A Meeting That Didn't Happen

Gathering / Conference

In a different place, clearly divided from the events of Tsuwamono, there is a table. It's unclear how many people are sitting at this table, cast in the shadow of the waving cherry blossoms above. Their figures are hazy, as if seen through a thick fog. Sometimes they reach out and grasp a cup of sake, filled from the great dish in the center, and raise to their lips. The pale liquid shimmers in phantom sunlight. Many drink, more of the liquor vanishes, but there always seems to be more to go around. Even watching the figures so partake, their features cannot be discerned. Each face is a confusion of colors and half-glimpsed familiarity. All, that is, except one.

Katamoto sits at the table with a brimming sun-red cup clasped in his gloved hand. He's enjoying the afternoon with some drinking buddies. All eyes are fixed on the bowl in the middle, through the rippling surface of which a battle can be seen. Whoever is fighting is a long way away, and has little to do with the people gathered here. Still, it's an enjoyable enough thing to watch while eternity ticks by.   "I don't believe I've ever seen Sanosuke lose," the masked man ponders. "With his strength, is it even possible?"   Another figure at the table laughs. The raucous, booming sound seems to bring him into focus. When General Baby Huey is fully glimpsed sitting at the table, his shoulders towering over the guests, it's a wonder how he could have been missed in the first place. He raises a large bucket in one hand, gripped like a sake cup, and toasts the air.   "More tea!" Then, "Sanosuke strong. But no one unbeatable. Right, Gamō?"   Before Huey's companion can answer him, however, another voice speaks up. This one is old, weighted with the experiences of many years, and sounds tired but not uninterested.   "Strength of the body is fleeting. If he has the mental fortitude to weather the storm, perhaps he has a chance," comes a series of tinny words, warped by the golden mask seated on the newcomer's face.   Baby Huey looks to his right, where the stranger now shares his table.   "You... Never met," the esteemed General grumbles. "Strong? Fight?"   The other doesn't seem to take the invitation well.   "I no longer seek violence. It has won me nothing in the past. Break me if you wish. I will not stop you."   Indeed, the Man in the Golden Mask makes no attempt to defend himself, or even look in Baby Huey's direction. He remains seated, staring straight ahead to the scene reflected in sake before him. His hand raises, bringing a cup to his mouth. After the ceramic clacks against his mask, he lowers it again, almost sadly.   "Hrmm..." The general looks down and considers himself, as if seeing the rippling muscles under red skin for the first time. "My death. Won me. Strength," he ponders haltingly. "Must thank. Master."   This last is met by a laugh. Or, perhaps, more of a squawk. The sharp noise could have not come from any human throat; it has more in common with a shrieking parrot than a human chuckle. Ba'al Berith is there, staring across the table from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His eyes meet Baby Huey's and hold them.   "Kaka!" Another laugh. "Showing thanks to your betters is fine for a while, but what will you do when you can rise no higher, my fellow red friend?"   "Hrm?" General Baby Huey studies the fiery eyes now locked with his. Not in their burning depths, nor in the crimson plumage surrounding them, does he find anything familiar. "We fought. In past?" he ventures. Then, after a pause, "If cannot rise higher. Then wait. For stronger."   The shimmering bowl before them shines brighter in the light of a new flame. Ba'al Berith has taken his cup of sake and lit the top on fire with a touch of his talon. A wavering fire now graces its surface as he takes a sip.   "Many of us would not live long enough to wait." Katamoto, who had been silently watching the exchange, now makes his rasping voice heard once again. "And even then, many would just be waiting to die at that point."   As before, the Man in the Golden Mask seems to recoil, as though from some slight only he perceives. He coughs. "I envy those with the will to simply die."   Everyone has to restrain themselves from flinching when Baby Huey's fist impacts the table. The dishware leaps and clatters. Only the great sake bowl in its center remains still, only rippling slightly as it continues to display Sanosuke's fated battle.   "If no fight. THEN!" the General roars. "Eat. Drink. Oni live as such." His point made, the great red oni chugs the rest of his tea bucket with every sign of satisfaction.   After a moment of stunned silence, Ba'al Berith looks at the General curiously. "Have you met Ardenter and his lot?" he asks. That was the name of a great demon of Gluttony, not that Baby Huey would know such a thing. "I think you would get along famously."   "He Oni? Can be Strongest Oni?" The emphasis put on those last two words can be clearly heard in the General's tone.   "An oni?" Berith scratches a single wicked talon against his beak. The sound is not unlike a sword being sharpened. "Something like that. Call him a distant relative. But strong?" This time he squawks in laughter, but his eyes remain cold. "Not at all," Berith ends bluntly.   Fishing around in his enormous lord's coat, Baby Huey produces a folded piece of parchment. His size means that he doesn't even have to lean forward as he hands it across the table to the fiery bird.   "Tea Bucket Men," he intones seriously, "Recruiting."   "Hm?" Berith studies the folded square, but does not take it.   "Weak," Baby Huey explains in his halting manner. "We make stronger. Strong. We want stronger."   "Hoho!" This laugh was the most human of all those sounds parroted by Berith so far. "I'm honored, my red-skinned fellow. But I'm afraid I can't deliver this." The bird passes a talon through the finery draped across his own breast. He meets no resistance. "I'm dead, you see. My soul? Obliterated."   The General stares across at his drinking companion. Indeed, Berith is the only one he can see now. Somehow, at some point, the other two masked men seem to have faded into obscurity. His eyes swim.   "Tea... Drink much..."   But tea doesn't make you drunk. What could this mean? Thoughts sluggishly ooze around the General's head for a moment, then disperse as a massive armored hand rests itself on his shoulder. Craning his neck backward, Baby Huey is met with not a face, but a helmet. A featureless, black mess of twisted metal that's all too horribly familiar.   "Wake up, Baby Huey." The voice is grinding, like a coffin lid sliding back into place. "Wake up."   Baby Huey wakes up.