Biographies: Morrigan/Wolfe/Ryoichi/Ratchet

[alance]

Yamada Ryoichi - Callsign "U.C.S.Ronin"
Unaffiliated ex-Blood Dragon
(This is actually not his short biography. This text will be moved to a story thread and the biography will take its place.)

Short Biography
Ryoichi's lips move slightly as he reads over the comm he's about to send.

"... Isn't over 300 years of this war enough? At what point does it become a matter of pride, tradition, even habit rather than a necessity? I will no longer wage war for a diminished idea, a reflex which is no longer in touch with the Kusari of today. It's not that I'm opposed to taking lives in war, or even war for advantage. I simply refuse to do so for an ideology that is long past any meaning.

Ronin is mine; the Yamada family's wealth and influence bought this ship and we've served the Blood Dragons well for decades. Now we two, Ronin and I, take our leave of this war with a promise to do no harm to those we've fought beside for so long. While I might turn my back on the restoration of the Hideyoshi dynasty, I cannot turn my guns on my brothers in arms.

Farewell warriors; may our paths cross again in better times.

-Yamada Ryoichi

He nods once, lips in a tight line but the furrow in his brow eases as he taps send and the message flashes to his friends, his commander, pretty much everyone he respects and cares for. He hopes they respect his decision or at least in time forgive his denial, his refusal.

"Now what?", Ryoichi asked aloud of himself with a sigh, absently tapping his stylus on the comm screen.

<next post>

He sat back and took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes for a time, thoughts dancing between the future and his past; Hana's face floated there, smiling. He could still see every detail of her face and the fire in her eyes at times. She hadn't been cut out for that life and she knew it, but they wouldn't let her out. He'd never forgive the GC for her death. He'd considered going after them, taking out as many of those rabid kitsunetsuki as possible, but some were like her and he had not the heart.

His eyes flicked open as he nearly dropped his drink and set it down on the console. "Mercenary work..." he mused. As usual that thought was accompanied by a sense of dread that he'd end up working against his old crew or even for their side again. He didn't want that sort of contact, not for a while anyway. Leaving the Kusari region was an option, but being at the mercy of a foreign faction for pay and employ was too frought with question marks to be a savory choice.

<next post>

Ryoichi leafed through a short stack of records he'd printed, his financial statement rested on top. He picked it up and shuffled through its pages again; he wasn't poor by any means, but maintaining a gunboat wasn't cheap. The last page was blank but for a portion of the bank's standard disclaimer so he pulled that sheet and after a time absently began to fold it.

Origami wasn't really his thing. Hana had been a master, so patient and precise, trying repeatedly until each figure was perfect. He could barely shape the standard crane, a flower or two, several styles of moderately complex paper spacecraft. He'd always wanted to be a pilot, folded ships and built models galore as a child. It still exhilerated him to walk about his Ronin, admiring its lines, running a hand along the cold alloy frame. He refocused on the paper in his hands and a slight smirk crept to the corner of his mouth. Inadvertent as it was, the final result wasn't bad and was certainly recognizable.

He plopped the folder paper over the top of Ronin's throttle stick and hopped to his feet, new purpose in his stride as he headed dockside to provision up. The little pirate hat spun on the throttle stick as the motion of his rapid passing stirred the air on the bridge.

<next post>

"Augh!" he yelled as he re-entered Ronin's bridge area, slamming the bulkhead hatch in frustration. "Freeport dockmasters are some serious bastards at times" he said to himself with a scowl at the chits in his hand as he plopped down on his command couch. He tossed the chits into a drawer, unwilling to enter the absurd charges into his comp system yet.

His eyes fell upon the tiny pirate hat hanging from the throttle stick and he picked it up, holding it gingerly between his two index fingers. He blinked and tossed the folder paper into his recyc bin, leaned back and pursed his lips in thought. Some would call him "pirate", others would name him "Ronin", and that fit his frame of mind well. Ronin: the epitome of self-determination; independent men who dictate their own path in life, answering only to themselves and making decisions as they see fit. Yeah, that'll do.

---

&quot;To gain a hundred victories in a hundred battles is not the highest excellence;
to subjugate the enemy's army without doing battle is the highest of excellence.&quot;