07-10-2020, 03:10 AM
07-14-2020, 10:30 PM
It’s not an abnormal sight these days to see a man walk into a Wegman’s wearing a mask. A wrestling mask, along with full ring attire, was a different matter entirely. Subarashi noted the disturbed stares of the shoppers he walked past. They could judge him for how he looked, but they would never know the good he was trying to do. The thanks he deserved would never be delivered. He picked up a pack of crayons and dropped them into his shopping cart with a sigh.
Surely it would be a lot easier to just announce to the world, HERE I AM, Subarashi, Demon Slayer for hire and let them all know what his mission was. But this was not the way of the Slayer. We are the Unseen Good. He said this in his head, repeating words his master had taught him so long ago. He rounded a corner into the refrigerated foods section and stared longingly at the cheeses. Looking at the proudly displayed ricotta made him think more about his master, half a world away. Would he be proud of him? His master had been the only one among the Slayers who thought it was a good idea for Subarashi to leave them and come back to America.
“Your mission is your mission, Subarashi-san. I will never impede you. Go, and be well.”
Yet there was still the faint feeling deep down that he’d somehow betrayed him, and the rest of the Slayers. After all they’d done for him, taken him in and opened his eyes to the evils lurking at the fringes, and taught him how to fight.
My mission is my mission.
He repeated that a few times in his head, trying to convince himself.
And he kept repeating it later, as he loaded his grocery bags into the back of a beat-up old Subaru that he’d hot-wired and stolen found. The vehicle was currently doubling as his housing as he sought a more permanent residence, which was proving difficult since arriving back in the States. He peeked up from making sure everything in his trunk was loaded to see that a small child was staring at him. The boy looked awestruck as his father put their own grocery bags into the back of a brown Buick Enclave. Subarashi smiled. The younger generation! This was what he was here for, cleansing the world of demons so that the future would be better for young ones like this boy. He waved to the child.
“Konnichiwa! Hajimemashite! Ore wa Subarashi! Onamae wa nan desu ka?”
The child’s father looked up and made a startled sound, which made the boy promptly start to cry.
“Hey, fuck off buddy!”
The aggrieved parent stepped between Subarashi and his crying offspring. Subarashi put his hands up to signify that he wanted no trouble. He shut his trunk and hurried to get into his vehicle while muttering “Gomen-nasai” the whole time. He started up the Subaru and drove away in a hurry, the man still glaring at him in his rear view.
My mission is my mission. My mission is my mission.
He said it a few more times as he began the long drive toward Washington D.C. for Breakdown.
Surely it would be a lot easier to just announce to the world, HERE I AM, Subarashi, Demon Slayer for hire and let them all know what his mission was. But this was not the way of the Slayer. We are the Unseen Good. He said this in his head, repeating words his master had taught him so long ago. He rounded a corner into the refrigerated foods section and stared longingly at the cheeses. Looking at the proudly displayed ricotta made him think more about his master, half a world away. Would he be proud of him? His master had been the only one among the Slayers who thought it was a good idea for Subarashi to leave them and come back to America.
“Your mission is your mission, Subarashi-san. I will never impede you. Go, and be well.”
Yet there was still the faint feeling deep down that he’d somehow betrayed him, and the rest of the Slayers. After all they’d done for him, taken him in and opened his eyes to the evils lurking at the fringes, and taught him how to fight.
My mission is my mission.
He repeated that a few times in his head, trying to convince himself.
And he kept repeating it later, as he loaded his grocery bags into the back of a beat-up old Subaru that he’d hot-wired and stolen found. The vehicle was currently doubling as his housing as he sought a more permanent residence, which was proving difficult since arriving back in the States. He peeked up from making sure everything in his trunk was loaded to see that a small child was staring at him. The boy looked awestruck as his father put their own grocery bags into the back of a brown Buick Enclave. Subarashi smiled. The younger generation! This was what he was here for, cleansing the world of demons so that the future would be better for young ones like this boy. He waved to the child.
“Konnichiwa! Hajimemashite! Ore wa Subarashi! Onamae wa nan desu ka?”
The child’s father looked up and made a startled sound, which made the boy promptly start to cry.
“Hey, fuck off buddy!”
The aggrieved parent stepped between Subarashi and his crying offspring. Subarashi put his hands up to signify that he wanted no trouble. He shut his trunk and hurried to get into his vehicle while muttering “Gomen-nasai” the whole time. He started up the Subaru and drove away in a hurry, the man still glaring at him in his rear view.
My mission is my mission. My mission is my mission.
He said it a few more times as he began the long drive toward Washington D.C. for Breakdown.