After letting the chilling rain numb his wounds and wash away some of the overbearing smell of sweat and blood, Hiruma manages to pull himself back up and regain his blade. Using the sheathed weapon as a makeshift cane, he hobbled away from the Bashin’ Yard and toward…dare he say it, the Sissy House.
While his mother was always a better choice for handling his injuries, being intimately familiar with the electrical damage and burns that come with Kokurai combat, he hated for her to see him like this. Not out of any sense of pride or bravado, oh no. He just hated seeing the pain in her eyes when he comes in, beaten senseless and covered in his own blood. The last time he and his father sparred, she nearly burst into tears seeing how much damage his father’s ‘shock therapy’ had caused. The smell of burning skin probably wasn’t helping matters much either.
It probably reminds her of…him.
Gritting his teeth beneath his mask, and setting his face in a grimace of pain, he finally reaches the building. Pushing the front door open, he takes a quick survey of his surroundings. People try to avoid this place – get in, get fixed, get out is the best philosophy. Applying the salve and wrapping his arms tightly in gauze, he thinks back to the younger-looking boy in the Bashin’ Yard. The kid really seemed to have spaced out at the worst possible time. Past lessons from his family echo inside his head as he wonders if he should’ve helped the poor guy.
‘Silence is Golden, Until Your Tongue is Silver. Do not interfere with any situation where you aren’t already at risk. I don’t want to lose you too, Hiruma.’
Tying up the final piece of bandage, he eases himself off the flimsy furniture and makes a quick exit. Maybe tomorrow he’d see that guy again, if he could still manage to come around. Who knows? Maybe a friend would go a long way.
…Am I even permitted to have friends?
Does it really matter?
