Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: Defiance
Feb. 5th, 2023 01:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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prose_alchemistTitle: Defiance
Author:jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: Mild PG for bullying violence.
Characters: Kajika, Ikoma, and Takumi.
Setting: Pre-canon.
Summary: Kajika finds a surprise in the quiet loner among the steamsmiths.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompt of “Bold” atfan_flashworks. Kajika once said she admired Ikoma for standing up to the bushi, so I thought it would be interesting if that was the basis for their first encounter with each other.
A month into her job at Aragane Station’s train depot, Kajika was enjoying it overall.
The work was simple, even though it kept her busy enough to be tired by the end of the day. When she wasn’t carrying messages, parts, or tools from one end of the sprawling train yard to the other, it was her duty to attend to the steamsmiths at work. She made and served tea for them, brought soap and water to wash their hands before meal breaks, inspected their gloves and mended them when necessary… and all the while, she paid attention to their health, carefully watching for the signs she was taught to be alert to. Thankfully she had never seen anything even close to the first indications of the Kabane curse, but already she had caught the early symptoms of common illness in a few steamsmiths, prompting them to be sent home lest they spread the infection to others. In the closed environment of a station, halting outbreaks of disease before they could start was crucial.
By and large, the steamsmiths were kind. Even though she lacked their engineering skills, they never looked down upon Kajika, and they were always appreciative when she brought them water and tea. At first she had feared that her regular interruptions of their work for glove inspections would be a nuisance to them; but they were almost always quite patient about it, seeming to understand that it was for their own good.
Of course, among all the citizens of Aragane Station, only steamsmiths came into close contact with Kabane blood and flesh as they worked on the trains. While Aragane’s walls remained standing, not even the bushi had to face that burden, despite the way they prided themselves on being the people’s defenders. It was the steamsmiths alone who truly knew the dangers of their potential exposure, and so they valued having someone whose job was to watch over their well-being—for the sake of themselves and everyone around them. In learning that, Kajika came to understand the importance of her seemingly minor role.
Yes, the job was good, but there was one thing about it that made her uncomfortable… and that was the bushi themselves.
They came to the depot when trains arrived, to supervise the inspection and debarkation of any passengers. With their gleaming steam rifles and swords, they were intimidating figures. It was almost instinctive for steamsmiths to bow heads and scatter before them; and for their part, they generally ignored the steamsmiths altogether, for they inhabited as different a world as the birds in the sky did. When they did deign to acknowledge the men and women of lower class working around them, it was only to issue some imperious order or another: get out of the way, move that equipment, take this message to the train’s engineer. Kajika soon realized why steamsmiths were so quick to avert their eyes and slink away unnoticed.
Sometimes though, being noticed simply couldn’t be helped.
“You there! Girl!” Kajika heard shouted in her direction one evening, as she was tending to the steamsmiths at work on a recently arrived train. “Bring that pot of tea over here!”
Freezing where she stood, the girl nervously turned to look at the bushi who had called to her. The mere sight of the large, bearded, and well-armed man was enough to make the tea tray begin quivering in her grasp.
When in nervous uncertainty she failed to move, he broke away from his group of equally imposing comrades to approach her. She swallowed hard as her wide eyes looked up and up at him. His expression was not directly hostile towards her, but there was something decidedly impatient about his tense jaw and short, clipped stride.
“We’ve been waiting two hours for them to start unloading this damn train. I don’t know what the holdup is, but we’re getting thirsty. Give me that tea.”
Lacking instruction on what to do in such a situation, torn between trained duty and her instinctive timidity before the bushi, Kajika could only squirm and offer a single faint protest. “But sir, this tea is for the steamsmiths that have been working hard all day…”
“What?” The bushi’s eyes hardened. “Are you trying to suggest we haven’t?”
“N-no, of course not!” the girl squeaked in rising alarm. “But if you could just let me make a fresh pot of tea for you, I’ll—”
“You want us to stand here waiting even longer for something to drink? Damn brat—give it here!”
The bushi’s big sinewy hand reached out, and Kajika screwed her eyes shut, simply hoping that he would take the tea and not touch her.
“She said this tea is for someone else. Leave her alone!”
Kajika’s eyes flew open to find that a wall of steamsmith-jacket yellow had materialized in front of her. Not a large wall, certainly—the figure was hardly much taller than her, and possibly not even a bit wider—but it was poised with feet braced and arms slightly spread, barring the bushi’s path to her.
For a moment the bushi merely stared down at the interloper, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing; and Kajika couldn’t blame him one bit.
“…You’re talking back to me? You’re just a runt of a steamsmith! Get out of my way!”
“Not until you say you’re sorry to her.—Isn’t that what an honorable bushi should do when he’s picked on someone weaker?”
This brazen challenge to his dignity was clearly more than the bushi could tolerate. His eyes widened with a building rage, lips drawing back from teeth that were clenched in a snarl… and suddenly his fist lashed out, delivering one short, explosive punch to the steamsmith’s stomach.
With a choked gasp, the steamsmith went down, and the bushi whirled to stomp back to his companions—surprisingly without taking the teapot that had started all the fuss in the first place.
Rushing to gather her wits, Kajika set aside the tray and knelt beside her defender. He was crouching on one knee, clutching his stomach and breathing hard, but brown eyes slowly glanced up at her from beneath unruly muddy-blond hair. A glimpse of his teeth betrayed either a pained grimace or a bitter smile, or possibly a little bit of both.
“Why did you do that?” Kajika gasped, placing a steadying hand under his elbow without even thinking about it. “A pot of tea is nothing to get yourself hurt over!”
“I don’t like bullies,” muttered the boy—and she could see now that he was still a boy, hardly older than herself. Although he slowly pushed himself to his feet on his own, he didn’t pull away from her hand that absently remained under his arm. “Someone needs to teach bushi like him some manners.”
Kajika gaped at him. The idea of a steamsmith who was bold enough to talk back to the bushi was a bit difficult to get her mind around.
Now that he was standing and facing her, she realized she had seen him around the depot before. He was elusive, frequently working alone and often absent during the breaks when she made her rounds. When she would inspect his gloves, he simply waited in a preoccupied silence, without looking at her. She didn’t know his name, but she thought she had seen him a few times with Takumi, one of the friendliest of steamsmiths—which in hindsight seemed like a rather odd combination.
“Well… thank you anyway,” Kajika said hastily, feeling herself flush from the awkwardness. “But the next time something like that happens, you shouldn’t make the bushi angry. There’s no reason for you to get involved.”
“I think there is,” the boy said quietly, fingers clenching over his gloved right palm. “If we don’t stand up against what we know is wrong, what is there worth trying to save in this world?”
“…What does that mean?”
The boy turned to her, and although his lips curved in a gentle smile, there was something terribly sad in his eyes.
“Hey! Ikoma!”
Blinking, Kajika turned to see the stocky figure of Takumi puffing up to them.
“Where have you been?” the bigger boy demanded of the smaller one, but his tone was good-natured. “You’ve gotta stop disappearing like that, man. I had to get that blockage cleared all by myself, and by then I was… Hold on, what happened to you?” He leaned into the other’s face to study him with concern, having apparently noticed his lingering paleness and the hand pressed over his stomach.
“A bushi happened to him,” Kajika offered. “Hi, Takumi.”
Upon hearing that explanation, Takumi merely sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Again? I keep telling you it’s not healthy to mouth off to those guys, Ikoma.”
“Huh?—You mean he’s done this before?”
“It’s definitely not his first time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ikoma muttered.
“Well, somebody’s got to, and it’s obviously not going to be you.” With a longsuffering air, Takumi seized Ikoma’s wrist and slung the smaller steamsmith’s arm over his shoulders to help support him. “C’mon, let’s get you home.—Kajika, would ya mind coming along and fixing something to feed this idiot before I put him to bed?”
The beginnings of a surprised giggle fluttered in Kajika’s stomach, but she managed to fight it down. “Sure! Just give me a minute to finish serving tea to the other steamsmiths on duty.”
“No problem,” Takumi agreed laconically—even as he practically leaned on Ikoma to prevent his squirming and protesting friend from throwing him off. “We’ll be right here.”
Allowing her giggle to bubble up then, Kajika gathered the tea tray and hurried off to finish performing her duties.
That boy Ikoma was unlike any other steamsmith she had met. From her single brief glimpse of the depths behind his eyes, she felt there was something tragic about him… but there was something wonderful too. Judging by Takumi’s gently exasperated protectiveness, even he seemed to recognize that.
And now Kajika wanted to know more.
© 2023 Jordanna Morgan
Author:
jordannamorganArchive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: Mild PG for bullying violence.
Characters: Kajika, Ikoma, and Takumi.
Setting: Pre-canon.
Summary: Kajika finds a surprise in the quiet loner among the steamsmiths.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompt of “Bold” at
fan_flashworks. Kajika once said she admired Ikoma for standing up to the bushi, so I thought it would be interesting if that was the basis for their first encounter with each other.A month into her job at Aragane Station’s train depot, Kajika was enjoying it overall.
The work was simple, even though it kept her busy enough to be tired by the end of the day. When she wasn’t carrying messages, parts, or tools from one end of the sprawling train yard to the other, it was her duty to attend to the steamsmiths at work. She made and served tea for them, brought soap and water to wash their hands before meal breaks, inspected their gloves and mended them when necessary… and all the while, she paid attention to their health, carefully watching for the signs she was taught to be alert to. Thankfully she had never seen anything even close to the first indications of the Kabane curse, but already she had caught the early symptoms of common illness in a few steamsmiths, prompting them to be sent home lest they spread the infection to others. In the closed environment of a station, halting outbreaks of disease before they could start was crucial.
By and large, the steamsmiths were kind. Even though she lacked their engineering skills, they never looked down upon Kajika, and they were always appreciative when she brought them water and tea. At first she had feared that her regular interruptions of their work for glove inspections would be a nuisance to them; but they were almost always quite patient about it, seeming to understand that it was for their own good.
Of course, among all the citizens of Aragane Station, only steamsmiths came into close contact with Kabane blood and flesh as they worked on the trains. While Aragane’s walls remained standing, not even the bushi had to face that burden, despite the way they prided themselves on being the people’s defenders. It was the steamsmiths alone who truly knew the dangers of their potential exposure, and so they valued having someone whose job was to watch over their well-being—for the sake of themselves and everyone around them. In learning that, Kajika came to understand the importance of her seemingly minor role.
Yes, the job was good, but there was one thing about it that made her uncomfortable… and that was the bushi themselves.
They came to the depot when trains arrived, to supervise the inspection and debarkation of any passengers. With their gleaming steam rifles and swords, they were intimidating figures. It was almost instinctive for steamsmiths to bow heads and scatter before them; and for their part, they generally ignored the steamsmiths altogether, for they inhabited as different a world as the birds in the sky did. When they did deign to acknowledge the men and women of lower class working around them, it was only to issue some imperious order or another: get out of the way, move that equipment, take this message to the train’s engineer. Kajika soon realized why steamsmiths were so quick to avert their eyes and slink away unnoticed.
Sometimes though, being noticed simply couldn’t be helped.
“You there! Girl!” Kajika heard shouted in her direction one evening, as she was tending to the steamsmiths at work on a recently arrived train. “Bring that pot of tea over here!”
Freezing where she stood, the girl nervously turned to look at the bushi who had called to her. The mere sight of the large, bearded, and well-armed man was enough to make the tea tray begin quivering in her grasp.
When in nervous uncertainty she failed to move, he broke away from his group of equally imposing comrades to approach her. She swallowed hard as her wide eyes looked up and up at him. His expression was not directly hostile towards her, but there was something decidedly impatient about his tense jaw and short, clipped stride.
“We’ve been waiting two hours for them to start unloading this damn train. I don’t know what the holdup is, but we’re getting thirsty. Give me that tea.”
Lacking instruction on what to do in such a situation, torn between trained duty and her instinctive timidity before the bushi, Kajika could only squirm and offer a single faint protest. “But sir, this tea is for the steamsmiths that have been working hard all day…”
“What?” The bushi’s eyes hardened. “Are you trying to suggest we haven’t?”
“N-no, of course not!” the girl squeaked in rising alarm. “But if you could just let me make a fresh pot of tea for you, I’ll—”
“You want us to stand here waiting even longer for something to drink? Damn brat—give it here!”
The bushi’s big sinewy hand reached out, and Kajika screwed her eyes shut, simply hoping that he would take the tea and not touch her.
“She said this tea is for someone else. Leave her alone!”
Kajika’s eyes flew open to find that a wall of steamsmith-jacket yellow had materialized in front of her. Not a large wall, certainly—the figure was hardly much taller than her, and possibly not even a bit wider—but it was poised with feet braced and arms slightly spread, barring the bushi’s path to her.
For a moment the bushi merely stared down at the interloper, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing; and Kajika couldn’t blame him one bit.
“…You’re talking back to me? You’re just a runt of a steamsmith! Get out of my way!”
“Not until you say you’re sorry to her.—Isn’t that what an honorable bushi should do when he’s picked on someone weaker?”
This brazen challenge to his dignity was clearly more than the bushi could tolerate. His eyes widened with a building rage, lips drawing back from teeth that were clenched in a snarl… and suddenly his fist lashed out, delivering one short, explosive punch to the steamsmith’s stomach.
With a choked gasp, the steamsmith went down, and the bushi whirled to stomp back to his companions—surprisingly without taking the teapot that had started all the fuss in the first place.
Rushing to gather her wits, Kajika set aside the tray and knelt beside her defender. He was crouching on one knee, clutching his stomach and breathing hard, but brown eyes slowly glanced up at her from beneath unruly muddy-blond hair. A glimpse of his teeth betrayed either a pained grimace or a bitter smile, or possibly a little bit of both.
“Why did you do that?” Kajika gasped, placing a steadying hand under his elbow without even thinking about it. “A pot of tea is nothing to get yourself hurt over!”
“I don’t like bullies,” muttered the boy—and she could see now that he was still a boy, hardly older than herself. Although he slowly pushed himself to his feet on his own, he didn’t pull away from her hand that absently remained under his arm. “Someone needs to teach bushi like him some manners.”
Kajika gaped at him. The idea of a steamsmith who was bold enough to talk back to the bushi was a bit difficult to get her mind around.
Now that he was standing and facing her, she realized she had seen him around the depot before. He was elusive, frequently working alone and often absent during the breaks when she made her rounds. When she would inspect his gloves, he simply waited in a preoccupied silence, without looking at her. She didn’t know his name, but she thought she had seen him a few times with Takumi, one of the friendliest of steamsmiths—which in hindsight seemed like a rather odd combination.
“Well… thank you anyway,” Kajika said hastily, feeling herself flush from the awkwardness. “But the next time something like that happens, you shouldn’t make the bushi angry. There’s no reason for you to get involved.”
“I think there is,” the boy said quietly, fingers clenching over his gloved right palm. “If we don’t stand up against what we know is wrong, what is there worth trying to save in this world?”
“…What does that mean?”
The boy turned to her, and although his lips curved in a gentle smile, there was something terribly sad in his eyes.
“Hey! Ikoma!”
Blinking, Kajika turned to see the stocky figure of Takumi puffing up to them.
“Where have you been?” the bigger boy demanded of the smaller one, but his tone was good-natured. “You’ve gotta stop disappearing like that, man. I had to get that blockage cleared all by myself, and by then I was… Hold on, what happened to you?” He leaned into the other’s face to study him with concern, having apparently noticed his lingering paleness and the hand pressed over his stomach.
“A bushi happened to him,” Kajika offered. “Hi, Takumi.”
Upon hearing that explanation, Takumi merely sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Again? I keep telling you it’s not healthy to mouth off to those guys, Ikoma.”
“Huh?—You mean he’s done this before?”
“It’s definitely not his first time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ikoma muttered.
“Well, somebody’s got to, and it’s obviously not going to be you.” With a longsuffering air, Takumi seized Ikoma’s wrist and slung the smaller steamsmith’s arm over his shoulders to help support him. “C’mon, let’s get you home.—Kajika, would ya mind coming along and fixing something to feed this idiot before I put him to bed?”
The beginnings of a surprised giggle fluttered in Kajika’s stomach, but she managed to fight it down. “Sure! Just give me a minute to finish serving tea to the other steamsmiths on duty.”
“No problem,” Takumi agreed laconically—even as he practically leaned on Ikoma to prevent his squirming and protesting friend from throwing him off. “We’ll be right here.”
Allowing her giggle to bubble up then, Kajika gathered the tea tray and hurried off to finish performing her duties.
That boy Ikoma was unlike any other steamsmith she had met. From her single brief glimpse of the depths behind his eyes, she felt there was something tragic about him… but there was something wonderful too. Judging by Takumi’s gently exasperated protectiveness, even he seemed to recognize that.
And now Kajika wanted to know more.
© 2023 Jordanna Morgan