Your name is Morgan O'Hannah, and you're about as happy as can be right about now.
You only met...
You only met...
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Dreams
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- 'Murica
Your name is Morgan O'Hannah, and you're about as happy as can be right about now.
You only met the Miyagawa family a few weeks ago when Mrs. Miyagawa dragged the whole family over for a meal after your Dad helped out Mr. Miyagawa with some… work… something or other. But their daughters fell in love with you the moment you stepped through the door, and by the time you were sitting down they'd all but adopted you as their big sister.
And that was before you had what had to be close to your own body weight in rice and fish placed before you by an increasingly giddy Mrs. Miyagawa. Apparently she hadn't experienced the appetite of an American girl before, and ever spoonful you took only made her happier. It utterly ruined your waistline of course, but who cares when the meal tastes that good!
When they asked you to come back and babysit, you jumped at the chance. Getting to see the girls again was payment enough. But then Mrs. Miyagawa dangled the promise of another delicious meal in front of your nose, and your tummy took over. You barely even processed that Mr. Miyagawa offered to pay you—a lot—until you'd biked almost half-way over.
So yes, you were pretty happy right now. Azami, the oldest, was focusing intently on her easel. She'd asked you to stay still, so you could only imagine she was painting you. From the paintings you'd seen hanging up in her room—which was, again, vastly larger then your own—she was quite the artist, so you couldn't wait to see.
You'd tired out Mayumi, the middle child, by teaching her how to play calvinball. Azami had decided that nobody won, but you'd both had such a good time playing that nobody really cared. Now she was napping contentedly against your rather hearty Irish-American chest with a smile on her little face. Well, nominally she was playing Mario-cart with you, but she seemed more interested in cuddling for now.
Sakura, the youngest, was sitting in the middle of a vast pile of legos in her shiny little princess kimono. How that girl wasn't dead-tired was beyond you, she'd been bouncing off every wall and ceiling—but not the floor. Never the floor—since you arrived with no sign of stopping yet.
Every so often, she'd ask for your suggestions—or, as happened more frequently, for you to stomp your six-foot-two Gaijin butt through her models while making dinosaur noises—but now she was in her building phase. You could tell because her tongue was wedged in the corner of her mouth and her brow furrowed like a man trying to defuse a bomb with a pair of safety scissors.
"Morga-chan?" Mayumi glanced up with a smile on her little face.
"Hmm?" you paused the game. You were winning by a pretty large margin, and it just wouldn't be sporting.
"When I grow up, I want to be juuuuust like you!" She smiled and buried her face in your chest.
"Aww, that's—"
And then she blew a giant raspberry right between your boobs. "Hey!"
Mayumi fell over convulsing with laughter, and even Azami started giggling.
You looked at the two of them and thought for a second. Then you put on a look of exaggerated frustration and tried to stifle your own laughter. This only made the girls giggle more, which you found adorable as all get-out.
So adorable, in fact, that you didn't notice the sword over the mantle.
Or… rather, you'd noticed it before. Mr. Miyagama explained it'd been handed down through his family for a thousand years, that the blade was made of eleven-thousand one-hundred-and-eleven layers, and… something about a Shinto shrine, but by that point the smell of dinner had pretty much overpowered you.
But you didn't notice that it was starting to glow.
Protect the citadel
Huh?
They're at the gates!
You scrunched your nose. Were you just hearing thiniiiIIIIIIIIIII
--|--|--
Oof.
Okay.
You're admittedly not the smartest girl who ever lived.
The less said about third grade the better.
But still…
You're reasonably certain you were just sitting in the Miyagama's living room. In your hoodie and favorite pair of jeans.
Not standing in the middle of a castle courtyard, wrapped in a kimono of deep green silk with lacquered armor strapped over your body and a pair of swords threaded through the sash around your waist.
"What's going on?" You glanced around trying to get your bearings. It's a castle alright. Kinda reminds you of those big wooden monsters the Japanese get in Age of Empires, only not quite. Half the guards are running around with pikes and swords, but a good few are carrying what you recognize as trapdoor springfields.
…
You're really into history, alright? You've got a great-great-grandpa and like… four great-uncles who were US marshals in the Old West.
Hmm… maybe….
Yup! You've got a gun too. Two of them, actually. A pair of peacemakers in leather holsters worn over your armor. The butts rest just under the silk sleeves of your kimono, intersting.
"Gairyu!" A soldier clad in simple armor with a bayonet fixed to his rifle ran over to you. Did he just call you a "foreign dragon?" Huh, given that you're a solid foot taller than everyone else—and seem to have the nicest armor—you guess that makes sense. "We need your help!"
"Help, I…" you brace your swords with a hand to the hilt and follow as he jogged over to what you could only assume were the gates. "What's going on?"
"Demons!" The soldier hissed as he brought his rifle up to a loophole. "They come for the children!"
Your blood ran cold. "C-children?"
"The princesses!" said the soldier. "Azami, Mayumi, and Sakura!"
"Princesses?" You glance back at the keep. Sitting on the highest levels are three figures in kimonos of fine pink silk. You don't know how, but you're certain. Those are your girls. Those are the girls you're supposed to babysit.
You only met the Miyagawa family a few weeks ago when Mrs. Miyagawa dragged the whole family over for a meal after your Dad helped out Mr. Miyagawa with some… work… something or other. But their daughters fell in love with you the moment you stepped through the door, and by the time you were sitting down they'd all but adopted you as their big sister.
And that was before you had what had to be close to your own body weight in rice and fish placed before you by an increasingly giddy Mrs. Miyagawa. Apparently she hadn't experienced the appetite of an American girl before, and ever spoonful you took only made her happier. It utterly ruined your waistline of course, but who cares when the meal tastes that good!
When they asked you to come back and babysit, you jumped at the chance. Getting to see the girls again was payment enough. But then Mrs. Miyagawa dangled the promise of another delicious meal in front of your nose, and your tummy took over. You barely even processed that Mr. Miyagawa offered to pay you—a lot—until you'd biked almost half-way over.
So yes, you were pretty happy right now. Azami, the oldest, was focusing intently on her easel. She'd asked you to stay still, so you could only imagine she was painting you. From the paintings you'd seen hanging up in her room—which was, again, vastly larger then your own—she was quite the artist, so you couldn't wait to see.
You'd tired out Mayumi, the middle child, by teaching her how to play calvinball. Azami had decided that nobody won, but you'd both had such a good time playing that nobody really cared. Now she was napping contentedly against your rather hearty Irish-American chest with a smile on her little face. Well, nominally she was playing Mario-cart with you, but she seemed more interested in cuddling for now.
Sakura, the youngest, was sitting in the middle of a vast pile of legos in her shiny little princess kimono. How that girl wasn't dead-tired was beyond you, she'd been bouncing off every wall and ceiling—but not the floor. Never the floor—since you arrived with no sign of stopping yet.
Every so often, she'd ask for your suggestions—or, as happened more frequently, for you to stomp your six-foot-two Gaijin butt through her models while making dinosaur noises—but now she was in her building phase. You could tell because her tongue was wedged in the corner of her mouth and her brow furrowed like a man trying to defuse a bomb with a pair of safety scissors.
"Morga-chan?" Mayumi glanced up with a smile on her little face.
"Hmm?" you paused the game. You were winning by a pretty large margin, and it just wouldn't be sporting.
"When I grow up, I want to be juuuuust like you!" She smiled and buried her face in your chest.
"Aww, that's—"
And then she blew a giant raspberry right between your boobs. "Hey!"
Mayumi fell over convulsing with laughter, and even Azami started giggling.
You looked at the two of them and thought for a second. Then you put on a look of exaggerated frustration and tried to stifle your own laughter. This only made the girls giggle more, which you found adorable as all get-out.
So adorable, in fact, that you didn't notice the sword over the mantle.
Or… rather, you'd noticed it before. Mr. Miyagama explained it'd been handed down through his family for a thousand years, that the blade was made of eleven-thousand one-hundred-and-eleven layers, and… something about a Shinto shrine, but by that point the smell of dinner had pretty much overpowered you.
But you didn't notice that it was starting to glow.
Protect the citadel
Huh?
They're at the gates!
You scrunched your nose. Were you just hearing thiniiiIIIIIIIIIII
--|--|--
Oof.
Okay.
You're admittedly not the smartest girl who ever lived.
The less said about third grade the better.
But still…
You're reasonably certain you were just sitting in the Miyagama's living room. In your hoodie and favorite pair of jeans.
Not standing in the middle of a castle courtyard, wrapped in a kimono of deep green silk with lacquered armor strapped over your body and a pair of swords threaded through the sash around your waist.
"What's going on?" You glanced around trying to get your bearings. It's a castle alright. Kinda reminds you of those big wooden monsters the Japanese get in Age of Empires, only not quite. Half the guards are running around with pikes and swords, but a good few are carrying what you recognize as trapdoor springfields.
…
You're really into history, alright? You've got a great-great-grandpa and like… four great-uncles who were US marshals in the Old West.
Hmm… maybe….
Yup! You've got a gun too. Two of them, actually. A pair of peacemakers in leather holsters worn over your armor. The butts rest just under the silk sleeves of your kimono, intersting.
"Gairyu!" A soldier clad in simple armor with a bayonet fixed to his rifle ran over to you. Did he just call you a "foreign dragon?" Huh, given that you're a solid foot taller than everyone else—and seem to have the nicest armor—you guess that makes sense. "We need your help!"
"Help, I…" you brace your swords with a hand to the hilt and follow as he jogged over to what you could only assume were the gates. "What's going on?"
"Demons!" The soldier hissed as he brought his rifle up to a loophole. "They come for the children!"
Your blood ran cold. "C-children?"
"The princesses!" said the soldier. "Azami, Mayumi, and Sakura!"
"Princesses?" You glance back at the keep. Sitting on the highest levels are three figures in kimonos of fine pink silk. You don't know how, but you're certain. Those are your girls. Those are the girls you're supposed to babysit.
>Wat do?
It's like Chop Suey, but with genres
- Location
- 'Murica
You don't really know what's going on. Or why you're all dressed in silk and steel. Although you do like the braid you've got going all of a sudden, you might start wearing your hair like that more often. Part of you suspects this is just some very strange dream induced by watching some anime with the girls.
But that doesn't really matter now. The girls you were supposed to watch and protect are in trouble. You might not be a cop, but law-enforcement flows through your veins back five generations. It's time to protect and serve!
You gripped your swords to keep them from flapping at your sides and stormed up the ramparts as quick as you can. You can feel the weight of your armor with each step—plate backed with chain and silk that rustles with each motion. But somehow it doesn't seem to slow you down. It just adds… gravity to your motions.
"What's going on?" You crouch next to a guard in a brilliant green tunic fumbling a gleaming brass cartridge into his rifle.
He just motions over the wall, and you stick your head up just enough to get a good view. Dozens of… not-men mill around behind a pair of polished bronze cannons. They look like men, but you know they're not. Their skin is black—not African-American black, but actual literal black. It's like staring into a puddle of oil, only without the reflection.
The cannon crews wore heavy tunics and facemasks, while the footmen with pikes wore tight-fitting armor like your own with blood-red banners flying from their backs. A few officers on horseback ride to and fro with their wide-brimmed hats and black-metal cavalry sabers.
It's like someone dumped a Japanese puzzle into the box of a wild-west puzzle, and just kinda forced the two to work together. Explains why you're running around like a samurai with a pair of colts.
"Morgan!"
You perked up. Somebody knew your name. That doesn't make any sense…. does it? You looked around for the source of the voice. An armored figure, a boy about your age, stood in the courtyard with his swords in his hands. He looked familiar, like that navy brat in school. Josh Hide— Hide… something. "Josh?"
He gave you a sideways look for a moment, then nodded. "Y-yes."
You jumped off the ramparts and landed hard on your split-toe boots. Somehow, that didn't hurt at all. "Do you know what's going on?"
He shook his head. "I thought… maybe you did."
You shook your head. "Have to protect those girls though."
"Mmm," he nodded. Then he looked at you again, sweeping his gaze from your long coppery hair down to your wide-set feet. You'd complain if you weren't doing the same. Is that really Josh? It can't be, right? You barely even talk to him at school.
"BREACH!" someone screamed from the walls. "BREACH IN THE SOUTH WALL!"
You don't have to think. Your sword's in your hand before you even realize you drew it, and our boots thunder against the ground as you broke out into a sprint. You might not be the smartest girl in the world, but you know how to swing a blade. Mostly because your brothers have lightsaber toys, and you had to learn to defend yourself if you wanted to get any work done at all.
A section of the wall several feet wide was torn open, and footmen with swords and axes were pouring in. A few had fallen to the guards' first volley, but more took their place before the guards could reload.
"No you don't!" you drew your pistol with your off-hand and slammed a round into the nearest creature. The gun made a satisfying bang, slamming back against the leather of your glove even as your target was thrown into the wall. Nice.
Josh—or who you think is maybe Josh—smiled and you quickly dumped the other five rounds. But even that didn't stop the flow.
"HWAAHHH!" You screamed and threw yourself into the fray, both hands on the cowhide-wrapped hilt of your katana. The sword effortlessly hacked through the silk and leather armor, splattering you in blood the color of printer ink.
Bang! You felt something hit you in the stomach. Hard. You glance down to see a smear of lead on your armor, and you can almost feel your belly bruising up. You've just been shot. Huh. So that's what that feels like.
Things slide into slow motion as you notice one of the officers with his broad-brimmed hat and poncho level his six-gun at you. You don't fully process why, but you move your blade up in a guard. It was almost more instinct then conscious thought as you slice the lead slug in two, sending spinning shrapnel back to perforate two footmen.
"Ha HA!" you wiped the ink from your mouth with the back of your hand and laughed. While the officer fumbles to reload, you toss your sword to your off-hand and draw your other revolver.
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM six shots hammer out as one, tearing his coal-dark poncho to shreds and sending him slumping off his horse.
With the breach clear for now, a thought occurs to you. The guards were calling you "Foreign Dragon" right? Does that mean… maybe…
You took in a deep breath, your chest swelling against the confines of your armor. You screw up your eyes, think fiery thoughts, and…
HAhhha
HAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAH
Okay.
Way to go, Morgan.
You just exhaled on them.
You glance over at maybe-Josh, who's stifling a giggle with his gauntlet.
"Hey!" you try not to pout. Before you can say anything more, you hear the screech of a train whistle, and see pillar of smoke racing down a railway leading to the castle. You know those are reinforcements, but you're not sure how you know that. It doesn't really matter though, your enemy knows it too. They're already starting to fall back, leaving you with just the stragglers to deal with.
"The Princesses," said Josh.
You nod, and take off after him at a sprint. Your armor feels… right against your body, the knee-length skirts of silk and chain hammer at your thighs as you run, and your tight silk sash cinches in your already slender waist. You could get used to this, you look pretty cool.
"Girls!" You ran past a pair of royal guards in the same pale-green silk that you wear. "Azami! Mayumi! Sakura!"
The sisters were hiding in the back of the room behind an upturned table. The moment you burst through the door, they're all around you hugging you. "Thank you, Morgan-sama," said Azami.
"You saved us," said Mayumi.
Sakura just hugged you.
—|—|—
Before you could say anything, you were back in the living room. Sakura was still playing with her legos, building… building a big castle. That must've been where your brain got the idea from. Azami was painting, and Mayumi was napping contentedly against your breast. It was all just a dream, it had to…
be…
you have a sword in your hand.
the sword.
The precious thousand-year-old blade handed down through the Miyagawa clan for generations.
Is in your hand.
Right now.
You're pretty sure you weren't supposed to even touch that.
>wat do?
But that doesn't really matter now. The girls you were supposed to watch and protect are in trouble. You might not be a cop, but law-enforcement flows through your veins back five generations. It's time to protect and serve!
You gripped your swords to keep them from flapping at your sides and stormed up the ramparts as quick as you can. You can feel the weight of your armor with each step—plate backed with chain and silk that rustles with each motion. But somehow it doesn't seem to slow you down. It just adds… gravity to your motions.
"What's going on?" You crouch next to a guard in a brilliant green tunic fumbling a gleaming brass cartridge into his rifle.
He just motions over the wall, and you stick your head up just enough to get a good view. Dozens of… not-men mill around behind a pair of polished bronze cannons. They look like men, but you know they're not. Their skin is black—not African-American black, but actual literal black. It's like staring into a puddle of oil, only without the reflection.
The cannon crews wore heavy tunics and facemasks, while the footmen with pikes wore tight-fitting armor like your own with blood-red banners flying from their backs. A few officers on horseback ride to and fro with their wide-brimmed hats and black-metal cavalry sabers.
It's like someone dumped a Japanese puzzle into the box of a wild-west puzzle, and just kinda forced the two to work together. Explains why you're running around like a samurai with a pair of colts.
"Morgan!"
You perked up. Somebody knew your name. That doesn't make any sense…. does it? You looked around for the source of the voice. An armored figure, a boy about your age, stood in the courtyard with his swords in his hands. He looked familiar, like that navy brat in school. Josh Hide— Hide… something. "Josh?"
He gave you a sideways look for a moment, then nodded. "Y-yes."
You jumped off the ramparts and landed hard on your split-toe boots. Somehow, that didn't hurt at all. "Do you know what's going on?"
He shook his head. "I thought… maybe you did."
You shook your head. "Have to protect those girls though."
"Mmm," he nodded. Then he looked at you again, sweeping his gaze from your long coppery hair down to your wide-set feet. You'd complain if you weren't doing the same. Is that really Josh? It can't be, right? You barely even talk to him at school.
"BREACH!" someone screamed from the walls. "BREACH IN THE SOUTH WALL!"
You don't have to think. Your sword's in your hand before you even realize you drew it, and our boots thunder against the ground as you broke out into a sprint. You might not be the smartest girl in the world, but you know how to swing a blade. Mostly because your brothers have lightsaber toys, and you had to learn to defend yourself if you wanted to get any work done at all.
A section of the wall several feet wide was torn open, and footmen with swords and axes were pouring in. A few had fallen to the guards' first volley, but more took their place before the guards could reload.
"No you don't!" you drew your pistol with your off-hand and slammed a round into the nearest creature. The gun made a satisfying bang, slamming back against the leather of your glove even as your target was thrown into the wall. Nice.
Josh—or who you think is maybe Josh—smiled and you quickly dumped the other five rounds. But even that didn't stop the flow.
"HWAAHHH!" You screamed and threw yourself into the fray, both hands on the cowhide-wrapped hilt of your katana. The sword effortlessly hacked through the silk and leather armor, splattering you in blood the color of printer ink.
Bang! You felt something hit you in the stomach. Hard. You glance down to see a smear of lead on your armor, and you can almost feel your belly bruising up. You've just been shot. Huh. So that's what that feels like.
Things slide into slow motion as you notice one of the officers with his broad-brimmed hat and poncho level his six-gun at you. You don't fully process why, but you move your blade up in a guard. It was almost more instinct then conscious thought as you slice the lead slug in two, sending spinning shrapnel back to perforate two footmen.
"Ha HA!" you wiped the ink from your mouth with the back of your hand and laughed. While the officer fumbles to reload, you toss your sword to your off-hand and draw your other revolver.
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM six shots hammer out as one, tearing his coal-dark poncho to shreds and sending him slumping off his horse.
With the breach clear for now, a thought occurs to you. The guards were calling you "Foreign Dragon" right? Does that mean… maybe…
You took in a deep breath, your chest swelling against the confines of your armor. You screw up your eyes, think fiery thoughts, and…
HAhhha
HAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAH
Okay.
Way to go, Morgan.
You just exhaled on them.
You glance over at maybe-Josh, who's stifling a giggle with his gauntlet.
"Hey!" you try not to pout. Before you can say anything more, you hear the screech of a train whistle, and see pillar of smoke racing down a railway leading to the castle. You know those are reinforcements, but you're not sure how you know that. It doesn't really matter though, your enemy knows it too. They're already starting to fall back, leaving you with just the stragglers to deal with.
"The Princesses," said Josh.
You nod, and take off after him at a sprint. Your armor feels… right against your body, the knee-length skirts of silk and chain hammer at your thighs as you run, and your tight silk sash cinches in your already slender waist. You could get used to this, you look pretty cool.
"Girls!" You ran past a pair of royal guards in the same pale-green silk that you wear. "Azami! Mayumi! Sakura!"
The sisters were hiding in the back of the room behind an upturned table. The moment you burst through the door, they're all around you hugging you. "Thank you, Morgan-sama," said Azami.
"You saved us," said Mayumi.
Sakura just hugged you.
—|—|—
Before you could say anything, you were back in the living room. Sakura was still playing with her legos, building… building a big castle. That must've been where your brain got the idea from. Azami was painting, and Mayumi was napping contentedly against your breast. It was all just a dream, it had to…
be…
you have a sword in your hand.
the sword.
The precious thousand-year-old blade handed down through the Miyagawa clan for generations.
Is in your hand.
Right now.
You're pretty sure you weren't supposed to even touch that.
>wat do?
Last edited:
An O'Hannah never runs. Even when she probably should.
- Location
- 'Murica
You take a moment to gather your wits before you say anything. The priceless, centuries-old sword you're certain is a family heirloom is sitting in your hand. Your hand that consumed a non-inconsiderable amount of Cheetos earlier in the evening. You washed your hands of course, but still… that sword's probably worth more than you'd make in several years.
"Uh," you look around. None of the girls seem to have noticed anything's amiss. Sakura's added a few touches to her castle—a castle that looks just like the one you were just fighting in, although more classically Japnese instead of kinda-sorta-western. Mayumi's fast asleep by your side, and Azami's focusing intently on her watercolors. If any of them even noticed you nodded off for a moment, they weren't showing it.
Part of you wants to just walk up to the mantelpiece as quietly as an unnecessarily large Gaijin girl could, put the sword back just the way you found it, and pretend like none of this ever happened. But another part of you knew that would be wrong. If Mr. Miyagawa noticed something was wrong—which he probably would. You didn't think you could get the ceremonial display just right—he might blame his daughters. You couldn't let them take the heat like that, it was against everything you stood for.
Also, you couldn't even if you tried. Mayumi had decided your breast was her pillow now. And as thankful as you were that at least someone was getting some pleasure out of the overly-stuffed fatbags you had to haul around everywhere… she was on there pretty tight. Like some kind of adorable barnacle.
"Azami?" you looked over to the eldest girl. Hopefully you'd get something useful out of her.
"Morga-chan?" The little painter squinted at her watercolors, but didn't look over to you just yet. "Is it bedtime?" she said, furiously trying to finish her painting in time.
"Uh… no," a quick glance at your watch confirmed you still had a half-hour or so before you had to tuck them in. "Did… this is gonna sound really weird… do you know how this sword got in my hand?"
"Sword, I—" Azami gasped and stared at you. "You'renotsupposedtotouchthat!"
You winced. You thought as much… you were going to be in trouble. Huge huge trouble.
"Morga-chan, what did—" Sakura turned to you. And then she just started crying. A moment later, Mayumi woke from her nap and promptly started doing the same.
"Hey," you put on your best soothing-mom voice. The one you heard from your mother whenever your little sisters were up to no good. Which was most of the time, actually. You were always the good child. Until a few moments ago, of course. "Hey, girls… why are you crying?"
"You touched the sword!" bawled Azami. "Now we're never going to see you again!"
"Ye-yeah," Mayumi swalled her tears enoguh to speak. "W-we like you, Morga-chan!"
"It's okay." you put the sword down and herded the girls together so you can hug them. "Girls, it's okay."
You're not sure how effective your words are being, but a nice, warm, soft Gaijin to cuddle seems to sooth the girls' temperaments enough to stop their crying. And the time it takes to stop their sobs give you enough time to formulate a reasonably-coherent sentence. "Don't… don't tell your dad, okay? He needs to hear this from me."
"O-okay," said Azami.
"Now… can you help me put it back?"
The eldest Miyagawa sister nodded.
"Okay," you let go of the little huddle and grab the sword in your off-hand. As terrified as you are of the blade, it feels… right in your hand. Like it was made for you. "How does it go?"
"Put—" Azami sniffled, "Put the blade facing that way," she said.
You did as she told, and then stepped back and offered the sword a deep bow. It felt like the right thing to do. You may have ruined everything, but you could at least be respectful.
"Um…" you itched at your coppery braid. "Do… any of you member how that got into my hand?"
All three girls shook their tear-streaked faces.
"Okay." You sighed and tried not to show how rattled you were. "Why don't you get ready for bed."
"Will you read us a story?" asked Sakura.
"Yeah," you shoved your hands into your jeans and tried to smile kindly. "Of course, Sakura."
The little girl smiled, then shuffled over to hug your legs. "Arigato, Morga-chan."
You ruffled her hair, and waited until all the girls had filed up to their room to do something that seemed even more insane then that daydream of yours. You turned around, and gave the sword another bow. "Um… sword…" you felt like an idiot just trying this, "do you know how you got into my hand?"
The sword said nothing.
Because it was a sword.
You don't know what you expected.
That part of you thought this would in any way help is clearly a sign of your degrading psyche.
Anyway, you've got a bedtime story to read to three adorable little girls. At least that you can manage without screwing up. You even brought a few of your favorite books with you for them to choose. Unfortunately, though they had their own story they wanted you to read.
And it was about, guess what, the sword.
Yeah.
"Um…" you looked at the little book in your hands. It was written in Japanese if you held it one way, and English if you held it the other. Must be some kind of learning-aid Mr. Miyagawa cooked up for his daughters. But the image on the cover is most certainly the sword you'd just touched. "Are you sure?"
The three girls nodded.
You sighed. This might be your last night with the girls, but at least you could make it pleasant for them. "okay," you said, settling onto the floor with your legs crossed.
"Long ago, the master of Darkness Me— Makami— did I get that right"
The girls nodded.
"Makami wanted to rule the world. He sent out armies of… Azumi, what's that word?"
"Oni." she said.
You blinked at her.
"It's… um… demon."
"Right," you coughed. "Armies of demons."
"Oni."
"Are you reading the story, or am I?"
"Sorry, Morga-chan."
You smiled at Mayumi. "Armies of demons to bend the daimyos to his will. One by one they fell, until only the lord of the winds, Kazedono stood free. But he had no sons to bear his name, so Makami hatched a plan. He tricked the Shogun into promising him all Kazedono's lands if he could marry the daimyo's daughter. Promise in hand, he sent his ninja to seize the good daimyo's daughters."
Damn, this story's dark. But the girls seemed to like it so you kept going.
"But then…" the girls were all bubbling with anticipation, "a nameless samuri with a magical sword appeared, and kept the princesses safe."
Mmm… nice ending.
"Good night, girls." You made sure to tuck them all in nice and tight, and were careful to turn Sakura's night-light to juuuust the right setting before you left.
You checked your watch. Still a half-hour before Mr. Miyagawa got back. You could practice your apology until then. You kept running it over and over in your head as you paced the kitchen. You could smell all the delicious food Mrs. Miyagawa had, but your tummy was too tied into knots to think about eating. Or at least think much about eating.
Then, after what felt like a few seconds, you heard noises at the door. You darted over, ready to explain yourself and apologize. An O'Hannah never runs from the truth. Not ever.
The door swung open, and you forced a smile at the two adults. "Welcome home. Um…"
Mr. Miyagawa took one look at you and gasped. It took you a moment to realize why. Your left hand was resting at your hip. But not on your hip. No, it was resting on the hilt of the precious sword you'd touched earlier.
His wife stare at you with eyes the size of platters, and a moment later the two started speaking to each other back and forth far too fast for your meager understanding of Japanese to follow. But whatever it was, they were very energetic about it.
> wat do?
"Uh," you look around. None of the girls seem to have noticed anything's amiss. Sakura's added a few touches to her castle—a castle that looks just like the one you were just fighting in, although more classically Japnese instead of kinda-sorta-western. Mayumi's fast asleep by your side, and Azami's focusing intently on her watercolors. If any of them even noticed you nodded off for a moment, they weren't showing it.
Part of you wants to just walk up to the mantelpiece as quietly as an unnecessarily large Gaijin girl could, put the sword back just the way you found it, and pretend like none of this ever happened. But another part of you knew that would be wrong. If Mr. Miyagawa noticed something was wrong—which he probably would. You didn't think you could get the ceremonial display just right—he might blame his daughters. You couldn't let them take the heat like that, it was against everything you stood for.
Also, you couldn't even if you tried. Mayumi had decided your breast was her pillow now. And as thankful as you were that at least someone was getting some pleasure out of the overly-stuffed fatbags you had to haul around everywhere… she was on there pretty tight. Like some kind of adorable barnacle.
"Azami?" you looked over to the eldest girl. Hopefully you'd get something useful out of her.
"Morga-chan?" The little painter squinted at her watercolors, but didn't look over to you just yet. "Is it bedtime?" she said, furiously trying to finish her painting in time.
"Uh… no," a quick glance at your watch confirmed you still had a half-hour or so before you had to tuck them in. "Did… this is gonna sound really weird… do you know how this sword got in my hand?"
"Sword, I—" Azami gasped and stared at you. "You'renotsupposedtotouchthat!"
You winced. You thought as much… you were going to be in trouble. Huge huge trouble.
"Morga-chan, what did—" Sakura turned to you. And then she just started crying. A moment later, Mayumi woke from her nap and promptly started doing the same.
"Hey," you put on your best soothing-mom voice. The one you heard from your mother whenever your little sisters were up to no good. Which was most of the time, actually. You were always the good child. Until a few moments ago, of course. "Hey, girls… why are you crying?"
"You touched the sword!" bawled Azami. "Now we're never going to see you again!"
"Ye-yeah," Mayumi swalled her tears enoguh to speak. "W-we like you, Morga-chan!"
"It's okay." you put the sword down and herded the girls together so you can hug them. "Girls, it's okay."
You're not sure how effective your words are being, but a nice, warm, soft Gaijin to cuddle seems to sooth the girls' temperaments enough to stop their crying. And the time it takes to stop their sobs give you enough time to formulate a reasonably-coherent sentence. "Don't… don't tell your dad, okay? He needs to hear this from me."
"O-okay," said Azami.
"Now… can you help me put it back?"
The eldest Miyagawa sister nodded.
"Okay," you let go of the little huddle and grab the sword in your off-hand. As terrified as you are of the blade, it feels… right in your hand. Like it was made for you. "How does it go?"
"Put—" Azami sniffled, "Put the blade facing that way," she said.
You did as she told, and then stepped back and offered the sword a deep bow. It felt like the right thing to do. You may have ruined everything, but you could at least be respectful.
"Um…" you itched at your coppery braid. "Do… any of you member how that got into my hand?"
All three girls shook their tear-streaked faces.
"Okay." You sighed and tried not to show how rattled you were. "Why don't you get ready for bed."
"Will you read us a story?" asked Sakura.
"Yeah," you shoved your hands into your jeans and tried to smile kindly. "Of course, Sakura."
The little girl smiled, then shuffled over to hug your legs. "Arigato, Morga-chan."
You ruffled her hair, and waited until all the girls had filed up to their room to do something that seemed even more insane then that daydream of yours. You turned around, and gave the sword another bow. "Um… sword…" you felt like an idiot just trying this, "do you know how you got into my hand?"
The sword said nothing.
Because it was a sword.
You don't know what you expected.
That part of you thought this would in any way help is clearly a sign of your degrading psyche.
Anyway, you've got a bedtime story to read to three adorable little girls. At least that you can manage without screwing up. You even brought a few of your favorite books with you for them to choose. Unfortunately, though they had their own story they wanted you to read.
And it was about, guess what, the sword.
Yeah.
"Um…" you looked at the little book in your hands. It was written in Japanese if you held it one way, and English if you held it the other. Must be some kind of learning-aid Mr. Miyagawa cooked up for his daughters. But the image on the cover is most certainly the sword you'd just touched. "Are you sure?"
The three girls nodded.
You sighed. This might be your last night with the girls, but at least you could make it pleasant for them. "okay," you said, settling onto the floor with your legs crossed.
"Long ago, the master of Darkness Me— Makami— did I get that right"
The girls nodded.
"Makami wanted to rule the world. He sent out armies of… Azumi, what's that word?"
"Oni." she said.
You blinked at her.
"It's… um… demon."
"Right," you coughed. "Armies of demons."
"Oni."
"Are you reading the story, or am I?"
"Sorry, Morga-chan."
You smiled at Mayumi. "Armies of demons to bend the daimyos to his will. One by one they fell, until only the lord of the winds, Kazedono stood free. But he had no sons to bear his name, so Makami hatched a plan. He tricked the Shogun into promising him all Kazedono's lands if he could marry the daimyo's daughter. Promise in hand, he sent his ninja to seize the good daimyo's daughters."
Damn, this story's dark. But the girls seemed to like it so you kept going.
"But then…" the girls were all bubbling with anticipation, "a nameless samuri with a magical sword appeared, and kept the princesses safe."
Mmm… nice ending.
"Good night, girls." You made sure to tuck them all in nice and tight, and were careful to turn Sakura's night-light to juuuust the right setting before you left.
You checked your watch. Still a half-hour before Mr. Miyagawa got back. You could practice your apology until then. You kept running it over and over in your head as you paced the kitchen. You could smell all the delicious food Mrs. Miyagawa had, but your tummy was too tied into knots to think about eating. Or at least think much about eating.
Then, after what felt like a few seconds, you heard noises at the door. You darted over, ready to explain yourself and apologize. An O'Hannah never runs from the truth. Not ever.
The door swung open, and you forced a smile at the two adults. "Welcome home. Um…"
Mr. Miyagawa took one look at you and gasped. It took you a moment to realize why. Your left hand was resting at your hip. But not on your hip. No, it was resting on the hilt of the precious sword you'd touched earlier.
His wife stare at you with eyes the size of platters, and a moment later the two started speaking to each other back and forth far too fast for your meager understanding of Japanese to follow. But whatever it was, they were very energetic about it.
> wat do?
Just a dream?
- Location
- 'Murica
Your name is Morgan O'Hannah, and you're no stranger to facing the authorities. Technically, every time you eat dinner you're facing the authorities because your dad's the county sheriff, but that's beside the point. You've lost track of the number of times you've been dragged before the principal and made to explain the latest brawl you got involved in. You don't like bullies, and when you see one picking on someone smaller…you just have to stop it. You wear your scuffed knuckles and permanently-disfigured nose with pride. A badge of honor, if not reason.
But that was different. Wading into a scuffle to help the little guy is… maybe not smart but at least right. Getting caught touching something you're really not supposed to touch is wrong in every kind of way. You're in trouble, and you're certain it's your fault.
"Um…" you carefully slide the ancient sword from your belt, careful not to mar the precious sheath any more than you already have. "I… This… this thing just will not stay where I put it," you said. No, that sounds horrible! "I mean… um… it jumps off the wall, it ties itself to my belt…"
The two adults start talking faster. You know you've just made a massive fool of yourself. So stupid! 'ties itself to my belt?' that just sounds like you're trying to shirk responsibility, something an O'Hannah never does!
"I am so sorry," you bowed from the waist as best you could and presented the sword with both hands. "I really am. I… my home island isn't the same as yours."
What? WHAT? how does that even make sense? You're just rambling now…
"I had this really weird dream—"
"Enough." Mr. Miyagawa took the sword from your hands and slid it free of its sheath just far enough to inspect the blade. His eyes narrowed to beady slits, and you saw his mutter something in Japanese under his breath. But it was too quiet to make out even if you spoke the language at all.
"I am so sorry if—"
He held up a hand. "Morgan."
"Y-yes?" you gulped, ready to take your licks.
For a long while, Mr. Miyagawa looked like he was at the edge of saying something. His mouth hung half-open, but his gaze looked more past you than at you. Then he closed his mouth again and handed you a wad of cash. "Good night."
He and his wife retreated into their home in a storm of furious Japanese. It all happened so fast you didn't have time to tell them he'd given you almost triple the already-generous sum you'd agreed on. You hung around for a few minutes trying to decide if you should try the doorbell. Eventually, you settled on scribbling a note on a scrap of paper and shoving the surplus into his mailbox.
It just wouldn't be right to profit off his mistake, especially after you made such a huge mistake of your own.
You tried not to think about the sword as you hopped on your bike and road home. It was just past sunset, and the sky was a pleasant shade of bronze on the horizon as you zipped through the suburban streets. Riding your bike always calmed you down, focusing on moving the peddles was enough to distract you from anything that's got your mind in a tizzy. Besides, it was good exercise. And given how Mrs. Miyagawa fed you, you'd have to work out if you wanted to keep the plush on your tummy at bay.
You really hope you didn't blow it all. You liked their girls, and you think the girls liked you back. Playing godzilla was Mayumi was the most fun you'd had in a long time.
Before long, you're coasting into your driveway back home. Dad's working—his cruiser's missing from the driveway—so at least you won't have to explain yourself to him just yet. You leave your bike in the garage and duck into the kitchen.
"I'm home!" you called to nobody in particular. Your brothers are playing with their lego ships—you can hear the high-piched screeches of "My shields stop your guns!" from here—and your sisters are probably watching Sailor Moon before turning in.
"Morgan," your mother smiled at you from behind the counter. She's a tiny woman—she got all the little-asian-person genes from your grandma—but she's figured out just how to hug you without smothering herself. "How was babysitting."
"Uh…" you blushed and glanced at your toes. "Pretty well, I guess. There's… I wanna talk to dad about something."
"Oh?" your mother gave you a kind smile. "Is it the kind of something that keeps you from doing dishes?"
"No, mama." You sighed and shuffled over to the dishwasher. "Mama?"
"Hmm?"
"We're… I mean, Gran's Japanese, isn't she?"
"Okinawan," said your mother with a sideways look. "Why?"
"No reason," you said hastily. It couldn't be… right? You just had a weird dream or something. You finished the rest of your chores as quick as you could, and got ready for bed. A nice long bath was in order, partly to get rid of whatever sweat you'd accumulated playing with the girls and biking home, but mostly to wash away how stressed you were over that little incident with the sword.
You let the water cool for a few moments, just long enough to take your clothes off and do up your braid, and slipped into the water. You'd always liked baths, especially really warm ones. If there's a sure-fire way to get you to attend a party, mention the presence of a swimming pool.
You can't really spread out in your bathtub though, not with your abnormally large figure. So you just kinda curl-up and close your eyes, and let the water ripple against your skin. Ah…. yes, that's nice. So nice…
Why is something poking your chin.
You're certain you locked the door, and your brothers know you don't like them seeing you naked.
"I swear," you're already half-way to a rage as you open your eyes. But your rage instantly turns to shock. You're not in your bathtub anymore. You're in a rocky pool full with warm, salt-smelling water. A hot-spring, you think.
And you're not alone. Sitting across from you in the pool is a man. A quite fit man with a body as devoid of fat as it is covered in scars. His thick, well-muscled arms are thrown back against the rocky spring-side, and broad-brimmed brown hat covers his face down to his chin.
"Konichiwa, pardner," he said with a gritty twang.
"Uh…" you have nothing to say to that besides a quiet "H-hi."
"Mmm," he rolled a toothpick in his teeth. "You're what I've got to work with, hmm? Didn't know they made girls your size."
It's about then that you realize that while you're no longer alone… you are very naked.
>What do? What say?
But that was different. Wading into a scuffle to help the little guy is… maybe not smart but at least right. Getting caught touching something you're really not supposed to touch is wrong in every kind of way. You're in trouble, and you're certain it's your fault.
"Um…" you carefully slide the ancient sword from your belt, careful not to mar the precious sheath any more than you already have. "I… This… this thing just will not stay where I put it," you said. No, that sounds horrible! "I mean… um… it jumps off the wall, it ties itself to my belt…"
The two adults start talking faster. You know you've just made a massive fool of yourself. So stupid! 'ties itself to my belt?' that just sounds like you're trying to shirk responsibility, something an O'Hannah never does!
"I am so sorry," you bowed from the waist as best you could and presented the sword with both hands. "I really am. I… my home island isn't the same as yours."
What? WHAT? how does that even make sense? You're just rambling now…
"I had this really weird dream—"
"Enough." Mr. Miyagawa took the sword from your hands and slid it free of its sheath just far enough to inspect the blade. His eyes narrowed to beady slits, and you saw his mutter something in Japanese under his breath. But it was too quiet to make out even if you spoke the language at all.
"I am so sorry if—"
He held up a hand. "Morgan."
"Y-yes?" you gulped, ready to take your licks.
For a long while, Mr. Miyagawa looked like he was at the edge of saying something. His mouth hung half-open, but his gaze looked more past you than at you. Then he closed his mouth again and handed you a wad of cash. "Good night."
He and his wife retreated into their home in a storm of furious Japanese. It all happened so fast you didn't have time to tell them he'd given you almost triple the already-generous sum you'd agreed on. You hung around for a few minutes trying to decide if you should try the doorbell. Eventually, you settled on scribbling a note on a scrap of paper and shoving the surplus into his mailbox.
It just wouldn't be right to profit off his mistake, especially after you made such a huge mistake of your own.
You tried not to think about the sword as you hopped on your bike and road home. It was just past sunset, and the sky was a pleasant shade of bronze on the horizon as you zipped through the suburban streets. Riding your bike always calmed you down, focusing on moving the peddles was enough to distract you from anything that's got your mind in a tizzy. Besides, it was good exercise. And given how Mrs. Miyagawa fed you, you'd have to work out if you wanted to keep the plush on your tummy at bay.
You really hope you didn't blow it all. You liked their girls, and you think the girls liked you back. Playing godzilla was Mayumi was the most fun you'd had in a long time.
Before long, you're coasting into your driveway back home. Dad's working—his cruiser's missing from the driveway—so at least you won't have to explain yourself to him just yet. You leave your bike in the garage and duck into the kitchen.
"I'm home!" you called to nobody in particular. Your brothers are playing with their lego ships—you can hear the high-piched screeches of "My shields stop your guns!" from here—and your sisters are probably watching Sailor Moon before turning in.
"Morgan," your mother smiled at you from behind the counter. She's a tiny woman—she got all the little-asian-person genes from your grandma—but she's figured out just how to hug you without smothering herself. "How was babysitting."
"Uh…" you blushed and glanced at your toes. "Pretty well, I guess. There's… I wanna talk to dad about something."
"Oh?" your mother gave you a kind smile. "Is it the kind of something that keeps you from doing dishes?"
"No, mama." You sighed and shuffled over to the dishwasher. "Mama?"
"Hmm?"
"We're… I mean, Gran's Japanese, isn't she?"
"Okinawan," said your mother with a sideways look. "Why?"
"No reason," you said hastily. It couldn't be… right? You just had a weird dream or something. You finished the rest of your chores as quick as you could, and got ready for bed. A nice long bath was in order, partly to get rid of whatever sweat you'd accumulated playing with the girls and biking home, but mostly to wash away how stressed you were over that little incident with the sword.
You let the water cool for a few moments, just long enough to take your clothes off and do up your braid, and slipped into the water. You'd always liked baths, especially really warm ones. If there's a sure-fire way to get you to attend a party, mention the presence of a swimming pool.
You can't really spread out in your bathtub though, not with your abnormally large figure. So you just kinda curl-up and close your eyes, and let the water ripple against your skin. Ah…. yes, that's nice. So nice…
Why is something poking your chin.
You're certain you locked the door, and your brothers know you don't like them seeing you naked.
"I swear," you're already half-way to a rage as you open your eyes. But your rage instantly turns to shock. You're not in your bathtub anymore. You're in a rocky pool full with warm, salt-smelling water. A hot-spring, you think.
And you're not alone. Sitting across from you in the pool is a man. A quite fit man with a body as devoid of fat as it is covered in scars. His thick, well-muscled arms are thrown back against the rocky spring-side, and broad-brimmed brown hat covers his face down to his chin.
"Konichiwa, pardner," he said with a gritty twang.
"Uh…" you have nothing to say to that besides a quiet "H-hi."
"Mmm," he rolled a toothpick in his teeth. "You're what I've got to work with, hmm? Didn't know they made girls your size."
It's about then that you realize that while you're no longer alone… you are very naked.
>What do? What say?