InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Art of Tea - ON HOLD ❯ Chapter Two - Green Tea ( Chapter 2 )

 

DISCLAIMER - The ownership and general brilliance that is the original Feudal Fairy Tale remains the property of its honored and rightfully revered creator Rumiko Takahashi without whose brilliance, we would not have fodder.

 

 

By: ElegantPaws

 

Edited by: Meara the Celt

 

Chapter Two is dedicated to all the lovers of tea…you know who you are…so sorry Twikster lolol…NOT!

 

Reviews are fuel.

 

Chapter Two - Green Tea

 

“Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order."

 

 

--Okakura Kakuzo, 1906

 

Oshi shuffled ahead of Sesshoumaru, obsequiously bowing for daring to move ahead of the esteemed guest, however, well intentioned.

 

Opening the lacquered wooden doors that lead down the path to the private guest quarters, the tall, aristocratic male took note of the nightingale floor ahead of him. It appeared to have been kept in good order. He would soon test the theory after changing and if he found its state wanting, it would give him another opportunity to upbraid the Proprietress of the Art of Tea. He suppressed a malicious smile at the coming prospect, imagining her defensive stance if he found fault. There was something about her manner that intrigued and prayed upon his baser nature to taunt, if only for effect.

 

“You may leave. I will take it from here,” Sesshoumaru murmured dismissively, sliding the shoji open and closing it in the elderly attendant's face with satisfaction.

 

Oshi, who had remained crouched, did not lift his eyes until he heard the gentle click as the wooden slats connected. Breathing with relief and favoring his right side, he turned and gingerly walked as rapidly as he could back to the storefront. It did not bear thinking about what was sure to follow. He had done his duty as promised to the deceased Higurashi; now to find the wooden box and present it to Miss Higurashi with instructions.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Kagome bit her lower lip, hair still damp from the impromptu shower she had decided to take. Well-tended brows furrowed, as she looked at the three ceremonial furisodes: white, red and gray silk, respectively. What to wear?

 

Though drawn to the white for some inexplicable reason, she opted for the gray with the lining of red silk. Her reasoning being it more closely matched in its hem and sleeve detail to Kanagawa's Great Wave print, the centerpiece of the Tokonoma within the tearoom.

 

The famous wood block print by Hokusai had been her Grandfather's most prized possession, especially as it was the third print taken from the original block and worthy of the Met.

 

On more than one occasion, several curators had taken an interest in the piece to her Grandfather's horror and her father's peculiar delight. It was sacred and a gift from a patron her JiJi had refused to name, even on his death bed and her father's.

 

What she did know was it gave her peace each time she entered the room, despite the depiction of fishermen in peril seeking the first catch of the year. Respect was what she felt in its presence.

 

There was something eternal and powerful about the movement of so seemingly gentle a force as water. It could not be grasped by a clenched fist, but it had the destructive force of a tsunami. Yet, if you opened your palm in surrender, it would reside there, still, gently trickling through your fingers, bathing you in its caress.

 

One day, she promised herself, she would visit the prefecture of Kanagawa and perhaps bear witness to Hokusai's original vision.

 

The knock came gently to her door for the second time, bringing her back to reality as she was reaching for the furisode, having made her choice.

 

“Oshi-san?”

 

“Humble apologies, Miss Higurashi. I have left something at your door. He is getting dressed now,” Oshi replied, somewhat stilted and nervous from the other side of the wooden door.

 

Kagome stalked to the door, the kimono was thrown back onto the bed as she swung the door open with force.

 

“Oh no you don't, Oshi-san!” she said, tapping a naked foot in annoyance. “What is the meaning of this?” she pointed her index finger at the innocent looking white box.

 

Oshi smiled apologetically, revealing slightly yellowed, crooked teeth that had seen much better days that did not involve a pipe.

 

Kagome glowered, though the rage she thought she should feel had disappeared. He was genuinely afraid. Why?

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

White, black or midnight blue: what had happened to the grey hakama? Sesshoumaru thought as he carefully checked the other drawers of the Tansu with irritation. Had the damn woman laundered it and forgotten to return it to its rightful place? Another bone of contention; his wafuku was never to be interfered with. It was Jaken's job to see to his needs, however ineptly. Only then did it hit him. They had been torn the last time he had worn them, near on a year ago.

 

A definite loss of face in front of the tea master as Higurashi's son had effortlessly slashed through the material. Sesshoumaru had been caught off guard when Rin, his adopted daughter by proxy, had come bursting into the room, effervescent as ever, to show him her latest floral find in the outer garden. Of course, he had to be suitably impressed, or there would have been dewy eyes and much petulance. Humans!

 

Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed as he examined the futon now replete with choices of vestments. The white appealed, but then again…it always did. Swiftly he removed his outer garments and placed them neatly on the hangers provided, carefully going over his lapels which he scrutinized with vague annoyance. They were a tenth of an inch too wide for his liking, fashions be damned. His tailor was becoming lax with age; humans…tiresome and fragile.

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

“So, I am to present him with a new one each week?” Kagome stared at the box in confusion, then back at Oshi, who had seated himself in the disreputable arm chair that she loved and would not dream of parting with. “Gramps didn't mention this.” She shook it, none the wiser of its contents. It was light.

 

“Mister Taishou specifics are all in the diary, Miss Higurashi. I believe that there are 39 boxes left, so you need not begin to replenish them for another year.” Oshi offered quietly, “There is no order. I will show you where the gift Tansu is after the ceremony, at your convenience.”

 

Kagome chuckled and carefully placed the box on her bed.

 

“At my convenience…right? Like the tea ceremony that I specifically asked to be cancelled, Oshi-san?”

 

She waited for his response and, as none was forthcoming, she crossed her legs modestly beneath her white robe and quirked her brow at the old servant, resting her chin in her palm with a bemused expression.

 

Though she tried, she could not be irritated with him. Something smacked too much of a conspiracy between himself and her beloved grandfather. He was, apparently, following orders. No point in taking umbrage. Oshi meant well.

 

“39? But there are 52 weeks in the year,” she murmured aloud. Perhaps she should read the diary…then again, she might not have to, she thought with a vaguely malicious gleam. Her mind wandered off to the pleasing prospect of drowning this Tai-Pan of Industry in the man-made stream beyond the teahouse; very satisfying thought indeed.

 

It could not have been her imagination; the elderly man blushed, and averted his eyes.

 

Her blue-black tresses fell over her shoulder like a waterfall as she shrugged in resignation, pleasing violent thoughts averted for the time being by the nervous fidgeting of an elderly male across from her.

 

“I need to get dressed Oshi-san. We must talk when I am done today with Lord High and Mighty downstairs. You really can't overrule me with respect to clients in future. Is that understood?” she admonished gently, still wondering why Oshi, usually pleasant and forthcoming, had become so closed mouthed with so simple a question.

 

Oshi hurriedly rose with relief, bowed and exited, having said no other words.

 

Kagome's eyes narrows on the closed door. Something was up. He looked actually relieved to be out of her presence, having not answered the question.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

How many years had he walked this path to the teahouse over the nightingale floor? Its gentle twittering refrain acknowledged his progress with each firm step he took toward the weathered shoji that would grant him a respite from the twenty-first century.

 

Looking about him, Sesshoumaru's usually immobile expression softened a fraction, taking in the man-made stream that meandered towards the teahouse and its fountain, a gift from the now defunct shiro of his puphood.

 

All prospects were pleasing, if only for a moment in the stillness. Why had so small a place of no real significance garnered an aspect of his soul that few places did in this time? It was not grand in the least, but the setting was perfect in the traditional sense. Gone were thoughts of discontinuing the ritual, that is, unless she proved incompetent beyond measure. His lips narrowed in anticipation of the coming debacle, his mind set with adjectival phrases designed to demean if prompted.

 

He felt her diffidence and challenge the moment he looked at her. She wasn't even classically beautiful. There was nothing demure about her manner at all. She was pretty, if that. She was not memorable in the least and yet, there was something intriguing about her. He would get to the root of it over the ritual.

 

The last time he had seen her she was eight and gangly, all legs, clumsy and loud.

 

Unaccountably loud.

 

From her expression when she had laid eyes on him in the shop, she did not remember they had been introduced, rather formally, one rainy Sunday afternoon nearly twelve years before.

 

Sesshoumaru was relieved. There would be no need for pleasantries, which these humans insisted on. However, that option had long flown, considering their `first' encounter, earlier that day.

 

The gravel beneath his feet crunched reassuringly as he prepared to sit upon the embossed cushion with his family crest outside the teahouse, awaiting his call to enter.

 

Sesshoumaru sat in lotus, an imperious expression in place as he looked over the small garden languidly. The dull, rhythmic chime of the temple bells above his head in the miniature Goshinboku caused his ears to twitch. This was an unwanted change to the setting. He would express his displeasure once she appeared. Most unfortunately, a monarch butterfly chose to make an appearance and was swiftly dispatched, wings duly severed as it attempted to flutter without the now missing appendages, as he carelessly crushed it underfoot. He was well pleased that something had finally gone right with his afternoon. The butter of its wings was flicked dispassionately from his index finger and thumb. No need for it to get on his pristine white haori or hakama.

 

If she did not show soon, there would be hell to pay.

 

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

 

Kagome's reflection always surprised her when she was in full dress. Her hair upswept into a non-traditional chignon; light powder, not of rice, and the merest tint of rouge to her lips and cheeks cast a delicate light to her skin, emphasizing her best feature: her eyes.

 

Deep set and honey brown, they required little in the way of accoutrement other than liner and a hint of mascara. The furisode suited her. She knew it, and this caused a light blush to accentuate her cheeks. She felt like an ancient lady fully garbed. Even her steps adjusted in the sumptuous kimono and geta as she descended the stairs. Still, she did so despise the feel of the tabi socks between her big toes. It was never something she would ever grow use to, but it was necessary.

 

Holding the little white box carefully, she glided down the stairs and took one last look at her reflection at the bottom of the stairs in the mirror placed there for just this purpose. She was the proprietor now, and she would act it, despite the handsome menace she would serve tea to in her first proper tea. Her grandfather had spent many hours teaching her the art of tea; the art of life.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Oshi bowed reverently as she opened the door that partitioned the store from the family's private quarters.

 

“You are exquisite, my Lady,” he whispered to her geta'd feet.

 

Kagome chuckled, tapping him lightly on his back, bidding he rise.

 

“Oshi-san, try to remember this is no longer the feudal era. Look at me. I haven't done this for some time and even then, only for the family. Did I miss anything?” her voice held a nervous lilt.

 

The elderly male looked at her with a loving, avuncular expression and he smiled genuinely up into her face.

 

Righting himself, he held out his hand for her to take, as she stepped onto the landing and waited for his final benediction with bated breath.

 

Somehow it mattered today.

 

She refused to give her insecurity a name. Little did she know that it already had one - Taishou Sesshoumaru.

 

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

He could hear the quiet padding beyond the shoji as she prepared the tearoom, the faint sound of a pan flute playing within. Another change; he quirked a well-arched silver brow in disapproval. This century left much to be desired.

 

Though she tried to hide it, he could feel her discomfort. She was nervous and this pleased him immeasurably. Finally, the damn woman was showing the appropriate reaction to his esteemed and rarified presence. Perhaps he would overlook the wind instrument in this instance.

 

And so he sat, awaiting his call to the way of tea.

 

Author's Note

 

Hope you enjoyed. See you soon. Oh and the butterfly's death is not in vain…yep...enough said….repercussions are winging their way to his Lordship as we speak.

 

EP