( OPEN )

[swordsitter]

Who: swordhaus + cr
When: throughout april
Where: the three apartments swordhaus uses..
What: april catch-all
Rating/Warning: probably nothing, but i'll edit as necessary.

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[ sword mafia at home. ]

Comments

ugh listen.... tsuru isn't the only sword feeling healthy!!

[gravesite]

[ he pauses for a split second to think, but his answer is almost immediately given, as if on cue. ]

Yes, yes, and you can't take care of us when you're dead. [ because more than anyone else, he knows what that's like. you can't ask corpses to put their arms around you, and you certainly can't ask them to tell you all of the things you did well today, and most definitely, you can't ask them to make you dinner.

tsurumaru looks back to haru now, before letting out a quiet sigh — not entirely of exasperation, but just a little, at how haru won't stay put; but that's who haru is — he's hard-working for all of them, even to the ones that don't entirely love him back. reaching for the white jacket over his shoulders, he shrugs it off, draping it around haru instead, taking extra care to clasp it at the front. ]

Here. [ it's still warm! ] Stay put, okay? I'll get you something warm to drink — and I'll try not to burn down the entire kitchen in the process.

so many impure swords........

[swordsitter]

[ his lips part, then shut again. he doesn't.. think he's dying? he's been sick before-- he's sick a couple of times a year. but then, he's rarely been this sick, and it is kind of alarming. what will happen to his spirits if he does die? he thinks he put enough into bringing them to life that they'd be okay physically, but..

and he knows many of them worry. after all, it's hard for them, outliving their masters, being passed to new ones. and in such uncertain circumstances like this.. well.

he flushes, not entirely fever, as tsurumaru drapes the jacket over his shoulders, slowly sinking back down onto the couch. skinny fingers lift, clutching the edges of white fabric, heart clenching painfully in his chest at the display from one of his most aloof spirits. for a moment, his eyes are hot, vision blurring-- but he blinks away any hint of moisture, bobbing a tiny nod. ]

.. I won't die. [ it's a quiet declaration, but there's some force in it, too. ] I-- [ a shaky breath, pale eyes lifting to meet tsurumaru's briefly, then flitting away again. ] Okay. You don't have to, though.

[gravesite]

[ that declaration is what stops tsurumaru in his tracks; and it's the resolve behind the words that catches him — amusedly, he turns towards haru, leaning his weight back. for someone as human as haru to say that... while tsurumaru finds it completely amusing, it's not something that he's willing to believe, so he merely offers haru a small smile and a few words, before continuing to the kitchen. ]

It's the most that I can do.

[ he doesn't have the room in his heart to fret and fuss and worry over haru in the way that the rest of the swords do; although, that isn't haru's fault. it's more so tsurumaru's, who sees trust as a distant luxury that he can't afford any time soon.

anyway, he yanks the carton of milk from the fridge, along with a small hot chocolate powder packet from a drawer. the milk is poured into a cup, microwaved a bit, and then the powder is dumped in; stiiiiiiir a bit, and then — he'll return in five minutes or so, handing haru the cup of hot cocoa, precautioning it with a careful, it's hot.

he waits a bit — pausing deliberately, before he speaks up again. ]

If something bad happens to you, the other swords would be really upset, you know? We've all seen our masters die, at some point — but for some swords, they've only been through it once, and I'd like to keep it that way.