legionworld | [Open] The end of one story is simply the start of another

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[Open] The end of one story is simply the start of another

Who| Sariatu and anyone who wants to say hi!
What| Finding her way around, meeting some people, all that new person jazz
Where| Legion World, various common places - the mess hall, near the crew quarters, and on the observation deck
When| ...Now? Obviously after Kubo's whole autobiographical storytime dealio.
Warnings/Notes| This is a moon lady who turns into a monkey. Also spoilers for Kubo and the Two Strings I guess, if Kubo himself somehow didn't spoil you.

Sariatu is not sure about this whole "super hero" thing.

That's not to say she doesn't approve, at least theoretically, of what they're doing here. It's a noble quest, and an important one if what the Legion says is true, about all worlds being in danger. Still, these... code names and tight costumes and all that? Silliness that she's not intending to partake in.

She can simply be Monkey, apparently, if she has to fight. She can just use her name. All the rest of it-- well, Hanzo probably would've enjoyed it. Kubo, too. She, however, couldn't give a damn. So for now, she is wearing her own robes, when human, and has promised she'll attempt to work with the costume makers over the next few days.

In the meantime, she has a lot to get used to: technology, reminding herself how to fly (and with this entirely new way of doing so, thanks, ring), find her way around. Today, she's spending time in some of the more heavily-trafficked areas. Anyone near the crew quarters might run into an unnaturally large macaque, walking slowly through the area, looking critically and rather intelligently at its surroundings.

In the mess, one might notice the tall, regal-looking woman in the red and gold robes, frowning at the chef who's handing her a bowl of rice with vegetables and some sort of tofu. "I don't understand how a civilized society can not have fish," she mutters, none too quietly, as she glides away, her expression shifting to "slightly uncertain" as she surveys the large room and the many filled tables.

The same woman can be found, a bit later, on the observation deck, staring out at the shattered moon and the planet below. Her expression is relatively peaceful, and strangely smug and satisfied as she looks at the moon. She's feeling almost friendly, and will smile in acknowledgement at anyone she notices come near her.

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It was just impossible for Kubo to imagine a world where his mother didn't love something. He'd learned so much about her warrior's side on his adventure, but that had been a few vivid days set against 12 years of sweet, gentle memories.

Her answer, though, relieved him. It lifted a weight from him in a way that even Wash and Dave had not been able to do, and Wash and Dave had nearly talked that weight entirely off his shoulders.

'I killed my aunt.' 'Good.' sounded so like his mother, in a way he hadn't been letting himself have the comfort of thinking.

His eye welled up again. He exhaled hugely.

"I'm just . . . so happy," he said, his words an enormous contrast to how he kept pausing to heave breaths that were nearly sobs. He wiped his eye once more, and put his hand back on his mother's arm. She was here, and he could touch her, he could hear her, and even if she faded and left her body again, as she'd done all the time he'd known her in her human form, he could take care of her until she came back.

And she would come back. She'd come back from the dead for him once, then again at Obon, but to have hoped for a third time outside of the visitations from the realm of spirits had seemed too much.

"I'm just so happy to see you - hear your voice again - it was so long, waiting after Obon, and I didn't know if they had Obon here -"

There were too many feelings, too many joys and sorrows getting in the way of his words. Too many things he wanted to say, too many things he didn't know if he'd be saying to her again, or for the first time. Now was the time for practical questions.

"Mother - what's the last thing you remember? Do you remember coming to see me with Father, at the last Obon festival?" His eye lit up a little, remembering it. "How is the spirit world? Were you and Father happy there? Is he coming here too?"

His eye welled up all over again, speaking of his father. Please, please - if he could have one of his only two wishes, why not hope for both?

What are these time shenanigans. Ugh. She feels bad having to tell him she doesn't remember the spirit world, though if he saw her and Hanzo at Obon, she can't imagine they weren't happy there.

She holds out a hand to silence him, then says (with a hint of a smile, because she's joking), "Stop. You get three."

She squeezes him a little tighter, then sighs. "The last thing I remember was seeing my sister standing over me with a sword, swinging it to cut me down. While I"m sure Hanzo and I will be happy in the spirit world, I don't know if he'll be coming. I don't even know how I got here, aside from what they told me when I arrived."

She smiles a little. "But if the two of us have reunited, I see no reason why we can't hope for Hanzo to come as well. As long as we remember it is unlikely and don't count on it."

"Oh no," Kubo protested, humor creeping in through his tears. "If I only get three questions, then you only get three, and I've been here longer. I know my way around."

He gave her a sassy little smirk that dissolved into a sincere, adoring grin almost instantly. On the surface, "maybe we'll see Hanzo but don't count on it" might not have seemed very hopeful, but it was a whole lot better than "he died and we'll never see him again," and Kubo had heard that for 11 long years.

But the grin faded too as she told him that the last thing she knew from before this moment was watching Hanzo die, again, and then being killed by her sister.

Kubo put his hand on her face again, serious, too grown up for his age.

"Mother - I'm so sorry," he said. "I wish I'd been paying better attention. If I'd seen her coming, if I'd warned Father - you could have had better last moments -"

Judging by the crack in his voice, this had weighed on him. For two years.

She takes his hands in hers, shifting them so (finally) he's not practically sitting in her lap, and looks into his eyes intently. "No. Kubo, that was not your fault. I could have been more aware. He could've made sure that she was dead." She cannot let her little boy feel like it's his fault. She can't. "You are still a child now, and you were then. It should not have ever been your responsibility to look out for us. Certainly not then."

It has been, she knows. It was for most of his life, his responsibility to look after her. But she's been here hours and has felt as much herself as she had when she'd become Monkey, and spirits willing she will not have to put that responsibility on him ever again.

"What we had in that moment," she says, even as tears well in her eyes unbidden, "was more than we ever expected to have. It was not what I wanted, but... we had him, Kubo. If only for a moment, our family was truly together again, and I never thought to even dream of that happening while we were alive."

She'll grieve. She won't put the responsibility of carrying that grief on Kubo. She doesn't need him to carry that for her.

"I still wish I had."

Kubo shifted his eye away from hers, but held her hands tightly. He knew that she hadn't wanted the life they'd had for him. That she never wanted to leave him responsible for her care in their quiet home, but people sometimes did not get what they wanted in life.

"You were so strong and brave and - and you fought so hard, and you shouldn't have . . . I wish you hadn't had to die that way."

He hadn't even seen it. He'd grabbed his shamisen, looked up, and she'd been a wooden charm in pieces. Not even a being anymore.

"And I wish I could have lived with Father."

His father had wanted that, too. He'd wondered what his father would have been like, in all ways, but including the most mundane - how Hanzo would have taught him things, what their conversations about unimportant things would have been, if his father just would have liked the sort of person Kubo was. He'd gotten such a resounding yes to that answer, that it only left him with a wish for more answers.

Okay, that's it. You're getting a hug again, Kubo, your mother's arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders.

"I know. I wish those things, too, so much." She pulls back again. "Wishing does not make them so. We should never forget the past, but we can't live there. We are here, and it's a whole new quest for both of us."

Right. That's enough of the heavy stuff for now, in Sariatu's opinion. She stands, pulling Kubo to his feet with her, and moves towards the abandoned shamisen. "Now, I'd like to hear more of that song you were playing. I didn't recognize it."

Kubo hugged her back. He buried his face a little deeper in her neck, holding onto her like he could keep her very soul safe in his arms if he just held her close enough.

A choked-up laugh burst out of him as his mother steered them forcefully towards things that were happy. "Okay," he said, wiping his eye, "but that's your first question."

As he walked with her hand in hand to pick up the shamisen, it occurred to him that he needed to show her around, introduce her to everyone, play her all the songs he'd come up with since she'd died, so many things - he settled on two of HIS three questions. "Are you hungry? Or tired?"

He'd been given quarters with a spare room, which seemed outright opulent to the poor boy. Mother might like to have her own room for a change, though. He glowed, thinking of how comfortable the living arrangements were, how proud he'd be to take his mother to a home that was a step up from their cave.

"They gave me rooms," he said, emphasizing the plural. "They said I could put whatever I wanted into it! I asked for a kotatsu and they just gave me one!"

He slipped the shamisen's strap over his back again. "-and this isn't my song," he went on, playing through the tune again. "There's SO much music here, from centuries and CENTURIES back."

So many wonders, and he couldn't wait to share them all with her.

"I have more stories, too," he added, eager to heap good things on her.

Sariatu laughs, and leans over to nuzzle Kubo's cheek with her nose. "I am neither, thank you. I want to hear you play. All the new songs you've learned, and all the new stories you have."

She kisses the top of his head and settles gracefully next to the spot he'd been sitting when she first saw him. "However, for now, I will settle for one."

Taking her thoughts away from Hanzo, from her father and sisters, from the quest they'd been on, just focusing on her son who she loves more than anything in the universe, it's so easy to be happy.

After the centuries she spent colder than the coldest star, she still can't quite believe she's lucky enough to feel the warmth of such love and joy.

He could have shed more happy tears. He could have told her a million stories. One was a good place to start.

He told her the story a passing traveler had told him a year ago, about the goldfish that swam from the mouth of a mighty river to its very source and became a dragon. His excessively detailed origami danced across the background of stars as his paper unfolded the tale. The moment when the humble little goldfish suddenly blossomed into a great, long dragon, the many golden papers folded up small inside the tiny fish unrolling into a mighty creature, was breathtaking and delightful, a true demonstration of how very far his skills had come in the years since she'd last heard one of his stories.

Kubo was so happy to tell her one, particularly one so pleasant and peaceful and uplifting. The children of his village loved the goldfish who became a dragon, and so he'd gotten to hone the tale over countless retellings. He was happy to tell her a story, knowing that from her perspective, she had only a little while before been despairing and afraid at the end of her life, with no way to know he'd live and be safe.

The dragon tale was a good one. A "look how far I've come" story, a "things became happy and beautiful again" story.

All the while through he glanced at her, waiting for the moment when her spirit would fade and he'd have to guide her wordlessly back to the safety of his quarters.

As her eyes stayed bright and her face attentive, his wonder only grew. At the close of the story, he'd settled on his third question.

"Mother . . . I never did ask you."

He'd started. Then father had interrupted, and Beetle's question had distracted him from it.

"Why didn't you tell me you were you? When you were Monkey?"

The question had puzzled him for years. He knew there had to be a reason. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

Edited 2016-12-03 10:01 (UTC)

She is delighted. By the story, by Kubo telling it, by the amazing feats that he's able to accomplish with his paper. He's come a long way, and she couldn't be prouder if he was the greatest samurai since Hanzo.

That third question, though. That's a doozy, and one even Beetle had asked, though not until Kubo had been asleep. She sighs a little, and looks out the window. The view of the broken moon is enough to lift her spirits, just a bit.

"The magic that kept me there, as Monkey... it wasn't permanent. It was fading already by that night, and before too much longer, I would have been gone again, even if my sister hadn't killed me." She presses her lips together, and looks back to Kubo, hoping he'll understand. "I thought... if I didn't tell you, Monkey could prepare you for being alone, without you having to lose your mother again."

She makes a wry little face, and adds, under her breath, "That plan sure worked well."

(She hopes that will make Kubo laugh a little.)

There's no question that this was where Kubo's talent lay, not in mastery of the sword or bow, though he may become great at those in time. He'd been glad to realize that lately, to put on the mantle of bard and think about more ways that he could use his skills to support the Legion and vanquish evil, instead of wishing that his mother and father had been able to teach him their more traditional forms of heroing.

He didn't manage to laugh at her explanation, though he didn't look sadder, either. He processed the information carefully, looking down at his shamisen. He'd wondered, occasionally, if there could have been a story where Mother and Father had survived the adventure and, even in their cursed states, stayed with him. Now he knew that story was never possible, no matter what he might have done differently, and it was neither comforting nor sad, simply a story that never could exist.

"I was glad I got to see you again no matter what the circumstances were," he said, accepting her explanation. She'd done what she thought was best in a hard story. Maybe it was even the right thing to do. He couldn't fault her. "But I'm also glad I got to know your whole soul better, Mother." He smiled at her, wide, with all the love and admiration he could feel. "I knew you were brave and strong already, but I was happy I got to be part of that story with you, and . . . and know you better by the end."

He reached for her hand again. All the times he'd thought fondly of his mother for her patience and gentle kindness in their cave home, and for her ferocity and determination on their adventure, and he'd never been able to tell her just how greatly he admired all of these things in her. It was too wonderful just to be able to say these things, and know she wasn't going to disappear soon after he said it.

She smiles, fond and proud and happy. Everything else aside, she truly is happy - Kubo survived, and he's here and she can watch him grow up a bit more.

"I'm glad you got to know me, too," she admits. Despite her belief she'd been doing the right thing, keeping her identity secret, in retrospect she's glad it didn't work out. Knowing Kubo would have more memories of her than her deteriorating state was a comfort before, and it's a comfort to know he had those memories for the two years between then and now. For him.

This time shenaniganry is really going to do a number on her if she thinks about it too much.

"Now," she says, "I do believe I have three questions that I can get answered, and a new place to acquaint myself with, we should get started." Totally three. She didn't at ALL already use one to have him tell her a story, what are you talking about?

Well that hardly counted as a question. As if Kubo wouldn't have done it anyway.

"Let me show you around," he said, eagerly, standing up with his hand still on hers. He tugged her gently away from the windowsill, slinging the shamisen on his back, eagerness shining in his eye. "And introduce you to everyone! Wash will be happy to meet you - that's the man who's teaching me hand-to-hand, he wears a suit of machine armor and he's very kind. If you're feeling well tomorrow, you can come to training tomorrow and watch me!"

It occurred to him, then, that she had been awake for a very long time, long for her, and maybe she was already tired.

"You don't feel tired at all yet?" he asked, looking concerned as he lead her out of the observation deck. "You've already been awake a long time."

He hadn't yet assumed she was healed. He'd already gotten the miracle of having her back from the dead, he wasn't looking for another.

"Of course I'll come," she says, and then--

Oh. Oh her sweet child. The best of sons, the most kind and compassionate and caring. She is very glad to get to tell him this.

"I've been awake for quite a while, yes," she says, smiling as he leads her. "But no, I'm not tired. I don't think I'll be getting tired like that anymore."

Her smile turns a little mischievous as she thinks of something and adds, "And if I do, I can just escape it by doing this."

And with that she turns smoothly into monkey without breaking her stride. Hi, Kubo, your mom's even more magic than normal, now.

Kubo's smile had begun to light up his face as his mother told him she wouldn't be going anywhere, a miracle on top of miracles - but it lit up his face fully as she transformed, and he almost automatically reached out to put his hand on her furry neck.

"Oh, this is your power here! That's a good one!"

He hadn't expected her to keep her full range of magic, but Monkey was a good form for her to have access to - strong and fast, with good senses and a coat for keeping warm, and big scary teeth, good for intimidating enemies on the battlefield. And she still had her hands, for swordfighting, which reminded Kubo -

He reached around to his belt, where the Sword Unbreakable hung, unimportant until now compared to all of the things they had to share with each other.

"I think you should have this more than I should," he said, taking the sword off his belt and, with about as much formality as he'd ever learned, presenting it to his mother. The handle was covered by a little scrap of cloth, the scabbard plain battered leather. "You might recognize the sword once it's drawn," he said, with a grin.

She smiles slowly, realizing what it must be before she even takes it, but does indeed draw it, careful not to cut Kubo or anything.

"The Sword Unbreakable," she says with... well, it's not reverence, exactly, but there's a weight to it. The weight of memory, perhaps. She does a couple of fancier movements, then sheathes it, looking satisfied.

"I'm glad you were wise enough to keep this with you," she says. "I'm also glad to have it back in my hand." She unfolds herself out of Monkey's form again, using the ties to attach it to her own belt, under her outer robes. Not the best option, but it will do for now. Especially since she'd rather be a human right now, with Kubo.

She reaches out to take his hand. "Thank you for letting me use it. Though there's a young man here I may let practice with it. He said he would need a sword that wouldn't break before he got sent out, and while he can't have mine, it wouldn't do for him to fall too far out of practice. He was a kind young man." She pauses a moment, pursing her lips. "Odd, but kind."

"What was his name?" Kubo asked without jealousy. He probably knew the young person, and he was glad to hear that people had already been kind to his mother.

"I'm glad you're here to take it," he countered, wrapping his hand around hers, eager still to take it. He pressed his lips together. "Ultimately, it didn't really do very much good in my hands."

His shamisen had served him better. His love for her had served him better.

But that didn't mean that he could go on with the rudimentary swordsmanship he had when he was in a situation that called for every skill he could possibly strive for.

"Mother . . . I know I wasn't always as attentive during our sword training lessons when I was a child, but would you give me a second chance to be your student?"

It wasn't as though he actually expected her to say no. But after two years to think about what he could have learned from her, if they'd both had time, if he'd been as interested in the sword as he was in the shamisen . . . after his breakdown the last time he practiced the little he knew, he only wanted her to know how much he had come to value what she'd already been able to teach him.

"I think it was... Dave? All these strange names, it's hard to remember them all, honestly." She purses her lips. "I'm almost certain it was Dave."

And then Kubo's going on about sword training and Sariatu is so proud that he wants to actually take his training more seriously. She resists the urge to cuddle him for it this time, though, schooling her face serious (but not too serious).

"If you promise to be on time to your lessons and practice on your own as often as I tell you, I would be honored to have you as my student again."

"Dave is my friend! He's a really good friend. He helped me with these machines - Mother, they can make a recording here of something that's happening, and show it over and over again. So I can tell a story once and it's told forever, but since I don't know how that works, Dave helped me - "

His excitement faded a little, too many topics tumbling over themselves in his head, all trying to get out at once.

"Is he going to train with us?" he settled on. He'd get to the other important things later. Excitement at the prospect of training with his friend and his mother bubbled up in him, almost too much to contain.

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[Open] The end of one story is simply the start of another

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