. The whole time I’ve been alone with them, there hasn’t been a moment when I felt afraid.
Before he pushed open the hatch, Kibito stole one final glance over his shoulder: first at the dejected young man slouching on the deck, and then at the girl who had sullenly retreated into the pages of a book.
Maybe I don’t quite know what these Kabaneri are, but now I’m sure of one thing. They’re not a threat to us—and they just might be all that can stand between us and the Kabane.
…I only hope we can understand and trust each other before it’s too late.
© 2019 Jordanna Morgan