[PARODY] (Aoshi x Misao)
***The characters used in this work are the copyrighted property of their original creator. I do not seek profit from my writing. I would prefer that you did not copy my work, but I can't stop you.***
As I was lolling about thinking to myself just how badly the series NEEDS a cold, impassive female character, this great idea came to me; if tainted tea turns the tables (awful alliteration alert), it's immensely interesting. Please enjoy, and feel free to send C&C to lechuza@herzeleid.net .
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"Role Reversal"
The tea served in the Oniwa Banshu's Aoiya was pretty normal tea: the usual soapy green powder the Japanese are so fond of. None of the occupants who drank it thought more or less of it. Neither did the wholesale merchant who charged it to Okina's account. Quality control wasn't the priority in the Meiji Era.
Perhaps no one would have drank the tea if they had known where it had come from.
Even so far back in history, Japan was always lacking in space. So when a great tea interest decided to dig up a daimyo's estate graveyard to make room for new fields, no one batted an eyelash. The age of the samurai was over and gone now, anyway. Thus tea was grown on that tainted land, and the door was opened for all sorts of problems.
Indeed, nothing seemed unusual to Misao as she used a straw whisk to mix the green substance with hot water in the worn old teapot. She wasn't concentrating on the tea *at all*. A tiny giggle escaped her lips as she placed the teapot on a lacquered tray with two cups. Aoshi waited in the drawing room for his evening tea on this very brisk winter night, and she was going to be the one to serve it to her.
It didn't matter to Misao that Aoshi barely seemed to care if she lived or died. Surely he would see the light someday, surely he would understand! And she just knew Aoshi loved her as much as she loved him...
"Arigatou." Aoshi remained stone-faced as Misao set the tea tray down on the low table between them. Stolidly he sat, watching with the blankest of expressions as she poured his cup, and then her own. Steam rose from the stoneware cups in sinuous transparent patterns.
Tucking the hem of her kimono beneath her, Misao knelt on the tatami. Admittedly, it was unusual of her to be so dressed up just hanging about the Aoiya, but she had a specific goal attached to the jewel-toned, embroidered silk: to impress Aoshi. And indeed, the amethyst fabric embroidered with silver butterflies and tied with a silver obi was stunning, giving her eyes a luminous quality that her plain Ninja uniform never could. But Aoshi, being Aoshi, either didn't notice or pretended not to.
With a quiet, archetypical Japanese slurp, Aoshi downed half his cup of tea. It seared the back of his tongue and throat pleasantly, warming his belly. There was a faint bitter acidity, but he ignored it. The quality of matchka wasn't particularly consistent anyway.
Watching him stonily enjoy the refreshments, Misao felt her heart sink. Nothing she ever did seem to make an impression on him! It was as though he hadn't even noticed her gorgeous outfit. In a sudden burst of temper she slammed down her empty cup.
"I'm going to bed, Aoshi-sama. If you need any more tea, you can help yourself."
Idly, Aoshi watched the Ninja girl's retreating back, and returned to the tea. No telling what her problem was.
Upstairs in her quarters, Misao threw off the beautiful garments with a huff. Flinging herself down onto her futon, she buried her face in the softness. Why, why, WHY couldn't he see how she felt for him?!
Misao's awakening the next morning wasn't completely unusual. As always, her first thought was about Aoshi. But unlike usual, it was rather cold.
Fine. If he can't appreciate me, then I don't want anything to do with him anymore.
Squinting in the sunlight that filtered in through the filigree wooden shutters, she had a sudden startling thought.
What is it I ever saw in him, anyway?
In his own room, Aoshi was just awakening also. But his thoughts were taking a completely different path.
Misao! What have I been DOING?
Stumbling up from the futon and practically into a wall, his eyes still blinded by sleep, Aoshi shook his head so hard he felt his neck crack. All these years he had ignored the most beautiful girl in the world's pleas for love, competing with his own revenge, Oniwa Banshu business, and the occasional other woman for his interest. He knew if he didn't shape up he would lose his chance forever. He wasn't able to see himself sweatdrop and get huge hearts for eyes as he thought of Misao, but the reader can imagine.
Stepping into the breakfast room, Misao frowned. The Aoiya had always seemed cold to her, but today the temperature seemed perfect to her. She responded to Okina and Omasu's morning salutations with a fractional nod. None of her usual smiles or bubbly greetings. She felt weird.
Skipping down the hallway, Aoshi could do nothing but wonder what was wrong with him. He had never skipped, not even when he was little. He wondered distantly how far he was from tying a pink ribbon in his hair, or something similar.
"Good morning, Aoshi-sama." Omasu gave the former Okashira a slightly odd look. He was a bit flushed, perkier looking than usual.
"Ne, Omasu. Good morning!"
Now that's just weird. Blinking, Omasu watched as Aoshi stopped in front of the door to the dining room, taking a deep breath to steel himself. Then he walked through, kneeling opposite Misao.
"Misao?"
"Hn?" Misao barely looked up from her breakfast of soup and rice. Her voice was unusually chilly and distant, her eyes more dispassionate than he had ever seen them.
"Misao..."
"What is it, Aoshi-sama?"
Aoshi looked down at his hands, examining the ridges and bumps of calluses from his years of practice with the long knife.
"Misao...I've been thinking...I've been denying the way I feel about you for too long." He looked up. "I love you, and I know you feel the same way."
Misao's expression didn't change even the slightest. There was less change in a lantern flame over the course of a single second.
"I see."
"We are meant to be together, Misao!" Aoshi gave the very composed girl a pleading look, tears forming a shining patina over his dark eyes. "Please."
Misao did not smile, did not laugh, did not cry, did not return the sentiment. She merely gave him a cool once-over, then sipped her soup.
"I do not love you. I can never love you. Please give it up."
"But...but..."
Aoshi burst into tears as he ran from the room, the door slamming behind him. Okina and Omasu stared after him, then looked at Misao sitting quietly at breakfast.
"It must be something in the water..."