Title: Autumn Stirrings
Author: Kenkaya
Type: Oneshot, post-series
Genres: Drama, Romance (Very light romance)
Rating: PG-13, Teen (for mentions of sexual harassment, prostitution, and ninja seduction)
Pairing(s): AoshixMisao (one-sided?) and hints of future MisaoxSoujirou
Sum: Part two of my Autumn series. A chance encounter with Soujirou at a roadside inn leaves Misao with answers to questions she didn't even know she had…
A/N: This story actually has a bit of a convoluted origin. I wrote the first part, Autumn Leavings, years ago as a personal challenge writing in 1st POV (I tend to favor limited 3rd POV) as a character I wasn't exactly comfortable with. After posting, I was intrigued by all the reviewers who said they didn't understand or get the Misao/Soujirou pairing (some flat out said they couldn't see her with anyone but Aoshi). This got me thinking about all the possibilities for this unusual pair. The first draft of this story was in limited 3rd POV and intended to be a few chapters long. When I got stuck at the end of chapter 1 I realized that, if I wanted to truly continue the Autumn story, such a stylistic departure wasn't going to work. So, I'm now doing a set of three oneshots: the first one was from Aoshi's POV, this one is from Misao's POV, and the last will be from Soujirou's POV. So here's the second part, several years in the making!
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If I was a poetic sort (or pretending to be, like Jiiya does when giving out his "sage" wisdom), I'd probably wax on and on about the day I met him again. I'd talk about how the clouds hung ominously in the sky, their darkness overlapping the sun. How eddies of dust and fall brown leaves swirled across a desolate mountain path, completing the portentous mood. Fair warning to any (and by any I mean stubborn ol' me) who dared tread those decrepit roads.
But I'm more the practical, straightforward type, so I'll just say the weather sucked. I was in a lousy mood too, having wrestled against those same chilly autumn winds all morning. Deep down inside (well, maybe not too deep), I was cursing the Oniwanbanshu's Tohoku branch for calling me out this time of year, especially to settle a silly family dispute. Talk about unprofessional! Completely unworthy of the okashira's attention! At least Aoshi-sama's precious time hadn't been wasted; still, that left me walking home all the way from Aomori in what was shaping up to be a pretty nasty storm. When I caught sight of the ratty roadside inn, I didn't bother reigning in the extra sprint in my steps.
Misao: 1. Mother Nature: 0.
The dingy exterior hardly disguised the establishment's shady vibe, and, I have to say, the interior didn't disappoint either. Onimitsu training kicked in immediately when I walked in. At first scan the building's layout was simple enough: bar and restaurant on the lower floor (I gagged at the sight. You'd never see built-up grime like that on Aoiya counters!) with an old, rickety staircase leading toward upstairs lodging. The serving wenches were proving themselves to be just that, if the way they tended to "flash the goods" and exchange money under the table was anything to go by. Heck, the clientele in general didn't seem much better off then the business! Years of honed instincts, alongside my impeccable female intuition, practically screamed the place was trouble.
Only the promise of bad weather and frigid travel pushed me forward.
I pulled my dark hooded cloak tight (never travel without one!) as I moved across the threshold, keeping up a steady, confident stride before settling down in the most innocuous looking corner. Hannya taught me, years ago, that projecting an illusion of calm strength is one of many tried-and-true onimitsu tactics used to avoid unwanted altercations. No one can accuse me of not knowing the basics! Still, despite my efforts, I couldn't shake the feeling I stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of this dump.
"Anything for ya, miss?"
I glanced up from under my hood brim at one of the most scantily clad waitresses I'd seen. Seriously! That kimono was hiked up indecently high and the peach-colored sleeves hung dangerously off-shoulder. Even the most inept ninja seductresses knew leaving a little to the imagination was the best way to keep a man's attention once you got it. Then again, the woman's general looks could only be described as blandly average- maybe cleavage and legs was all she had to work off of. Her small mouth twisted (I didn't know it was possibly for lips to go that thin) and I stared a few seconds before it hit me. She was waiting for an answer to her question. Stupid me! So much for acting natural.
"Sake, please. Warm."
The server nodded curtly, several strands of strategically displaced hair bobbing free from her bun. Really, this girl had trying too hard written all over her. Must be new to the business or something. I watched her saunter off with a bored expression, already eager to leave this poor excuse of an establishment. It made me appreciate the homey atmosphere of the Aoiya all the more. Right then and there, I decided to leave as soon as my drink was finished and look for shelter elsewhere. Of course, right after I made that decision, heavy rain began to batter the structure noisily. Well wasn't that just great! I was stuck in this god-forsaken place for who knows how long 'til the downpour eased.
"Well, well! What 'ave we 'ere?!"
I pointedly ignored the ugly, bald man approaching me, though I kept a cautious eye on his movement. So much for keeping my head down and hoping for the best. The thug strutted over to my table anyway, slapping his thick palms against the warped wood, but (thankfully) remained standing. I had to suppress a shudder of disgust at the perverse smile rippling across his pock-marked face.
"Hey, little missy… lookin' for some company? I can keep ya warm if the rain makes you cold," he leered over, lantern light reflecting off his large shiny nose (that's it, I'm calling him Grease-face), and ended the horrible pick-up line with a stereotypically indecent chuckle. Oh, for the love of… does he seriously expect to get a positive response oozing sleaze like that?
"Sorry, not interested."
The grinding cackle stopped. I didn't bother lifting my head to gage his reaction, though it was tempting, afraid the hood might slip and reveal my appearance. My round, innocent baby-face wasn't exactly suited for intimidation tactics (a useful trait during certain missions, but not here), besides, this brute hardly deserved the honor of a face-to-face confrontation. Naturally, the idiot didn't take the hint and (to my further annoyance) remained in close proximity.
"Well, now," Grease-face tried to purr. His intoxicated tongue wasn't moving properly, so it ended up sounding more like a sputtering lisp. "I couldn' help but notice ya didn' look me quite in the face for tha' one. Little bashful, missy?"
A snort escaped through my nose at his jibe (I was already biting my lip painfully to prevent laughter after his pathetic failure at purring). Bashful? Me? As anyone at the Aoiya or Kamiya dojo would gleefully testify, bashful was one of the last adjectives used to describe me in a sentence.
My struggle for composure continued until peripheral vision caught his bulky figure moving sideways, towards the uninvited seat across from me. All amusement died as he settled himself down with that unearned cocky grin of his. Darn, Grease-face was way too persistent for his own good! At least the shade still obscured my eyes from his new angle.
"Ah! Tha's a better view now! Why don' ya raise up yer little chin there, eh? Still shy?"
I had to bite the inside of my cheek hard at those words. This man wasn't worth the trouble, I had to keep telling myself. He definitely wasn't worth getting kicked out in the rain at any rate. He was just a drunk, horny bastard hanging out at the roadside tavern- obvious brothel side-business notwithstanding. And, from the looks of Miss Legs-and-Cleavage earlier, it was an unrefined brothel at that. His curious behavior over seeing a mysterious young woman, covered head to toe by a long dark cape, was only customary. I inhaled deeply, mentally preparing myself for the task ahead.
"I strongly suggest you go elsewhere," I spoke flatly, injecting the words with that cold edge Aoshi-sama was famous for. Nobody could say I didn't learn a few things about intimidation from my many hours spent with him. That had been a pretty good impersonation, if I do say so myself! After such a blunt rebuttal, I was betting Grease-face would leave and move on to an easier target: men of his caliber usually did. Who needs violence when you've got acting skills?!
"Still puttin' up airs, eh?" the stubborn idiot leered (that's not how you were supposed to react, damnit!), completely breezing over my awesome ice-bitch act. He leaned over the table to get a good look at my face… well, what he could see of it anyway. Anything from the nose down was a safe guess. I made a point to curl my upper lip in distaste. "Why don' ya tell me that straight in the eye?"
"You're not going to take my advice are you?" I sighed, resigned. Guess there really was no peaceful way out of this mess. A ready hand reached into the folds of my pink obi, fingers wrapping around the stashed kunai set Jiiya gave me.
"Am I rubbin' ya the wrong way, missy? Going to do something 'bout it?"
"I will if you don't park your fat rear at someone else's table!"
Oops. Me and my big fat mouth.
The immediate area fell silent at my outburst. I wanted to kick myself for giving in to short temper again; Omasu's stern voice was lecturing up a storm in my head to match the torrent outside. I'm an onimitsu… I know better than this! The grip on my kunai became knuckle-white as the possibility of escape without incident dwindled to no-way-in-Hell. Okashira, huh? I was a disgrace to the title!
"Care to repeat that?"
Grease-face's voice conveniently sobered up as he rose, looming over me. Sausage fingers wrapped around the beat up katana handle tucked hap-hazardously through his frayed hakama belt. Ha! If only the dumb sod knew how little his intended threat impressed me. I was fairly certain a street thug (no offense to Sano, of course) dumb enough to wave poorly maintained weapons around would hardly be a match.
"What's the matter? Lost your pretty littl' voice? How 'bout I cut out your sharp tongue an' save ya the trouble of findin' it?"
Ugh- his insults were as bad as his flirting. I was starting to think putting this behemoth out of his misery would be a service on multiple counts. Arm muscles tensed as I readied myself to strategically release a volley of daggers along his right bicep. That should disable his sword arm long enough for me to kick him unconscious. He jerked forward a bit, exercising his own version of scare tactics (nice try, but not even close), and I cleared my mind for accuracy.
"Ah! I wouldn't do that if I were you, mister."
We both paused, startled by the unexpected interruption. A standard reaction for the insensitive dunce, but as for me, I hadn't sensed a new presence at all; and his voice… it sounded awfully familiar. Grease-face whipped around to confront the enigmatic intruder, the spinning motion sending his bulky body sideways in a stumble. I finally got a good look at the short man behind him, and, my carefully ministered façade cracked.
"An' just who the Hell do ya think you are?!" my assailant roared down at the smiling young man. "This matter's between me an' the missus. It's none of your business."
A small part of me that still believed in the best of people knew I should warn the ruffian. A decent person would have told him of the grave mistake he was making, provoking this particular person. Even if he did deserve everything coming to him. After all, Seta Soujirou was not someone to be challenged lightly.
"I suppose you do have a point, your business is none of mine. I apologize for interrupting," Soujirou dipped into a polite bow, lifting his chin to grace us with that annoying amicable expression. "But you see… I have some past-due business of my own with the young lady… if you don't mind."
"An' if I mind?" Grease-face growled.
"Then I'm afraid I'll have to request you reconsider your answer," Soujirou's smile never wavered throughout the veiled threat. He continued to stare the man down, icy blue fixed directly on shifty brown. The air around us stilled chillingly (I couldn't help wondering if those cold eyes could have rivaled Aoshi-sama). Incorporeal frost seemed to materialized, mirroring waves of strong ki as they rippled outward from a deceptively small body, wrapping stealthily around the brute's unguarded aura. He sputtered, his fighting spirit caught in a stranglehold only two of us were aware of. Narrowed blue eyes gained a steely edge then: one that pierced through your very soul like a sharpened blade. The kind I've only seen possessed by hardened killers. I wasn't trained beyond the basics in sensing ki, but (even from my distanced perspective as a spectator) I couldn't help staggering under the sheer power of the Tenken's will.
Grease-face didn't stand a chance. He stumbled backwards, eyes wide with fear as he held that sad excuse for a katana handle in a vice-grip. This man may have lived life on the rougher side, but his violent reaction made it blatantly obvious (to anyone with actual skill, anyway) he was nowhere near close to being in Soujirou's league. Flecks of spittle shot forward from pudgy lips as the idiot thug tried to grasp just how far he'd been outclassed.
"F… fine. Take the little bitch," Grease-face turned and fled like the cowardly yellowbelly he was.
"I doubt he'll bother you again anytime soon."
Oh crap! I was staring! I ducked my head quickly to avoid eye contact, hoping he didn't catch me- though I had a sneaking suspicion I failed on that front. Either way, there were more important questions to think about (pull yourself together, Misao!). Like, what was the Tenken doing here? And why did he help me? My shoulders stiffened under the thick cloak as another, more frightening thought occurred. What if he recognized me? I mean, we've only seen each other in the flesh once: at Eiji's oppressed village long ago, and (considering I was sharing the stage with Himura and Saitou) I had the distinct impression I hadn't made much of one at all.
I took a deep breath then, assuring myself that everything would work out fine. The harsh truth was, I had been nothing more than background scenery at that village. Sure, my name may have drifted past his ears in a few reports during Shishio's final days, but (in all honesty) I had probably just been chalked off as another member of 'those annoying Oniwanbanshu.' I didn't bother suppressing a victorious smirk at the memory of the Juppontangana's bitter loss. Teach them to underestimating us so severely! But, that tiny detail aside, Soujirou really had no reason to remember me. It was just an exceptional coincidence he happened to come to my aid. I was just some random girl in a spot of trouble to him… absolutely nothing to worry about here.
"I didn't expect to find you here Makimachi-san, but I'm glad I did. Do you mind if I take a seat?"
I visibly flinched. Well, there goes that theory. Fear of a potency I'd hoped to never feel again flooded me, overrunning my logical thoughts with a deafening white noise. What should I do? I should say something… but what? After he returned from battle, Himura claimed this strange boy had headed out into the world: beaten and determined to find his own answers. A perfunctory glance at old threadbare, yet still well mended grey hakama was all the confirmation needed for that story. But what if, after trekking across Japan some four odd years, his answer turned out to be revenge for his fallen mentor? I definitely was no pushover, but I also held no illusions about our comparative strengths. If that was his choice, Soujirou could murder me right here before I'd even have the chance to twitch a kunai itching finger.
While these morbid thoughts were circling through my brain, the assassin settled down on the bench occupied by Grease-face not too long ago, most likely interpreting my lack of verbal dispute as an open invitation. I bit my tongue at the gall of his assumption. Just minutes earlier, I had practically blown a gasket when Grease-face did the same. That action was liable to get me killed this time around.
"What are you doing here?" still, that didn't mean I was going to rollover and let him step all over me. I had questions to be answered, damnit!
"I assume for the same reason you are, Makimachi-san," the boy responded to my abrasive tone nonchalantly. "Waiting for the storm to clear."
"That's not what I meant!" Why, oh, why doesn't my unruly mouth ever listen to my head! So much for caution. Jiiya always said a loose tongue would be the end of me if I didn't learn to curb it; I was grudgingly starting to believe so myself.
"I see… I didn't think such an easy answer would satisfy you," he murmured casually. My chin snapped up in shock at his patient response to my temper, and our eyes met directly for the first time in four years. "But, likewise, I suppose there's more to your presence here as well. What exactly does an okashira of the infamous Oniwabanshu do to end up so far outside Kyoto?"
"Why do you call me okashira? Aoshi-sama came back years ago," I hedged, gracefully (if I do say so myself) dodging the real question at hand. Like I was just going to let this man (who already knew way more than he should) in on the internal affairs of my organization. Especially one as embarrassing as the last venture.
"Oh," Soujirou quirked a knowing eyebrow. Internally, I damned his justified smugness. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Makimachi-san, I didn't realize Shinomori-san forgave himself so easily. He always seemed to me the type of man who shouldered burdens upon himself... and I assumed he would impose a rather strict penance for daring to commit treason against his former comrades."
"What would you know?" I huffed, seconds shy from throwing self-preservation instincts to the wind. He had no right to talk like that- as if he were intimately familiar with Aoshi-sama and his predicament. This… boy knew nothing! "Someone like you couldn't possibly understand what he was feeling back then. Don't even bother pretending you do!"
Brief silence followed my bold statement. Sounds of rowdy bar activity floated through the air, somehow accentuating the tension as we stared each other down: neither willing to break it of our own volition.
"Your order, miss."
I almost jumped when a third party unexpectedly interrupted us. The brown-haired waitress from before was back, pinched lips twisted in a permanent scowl as she set her overdue load on the table a bit harder than necessary. Honestly, it was a miracle no liquid slopped over the bottle's ceramic lip. A sharp clack announced the forceful placement of two stacked saucers (funny, I don't recall asking for more than one…) before the server turned to Soujirou, her harsh expression immediately softening.
"Anything for you young sir? Or will you be sharing with the missy, here?" the last question ended with a contrary bitter lilt.
"Oh, no… I'm fine ma'am," Soujirou began to wave a dismissive hand, then lowered it on second thought. "Actually… I wouldn't mind some dango… if you serve it, that is."
"'Course. I'll get right on it, young sir," the waitress sent me a triumphant look and departed with a peach-colored flourish. The heck was that about? The reason struck me moments later. I had to suppress a groan at my painful naïveté, too ashamed to feel insulted by her insinuation. That second-rate prostitute thought I was stealing business.
"Well, the service is definitely biased here. Remind me not to travel through these parts on the way home again," I grumbled loudly after her retreating figure, hoping she'd overhear and get the right impression.
"You expected any more from a place like this, Makimachi-san?"
"No," I frowned at my grudging companion. "I know not all places have the same respect or pride in themselves as the Aoiya… but that doesn't make it any less unpleasant."
"Ah, that's right… you help run a similar establishment. Please forgive my trespass, then. I did not mean to insult."
"Of course you didn't," I roughly grabbed for the bottleneck and a saucer, pouring myself a much needed drink. Really, I wondered, tossing the contents impressively down my throat (I learned from the best… Jiiya would be proud), just how did I always end up in these troublesome situations, anyway? My luck's gone nowhere but downhill since that first run in with Himura years ago.
I chugged another shot as our awkward silence stretched uncomfortably. Not that I would ever regret meeting the goofy redhead; he, Kaoru, and Yahiko were three of my greatest friends, not to mention the rurouni brought at least one stroke of good fortune with him. Aoshi-sama had returned because of him.
A third distraction… uh, drink derailed that train into sour territory. My childhood sweetheart may have come home, but he rarely acknowledged my existence (or much of anyone's for that matter) since. I witnessed almost daily how he beat himself mentally inside his favorite temple, trying to break the ice with lighthearted chatter and stories: doubts over whether I made any impact festering deeper each day. The demons of his past would probably be forever out of my reach. Yet, now, a shadow from those dark times was sitting right across the table, grinning ear to ear. Arrgh! That stupid little smirk was really starting to tick me off! I guzzled down a fourth round. Just let him sit there while I seethe. I have nothing to say to him.
"I must say you surprise me, Makimachi-san. You're quite an accomplished drinker for your weight," the irritation shattered my inebriated musings with an innocent smile. The nerve of him! I slammed my saucer down against the table with an indignant huff, face still burning red from the warm alcohol dissipating through my system.
"Seta, I don't know what you want from me, but making cracks about my size is definitely not the way to get yourself on good terms," I growled. The rational side of me (buried under layers of anger and liquor) was aware Soujirou didn't, couldn't have, known. I had once fantasized about growing into a tall, shapely woman: worthy and able to stand besides Aoshi-sama with my head at the perfect height to fit comfortably on his shoulder. Of course, puberty had shot that dream to Hell in a hand basket long ago, but that didn't make it any less a sore subject.
"My apologies, then," Soujirou's amused smile fell slightly (good, he damn well better feel guilty!). "It looks like I'm not very good at this. I came to make amends but all I seem to do is antagonize you instead. I apologize for that as well."
"Amends? What amends?" I blinked my eyes curiously before a multitude of reasons, each more horrible than the last, narrowed them to thin slits. "What could the Tenken possibly owe me?"
"Ah… Makimachi-san, I don't really go by that name anymore," he had grimaced a bit at the title. "And I owe many things to many people. Himura-san would probably understand… he was in my place once too."
"And you're just as roundabout with explanations as he is," I snorted fondly, remembering my last visit to Tokyo. At least Himura got his happy ending- if the cute baby boy in Kaoru's arms was anything to go by. "Well, there's a storm still going on outside and I doubt either of us are leaving anytime soon. Just go ahead and tell me what you have to say before the weather clears up and I change my mind."
"Thank you for your time," Soujirou said with a subtle bow. Geez, I never realized politeness could be so infuriating before! "I want to start by assuring you that I, in no way, sought you out. Nor did I mean to… I consider this chance meeting an act of fate, so to speak. A sign that the time has come for me to finally look back and take personal responsibly for my past wrongs. I am… sorry, Makimachi-san. I didn't realize the pain I must have caused you back then until almost two years after the fact. I wish I could say otherwise, but I can't."
"Are you talking about fighting for Shishio? Why would I blame you for a battle we won? Anyway, it was all that crazy mummy's fault!"
Anger flashed across his passive features and I literally felt a block of ice condense under his piercing gaze, cascading down to the lowest pit of my stomach. Oh, I'd really done it now! Soujirou was still loyal to Shishio; his body language practically screamed my most immediate fear. Damn me for being right!
"I will admit, Makimachi-san, that Shishio-san's view of the world was a bit… different. I may not actively follow his beliefs anymore, but he is still the man who saved my life… raised me and brought out my potential as a swordsman. I will always be grateful for that," his expression softened, though the mood was, by no means, lightened. "So, as I'm sure you can see, I don't take kindly to people insulting him."
"Of… of course," I gulped, nodding for him to carry on. I didn't apologize, though later my mind would throw the hypocrisy of those words back in my face. After all, I still loved Aoshi-sama and he had done terrible things too. Instead, I kept silent. Mouthing off had gotten me into enough trouble today, thank you!
"Thank you for understanding," Soujirou cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to stall before an exasperated sigh from me urged him on. By this point, my self-control had grown complacent: the belief that Soujirou meant me no harm (for now, at least) finally sinking in.
"I suppose I should start at the beginning for you… just to keep matters straight," he didn't fidget, but somehow still gave a distinct air of nervousness. "Do you remember that small village? The one where Himura-san defeated Senkaku?"
"Yes." How could I forget? So many firsts had happened there: my first meeting with Saitou, first introduction to Shishio and his insane plot, first time seeing Himura really fight, first use of that… that nickname, "weasel girl…"
"Well," his continuation broke through my revere. "Before arriving in that village, I stumbled across a man in the woods not far outside Tokyo… I witnessed him disposing of several lowlife bandits after they desecrated what appeared to be four crudely marked graves."
I gasped. Implications of exactly who those graves must belong to hit me with a sound, emotional punch to the gut. My vision blurred for a moment as I blinked the sudden wetness away. Hannya, Hyottoko, Beshimi, Shikijou… even after all these years, I still missed them terribly. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the man defending their honor must have been either. Aoshi-sama would have never stood for such disrespect- I certainly wouldn't have in his place!
"I was numb back then," Soujirou explained softly, as if attempting to lessen some sort of blow. "As I watched, I did not see an emotionally scarred man attempting to come to terms with his comrades' deaths, but a potential tool for Shishio-san's cause. It was in this mindset that I approached him… and offered Shinomori-san the chance to fight Himura-san under our roof."
Quiet reigned over our corner table as Soujirou waited anxiously for a reaction. I could only stare blankly ahead, trying to process this new information. Aoshi-sama had never mentioned anything like this, and, in truth, I didn't even wonder about what could have led him down that path (the obvious aside). Never thought to ask him about it. Yes, it was a painful subject; yet, I couldn't help feeling that I should have. This was the man I loved! I should want to know more! I wanted more than anything to help him, and it didn't take outsider like Seta Soujirou to highlight the fact I was failing miserably.
"So it was you," I finally breathed. Honestly, there wasn't much else I could say. His confession didn't leave me angry or upset. Instead, I felt more of an empty fulfillment. But oddly, as tense seconds passed, the emptiness melted away into a small wistful smile. A piece of the puzzle I never realized was missing had at last clicked into place. I knew the truth now and nothing could take that knowledge away.
"I don't know why you told me this, Seta," I spied his clasped hands twitching anxiously against the tabletop. To think I would one day inspire such emotions from the former Tenken! "But I'm glad you did."
"Glad?" he inquired, clearly puzzled by my response.
I choked back a giggle at his expression. I had only seen Soujirou express a select few emotions by this point: his usual neutral smile (which would never stop being annoying), carefully controlled anger, and apprehension. None of these prepared me for the comical glory of his confused face, with bug-like wide eyes and slack jaw. His lax mouth twisted into an unmistakable frown as I eventually lost my battle with poise.
"Um… Makimachi-san?" the boy questioned timidly. Laughter, obviously, was not a response he had expected.
"N… nothing… forget it," I waved off my brief fit as the giggles subsided, turning back to our original topic. "I'm glad, really. I'd always had ideas, and I knew of our comrades' deaths… but I never fully understood what exactly pushed Aoshi-sama to take sides the way he did. So, thank you for telling me."
"Ah, is that so?" Soujirou said, still somewhat skeptical. "Please forgive my ignorance, but I'm afraid I still don't understand… I thought Shinomori-san's betrayal hurt you."
"Of course I was hurt!" I snapped. Talk about insensitive! Someone really needed to coach this boy on proper social etiquette. "That's not the point. I… its just that… I've always admired Aoshi-sama, ever since I was a child. Sure, he likes to keep himself a mystery and pigs'll probably fly before he opens up to anyone, but he really is a great man… a great leader. Despite everything he's done to us… to Jiiya… not one of us doubts his devotion to the Oniwanbanshu. I guess, just knowing why… somehow I feel closer to him. Does that make sense to you?"
"No," Soujirou replied simply, falling back on his damned default smile. "And I'm beginning to think it never will. Your loyalty to him though, that much I can understand."
"You would," I grumbled, thinking back on the unwavering, blind faith I'd witnessed from most of Shishio's followers.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't mind me. Jiiya always says I ramble too much when I drink anyway," I laughed nervously on cue, sipping my neglected liquor to cover the slip. "Besides, what's done is done and nothing either of us say or do can change the way things are now… so stop worrying about it. Hasn't anyone told you that worrying too much gives you wrinkles?"
"Well, no… but if you say so," he said, taking the hint much to my relief. Not that I wasn't grateful for the closure (really, I was!), but digging up depressing thoughts of the past is sooo draining. I was more than ready to move on.
"Sounds like a plan to me. What do you say we drink on it?" Offhand, I realized the rain had stopped, probably sometime during our conversation. Thank heavens for small miracles. As soon as my drink was done, I was so out of there!
"I would be honored, Makimachi-san," Soujirou accepted the offered saucer graciously. We lifted our arms in preparation for a toast.
"Goddamn tease! Teach ya to walk 'way from me…"
"Please, sir! I hafta work… just calm down."
We both turned mid-cup-click to see Grease-face harassing a new target: our waitress. Her upper arm was caught in his meaty grasp, a tray with Soujirou's dango order swaying precariously on her outstretched hand as she squirmed to get free. I placed my saucer down and stood with a frustrated sigh. Someone desperately needed to teach Grease-face a lesson on how to treat women… and I didn't see anyone else volunteering for the job.
"Makimachi-san?" Soujirou was frowning; he probably thought it was a bad idea to get involved. Hypocrite.
"Hey! You there!" I stepped forward, prepared to deliver some snappy line, but my shout distracted the brute and his grip loosened. The waitress flew forward, bumping against me and smashing the plate of sticky sweet dango into the front of my cloak. I fumed. This one had been bought brand new last month!
"S… sorry," the woman stuttered. I didn't pay her any heed, not as she fled the brewing fight; I even ignored the scrap of sandals against wood from behind, signaling Soujirou's approach. My focus was completely zeroed in on Grease-face. His skin had turned a nasty puce color by this point, rage obviously clouding his better judgment (though "best capable judgment" would actually be a more apt description).
"I've had just 'bout enough of ya… cockblockin' bitch!"
The dunce then proceeded to throw all his weight into a full-frontal attack. An incompetent mistake if I'd ever seen one! I immediately shifted my stance, ready to use his own weight against him with a simple grapple.
Stupid me forgot to account for the eager helper within arm's reach. Soujirou grabbed the back of my cloak just as I tensed to move, pulling me out of harm's way. I stumbled backwards as my balance skewed and the soiled garment gave its final death cry with a loud rip.
"Damnit, Seta!" I screeched, beyond pissed. A choked gasp from Grease-face brought my attention to the hood, or lack thereof. It had slipped back during the tussle to reveal my childish face to the whole tavern. Well, wasn't that just peachy!
"Ha! Ye're just a damn kid," the brute crowed, letting his guard down. I answered with a swift kick to his solar plexus. He fell over with a soundless 'oomph' as I smirked, casually tossing a warning kunai centimeters from his crotch for good measure.
"Anyone one else care to challenge my status as a woman while we're at it?"
Grease-face still looked dumb enough to snark. A roundhouse kick to the head solved that problem and the room remained silent. I turned toward my companion then, who at least had the grace to look sheepish, considering the situation for a moment before I spoke.
"I'm going to assume drinks are on you," I smiled sweetly at his gobsmacked expression. "For the trouble, that is. Buy me a new cloak and we'll call it even."
"Ah… I'd be happy to Makimachi-san… if I had enough money…"
Figures he'd be broke. Just like Himura.
"And I'm just supposed to let you walk away free of consequence because of that?" I deadpanned. "Nu-uh! Not a chance, mister! I didn't let Himura off the hook that easy… so what makes you think I would for you?"
"I'm… not exactly sure what you expect from me, Makimachi-san," Soujirou said, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. I tried to keep a convincing poker face, but the devious grin came out anyway. Soujirou gulped quietly at that. Oh, he had no idea what he'd gotten himself into!
"Here," I spun around and made a beeline for our table. I slipped my money pouch out discreetly (because announcing where you hid your purse in a room like this was just asking to get your pocket picked) and slammed my payment down on the grainy surface. "Seta Soujirou, you are now in my debt. And you will pay me back. Himura can testify, there's no getting rid of me or shaking me off your trail until you do. You're stuck with me."
"Strength in persistence," the swordsman sighed, tension visibly draining from his body as he spoke. "I can see you are a much more formidable opponent than I initially gave you credit for. I will respect that in the future."
"Damn straight you will!" I declared triumphantly. Seedy workers and depraved patrons alike watched in revered silence as we wasted little time leaving their world.
When I came across Seta Soujirou that day, for the first time in four years, it was a cold lousy autumn day. He approached me in a bar that was equally crap. We both entered alone and left together, neither of us able to fathomed the future in store. Talk about poetic irony!
xxxxxx
xxxxxx
Owari
(End)