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prose_alchemistTitle: Forging Trust
Author: *jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Kurusu and Ikoma (with Takumi and Suzuki as spectators).
Setting: After episode four.
Summary: Ikoma presents Kurusu with his new blade.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Just a quickly-written thing for the prompt of “Sharp” atfan_flashworks.
Kurusu might have agreed that the Kabaneri deserved the blood they needed to live, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to watch them very carefully.
His self-appointed mission would have been easier if the two didn’t have very different opinions about where they wanted to roam—which quite often found them at opposite ends of the train. Given Kurusu’s wounds, traversing the Kotetsujo to track them both down regularly was an aching and tiresome chore… Not that he would complain, of course, since it was all his own dutifully vigilant idea. (An idea Miss Ayame might not have appreciated, if he was being entirely honest.) Still, the physical strain of constantly checking up on that pair of eerie beings was not exactly promoting his quick recovery.
It seemed Mumei had developed an unholy attachment to the orphan wards of the steamsmith girl Kajika. Even more incredibly, they showed every sign of returning her fondness—despite having watched her impale an expectant mother turned Kabane. Kurusu couldn’t fathom how those children were not terrified of her; but in any case, she could frequently be found with them. Too often they were not in the first passenger car where they belonged, but instead wandering about the train, playing some raucous game or another.
When Kurusu would pass by the little group, casting a wary eye over their inhuman playmate, he had noted that he was the one the children looked just a little bit frightened of. It was an oddly sobering realization. Perhaps they were worried that he might yet try to take Mumei away from them.
At this point, it was not something he wanted to do. He hoped the Kabaneri were truly as stable as they appeared to be, and could coexist safely with humans… but with the lives of every passenger at stake, he had to be sure.
At least the steamsmith Kabaneri was usually much easier to find. Since earning his freedom, Ikoma had spent most of his time holed up in the onboard workshop with his peers. Under his guidance, they were evidently hard at work on redesigning the weapons Miss Ayame let them have for testing purposes. Kurusu could not say he was entirely pleased about sparing any of the train’s precious store of munitions for the steamsmiths to experiment with… but on the other hand, he had seen the bodies of the Kabane Ikoma killed, with the holes his piercing gun punched straight through their armored hearts. Even the Wazatori whose heart cage shattered Kurusu’s sword was no match for that weapon. If the modifications could bring their regular steam rifles even close to that level of effectiveness, it would surely be worth it.
When Kurusu slipped into the workshop compartment, Ikoma was usually too absorbed in his work to notice; but his companions did. Then Takumi would give the bushi a look as he not-so-subtly shifted his stance, placing himself in front of his best friend. Even the Kotetsujo’s senior steamsmith, that peculiar foreigner who had never known Ikoma before the fall of Aragane, would move a little closer to him. Their silent protectiveness spoke volumes about just how safe they felt with the Kabaneri, and how much they valued the knowledge they were gaining from their work with him.
…No, not just that. They valued him for himself.
But at last, a few days after the battle in the mountains, the day came when Ikoma did notice Kurusu’s stealthy intrusion—and it didn’t go at all as the warrior might have expected.
“Hey… What are you doing here?”
Caught in the act of hovering watchfully just inside the workshop hatch, Kurusu could only blink as Ikoma gently maneuvered past his friends—seeming oblivious to their defensive positions around him—and came closer to peer at the bushi through one green lens. In a slightly different tone, it might have been easy to mistake his question for something contemptuous; but Kurusu saw Ikoma looking at his bandaged wounds, and realized with amazement that it was a query of genuine concern.
The young man he really hadn’t spoken much to since that time when he shot him in the chest… was worried about him.
Before he could recover the wits for a reply, Takumi butted in with a scowl. “You didn’t know? Kurusu’s been peeking in here all the time—checking up on you. It’s drivin’ me crazy.”
“…Oh,” Ikoma murmured, and his face fell, even as a pale ghost of color seeped into his cheeks. It was clear that he realized exactly what checking up on him implied.
The proud samurai had never imagined he could be made uncomfortable by the mere gazes of a handful of steamsmiths, but that was exactly the effect he was experiencing now. He could feel his own cheeks beginning to flush.
“I—didn’t mean to intrude on your work,” he muttered, taking a step back to withdraw from the compartment. However, the Kabaneri unexpectedly countered with a step forward.
“Wait. I mean… I get it, Kurusu. I don’t mind.” Ikoma looked suddenly chagrined himself, shifting his slight weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft as he added, “Actually, if you hadn’t shown up here, I would’ve gone looking for you soon. I have something to give you.”
Only more thunderstruck, Kurusu remained silent as Ikoma moved to the other side of the workshop, where he picked up something long and thin that was wrapped in tattered brown canvas. He returned to present it to the bushi with an awkward formality, holding it up between outstretched hands as he bowed his head.
After a brief hesitation, Kurusu drew back the draping of cloth, to reveal that the object underneath was a katana. The blade was sheathed, but its scabbard, handle, and guard all showed craftsmanship almost as beautiful as the sword he had lost.
“Kibito told me your sword broke when you were fighting the Wazatori, so I wanted to give you a replacement,” Ikoma explained, his gaze still lowered. “From our tests on the Kabane heart cages we took from the bodies, we learned we could melt down the metal they’re formed from, and refine it into something stronger than our own steel. So… I coated this blade with the metal from the Wazatori’s heart cage.”
Kurusu’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. With his right arm encumbered by a sling, he stretched out his left hand to grasp the handle of the sword, while Ikoma gripped the scabbard to let him draw the blade.
This sword was like nothing Kurusu had ever seen before. From the spine of its blade to the cutting edge, the color of the metal shaded eerily from a normal steel-silver to midnight-black. Even more startling, that alien metal was shot through with something much like a Kabane’s molten veins: fiery trails that glimmered as he turned it slowly in his hand.
Ikoma was quick to reassure him. “Don’t worry, it’s safe to handle. Not even the Kabane virus could survive the temperature the metal was heated to in the refining process.”
However confident the steamsmiths were of that, Kurusu was still certain he would never want to be accidentally cut by that blade if he could possibly avoid it. Even if the Kabane taint did not linger in it, he could see just by looking at its fine gleaming edge that it was very, very sharp.
And this was the same metal that had broken his previous sword. How fitting.
“Thank you for this.” With only slight awkwardness he sheathed the blade one-handed, and then gently lifted the scabbard from Ikoma’s hands. “I’ll look forward to testing it when my wounds have healed.”
“To be honest… giving this to you was also important to me for my own reasons.” Ikoma’s hauntingly too-red eyes flickered up at Kurusu from beneath his white forelock. “You stopped me once from hurting Miss Ayame. If a time ever comes when you have to do it again, I… I want to know you have a weapon that’s strong enough.”
Strong enough to penetrate a heart cage.
As Ikoma’s sentence completed itself in his mind, a faint chill coursed through the warrior’s veins. He envisioned the scenario, the thought of someday needing to run that morbid blade through the heart cage of the very man who had given it to him… and for the first time, he let himself admit that he sincerely never wanted to see that day come.
“…I expect you to make sure that will never be necessary,” he muttered after a brief moment, using brusqueness to cover the fleeting lapse of his poise.
Ikoma smiled wanly, and stepped back to rejoin his fellow steamsmiths. Takumi and Suzuki were saying nothing at the moment, but judging by the expressions on their faces (or in the latter’s case, on his mouth below his ever-present goggles), they would have some stern things to say to him about his self-confidence after Kurusu left.
They were far better qualified than the bushi to admonish their friend. Perhaps one day, it would be right for him to say the things to Ikoma that he found himself wishing to; but that time was not yet.
With a curt nod in lieu of the bow his bandaged abdomen would not permit, he took his leave of them. As he made his way back through the train to his bunk, the new sword he had been gifted with hung heavy in his hand.
He resolved that the next time he went to check on the Kabaneri, it would not be simply to make sure they still were Kabaneri… but to learn something more of what was human in them, too.
© 2020 Jordanna Morgan
Author: *
jordannamorganArchive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Kurusu and Ikoma (with Takumi and Suzuki as spectators).
Setting: After episode four.
Summary: Ikoma presents Kurusu with his new blade.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Just a quickly-written thing for the prompt of “Sharp” at
fan_flashworks.Kurusu might have agreed that the Kabaneri deserved the blood they needed to live, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to watch them very carefully.
His self-appointed mission would have been easier if the two didn’t have very different opinions about where they wanted to roam—which quite often found them at opposite ends of the train. Given Kurusu’s wounds, traversing the Kotetsujo to track them both down regularly was an aching and tiresome chore… Not that he would complain, of course, since it was all his own dutifully vigilant idea. (An idea Miss Ayame might not have appreciated, if he was being entirely honest.) Still, the physical strain of constantly checking up on that pair of eerie beings was not exactly promoting his quick recovery.
It seemed Mumei had developed an unholy attachment to the orphan wards of the steamsmith girl Kajika. Even more incredibly, they showed every sign of returning her fondness—despite having watched her impale an expectant mother turned Kabane. Kurusu couldn’t fathom how those children were not terrified of her; but in any case, she could frequently be found with them. Too often they were not in the first passenger car where they belonged, but instead wandering about the train, playing some raucous game or another.
When Kurusu would pass by the little group, casting a wary eye over their inhuman playmate, he had noted that he was the one the children looked just a little bit frightened of. It was an oddly sobering realization. Perhaps they were worried that he might yet try to take Mumei away from them.
At this point, it was not something he wanted to do. He hoped the Kabaneri were truly as stable as they appeared to be, and could coexist safely with humans… but with the lives of every passenger at stake, he had to be sure.
At least the steamsmith Kabaneri was usually much easier to find. Since earning his freedom, Ikoma had spent most of his time holed up in the onboard workshop with his peers. Under his guidance, they were evidently hard at work on redesigning the weapons Miss Ayame let them have for testing purposes. Kurusu could not say he was entirely pleased about sparing any of the train’s precious store of munitions for the steamsmiths to experiment with… but on the other hand, he had seen the bodies of the Kabane Ikoma killed, with the holes his piercing gun punched straight through their armored hearts. Even the Wazatori whose heart cage shattered Kurusu’s sword was no match for that weapon. If the modifications could bring their regular steam rifles even close to that level of effectiveness, it would surely be worth it.
When Kurusu slipped into the workshop compartment, Ikoma was usually too absorbed in his work to notice; but his companions did. Then Takumi would give the bushi a look as he not-so-subtly shifted his stance, placing himself in front of his best friend. Even the Kotetsujo’s senior steamsmith, that peculiar foreigner who had never known Ikoma before the fall of Aragane, would move a little closer to him. Their silent protectiveness spoke volumes about just how safe they felt with the Kabaneri, and how much they valued the knowledge they were gaining from their work with him.
…No, not just that. They valued him for himself.
But at last, a few days after the battle in the mountains, the day came when Ikoma did notice Kurusu’s stealthy intrusion—and it didn’t go at all as the warrior might have expected.
“Hey… What are you doing here?”
Caught in the act of hovering watchfully just inside the workshop hatch, Kurusu could only blink as Ikoma gently maneuvered past his friends—seeming oblivious to their defensive positions around him—and came closer to peer at the bushi through one green lens. In a slightly different tone, it might have been easy to mistake his question for something contemptuous; but Kurusu saw Ikoma looking at his bandaged wounds, and realized with amazement that it was a query of genuine concern.
The young man he really hadn’t spoken much to since that time when he shot him in the chest… was worried about him.
Before he could recover the wits for a reply, Takumi butted in with a scowl. “You didn’t know? Kurusu’s been peeking in here all the time—checking up on you. It’s drivin’ me crazy.”
“…Oh,” Ikoma murmured, and his face fell, even as a pale ghost of color seeped into his cheeks. It was clear that he realized exactly what checking up on him implied.
The proud samurai had never imagined he could be made uncomfortable by the mere gazes of a handful of steamsmiths, but that was exactly the effect he was experiencing now. He could feel his own cheeks beginning to flush.
“I—didn’t mean to intrude on your work,” he muttered, taking a step back to withdraw from the compartment. However, the Kabaneri unexpectedly countered with a step forward.
“Wait. I mean… I get it, Kurusu. I don’t mind.” Ikoma looked suddenly chagrined himself, shifting his slight weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft as he added, “Actually, if you hadn’t shown up here, I would’ve gone looking for you soon. I have something to give you.”
Only more thunderstruck, Kurusu remained silent as Ikoma moved to the other side of the workshop, where he picked up something long and thin that was wrapped in tattered brown canvas. He returned to present it to the bushi with an awkward formality, holding it up between outstretched hands as he bowed his head.
After a brief hesitation, Kurusu drew back the draping of cloth, to reveal that the object underneath was a katana. The blade was sheathed, but its scabbard, handle, and guard all showed craftsmanship almost as beautiful as the sword he had lost.
“Kibito told me your sword broke when you were fighting the Wazatori, so I wanted to give you a replacement,” Ikoma explained, his gaze still lowered. “From our tests on the Kabane heart cages we took from the bodies, we learned we could melt down the metal they’re formed from, and refine it into something stronger than our own steel. So… I coated this blade with the metal from the Wazatori’s heart cage.”
Kurusu’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. With his right arm encumbered by a sling, he stretched out his left hand to grasp the handle of the sword, while Ikoma gripped the scabbard to let him draw the blade.
This sword was like nothing Kurusu had ever seen before. From the spine of its blade to the cutting edge, the color of the metal shaded eerily from a normal steel-silver to midnight-black. Even more startling, that alien metal was shot through with something much like a Kabane’s molten veins: fiery trails that glimmered as he turned it slowly in his hand.
Ikoma was quick to reassure him. “Don’t worry, it’s safe to handle. Not even the Kabane virus could survive the temperature the metal was heated to in the refining process.”
However confident the steamsmiths were of that, Kurusu was still certain he would never want to be accidentally cut by that blade if he could possibly avoid it. Even if the Kabane taint did not linger in it, he could see just by looking at its fine gleaming edge that it was very, very sharp.
And this was the same metal that had broken his previous sword. How fitting.
“Thank you for this.” With only slight awkwardness he sheathed the blade one-handed, and then gently lifted the scabbard from Ikoma’s hands. “I’ll look forward to testing it when my wounds have healed.”
“To be honest… giving this to you was also important to me for my own reasons.” Ikoma’s hauntingly too-red eyes flickered up at Kurusu from beneath his white forelock. “You stopped me once from hurting Miss Ayame. If a time ever comes when you have to do it again, I… I want to know you have a weapon that’s strong enough.”
Strong enough to penetrate a heart cage.
As Ikoma’s sentence completed itself in his mind, a faint chill coursed through the warrior’s veins. He envisioned the scenario, the thought of someday needing to run that morbid blade through the heart cage of the very man who had given it to him… and for the first time, he let himself admit that he sincerely never wanted to see that day come.
“…I expect you to make sure that will never be necessary,” he muttered after a brief moment, using brusqueness to cover the fleeting lapse of his poise.
Ikoma smiled wanly, and stepped back to rejoin his fellow steamsmiths. Takumi and Suzuki were saying nothing at the moment, but judging by the expressions on their faces (or in the latter’s case, on his mouth below his ever-present goggles), they would have some stern things to say to him about his self-confidence after Kurusu left.
They were far better qualified than the bushi to admonish their friend. Perhaps one day, it would be right for him to say the things to Ikoma that he found himself wishing to; but that time was not yet.
With a curt nod in lieu of the bow his bandaged abdomen would not permit, he took his leave of them. As he made his way back through the train to his bunk, the new sword he had been gifted with hung heavy in his hand.
He resolved that the next time he went to check on the Kabaneri, it would not be simply to make sure they still were Kabaneri… but to learn something more of what was human in them, too.
© 2020 Jordanna Morgan