Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Life In A New Era ❯ Tonami, 1871, Part 3 ( Chapter 3 )

 

She sat before the hall. Yamakawa Okura…she'd met him again today. They had briefly encountered each other in Aizu. He was still…not handsome, but not homely either. Better looking than Saito and Kurasawa certainly. Ueda was clearly the best looking of the four men. Okura bore himself like a proud man, talked quietly, and was determined to make a name for himself. She liked his personality well, besides he'd helped during the siege of Aizuwakamatsu. He'd come rushing back from NikkÅguchi-Tajima and gotten into the castle by pretending to be a marching band from a nearby village. He was a heroic sort of man.

 

He'd come to Tonami hardly a few weeks ago. Kurasawa and he had several meetings, but today had been the first time she'd been present. She could still remember Yamakawa's surprise when she'd entered. He'd remembered her…

 

“If it isn't Takagi-san,” he exclaimed upon seeing her. She had blushed and tying to hide it she'd bowed, setting the tea tray down. Ueda had looked bemused, Kurasawa had looked confused, and Saito had looked…well his usual indifference.

 

“I remember you from Aizu,” he'd continued unperturbed. “You helped Teruhime-sama.”

 

“Yes, Okura-sama.” She'd seen Ueda raise an eyebrow at her. She rarely used -sama on anyone. Kurasawa, Matsudaira Katamori, and a few others were the only expectations from her usual polite san. The daimyo of Aizu deserved the title of -sama and Kurasawa because he was such a good respectable man. Ueda looked teasingly annoyed because she only used san for him. Saito didn't seem to care that he was merely referred to as san.

 

After a short while the conversation had gone back to routine chit-chat. She'd left shortly after and now found herself outside.

 

She felt the blush rise in her cheeks again, recalling the familiar look Okura had given her. Why did his look make her uncomfortable? She frowned, slipping off her zori scandals. She swung her feet back and forth. She hummed a small tune she'd heard Satsuki singing earlier. She grew so bored sometimes, but the silence and solitude were nice. Being alone was nice, she wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone right now. She was trying to figure out a complex puzzle named Okura Yamakawa.

 

She turned as the shoji opened, stopping her humming she was expecting one of the women. It wasn't. Saito came out, pulling those nasty cigarettes out. He gave her a remote nod of his head, she bowed briefly. How annoying, she'd preferred it if he went back inside. He sat a short distance away, lighting his cigarette and dropping the match in the same motion.

 

She turned away from him, staring out at the path that led to the outside doors of the house.

 

“So you hum, eh?” She started at his voice and looked over at him.

 

“When I'm in a good mood,” she snapped, feeling vexed. “My mood isn't so great right now.”

 

“I wonder why,” he drawled, but she knew he knew he was the cause. He took a drag and fiddled with the cigarette in his hand. “What do you think of Yamakawa-san?”

 

She frowned a second, remembered his fond look, and blushed. She hoped since it was dark that he didn't notice, knowing his wolf like instincts he probably knew she was though. “He's considerate, I suppose. A man one could hold conversations of longer duration than a minute.” She didn't need to imply that his conversations were usually one sided, he knew what she meant. No one would have dared call Hajime Saito an idiot.

 

His brisk reply was immediate, “I believe we've surpassed a minute.”

 

She swung her feet, letting one foot dip lower to skim the grass. She suppressed a giggle as the sensitive part of her foot was tickled; it would not have been an appropriate time to burst out laughing.

 

“Likely I've surpassed a minute, but you on the other hand don't say more than a six letter sentence.”

 

“I didn't realize your intelligence was so poor. That was eight, woman. Besides poor intellect,” he took another drag, “you're memory seems rather poor. I've said much longer sentences.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

He snorted, giving her a half bemused, half annoyed look. She couldn't tell if he was enjoying their little banter. For her part she was quite impressed with his quick wit. She'd thought at first that he was a semi-intelligent samurai with half baked notions about justice and `Aku Soku Zan' being the only phrase he could muster. He'd certainly proved her wrong in these last two months.

 

“I recall I said `…you can't claim to be so much better than me, you've just killed a man who had no connection to your revenge. You're a hypocrite…I dislike hypocrites.”'

 

He had said that hadn't he? That man…had he and the one he'd slain ever been buried. As if sensing her train of thought he said, “They were buried just outside Gonohe behind some shrubbery. I watched them get buried; I know where it is at. We could go to see their graves another day.” She wondered now if his using that quote had been because he wanted to brooch the topic of their burials.

 

She frowned, he noticed, taking a drag. “What makes you frown?”

 

“Nothing…”

 

“I like lairs about as much as hypocrites. Usually they are of the same cast. I believe you said once, `It's alright to cry. Tears are natural when someone dies.”'

 

“I did,” why was he mentioning it? Then it hit her, he was calling her a hypocrite and lair. That bastard. That chain-smoking, ugly, emotionless son of a she-wolf bastard! She wanted to hit him, but instead subdued that emotion and smiling said, “Emotions, those feelings which some men say they do not process, are natural feelings which should be expressed at certain points. Those men claiming not to have any are hypocrites because being humans we are unable to not feeling something,” strike right to the heart. She had won this little battle of words, she was sure.

 

He took a long drag, glanced at her with shining gold eyes, stood, and said with a nonchalant air. “Long speech, little meaning and a waste of time. I'm Miburo.” He went to the shoji and stepped on his cigarette as he went in. She was speechless, the nerve of that bastard! He wasn't actually a wolf, that didn't count. In her mind she'd won that battle.

 

April was her favorite season. There was one simple reason for it. It rained. She loved rain, she adored the way it made everything seem so much more vivid. She loved when the gray clouds blocked the sun, when they began pouring rain out in turrets. As a little girl she had sneaked out of her room and played in the gardens when it rained.

 

One of her fondest memories had been her father returning from Kyoto in the rain, his haori and kimono all wet as he picked her up and hugged her. She remembered his eyes as she'd looked up into his face, how brilliantly the dark gray clouds illustrated his brown eyes. It was a treasured memory because it was one of few she had of him.

 

She turned, catching sight of Amane's small frame in the hallway. Where was she heading off to? She should probably get back to arranging the flowers she'd been working on, but she didn't really feel like doing it. Not when outside was so beautiful.

 

A hand clasped the shoji frame next to her head. She turned to see Yamakawa Okura. He looked her straight in the eye, smiling warmly. She smiled absently back lowering her head, turning to the water drenched landscape. It wasn't respectful for a woman to hold a man's eye, much less one of higher rank.

 

The thought struck her that she'd been holding Saito's eyes without any rebuke from him. It surprised her. Not that Kurasawa was quick to reprimand her for such a trivial thing, but Ueda would have. He was stricter to tradition than his softhearted friend. A part of her was curious as to why Saito, so strict with his own affairs and lifestyle, dismissed such customs so readily. She'd have to ask him sometime.

 

Yamakawa was silent a good long moment, “Tokio-san?”

 

“Yes?” She kept her head lowered, waiting for him to go on.

 

“Tokio-san…I…” He hesitated at first, but his voice quickly became stronger with resolution. “I remember Tsuruga Castle well. You were an exclusive creature back then, but you're even harder to find now. I asked a girl, Amane-san I think, where you were. She said probably in the garden. I thought it strange you would be outside in such weather.”

 

She shook her head, “I like the rain, Yamakawa-sama.”

 

He looked put out, “First you address me as Okura-sama and now you switch to my last name. I would prefer Okura-san.”

 

“Okura-sama is more respectful.”

 

“I would prefer more familiarity between us… Okura-sama makes me feel old.” He was hardly twenty-four, maybe twenty-five or six.

 

She hesitated now, thinking. He watched her hawk eyed. “Oku―.”

 

“Tokio-san,” Kurasawa interrupted, appearing with Saito. “I've been trying to find you, Okura-san. There's been some trouble in Gonohe.” Kurasawa kept talking as the two walked off. Okura was the vice-governor after all, he had to know if something happened.

 

She didn't look at Saito, remembering her manners. It wasn't good to try her luck with him, she thought. “Won't you go with them?”

 

“It's not my place. I'm just a peddler or will be when I figure out what I want to peddle. Want to visit some graves,” he said it casually, taking out his cigarettes.

 

“If you don't smoke.”

 

“You'll have to do better than that to get me to stop. Once I gave up sake I needed a replacement.” He lit it with a small smile coming onto his lips. “Everyone needs a little something to help them get through the day.” His hand reached over and shut the shoji just behind her. The cold wind and rain coming into the house faded. “Mine is cigarettes, Satsuki-san's is her horrible singing, mind you I think I might have to kill her if she doesn't stop it around me, I don't want to go deaf. Your thing just so happens to be the rain, though I can't see the attraction.”

 

She glared, but it was only playfully so, “I can't see your attraction to things that might kill you someday.”

 

“Excitement,” talking about his cigarettes or his killing people she could not tell. She had to keep reminding herself that he killed people remorselessly. She had to drill that thought in, otherwise…she was starting to really fear this Miburo.

 

The grave markers were nothing more than some rocks placed around sticks to keep them in place. The ones who'd buried the bodies, likely Gonohe villagers, had buried them away from the road, behind some dense shrubbery. None of the villagers wanted to remember the shrine incident, she clutched her fist frowning, but the people who'd loved both these men would.

 

Saito was frowning also, but for entirely different reasons. “I can't understand something about this.” She turned to look at him. He wasn't smoking right now which was surprising, but not unpleasant. “The man from Gonohe should have been buried in a plot with his family, right? So I'm curious on why they buried him here with his murderer. Unless he had no relatives in the area or all relations were dead it doesn't add up.” He tapped a hand against his jaw, his eyes narrowing as something registered. “I'm beginning to think the one who tried to kill me was partnered with the man he'd slain. It would make all the puzzle pieces that don't quite fit come together. First off the man wavered far too easily at your words, Tokio-san. A man out for revenge shouldn't have been so…easily shaken off. Add that to the fact that this other man wasn't buried properly by his relations makes me suspicious. Your thoughts on it?”

 

She was quite startled that he'd ask for her opinion. She clutched at the sleeve of her kimono, not saying anything. His piercing gaze was digging a hole through her back. “Not a word? Strange behavior today. Nevertheless,” he pulled out his katana suddenly, “I don't understand why he'd murder his comrade. Turn around.” She turned her back on the graves at his insistence; the katana in his hand didn't scare her as much as she thought it should have. Perhaps because she knew he only killed evil.

 

A man appeared, standing in the middle of the street. He had on a gray haori, gray hakama, and green kimono. He tipped his sugegasa at them, waving. Was he a villager? Saito didn't sheath his sword though, in fact his stance was even more aggressive if nothing else.

 

“Maybe he's just―.”

 

“He's wearing daisho.”

 

She couldn't make it out in the rain, but it did look like his hand was resting on his left side. Saito glanced at her, “You should run if this moron attacks. Likely I'm the target, but one never knows with conniving enemies.”

 

“You said enemies?”

 

“There are four of them. The one we see, a bowmen just behind him and two more swordsmen with their weapons drawn. You run back to Gonohe as fast as you can when I engage them. Got that? I don't need to have to worry about a woman getting in the way.”

 

He'd worry…probably only because he'd thought Kurasawa would kick him out if she got killed. She squared her shoulders back and nodded her head. She tried to keep her body from tensing, but it seemed impossible.

 

“Prepare,” he yelling, lunging at his opponent. At his yell she took off. She was going at a fast walk, running in a kimono was impossible. She cursed as she fell face forward. She landed on her palms and sat up. She slipped her zori off and with shaking hands ripped her kimono so she could run better. Standing she left her zori there, forgetting about them.

 

She heard the screams of dying men, heard the clash of steel, the war cries. She tried not to remember. The tree leaves reminded her of Teru's green eyes as they stopped before the burning building. Teru immediately took command and started to dole out orders. Some people left. She went to an injured man, he'd been burned all over his face, his eyes filled with such agony. Her hands had trembled as she held him and tears had clouded her vision. Teru had come over with Suzuki Shingo, her personal guard. She said something, she didn't see Suzuki draw his sword. Some one yanked her off of the man seconds before Suzuki's sword ended his suffering. It was not the first man she'd seen killed nor the last, but he'd been the first one whose life she'd watch slip away through his eyes.

 

She'd fallen again. She picked herself up and ran. Gonohe came into view soon enough and than Kurasawa's place. She entered though the gate and rushed inside. She found her room with little difficulty, no servant stopped her and she was fortunate enough not to have run into Kurasawa or the others. She sat down seiza style on the zabuton, her hands in front of her. She bowed low, her forehead touching the mat, trying with every muscle in her body to control herself. She wished right then that she had Saito's disciplined mastery over her emotions. She wanted her heartbeat to stop.

 

She awake with a start. Someone's foot was poking her side. What was that smell? It smelled like smoke…not fire though. She was safe from that. Cigarette smoke. She opened her eyes. The foot nudged her again. “Enough, Goro-san.”

 

“Just making sure,” he gave one final merciless jab and sat down on the zabuton facing hers. “I brought your zori.” He handed the dirtied zori scandals. She frowned as she took them, setting them in her lap. Her ripped kimono was covered in dirt and this was one of her favorites. He watched her without blinking. “I killed those men easily enough. I suppose you didn't really have to run.”

 

She didn't say anything and he lapsed into silence. He stood to go, “Goro-san, thank you,” she bowed low, remembering her manners at the last minute. He was silent as she continued, “I owe you greatly, but there is this nagging question which will not leave me be.”

 

“What?”

 

“I was wondering why you're so strict on yourself, but not on others. You throw away etiquette easily enough when we talk, expect for your use of san. I was merely curious.”

 

“Do you find me a contradiction?” He looked thoughtful as he met her eyes, “I'm strict morally speaking on everyone, but I find etiquette in general restricting and a hindrance. Women shouldn't have to act so subservient and stupid. Women, despite their inferiority to men, should not be treated like pigs, fattened with child and disregarded after the firstborn son.”

 

Her lip twitched, “So you consider women to be inferior?”

 

“Of course, but not because I'm ignorant or arrogant. Women are generally not disposed to be warriors; their softer gentler bodies restrict such activities. Though I've heard of women who've fought as bravely as men, I've not yet met a woman who could best me. Therefore women are the physically weaker sex.” He'd taken out a cigarette and lit it while he'd spoken.

 

“But you―.”

 

“I wasn't done speaking,” he said as he blew out smoke. She fell silent. “In my mind men, with their insatiable temptations and fickle nature, will always be the mentally weaker sex. Women can be just as dense as men and usually more vane.” He yawned, his gaze thoughtful. “Nevertheless my opinion at this residence has been mostly good. Kurasawa-san and Ueda-san have proved to have iron wills of inner strength, conviction, and are virtuous individuals. The women here,” he flicked the ash onto his leg, frowning, “have surprised me even more with their virtue and strength.”

 

She wasn't sure if he was talking about all the women here. He noticed her downcast look and scoffed with annoyance. “You belittle them with your doubt. Even the fainthearted Haruna-san has shown to me her resilience. Yaso-san has proven that a beautiful woman does not always have to be vane too. Satsuki-san and Amane-san have both proven their loyalty to their female companions by helping them in a crisis.”

 

He hadn't mentioned her. She didn't reply. She'd deserved those words for doubting the others' abilities. All of them were superior individuals. “You confused me at first,” she glanced upward to meet his eyes. He flicked ash onto his pant leg again and with a bemused hand rubbed it into his kimono. She watched stunned as he continued, “I thought you were a quiet woman because you had nothing to say, not because you were predisposed to silence. But I find you are not always silent because you enjoy it, rather you are considerate of those around you almost to a fault. You think out you're words in advance, where most just blurt them out, and always try to make sure they are not misinterpreted and hurt someone. You're a very caring sort, Tokio-san.”

 

She realized she was blushing. Who could have guessed a merciless killer, a former Miburo, could or would have said such kind words. “Thank you, Saito-sama,” she bowed. She had always referred to him as Goro-san because he'd wanted to be called Goro Fujita over his other names and san because it was respectful. Adding the `-sama' was her way of showing her gratitude and newfound respect. She suddenly wondered if calling him by his former last name upset him.

 

His laugher startled her, “Saito-sama? Funny, don't call me that again. I prefer Goro Fujita and `-sama' just sounds ridiculously pretentious.”

 

He went to the shoji that overlooked the garden and flung his cigarette outside. She stared in surprise at his figure as he turned around. The rain had not stopped, pouring heavier if nothing else. Framed against the gray, stormy rain drenched background he should have looked menacing. In fact she was sure to anyone else he would have been. To her it would be another good memory to covet about the rain. She remembered as he shut the shoji and went to the one leading inside how golden brown his eyes had looked.

 

She closed her eyes and when she was sure he was long gone she lay down on the hard floor. She let her hand rest before her face, staring at it with shinning eyes. How wonderful, she mused, this strange feeling in her chest and how strange that it had started out like a bud and bloomed so quickly. Would it fall to the ground like a cherry blossom? Or would it stay forever more to bother her?

 

She didn't realize until later as she laid in her futon the name for her feeling. Love was such a tricky blinding thing.