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Mar. 29th, 2004 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sua_laySkipping the gym for a week is definitely a bad idea. After the workout I was so exhausted I almost blacked out. Not good at all.
Am all ready for tomorrow's dentist. Relaxed and calm. However, I do know I won't sleep tonight, since whenever I close my eyes, I start thinking about either the dentist thing [which will be over in like 20 mins if I'm lucky] or the Fieldtrip from Hell [which will go on and on for 2 days].
Maybe I'll just write something.
Speaking of writing, I should probably post my silly RPS here instead of the site. Am not really up to transferring 'Sho's' godsawful boybandslash to my site, so maybe I'll go on hiding this part of my insanity altogether. It feels silly to write and not post, so in canse anyone shares my kink, he're's a tiny RPS ficlet
A nameless Tom Cruise/Watanabe ficlet
pre-slash,
rated G,
never happened in real life.
The sun was lower in the sky now. Not yet painting the horizon blood red, but not blinding everyone with its brightness either.
Ken Watanabe glanced up, a soft smile caressing his lips. It was the perfect moment for a practice. He'd already spent the morning sparring with the instructor, training for the elaborate fight scenes in the movie. This was different. Not for spectators who were always gawking at him, not for endless repetition of the same fluid movement as he perfected a scene.
That was work. Enjoyable, but still just work. This was personal. His own time. To find peace of mind in the middle of this hectic set. It was always like that while he was filming. Too many things he needed to concentrate
on at the same time. This time it was even harder, for he had to remember the intonation drilled to him by the voice coaches.
Words that tasted strange on his tongue, in a language that he had never felt necessary to learn. The hesitation haunting the edges of his awareness only added to his character, but it was taxing.
He liked Katsumoto. If his character was a real person, he would be honored to meet him. He had quiet strength in him, something that was not easy to portray.
The air was still; there were no noises from the crew here. People were probably getting ready for the scenes they'd film at sunset. Different locations and nighttime shots meant extra work for everyone.
Watanabe didn't mind. He was used to hard work. He also liked the fact that while the light and camera crew were preparing the shoot, he could have some time to himself.
Yesterday, the cast had spent the free time talking and playing cards. He smiled remembering the approving look on Zwick's face. The director liked it when his actors bonded together. Offscreen chemistry always shone onscreen as well. The band of samurai living in the small village were as tight as any family. Sharing easy camaraderie with the others would help in conveying that, even though he would have to make sure he portrayed Katsumoto's
authority by not being too friendly around his men.
That was one of the reasons he was here now. The need for solitude, for quiet contemplation. Sometimes he needed a few hours on his own. In the luxurious hotel room with a book in his hands. Writing a few notes. Even listening to music.
He'd felt restless for some time now, and knew that sitting in silence would no longer work. He would not be able to concentrate on anything quiet. The day was perfect for a walk.
The thought of strolling down the small path leading to the hillside had been so sudden, he hadn't even taken off his costume. The familiar weight of the katana at his side was a good reminder of the mind set he'd have to achieve before the shooting continued.
Walking had been a good idea. It was lovely here. Everything was so green. Clean as well. A far cry from the bustle and pollution he was subjected to in the big cities. Open space and silence for him and his thoughts.
Exactly what he needed right now.
Watanabe watched the path wind to the left and knew he'd be back on the set if he continued his walk. He was definitely not going back yet. He liked working with his colleagues, always a bit amazed by the skills they had,
but it was all too much for him right now. This place felt so peaceful. Smiling a little, he realized that Katsumoto would be tempted to call it perfect.
The shift between the man and the character was instant, fluid. Not as frightening as it had been years ago, when he'd sometimes thought he might be swallowed by a shell that had more fire than he did. He was confident with himself now. He wore Katsumoto. Not the other way around.
Taking in a deep breath, smelling the faint whiff of sheep and the ever present odor of manure, he stretched for a moment and then went to his katana. It was one of the newer ones, a prop that would be replaced for closeups.
He liked the solid metal blade, the weight of it, the way it glinted in the sunlight. The handle felt familiar in his grip.
A swing was inevitable. He'd never been able to just draw a sword and look at the blade. It needed to be used somehow. Even before he had the real skill, he'd waved the family heirlooms and toys he'd managed to get a hold on, careful not to hit anyone or anything.
For a moment, he moved fast, remembering the instructor's movements. The violence of the fast attacks was terrifying, the ease of swinging the blade more beautiful than anything. He knew a good spar could be more touching than any poem, more intimate than any dance.
He finished with a flamboyant swing, grinning as he imagined a samurai like Katsumoto being caught in the moment, lost in the movement. Not only in the practicing, but in the fun of it. All they could see in the movie would be
the solemn way of the sword. Beneath that calm surface would be currents of anger and almost childish joy, though. Things the character would never show anyone, but they would be there.
In that respect, he was like his character. Aware of things that would better be concealed. Trying to live his life in honor, even though other paths would be so much easier to take.
Calming his mind again, he raised his sword and bowed. The slow step he took and the painfully controlled arc the blade drew in the air were not Katsumoto's, but his own. One of the first exercises he'd ever learned. First, he had perfected the kata with nothing in his hands. Then he had found the balance with a heavy wooden stick, the katana coming last.
He doubted he'd ever forget these movements. They were ingrained in him years ago. He used them whenever he felt like quiet contemplation wasn't enough. When measured breathing and silence were a distraction, and his body craved exercise in order to free his mind.
Going through the motions, he spun around. Crouched, then extended the blade again. Parried an invisible strike to his neck, moving so slowly it wouldn't have done any good if there had been a real enemy. It was not a simulated fight. He was going though different strikes and defenses. For no real purpose but his own enjoyment.
The sand beneath his feet made a soft sound as he took steps and twirled. It added to everything else he could sense. The warmth on his skin, the brightness. Sounds of birds, and a car driving somewhere.
Peaceful. How odd that even with a sword in his hands, his heart pounding, he could feel this peaceful.
A flash of something at the edge of his vision broke his concentration, and he turned, the katana poised in a defensive way in front of him.
Oh. Watanabe didn't know whether to be embarrassed or annoyed to see the man standing there. The peace of solitude was suddenly gone, taken away by the presence of another. He didn't even need to say anything. Simply being there was enough.
Lowering his sword, he nodded slightly. This was not the way he wanted to spend his free time. Of course he didn't have anything against his co-star, but right now, he didn't need the awkward discussion in English, the inane pleasantries used between two men who worked together but had otherwise nothing in common.
There was a moment as Cruise simply looked at him. Instead of that easy open smile he seemed to use in all occasions, there was a puzzled expression on his face.
"Please. Continue." The words were said quietly, the soft gesture accompanying it somehow pleading and not commanding.
It took a moment for Watanabe to realize what he meant. The words were easy enough to understand, but he was unsure of why would Cruise want to watch him spar. There was nothing fancy in his movements. Only perfected discipline. In his experience, people who were interested in the art of war or the samurai were usually
interested in the speed and strength and the flashy combat techniques. Not in this.
He didn't want to break the silence with questions. Didn't think he had the words for such questions anyway.
Nodding slightly, he brought the katana to his side again, gripping the handle with both hands.
This reminded him of the script. With his messy hair and nondescript dark clothes, Cruise even resembled Algren.
Watanabe wan't certain if it was his costume or not until he saw he was resting his hand on a very familiar object on his belt. Ah. Yes. It could indeed be Algren. The resemblance didn't go deeper than that, though. His eyes were full of wonder, not desperation.
The scenes with the haunted American and the stoic samurai in the script oozed tension and growing respect.
Watanabe had sensed that in the few shoots he'd shared with Cruise already. It was no hardship to act alongside this man. He could bring his inner strength to the character.
Most of the story was yet not filmed, the sets not finished. They would build the onscreen chemistry during the next few weeks. Watanabe would have preferred being alone, but he found that the thought of sharing this moment wasn't as unpleasant as it could have been.
He nodded. Took the first position without needing to even think about it.
It was different with someone watching. He was used to an audience, all his work done before the public eye one way or the other. Usually facing astonishment and adoration. Sometimes even scorn.
Ignoring Tom Cruise's presence, he repeated his earlier movements, the slow, balanced dance followed by a faster, more energized one. The same movements over and over again, until his breath came out in pants and his throat felt tight with the urge to let out a war cry.
There was nothing else in the world but him and his sword. The sound of his feet on the sand barely loud enough to be heard over his own heartbeat that was thrumming in his ears almost as loud as the deep boom of the taiko drums.
It was a rush, an adrenaline high that made him understand the life of his ancestors perfectly. The way of the samurai was many things, the purely physical aspect of it art as well as the mental discipline. Neither was perfection without the other.
He knew there were many people who were drawn to the sparring because of the power. The images of great battles and killing. They were fools, who would never see the simplicity of a kata. For the sake of the movement. For the slight ache in the muscles and the blood rushing faster in his veins.
Bringing his sword to his side again, Watanabe took a deep breath and looked at Cruise. In his near frantic moves at the end of the kata, he'd almost forgotten his presence. It was a wonder. The other man simply watching, not making any forced comments or small talk.
Maybe after all his training, the American could appreciate the agonizingly slow exercise. It may look easy, but was far from it. The balance and the discipline were harder to achieve than pure violent strength.
Cruise looked hesitant, his fingers playing on the hilt of the prop sword tied to his belt. He stepped forward, unsure of how to ask. The language barrier had always made conversation with Ken Watanabe awkward at least.
Without the interpretor here, it would be even more so.
There was a curious fire in his eyes. A child like wonder mixed with the need to try something new.
"Mr. Watanabe..." He smiled at the amusement in the dark gaze. After hearing the others address each other by last name only, the 'mister' did sound a bit odd. "Would you mind if I..." He didn't have a word for it.
He felt discomfort by the lack of finesse. There was no phrase unfamiliar to him. Words were his tool of profession as were expressions.
Somehow he didn't think that elaborate explanations would be necessary now.
Disappointment flashed through Watanabe as he realized the core of Cruise's question. Of course. He was used to the way people always felt the need to test, to spar. Seeing someone skilled with the sword always drove others to challenge him.
Such a violent clash would not feel proper right now. The day was peaceful, calling for silence and meditation, not a mock fight.
He stared at Cruise for a moment, wondering how on earth he could explain that to him with his limited vocabulary. Some of the dialogue the other man had already mastered in Japanese could work here, but he didn't want to use it now. It would feel pretentious. False.
They had to find a harmony onscreen. A bond so tight it would take them into a war together, enable them to ride side by side to death itself. Maybe a shared spar would not be a bad idea.
Pushing aside his discomfort, he nodded slightly. This was not the right time and the place. But he would do this now. "Please." He made a gesture.
Cruise seemed a bit startled, as if he'd expected him to say no. He didn't hesitate as he drew the prop katana, though. Confidence evident in him.
There were things Watanabe wanted to ask. He wasn't certain how good he was, and would have to be very careful.
Maiming your fellow star would not be considered a good idea. He wondered if the prop sword would be good enough for a fight or if it would break after the first blow. If Cruise really knew what he was asking.
These kinds of spars could be dangerous. Usually he didn't approve, but there was such clear need for the other man to do this. To prove himself? He didn't know. Didn't think someone with Cruise's professionalism and reputation had anything to prove.
Saying nothing, he waited. This would be interesting, even though undoubtedly insane as well.
Cruise walked closer to him, holding his katana the way that spoke of some skill. He stopped a few feet from him and bowed lightly in respect. No sign of mock or laughter in him.
Bowing back, Watanabe kept his face impassive also. It would not be proper for him to smile at him now.
His eyes widened as Cruise lifted his head and then moved to his side, facing the hillside just like he did.
Cocking his head, he watched him mimic his stance and raise his sword slightly.
This was unexpected! A very pleasurable surprise indeed. Releasing the smile, Watanabe straightened his back, noticing the way Cruise followed instantly. So this was not to be a fight after all.
It spoke well of the American and of his ego. Learning instead of challenging.
Keeping his gaze to his right, Watanabe took the first swing, watching Cruise move as well. He exaggerated the movements slightly, to demonstrate them. Not as agonizingly slowly as he did at the beginning of his own kata, knowing that the balance would be impossible to achieve by simply watching.
The way Cruise swayed at the end of one of the spins only proved his point. Pausing for a moment, he allowed him to regain his footing and then showed the movement again.
Then again. Once more. First only the spin, then the following crouch. Moving the katana through the air simply as if it was an extension to his arm. As if it didn't weigh a thing. The beautiful, deadly blade gleaming in the sunlight.
Teaching the technique was pleasant. No words, only the movement. No awkwardness brought by the probability of miscommunication. Strength and precision brought by years of practice.
Watanabe wasn't too amazed by the fast way Cruise seemed to adapt to the movements. He had to be after the intense training. Not by far perfect, but he was good enough to enjoy this. Good enough not to accidentally poke him in the eye with his prop katana.
Once again stifling the urge to let out a triumphant war cry at the end, Watanabe lowered his blade and turned to face Cruise. The exhilaration in the dark eyes reminded him of the one he felt inside.
"Again?" he asked, his tone clipped. This was most enjoyable. Better than any conversation they'd had.
Cruise nodded eagerly. "Yeah." He was breathing heavily, but didn't seem to mind the exersion. Sparring and training were hard work, but this was pure and simple fun.
Without other words, Watanabe turned his gaze forward and started over again.
The pace was set by both of them. It was amazing how synchronized they moved. Watanabe wondered what it would look like to an observer. He was certain no one would believe they had never done this before.
There was definitely energy between them. Something he couldn't describe without using words he'd already read printed down. He wanted to put this all to getting into character, but couldn't.
Katsumoto with his somber thoughts and honor wasn't here. Neither was the pained and lost Algren. This wasn't work, character studying. He wasn't certain what to call it.
Chemistry? That sounded correct. He hadn't had long conversations with this man, but felt completely comfortable doing this with him. Sharing something terrifyingly personal. He wondered if Cruise could even begin to see how private this was to him. How much trust he needed to be able to do this.
Yet it was as easy as breathing. Faster now, as the breath coming out in pants.
His gaze shone with challenge as their tempo quickened and Cruise stumbled slightly. There was a determined expression on his face as he adjusted to the pace.
Perfectionist? Probably. Good at what he was doing? Definitely. Not perfection in the movements, but a show of practice and natural enjoyment of moving.
The final swing to the left, and Watanabe let out a bark of laughter as a faint yell escaped Cruise's lips. "That does seem..." He searched for the proper word. "Appropriate." His own wordless war cry had always made him smile at his own silliness. With this man it really seemed to fit.
Face reddening from both the exercise and the comment, Cruise let out a deep breath. "Yes. It does."
He looked at Watanabe, lips parting slightly as if he was going to say something. Then he seemed to change his mind, smiling softly.
It was a very odd expression. Not at all like most of the smiles Watanabe had seen on him. Nothing flashy or self conscious there. Nothing practiced. A simple happy smile.
"Thank you." Bowing again as if it was an unconscious gesture now, Cruise sheathed his sword. His hands seemed to tremble slightly.
"You're... most welcome." Watanabe paused for just a moment to search for the proper phrase. It was easy to say it. His solitude might be disrupted, but for some reason, he felt just as peaceful as he had when he'd been alone.
He watched the other man for a moment. For the first time really seeing him as a person instead of an actor, a professional he would work with on a project. He was not disappointed by what he saw.
These next months would be very interesting. Not only with the long shoots, but getting to know Cruise better. He was comfortable with this silence between them. Maybe when they found common words, their conversations would be comfortable as well.
It was as if Cruise was thinking along the same lines. "Maybe... Maybe we could do this again some day?" He sounded eager. Honest.
"Yes," Watanabe nodded. It would be an honor.
Not saying anything else, Cruise turned to look at the horizon. He made a small gesture with his hand towards the road. A question without words.
Deciding not to search for a fitting phrase, Watanabe nodded again. Yes, it was time to go back. Back to the crew and his colleagues. Soon, it would be time to leave the modern day New Zealand behind and walk through ancient Japan again. To push back his own thoughts and be Katsumoto again.
He would indeed enjoy this. His work would be easier with the respect he sensed building between him and Cruise.
It would undoubtedly shine through the characters to the film. The story was legendary. It was befitting that they would now share some of the mutual admiration in reality as well.
It was quiet, the sun moving lower still in the sky. The only sound was the oddly harmonous singing of dozens of different birds and the synchronized footsteps on the sandy road.
Peaceful.
Ken Watanabe and Tom Cruise walked back to the trailers, side by side.
***
The cats are really quiet. Too quiet, I think. Should go and see what they're up to now.
Am all ready for tomorrow's dentist. Relaxed and calm. However, I do know I won't sleep tonight, since whenever I close my eyes, I start thinking about either the dentist thing [which will be over in like 20 mins if I'm lucky] or the Fieldtrip from Hell [which will go on and on for 2 days].
Maybe I'll just write something.
Speaking of writing, I should probably post my silly RPS here instead of the site. Am not really up to transferring 'Sho's' godsawful boybandslash to my site, so maybe I'll go on hiding this part of my insanity altogether. It feels silly to write and not post, so in canse anyone shares my kink, he're's a tiny RPS ficlet
A nameless Tom Cruise/Watanabe ficlet
pre-slash,
rated G,
never happened in real life.
The sun was lower in the sky now. Not yet painting the horizon blood red, but not blinding everyone with its brightness either.
Ken Watanabe glanced up, a soft smile caressing his lips. It was the perfect moment for a practice. He'd already spent the morning sparring with the instructor, training for the elaborate fight scenes in the movie. This was different. Not for spectators who were always gawking at him, not for endless repetition of the same fluid movement as he perfected a scene.
That was work. Enjoyable, but still just work. This was personal. His own time. To find peace of mind in the middle of this hectic set. It was always like that while he was filming. Too many things he needed to concentrate
on at the same time. This time it was even harder, for he had to remember the intonation drilled to him by the voice coaches.
Words that tasted strange on his tongue, in a language that he had never felt necessary to learn. The hesitation haunting the edges of his awareness only added to his character, but it was taxing.
He liked Katsumoto. If his character was a real person, he would be honored to meet him. He had quiet strength in him, something that was not easy to portray.
The air was still; there were no noises from the crew here. People were probably getting ready for the scenes they'd film at sunset. Different locations and nighttime shots meant extra work for everyone.
Watanabe didn't mind. He was used to hard work. He also liked the fact that while the light and camera crew were preparing the shoot, he could have some time to himself.
Yesterday, the cast had spent the free time talking and playing cards. He smiled remembering the approving look on Zwick's face. The director liked it when his actors bonded together. Offscreen chemistry always shone onscreen as well. The band of samurai living in the small village were as tight as any family. Sharing easy camaraderie with the others would help in conveying that, even though he would have to make sure he portrayed Katsumoto's
authority by not being too friendly around his men.
That was one of the reasons he was here now. The need for solitude, for quiet contemplation. Sometimes he needed a few hours on his own. In the luxurious hotel room with a book in his hands. Writing a few notes. Even listening to music.
He'd felt restless for some time now, and knew that sitting in silence would no longer work. He would not be able to concentrate on anything quiet. The day was perfect for a walk.
The thought of strolling down the small path leading to the hillside had been so sudden, he hadn't even taken off his costume. The familiar weight of the katana at his side was a good reminder of the mind set he'd have to achieve before the shooting continued.
Walking had been a good idea. It was lovely here. Everything was so green. Clean as well. A far cry from the bustle and pollution he was subjected to in the big cities. Open space and silence for him and his thoughts.
Exactly what he needed right now.
Watanabe watched the path wind to the left and knew he'd be back on the set if he continued his walk. He was definitely not going back yet. He liked working with his colleagues, always a bit amazed by the skills they had,
but it was all too much for him right now. This place felt so peaceful. Smiling a little, he realized that Katsumoto would be tempted to call it perfect.
The shift between the man and the character was instant, fluid. Not as frightening as it had been years ago, when he'd sometimes thought he might be swallowed by a shell that had more fire than he did. He was confident with himself now. He wore Katsumoto. Not the other way around.
Taking in a deep breath, smelling the faint whiff of sheep and the ever present odor of manure, he stretched for a moment and then went to his katana. It was one of the newer ones, a prop that would be replaced for closeups.
He liked the solid metal blade, the weight of it, the way it glinted in the sunlight. The handle felt familiar in his grip.
A swing was inevitable. He'd never been able to just draw a sword and look at the blade. It needed to be used somehow. Even before he had the real skill, he'd waved the family heirlooms and toys he'd managed to get a hold on, careful not to hit anyone or anything.
For a moment, he moved fast, remembering the instructor's movements. The violence of the fast attacks was terrifying, the ease of swinging the blade more beautiful than anything. He knew a good spar could be more touching than any poem, more intimate than any dance.
He finished with a flamboyant swing, grinning as he imagined a samurai like Katsumoto being caught in the moment, lost in the movement. Not only in the practicing, but in the fun of it. All they could see in the movie would be
the solemn way of the sword. Beneath that calm surface would be currents of anger and almost childish joy, though. Things the character would never show anyone, but they would be there.
In that respect, he was like his character. Aware of things that would better be concealed. Trying to live his life in honor, even though other paths would be so much easier to take.
Calming his mind again, he raised his sword and bowed. The slow step he took and the painfully controlled arc the blade drew in the air were not Katsumoto's, but his own. One of the first exercises he'd ever learned. First, he had perfected the kata with nothing in his hands. Then he had found the balance with a heavy wooden stick, the katana coming last.
He doubted he'd ever forget these movements. They were ingrained in him years ago. He used them whenever he felt like quiet contemplation wasn't enough. When measured breathing and silence were a distraction, and his body craved exercise in order to free his mind.
Going through the motions, he spun around. Crouched, then extended the blade again. Parried an invisible strike to his neck, moving so slowly it wouldn't have done any good if there had been a real enemy. It was not a simulated fight. He was going though different strikes and defenses. For no real purpose but his own enjoyment.
The sand beneath his feet made a soft sound as he took steps and twirled. It added to everything else he could sense. The warmth on his skin, the brightness. Sounds of birds, and a car driving somewhere.
Peaceful. How odd that even with a sword in his hands, his heart pounding, he could feel this peaceful.
A flash of something at the edge of his vision broke his concentration, and he turned, the katana poised in a defensive way in front of him.
Oh. Watanabe didn't know whether to be embarrassed or annoyed to see the man standing there. The peace of solitude was suddenly gone, taken away by the presence of another. He didn't even need to say anything. Simply being there was enough.
Lowering his sword, he nodded slightly. This was not the way he wanted to spend his free time. Of course he didn't have anything against his co-star, but right now, he didn't need the awkward discussion in English, the inane pleasantries used between two men who worked together but had otherwise nothing in common.
There was a moment as Cruise simply looked at him. Instead of that easy open smile he seemed to use in all occasions, there was a puzzled expression on his face.
"Please. Continue." The words were said quietly, the soft gesture accompanying it somehow pleading and not commanding.
It took a moment for Watanabe to realize what he meant. The words were easy enough to understand, but he was unsure of why would Cruise want to watch him spar. There was nothing fancy in his movements. Only perfected discipline. In his experience, people who were interested in the art of war or the samurai were usually
interested in the speed and strength and the flashy combat techniques. Not in this.
He didn't want to break the silence with questions. Didn't think he had the words for such questions anyway.
Nodding slightly, he brought the katana to his side again, gripping the handle with both hands.
This reminded him of the script. With his messy hair and nondescript dark clothes, Cruise even resembled Algren.
Watanabe wan't certain if it was his costume or not until he saw he was resting his hand on a very familiar object on his belt. Ah. Yes. It could indeed be Algren. The resemblance didn't go deeper than that, though. His eyes were full of wonder, not desperation.
The scenes with the haunted American and the stoic samurai in the script oozed tension and growing respect.
Watanabe had sensed that in the few shoots he'd shared with Cruise already. It was no hardship to act alongside this man. He could bring his inner strength to the character.
Most of the story was yet not filmed, the sets not finished. They would build the onscreen chemistry during the next few weeks. Watanabe would have preferred being alone, but he found that the thought of sharing this moment wasn't as unpleasant as it could have been.
He nodded. Took the first position without needing to even think about it.
It was different with someone watching. He was used to an audience, all his work done before the public eye one way or the other. Usually facing astonishment and adoration. Sometimes even scorn.
Ignoring Tom Cruise's presence, he repeated his earlier movements, the slow, balanced dance followed by a faster, more energized one. The same movements over and over again, until his breath came out in pants and his throat felt tight with the urge to let out a war cry.
There was nothing else in the world but him and his sword. The sound of his feet on the sand barely loud enough to be heard over his own heartbeat that was thrumming in his ears almost as loud as the deep boom of the taiko drums.
It was a rush, an adrenaline high that made him understand the life of his ancestors perfectly. The way of the samurai was many things, the purely physical aspect of it art as well as the mental discipline. Neither was perfection without the other.
He knew there were many people who were drawn to the sparring because of the power. The images of great battles and killing. They were fools, who would never see the simplicity of a kata. For the sake of the movement. For the slight ache in the muscles and the blood rushing faster in his veins.
Bringing his sword to his side again, Watanabe took a deep breath and looked at Cruise. In his near frantic moves at the end of the kata, he'd almost forgotten his presence. It was a wonder. The other man simply watching, not making any forced comments or small talk.
Maybe after all his training, the American could appreciate the agonizingly slow exercise. It may look easy, but was far from it. The balance and the discipline were harder to achieve than pure violent strength.
Cruise looked hesitant, his fingers playing on the hilt of the prop sword tied to his belt. He stepped forward, unsure of how to ask. The language barrier had always made conversation with Ken Watanabe awkward at least.
Without the interpretor here, it would be even more so.
There was a curious fire in his eyes. A child like wonder mixed with the need to try something new.
"Mr. Watanabe..." He smiled at the amusement in the dark gaze. After hearing the others address each other by last name only, the 'mister' did sound a bit odd. "Would you mind if I..." He didn't have a word for it.
He felt discomfort by the lack of finesse. There was no phrase unfamiliar to him. Words were his tool of profession as were expressions.
Somehow he didn't think that elaborate explanations would be necessary now.
Disappointment flashed through Watanabe as he realized the core of Cruise's question. Of course. He was used to the way people always felt the need to test, to spar. Seeing someone skilled with the sword always drove others to challenge him.
Such a violent clash would not feel proper right now. The day was peaceful, calling for silence and meditation, not a mock fight.
He stared at Cruise for a moment, wondering how on earth he could explain that to him with his limited vocabulary. Some of the dialogue the other man had already mastered in Japanese could work here, but he didn't want to use it now. It would feel pretentious. False.
They had to find a harmony onscreen. A bond so tight it would take them into a war together, enable them to ride side by side to death itself. Maybe a shared spar would not be a bad idea.
Pushing aside his discomfort, he nodded slightly. This was not the right time and the place. But he would do this now. "Please." He made a gesture.
Cruise seemed a bit startled, as if he'd expected him to say no. He didn't hesitate as he drew the prop katana, though. Confidence evident in him.
There were things Watanabe wanted to ask. He wasn't certain how good he was, and would have to be very careful.
Maiming your fellow star would not be considered a good idea. He wondered if the prop sword would be good enough for a fight or if it would break after the first blow. If Cruise really knew what he was asking.
These kinds of spars could be dangerous. Usually he didn't approve, but there was such clear need for the other man to do this. To prove himself? He didn't know. Didn't think someone with Cruise's professionalism and reputation had anything to prove.
Saying nothing, he waited. This would be interesting, even though undoubtedly insane as well.
Cruise walked closer to him, holding his katana the way that spoke of some skill. He stopped a few feet from him and bowed lightly in respect. No sign of mock or laughter in him.
Bowing back, Watanabe kept his face impassive also. It would not be proper for him to smile at him now.
His eyes widened as Cruise lifted his head and then moved to his side, facing the hillside just like he did.
Cocking his head, he watched him mimic his stance and raise his sword slightly.
This was unexpected! A very pleasurable surprise indeed. Releasing the smile, Watanabe straightened his back, noticing the way Cruise followed instantly. So this was not to be a fight after all.
It spoke well of the American and of his ego. Learning instead of challenging.
Keeping his gaze to his right, Watanabe took the first swing, watching Cruise move as well. He exaggerated the movements slightly, to demonstrate them. Not as agonizingly slowly as he did at the beginning of his own kata, knowing that the balance would be impossible to achieve by simply watching.
The way Cruise swayed at the end of one of the spins only proved his point. Pausing for a moment, he allowed him to regain his footing and then showed the movement again.
Then again. Once more. First only the spin, then the following crouch. Moving the katana through the air simply as if it was an extension to his arm. As if it didn't weigh a thing. The beautiful, deadly blade gleaming in the sunlight.
Teaching the technique was pleasant. No words, only the movement. No awkwardness brought by the probability of miscommunication. Strength and precision brought by years of practice.
Watanabe wasn't too amazed by the fast way Cruise seemed to adapt to the movements. He had to be after the intense training. Not by far perfect, but he was good enough to enjoy this. Good enough not to accidentally poke him in the eye with his prop katana.
Once again stifling the urge to let out a triumphant war cry at the end, Watanabe lowered his blade and turned to face Cruise. The exhilaration in the dark eyes reminded him of the one he felt inside.
"Again?" he asked, his tone clipped. This was most enjoyable. Better than any conversation they'd had.
Cruise nodded eagerly. "Yeah." He was breathing heavily, but didn't seem to mind the exersion. Sparring and training were hard work, but this was pure and simple fun.
Without other words, Watanabe turned his gaze forward and started over again.
The pace was set by both of them. It was amazing how synchronized they moved. Watanabe wondered what it would look like to an observer. He was certain no one would believe they had never done this before.
There was definitely energy between them. Something he couldn't describe without using words he'd already read printed down. He wanted to put this all to getting into character, but couldn't.
Katsumoto with his somber thoughts and honor wasn't here. Neither was the pained and lost Algren. This wasn't work, character studying. He wasn't certain what to call it.
Chemistry? That sounded correct. He hadn't had long conversations with this man, but felt completely comfortable doing this with him. Sharing something terrifyingly personal. He wondered if Cruise could even begin to see how private this was to him. How much trust he needed to be able to do this.
Yet it was as easy as breathing. Faster now, as the breath coming out in pants.
His gaze shone with challenge as their tempo quickened and Cruise stumbled slightly. There was a determined expression on his face as he adjusted to the pace.
Perfectionist? Probably. Good at what he was doing? Definitely. Not perfection in the movements, but a show of practice and natural enjoyment of moving.
The final swing to the left, and Watanabe let out a bark of laughter as a faint yell escaped Cruise's lips. "That does seem..." He searched for the proper word. "Appropriate." His own wordless war cry had always made him smile at his own silliness. With this man it really seemed to fit.
Face reddening from both the exercise and the comment, Cruise let out a deep breath. "Yes. It does."
He looked at Watanabe, lips parting slightly as if he was going to say something. Then he seemed to change his mind, smiling softly.
It was a very odd expression. Not at all like most of the smiles Watanabe had seen on him. Nothing flashy or self conscious there. Nothing practiced. A simple happy smile.
"Thank you." Bowing again as if it was an unconscious gesture now, Cruise sheathed his sword. His hands seemed to tremble slightly.
"You're... most welcome." Watanabe paused for just a moment to search for the proper phrase. It was easy to say it. His solitude might be disrupted, but for some reason, he felt just as peaceful as he had when he'd been alone.
He watched the other man for a moment. For the first time really seeing him as a person instead of an actor, a professional he would work with on a project. He was not disappointed by what he saw.
These next months would be very interesting. Not only with the long shoots, but getting to know Cruise better. He was comfortable with this silence between them. Maybe when they found common words, their conversations would be comfortable as well.
It was as if Cruise was thinking along the same lines. "Maybe... Maybe we could do this again some day?" He sounded eager. Honest.
"Yes," Watanabe nodded. It would be an honor.
Not saying anything else, Cruise turned to look at the horizon. He made a small gesture with his hand towards the road. A question without words.
Deciding not to search for a fitting phrase, Watanabe nodded again. Yes, it was time to go back. Back to the crew and his colleagues. Soon, it would be time to leave the modern day New Zealand behind and walk through ancient Japan again. To push back his own thoughts and be Katsumoto again.
He would indeed enjoy this. His work would be easier with the respect he sensed building between him and Cruise.
It would undoubtedly shine through the characters to the film. The story was legendary. It was befitting that they would now share some of the mutual admiration in reality as well.
It was quiet, the sun moving lower still in the sky. The only sound was the oddly harmonous singing of dozens of different birds and the synchronized footsteps on the sandy road.
Peaceful.
Ken Watanabe and Tom Cruise walked back to the trailers, side by side.
***
The cats are really quiet. Too quiet, I think. Should go and see what they're up to now.
