Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ X. The butterfly is perfuming ( Chapter 10 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: I’m indulging in a tiny bit of fangirl Japanese in this chapter, as there just aren’t equivalents in English. An enkiri dera is the three year sanctuary Shino took refuge in, back in episode # 11. Fundoshi are men’s undergarments; think of sumo wrestlers’ garb, and you won’t be very far off. I’ll post a link to a website where you too can see fundoshi and learn to put on your very own, on my LJ (follow the link in my author’s bio), in case anyone burns to learn about the boxer shorts of old Edo, or has any questions about any of the other terms I use. And yes, Jin puts the ‘fun’ in fundoshi. Mm!

Also, I love my readers and reviewers like holy mo. Thanks, guys, you keep me writing! And big thanks to neldluva, laurabryannan and el gallo de pelea, without whom this chapter would have gone in a different (and way sucky) direction.


Nenju


She kicked him gently in the shoulder. “Idiot,” she told him.

“Bitch.” He didn’t bother opening his eyes, but stayed leaning back against the step of the balcony.

He was like a cat, she thought, lying stretched out to take in as much of the sun’s warmth as possible. It darkened his skin to the rich color of raw sugar, so different from Jin’s or even hers; she held her hand out against his arm to admire the contrast, fingertips reaching the first line of the blue band tattooed on his wrist.

He opened one eye lazily at the movement, and asked, “What are you doing?”

“I was thinking about how your skin is darker than mine.”

“Mmhm. Happens in the south.” He closed his eyes again, to all appearances attempting to doze. She smiled even more broadly; he should know better than to think she’d fall for that.

“You don’t talk about Ryukyu much,” she observed.

“And you’re antsy because Jin’s gone. So what?”
“Oh, come on.” She wriggled around so that her face was in the sun that was pooling on the tatami of the tiny room the three of them had rented. “Thinking about finding a job, mostly.”

“You trying to tell me you’re not?”

She brushed her hair out of her face. “Why would I even care that he was going to see her?”

“Because you’re jealous.”

Maybe. Yes. I don’t know. “Of course I’m not jealous! She’s — I mean, he obviously could do better, not that he’s interested in her like that. And he’s our friend, so we should care, because — you just changed the subject, didn’t you?”

“Wasn’t talking about it in the first place.” His face stretched in a satisfying, bone-crackingly wide yawn.

“You know, you’re not going to distract me by not talking about that woman.” She heard herself and cringed inwardly — it was never good when she sounded flaky even to herself. Undoubtedly, he was going to tell her she was crazy, or again that she was jealous, or some combination of the two, which she wasn’t, she was merely concerned —

And — he was snoring. She wrinkled her nose at him in disbelief.

Ass.

Fuu found work at the third teahouse she tried, with a little improvising.

“Hmm . . . from Edo, but you’ve worked all over the country, it seems. Why so many places?”

I keep having to go to Nagasaki with these two men I sort of live with — but not like that — while the shogun’s men are after me. Eheh heh. Did I mention I have a recipe for this thing the Europeans eat called castella that you might like? “Ah . . . boy trouble.”

“Oh.” The teahouse owner’s wife looked at her with new interest, as Fuu winced inwardly. Well, at least she wasn’t a scandalous whore, she consoled herself. Just a regular one. Eep.


Waitressing was all right, though. She’d done it long enough that she could let her feet propel her about the teahouse, hands automatically seeking the right place on the tray to balance it, and be a thousand miles away. She was glad of the chance to be on her own — sort of — and think without the distraction of Mugen or Jin.

Mugen — she let herself think about what it had been like, kissing him on the path back to the temple. It had been almost a week since then, and in that time he had given her no sign that he wanted to repeat the experience or even that it had ever happened.

It had been incredible and amazing and addictive and her mind seemed to stop being capable of thinking about it rationally, other than to tell her with great frequency moremoremore, and now, if not sooner. She’d never understood before what made that act such a big deal, and she’d always submitted with good grace (well, she’d never rinsed her mouth out or washed her face afterwards in front of him) when Toku had pecked her on the lips, waiting for him to lift his face away from hers. What had happened with Mugen had been different; a First Kiss, a tide full of fire and honey tipping slowly through her body. He’d thought it was her first kiss, and she seized on it gratefully. It was selfish, she thought, but she decided that was the one she wanted to be her first kiss. Funny — she’d thought he would have been happier, she’d thought he’d enjoyed it as well — she thought she’d like to try it again.

And, surprisingly, in a way that made her want to curl up into a tight ball of burning-faced shame, she thought she’d like to try kissing Jin as well.

Eeee!

Which was undoubtedly not anything the ronin would like to try, she told herself. Yes, there had been that moment in the forest outside Kasumi, when he’d told her that he didn’t want the woman from the enkiri dera, and yes, she’d thought there had been . . . something, when he and Mugen had dragged themselves back from whatever they’d done in Motomachi. Hn. There had probably been as much something as there had been that night by the river before they’d reached Nagasaki, which still confused her as to what the hell that had been.

Besides that, Jin was a little odd with everyone; it wasn’t as if he was singling her out. He probably wasn’t much for kissing anyway — she could count on Mugen’s fingers the times she’d seen the ronin ever willingly touch anyone, and Mugen would still have a selection with which to pick his nose.

She liked that long upper lip of his, though. Most of the time his mouth was carefully schooled to stillness, but for a patient observer, it was one of the few things that ever gave away what was going on inside him. She’d noticed first how his lips compressed together slightly when Mugen was really getting on his nerves, but then she’d happened to be looking directly at him when something surprised him and his upper lip had quirked upward for the briefest of seconds; almost as if he’d thought it was . . . funny. Since that time, she’d become a student of his face, avidly cataloguing each of his micro-expressions. It was his fault, really, she thought. If he’d allowed himself to show what he was thinking, she wouldn’t have been as curious, and she probably wouldn’t have thought twice about that perfectly controlled mouth and how that long upper lip curved gently down at the side —

A cranky voice cut rudely into her thoughts. “Hey. When am I going to get those dumplings?”

His fault, entirely.

Stupid ronin.


Mugen slouched through the marketplace with his hands in his pockets, looking for the main signboard. There was always the gambling hall — a good place for a man with quick reflexes to look for work — but since the incident outside the brothel, he might be better suited to start with something else that had a smaller chance of being affiliated with a business to which he and Jin had done that much damage.

The dusty market was crowded, noisy, and smelling of hot fat from a tempura stand somewhere. There were the usual women out doing their shopping, some with children underfoot, some not, and the elderly he’d come to expect. There were more men than he remembered there being the last time they’d come through here, though — both with and without daisho at their hip. It seemed, even since he’d left the ship in Matsumae, that there were a lot more men that he was seeing. Never a good sign, in his opinion. Especially that many samurai out on their own — it was like leaving knives lying around; sooner or later, someone was going to get cut.

They were touchy as hell, too. Just look at Jin, there were about eight million ways possible to offend him. Mugen thought he may have scratched only the first seventy-five or so, and climbing into bed with Fuu had certainly been one of them — the ronin had been slightly more offended when Mugen had written Jin’s name on his fundoshi following their stop in Hiroshima, during a day they’d taken to wash their linen (although, as the Ryukyuan had pointed out, it hadn’t been as if Jin had actually been wearing them at the time; not that that had seemed to make the ronin any less pissed off at him).

Samurai had too many unnecessary rules, much like their country, he decided. He still didn’t get a lot of things about Japan; back when they were still looking for her father, Jin and Fuu had spent an afternoon trying to explain to him the shogun’s relationship to the emperor, for one. Mugen still didn’t get that, but kept it to himself. Fuu’s choking fit when he’d asked “So, if the shogun’s so powerful, why doesn’t he kick the bitch off the throne and grab it for himself?” had been singularly off-putting.

His mind registered the presence of a young woman standing in front of the signboard, and automatically he looked her over. Hmm. Fuckable, he decided, as his eyes skimmed over the faint curve of her ass. The pale orange kimono disguised any shapeliness she might have had, but there was something about the way she moved —

His eyes widened as the pretty woman turned away from the signboard to face him, his hand going up reflexively to cover the top of his head.

She looked up into his face and grinned. “Hey, lover boy.”

For the first time since he’d set foot in Satsuma, just off the ship from the Ryukyus, he gaped like a slack-jawed yokel. He hadn’t recognized her in those clothes; the last time he’d seen her, she had been wearing considerably less —

Bitch tricked us with the naked woman, his mind supplied. Twice. Oh yeah, and she kicked you in the nuts. But she looks good.

“‘Sup?” he greeted her. “You still not keeping your promises to people?”

Yatsuha laughed then, and took his arm. “I promised I’d do something really amazing with you,” she told him, with a sultry look passing over her face so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “I just didn’t promise I’d do it right away.”

Oh — hey. The corners of his mouth spread outward in a slow, lascivious smile, as the implications of her last sentence sank in.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” She steered him through the crowds, toward a small stand where her money brought them a quiet table in the back, a bottle of sake, and two cups. Not standing on ceremony, she poured for herself as well as for him.

The sake was even good, Mugen decided; damn, she might well be the perfect woman, if it weren’t for the violence. Not that he minded that as such, he just didn’t like how wounds itched as they healed. “So.” he said. “Married? Kid?”

She smiled around the edge of her cup at him. “Thought about it couple years back — had the guy all picked out — but it didn’t happen.”

“Oh, yeah?” He snorted, and gave her a friendly leer. “Guy must be dense.”

“Mm.” She raised her eyebrows as she drank. “He’s got a pretty thick head, that’s true.”

“So you’re still — ?”

“Not married,” she told him. “Hankichi still has a little crush on me, I think, so if I’m ever desperate . . . although my parents keep inviting him to stay with us in Iga.“

He frowned. “He was the one with the big mole? You’d have to be pretty desperate. No, I meant, are you still doing that thing?”

“Work? Sure.” She shrugged. “Can’t talk about it. You know.”

“Hn.” He nodded, as they fell quiet. She tapped a fingernail against the side of her cup; he poured himself a second, downing that as quickly as the first. Finally, he asked her casually, “So, did you have any idea as to when you were gonna keep that promise?”

She stopped, cup raised midway to her lips. “Probably not today.” Yatsuha fought back the giggle that threatened to bubble up, as disappointment clouded his face. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you in town here with a girl?”

Mugen gave her a sharp look, as he rubbed his hand through his hair. “How’d you know about that?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “If you’re going to beat up a whorehouse — “she began.

“Oh.” He grinned at her. “Almost forgot about that.”

“I figured it had to be you. How many other men can be out there with crazy hair, a weird sword and cut off hakama, who likes to fight groups?” She leaned forward avidly. “Did you really start arguing with another guy about how to count the owner?”

He shrugged. “He was pissing me off. Guy sends two to fight me. Two,” he repeated in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m not here with her like that.”

“You sure? I heard you seemed awfully cozy together.” She swirled the lees around the bottom of her cup, before looking up to see his mouth tighten. Interested, Yatsuha looked at him closely; she’d hit a nerve there, somehow.

“‘M not,” he told her shortly. “I’m here with her because I fucked up last time.”

She shrugged. “It happens.”

He snorted, fiddling with the bottle.

She took the sake from him and poured him another. He’d gone quiet, so she was going to have to get him talking again. Hmm. “So. If you’re not cozy with the girl, and you’re here with another guy . . . “

Mugen choked noisily. “Good thing you’re a woman,” he said, when he’d recovered. “That’s not even — that’s the — “ He made a retching noise.

“You sure?” she teased.

He glared at her, before starting to laugh. “Bastard’s as pretty as a girl,” he said. “I can see how you’d think he was one.”

“So no?”

“No way in hell, no.” He leaned forward, closer to where she sat with her elbows on the table. “I’d have thought you knew I wasn’t into that. Maybe I could show you, you tell me when you intend on keeping your promise.” His eyes fixed on the neck of her kimono wolfishly.

She swallowed. Um.


Hankichi would be waiting for her when she got back, Yatsuha knew.

She wasn’t wrong.

He sprang forward as soon as the shoji slid open to admit her, grabbing her arm and yanking her inside the dim room. The room was cramped, musty, and more importantly, had an excellent view of the exits to the inn where the Ryukyuan, the ronin, and the Christian’s daughter were staying.

“Um. Hey?” she tried.

It didn’t work. He still looked utterly furious with her.

She sighed, and sat down to await the inevitable chewing out. It was a small price to pay, she thought; most of the time Hankichi was a dream to work with. He was quiet, efficient, his jokes weren’t too awful (except for that one about the horse and the sake stand, which — just wasn’t good), and he’d worked with her long enough to be able to gauge her moods correctly. They held equal rank, and she cherished being able to talk to him as an equal, rather than being on the receiving end of orders.

However, that also meant he felt at liberty to yell at her for being stupid, and that he had a right to do it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he ground out. “You were supposed to follow him. Not go drinking with him!”

Aaargh — he was in full ‘servant of the shogun’ mode. And he’d worked himself up into a snit about it. Shit.

“It’s funny. When I stopped by your father’s office to get my orders, there was this woman there, about your height, looked like you, standing right next to me when he said ‘no contact with any of the three, under any circumstances’, but that couldn’t have been you, could it? Because when I got back from following the ronin out to the enkiri dera, I walked through the market, and there you were, at the sake stand with the Ryukyuan!”

Yatsuha raised her eyebrows at Hankichi. He was starting to sound a little possessive, which she did not want to have to deal with today. “He spotted me,” she told him calmly, cutting him off.

He stopped, mouth open as he was about to launch into another rant. “He spotted you?” He sat down. “What happened?”

She shrugged. “He got too close with the crowd at the market. He knows what I look like, after all. So, we went for a drink just like we would if I weren’t here to follow him; it would have been too suspicious otherwise.”

His hand went up to rub at the back of his head as he thought. “He didn’t say anything?”

“Did he ask what I was doing? Yeah. I told him I couldn’t say. He didn’t ask me anything else. We talked about other things — ” Like when I was going to jump his bones, she added mentally. “Something’s going on there with the girl, but I don’t know what.”

“Eh. Can’t be helped, I suppose.” He scratched his ear, all traces of his earlier temper gone. “Did you find out where they’re going?”

She shook her head.

“Too bad.” A thought struck him, and he gave her a wicked little smile. “However . . . “

”Mm?”

“Since you screwed up, you get to be the one who tells your father.” Hankichi’s eyes twinkled at her cheerfully. “I know how much you love doing that.”

“Oh, thanks. Remind me to volunteer you the next time they’re looking for a practice dummy in training,” she told him. “You find anything out?”

“Uh-uh.” He shrugged. “He wasn’t there very long, I can tell you that. He went in, stayed less than an hour, and came out alone. He did walk faster on the way back, if that tells you anything.”

“Pfft.” She threw her hands up. “Maybe if you chatted up the girl — “

He gave her a look. “And then tell your father? I don’t think so. I don’t want to end up like that priest in Motomachi, just because you think he’ll be easier on you if he’s pissed off at both of us.”
“It was worth a shot?”

He snorted.

The sun was going down by the time Fuu finished up at the teahouse, the last light tinting the buildings with copper. The streets were relatively uncrowded, with people hurrying home or there already; she could hear families inside the houses, preparing the evening meal, talking — it was warm and comfortable and for a moment she envied them, until she let herself think about her makeshift family, her boys, Mugen and Jin. Jin . . . .

Her step faltered briefly as she thought about the woman at the enkiri dera. She wouldn’t take Jin away from her on their way to Nagasaki; she hadn’t last time, and this time Fuu knew better than to question him. But still — there was that small, cold knot in the pit of her stomach. The other woman was beautiful, she knew, and a beautiful woman was a powerful woman. If the other woman was powerful enough to take him away, she didn’t know.

The shoji screen was open, when she reached the room. She looked in cautiously, then with relief. Jin sat, meditating, facing the balcony; his eyes opened, when he heard her step hesitantly on the creaking wood.

“Hey,” she greeted him, holding up the cloth parcel she carried. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded, and she started setting out the food.“Thank you,” he told her as he took a bowl from her.

“Mm, you’re welcome. I wanted soba tonight, but they were out,” she confessed. “Mugen’s not back yet?”

He shook his head, as he ate neatly. “I haven’t seen him since this morning,” he told her. “You found something?”

She made a noncommittal noise, and wrinkled her nose. “Teahouse. Again,” she told him.

Jin smiled faintly. “Hn.”

“There’s not much else out there, not really.” She looked at him over the edge of her bowl. “Um, how did — “ she began, aware of the fluttering in her stomach. “Was she still there?”

”She’s still there, yes.” He examined one of the azuki beans in his red rice with sudden great interest.

“Oh.” Fuu hid her smile. “She didn’t want — ?”

“No.” He shook his head decisively, and she resisted the urge to do a little dance.

Yes!

Dinner tasted remarkably fine, after that.