(He's used to being talked about. From the moment he first became alive and gained awareness, he was aware of his beauty because it had always been a topic of discussion; one of the most beautiful swords in Japan, beautiful enough to rival Mikazuki Munechika, a perfect example of craftsmanship, a highly desirable treasure.
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for." "— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?" "— The only thing he brings is grief and misery. "— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name." "— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
Wildcard
Also down to have Tsuru fight with some flowers or overhear gossip about your characters instead!
open: poison garden
So at first, he pays no attention to the flowers that whisper and gossip as he makes his way through. Even if it's bad attention, it's still attention, he rationalizes, and attention from insignificant things mean nothing to him.)
"— What a beautiful sword but being beautiful is all he's good for."
"— Yes, that's right. How many masters has he failed?"
"— The only thing he brings is grief and misery.
"— Isn't he supposed to be like a crane? He can't even live up to his name."
"— Perhaps that's why he—"
(The narcissus never has a chance to finish as Tsurumaru buries it under his heel, grinding it into the dirt until there's nothing but a yellow paste in the dirt. To those who know him, the way he looks down at the ground in uncharacteristically dark and unimpressed. His gold eyes seem dark and there's a sharp air around him, like if anyone got close to him, they might get hurt.
The flowers go quiet and pull back for just a moment. They whisper to themselves, their voices too low to really make out what they're saying anymore.
When Tsurumaru notices that he isn't alone, he looks over. For just a brief second, he looks different— older, more tired, and more miserable— but in an instant, he smiles perfectly, his eyes bright and friendly. It's like a different Tsurumaru and he waves,)
Haha! I've heard flowers have a language but I've never heard a flower really speak! I'm surprised...
Wildcard