Les Maison des Bon Temps
Chapter 1: Tedium
Life had become tedious for Misao. If she had known more about her Western counterparts, she'd consider the expression 'clocking in and out' perfect to suit her sentiments about the passing of time and adulthood. She dutifully raised the rag up to the windowsill, giving it a vigorous wipe, cleansing the glass of greasy fingerprints before she gave her reflection a half-hearted smile. The sun was beginning to darken, and she had finished the last room left for spring airing. Briefly noticing the smudges on her wrists and forearms, she rolled up the sleeves that threatened to slip past her elbows, picked up the cleaning supplies and left the room. Kimono in half an hour, her mind chanted, not nearly enough time to bathe. Past the corridor, down the stairs, Misao walked briskly into the kitchen, depositing the supplies in the hamper and putting a large kettle to boil. She grabbed a couple of clean rags and a large bin and placed them on the table. Taking the seat nearest to the stove, she closed her eyes for a bit, and let her mind run loose. She cherished these few moments of bliss in an otherwise long day.
She lost track of time. All of a sudden, she was awake, with no knowledge of having ever fallen asleep. She could hear the kettle begin to sputter, the fire warming the metal. It was a change of air circulating swiftly in the kitchen that alerted Misao of another presence. When she opened her eyes, she saw Aoshi-sama in the doorway, staring down at her. Misao looked back at him mildly, unsurprised. For a man his height, Aoshi-sama moved with the utmost stealth and quiet. She raised a hand in a half-hearted attempt to wave, and made an equally tepid attempt at a smile. She could have sworn that he wavered a bit by the doorframe, flickering in the gaslight, but she didn't hear the sound of his feet or the scrape of his clothes against the wood. She closed her eyes for a bit, unbelievably tired, and just a smidge frustrated that she still hadn't figured out how to handle these situations with Aoshi-sama.
"You haven't been resting enough, Misao."
Misao smiled suddenly, albeit in a wry fashion. Aoshi was the only man she knew whose questions could inhabit the tone of a statement. "Yes—no," she admitted, opening her eyes lazily, sad she didn't have an excuse greater than: "It's just the etiquette lessons… added to the normal office work and spring cleaning, I haven't had much time to myself."
"Etiquette lessons."
"Ano, ne…" She coughed lightly, clearing up her throat. Her voice had come out much lower and rougher than she had thought. She could see Aoshi looking at her from his height, his shoulders squared, and back straight. In moments like this, when she had his full attention, Misao often wished she didn't. Best get this over with…
"I just thought it was a good idea," she grimaced, "about a year ago, it came to mind that I was sorely lacking in an upbringing that would allow me to become familiar with myself as a woman."
Aoshi stared down at her, his eyes flickering over her face, and she felt the need to clarify further, "I have a friend from town, Haruto-san, and he… he offered, and I thought, 'Why not?', and Okina didn't see any—"
"This Haruto-san… he is giving you etiquette lessons?"
Misao snorted, "Hardly. His sister, Chieko-san, and a group of friends have started to… eh, dote on me. Fine, I was their lost cause. Happy?"
Aoshi walked over and took a seat across hers and put both hands over the table, crossing his fingers and placing them in front of him. This made Misao uneasy. Behind her, the kettle began to let out small hisses of steam. He lowered his eyes, intent on his hands before him. "Chieko-san and Haruto-san are from which family?"
Yeesh, what was with the twenty questions today?
"Inoue. Inuoue Haruto and Inuoue Chieko, offspring of a firstborn son, a merchant striving towards nobility. The father exports fine inks, paper, and adhesives to Britain, France, and Portugal."
Aoshi was unperturbed by Misao's flippant rendition of the Oniwabanshuu report response. He had long grown used to her sass. "Their ages?"
Misao blinked. He had never really cared much for accounts of her life outside of the Aoiya. She wondered if Okina had set him to inquire after her…
"Haruto-san is twenty-six, and Chieko-san is twenty-four. I met them at a store—a garment store, in fact. It was a mess. Omasu and Okon had taken me there to get me suited for my first kimono, and I nearly had an accident with Ha—" Misao caught herself, and smiled demurely, "Well, that was nearly a year ago. Since then, we've run into each other while doing errands in town, and one thing led to the next… now we're good friends!"
Aoshi had unclasped his hands, and leaned back a bit. Misao blinked again. She was unaware that he had been leaning forward. He stood up smoothly, the sound of his trousers sliding over the seat as he said, "Good. I am satisfied you have found companionship out in town. It is befitting a lady your age in these days to open her circle of acquaintance."
Misao smiled out of habit, asking sweetly, "And you, Aoshi-sama? What have you been up to, lately?"
Dark hair fringed his blue eyes and he shrugged once, twice in eloquent dismissal, "Inquiries that take me out of town. I am looking into some opportunities."
Misao felt a sudden rush of cold emotion well up. The fear that he would suddenly… she had thought she had this under control. Head bowed and thoughts swarming her mind, she didn't register Aoshi approach her. Warm hands picked up hers—she had picked up the nervous habit of wringing her hands from Omasu—and gently untangled her fingers. "This is a new project I started for the Aoiya, not the Oniwabanshuu. Okina is aware of my motions and agrees with my decision."
Relief, then embarrassment swept over Misao. To let him know he still had such power over her! She stood up abruptly and moved over to the stove, removing the whistling kettle from the fire. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She could see him in the corner of her eye, and—
"Ouch!" She had burned herself with some of the boiling water, spilling out of the kettle's snout. In her shock, she dropped the kettle and gasped sharply, raising her arms to shield her face. She braced herself for the pain, her eyes smarting already in anticipation. In an instant, she felt the heavy presence of another laid straight across her body, one arm around her back and… Misao peeked around Aoshi-sama's torso to see that the other gloved hand had caught the kettle's handle perfectly and laid it down on the stove. Not even a drop spilled. Damn those skills, she sighed, stepping away from him. The arm tightened around her, and she could feel his voice emerge from his chest and rumble down her spine, "Cancel your lesson for tonight. You are tired."
Misao pushed against his torso, her eyebrows pinned down in displeasure, "Mou, Aoshi-sama! You can't just... It's the only thing I've been—it's a commitment!"
Aoshi's lips had tightened firmly, "Then it is a commitment you will break."
Misao opened her lips again to protest, but Aoshi cut her off, "Tell me where you meet with Haruto-san, and I will deliver the message myself."
Misao glared, "I meet with Chieko-san in the back of her floral shop, the one with the weird, foreign name, M-Maisudo Botempsu—"
"Le Maison des Bon Temps," Aoshi murmured, correcting her in gentle reflex. It was rather difficult to break years of ingrained habit. "What time do you usually arrange your meetings?"
"Five o'clock, but I can really—"
"Do not concern yourself with the excuses."
Beyond aggravation, Misao gave into childishness and tapped her foot aggressively, "Aoshi-sama! Has anyone ever told you it's rude to interrupt a lady?"
Silence cloaked them, and suddenly both were aware that they had entered uncharted territory. This happened every once in a while, more frequently so when Aoshi had moved back to Kyoto after his travels, but had all but disappeared once Aoshi had retreated to the temple, and Misao had changed her campaign to…
Aoshi cleared his throat. Misao checked her urge to growl. He was even interrupting her train of thought! "It is usually considered impolite," Aoshi offered, "To interrupt a lady of formal acquaintance, a guest or a stranger. This does apply to females with whom one shares long-standing familiarity."
"Right, so I guess that means that I can do the same!"
Aoshi continued as if he hadn't heard a call for all-out war, "It has come to mind recently, however, that you are a female with whom I no longer familiar."
She froze. A female… no longer familiar. With the particular way that Aoshi phrased things, it was impossible to determine what he meant.
"Was that an insult or a compliment?"
Suddenly, Aoshi released her, and shifted towards the door, "A statement. There was no underlying intention. I will see Haruto-san and deliver your excuses."
"YOUR excuses, Aoshi-sama! Not mine!"
Le Maison des Bon Temps was a small, warm looking shop sandwiched between a cobbler and kimono shop. In fact, the kimono shop on the right was where Misao and the Inuoues first met. Aoshi was greatly familiar with the street, because he would go to the senior Inuoue's stationery store to stock up on his office supplies. Inuoue's ink was the best he could find in Kyoto. He had never met the man, because he was primarily a supplier with a satellite shop in Kyoto, but he had heard stories from old Harada-san, who tended the storefront. Both the stationery store and the floral shop were successful, because of the seamless integration of Western products, they were seen as purveyors of novelties at the same time that they sold Japanese products of known, comforting quality. He had seen the young lady Inuoue-san run errands from time to time, taking note of her deep, brown hair and the elegant way she walked. It would do Misao no harm to take tips from the young lady. He turned left, and walked into the stoor, the bell twinkling lightly, and leaned against the wall to wait for someone to show up.
Misao took the heavy kettle and poured it into the basin. In the relative safety of her room, she stripped behind the dressing screen quickly. The balmy afternoon was rapidly coming a chilly night. Misao's teeth chattered slightly as she ran the wet washcloth over her skin. She felt tired, glum, and insouciantly curious about the turn of events. Aoshi-sama had made her feel like a character worthy of suspicion with all his questions about her trips to town… no, actually, he appeared to question her choice of company! Grinding her teeth, she wringed the clothe forcefully, muttering about Aoshi-sama's lingering paternal instincts. It wasn't like Aoshi-sama had to answer to anyone! If Misao was an adult, she hardly had to answer to him, nor Jiya, nor Okon… oh, hell. Therein lay the problem.
Misao was accustomed to juvenile treatment. And she had to admit that even that was wearing down, now that she had begun to take on the mantle of responsibility. The fact that the efforts she made to appear more respectable sparked Aoshi-sama's wariness riled her up in ways she thought she had succeeded in burying. After all, she had spent three years living with the man, three years reversing her intentions… She growled to herself, pushing wet strands of her hair away from her face. It wasn't as if Aoshi-sama was above reproach! Aoshi-sama had taken to walks at odd times of the day, returning way past midnight. Sometimes, he would come back with signs of heavy labor or effort, streaks of dirt on his clothes, and tears on his hands. Still, no one considered questioning him on his motives, or stats on who he spent his time with. In fact, with all things considered, Aoshi-sama was being rather sneaky lately. She no longer brought his tea to him at the temple, so she was surprised to overhear Okon and Omasu in the kitchen talk about their relief that Aoshi had quit the temple to instate a new plan, only to hear their voices drop when she turned the corner. And that had been last fall. At first, she was worried, but then the cold weather began to drift in, and Aoshi-sama stayed indoors. She could often find him in the office or the dojo, otherwise, he would go downtown for errands, and Misao's mind settled down again.
She sighed and dropped the washcloth into the soapy water with resignation and just a touch of resentment. If she had known her wholehearted campaign to become proper would extinguish her spirit so thoroughly, she would have preferred to stay in her perpetual limbo, her body frozen forever in the lean, straight lines of her girl-boyhood. As it was, one day she awoke to find her onmitsu shorts stretched far across her hips, and short enough to court unwanted commentary. That day was the first last spring that truly warranted the outfit, with wilting sakura blossoms underfoot, and the lingering scent covering the smell of charcoal, oil, and burnt lumber. After a winter of bundled yukatas and her first ventures into wearing kimonos, she was flabbergasted to find that she had undergone the last spurts of growth. She had grown a handful of centimenters, and Omasu had measured her for another kimono. Afraid she had grown fat at first, the women had twittered, only to strip her and push her in front of the mirror. Only in her slip, the women proceeded to push and prod at places she never knew she had grown, so accustomed was she to binding her chest flat, and living the sparse life of a young male bachelor. They suited her up with new undergarments, and had just started fitting her into the inner layers of her kimono when a young man had opened the door by mistake.
When the door opened, Haruto-san had no knowing that he had unlocked utter chaos. Misao, out of habit, reached for her kunai and remembered she was in a store for a fitting, so she promptly plucked one of her shoes and threw it at his head, instead. Haruto covered his eyes in embarrassment, explaining over Okon and Omasu's laughter that he thought that he was walking into the supply closet, not a changing room when the shoe met him rather forcefully on the head. This succeeded in sending Okon and Omasu into greater rapture as they attempted to cover Misao with a curtain. After things had settled down, Haruto apologized gallantly, taking to heart that he had offended a lady, and since this was the first man around her age to make her acquaintance as a woman, she decided they would make good friends.
Only a matter of minutes had passed when he heard the door open again, and a voice call out in strong yet measured tones, "Chieko! Has she arrived yet?" The man who had entered wore a polished Western suit in deep, navy blue, and in his hand he held a small package with pretty tinsel. Aoshi looked over at him in contemplation, and inclined his head in slight greeting when the young man took note of his presence and greeted him with a respectful bow.
The sounds of soft footsteps announced Chieko's presence, and a young, tall, elegant woman with intricately bound hair and sensitive eyes emerged from the curtains, "Onii-san! No, I haven't heard anyone enter the—" Eyes flickered towards Aoshi, and Chieko stopped, gathering her hands in front of her with a polite, practiced bow. "Iraishaimase," she intoned, "How may I help you today?"
Aoshi pushed off the wall to give a small bow that befitted the lady before him and said, "Misao intended to keep her promise for today's engagement, but she has been in charge of spring cleaning at the Aoiya this week, and was too tired to come."
He saw Chieko and Haruto exchange swift glances before Haruto smiled, "That certainly hasn't kept her before. Is Misao-chan unwell?"
Aoshi was uncertain of how he felt hearing Haruto-san address Misao so affectionately. He shrugged elegantly, dispassionately, "She was preparing to leave when I saw her. She had almost had an accident due to her fatigue, and I told her to stay and rest."
Haruto's mouth lost the smile, and he looked at Aoshi with an indiscernible look in his eyes. Aoshi noted that Haruto was uncommonly tall, and that the two men almost met at eye level. Chieko stepped forward to break the awkward silence, her wrists flitting upwards in a graceful, appeasing gesture, "We are sorry to hear this! Misao is a treasured guest to us. We were hoping she would come tonight, especially since…"
Haruto stepped closer to his sister, nodding, "We were hoping to end the lesson with a foray into Western manners." He smiled disarmingly, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we weren't introduced to you properly. You are Misao's…?"
Again, Aoshi felt uncertainty. Here was a question that Aoshi could not answer directly. Before, he was her guardian, her Okashira and father figure. Now, in the Meiji era and all those years apart, he was not certain of where he fit into the picture. He and Misao shared lodging. He and Misao were both once ninjas. He and Misao were… "We are like family," he responded, pleased he found no compromise, "I was her guardian until she became of age."
Chieko and Haruto let out laughter that sounded sincere. Chieko smiled, her mahogany hair spilling one shoulder, "Sou desu ka? Anyone who considers Misao family is welcome here. Are you the one she refers to as 'Aoshi-sama'?"
Turning to address the sister, Aoshi nonetheless saw the brother move from the corner of his eye. The parcel disappeared behind Haruto, and he leaned back onto a seat with both arms empty. "Aa," intoned Aoshi, "I am Shinomori Aoshi. I reside at the Aoiya along with Misao and the rest."
Both siblings bowed their heads lightly, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Aoshi-san." Aoshi saw no reason to linger, so he bowed with a measure longer than normal, and then left as quietly as he had entered.
Once on the street, Aoshi felt the brisk air chill his face and welcomed it with closed eyes. A sudden surge of questions submerged him. Who were these people? Why did they seem to unsettle things he had forgotten for so many years? Where did these questions about Misao come from? What was in the package?
Haruto smiled at his sister before his eyes settled on the package in his eyes. He kept his gaze down deliberately as he asked, "What do you think about Shinomori-san?"
Chieko laughed, the sound like bells, "He is exactly the way she described him, and more, even."
"Intrigued, sister?"
"Those two positively reek of shared history and intrigue, and you know that I enjoy nothing more than…"
"… a good story."
Misao was putting on her undergarments with a slight frown. She saw several bruises on her body, including a rather large one at her hip. She figured she would have to tone down on her time spent in the dojo, that gentle treatment of her body was part and parcel with the whole lady image. She wasn't as torn up about the idea as she thought she would be. If she had to face such commitments at sixteen, she would have definitely raised a ruckus over the decision. As such, she found she was resigned, if not a bit excited, about turning over her adolescence for adulthood, even if it could be dull from time to time. She found that as her body changed, the role she held in society changed more than any of her self-proclaimed statements of strength, optimism and infatuation ever had. Her decision to wear a kimono was greeted with more of a reaction than her decision to take over as Okashira in Aoshi's stead. Okon and Omasu were mindful of her curves, and Okina made sure to leer at her whenever possible. Shiro and Kuro were suddenly unwilling to spar with her, and the last time Yahiko-kun visited, she had caught him staring at her a number of times.
All these reactions, and none from Aoshi-sama…
Misao let down her braid and parted her hair. She fluttered around her room listlessly as she ran the comb through her hair.
In his eyes, she might as well have continued as the girl-boy sprite she had been for all of her childhood. In fact, her parents had been convinced 'she' would be born a 'he'. Okina, a man who wasn't growing younger by any accounts, seemed to remember he had a vast reservoir of childhood stories concerning Misao and had lately found a deep-seated satisfaction in recounting them to the customers, deliverymen, neighbors, and generally any sympathetic listener within the vicinity of the Aoiya. Misao sighed. Contrary to belief, these stories were not inherently amusing. The account of her birth, for example, had left her father stunned, Okina claimed, one of the few times he had been unprepared for a situation. Her mother, languishing in bed, the blood of her body already leaking out, smiled softly and said, "We proceed as planned. We shall call her Misao." And so here she was.
For years, Misao secretly wondered if her body was cursed. Cursed to keep its slim, shapelessness, stuck in the perpetual youth of a prepubescent boy. She had obsessed those years, waiting for Aoshi-sama, hoping and fearing that what she had, who she came as, would be enough for him. By the time Himura brought him back to her, Misao found her insecurities had not ceased, but rather had been submerged by the introduction of greater priorities, more significant circumstances to dwell over. Like how to get Aoshi-sama to smile for her.
That had been nearly three years ago. Plenty enough time for smiles, tears, and laughter, but no kisses. At this point, Misao decided to amend the campaign she had set at sixteen. She found that, despite her daily visits to the temple, the countless cups of tea served and consumed, and the words she wove to inspire conversation, the results were oddly satisfying and lacking at the same time. Satisfying, because she was getting reacquainted with Aoshi-sama. Satisfying because he never again wore the look of listless, potent death in his eyes. Satisfying because she saw his progress, the thawing of pain into a normal yet satisfactory existence. And ultimately lacking because the time he took to find himself was running out for her.
Aoshi-sama would take his time; he had undergone trials that would send any other man to an early death. He had carried his dead companion's bodies across Japan and resolved to put them at rest. He had encountered and challenged Japan's strongest warrior not once, but twice. He had lost his soul to become the strongest…
Misao was aware of the level of repentance Aoshi felt he had to atone for. She never argued against his stint at the temple, and she dutifully waited for him up to a certain point. She supposed her decision to 'turn the campaign around' occurred within a few weeks prior to her first encounter with Haruto-san. She had already turned eighteen, and it was summer. She remembered the lingering stickiness, the lazy scent of flowers and crushed grass in the air, of melting tar on the roads and sweat. She had just come by the temple, only to see that Aoshi-sama had gone, the priests claiming he had not stepped in the entire day. Disgruntled, discouraged and hot, Misao stood with the steaming teapot and came to a decision. She was eighteen, well into her marriageable years, and she had no prospects: nothing to speak of in her favor, and no direction in life. She sincerely loved Aoshi, wished to meet his approval, to garner his smiles and feel his affection in return, but she knew she couldn't force the issue. She was standing outside the temple, in stifling heat, her yukata clinging to her sweating skin and hair plastered to her face. The tea was also hot, and all she could think was how forced she was, how affected, and unnecessarily stressful she must be to all who encountered her. Her efforts were rendered transparent, embarrassingly so… from then on, she vowed, she would reverse the order of priorities. She still wished to have him smile, to find true, deep contentment in his life. She just wished to do so without injecting herself needlessly into the picture.
The decision had been a smart one. Her family relaxed—and Misao hadn't realized that they were tense, weighed with the expectations and anticipations Misao had mounted—and she relaxed with them. Aoshi came in and out of the Aoiya more, although Misao was certain that his added presence had much more to do with his 'project' under wraps than it did with her more calculated absence. She found herself asking more questions of a self-reflective nature, and took on more responsibilities, considered her status as a woman deeply, and made her way out to town to expose herself more to society. Then, she met Inoue Haruto, and the beginnings of a great friendship emerged.
