Chikanosuke

The constant, low roar of the falls was the first thing Chikanosuke noticed every morning. It was the sound of home. They sat on the wide stone steps connecting the lower fishing huts to the main plaza, idly polishing the hilt of their katana while their Meow Cap was pulled low. Their sibling, Parin, found them there, holding a freshly steamed bun. "Still trying to look intimidating?" Parin teased, gesturing with the bun towards the cap. "It clashes with the scar." Chikanosuke just grinned, a charming, lopsided expression. "The cap is for misdirection. They never expect the blade." Parin rolled their eyes, but the fondness was obvious. They split the bun, watching the boats drift below as the city hummed around them. The sword was for later. This was for now.