"Oof!" whistled Ibuki. "Better luck next time, sapling!"
"Rin?" asked Kyoko, with interest. "That is a Tsainanese name. Another Bisharp, you said? I wonder if she is also a samurai, or else a masterless warrior. Or worse..."
Prim bristled at Ibuki's words. Blasted fool with no respect. She saw herself in Kyoko's weary countenance and had half a mind to ask the golisopod if he'd eaten any good onions lately.
"Yes, Tsainanese too, I think," she said. "She had the accent, and the tattoos... Uh, no offense."
She was surprised to hear mention of wanderswords here—it wasn't a term used in these parts, so perhaps Tsainan was more akin to her home than the Soja, though she certainly didn't regard her king as celestial or phoenix-like.
"I think we may not fully understand each other. Forgive my imperfect Luctemarene tongue, I must have misspoken. I am not trying to collect Kotetsu's bounty, or to take him back west, or to fight him – he is my... What is it you foreigners say? He is my boss."
Ibuki snickered at her from over in the still-bubbling fountain.
"The oaf's boss, also," added Kyoko, groaning. "For my sins."
Just as Kyoko's words sank in for the gathered offworlders, a clunking of metal armour could be heard from down along Main Street. The Samurott looked up and scowled at the approaching Bisharp.
"I heard you finally made it into town!" called Kotetsu. "Good for you! Took you long enough."
Kyoko bowed to the new arrival. It looked like she lost a week off her life to do so.
"I was trying to catch him," muttered Kyoko.
She tore up the wanted poster and unceremoniously discarded it.
She wondered at the dread she felt at the rhythmic clinking of armor—a sound she knew well, by all means—before she registered its source.
In the company of her fellow offworlders and the silly outlanders, Prim had recovered enough dignity to take offense at the golisopod's condescending attitude—but as her vision flashed black-white-red, as that surly voice raked the folds of her brains like ursaring claws, she might as well have metamorphosized into a lowly sunflower seed baking on the cracked dirt.
She turned away as quickly as she could, anchoring her feet in the water again to calm herself. The welt on her forehead seemed to pulsate in time with her heart and her stinging eyes, impossible to ignore. But she knew better than to cow before a predator—the way of the carcass.
She should have known better than to roar before one, too, but that lesson was a nail and no amount of brutish hammering over the years had managed to drive it through Prim's rocky skull. Even in this fresh body she had the scars to prove it.
"Here to lord these guys around too, huh?" she asked as she turned back towards him, pretending like there was no testament to his martial supremacy literally written on her face. "Make you feel like a big tough guy?"