Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ II. This morning a nameless hill ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: 3Jane 
In which our heroes encounter another old friend, and stories are told.
Anime/Manga: Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.02.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 1.5K | Status: Work In Progress
In which our heroes encounter another old friend, and stories are told.
Anime/Manga: Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.02.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 1.5K | Status: Work In Progress
Nenju
Disclaimer: I don’t actually own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are likewise not mine, and are from the haiku of Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth).
“What?” he asked, dropping to a roll and sprawling out.
“It’s almost like we’re back on that night before the island,” she said. “Do you remember?”
He looked at her, then down again. “Yeah. Course I do,” he answered, gruffly.
She chuckled. “It’s amazing. I was thinking about you, when you showed up. That’s the first time thinking ever brought someone to me — talking about someone, yes, but thinking, not usually. My mother used to tell me when I was a little girl to be careful when I talked about someone, because that would call that person to you.”
“She did?” He turned to face her. “Huh. Must’ve missed that one.”
“She said that was why you shouldn’t talk about the dead. But I don’t know — I don’t think I would mind seeing a few people again.” Her face was soft.
He rolled back, facing up with his eyes on the moon and away from her. “That kid?”
“What?”
“That one from the village. You know. His mother was sick.” His voice was quiet.
“Him?” She considered a moment. “I hadn’t really thought about him. I wonder if she’s still alive.”
“Ah.” He paused. “I would have said, the kid who kidnaped you, but ... “
She laughed. “Doesn’t narrow it down enough, ‘cause — you know, everyone.” He grinned.
“So, who then?” When she didn’t answer, he looked over at her. Her eyes were dark with old pain as she stared into the fire.
“You know who.”
“Ah.” He plucked at the long grass for a blade to nibble; his hands were restless. To distract her, he said, “I never knew mine.”
She looked up.
“He was a convict from the mainland, I guess. Least that’s what I heard. There was an older guy that took care of me when I was little, he was a friend of his that came over on the same ship, told me stories. He used to talk about how brave my dad was, how he never took any shit from anyone, no matter how tough the other guy was. He said when they took him out to be executed, he told them his only regret was that a bunch of assholes like them would be the ones to do it. I always thought, man, I wanted to be like that; I wasn’t going to take anything from anyone. I was gonna be as good as anyone else.” He looked at the night sky through his spread fingers. “Then when he died, there were these other kids I used to hang out with down at the docks, I guess they were my family then.”
“What happened to your mother?” Fuu asked quietly. He scratched his neck and shrugged.
“She died. I don’t remember her much, just that she was from Ryukyu, and she liked sugar. We didn’t see much of it, but it was always a big deal when we did. I kinda hoped when I was little that she’d marry my dad’s friend. Sorta dumb, really.“
”I don’t know. He sounds like he was nice.” She smiled. “That’s the first time you ever told me anything about you without me having to force you into it.”
“Liar. I told you about the thing with the chicks with the big hooters.”
“I knew that already! Even Momo knew that!”
“And then when I told you about the weird old guy, you and four-eyes are all, ‘Ooh, you could’ve been killed, that was dangerous, nyah nyah nyah.’ So what? Big deal, dead guy. I wouldn’t have told you if I knew you wouldn’t ever shut up about it. Anyway, I never heard you bugging fish face about sharing — “
”Gaaaah! I never said that!”
“— remember the Hakane checkpoint? He never said a word and you never bitched at him about it —“
”I could hear you two bickering halfway between here and the town,” the calm, deep voice of the man who owned the kasa broke in. “Perhaps until we are further away, you could restrict yourselves to throwing things at each other?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Jin?” The tall ronin padded silently up to the fire, and his companions; he had just set his swords down when she flew up to meet him. “Jin!” She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his chest, breathing him in. He still smelled of the oil he used on his mismatched daisho, and cotton dried in the fields, and underneath all that, his salty warm skin. His heart thumped steadily, comfortingly against her cheek.
He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and returned her embrace before drawing her away gently, her chin cupped in his hand as he looked at her. “Fuu,” he said. “You grew up.”
Across the fire, Mugen’s eyes narrowed.
Shit.
Disclaimer: I don’t actually own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are likewise not mine, and are from the haiku of Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth).
____________________________________________________________ __________
II. This morning a nameless hill
______________________________________________________________________
She almost felt like crying when she saw the place where he’d set up camp, it looked so much like home, when home had been what they’d carried on their backs. There were a pair of long sleeping mats left unrolled, set at right angles to each other, surrounding a shallow depression that had been scooped out of the ground and a small fire left banked, burning quietly inside. A kasa lay neatly at the head of one of the bedrolls; had he taken to wearing a hat? With the price on his head, it was probably a good idea. She smiled, her fingers against her lips. She could hear the ocean faintly and smell the salt tang on the night air.II. This morning a nameless hill
______________________________________________________________________
“What?” he asked, dropping to a roll and sprawling out.
“It’s almost like we’re back on that night before the island,” she said. “Do you remember?”
He looked at her, then down again. “Yeah. Course I do,” he answered, gruffly.
She chuckled. “It’s amazing. I was thinking about you, when you showed up. That’s the first time thinking ever brought someone to me — talking about someone, yes, but thinking, not usually. My mother used to tell me when I was a little girl to be careful when I talked about someone, because that would call that person to you.”
“She did?” He turned to face her. “Huh. Must’ve missed that one.”
“She said that was why you shouldn’t talk about the dead. But I don’t know — I don’t think I would mind seeing a few people again.” Her face was soft.
He rolled back, facing up with his eyes on the moon and away from her. “That kid?”
“What?”
“That one from the village. You know. His mother was sick.” His voice was quiet.
“Him?” She considered a moment. “I hadn’t really thought about him. I wonder if she’s still alive.”
“Ah.” He paused. “I would have said, the kid who kidnaped you, but ... “
She laughed. “Doesn’t narrow it down enough, ‘cause — you know, everyone.” He grinned.
“So, who then?” When she didn’t answer, he looked over at her. Her eyes were dark with old pain as she stared into the fire.
“You know who.”
“Ah.” He plucked at the long grass for a blade to nibble; his hands were restless. To distract her, he said, “I never knew mine.”
She looked up.
“He was a convict from the mainland, I guess. Least that’s what I heard. There was an older guy that took care of me when I was little, he was a friend of his that came over on the same ship, told me stories. He used to talk about how brave my dad was, how he never took any shit from anyone, no matter how tough the other guy was. He said when they took him out to be executed, he told them his only regret was that a bunch of assholes like them would be the ones to do it. I always thought, man, I wanted to be like that; I wasn’t going to take anything from anyone. I was gonna be as good as anyone else.” He looked at the night sky through his spread fingers. “Then when he died, there were these other kids I used to hang out with down at the docks, I guess they were my family then.”
“What happened to your mother?” Fuu asked quietly. He scratched his neck and shrugged.
“She died. I don’t remember her much, just that she was from Ryukyu, and she liked sugar. We didn’t see much of it, but it was always a big deal when we did. I kinda hoped when I was little that she’d marry my dad’s friend. Sorta dumb, really.“
”I don’t know. He sounds like he was nice.” She smiled. “That’s the first time you ever told me anything about you without me having to force you into it.”
“Liar. I told you about the thing with the chicks with the big hooters.”
“I knew that already! Even Momo knew that!”
“And then when I told you about the weird old guy, you and four-eyes are all, ‘Ooh, you could’ve been killed, that was dangerous, nyah nyah nyah.’ So what? Big deal, dead guy. I wouldn’t have told you if I knew you wouldn’t ever shut up about it. Anyway, I never heard you bugging fish face about sharing — “
”Gaaaah! I never said that!”
“— remember the Hakane checkpoint? He never said a word and you never bitched at him about it —“
”I could hear you two bickering halfway between here and the town,” the calm, deep voice of the man who owned the kasa broke in. “Perhaps until we are further away, you could restrict yourselves to throwing things at each other?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Jin?” The tall ronin padded silently up to the fire, and his companions; he had just set his swords down when she flew up to meet him. “Jin!” She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his chest, breathing him in. He still smelled of the oil he used on his mismatched daisho, and cotton dried in the fields, and underneath all that, his salty warm skin. His heart thumped steadily, comfortingly against her cheek.
He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and returned her embrace before drawing her away gently, her chin cupped in his hand as he looked at her. “Fuu,” he said. “You grew up.”
Across the fire, Mugen’s eyes narrowed.
Shit.
*************************************************
“Oi — you’re late, fish face,” Mugen said by way of greeting. “Cathouse bouncer beat you up? Again?”
A fleeting look of disdain flickered over the tall ronin’s features. “No,” he answered. “He moved like a wounded cow.” He glanced from the other man over to her. “There is another sleeping mat, if you would prefer to sit on that, Fuu.” She nodded and he brought it out from the cache of supplies they’d left hidden when they’d gone into the town, unrolling it for her next to the fire so she’d be warm enough, at a right angle from his. Mugen cursed himself for not thinking of it first. What did you think, that she’d crouch in the dirt all night, a snide little voice in his head asked. Now she’s looking at him like he’s Yoshitsune. And he’s looking back at her like — he ruthlessly squashed down his conscience, which had been about to say that the ronin had been looking at her like he had been looking at her, and closed off that circular line of thought before it got any more disturbing. Like she was double shrimp tempura. Yeah.
When she had settled on her mat, and Jin had seated himself, she looked up at them. “Um. Thanks, you two. I — “she bit her lip. “It’s nice to see you both again. Really. I missed you both. But — what are you doing here? And both of you?”
Jin frowned and turned his eyes from her reluctantly. “You didn’t tell her?”
Mugen rolled his eyes. “No. We were busy.” The other man shot him a look. “Escaping, goddammit!”
“Tell her what?” she asked.
The two men were awkwardly silent for a moment, then Jin spoke. “Fuu-chan, the shogun’s men know that you survived the attempt on your life on Ikitsuki Island, and we have reason to believe that they are close to finding out where you are.”
They were unprepared for what she did next, despite having discussed the situation at great length during the journey to find her; she laughed.
She laughed.
They both stared at her, confused, as she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand until she had to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. Jin had frozen at the first burst of merriment, and sat looking at her awkwardly. Mugen settled back in when it was apparent she hadn’t given way to hysterics, and continued to amuse himself by staring into the night sky, listening to the sound of her laughter. At least she was laughing more than she used to, not that he’d been around anyone who made a regular habit of it. She’d laughed back in the whorehouse with him, and he hadn’t expected her to; he’d been laughing at himself, for thinking that even though two years had passed, she’d still be the same girl who’d confessed to tricking them in the coin toss.
It had been unnerving, to say the least. The woman had shown him into a back room with a tansu and a futon — and had anything happened there? Unbidden images came of her, all bare silky limbs and pale skin in the dim lantern light, coupling with faceless men, their skin as rough and dark as his — and this woman, easily as beautiful as any seductress he’d met on the journey from Edo to Nagasaki or since. Then she’d looked up and Fuu had looked out of her eyes, those eyes like dark forest honey, and he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then when she’d fallen and he’d caught her — he rolled onto his stomach and bit his lip.
She was beginning to quiet now, the giggles trailing off into hiccups. She waved off their looks of concern with an unsteady hand.
“I’m sorry. It’s been such a long time, and then to see you two again, and hear that? It’s like kabuki or something. Now you’re going to tell me I’m actually the Shogun’s daughter, and that I was stolen away by a vengeful spirit at birth because — well, I don’t know why. But I’m going to wake up any minute now. I probably had too much wasabi with dinner and now I’m having the strangest, most vivid dream ever. Or maybe it was bad mushrooms?” She appeared to consider this for a moment.
“Fuu,” Mugen said. She looked at him and relented at what she saw in his eyes.
“All right. You have to admit it sounds crazy, though. Why would anyone care about me? I’m not a threat to anyone.”
“Not a current threat, no,” Jin answered slowly. “However, I believe that the shogunate may see you as a potential threat.”
“What? Why?”
“Your father, in the years after he was no longer with your family, became an important figure for the underground Christians here. Because of the nature of Christianity, your father’s death has not removed the threat to the shogunate that his life was. Have you ever heard of martyrs, Fuu?”
“I’ve heard of them, but what they are exactly — “ she shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t know.”
“It’s an interesting concept, from what I’ve heard, “Jin said. “Martyrs die rather than abandon their beliefs. When they are executed — which is apparently not a shameful thing to them — their deaths draw the attention of more people to Christianity, and potentially more converts. Very clever; Sensei would have said that by losing the battle, they win the war.”
“But they’re still dead?” Mugen wanted to know.
“Yes. But they’re assured that they will spend the afterlife in paradise, instead of some place called hell, which is . . . unpleasant,” Jin finished doubtfully. “The man who told me was unclear as to what that entailed.”
Mugen snorted. Wars, the afterlife, whatever; it still sounded like a stupid idea. He went back to chewing on the stem of grass and listening.
Fuu, meanwhile, was thinking. “So the Christians might think my father was a martyr?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “He was just sick and frail . . . and he’s dead now. I still don’t understand why the shogun’s men would think they should kill me.”
“The Christians revere their martyrs, and cherish any part of their lives in this world,” Jin said. “You would be very important to them, if they knew you were your father’s daughter. It would not be inconceivable that many Christians would pledge their allegiance to you, which —“
”— would be bad.” She sighed. “I get it, now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Mou. Not your fault. So what now?” she asked.
“I suggest we get some sleep, for now, and make our plans in the morning.”
“Yeah — good night, you two.“ She nodded, and curled up on her mat, asleep in moments.
“Good night, Fuu. Mugen,” Jin said, and stretched out. Mugen grunted, and waited for the ronin to roll onto his left side, as he always did when he fell asleep; it was some time before he realized that the other man was as wakeful as he was.
They passed the rest of the night, listening to the sound of her breathing.
“Oi — you’re late, fish face,” Mugen said by way of greeting. “Cathouse bouncer beat you up? Again?”
A fleeting look of disdain flickered over the tall ronin’s features. “No,” he answered. “He moved like a wounded cow.” He glanced from the other man over to her. “There is another sleeping mat, if you would prefer to sit on that, Fuu.” She nodded and he brought it out from the cache of supplies they’d left hidden when they’d gone into the town, unrolling it for her next to the fire so she’d be warm enough, at a right angle from his. Mugen cursed himself for not thinking of it first. What did you think, that she’d crouch in the dirt all night, a snide little voice in his head asked. Now she’s looking at him like he’s Yoshitsune. And he’s looking back at her like — he ruthlessly squashed down his conscience, which had been about to say that the ronin had been looking at her like he had been looking at her, and closed off that circular line of thought before it got any more disturbing. Like she was double shrimp tempura. Yeah.
When she had settled on her mat, and Jin had seated himself, she looked up at them. “Um. Thanks, you two. I — “she bit her lip. “It’s nice to see you both again. Really. I missed you both. But — what are you doing here? And both of you?”
Jin frowned and turned his eyes from her reluctantly. “You didn’t tell her?”
Mugen rolled his eyes. “No. We were busy.” The other man shot him a look. “Escaping, goddammit!”
“Tell her what?” she asked.
The two men were awkwardly silent for a moment, then Jin spoke. “Fuu-chan, the shogun’s men know that you survived the attempt on your life on Ikitsuki Island, and we have reason to believe that they are close to finding out where you are.”
They were unprepared for what she did next, despite having discussed the situation at great length during the journey to find her; she laughed.
She laughed.
They both stared at her, confused, as she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand until she had to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. Jin had frozen at the first burst of merriment, and sat looking at her awkwardly. Mugen settled back in when it was apparent she hadn’t given way to hysterics, and continued to amuse himself by staring into the night sky, listening to the sound of her laughter. At least she was laughing more than she used to, not that he’d been around anyone who made a regular habit of it. She’d laughed back in the whorehouse with him, and he hadn’t expected her to; he’d been laughing at himself, for thinking that even though two years had passed, she’d still be the same girl who’d confessed to tricking them in the coin toss.
It had been unnerving, to say the least. The woman had shown him into a back room with a tansu and a futon — and had anything happened there? Unbidden images came of her, all bare silky limbs and pale skin in the dim lantern light, coupling with faceless men, their skin as rough and dark as his — and this woman, easily as beautiful as any seductress he’d met on the journey from Edo to Nagasaki or since. Then she’d looked up and Fuu had looked out of her eyes, those eyes like dark forest honey, and he’d forgotten how to breathe. And then when she’d fallen and he’d caught her — he rolled onto his stomach and bit his lip.
She was beginning to quiet now, the giggles trailing off into hiccups. She waved off their looks of concern with an unsteady hand.
“I’m sorry. It’s been such a long time, and then to see you two again, and hear that? It’s like kabuki or something. Now you’re going to tell me I’m actually the Shogun’s daughter, and that I was stolen away by a vengeful spirit at birth because — well, I don’t know why. But I’m going to wake up any minute now. I probably had too much wasabi with dinner and now I’m having the strangest, most vivid dream ever. Or maybe it was bad mushrooms?” She appeared to consider this for a moment.
“Fuu,” Mugen said. She looked at him and relented at what she saw in his eyes.
“All right. You have to admit it sounds crazy, though. Why would anyone care about me? I’m not a threat to anyone.”
“Not a current threat, no,” Jin answered slowly. “However, I believe that the shogunate may see you as a potential threat.”
“What? Why?”
“Your father, in the years after he was no longer with your family, became an important figure for the underground Christians here. Because of the nature of Christianity, your father’s death has not removed the threat to the shogunate that his life was. Have you ever heard of martyrs, Fuu?”
“I’ve heard of them, but what they are exactly — “ she shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t know.”
“It’s an interesting concept, from what I’ve heard, “Jin said. “Martyrs die rather than abandon their beliefs. When they are executed — which is apparently not a shameful thing to them — their deaths draw the attention of more people to Christianity, and potentially more converts. Very clever; Sensei would have said that by losing the battle, they win the war.”
“But they’re still dead?” Mugen wanted to know.
“Yes. But they’re assured that they will spend the afterlife in paradise, instead of some place called hell, which is . . . unpleasant,” Jin finished doubtfully. “The man who told me was unclear as to what that entailed.”
Mugen snorted. Wars, the afterlife, whatever; it still sounded like a stupid idea. He went back to chewing on the stem of grass and listening.
Fuu, meanwhile, was thinking. “So the Christians might think my father was a martyr?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “He was just sick and frail . . . and he’s dead now. I still don’t understand why the shogun’s men would think they should kill me.”
“The Christians revere their martyrs, and cherish any part of their lives in this world,” Jin said. “You would be very important to them, if they knew you were your father’s daughter. It would not be inconceivable that many Christians would pledge their allegiance to you, which —“
”— would be bad.” She sighed. “I get it, now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Mou. Not your fault. So what now?” she asked.
“I suggest we get some sleep, for now, and make our plans in the morning.”
“Yeah — good night, you two.“ She nodded, and curled up on her mat, asleep in moments.
“Good night, Fuu. Mugen,” Jin said, and stretched out. Mugen grunted, and waited for the ronin to roll onto his left side, as he always did when he fell asleep; it was some time before he realized that the other man was as wakeful as he was.
They passed the rest of the night, listening to the sound of her breathing.