A Period of Peace
Feb 24, 2009 20:58:35 GMT
Post by Musashi on Feb 24, 2009 20:58:35 GMT
One candle flickered on the small cake on the rough wooden table in the kitchen of the Dojo. Musashi signed and blew it out. Normally, he wasn't one for symbolic gestures or celebrating arbitrary holidays. “Still,” the warrior thought to himself, 'It's important to mark the passage of time. This has really been quite a year.” The saiyan cut himself a small piece and took a bite. The pastry dissolved in his mouth leaving a delicious aftertaste. “How old am I?” Musashi pondered in vague curiosity, “I think in terms of absolute date I should be twenty-eight but with all the dimension hopping, not to mention dying, who knows....”
He found his thoughts drifting back over the past year. “What a year it has been,” Musashi thought, “Never have I seen such a long period of quiet on Eden” Nothing of note had happened on the heroes front. At times Musashi himself did not even miss his the powers that had once been the central part of his daily existence. “I've done pretty well without them”, the saiyan thought, “Things are turning around, at least in this neighborhood.”
The warrior had not been idle. Beyond his grueling physical training Musashi had taken to investing his winnings from the past tournament in local reconstruction projects. Even without his powers, the saiyan had handily driven the gangs out of the blocks surrounding the dojo. With careful amounts of donated money and lots of sweat equity the saiyan and his volunteer teams had cleared the debris left from the Invasion and subsequent large scale battles from the streets. His Dojo had blossomed into a successful business overnight, so much so that he had to limit applicants to prevent himself from being overwhelmed and decreasing the quality of instruction. Even with the added burden, he still extended his lessons to the neighborhood children free of charge. All in all, life was treating the former warrior very, very well.
“I wonder why I still feel so miserable,” He mused, “By any objective standard I'm doing quite well.” The warrior lifted the fork with his slice of birthday cake, remotely amused at his own observance of tradition. It was then that there came a knock on the closed door of the Dojo. “No rest for the weary or wicked,” he thought to himself. Trudging slowly towards the door.
Musashi palmed the lock by the door. The door irised open like a camera shutter. Three people stood in his doorway. Two adults, man and woman side by side. He was dressed in a sharp, expensive looking suit, cut to perfection without a wrinkle or crease. She wore a light summer dress made of what appeared to be soft silk. It moved gently in the breeze, catching the evening light and glimmering slightly. Behind them stood a boy, possibly fourteen who wore a similarly well tailored suit to the older man. The resemblance in the faces made it clear that the boy was the couple's son. “Old money,” Musashi thought, aloud he said, “Welcome, I am Musashi, I run this Dojo. How can I help you?”
He found his thoughts drifting back over the past year. “What a year it has been,” Musashi thought, “Never have I seen such a long period of quiet on Eden” Nothing of note had happened on the heroes front. At times Musashi himself did not even miss his the powers that had once been the central part of his daily existence. “I've done pretty well without them”, the saiyan thought, “Things are turning around, at least in this neighborhood.”
The warrior had not been idle. Beyond his grueling physical training Musashi had taken to investing his winnings from the past tournament in local reconstruction projects. Even without his powers, the saiyan had handily driven the gangs out of the blocks surrounding the dojo. With careful amounts of donated money and lots of sweat equity the saiyan and his volunteer teams had cleared the debris left from the Invasion and subsequent large scale battles from the streets. His Dojo had blossomed into a successful business overnight, so much so that he had to limit applicants to prevent himself from being overwhelmed and decreasing the quality of instruction. Even with the added burden, he still extended his lessons to the neighborhood children free of charge. All in all, life was treating the former warrior very, very well.
“I wonder why I still feel so miserable,” He mused, “By any objective standard I'm doing quite well.” The warrior lifted the fork with his slice of birthday cake, remotely amused at his own observance of tradition. It was then that there came a knock on the closed door of the Dojo. “No rest for the weary or wicked,” he thought to himself. Trudging slowly towards the door.
Musashi palmed the lock by the door. The door irised open like a camera shutter. Three people stood in his doorway. Two adults, man and woman side by side. He was dressed in a sharp, expensive looking suit, cut to perfection without a wrinkle or crease. She wore a light summer dress made of what appeared to be soft silk. It moved gently in the breeze, catching the evening light and glimmering slightly. Behind them stood a boy, possibly fourteen who wore a similarly well tailored suit to the older man. The resemblance in the faces made it clear that the boy was the couple's son. “Old money,” Musashi thought, aloud he said, “Welcome, I am Musashi, I run this Dojo. How can I help you?”