Getting right down to it, she sees. "Yeah, this guy's form is bad." She admits, watching her film's doppleganger, but she cocks her head to one side. "Camerawork's good though. If you don't have an eye for this kinda thing, you wouldn't be able to tell." Still, she pioneered this kind of swordplay; no amount of camerawork is going to fool her.
She glances back towards the other woman, the way she tucks her legs under her on the couch, the distance between where Lucy is sitting and where Musashi's hand rests on the back of the couch, and how her expression focuses on the screen. Lucy is...intriguing. Musashi thinks there's far more to the woman than she's been allowed to see so far. A puzzle. She turns her attention back to the film.
Her counterpart is troubled; he's spent years developing the two sword style as a means to reach enlightenment, but as he enters the autumn years of his life, he feels no closer to Nirvana than when he began. And fighting bandits and honourless ronin is a far cry from the duels against the swordmasters of his youth.
(The movie is also clearly playing fast and loose with history; Musashi wasn't even thirty during the duel that is the subject of the film, whereas the man playing him is at least in his late forties.)
Much exposition, including presumably the plots of the first two films, is narrated by a bumbling, comic-relief manservant character to a student Musashi has taken on, a young, hot-blooded youth named Iori. It's clunky and awkward; presumably this is all information both characters should already know, but the writer has to convey the backstory to people just coming in somehow and clearly knows no other way to do it. The stoic, humourless movie Musashi clearly isn't one for excessive dialogue.
On the couch, the real Musashi shifts slightly, her other arm coming to rest under her chin the moment the young boy is identified as "Iori" on the screen. Her eyebrows raise a little. The back of the cover didn't mention the inclusion of this particular character.
no subject
She glances back towards the other woman, the way she tucks her legs under her on the couch, the distance between where Lucy is sitting and where Musashi's hand rests on the back of the couch, and how her expression focuses on the screen. Lucy is...intriguing. Musashi thinks there's far more to the woman than she's been allowed to see so far. A puzzle. She turns her attention back to the film.
Her counterpart is troubled; he's spent years developing the two sword style as a means to reach enlightenment, but as he enters the autumn years of his life, he feels no closer to Nirvana than when he began. And fighting bandits and honourless ronin is a far cry from the duels against the swordmasters of his youth.
(The movie is also clearly playing fast and loose with history; Musashi wasn't even thirty during the duel that is the subject of the film, whereas the man playing him is at least in his late forties.)
Much exposition, including presumably the plots of the first two films, is narrated by a bumbling, comic-relief manservant character to a student Musashi has taken on, a young, hot-blooded youth named Iori. It's clunky and awkward; presumably this is all information both characters should already know, but the writer has to convey the backstory to people just coming in somehow and clearly knows no other way to do it. The stoic, humourless movie Musashi clearly isn't one for excessive dialogue.
On the couch, the real Musashi shifts slightly, her other arm coming to rest under her chin the moment the young boy is identified as "Iori" on the screen. Her eyebrows raise a little. The back of the cover didn't mention the inclusion of this particular character.