Utena, Revolutionary Girl Fan Fiction ❯ Sang Sur les Roses ❯ Chapter II ( Chapter 2 )

Ohtori's library housed eight million volumes excluding periodicals, films, music, microfiche, cartographies, and its most recent addition, a state-of-the-art computer lab. Ohtori also had a separate wing devoted solely to the school's and Hou'ou-shi's local history. Only the administration building had the honor of being the largest on the campus, the library rivaling second. The chief librarian and her staff slaved over the summer with personnel hired from Tokyo's foremost IT firm to convert their catalog system into an electronic database to launch it in time for the fall term. Gone away were the miles of card catalog breakfronts, in their place was a neat row of a dozen Macs on a comfortable chest high mahogany countertop. Utena was certainly grateful for the gradual advancement of Ohtori's European Old World ambiance so grudgingly static it garroted her nearly everywhere she went. Double study hall was the only free time she had to think for herself, and she moved about easily without suspicion of glancing over her shoulder every five minutes. Needless to say she didn't return to the rose garden since that night and frequently she was torn from sleep, her dreams metamorphosing more vivid than the last as she felt herself to be in Anthy's body stuffed at both ends. Sometimes in the hothouse and sometimes under the simulated stars, but it was not the university's planetarium. The delicate flesh on her knees burned from the friction on leather, it was white and glowing like an altar. Deafeningly the aging drone of pulleys and clashing steel cloyed her but the violating cocks to do nothing else but incapacitate Utena.

Utena sat at one of the hundreds of lengthy cherry reading tables under the white glare of a green glass shaded Tiffany desk lamp. She was a woman possessed suddenly having the urge to ransack her closet. Utena cut classes just to search for her jewelry box, rather her mother's jewelry box left to her. It was an antiquated thing made of polished artificial wood; a ring of wild flowers painted on the canary yellow lid, an oval mirror on the inside of the lid was bordered by a narrow braid of fading red satin, it was lined in crimson velvet and played Follow Me, her parents' wedding song each time the lid was lifted. While she owned several pieces herself, Utena didn't wear any of them save for her rose signet. These were irreplaceable treasures that couldn't be lost or damaged during a fencing match. But now finding their meaning took precedence. The only copy the library had to lend was no easy feat to locate, but she regaled in the narratives and findings of the author over the crisp crackling of a turned page. Remarkable how this bit of data could be so easily unobserved by academia seeing how it could tie seamlessly into either history or mythology. Utena felt cheated having found it under Scandinavia, not in sociology or anthropology, but in foreign travel. A conspiracy she presumed, to bury it somewhere no one would think to find it.

Lifting the tiny object in three clustered fingers closer to the light to make out the markings on the tiny gold tile, Utena referred back to the open pages and scanned down the right leaf with her left index finger. She stopped at the depiction of a letter shaped like a pennant soldered on a small tile of birch. She read over her breath, “`Wunjo: glory. Phonetic equivalent: w. DIVINATORY MEANINGS: success, recognition of achievements, reward, joy, bliss, achievement of goals, contentment. MAGICAL USES: for success in any endeavor, to motivate, to complete a task. ASSOCIATED MYTHS & DEITIES: Baldr, Asgard. ANALYSIS: Wunjo is the last rune of the first aett, and thus represents both the end of one cycle and preparation for the next. It is a very positive, stable rune, and is another place where people tend to get stalled along their journey. Christian poets related it to heaven, but in fact it more closely resembles the Pagan Valhalla, since this particular paradise is not a permanent one.

Like the wealth of fehu, the glory of wunjo is only an illusion. We have achieved success on one level only, and there are many more lessons to be learned. It is, however, a welcome respite, which allows us to rest, re-charge our batteries and prepare ourselves for the rest of the journey. It also gives us some perspective, allowing us to look back and reflect on the road thus far. Wunjo gives us a glimpse of what is possible, but if we try too soon to reach out and grab it, like the Grail it will disappear between our fingers.'”

And momentarily Utena pictured the wintry smiling face of a blue-eyed woman whose blonde hair fell lavishly to her hips in layers of bodily waves that Utena inherited. Her pink coloring came from her father something he also shared with his younger sister. Wunjo's description would be most apposite for her late mother. But according to the wisps of tradition Utena caught from eavesdropping on her aunt's conversations, only a priest gave a runic designation after the naming ceremony. Her father gave the earring Utena held up to her mother, she judged. Seventeen years earlier Hijikata Orimi married Tenjou Rihito in a secret ceremony witnessed only by his sister, Yurika. The Tenjou siblings seemed to be joined at the hip and were often mistaken to be twins, but Rihito was seven years Yurika's senior. They shared the exact shade of dark rose hair and impish ruddy eyes, when amber flecks surged within their dilated pupils they were often involved in plots jointly. But his marriage to Hijikata was something Yurika had an augur about since as far back as her memory allowed her to go. The clandestine affair ended in a crash; at least it was what Utena had been told. Away at school, the six-year-old transformed a sheet of white paper into a landscape of fantastical design. She drew mimosas as high as corn stalks and polka-dotted flying lions creating long graceful parabolas in a red sky. Under the child's tiny hands she birthed whole worlds and one of them would be awarded to her family. But it was not to be. Yurika a grad student turned foster parent greeted Utena within the sympathetic circle of her arms and told her that while her parents were somewhere far off, they loved her dearly.

It was all very clean and convenient. One minute they were there and the next gone. Ran through smoothly as a dress rehearsal, and that was one of the reasons why she knew Yurika had lied to her. Snapping the book shut, Utena left her seat and proceeded to the checkout, behind the waist-high falcate basswood desk sat the assistant librarian, a cheerless, lanky woman in her mid-thirties whose black eyes were transfixed on the flat screen computer monitor, keystrokes going 75 miles per hour. It was music to her.

“I'd like to check this out please,” Utena said. Her eyes never leaving the spreadsheet she was working on she swung 45 degrees on her green cushioned swivel chair and scanned Utena's book. A receipt curled out of the tiny printer listing the book's due date. Utena went to a back reading table under the picture windows, letting in the white sunlight to open her brief case up and make room for her book when Miki ambled in. Under his arm was a trio of thick tomes; Utena was mesmerized at the strength of his slender birdlike upper appendages, his books had to weigh at least a pound and half each. But not a single one of them creased a rumple on his white Seitokai uniform jacket.

“Returns please.”

Not only did the wispy woman shrink her program window that she was working on to prevent distraction but she stood up and took the books from his hands all at once. “Of course Kaoru-san.” She didn't lay one hand on Utena's book, just simply aimed the red laser beam over the barcode fastened on the inside of the back cover which she gestured to Utena to flip open herself, and returned the scanner to its base under the counter. Special treatment as well? Miki handed her his book receipt, she reached under the desk and Utena heard the grinding whir of a shredder. Every student was carefully instructed to toss their receipts and garbage into the tall, white trash receptacles planted everywhere. “Will there be anything else sir?”

            ; “Do you have Runic Translations available?”

            ; “I am sorry Kaoru-san,” the librarian genuinely sounded apologetic as opposed to the generic indifference she displayed to the rest of the student body. “It was just taken out.”

Like a pre-schooler just informed that all the swings on the playground were occupied he gnawed on the inside of his lower lip. Utena flattened herself against the side of a bookshelf trying her damnedest to conceal herself behind the crisp white spring season drapes. “I see. No matter.” Miki was blessed with the inhuman talent of finding optimism in everything. Then again finding the book currently in Utena's possession may not have been critical. “If I may…” the librarian trailed off.

Miki's royal blue eyes rounded elatedly. “Please do.”

            ; “If I may,” she repeated, “offer a bit of advice, I could purchase a copy for you through the school. It only makes sense Kaoru-san since you've borrowed it repeatedly.” The fencer chuckled appreciatively.

            ; “Thank you ma'am, but the book has been out of print for 30 years now. I have personally done research and it is such a rarity that the few private owners aren't willing to part with their copies.”

            ; “I see,” she sighed her hands folded on her thighs. She bowed to which Miki returned the gesture. “Let me know if you require any more assistance.”

            ; “Arigato gozaimasu.” He then retreated from the library. Patience grated on Utena's nervous system like the rusted mechanisms in a clock tower and ordered herself to stay put until the bell rang. Five minutes later the hallways rumbled with activity and Utena sped out of there as fast as her legs could carry her getting lost in the crush.

 

 

*           *            *

 

 

            ; “Can you believe that?!” Utena sat with the only three other people she allowed herself to get close to on the outdoor refectory. However she was finding it difficult to enjoy her lunch. “They act like they're high priests or something! Something doesn't fit with that Student Council! I mean whoever heard of an SGO advising the teachers that teach their classes!” She stabbed at the chicken cordon bleu on her china platter, watching with fascination as the gooey Swiss oozed down each tine. One of Utena's companions gulped her yuzu juice and wet her lips feeling them crack from lack of moisture.

            ; “I don't know what to tell you Utena. Kaoru-san is so friendly, really. But if you want my advice you shouldn't complain so loudly about the Seitokai… kids have been driven out of Ohtori for crossing them from what I heard.” Utena laid her knife and fork down on her platter calmly; her game face replaced her usually amicable countenance.

            ; “Oh really?” She backtracked to that night in the Seitokai's private rose garden. She had not mentioned this to any of her friends. The girl's name was Himemiya Anthy Utena discovered after meticulously providing her physical description accompanied by a healthy dose of arm-twisting. The girl was the rose garden's caretaker and was associated with the Seitokai but did not hold any ranking nor had any office. What exactly Himemiya did was a mystery. Utena only asked those who stood on the side of the corridors that seemed remotely interested or terrifically frightened. Utena was brought up to believe that whatever others engaged in behind closed doors was their own affair. She was certain that Himemiya was inclined to join two men in sexual intercourse and that she was more threatened by Utena's audience than the President or Vice President. It was consent to defeat if she were to back down now. It left a sour taste clinging to the back of her throat so pungent she wanted to spit at that moment, but to do so in front of hundreds of pairs of eyes would be in bad form. Utena had compromised only once in her short life span and that was one too many times! Ohtori's teachers and counselors beleaguered Utena without respite about her uniform. Instead of dressing in the prescribed sailor fuku and pleated skirt she opted not to change the garb that gave the teachers at Seiran a communal coronary each time she walked through the front gates. They relented since Utena was either clinically insane or immune to fear and intimidation even of expulsion from such an auspicious academy. If she wanted to challenge the status quo so be it, but she would not under any circumstances mock the school's insignia with that particular shade of rose. Her Lycra shorts were tomato red and the jacket black, trimmed in red with a line of gold coin buttons stamped with the Ohtori rose insignia.

            ; Her classmates were bowled over by her forthcoming and boldness, ironically the same ones who were cowed of the Seitokai. As for the others sauntering and dawdling on the other side of the corridors, she was just another contemptible unknown face. “I have to agree with Benika, Utena-san. You really should think twice about pursuing anything to do with the Student Council.” Kazami Tatsuya, the only other teenage male she considered a friend besides Kaido stuck out like a sore thumb because of his egregious soup bowl mold haircut. Hence his callous epithet “Onion Prince”. Bringing both tiny fists down on the white table causing the glasses and china to clatter hatefully, Benika stood up and pushed her nose onto Utena's.

            ; “Sou! It takes a strong man to know when he could get his ass kicked, but Tatsuya's got it down pat.” Tatsuya uttered some monosyllabic shocking grunt around his spoon. “It's hopeless to win a confrontation with any of them, you'd just better stay out of their way until graduation day.” Maisaka Benika reoccupied her seat. She was nothing special in the classroom, but in the dance studio they considered her to be the heir to Maya Plesetskaya. A sweet-faced girl with jet-black hair smartly trimmed below her ears parted on the right side with a pink barrette, Benika created masterpieces with her tattered white satin toe slippers. Once a member of a touring children's dance troupe she was offered a fellowship at the Royal London Ballet Academy. It was strange to see the only one to stay silent during the entire exchange was one of Utena's ardent supporters who was so vocal about her feelings, her hyperactive antics earned her a reputation. Shinohara Wakaba, the doe-eyed brunette who looked out of place without her exaggerated curlicue ponytail bound by a bit of red ribbon. The luminescence in her brown eyes would steal over her ripping open her chest bearing all of her secrets threatening to implode from the inside out.

            ; “I don't care,” Utena whispered. “If they think they could go on playing around like this… they've got another thing coming.”

 

 

*           *            *

 

 

            ; They crept under her shivering eyelids stronger now. Flashes of intermittent images. A patchwork of thought, voices and languages converging on speed and viscously laying down a web thick as molasses for Utena to trudge through sucking her down into the moist earth. The tall swaying reeds smelling of rebirth… a broken window… sweating salty flesh she grasped between her gasping, thirsty lips… a splash… and the depths of blue. The garments she wore weighed her down like iron chain mail and her pink tresses tickled and confused her as she flailed, the more energy she expended the farther she descended. Air bubbles white and perfect as rose petals surfaced upwards and lethargy slipped over her battered limbs.

            ; `Utena!'

            ; Under her lashes she made out in the distance a black blur drew closer. `A prince… my prince?' Her eyes too exhausted to make out the face but its paleness surrounded by a mist of vermillion its shading closer to blood. The touch of flesh against her lips once more only this time Utena was reenergized by the by the blast of air hitting her lungs turning them pink. She felt a drunken smile spreading as he drew away. `My prince…' Sheltered once more in the womb Utena wanted to never leave but what her prince had to say to her next he only did out of love.

            ; `There's only one way to escape this world Utena.'

          &n bsp; `What…?'

          &n bsp; `Forget about me.'

            ; “NO!” Utena tossed herself out of bed trapped in a snarl of damp bedclothes. The back of her T-shirt plastered to her back and she daubed her forehead with her knuckles. It was Saturday night again. She stubbornly refused to pull the drapes across her window and she was about to commit a greater transgression, she was going out again.

 

 

*           *            *

 

 

            ; She tussled into her clothes, sunbleached denim pedalpushers and her black off the shoulder knotted midriff again pulling the first thing she spotted out of her cedar bureau. Under her black ballerina flats the ground turned from smooth hardwood to concrete then cobblestone and finally crushed freshly mown grass. The wind howled like a beast streaking across the inky blackness and she was lost. The tower could be seen from her vantage point rising like a heavenly spire puncturing the peaceful air. The campus was cosseted under the gazes of Nike, Eros, Aphrodite, Ares, Zeus and their Olympiad ilk everyone in Ohtori fantasized of. Emulation or desire to be a god Utena knew was dangerous and greedy but the majority of the students dashing under their noses unwittingly. But there were the chosen few who would pause and meet their marble eyes to smile as if communicating, I will join you up there in time.

            ; Utena smelled the minty crispness of the forest behind the campus. European pine and Japanese birch clumped together in Mother Nature's melting pot, she took the secret winding path strewn with packed red earth and shards of bark. Clawing back was the cottony fog and she saw the thick, rotting hemp rope dangling like a spider web slashing in the breeze noosed around the trunks of a pair of mighty oaks. The crude wooden sign sagging and moaning in the center bore kanji that was given a fresh coat of black oil paint.

            ; DANGER! KEEP OUT!

            ; A subtle invitation for a busybody plagued by insomnia. Utena stretched one long leg over the rope one at a time and pushed on. As she walked the old familiar loathing of life returned this time combining with an inexplicable rich desire and passion as she approached the bowels of the forest. The indistinct primal beats of rock music permeated her flesh activating her ever nerve sense and the tangerine glow in the middle distance of a seemingly giant conflagration tantalized her. But it was the push and sigh of fast heady breaths close by that made her freeze and she sprung to the trees for security and a better view. Under crackling debris and pebbles of the forest floor a couple dressed languidly, Utena saw bits of flesh vanish under designer clothing. The auburn-haired man zipped up his black jeans and pulled on his slashed Aeropostalé gray and white T-shirt getting to his feet in an infuriated hurry.

            ; “…Telling you I heard something…”

            ; “…Could you possibly hear…”

            ; “…Can't be too careful…”

            ; “…Now you sound like my brother…” A blue-haired female came into view from the bushes in black leather knee boots, a flared silver satin mini and a black sports bra. She was petite and her bob of cerulean feathered out. Kaoru Kozue. “Really Kayato, if you don't want to be here with me why don't you just Goddamn say so instead of playing games! If I wanted that, I'll just go to Touga!”

            ; “Would you be quiet!” He snapped and scanned the perimeter with his eyes as though he could see perfectly in the pitch black.

            ; “You see? Nothing!” And she proceeded to stomp in the direction of the glow. Kayato chased his date and Utena dropped softly to the earth dusting her thighs. Evidently Kozue's reputation was as well deserved as Touga's and she just referred to an encounter she shared with him as an apparent slight that ultimately went unheeded. Utena rethought her course of action and intimidated by the consequences should she be discovered she decided that it was better to retreat to the campus. But common sense seemed to be working against her as well. She ran out of the forest and landed on a stretch of black highway, the yellow blacktop reflectors adhered down its center resembling a cadence of yellow jackets. Halogen street lamps looming 50 feet above lit her way as Utena scaled the guard railings mindful of any oncoming traffic. She was fast on her way to nowhere and tempted to throw a temper tantrum but refrained just in the case anyone may hear and just resigned herself to anything. The delicate hum reverberated from under her thin soles up to her knees and the juncture between her legs the breeze caressed her there making her slam her legs shut. The white high beams occluded her vision and although she was well out of its way she mounted the guardrail and waited. Screeching virulently a black Porsche sped to a halt before her cornering at a 45-degree angle and stopped. The passenger side door gaped open.

            ; “They'd have your throat if anyone saw you here!” Railed the driver.

Utena's lips barely moved. “Tsuchiya… sempai…?” Ruka sat behind the wheel dressed in charcoal slacks and a white pin striped dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows exposing his sculpted forearms.

            ; “Get in Tenjou. But I don't know if it'll do a damn thing,” Utena left with little choice leapt from her rusty steel perch into the vehicle. Ruka revved the engine pumping his right foot on the accelerator before turning the car around and took off. “They probably already knew you were prowling around a long time ago.”

 

            ; TSUZUKU