Thread: The Way of the Samurai

It had been a few years since the split Mugen suspected, though he really never kept count. To be honest, he didnt even know what year it was, much less how many had passed since his mission had ended. Life for Mugen hadnt really changed at all he was still as crude and insane as ever. Nothing was ever important enough to grant his attention unless it was booze, a brothel, or a fight. Naturally he preferred things this way, of course. No dumb little bitch bossing him around about some sunflower guy, nor a mute ronin acting righteous all of the time. Fuck, it was great to be a loner again. Besides, what the hell was a sunflower anyway? Mugen never did figure it out completely. Ah well. It seemed Fuu got her answer so he didnt question it ever again it was no longer his business. He didnt really care. Earlier that morning, Mugen had managed to snag a few mon from a gamble. He had previously been hired for a hit, but he just wasnt feeling it at the time. Nah, gambling seemed much more entertaining and worth his while. I mean, his target was an old guy of about seventy no way that could be any fun. It was almost insulting that they would even hire him, so skilled and talented, for something so meager and pathetic. He lost. Thievery ensued. Some intense running later, he found himself a quaint little tea house, far enough from his opponents that they shouldnt find him here. His feet were tired and he was absolutely famished. He loudly smacked his stomach, and then rubbed it for good measure in an attempt to ease the grumbling that was emitting from it. While waiting to place his order, he used his dirty finger nail on his pinky finger to pry out some remnants of food matter from his left incisor. Gimme whatever this can buy, he mumbled irritably, slapping his money down on the counter in front of him. He already knew it wouldn't get him much. The counter tender nodded, and handed him a stick of four multi-colored dumplings. Mugen looked greatly disappointed just one stick. Damn, he was just so hungry. He found himself a large open table, and sprawled out on it, munching eagerly on his dango. Mugen could only afford one, so prior to sitting down to feast he blatantly stole another from some poor, random victim. The old man took one swift look at him, and left without protest. Mugen didnt even have to try to scare people his face was naturally designed for it. He should have been ashamed, stealing from the elderly. But of course he wasnt. Mugen didnt figure hed live long enough to bother having such weak and obsolete feelings of guilt or integrity. And why should he? No one ever gave them to him. That didnt bother him either. In fact, he liked that no one cared for him made things so much easier. To have commitment to something, well, it was downright overrated. Not that it really mattered he wouldnt love anyone. Even if someone desperately loved him he would refuse to return it. It was the principle of the matter, and the only way he knew how to live. It was an interesting viewpoint, and horribly ironic when one brought up his previous relationships with Jin and Fuu. He traveled with them, tolerated them, seemed to like them enough. Whatever possessed him to do it in the first place was beyond him. He just wanted some adventure, he was sure it wasnt for any reason like he actually cared for these people. Thinking about it made him nauseous. Ah well. It was all in the past now. It wasnt often he thought of them anyway. So why was he suddenly doing just that? Meh, he grumbled once more, staring up at the ceiling as he stuffed the remainder of his food into his mouth in one bite. Bits of it began falling out as he chewed without any sign of manners nearby, his mouth completely agape like a starving dog.