[Masamune no Gin]

The lands of these shinobi were, in a word, strange. Strange people, strange culture, strange technologies. Strange weapons, as well. She had seen her fair share, even in her short time in this Nohara no Kuni, and some of them were understandable. Spears, polearms, bows, swords. Standard, even if the designs were depressingly modern and overly-efficient, lacking that soul of artistry. Gin sighed. It was a good thing these shinobi had the sense to consult some true experts on the improvement of their weaponry, though many of her countrymen were of... questionable quality. Really, the Masamune clan alone could have filled the need. Hells, she could have done it alone, if they were patient enough.

But that was a concern for another day. Once these shinobi saw the sheer perfection that was a weapon forged by the hands of an established master of the Masamune arts, soon, all of these vaunted new weapons of their would bear the Masamune mon. Unless, of course, these shinobi were actually blind to artistry.

Looking around the gauche town of Hirata, full of garish colors, flashing lights, and attempts to entice the traveler and tourist... perhaps that fear would be realized. Her nose wrinkled in mild disgust, and she straightened out her clothing. A carefully tailored combination of fashions foreign and domestic, Masamune mon stitched proudly on ties hanging from her belt, over her heart, and on her back, albeit hidden by long tresses of white-and-red hair. It likely meant nothing to these peasants, and even the shinobi and ashigaru dotted around the depressing settlement.

Another sigh as she looked around the town square. Perhaps she should have accepted that guide - the trip out here was to try to acquire a small supply of high-quality wood and some semi-precious stones, and it would be easier to find it for herself in this artery of trade, as opposed to trusting some nameless shinobi or errand runner to acquire it, where she would reject it for containing unacceptable faults.

Well, there were other ways to resolve this.
"You, there. Peasant," She accosted a darkly-dressed man who looked like he had nothing better to do. She cocked a hip, and placed her hand on it, the other gesturing vaguely. "Is there an emporium with imports of at least passing quality? I'm in need of jadeite, and some good cedar. Cherry wood and ivory, if this backwater has such things." A heeled boot tapped against the stone as she awaited her directions.

[Muramasa Uemon]

two old families

---

Nohara no Kuni was the nation he preferred to travel through when his business took him westward and back.

By either personal experience or through reputation, he found the small country infinitely less hostile towards strangers than either Arashi no Kuni or Bonchi no Kuni. Less risk to him and Kota meant it was the optimal route.

It was also part of the path his family walked during their exile nearly a decade ago. "It has been some time..." He thought as he trekked on foot towards the city of Hirata. Kumogakure no Sato had not turned up his cousin as he hoped, but other important contacts had been established. Itagaki Mitsumi, Yamamoto Shosuke, Hirana Kizumi...

Small, large, or otherwise— they all played a part in his journey. Utsuwa and the Jashinists to the west, a tentative ally in Kumogakure to the east... "Progress." He thought. "Slow progress... but progress all the same." Better than nothing.

The wanderer doubted he could rely upon any Hidden Village for what he ultimately needed to do... but having access to reliable shinobi was still worthwhile. Besides that, the experience he had been gaining was invaluable. To accomplish his goal, he would need further tempering. So with that in mind he strode calmly into Hirata proper.

Seeking out yet another avenue of advancing his ends. "This place looks..." A trailed thought as his eyes took in the sights and sounds. "...modern." Not nearly as much as Amegakure, but still quite a departure from what he was used to. Hirata did not look as secure as a Hidden Village, but seemed rather peaceful. "Kota might like it here." He thought.

Plenty of things for a child to get up to... and these days, anywhere was better than the road. "..." Quiet ensued as a haughty voice broke his concentration, his gaze shifting to meet the source. A girl dressed in mixed fashion, not unlike himself, with white hair. Pretty, but with an impetuous look on her face. "...excuse you?" He replied flatly.

Clearly unamused by her words judging by the tone of his voice and the ever so slight hint of annoyance in his mostly-unmoving face. As the wanderer's eyes scanned her features, something deep in his mind spoke to him.

Almost like... the beginnings of a nagging headache. "...why does she seem familiar?" He thought to himself, unable to place the feeling. A mon embroidered on her garb caught his eye, and his expression flatted a bit. "Masamune..." If he was slightly irritated before, now he was just plain exasperated. "Perhaps it is the arrogance that I recognize." He mused.

Besides that, the list of materials she apparently sought were familiar to him as well. "You're a smith, right?" He said, his gaze meeting hers as his brow furrowed. "Go get yourself an assistant." The wanderer then turned...

...and began to walk off without another word. He had better things to do than entertain a snobbish Masamune.

---

[Masamune no Gin]

"You'll find the phrase is 'excuse me,'" Gin corrected with a thin smile. It appeared that she may have chosen a less suitable guide than she had first guessed. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, something about his face or voice that pricked an old memory. Something she could interrogate the commoner about later, after she got what she wanted.

His next comments, an attempt to dismiss her actually won her interest. Heels clicked on stone as she moved to cut him off, one hand across her body, and the other lifted to brush an errant hair from her face. "Ara, ara, but I am getting myself an assistant." Gin rested fingers under her chin, the ladylike pose speaking volumes of her upbringing and opinion of herself. "I listed wood, ivory, and semiprecious stone, and you jumped to 'smith' for my profession. You're correct, but why are you correct?" It seemed she had no intention of letting him go easily; a cat who had found a mouse to toy with.

"You either recognize my mien, the mon on my clothing, or are a smith yourself: any of these qualify you. Come, come, you'll be fairly compensated for your time. You certainly don't look like you have an abundance of gainful employment, judging by the state of you." It wasn't really an invitation; it was an order

[Muramasa Uemon]

a feud; two hundred years long

---

A faint twitch of his eyebrow followed her correction. "No." He said. "In this case, it's 'excuse you'."

Fault lied with the offender, not the offended. Regardless, as riveting as pedantry was, his threshold for tolerating rudeness had waned fiercely in recent years. "Another stranger, to argue with immediately." As was tradition, it seemed.

Aikawa Mikazuki in Amegakure, Yamamoto Shosuke in Kumogakure... though he somewhat attributed those to the natural suspicion that seemed to come with the shinobi profession. Judging by her chakra, this woman was neither ninja or samurai, which meant she was just plain pompous. As he went to leave, she blocked his path and spoke.

The wanderer's slight frown growing as he stopped and stared. "Gods..." He sighed internally, but as he listened to her words, that inkling of familiarity reared its head once again. Her mannerisms, the way she talked... "'Ara ara'?"

Something in his mind told him that he had been here before— in this situation, with this person. "Impossible." He thought, discounting the sheer odds of such a thing happening. Still... she was a Tetsu no Kuni native, and she looked near his age. "It certainly isn't your mien..." The wanderer muttered in response. "Most smiths don't carry themselves like you." A sardonic comment as he side-stepped the woman, then began walking off again.

Clear past in the direction of the nearest inn. "The status of my employment is none of your concern." He said, content to let the matter rest there, and he would have... if not for that nagging feeling in his head. Like some puzzle, half-finished with most pieces scattered. "Masamune, white hair, an air of supreme overconfidence..." He stopped.

Gaze drifting downwards as he searched his memories. "Those eyes, too..." Orange and scrutinizing. "Like the sun." He thought. "Scorching everything in sight." Slowly, the wanderer turned, to look at the woman's face again. "...Gin?"

---

[Masamune no Gin]

Gin rolled her eyes and scoffed at the 'correction.' Some people thought themselves so witty, not knowing they were offending their betters with their inane babble. That seemed to be true no matter where she went: so few people actually understood their place in the world.

His refusals were only making her more stubborn. There was something else here, something that drove her to put the man beneath her heel. Something her blood drove her to do. A curious but not unfamiliar sensation.

That final question won a moment of genuine surprise, and her eyes widened, and blinked rapidly. Then narrowed in near-sadistic glee.
"If you were trying to deflect my interest, you are failing." Her gaze was, for all its mirth and haughtiness, scrutinizing. Properly assessing the man for the first time. A careful study, dissecting flesh and soul with her eyes. "Masamune no Gin, first daughter of Masamune no Katayori, Kyoshō of that selfsame and illustrious clan." She paused for affect, tilting her chin up slightly as she posed imperiously. "Now... who are you, that you would address me so intimately?" Her heels clicked on stone as she slowly circled him, the study continuing.

"Almost certainly one of my fellow countrymen, and one familiar with the Muramasa personally. Your shabby appearance, lack of social grace, shockingly poor attitude, a distinctly ignoble bearing..." A smirk spread across her features. She was clearly enjoying herself. "A Muramasa, I presume?"

[Muramasa Uemon]

rekindled, once more

---

The wanderer stared at the woman dully as she spoke, turning for a moment to the inn. "I was trying to leave..."

A low, muttered word. If he were more expressive he would likely have his head in his hands by now... but instead, the most he offered was a slightly irked glance. Growing marginally less neutral as the Masamune continued to talk.

Once more she moved towards him, introducing herself properly and proceeding to circle around him like some sort of buzzard. "Yes..." He thought. "...without a doubt, this is absolutely the same girl I was thinking of." A woman grown now, but with all of the same self-importance and ostentatiousness she possessed when they were kids. More, perhaps.

Since it seemed the years had only caused her ego to balloon. "Masamune no Katayori." He thought, conjuring up long dormant memories. "I remember him— he scared me." In his youth, he was something of a loudmouth. A boy with notions of becoming a samurai like his clan's founder, always trying to prove himself, to make himself appear braver than he was. Gin's father had always seemed so... severe. "Many things scared me, back then." He admitted.

Looking back, his own father could be much the same when the mood struck. But never around him or his other siblings. With them, he was only ever a doting, loving parent. As for himself, he was a naïve, foolish child. Nowhere near as skilled in kenjutsu, jujitsu, or smithing as his older sister. Unskilled, with only a false courage as shield.

He stood silently, meeting her gaze at first. "But her..." A thought, not bothering to follow her pacing with his eyes as he allowed her to make her guesses at who he might be. "To me... she seemed like some storybook princess." With all the airs and entitlement of one. A childhood infatuation— perhaps misplaced in light of how she turned out. Still...

...insults and nasty demeanor aside, she had quite some skill in deduction. "However haughty, she is no fool." Something nearing a compliment in his mind, only for his brow to furrow again at her words. The bit about tact almost tickled him. "You... really shouldn't be speaking on others' social graces." He responded, eyes settling on her form when she circled back around. Gin correctly guessed what family he belonged to, and he grew quieter as a result.

Thoughts of the Masamune rōnin he slew in Moku no Kuni coming to mind. "Muramasa Uemon." He replied, placing a bandaged hand in his pocket. "First son of Muramasa Iemitsu— our Yokozuna." As he spoke, his gaze grew intense. Not yet angry, in anticipation of it. Barring unprompted rudeness, few thing got under his skin.

If she had further disparaging thoughts about his family or their status, though... she would be better off keeping them to herself. "You and I have met before, long ago." He said, old speech patterns returning to him as they seemed to do in times of stress. Uemon glanced at the mitsudomoe on her clothes. "I knew you by your mon..."

Recognizable, as most samurai clan crests were. "...and by the arrogance you seem not to have grown out of."

---

[Masamune no Gin]

"Oh, so you do know how to talk like a civilized person!" She remarked at the introduction, clapping her hands together. "Though I wonder how legitimate your introduction is, considering the state of your clan. Truly remarkable, how low even the Muramasa star has fallen." Gin was apparently not interested in making an impression other than imperious and cruel,her words becoming more venomous and condescending now that her prospective assistant's identity had been confirmed.

She idly twirled a strand of dyed hair around her finger. "And you must be that child, still clinging to his father. Well, you've grown, physically. A shame you're still clinging to a dead clan, but I'll acknowledge your filial piety, at least." She spied the bandaged hand. He didn't have the look of a warrior in terms of equipment. No sword at his waist, no armor. But these shinobi dressed strangely, and used all sorts of complicated skills. Would be better if they just devoted themselves to a weapon or an arsenal, as the heihōsha of her own clan did. But there was something about his bearing; he struck her as a fighter, a killer, not a creator.

Uemon was only vaguely familiar. A child of a rival clan, encountered when she was still ascending the steps of the clan. He had failed to make any lasting impression, and his face and demeanor had faded to the periphery.

"Now, now, it's not arrogance to understand one's place in the world. But I'm sure the hawk looks arrogant to the snake. How dare she fly whilst you are crawling in the dirt?" The topic was soon boring her. His attempted barbs had no bite to them. What did she care for the insults of someone as lowly and base as an exiled Muramasa? "Now, whatever is a scion of Muramasa doing amongst the shinobi? Seeking to purify your shinki through honest work?" Her gaze scrutinized him again. "That seems unlikely." Whether she had heard of Uemon's murder of her clansman was unclear, but the fact she wasn't using it to twist the knife indicated that she was likely ignorant of it. At least for the moment.

"Ah! But here's a thought: be my assistant for the day. I need the help, and you need the coin. A fair exchange, wouldn't you agree?" Judging by the delight in her eyes, her intentions were far from altruistic.

[Muramasa Uemon]

one-sided, it seems

---

Faint pangs throbbed in his head— like the points of many needles being dragged across the surface of his brain.

If this kept up... he was bound to have a migraine in no time. "Incredible..." He thought, his eyes becoming half-lidded as she rambled at length about his clan. "...she truly does not know how to stop." For a moment, he considered it.

Stooping to her level, playing at this little game of hers... but he was no fool. Quickly, he realized from the joy in her eyes that it was exactly what she wanted. For him to get angry, to threaten her perhaps, or otherwise become unbalanced. And to tell the truth... he very nearly did. If only he had been a hint less keen, a bit more impulsive...

A shame that he knew a stratagem when he saw it. "A poor one, at that." Besides, he had no interest at all in some ancient rivalry. So for the most part, he remained silent, appearing more disinterested by the moment. "A... hawk?"

Impressive, as far as the sheer bounds of one's pride went. "...you certainly know how to screech like one." A squint of his eyes followed, then, in the middle of her talking about some silly family philosophy... he turned and began to walk towards the inn again. "My business is none of your concern, bird..." Uemon said calmly. "Good-bye."

Not even bothering with a tired wave of the hand. The offer of coin for service only prompted a slight shake of his head. "You could not pay me enough to listen to your drivel, even for a day..." He would rather sell his sword— literally or figuratively than subject himself to more of this. If she wanted his aid, she would need a better offer.

Along with a severe attitude adjustment... or this connection was bound to remain buried, and the wanderer would think himself better off for it. "No great loss." Uemon thought to himself. "One less thing that ties me to that place."

---

[Masamune no Gin]

Truth to be told, Gin's time would be better spent procuring an actual local guide, or perhaps petitioning her client government for an aide. But this had long since ceased to be about practicality. If she couldn't bait the hook well enough, and coax Uemon beneath her heel... well, that would be disappointing. But it would hardly be apocalyptic.

She brushed the insults off easily, noting that he wasn't becoming flustered or furious. There were plenty of samurai who would have exploded in fury at a fraction of her insults. There had to be something to make Uemon entertain her, and stop trying to run away.

"You know," She spoke loudly to his retreating back. Loud enough for passersby to overhear. "Very strange for a Muramasa to be showing nothing of his family. No Mon, no tools, no workshop... no blade at your hip." Gin's eyes widened in exaggerated and false surprise, raising a hand to her mouth. "Why, it's almost as though you're ashamed of your clan's work!" She shook her head sadly.

"I wonder how the lord of this country would react to knowing that he's harbouring a fugitive... Oh! Or the Shogun! I'm sure he'd love to reconcile with his wayward retainers."" Goading was graduating into blackmail.

[Muramasa Uemon]

reputation comes and goes

---

Quickly, the woman's voice was becoming like knives in his ears. "...what could I have possibly ever seen in her?"

A question for his younger self, suddenly deeply frustrated in the foolish child that he used to be. Boyhood crushes were just that in the end, he supposed. "Foolish." It never could have been anything else, anyway. "Not in this lifetime."

The rift between the Muramasa and the Masamune ran deep— and was filled with many lifetimes' worth of enmity, mutual envy, and blood. Still... he remembered her mother, and how kind a woman she was to him. Even her brother he recalled having played with at the time. But Gin... "I suppose she takes after her father..." He briefly thought.

Not quite a surprise, but somewhat of a shame. "If you wish to reenact some centuries-old blood feud, try some other Muramasa." He said, his voice growing less audible as he moved. A word about being ashamed in his family's work nearly gave him pause, but it was not until the word 'fugitive' reached his ears that he stopped. In his pocket, he could feel the tips of his fingers instinctively twitch. "Fugitive..." An echoed word, muttered to himself.

Instantly, his mind began to race. "What does she know?" He thought. "What could she?" Uemon was no criminal... at least not in these lands. To his knowledge, he was only wanted in Tetsu no Kuni. And considering the potential embarrassment that would plague the bakufu if word of a lone vagabond picking off samurai spread... it was more than likely a secret. "The Masamune are samurai now... but they were not, a decade ago." Uemon considered the odds of this not being some desperate bluff, but the chances seemed slim. "Could these sycophants have the shōgun's trust?" Unlikely.

Yet, before he decided anything else, he was going to need more information. "...and just what crime am I meant to be guilty of?" The wanderer asked, turning halfway around to glance at Gin again. "Tell me, loud hawk."

Now he was daring her to follow through, to proclaim his alleged guilt here and now, in front of an audience.

---

[Masamune no Gin]

Some stopped to look and listen to what may have appeared to be a simple quarrel or argument, knowing nothing of the deep enmity between their clans, nor of their true intentions or desires from this exchange. It was clear that Uemon just wanted to disentangle himself and leave, but the last bit of bait had earned a nibble.

"Ara, ara, feigning ignorance, are we?" Gin's grin was more wolfish than hawkish. "Just how do you think someone of my illustrious pedigree came to be in this country, hm? I am here as a direct contractor, with the blessing of the bakufu." Whether or not it was a bluff, Gin certainly sounded confident. "Now, how do you think the shōgun would respond, knowing that a criminal who evaded justice was receiving shelter in his new ally's lands...? And, wanting to maintain good relations, what course of action would the Saibankan take, do you imagine?" The hypotheticals drew a pretty clear picture. Uemon was worthless to the nation free and alive, but potentially valuable as a bargaining chip.

"All that aside, do you really think faithless weapon dealers would be welcome here? Anywhere? Blame your father for choosing petty war profiteering over honor, loyalty, and virtue. Then again; he was a Muramasa, so such depravity is to be expected. As for you specifically? Well, you are a fugitive from justice. Running instead of opening your belly or submitting to decapitation would be enough guilt to break the back of any righteous man. Ah! But you are used to carrying guilt, aren't you?" The bait was good: playing on fear and her superior social position and knowledge to make him dance to her tune, at least for a short while. But it could be made sweeter.

"Come, no need to cast me the villain. I'll keep your secret, and even pay you a fair wage for your work! Is your life and wellbeing worth more than your pride? Well, not that you have much to be proud of, considering your..." She gestured vaguely, and wrinkled her nose. "Well. Oh, I could introduce you to a tailor! That would be a free gift - even should you choose death, you could at least look like something other than an unwashed vagrant."

[Muramasa Uemon]

yet old wounds linger

---

Talk of hawks first, then a grin befitting a wolf cast his way. Predators, both, and each her alleged likeness...

...only the Masamune woman did not realize who was the true hunter, here. Pompous as she was, Gin was clearly no fool. Her speech was practiced— her capacity for mind games rivaling the deceptions he employed in battle.

A shame that her opinion of herself blinded her to the truth of things. Uemon's gaze grew sharper, colder as he listened to her drone on. "She believes she can extort me..." He thought, resisting the urge to scoff. Him, who never let the law of any land stop him from carrying out his mission. "Perhaps she has heard tell of my deeds." Bloody affairs.

First, the ryokan incident, which resulted in the deaths of two samurai, though he evaded blame that night. That time, he had been operating under the alias 'Masamune Fudo'. "The little ironies." More recently there was the skirmish at the Uda Estate, alongside his uncle. "Nine men died that day." Though no witnesses were left living that time... his poison ensured that. "The rōnin?" He thought, recalling the Masamune he had slain weeks before. It was possible that was the charge she was referring to... but the truth was, his crimes were many. So he could not be certain. "A hitokiri already tried to claim my head, before that." Uemon mused, his glare holding. "Someone knows something."

Gin refused to cease, and only after she spoke ill of his father did he move. Slowly retreading his steps towards the woman, left hand by his side, a glint of anger in his eye. Uemon wiggled his index finger, and in an instant a thin blue thread shot outward to stick to one of her shins. He curled his digit, tensing the string, and pulling harshly. In an attempt to yank her foot forward and send her toppling onto her rear with a swift, subtle Kugutsugen no Wana.

As quick as the thread came, it vanished. "You seem to have lost your footing, Masamune." He said, stopping nearby to gaze down at her. Down on her. "As careless with your balance as you are with your tongue." Mere irritation was gone, replaced now by a steely fury. The kind he normally saved for his true enemies... not some jumped-up swordsmith with an inflated head. "Tell me..." He continued, pausing to look Gin over, a pitying glance. "...if I am the fugitive you proclaim me to be, do you think it wise to taunt me?" Uemon asked.

Then, he took another step forward. "These people know nothing of our laws. Less, of our ways." It was true, as far he knew. If the bakufu did indeed quietly have him in their sights, would she dare scandalize the government by airing its shameful secret to the lord of Kusagakure? "Not even a Masamune has the gall." The wanderer squinted at her as he considered his options. "You alone could make trouble for me, here..." His implication was quite clear.

Without her... he had nothing to worry about. Uemon let his words linger for a while, then finally extended his left hand to her. "I believe I will aid you— insufferable as you are." He said. "In return, you will forge me a blade. As I have need of one." If she took his hand, he would help Gin to her feet, waiting for her to rise fully before continuing. His grip held firm as he locked eyes with her. "But, so that you and I have a clear understanding..."

Uemon's hand tightened around hers. "If you speak ill of my family again—" A tug, to pull her closer, his intentions plain in his eyes. "Of my father, again... the time for words will be over." He was no resident of Tetsu no Kuni any longer, nor did he have any illusions about his personal honor... but the old ways were still his to keep.

He would not allow her to denigrate the Muramasa name or the memory of his late father. At least not while in his presence. "This, I swear." Uemon said, his voice low. "And damn any consequence that might follow."

---

[Masamune no Gin]

Gin raised an eyebrow in askance about the strange movements of Uemon's hand, before her leg was pulled forward, and she fell gracelessly to the ground, arms flailing for balance. She looked up at Uemon and scowled, clearly aware he was responsible, even if she didn't know how. The threats did cause a chill of fear to spread through her, and, for once, she was silent, keeping her expression schooled and severe.

"You... You... You uncouth knave!" She accused, puffing up her cheeks in impotent indignation. If Uemon had no care for his life, it was possible that she could be killed here. It was a sobering realization, but it just caused more anger to flare up to match the fear. How dare this honorless, mannerless, unwashed, vagrant scion of a banished clan subject someone like her to such treatment?

But Gin was not the only person who was unwittingly in over their head.

Uemon offered his hand down, and Gin flinched away, half from fear, half from disgust. The space between them was cut through by a kunai, sinking into the cobblestone between them. A presence made itself known from a rooftop, shadowed from sight, but revealing enough of themselves to make their presence known. It was an accurate throw, considering the distance, and the fact it had slipped beneath Uemon's notice spoke volumes to the skill of the shinobi responsible.

Gin grinned, and scrambled back onto her feet, straightening out her clothes as the momentary fear passed into triumph. She struck another imperious pose. "Did you really think that these shinobi would let someone as valuable as me fall into your hands so readily? To ensure there is a clear understanding, Muramasa Uemon - you'll die before you touch a hair on my head. So, should you threaten me again, then the time for words will truly be over. I'll overlook this transgression but the once. Do not test my graciousness again." She turned the words back on him, the thrill of fear and mortal peril fast leaving her, though a keen eye would detect the signs of an elevated heartrate and more rapid breaths.

Gin licked suddenly dry lips, and fussed with her clothing, brushing off dust. "Now," Gin took another steadying breath. "If we're done posturing and threatening, I do believe you had a somewhat passable idea. Making you a sword is far, far, better than the likes of you deserve. And yet... perhaps if you see how the Masamune make their weapons, perhaps if you abandon your clan's modern and shortcutting ways for a day, you'll begin to understand the depths of your clan's folly. I need to properly test the forge at any rate, before I commit to any project of actual worth. The condition is simple: you help me make it. In the Masamune style. I'd typically be worried about polluting the steel with your foul shinki, but the poor blade will have an unworthy wielder anyway."

Another presence shifted in the small gathering of onlookers. Gin had more than one protector shadowing her. Judging by the amount of chakra they were intentionally leaking out to make their presence known, at least jounin. Perhaps on the higher end of that band. "Do we have an agreement, Muramasa? I could always have your life ended for threatening an asset of Nohara no Kuni, if you'd prefer."

[Muramasa Uemon]

a reluctant pact

---

'Knave', 'peasant', 'ignoble'... if he were like the samurai of his homeland, he would have snapped long ago.

The laws of Tetsu no Kuni were far different than these lands, and had he been a member of that caste like his ancestors before him, he would have been well within his rights to cut her down for such an insult. But he was not.

Nor did he need to resort to such violence— as evidenced by the woman's rattled demeanor. Masamune Gin put on a brave face, but as one who rarely showed emotion himself, he could see the signs. Uncertainty, fear, the sudden change in her voice. A kunai whistled through the air, narrowly missing his hand... and he did not so much as flinch.

Or look away, even as he felt the chakra of shinobi flare in the area. "Yet another mistake." he thought, dark eyes still fixed on the woman's face. "To assume that I fear harm... or death." If it was in service to his clan... he would resort to any lengths to see them defended. From insult or injury. "You overestimate your position, Masamune Gin." In more ways than one, as seemed to be the case. Gin was close enough to touch even without threads, so jōnin or not... he doubted her guardians could stop him before he made good on his word. "Fortunate for you I have no intentions of battle, just now." As she stood and paraded her status, he let his hand fall to his side, listening to her to prattle on in the meantime. Gin wished to not be threatened, and he wished for her silence. "Mind your mouth, then."

Uemon's reply was destined to fall on deaf ears as she continued, toeing the line between slander and plain unpleasantness. "Forge it however you wish," he said. "So long as you forge it." Talk of shinki again made his expression flatten. "That odd philosophy of theirs..." a thought began. "...she is practicing kata on the air." Dueling no one in some foe-less debate he refused to engage in. Any reverence he had for Bushidō was dealt a major blow when his father was slain, and later died outright during his training with his sensei. "Honor is for fools and children's dreams."

It had no place on his path... not any longer. "Unworthy?" Uemon repeated flatly in regard to her claims about the blade's wielder. "What has worth to do with it?" He squinted at her, half in disbelief at the naivete on display. "You and your clan are misers— who make weapons for killers." Like any other arms manufacturer, like his own clan. Theirs was an industry of profit and blood. "Perhaps you need meditate on your own 'shinki'."

To see someone so thoroughly satisfied with themselves was... almost impressive, were it not so tiring. "She is samurai in spirit, if nothing else." Gin was self-assured enough. She asked if their arrangement would suffice in her own obnoxious way, and the wanderer considered the proposal. "A tentative agreement, Masamune," he answered, rolling his eyes at her threat as he turned back towards the inn. These Kusa-nin were no executioners, at least not by any command of hers. If he tried to harm her, perhaps... but he doubted her claim. "You do not have the sway."

An unimpressed comment as he began to walk. If by some chance Kusagakure lent a foreign contractor the power to order around their military... then this place was just as ridiculous as her. "Come." A word, then a bored gesture for her to follow. "I need a room first," he said as he walked. "Then, we will find your materials." Uemon paused, stopping near the inn's doors to spare Gin a glance. "...wait out here." A final moment of peace for him to claim...

Until he was set to endure the trials of her company. He entered, then exchanged some of the modest amount of ryō he had left at the front desk for lodging fit for both him and Kota. After that, he took his time depositing his belongings in the room, washing his face, and giving himself an already-tired glance in the mirror. Soon enough, he returned to the entrance. "..." Silence as he set eyes on Gin again... then he began to walk, trusting her to follow.

Flapping, squawking, and pecking all the while. "As buzzards are wont to do." Uemon kept quiet as he headed towards the nearest area of commerce he could find, looking for signs of promising materials. "Wood should be simple to find."

---

[Masamune no Gin]

"That lack of understanding of worth is precisely why you and yours are reviled and outcast, and we are exalted," Gin despaired, raising a hand and shaking her head sadly. "But there's something I can correct, I will not be forging it. We will." Gin grinned with that, clearly pleased with herself. "You're obviously not making a living as an artisan now, but you remember what it was like to be an apprentice and assistant, yes? The shinki of the blade is doomed anyway - you're getting steel that fool of a merchant thought I wanted instead of raw iron, and the wielder is... well, we needn't retread established ground."

The thought of someone like Uemon possessing a Masamune was a little unsettling. Then again, the thought of a Muramasa having to proudly wield a creation of their most ancient rivals... the irony was delicious enough to make the purification rituals not even a mild annoyance.

The accord was struck, and mischief and malice danced in her eyes. "Very good. While you do that - and make yourself presentable, would you? - I'll persuade a local smith to lend us his forge." Going through the security protocols needed, as well as the day or more of travel was more than this was worth. Making do with another's forge and tools was vexing, but manageable. Only a poor artisan blamed her tools, after all.

Rather than waiting for Gin, she made him wait, and eventually emerged back to meet him. The shadows watching and protecting her drew closer as Uemon took the lead.

Well, for directions, at least. The "shopping" trip was likely excruciating. Haggling for a quarter hour over the price of a length of cherry wood, before abruptly declaring it to be substandard quality, and storming out. An hour spent looking at various samples of jadeite, before taking one with some slight imperfections. As the "assistant" for the day, she, of course, tried to saddle Uemon with as much of the samples she acquired, charging everything to the state. By the ferocity she haggled, she did clearly have a budget, and was trying to make it go as far as possible.

For the items needed for today's side project, such as the cloth, clay and other minutiae, Uemon was, naturally prompted to pay. She was gracious enough to allow him some selection of the color and the texture of what would become the wrap of the hilt. The wood for the scabbard was also his to choose and pay for, as was its lacquer.

But she would be providing the steel and the labor, so it would still be a tiny fraction of the cost of actually commissioning a sword.

When they arrived at the smithy she had bullied temporary ownership of, Gin untied the ribbon in her hair, then gathered her hair back in a practical updo. A borrowed Smith's apron was placed over her clothes, and she brushed fingers over the collection of unshaped steel.

There was a change in demeanor. The haughty samurai was replaced by a singularly focused artisan.
"Show me your prior weapon, if you still have it." There was no concealed insult in there, for the first time. Just cool professionalism.