Zansetsu: The Lingering Snow
Hakuoki: Shinsengumi Kitan (Game)
Saitou Hajime x Yukimura; Okita Souji Friendship/Devotion Route
By Gabihime at gmail dot com
Changelog
The nature of this story means that sometimes I will write chapters out of order and then make systematic edits as needed. Check here to find out which chapter is newest, and what changes have been made.
June 25 2012 - Most Recent Chapter: Every Muscle in Your Body Sings - I have recently begun playing Hakuoki Zuisouroku and I have been so charmed by the events so far that I am reworking the early parts of Zansetsu to include them. Part of the chronologically next chapter has been written, but before it is posted I intend to cover the scenes in Zuisouroku that I have skipped. This current chapter features a scene from Shinsengumi Kitan that I was uncertain how to write at the time I came to it, so I skipped over it. I hope you will enjoy it!
Author's Foreword
I am a great fan of Japanese historical romances, and have a particular interest in the Bakumatsu period and the drama which surrounds the group of men who called themselves the Shinsengumi. In a romantic historical context, one which places the members of the Shinsengumi as larger than life folkloric heroes like John Henry, Jesse James, and Robin Hood, I really find them difficult to beat for appeal. Hakuoki is a work of fiction and Zansetsu is also a work of fiction. I will strive to be historically accurate in my construction of events, but I will not be a slave to history in determining how I chart the course of this story. Unlike Alexander Dumas, I feel that my musketeers do not necessarily need to bow their heads to history.
The Saitou Hajime and Okita Souji that appear in the pages of this work are not meant to be representative of the actual historical figures, nor are their choices meant to be indicative of the choices of the actual historical figures. These are fictional characters as presented by Fujisawa for Hakuoki that I am tormenting to my heart's content. Strictly speaking, the historical Saitou and Okita were probably not actually rasetsu.
This story is based on the continuity established in the Hakuoki game series, as opposed to the Hakuoki manga, anime, or light novels, and primarily follows the Saitou Hajime route, although not without some deviations. Like the game itself, it is meant to be a series of vignettes or connected recollections, as opposed to a continuous narrative.
You will find that the heroine of this story is not Yukimura Chizuru, but is in fact a girl named Yukimura Kazuki. Although Chizuru is the recommended (and accepted canonical) name for the girl who is apprehended by the Shinsengumi in late January of 1864, the fact that Hakuoki still gives you the option of choosing a name for the heroine makes me feel it is generally acceptable for me to change her name. Her circumstances are entirely the same: she is a girl from Edo, raised by her father Kodo, and a pureblood oni of the Yukimura clan who comes to Kyoto seeking news of her father, a doctor who has been incommunicado. Kazuki's personality is somewhat different from Chizuru's as it is depicted in the game, and her choices are different as well. While I harbor no dislike for Chizuru, playing through the game I often felt like the things I most wanted to change were Chizuru's actions, her thoughts and feelings, and her expressions of such. Honestly, Chizuru is not my ideal heroine. I feel that her heart is in the right place, but I find her terribly inactive and passive, someone whom things happen to, as opposed to someone who makes her own choices and causes things to happen. In creating Yukimura Kazuki, I hoped to bring to life a heroine who is by no means perfect, but who is more in line with my ideal of a shoujo heroine: a girl with the power to warp history with only willpower and niceness as her weapons.
Don't worry. This is not a story where everybody dies at the end. I don't write stories like that.
TLDR: This is fiction, not history, based on the games and not the anime. The heroine's name is Kazuki. Nobody dies a tragic early death from tuberculosis. If you are looking for something different than this, best try someplace else.
Prologue: To Live is to Die
Late January, 1864
The 29th day of Shiwasu, the 12th month, Bunkyuu 3, Hour of the Boar
In the vicinity of Shijou-douri, central Kyoto
To be alone in the heart of an ancient city is to truly be an outcast. In the wilderness, in the lonely mountains, or on the lip of an unnamed sea, it is possible to feel a greater solitude, but this is conceptual solitude, abstract because it is so absolute. In the absence of others, the pain of solitude becomes vague and dull, a chronic ailment accepted as a basic element of existence.
But to be absolutely alone among the mad throng of humanity is animal solitude, a primal fear, something suffered in the guts and the bone as opposed to the folds of the mind. She was in the bowels of an old city of wood and earth, and the time of comfort under the warming sun had passed away, leaving her chilly and friendless: a silent, solitary traveler. There was no one in this city of hundreds of thousands who even knew her name.
It had become very late.
At this hour in Edo she would have already dressed for bed, said goodnight to her father, blown out the lamp and snuggled up next to Taro in her futon. She was not in the habit of walking the streets of the city after dark, because even in Edo this was not safe for a girl on her own. She could not even pretend that she would be safe with Taro beside her, although he was a very good dog: brave, alert, and unswervingly loyal.
And Taro was not here. She had left him in Edo with Old Man Tanizaki, with the thinking that he was safer at home than wandering with her around a city that neither of them had ever been to. It had been difficult to get Taro to stay with Tanizaki, although he generally liked the old fellow well enough. He had been insistent on following his mistress wherever it was she intended to go, and although he was normally very obedient, in the end she had had to tie him to the porch of Tanizaki House, trusting that he would have the graciousness in his dog heart to forgive her of this gross injustice when she returned from Kyoto.
"Besides," Yukimura Kazuki reassured herself, "There ought to be someone there to welcome father home if he returns while I'm away."
The thought of her father returning home to a dark, empty house pained her heart. He was her father, and besides that, her only living relative. She had led a relatively sheltered life, and it was no exaggeration to say that her father was the sole focus of her love and attention, with the exception of her beloved dog. She simply had no close, personal relationships with anyone else, although she had a fairly wide circle of acquaintances in Edo, due to the fact that she often assisted her father in his work as a doctor. Even the Tanizaki family were simply kind people from the neighborhood who were willing to look after Taro.
It was because of this lack of other friends and guardians that the absence of her father weighed so heavily on her. When the letters had stopped coming regularly, she had had nothing else to distract her from her constant, and sometimes fantastic, worries. Although she was used to him being gone for a few days at a time on business, or being away for the afternoon, or locking himself in dispensary for hours as he worked, he had never been away from her for so long with no word.
Perhaps it was her lack of friends and guardians that made it so easy for her to leave Edo for Kyoto, once she had decided to do so.
There was simply no one to tell her that it was a dangerous idea.
"It's because I couldn't wait any longer," Kazuki insisted to herself, a reaffirming statement to give herself courage, and surety of purpose. "It's been too long. Something has happened and I must find out what. Taro will understand, my father will understand, and surely I'll find him soon, and he'll be safe and in good health, and I'll stay with him here until his business is finished and we can both go back to Edo together."
Kazuki was in the habit of having these sorts of long, spoken conversations with herself because she was used to being left to her own devices, with only Taro for company. She was also accustomed to giving herself inspirational talks when she was worried about something, and commonly faced down troubles by looking around herself for the wonders of everyday life to buoy her spirits up.
As she had spent most of her life in the company of her father, who rarely criticized her, whatever she chose to do, and Taro, who never criticized her, she had grown up with the conception that it is not particularly strange to spend one's time talking to one's self, or to one's dog.
She often chatted to him about her hopes and her troubles, and now that he was not here, she found herself to be her only willing conversational partner.
But more than simply a way to pass the time, having a pleasant conversation with herself made Kazuki feel a little less afraid, and a little less alone.
It was very late, and Kyoto was an old city.
It was late enough so that it was no longer safe to be on the street, although it was questionable whether it had been safe even during the daytime. Kyoto was the city of ronin, and one of the seats of civil unrest. It this city, men died in the street everyday, the victims of brawls, attempted arrests, and casual violence. However safe the streets might have been under the watchful eye of the sun, certainly they were less safe now, but Kazuki remained on the street, trying to walk with purpose, but ultimately wandering haplessly and aimlessly. She had no other place to be than the streets; she had no place where she belonged. She had some money that she had carefully saved for her trip, and this might have bought her a place to belong, at least for a few nights, but she was wary about spending it because she could not honestly estimate how long it would take her to find her father. Besides, her unfamiliarity with the city left her with no knowledge of where she ought to seek lodgings. Although she passed the open doors of many inns, she wandered by them as if their warm hearths had nothing to offer her, as if she already had a safe home and familiar arms to welcome her. If she had come to Kyoto with a heart full of good wishes, expecting to find her father in one afternoon, whole and in good humor, she had been disappointed.
She had not found him, and the home she had expected to be a safe haven in this unknown city, that of family friend Matsumoto-sensei, had been dark and lonely and closed.
She had arrived in the city in the early afternoon; it felt like she had walked its width and breadth searching for signs of her father as the day slipped away from her. Her legs were sore, her feet were sore, and even her toes were sore, because she had done more walking in the last few weeks than she was used to. Now, with the sun hid away and the lonely night all around her, she found herself without a place to stay, without a place to sit, without a place to sleep, and with no familiar (or unfamiliar) arms to welcome her.
Simply because she had no place to rest, and was still thinking on what to do, she kept walking, as if she expected to meet her father around the next corner. She had no intended destination, but she felt that at least if she kept walking, she was doing something, which felt at least a little better than doing nothing at all.
But at last she slowed reluctantly, and came to a halt in the street, folding her arms across her chest.
She sighed. "I know I'm being childish. I really ought to stop and find a place to stay. I can't very well sleep in the street, and even if I wanted to I'm sure someone would come by and arrest me if I tried. I've got to be sensible. I've got to be an adult! I'm not going to have an easy time finding my father if I'm in jail for vagrancy. After all, accommodations aren't just going to turn up in front of me like early spring flowers."
As she stood still in thoughtful contemplation of her immediate future, Kazuki moved from a state of aloneness to a state of not-altogether-aloneness, although she did not realize this immediately, being very intent on the consideration of her own troubles.
"First night in the city, eh boy?" came an unexpected question, and Kazuki looked up to find herself being addressed by a tall, husky man with his hand laid carelessly over the hilt of his sword.
"Oh, yes," she answered absently, because by nature she was genuine and truthful. It did not often occur to her that she ought not to be until after she had already spoken. This was one of those times she began to immediately regret her forthrightness as she uneasily realized that the man in front of her was not alone, but that she now had the attention of three unkempt men with swords belted at their waists. They smelled of the street, and of liquor. "I mean, no! Oh no, of course not," she haltingly attempted to cover her own blunder. "I'm from. Um. Here," she finished awkwardly. Her natural honesty came at the cost of natural cunning. She was a terrible liar.
Her eyes swept them briefly, gauging how her response had affected their intentions. Although she was not world-wise, she was quite perceptive, when something had the focus of her attentions. Her palms tingled.
"You'll please excuse me," she bowed briefly and politely, hoping to put them off of her with a show of deference, "I didn't mean to get in your way. I shouldn't have been standing still in the middle of street. Don't mind me."
She hoped that modesty and courtesy would be enough to flatter them into leaving her alone. She was dressed simply and masculinely, with dark her hair pulled back into a topknot, and a sword at her own waist, so she did not think they had discerned her gender, and this provided her with some measure of comfort. She did not think the men before her would balk at assaulting a lone girl due to their heavy consciences. The tall man had called her 'boy' and set the mood for their encounter, and for this, she was grateful. She was gambling that a respectful apology might win her safe passage away from them, as she did not imagine she looked like she had anything of value on her person.
The second man spoke, taking a half-step toward her. "You seem like you're not a bad kid, so I'm going to stake you to some good advice. The streets are dangerous at night."
Kazuki took a half-step backward as he advanced, and did her best to seem calm and humble, although as she felt her situation rapidly deteriorating, her words came out faster than she intended, tumbling out one after another: "Oh, they are? Of course they are. Thank you for the warning. I'll just go now, go away, to someplace safe. Thank you again."
The third man moved to cut off her retreat down the street. Her eyes shifted uneasily, as she tried to gauge her surroundings, and the likelihood she would receive aid from an outside source. She was now boxed in on three sides. There were other people on the street, because it was a busy street, even at night, but no one who passed by seemed willing to look at her now. The only people who would look at her were the three men who had her cornered. The tangled life of the city rolled on around her, careless of her unease and discomfort. If she was about to be robbed and assaulted, the saddest truth was that no one seemed particularly interested.
Kazuki let her hand drop to the hilt of her kodachi, trying to find a calm place of stillness in her trembling heart. If she panicked, they would be on her like a pack of wild dogs. Perhaps there was still a way to salvage the situation.
"You sure you know how to use that, kid?" the second man spoke again, and this time his tone had a definite edge of menace.
"That's a nice looking sword," broke in the tall man, edging a little closer, his fingers curling around the hilt of his own sword. "Too good a sword for a kid to be carrying around. Let me tell you what I think you ought to do. I think you ought to hand it over to us, because we're patriots."
"And patriots deserve good weapons, right? Hand it over," ordered the third man, his voice low and threatening. "It'll get good use, brat. Don't worry that it'll get good use."
They had been gradually moving in, closing the net on her. She hadn't expected that, that the sword would draw their attention and their ire. She had expected that wearing the sword would help keep her out of trouble, not get her into it, as she had very little experience with the world. She had not understood that the act of wearing the sword on her waist marked her as a combatant, rather than as a civilian, and although this might have dissuaded some unsavory parties from hassling her, it attracted others.
No matter how much they wanted it, no matter how they threatened, she could not give the kodachi up. It was a family heirloom, and a precious memento of her barely remembered mother, a slender thread connecting her with the murky, dreamlike past. Even if she had been willing to give it up, she doubted that the men would let her go without searching her for other valuables, and such a search would inevitably reveal the truth of her gender and land her in a much more difficult situation.
She had a limited set of actions to choose from, and none of them were safe, positive choices.
"In that case," she could hear her kenjutsu instructor saying, clearly and deliberately, "Choose the option that's least worst."
She ran.
Perhaps the fact that she had called, "Thank you very much, goodbye!" all in one breath without turning back caused them a moment of confusion, because it was at least six seconds before she heard swearing and the terrifying scrape of steel on steel as they drew their swords.
Although she heard their heavy feet thudding the hard-beaten ground behind her, she did not look back, knowing that she would be caught if she wasted the time to do so. She ran like an animal, one whose only defense is to flee and to hide. She could use the sword at her waist, was relatively confident in her ability to handle it in her own defense, but she was by nature gentle and soft-hearted. Practice with a shinai in a kenjutsu hall is different from a wild exchange of blades in the street. Kazuki did not want to hurt anyone, and was honestly unsure that she could, even if that person very obviously wanted to hurt her.
So she ran, dodging through the unfamiliar maze of alleys, trusting in her instincts to guide her, desperate not to run into a dead end. She ran as if her life depended on it, as it likely did, and she was a zephyr, or perhaps they had already had too much to drink before cornering her on the street, because she managed to put enough distance between herself and her assailants that she had the luxury of slowing to take in her surroundings as she came upon a crossroads. She couldn't keep up her dead sprint much longer anyway.
Choose the least worst option.
Hide.
She needed to find a place to hide and then trust to fate that they would lose interest in her and look for easier prey elsewhere.
She found her hiding place in a blind alley so narrow she had to sidle into it, pressing her body against the old wooden wall. She hunkered down, hiding in the deep shadows afforded by some planks of wood that had been stored in the small space between the two buildings. Two alleys crossed one another immediately ahead, and she hoped that the hostile ronin would storm angrily down one false trail or another rather than carefully search their surroundings for her bolt hole.
Once she had hidden herself she did her best to calm her wild heart, to slow her breathing, to erase her presence from the alley, counting quietly to herself at first, and then trying to think of nothing at all but the careful, slow repetition of null thoughts.
I am not here. No one is here. There is nothing here. There is no person here. No one exists here. This place is empty.
Moment by moment, she let her self be erased from the alley.
But then the ronin were upon her.
They did not run past her hiding place in a furious rage as she had hoped they would. Instead they seemed to slow to a stop at the crossroads, swearing first indifferently, and then at one another. They were angry and apparently out of breath.
She was very still.
If she could just be still, then they would tire of looking for her and go away.
She would be still. She would be still.
As she hunched down, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to be very, very still, a strange presence crept into the alley with her and hung low, close to the ground. Her stomach, clenched tightly, spasmed uncontrollably, and she had to swallow back bile. Her blood rushed maddeningly in her ears and her saliva was cold and salty in her mouth.
Death had come.
She could not say how she knew, but she knew it had come. Death had come into the street and she was terrified.
She had been afraid of the ronin, afraid they would catch her and kill her, or perhaps if they were in a particular mood, rip her up and use her up, and then cut her up, or just leave her for dead on the street. But that had been a mortal fear, a mortal terror.
But this, this -
This was a horrifying, unnameable fear, a dizzying, insane terror.
It is coming.
It is coming. It is coming. It is coming. It is coming.
The moon is naked, is what she screamed to herself, terrified and nonsensical, And he will see all of this.
The sounds from the alley were confused: the brief noise of a scuffle, half a scream, high and frail, that ended in a gurgle, and then a series of wet, broken sounds, like a dull hatchet hacking wood to pieces in a shallow stream. Indistinct shapes wavered past the mouth of the alley, slipping by like trembling mirages. In the light of the flickering lanterns, her only impression was of a pale, watery blue, the color of the barren sky.
And then there was the smell.
She was the daughter of a doctor, a man who practiced western medicine, one who cut up and sewed up the injured. For her, the smell of blood was familiar, something she had learned to accept as a thing that had to be tolerated to properly attend on the sick and injured.
But this smell. This smell.
It wasn't the smell of blood, sick and thick and tangy in the air, it was the smell of all the other things: the mixed smell of excrement and bile, the smell of the insides of things being torn outside, being ripped and pulped and shredded; it was the palpable smell of misery and despair.
Later he asked her, Why didn't you stay hidden?
She had no answers to that question, not at that moment, and not later when he asked her, his arms wrapped desperately around her, as if he feared this small shift of fate that would have erased her presence from his life.
Kazuki had no reasons for her action, no string of logical assumptions piled like dominoes against one another. She was simply overcome with a desire to see what it was that had made the sick, mad smell and the strange, confused noises. She had an undeniable desire to look upon death, a dangerous fascination with that which both repelled and terrified her.
Somewhere in her heart, she knew.
If you look upon this thing, you will surely die.
She crept the the edge of the alley, and she looked upon it.
It was an instant of recognition, and so much sensory overload that her brain was nearly overwhelmed, and she was only able to construct the scene for herself in parts that came together slowly in that brief but endless span seconds when she crouched at the edge of the alley, and she saw death.
The ground was as sticky as tar, the dust dampened into a thick, squelching mud, but there had been no brief and unseasonal rain. The tarry mud was thick with blood, and there was blood spattered in a gory arc across the wall of building opposite her, blood and bits of things, chunks of things: brain matter and organ matter and small pieces of flesh. It was as if a human body had exploded in the alley, scattering a bloody mess of entrails and insides all over everything. There were some shapeless heaps on the ground, and some piles of moist, slippery, stringy objects that might have been waste from a butcher's shop.
And then there were the wraiths.
There were three of them, as white as bone and as pale as death, clad in gore-spattered haori that showed blue in spots no bigger than her thumbprint, the jagged blood-dyed trim of their sleeves and hem like the teeth of a flesh-eating ghoul. Two of them were hunched over the shapeless piles with naked blades, hacking and hacking at the inert fleshy bundles, sending fresh arcs of gore and bone matter as they worked, utterly heedless of the collapsed and dissolving state of their victims. The third wraith was closest to her, down on his hands and knees, his white face and hands smeared with blood as he shoved handfuls of dripping meat into his mouth, chewed them briefly, and then spat them out again.
And then the wraith looked up at her with wide eyes as deep as a shaft to hell, and it began to laugh.
It was a shrill, keening noise, high and remote and utterly inhuman. The only reason she thought of it as a laugh at all is because she had no other word to call it.
I am going to die, she thought, and it was the pitiful, helpless realization of a child who has just seen murder for the first time. I am going to die and they are going to eat me.
The wraith crawled toward her rapidly on his hands and knees, cackling to himself like a mad rooster. He reached out a bloody hand to seize her wrist and drag her out into the sick mess of the alley. She felt his fingers close around her arm like a bracelet of bone, and then it happened.
Time ceased to flow in a sensible way, with second coming patiently after second in an endless line. Instead, the moment when the wraith's fingers clamped around her wrist stretched out endlessly and soundlessly, as a dark shape flowed into the alley like a sudden, silent torrent of water. The strange, overwhelming silence of the moment was eerie, because before there had been sound, terrible sound, and afterward there was sound, but at that moment, in that queer, impossible span of time, there was no sound.
An endless second was utterly consumed by the time Kazuki managed to resolve the fact that the shadow that had appeared was a man, or at least a ghost or a devil who had taken a man's shape. He did not move like a normal human being, pushing off from the ground in easy, measured steps, his feet against the earth a simple cadence that one might have kept time by. Instead, he moved like a ghost, like a vengeful spirit, swift and terrible, and she never saw his feet touch the ground, or heard the echo of his footfalls. He was simply in constant motion, his terrible inertia redirected impossibly and effortlessly. When he drew his sword it was in one brilliant motion, and although she knew it was there, she could not discern the outline of the blade itself, could only follow it in a series of three beautiful arcs, the white-hot line of the sword's movement burnt into her retinas like the shape of the sun.
And then he was very still, a dutiful, silent demon standing ankle deep in carnage, the moonlight on his resting blade turning it into a line of white fire. The three wraiths were dead, if they had been alive to begin with. At the very least, they no longer moved, and he looked around himself briefly, as if confirming this fact, and then she heard a soft hiss as he sheathed his katana.
He looked down at her then, on her knees in the mud made of blood and ichor, and his dark eyes were as blue as heaven, as blue as a sootless flame. He said nothing, only stared at her, his face expressionless, his mouth a thin line.
When the silence was broken at last, it was not by the blue demon, but by another, for suddenly they were no longer alone in the alley.
"Sometimes I wish you weren't so dependable, Saitou-kun," came a warm voice, half amused, half petulant. "You've gone and had all the fun without me, and left me with nothing to do. Now I just feel ornamental."
The other man that had appeared was taller than the blue demon, with hair that seemed ruddy in the torchlight. Even in the semi-darkness his eyes were a vivid green, and seemed to reflect light the way a wild animal's might.
"I do what is required of me," the blue demon answered quietly. "If you are worried you will miss out on your entertainment, Souji, then perhaps you should be quicker in the future."
"You're so cold," complained the green-eyed animal. He was also standing ankle deep in the bloody mess of the alley, in the midst of corpses, some so violated that they were shapeless heaps of naked meat. He was apparently utterly unconcerned, as if the bodies piled around him were a mundane and utterly unremarkable part of the scenery.
At last he followed the blue demon's line of sight and took full notice of her, crouched in the mud.
"Hmmmm," he murmured, half to himself, "What's this then, Saitou-kun?" he asked, his mouth curving into a small, predatory smile.
"A witness," Saitou answered shortly, his eyes briefly flicking to the other man before returning to rest on her.
The green-eyed man let his hand fall to idly rest on the hilt of his katana and then casually voiced his opinion, "I don't think we can afford to have witnesses to this, do you?" He looked at the ground around his feet briefly before laughing. His words were warm and affectionate, but considering his surroundings, the sound was cold and terrifying. "They really made a mess of things, didn't they?"
"Whether we can afford to have a witness or not is not up to us to decide," Saitou answered, and then he knelt down until he was closer to eye level with her, and offered his hand.
Kazuki stared at his hand blankly, as if she did not understand the meaning of it. She was paralyzed by the air of casual, brutal violence that still permeated the alley, like a mouse before snakes, or a rabbit before wolves.
At last, he said, "Take it," gently, as if he were explaining something simple to a very small child. "I'll help you up."
And then she awkwardly moved to take his hand, slipping in the bloody mud, and getting his offered hand grimy with the filth on her own. He was obligated to pry the dead wraith's fingers from around her wrist before he could help her stand, and he did so without comment and apparently without any difficulty, although she could not imagine that she had the strength in her own hands to free herself.
He led her out into the alley filled with blood, and then left her standing there, on her own two feet. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, again swallowing back the bile that had risen in her throat.
"She isn't much to look at, is she?" the green-eyed man observed, apparently disappointed.
Saitou looked at him blankly, then rapidly flicked his eyes from her to the other man as if attempting to formulate a suitable response.
"Not that it'd matter if she was," the other man observed philosophically as he shrugged, and she heard the quiet sound of steel as the thumbed his katana loose. "Sorry kid, but you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. My condolences."
Saitou threw his arm out in front of him in one smooth, fluid motion.
"Souji," he said slowly and deliberately, "We will wait to hear what the Vice Commander has to say."
The man he had called 'Souji' sighed a bit theatrically and then let his sword come to rest in its sheath again. "Saitou-kun, you can be such a house cat," he complained petulantly, as if perturbed his entertainment had been disrupted.
While they had been calmly discussing her imminent demise, Kazuki had at last come back to herself to some degree. It was not as if she had suddenly become accustomed to the murder circus of the alley, her mind had simply ceased to actively process information concerning the gore and piles of corpses and instead focused on the conversation the two men in blue haori were carrying on.
"Shinsengumi," she said softly, without thinking, for who else could they be, in their flashy blue haori with the jagged white trim. Even a sheltered girl from Edo had heard rumors of the band of thugs who caused mayhem and committed murder while claiming allegiance with the Bakufu.
They both turned to look at her then, and the taller one smiled the way a wolf smiles, mirthlessly, and with intent.
"First Squad Captain Okita Souji," he introduced himself genially.
Saitou frowned very slightly. "Don't tell her things like that."
Okita offered his palms up helplessly, in an exaggerated admission of guilt, "Well, I'm awfully sorry, but now that she knows all about us, it really seems necessary that we kill her."
"Souji," came a short, sharp snarl, "I know I cannot account for your perverse personality, but please try not to calmly discuss murdering women in the middle of the street where anyone can hear you."
A third party had appeared suddenly at the crossroads, tall and dark-haired, and as graceful and beautiful as a dancer. This man was also wearing the distinctive blue haori that marked him as a member of the Shinsengumi, and he moved with such deliberate self-assurance that Kazuki was not at all surprised when one of the men in the alley greeted him.
"Vice Commander," Saitou answered immediately and differentially.
"I'm just trying to efficiently take care of the Shinsengumi's problems, Hijikata-san," Okita answered with a bland smile.
Hijikata's eyes swept the scene in one motion, and then came to rest on Kazuki, who stood shivering, smeared in muck, her arms wrapped around herself.
"Vice Commander," Saitou repeated himself, his voice low and quiet, "We have a witness."
"I'm sure he can see that, Saitou-kun," Okita chuckled to himself, "No worries, this time. It's a problem with a simple solution."
Hijikata frowned deeply, lines of frustration and anger marring his face. "Shut up, Souji," he said shortly. "I'm trying to think. And stop calling me 'Hijikata-san,' and 'Vice Commander.' We're supposed to be keeping a low profile."
Okita rolled his eyes very eloquently. "If we were supposed to be undercover, we probably shouldn't have worn our uniforms."
"Shut up, Souji," Hijikata repeated angrily, his brows still drawn tightly together. "Or I will tear your goddamned tongue out myself." He turned his attention to Saitou, "The situation?"
"They had frenzied," Saitou answered briefly, "They encountered some ronin at this location, and after dispatching them proceeded to desecrate the corpses." His eyes flicked down to the wraith he had pried off Kazuki, and then he continued. "It appears that one of them was eating the flesh of the dead, or attempting to at least. I dispatched them just as they had located a fourth victim," he made a brief movement with his body to indicate that he meant her. "Our witness," he pronounced at last.
Hijikata continued to frown, as if he found the entire situation to be excruciatingly frustrating. "What did she see?" he asked darkly and Kazuki trembled.
Saitou let his eyes rest on her briefly and expressionlessly for a moment, and then spoke. "I cannot say. I can only suggest that you ask her." He looked down at the corpses that were piled around their feet. "What shall I do with the bodies, Vice Commander?"
Hijikata clicked his tongue, "Strip the haori off of them. I'll send the inspectors to handle the rest."
Saitou immediately set to work, and Hijikata turned his attention to Kazuki, who had, up until this point remained silent after her initial worrying revelation.
"What were you doing hiding in that alley?" he asked her, his brows drawn and his frown deep.
"Hiding in that alley?" she repeated nervously, then tried to collect her thoughts so she could explain herself a little better. Everything she stammered out was confused and muddled because she was still in shock. "I was hiding," she tried to explain. "I was hiding because I was hiding. From people who were trying to find me."
Despite her nonsensical response, Hijikata nodded, as if he had a fairly clear picture in his head of the order of events that had led to her being covered in grime, crouched in the corner in the mud, hiding in the small space between two buildings.
"Vice Commander," Saitou prompted quietly as he stood, his arms loaded with the blood-stained haori, "We shouldn't remain here longer than necessary. We are in danger of being seen," his eyes moved briefly to Kazuki, "By other witnesses."
"Seems like it's time to take care of our problem," Okita declared cheerfully from where he stood with his arms crossed. He had watched Saitou strip the wraith corpses without offering any assistance himself.
Hijikata ignored this leading remark from Okita, and instead stared hard at Kazuki, at her dark hair, her small, pale face, and her grimy little hands.
"Vice Commander," prompted Saitou with quiet urgency.
"Fine," Hijikata barked, his voice low and dark as he turned his back on her, "We take her to Yagi House. Souji, bring her."
Saitou paused for a moment next to her, his arms full of bloodied linen and spoke softly. "You had best prepare yourself," he advised. "Whatever happens, it will not be easy."
And then he was gone silently after Hijikata.
Okita closed in on her before she had time to move even a step, and companionably laced his fingers through hers as if they might have been preparing to go on a picnic together, instead of standing in a field of blood. His grip was like steel, terrible and constant. He leaned in close to her ear, so she could hear his soft, pleasant voice.
"If you ever try to run from me, I will kill you," he said.
With some effort, Kazuki found her voice again, and poured all the courage she had into it. "I won't run," she said.
"Mmm," he murmured in response, and then seemed to be thinking about it, "That's almost too bad," he lamented lazily.
Yukimura Kazuki was spirited away that night by a company of demons, and they disappeared into the stillness leaving neither a ripple nor a trace.