Yasuo
@SakeAndSword
ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ʜᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ @CunningDesire
---𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚...? [ᴷ/ᴰᴬ ᵀ/ᴰ ᴬᵁ/ᴱⱽᴱᴺᵀ]
He blinked surprised before he looked back at his cup then back at Zhu. "I'm not suicidal. I'm just... I guess tired. Like There isn't really a huge point. I go off from one village to the next drinkin' and helpin' the folks then flit to the next place."
His ears flattened against his head a bit, and Zhu would soon lean against the bar. He’d lower his head, trying to get eye contact with the sullen samurai. “Ah’ care.” He answered with a tinge of worry in his voice. “An’ Ah’d listen if ya wanna talk.”
"s'actly." He mutters half into a cup. "Not sure how to make it.... Different. What to do that's different. I wanna keep livin' on but.... What's the point. World's changin'. I'm stayin' the same."
“Hmm…” Zhu leaned back in his chairs, arms crossed. “Yeah, Ah’ can see why that’d make ya tired. It sounds like a whole bunch’f th’ same ol same ol, day after day.”
"Yeah. Probably wouldn't. Pick your fights. Make sure your death, and your life, mean something." There's a small breeze and he inhales. He exhales out, looking at Rumble as if asking him to do the same.
“…” A long, drawn out sigh as the yordle deflates a little. “No, I don’t want to die because of shoes.”
"So, hypothetically. This guy with the best shoes... he kills you because you decide to fight him over shoes. Doesn't sit on you. He kills you. You died because of shoes. That how you wanna go out?"
“Okay first of all, they picked the fight by saying their shoes were so great. I ain’t never seen a longleg with good shoes. Second of all, what, I’m just supposed to shrug and hope that pisses him off?”
He wobbles his hand a little, letting it teeter in the air as he mulls on it. "Yeah, sorta. The real trick is knowing what's worth it really. Some guy talks about his shoes being the best in the country, what do you say?"
“So, I let my opponent get mad at me instead of the opposite. Then, when their guard is down…” He pounds his fist. “I really let em’ have it!”
He leans back, hands folded. "You win a fight by having a strong mental state, remember? How strong does that have to be, do you think to walk away, and how weak must your opponent's be, for it to crack?"
Rumble leaned back as he let that lesson sink in, brow steadily furrowing. “…What are you, stupid? How the hell do you win a fight by not fighting? That’s just giving the other guy the win by default!”
"Less that, more like... there feels like no purpose. Like there's just. Nothin'. Could talk about there bin'' somethin'. But who cares." There is a clear melancholy as he looks at the ceiling pouring another glass.
“Mmmmh, yeah. Ah’ know what ya mean. It’s hard ta find someone out there who really gets ya gets ya, ya know?” He leans back in his seats, which creak and groan beneath his weight.
"It's not fighting at all." He smirked, playing a few more notes on his flute. Lesson number one.
“Is that even a question? Of course I do! What’s the secret? Is it bigger guns? I bet it’s bigger guns. PLEASE tell me it’s bigger guns.” He’s certainly interested at any rate, leaning slightly toward his newfound teacher.
He swirls his cup, half frowning. "Honestly...? Same. Feels like... there's just not a whole lot of purpose left. Not a whole lotta folks to talk to, not many care for a wandering ronin. No one to really grow old with."
“Ta warm an’ fuzzy!” He downs his fourth and lets out a giggle, that curly tail swishing about behind him. “But uh…besides all that? Dunno. Ah’ve jus’ been…Ah’ dunno, tryin’ ta figure out what Ah’ should be doin’ with myself.” He looks solemn for a moment, before smiling.-
"Yeah." He looks forward, back straightening. It'd been a while since he did this sort of thing. His last pupil was more receptive. Too receptive. "Do you want to know how to win every fight?"
“Oh gimme a damn break, lousy friggin…” He’d continue to complain, while moving to sit cross legged like the warrior beside him. “There, happy?”
"To the warm and fuzzy then." He downs his glass and pours himself two more to catch up with Zhu. "So 'sides all that... What else is new."
“Yeah! That’s how Ah’ see it…kinda. Believin’ in somethin’ like that makes me feel all warm an’ fuzzy sometimes…that, or it jus’ gives me gas.” He shrugged, before taking the cup and clinking it against Yasuo’s for a toast.
"Almost all the time. The trick is pouring it all over yourself." He's waiting.
With no one around to see, Rumble sighed and dragged himself over. When he did however, he’d immediately wave a hand in the air. “Anyone ever tell you that you stink like booze?”
He pours slower this time, a hand raised as if to pause him while he pours his own. "Spirits are... funny. So's religion. But there's proof for both. Must take an idiot to NOT believe in somethin' I guess." He picks the cup up offering it. "Might as well pick a peaceful one."
“Hmm…yeah, Ah’ guess it does, don’t it? My people didn’t have much’f that back home, sides prayin’ ta spirits, so it’s all new ta me still.” That one, too, is easily downed by the pig. He hiccups a bit after the fact.
He smiles. Patting the ground for him to take a seat next to him.
And so Rumble was left to think up the answer himself, much to his chagrin. He really wasn’t stupid, in that he knew what it WOULD be, but getting himself to actually say it was another story entirely. “Hrrrrnnmmmnhhh…” The tiny tinkerer stewed in his growing frustrations as-
they always liken swordsmanship to somethin'. A dance. A tide. A storm. It's not poetic. It's awful. Like a recipe for mess.