Rocket: The product of a Clint Eastwood and Bauhaus overload. Go ask my muse how that happened. I do not own the Ronin Warriors in any way, except for the DVDs.
Writing Prompt: carriage, masks
Masquerade in Red
Tiger-blue eyes crept out of the darkness, set in a mask of fiery red clay: all violent licks and curves of flaming features half-shadowed with a thick mane of flat black hair.
The man wandered beneath the navy sky that hung over the cut of trees, blindly leading himself along on the soft dirt road under the faint light of a quarter moon, when the sounds of iron footfall approached from behind. He turned to take in the sound of oncoming horses before lights came swaying in a pair through the trees around the bend.
Green eyes drew closer in the thick void of night; as the man in the road watched the horses rumble toward him, their eyes seemed to reflect the fire, even in the shadows. He held his hand to hail the massive carriage that came creaking up from the vacuum of silence it created around itself in the forest. Set upon the wheels was a cab of towering, carved wood enclosed in a polished iron frame that glinted in the light of the lamps that hung out over the horses' heads on lavish poles with swirls of iron over the copper-leafed glass encasing the melting white candles. The driver was dressed in the fashions of another time: heavy gray robes draped over wrapped limbs and straight, silver hair spilling out from the hat casting a shadow over the eyes of the man's olive face. A whip quivered in the October breeze next to a pair of hands that held the reigns steady. The horses themselves were monsters: temperamental beasts with fur like ink all snorting and tapping at the ground with their shoes. When the man looked up at the stretches of jaw waving about impatiently in the night, the candles shone off little braids and a vibrant red bow tied into the mane of the one nearest him.
The driver said nothing. Words began to form in the man's throat when he thought better of intruding upon the silence the robed ancient pointed out over his horses. He adjusted his mask and swung himself up through the door, which had been opened by a gloved hand, among three passengers who awkwardly moved the rich fabrics of their clothing aside to make way for the man. When he sat down, the same hand was reaching out to pull the door closed. The gloves belonged with a layered red silk dress draped over a long, thin frame. Little red crystals dripped into her lap from the sheer fabric between upturned breasts. The woman who had closed the door turned to look at him with a cautious, curious smile. Her hair was wild, a deep red untamed yet elegant over her pale, heart-shaped face. Hazel eyes peered out from a white oval set into black and red checkering with red ribbons showering down from the temples: a harlequin mask.
"I'm Koji, Mia," she offered her hand confidently.
"I'm Sanada, Ryo," the man pushed his mask up over his forehead to kiss the heavy white fabric shrouding her hand with his eyes trained on hers.
"And I'm Lady Kayura," came a higher, younger voice. The charmed look on Mia's face vanished when her eyes flashed across the cab to the girl giggling softly as she held her hand out for Ryo, who broke his hold on the other woman to be a gentleman and take the cream-colored glove reaching out to him. Lady Kayura looked far too young to be considered a 'lady,' but she offered no other title. Her hair was long and navy like the starry night outside this cab and pinned up in careful rolls with three little peacock feathers that danced along the ceiling whenever she moved her head about. Her dress was some strange, fine material that crawled up in blue and gray-green patches over the poised curves above her bare legs. The toes of her small, tan suede boots were pointed together in a childlike fashion. She wore no mask, simply fine black lines painted over her large eyes and a touch of red at her lips. When she leaned forward, she breathed in to highlight the fine bones of her shoulders over the tasseled brass plate covering the small expanse of chest. "It's very nearly moonless tonight! Tell me, how do you see, and how were you traveling without a horse?"
"The road is bright enough to me, even in this darkness." Ryo was speaking to the redhead at his side. A flattered, light smile settled Mia's face. Lady Kayura sighed through her nose in frustration and fished a cigarette from the engraved wooden case in the basket at her feet. She flicked open a lighter without the delicacy of removing her glove and inhaled the flame. The dark-haired man continued, "I lost my horse a few days back. It was… an accident."
Lady Kayura offered the little box of cigarettes to him and Mia, who refused. She settled into the red velvet upholstery at her back and offered to the man sitting at her side.
"No, I don't care to smoke, thank you," he held his hand up without looking away from the moonlight seeping in through the window above his head. Perhaps something about the way he gazed up at the purple crescent out there with the driver - who made no sound to affirm his presence at the reins of the hellish black horses pulling them on - or perhaps the little parts making up his image gave Ryo the perception that he belonged out there, creeping in the shadows. His suit was a rich crimson lined was a thick strip of black. Silver hair waved violently over a delicate, pale face with a sharp blue eye. His mask was a clay baked in black glaze with fine silver paint webbed over the forehead, his cheek, and red gracing the belly of the spider crawling over his left eye. Something in his mannerisms suggested that the girl at his side was his companion, though she had not yet implied it in any way with her own body language.
"I'm Kuroda, Dais," he gazed at Ryo for a moment with his single eye before turning with disinterest to look out the window again.
"I'm sorry about your horse," Lady Kayura was saying. Her mood lightened before Ryo could thank her for her condolences for the poor animal and she pulled out a bottle wrapped in a splintered hemp cording with enough small glasses for everyone. From the low slosh inside the green bottle, some wine had been taken already. "I come prepared for such trips. I'm guessing from your mask, Ryo, that you're also going to the ball at the Dates'?"
"Yes. I'm very glad this cab came along; I'd been walking for some time."
"My goodness!" Mia remarked, subtly holding a hand to her chest, a gesture Lady Kayura could not do without drawing attention to her breastplate.
"Tell me," Dais suddenly became interested as he took the bottle of wine to pour for the ladies, "What happened to your horse?"
"I ran her too hard. She broke an ankle."
"How do you know this Sage gentleman?" Lady Kayura blew the smoke loudly through her lips as she leaned back into her corner to regard the man sitting diagonal from her.
"He's an old friend. And the two of you?"
"I've met him a few times," Dais explained casually, in a tone that was all too careful to Ryo's ears. "He knows my master."
"My story is the same," his companion raised her glass to her lips.
"Your master? What do you do?" Mia blinked, her curiosity suddenly piqued.
"I serve a man, fulfill an array of small jobs. Tonight, I'm on an errand for him," the man seated across from her seemed a little defensive. He only looked down at the blue-haired girl next to him when he answered.
"Errand?" the woman at Ryo's right arm was intrigued again.
"Oh, yes. It's a matter of business on behalf of Master Talpa. He has things to discuss with the one he seeks about Anubis," Lady Kayura chirped drunkenly. Ryo was about to ask if she was in any association with tonight's task at hand when Dais shot her a silencing look.
"Quite a feat, considering the party," Mia's hand absently touched the mask over her eyes.
The name had sent a shiver through Ryo. When he'd broken on through the forest without his horse, trying to gain time to breathe and prepare for the battle closing at his heels with the gallop behind him, it had been Anubis he was waiting for. The days since had been spent wondering what had happened to his body, no doubt discovered in all its blood-encrusted glory.
"My master demands a certain degree of confidentiality in his affairs," he seemed to be telling Lady Kayura all too late. Then, to Ryo, "I am being sent to seek out the man and handle the whole matter like gentlemen."
"I'd say if your master was a real gentleman, he'd handle it himself," the black-haired man noted offhandedly.
"Believe what you like. I live for the tasks that my master does not wish to do."
"Who is it you wish to speak with?" Mia leaned forward, as if the intimacy could loosen his tongue.
"Dais doesn't know who he's looking for, but he is very clever. He'll find him," Dais' harsh glares had no effect in silencing Lady Kayura, who took his elbow pleadingly. "Won't you at least stay a while?"
"Yes, I plan to enjoy myself." His words seemed more of a breath of anticipation for the night ahead than a reassurance to the girl sharing his seat. When he shifted to look out the window, the light falling under the velvet curtains gleamed off metal tucked away in the folds of fabric about his waist. Ryo's eyes flickered back and forth from the barrel of the gun that seemed to be aimed specifically at him, to the passive eye regarding the sliver of light through the glass. He felt the tempered steel of his short blade burning through the sheath against his leg. Did Dais know? Was he watching across his nose from the corner of his eyes? Would he fire before the distance had closed and bring these women into it? No. He seemed to enjoy waiting and feeling the web twitch. The carriage would be arriving to the ball soon, and there Ryo would lure this man out and destroy him quietly. The blood would pool black in the shadows, the dying breaths would be heard by only one.
"Where is that wine?" Lady Kayura hiccupped and held up her empty glass for the others to see.
"By my feet," Ryo answered as he picked up the heavy bottle and tipped it to the rim of her cup. The wine flowed out and his eyes drifted to the man who seemed to be smiling patiently in the webs of darkness floating over his face.