robotfvckers:

Hanzo tries punishments first. Prolonged seiza. Reciting doctrines. Withdrawn privileges. He suggests beatings when nothing else works, but his father forbids it (and truthfully, Hanzo doesn’t want to hurt his baby brother, he just wants him to sit quietly at a meeting for once, hell, just show up to one.)

The elder Shimada brother has to get creative.

“A good plan,” his father had said, earning Hanzo a rare smile. “One that requires no violence should always be considered first.”

His father’s blessing is all the incentive he needs.

–

The hardest part is waiting. Hanzo knows he only has one shot at this: if he presents a gift less than superb, less than what befits a young master of Shimada, Genji will not take the bait. However, he doesn’t have to wait for long.

The procession of monks appears a few weeks later, walking in a smooth line down one of Hanamura’s oldest streets. Each is well-groomed and shaven, eye catching and alluring all at once. They wear robes of fine embroidery to show their status, their mandate of heaven, Hanzo assumes. He shakes his head as they pass in the distance, one by one in a neat row. These would be servants of more traditional ilk. Hanzo would not mind their leader pour his tea, and he stares hungrily at those long, graceful fingers clasped in front of the monk as he walks.

Mid fantasy, he notices something amiss. Several steps behind his fellows is a final monk, talking to a wizened fishmonger. He looks nothing like his brothers and sisters, though he is shaved and similarly dark-skinned as their leader. His robes are plainer, tattered at the edges, his mala spin in a lazy, capricious circle around his shoulders. When he laughs, Hanzo sees a flash of white teeth, and the monger glows with the attention. He slips her coin as one of his attendants chitters at him, perhaps telling him to step back in line, and the monk bows, smiling as apology before turning to wink at the monger.

A younger brother, distant to his own monastic rule.

Hanzo knows he has found the one.

–

Capturing the one is more difficult than Hanzo could ever imagine.

First, he evades, lower agents of the clan unable to locate him, even after validating their intel.

Then he fights, those pretty baubles masquerade as deadly weapons, and Hanzo’s men learn the hard way, in blood and bruises and broken bones, he is not to be underestimated.

Finally, unfortunately, Hanzo makes the trip, grown weary of watching his men fail. He takes the monk himself, injured and exhausted by the time his entourage places the monk in the back of his limo.

He has the monk cleaned and bound as he sleeps, and Hanzo selects a kimono of the finest silks to match his brother’s lurid green dragon and his rebellious hair. The monk’s eyelashes flutter just as an attendant paints the last of the red beneath his eyes.

The golden eyes that meet Hanzo’s are of fire, molten in their intensity. He will fight, the monk says without words.

Hanzo smiles.

It is exactly what he wants.