Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Terms of Engagement ❯ Consequences of Action ( Chapter 6 )

AN: Okay, this chappie isn't all that humorous. I have to spend a bit of time on various plots so Saitou can have his fun.

 

Terms of Engagement

Chapter 6: Consequences of Action

Saitou

Yaso. Saitou hummed softly to himself as he walked through the market area keeping a careful eye both on his men and on the civilians around him. Yaso.

 

A couple of women were arguing outside a small booth selling pots, each one shrieking obscenities and gesticulating wildly around them. A couple of his men were already slipping casually toward the two, sliding through the crowd with hardly more than a ripple of passing awareness of those they protected. The closest man paused, as if inspecting a flower display, and picked up a chrysanthemum, twirling it in his fingers as he kept careful tabs on the argument.

 

Saitou shifted his attention to the other side of the market, his eyes skimming through the crowd for any unusual movements. His men were carefully scattered about, pretending to shop, listening to gossip, maneuvering through and around groups of people, searching for weapons or other signs of trouble. Nothing looked out of order.

 

Yaso. Saitou hummed again, allowing himself to follow the thought. She was just what he wanted: beautiful, quiet, refined… dull… He shook the thought out of his head and let his feet seemingly drift over to where the two women were still snarling at each other. There is no such thing as a perfect woman…if there was, she certainly wouldn't want anything to do with me.

 

He had no illusions. The curses tossed at his back on nearly an hourly basis, mainly from his own men, left him with little doubt that as far as charm or even minimal social skills went, he was lacking. Not that it bothered him. Charm was little use in a war, and if there was a choice of being likable or being alive, he'd take alive.

 

A slender figure caught his eye. It was the maid, Yaso's maid from the night before. He stopped by a small display of ribbons, motioning the vendor to take down a blue one as he watched the maid walk through the crowd with a basket of what looked like vegetables over her arm. He paid for the ribbon and pocketed it as the woman paused by a cart selling herbs and medicines.

 

He frowned. Though Yaso had been wearing long sleeves and had kept her hands demurely in her lap for most of the evening, he hadn't missed seeing a heavy bruise on her left forearm when she had lifted her hand to sip tea last night. Now, her maid was buying medicines. He ambled casually over to where his man was still listening in on the argument while selecting flowers. As he approached, his subordinate made a small, discreet flicking gesture with his fingers, indicating that everything was under control, so Saitou continued past him without pausing.

 

He eyed the maid again then did another scan of the market. It was time to start checking on the lovely and delicate Tokio. He quickly shifted through his mind, letting what information he knew about the woman to pull itself together. Most of her babbling had revolved around clothes even the pillows she'd blessed Okita with were cloth related. He glanced again at his men then let himself be drawn over to the cloth seller.

 

Tokio

Toki stepped into the garden and bowed to her uncle. Her hands demurely folded in front of her, her eyes on the ground, her voice a soft, polite whisper. “You wished to see me, Uncle?”

 

He was once again seated amidst luxury. A tiny porcelain tea pot sat on a lacquered tray at his elbow. A pair of exquisite tea cups, so delicate they almost looked like they were made of flower petals sat next to it, one already filled with pale gold tea. A few scrolls of artwork sat to the other side of him, and a carved desk with ink and rice paper was in front of him. The pillows he sat on were a soft, deep crimson silk. His robes were of even finer, thicker silk that, if he were to ever step foot out of his garden, would certainly draw criticism for their prideful extravagance.

 

“Sit.” He motioned to a cushion off to one side.

 

Toki bowed again and quietly, elegantly did as he indicated.

 

“I am considering dissolving the match between you and Okita.” He frowned, picking up the tea cup of golden liquid and sipping it while watching a mild breeze rustle the leaves.

 

I'm sure Okita would be relieved. Toki bowed her head, but remained silent. It wasn't her place to comment.

 

“It has come to my attention that an alliance with the Shinsengumi could well be unfortunate.” He took another sip of tea. “With the uncertainty of war, choosing to ally ourselves with them could very well have embarrassing, if not dangerous consequences for our family.”

 

Toki eyed the second tea cup covertly, but kept her head down, her eyes cast modestly away from her uncle. Even base manners would dictate he offer her some tea.

 

“I will be discussing this with Serizawa. However, with this action, I will have to find you a husband quickly. Two failed betrothals will certainly be an embarrassment.” He sighed as if regretful.

 

How much time, uncle? How much time do I have? Toki bit her lip. She needed to know if her plan with Saitou would work, if it had time to work.

 

He made a gesture dismissing her. “Write a letter to Okita. Give him your apologies. We cannot risk completely offending his family. I will deliver it to Serizawa when I see him.”

 

She rose and bowed. “As you wish, uncle.”

 

She escaped as quickly as manners allowed and headed back to her rooms. Her maid was sitting, mending her torn yukuta. Her room was nearly back to its normal neatness. Her uncle had smashed one of her small tables that she had used for her flower arrangements, and the small celadon bowl her father had given her was now replaced with a raku dish with a few reeds waving tranquilly over it.

 

“It seems I am to be betrothed to a third.” Toki growled as she went to her writing desk and started sorting through her information for likely candidates for her new bridegroom.

 

“A…a third…the dishonor…” Her maid looked aghast.

 

“Yes.” She sat down on a cushion, her long fingers flicking through her correspondence. “Though, I doubt he thinks on that, not with his debts nipping so insistently on his heels.”

 

Her maid nodded, returning to her repairs.

 

The candidates were few. Given that her uncle needed to marry her off quickly, it eliminated many that were out of Kyoto. She could also eliminate those of good families. Good families wanted, even in wartime, a decent interval for an engagement to arrange for a proper wedding. She could also eliminate any in positions of authority, with the war raging around them and their careers hanging by whispers, a bride with two failed engagements would be too much of a liability. She could also eliminate those whose eventual death would cause too much inquiry into her or more importantly her uncle's private affairs. Which left her with three: Mukatsukaseru, a small merchant with ties to the West; Kodaijin, a decrepit old man who spent his declining years sitting in tea houses paying for companionship; and Hanzaisha, who she acknowledged she didn't have much information on, which in itself was suspicious.

 

She set the letters aside and looked out the window. She either needed to rush things along with Saitou, or she had to run, leaving her uncle with her estate, and the power the money would give him to hunt her down.

 

Saitou it is then…She bit her lip, wondering how to… well, there was that… She blushed then considered the alternatives. The thought of Mukatsukaseru, with his yellowy skin and greasy hair touching her body, or worse, Kodaijin with his hands shaking with palsy settling himself between her thighs made her stomach twist. Then there was Hanzaisha, with his thick heavy hands and neck who looked at the world with dead black eyes.

 

A husband has rights. A wedding night has always been a strong possibility. She took a deep breath.

 

She considered what she knew of Saitou, how he was, even with the horrors she'd thrown at him steadfastly polite and considerate to her. Then there was him, his physical self, slender, strong, with long silky hair that seemed to beckon her fingers to tangle in it, his elegant swordsman's hands. She would be less then honest if she didn't admit, at least privately to herself, she'd let her mind roam free about what it would be like to have him touch her, to feel those long, strong fingers loosen her robes and caress her skin, to lay beneath him as his body strained against hers.

 

Yes, better it be with Saitou, than with the others.

 

However, that led to another problem. One which Sumire or Midori would probably crow in triumph over. She had no idea how to go about seducing him. She straightened her letters and set them back into her desk, and pulled out her paper and ink set. It was time to write a few letters. There was no use having an intelligence network if you didn't use it when you needed information.

 

Saitou

The cloth seller was more than helpful. Choju Kojiro, the lovely Tokio's adoring uncle, spent quite a bit of money on the finest silks that could be acquired. Of Tokio, the merchant could not remember, but he did remember a lady with Choju. From her description, a young, attractive, well-dressed, slender girl/woman with pleasant manners and a quiet disposition, probably Choju's lover.

 

Saitou finished his patrol and slipped over to the residence the merchant had directed him to. It was one of the nicer places in Kyoto. Not so wealthy as to attract the attention of the rebels, who seemed to have a penchant for burning down the estates of those who had the audacity of being financially better off then them, but not so meager as to classify as anything but the residence of one who had no monetary worries.

 

He settled himself on a street corner, concealed from direct view by the soft fall of a eucalyptus bush. He didn't have long to wait as Choju made his appearance rather quickly and set off in the opposite direction from where he stood. He considered briefly following the man, but then discarded it to see if he could spot the lovely, ever delightful Tokio. While women didn't generally go out in public, especially with a war ripping the streets into bloody tatters, it didn't mean that he couldn't do a bit of harmless snooping. He grinned and settled back to wait for night to come and signal the beginning of his harmlessness.

 

Few interesting things happened. A teenage boy and girl came out and scampered around sweeping up early autumn leaves from the front. An old man trundled himself down the street peering nearsightedly into the gathering dusk. A young man, peering cautiously up and down the street came out after him and lit the lantern that hung over the gate, then still looking about suspiciously, disappeared back inside.

 

Saitou waited patiently, then when dark held full sway slunk down the street melting himself into the shadows. The wall around the garden was little challenge. He dropped to the earth on the other side as quietly as a leaf.

 

A few tapers were lit in the house; more came from the kitchen building in the back. He considered a second then ghosted over to the house. A few screens had been pushed back allowing inquisitive wolfish eyes a view of the interior of the house. He found, not surprisingly, a hall. He absently took note of the well cared for interior and expensive paper screens, but flickered past to the next opening. It was a bedroom, the small size and sparse jumbled furniture declared it a room that wasn't generally used. He glided over to the next opening, a small window that overlooked the garden. He listened intently before peering in.

 

Yaso? She was sitting at a desk writing. Her long black hair flowing down her shoulders and back to pool around her as she sat absorbed in her task. She was dressed in a simple robe over, he was sure though at his vantage point he couldn't see it, a yukuta. The long sleeves of both were tied back out of the way of the ink she was writing with. A maid was kneeling with her back towards him smoothing a futon out and silently fussing over her mistress's bedding.

 

He slid back out of sight and glowered at the dark garden. What is Yaso doing in Tokio's house? His mind shifted through a few possibilities, but few seemed probable, even fewer seemed logical.

 

Yaso's voice interrupted his downward slide into confusion. “You may go Meido. I'll be fine.”

 

“Thank you, Lady Tokio, may you have pleasant dreams.” The maid's voice was followed by a few rustling sounds. “Do you wish me to close the window?”

 

“No. I'll do that when I'm done.” Yaso…Tokio?... answered.

 

What the…!!! Tokio was Yaso? Yaso was Tokio? Was she plotting treachery, or was this some silly girlish game? His mind twisted around trying to figure out how her pretending to be ugly and driving him -and Okita- nearly insane with horror over the thought of marrying her, just to turn around and introduce herself as a potential bride under a different name could accomplish anything. If it was an Ishenshishi plot, its goal was pretty twisted.

 

“Would my lady like me to bring her some more tea before I retire?” The maid sounded hesitant to withdraw.

 

Saitou chanced another peek. The maid was standing, hesitating, by the door. It was Tokio's maid. At least he was pretty sure it was Tokio's maid. The woman had been severely beaten, her face was mottled by bruises and her eyes were swollen into small slits. By the way she held herself, Saitou guessed there were other injuries probably to her back or legs.

 

“I'm fine.” Tokio-Yaso stood up and waved the woman out of the room. “I'm going to sleep now.”

 

The maid dithered in the door a second more, then awkwardly bowed and left. Tokio turned and stepped over to the futon, absently dropping her robe and spreading it over the blankets the maid had already laid over the mat. Saitou shifted silently away, but not without first noting a few things. Things like the bruise on her arm that he had noted earlier wasn't the only one, a matching bruise wrapped itself around her other arm. Nor did he miss the discoloration across her collar bone, that he could bet spread upwards to her shoulder. He'd make a small wager that if Tokio would allow it he'd be able to count the finger marks where she'd been grabbed and shaken.

 

He growled softly to himself, diligently ignoring the fact part of his mind had been considering grabbing her and shaking a confession out of her. A few seconds later the taper in Tokio's room went out, and only a few sounds of settling in for the night could be heard. He glanced over to the kitchen, he was sure he'd find something useful if he caught the maid, but then Tokio, or her uncle, would know he'd been there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to tip his hand yet.

 

He slunk over to the other building. A few young voices could be heard whispering small good nights to each other. No helpful screens had been left ajar, but counting the number of voices, he was sure there were only a few of people in there. If he added the maid, the old man, and the young suspicious one, he could probably account for five servants total. A substantial amount, but… he looked around the shadowy grounds and considered Choju's luxurious, pampered air…not enough. Especially if one counted the smell of horses he could smell on the still night air.

 

He took one last look around then left the way he'd entered. As his feet silently hit the ground on the street side of the wall, he quickly disappeared into the shadows, his mind carefully examining each small fact he'd learned.

 

First, Tokio was Yaso, or should he say Yaso was Tokio and neither of them was what she pretended to be. He contemplated it for a moment, letting the thought tumble in his mind. When nothing came of it, he put it aside and considered the second problem.

 

Tokio's maid had been beaten. Not entirely unheard of, many people beat their servants. It hardly was worth noting, except for one, the apparent viciousness of the assault, and two, the bruises on Tokio. Again, a woman getting beaten was not unheard of, or even worth commenting on, but the timing was interesting. He hadn't seen any bruises on Tokio, the repulsive version, and Okita, who under all his layers of foolishness was sharp and perceptive, hadn't mentioned that his buxom bride to be had been hurt. He'd need to double check that, but it still pointed to a short time frame from Tokio driving off her suitors to her sitting demurely charming him into marriage, a time frame that included a beating.

 

Third thing, Okita had pointed out that Uncle Choju would lose everything the day Tokio married. A circumstance Saitou doubted the man relished, yet paradoxically was striving toward. Why beat Tokio and her maid into doing the one thing he should try to prevent, marriage? Unless, Uncle Choju, who had been the one to end his engagement with Tokio was being forced to marry Tokio off, and was using every means short of outright…What? disobedience to an order?...to prevent the marriage from happening. Who could order Choju to marry Tokio off? Her father. Hmmm. It didn't sound quite right.

 

A girl's game? Tokio, the real one, was rich, maybe a bit spoiled, and with a war on her doorstep unable to do more than tinker in her garden, drink tea, and write letters that only had a slim chance of arriving at their destination. Could Tokio and her marriage plans be no more than the past time of a bored girl? He slipped down a few streets contemplating her actions. She was, whether Choju was involved or not, clever. She'd thought fast on her feet at the garden tea party. She had been equally quick witted as she had sat in front of him pretending to be shy, demure Yaso. Indeed, if you put the two together the only definite things he could say was Tokio was crafty, intelligent, not afraid to cast aside small societal taboos -he grinned at the thought of small, delicate, shy Yaso marching up to a tea pavilion and demanding a tea set in Tokio's grating voice- and devious. But young.

 

He slipped into a small noodle shop that stayed open late in defiance of the chaos around. It wouldn't last. He knew it, as did the other patrons, many of whom, like him, turned a blind eye towards uniforms, faces, and alliances in exchange for a hot meal late at night. A bowl of soba was placed before him even as he sank down at a table, all of which were arranged against the walls for the comfort of the establishment's paranoid patrons.

 

He picked up his trail of thought as he stirred his noodles around in their bowl. Yaso, without makeup, seemed around sixteen to nineteen years old, still young and prone to hasty decisions. He slurped a mouthful of noodles, and pondered the teenage mind. After a moment of thankful prayer that he'd outgrown that stage, he slurped down more noodles.

 

What to do. Turn her and her uncle into Serizawa? Two dead bodies, no threat, no problems. He ate a few more bites. He didn't like that solution. It was the correct one. The right one. The one he should take. Nope. Not doing it. Why? He stirred his noodles. I want payback… He nodded to himself and took another bite. Alright, how about letting her marry Okita? Watch Okita sweat it out with the ugly Tokio, and if she backs out, then tell Serizawa. He considered it as a pot of tea appeared on his table as a waiter hurried by. That would do for Okita, but would Tokio really suffer? Yes, at the end, when Serizawa ordered her and her uncle's execution, she'd suffer…but… Again, he discarded it. He contemplated his decision then blinked when his nimble mind supplied the answer.

 

He wanted her. He'd dragged his feet into this whole marriage fiasco because he didn't want a weak piece of fluff to drag after him like an anchor around his throat. When faced with Tokio's ugly version, he'd wished for someone clean, smart, and at least minimally attractive. After meeting sweet, delicate Yaso, he'd wanted someone interesting. Tokio, the real one, was cunning, quick, beautiful, and he had no doubts would keep him busy trying to outthink her for the rest of their lives. But I still want payback…

 

He drank his tea, finished his noodles, ignored a few faces he was sure he'd have to kill at a later date, and slipped cautiously out of the restaurant. As he made his way back to headquarters, a plan slipped into his mind. He poked at it a few times as he made his way up the stairs to his rooms. As he quickly bathed and dressed for sleep, he polished a few details and buffed it to a mellow shine. What was that saying the Westerners have…Do unto others…

 

The next morning he rushed through his sword practice and skirted breakfast so he could catch Serizawa before the rush of the day intruded. He cornered the man in his office, tidying up his desk for the new problems that were sure to come speeding through his office. His commander looked harried, even at this early hour, but Saitou was on a mission and his superior's stress level wasn't his concern.

 

“Sir, I have a bit of news about Okita's perspective bride.” Saitou felt his eyebrow twitch in surprise as Serizawa's eyes lit up eagerly. “I was doing a little investigating of gambling halls,” Not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie. He'd ambled into one on patrol yesterday then had ambled right back out. “It seems Choju Kojiro, Tokio's uncle has heavy gambling debts,” A small truth learned from Okita's investigation, which would support… “and seems owe most of these debts to people who support the rebels.” …an outright lie.

 

Serizawa frowned, but Saitou, not wanting to spoil his game, or to implicate Tokio, leapt in with the next piece of information. “I haven't found anything to prove he has any sympathies towards them…” His commander relaxed, but looked slightly disappointed. “but it bears investigation.”

 

“And Tokio? It wouldn't do to have a Ishinshishi spy married to one of our officers.” Serizawa looked almost hopeful.

 

“As I said, there seems to be no sympathy involved. However, Choju might be using his connection to the Shinsengumi to protect himself from his debtors.” Saitou let his tale composed of truth, half-truth, and complete lies ferment in Serizawa's head a few moments as the man drummed his fingers on his desk.

 

“We might be able to use this.” Serizawa nodded thoughtfully, just as Saitou had hoped. “Look into this. We have till spring to deal with the problem.”

 

“Of course.” He bowed and stepped back out of the room, content with his gambit.

 

He grinned to himself as he went down stairs to see if he could still find any food before he had to go out on patrol. It was going to be a busy day, and this evening he and the rest of the second wave of newly betrothed couples would be out replaying the tea ceremony in the park. This time he wouldn't be the one to suffer… The grin became wider and a bit more feral as he made his way through the common room, scaring a few of the newer recruits of the Shinsengumi.

 

Please Review

 

Anninat: Thanks. I'm happy you're happy :) I think the reason I have so few reviews is because people are catching this over on fan fiction. Net. I'm getting some nice reviews there. Media miner had some problems for awhile and it seemed a lot of people scampered over there. Oh, well… I still post my stories both places so people can read them where they want.