SAKURA TAISEN/WARS and all related characters, names and indicia are TM & © SEGA RED.
A CHRISTMAS CAROL is written by Charles Dickens, and borrowed by Ice Spectre for her own nefarious purposes.
Warning: Crossover/AU
Author's Note: I have omitted Reni, Orihime and Ratchet for reasons of having no characters left to cast them as - which is sad because I ADORE Reni and I like Orihime (though I LOATHE Ratchet). Gomen-nasai!!! In addition, I have tried to use/bastardize as many direct quotes from Dickens' classic as I could manage, so if you recognize a phrase or dozen, that's why.
Rated PG
Christmas Bells
Part One: Shinguji's Ghost
Shinguji was dead; to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The words upon his gravestone bore witness to his fateful demise in the war. Yoneda had signed the certificates and documents required by the army. Yoneda's name was good within the army for whatever he chose to put his hand to.
Yoneda knew Shinguji was dead, how could it be otherwise? Yoneda and he had been soldiers together for no one knows how many years. But we stray from the point. Shinguji was dead, and this must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful will come of the story I am about to relate.
General Yoneda never changed the picture that hung on the wall in his office, despite the loss of two of the four people in it. The hardness never left him after Shinguji's death, it aged him, thinned his hair, shriveled his cheek, and kept him full to besotted with sake every opportunity he had.
The heat did not distress him, nor did he notice the cold through his nearly perpetual drunken evasion of the present, and all those around him knew when to avoid him at all costs. Questions and inquiries were deflected to Kaede Fujieda, and anyone forced to deal with the General tiptoed around him carefully. Even Christmas could not ease the ache in the General's heart. Not even Christmas Eve, which it was this particular day.
General Ikki Yoneda's office door was open that he might keep an eye on his lieutenant, Ichiro Ohgami, who was in a dismal little office beyond, not much larger than a broom closet, struggling with balancing the registers from the past month at the theatre box office. The heating ducts were all closed in the office suite, all but one, over Yoneda's desk. And Ohgami had better not open one, for fear of the wrath of the General and a lecture on the price of propane. He chafed his hands together to keep his fingers from stiffening with cold, then bent over the ink-scrawled pages of the box office register again.
"A Merry Christmas, General!" came a high, thin voice, startling both Yoneda and Ohgami. Into the office breezed Count Hanakoji, his glass-topped cane held high in his widespread arms, his glasses glinting merrily on the tip of his sharp nose, and the scent of cashmere and cold winter released by the melting snowflakes on his scarf and the shoulders of his wool coat.
"Baka!" Yoneda muttered, startled enough to spill a little porcelain cup of sake over the papers he was perusing. "Fuzakeru!" He began to dab up the spill with a handkerchief, ink smudging on the pages.
"Fuzakeru?" Hanakoji blinked, taken mildly aback, but his spirit not at all dampened. "Come, Yoneda, you cannot mean that! Christmas is hardly just child's play."
"I do mean that," Yoneda slurred, wringing his handkerchief out into the trash can peevishly. "A Merry Christmas? What right have you to be merry? What reason? You've seen the books for last month, we're down from last quarter."
"And what right and reason have you to be dismal?" Hanakoji countered. "Our Christmas Spectacular opens tomorrow, a one-day-only engagement, and it is already sold out!"
Lacking a good argument in favour of remaining dismal in light of the good news, Yoneda repeated, "Fuzakeru!"
"Don't be cross, Yoneda," Hanakoji urged, his smile warming, breaking his aged face into a network of joyful lines and creases.
"HOW can I be anything else?" Yoneda rose abruptly, his hands splayed on his desk. "What is Christmas but a chance for everyone to spend too much money, money they haven't got – feeling obliged to buy presents for anyone upon whom they need to ingratiate themselves, for closing up the books of an entire year and having the records of the last twelve months presented back to you and held up to examination, finding fault and owing money and taxes, the time of year when we're all the poorest, and the time of year everyone goes about as if they are rich, throwing money away on gaudy decorations and chintzy lights and foil paper and useless bric-a-brac that no one in ten years will remember who gave them what, or what possible use they could have for a crystal paperweight in an office where the windows do not even open enough to generate a breeze!"
"Yoneda!" Count Hanakoji was surprised at this outpouring of disdain for the joyful holiday. He seemed almost imploring, his hands out to the General.
"Count, please – keep Christmas in your own way, and permit me to keep it in mine."
"But you DON'T keep it at all!"
"Then let me leave it alone." Yoneda sat down again, resting his chin in his hands and turning his attention back to his alcohol-soggy papers. "Much good may it do you to keep it. Not that it's ever done you any good."
"It's certainly done me no harm," Hanakoji chuckled, folding his arms across his chest, his cane dangling loosely from his fingers and laying gently against his leg.
"Oh no? Have you seen the state of your personal budget every January?" Yoneda gestured to the books he kept for Hanakoji, one of the Imperial Theatre's largest investors and most enthusiastic patrons.
"There are a great many things in this world, General, from which much good can be derived without amounting to a single coin – including Christmas. No, I have never profited financially by Christmas, but besides being a holy day, Christmas is also a time for kindness, forgiveness, charity. It is the one time of the year I can imagine in which the rich are not afraid to open their hearts to the poor, and the two do not look upon each other as different races of creatures, but as fellows, one and the same, only in different situations. When men walk side by side, keep each other's company, regardless of station. When families gather and love reigns supreme. That is why I keep Christmas, Yoneda, not because it brings in any money, but because it strengthens the soul of one and all."
From his broom-closet office, Ohgami cheered, and then abruptly ceased when his eyes met Yoneda's, glaring witheringly at the boy over his small, round, wire-rimmed glasses.
"Come," Hanakoji insisted. "Accept my invitation." He thrust a wax-sealed envelope into Yoneda's hands and the General broke the seal to read the silver embossed invitation.
"You are cordially invited to Christmas Dinner. Guests of Honour will include the renowned actresses of the Imperial Opera Theatre," Yoneda read, then looked up accusingly at Hanakoji. "You cleared this through Maria without consulting me."
Ohgami became nearly physically smaller in his chair. Hanakoji had Ohgami's approval as well. All patrons of the arts have their favourite performers. Most of the theatre's patrons favoured the entrancing soprano and biggest star of the theatre, Miss Sumire Kanzaki. However, Count Hanakoji had taken a particular liking to the theatre's premiere mezzo-soprano, Maria Tachibana. Her location and rescue in New York was in no small part due to his intervention, financially, and he had become, in recent years, a sort of confidant and father-figure to the former Mafia bouncer. Hanakoji tended to deal with the Imperial Opera Theatre through Maria rather than directly with Yoneda.
"Don't blame the girl, Yoneda. She was just doing what she believed best for the financial interests of the theatre. After all, some of tomorrow's proceeds will go to you."
That seemed to spare Maria the wrath of the General, and Hanakoji had been kind enough not to mention Ohgami at all, who was already in enough trouble. Yoneda found a new bone of contention. "Why do you foster Maria so lavishly, anyway? A silver oil lamp... a pen and ink set in purest white gold, and parchment as well... You are spoiling her."
"Spoiling!" Hanakoji laughed. "First of all, that girl had nothing to begin with, the poorest of your actresses, and with the fewest requests for any sort of accommodation. Secondly, do you truly think my meager, rare gifts are taking away any of the shine from the lavishings Sumire receives daily? Come to the dinner and sit with us. Besides, Yoneda, I cannot help it. She is my favourite."
"Your favourite!" Yoneda said as if there were nothing more ridiculous in the world. "Good afternoon."
"No, no... you've never come to these events before and had a different reason each time, why blame it now on this? Because Maria approved the public appearance without going through you first? Or because I am her patron? Would you rather I were Sumire's? Or the theatre itself alone?"
"Good afternoon," Yoneda repeated, more firmly this time.
"Or is it because even someone as old as I, and even someone as cold as Maria, can appreciate the spirit of Christmas, and you cannot?"
"Good afternoon!" Yoneda insisted, looking up from his papers to glare at Hanakoji.
"No, I came here in the spirit of brotherhood, and I will not let you dampen it! So! A merry Christmas to you, Yoneda!"
"Good afternoon!!!" he yelled as if his volume could shove Hanakoji from the room.
"AND a happy New Year!" the Count added as he turned to go, a smile still on his lips.
"FUZAKERU!!!"
Ohgami opened the door for Hanakoji and let him into the theatre's main lobby. It was colder in there, the floors being all marble and leading to many glass doors at the front of the theatre. "Merry Christmas, Ohgami," he smiled as he bundled up again, buttoning up the front of his black cashmere coat.
"Merry Christmas, Count Hanakoji!" the boy eagerly replied, holding the Count's hat and cane for him as he wrapped his scarf.
"And how are you this Christmas, son? Well, I hope?" Hanakoji paused long enough for Ohgami to nod. "And how are the girls? Maria is well, I assume?"
"I suppose so, sir... most times it's hard to tell!" Ohgami chuckled.
"And Sumire? Beautiful as ever, I hope? And Kanna, is she full of the spirit of the season? Of course she is! And how is Kohran doing with the adjustments to the Koubu hip joints? Going up and down stairs even faster now, I am certain. Iris cannot wait for morning, isn't that right? And Sakura... holding everyone together like glue, I presume?"
"Yes, sir, and teaching us some of the country traditions, too. I've never made a popcorn string until this past week!"
Hanakoji laughed. "And how many times did you prick your finger?"
Ohgami's face was suffused with a deep blush. "I lost count, sir."
"Well, you stop early tonight, do you hear me? And make certain that old grouch does, too, or he'll work all the way through till morning."
"I'll do my best, sir," Ohgami handed the Count's hat and cane back to him and watched him leave. Just as he was turning to go back into his office, two more gentlemen entered, talking amicably to each other, and headed straight into Yoneda's office, seeming not to notice Ohgami's stammering attempt at objection and warning.
"Do we have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Shinguji?" the taller of the duo asked brightly as he entered, trailed by a fretting Ohgami, who caught his breath and cringed at this question.
Yoneda stiffened. "Mr. Shinguji has been dead these ten years. You have the dubious pleasure of addressing General Yoneda."
"Ah..." the gentleman blanched and covered his reaction by handing a file folder to Yoneda. Yoneda unraveled the string from the clasp and opened the folder to glance at the proposal as the gentleman continued, his stouter partner silent and rosy-cheeked at his side. "I trust his generosity is well represented by his surviving comrade..."
The word 'generosity' was Yoneda's cue to close the folder. "Sorry, gentlemen, but perhaps you haven't seen the box office this winter. We can't afford the luxury of charity."
"But sir..." now the rounder partner spoke to Yoneda, "It is at this time of year when we must strive our hardest to make some small provision for the poor and destitute, now when their poverty is felt most sharply—"
"That is why the government has programs to care for the needy, not theatres. We pay our taxes to the government – and barely, at that – and they provide for the poor and destitute. Ohgami, show these gentlemen to the door."
"Sir, if y—"
"Good day, gentlemen." And the subject was fully closed. Sheepishly, Ohgami opened the door for the two charity workers.
Ohgami slipped carefully back behind his desk after the men had left – as if the slightest noise might set Yoneda off again. He was relieved to hear Yoneda exhale some of the tension. Then he stiffened again when he heard a low and whispered voice down the hall. Then a much higher and much less whispered voice.
"But Iris can fix everything, you will see!"
Then a slightly less subdued protest – in Russian – and Iris appeared in Yoneda's door, decked in glittery red and gold, with a beaming smile on her small face, and broke into a loud and enthusiastic round of "Un flambeau, Jeanette Isabelle." Yoneda gritted his teeth as Maria knelt beside Iris and put a hand on her shoulder, pleading with the girl to retreat, wary eyes daring to glance occasionally at Yoneda.
"Le Christ est nee, Ma-RIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE appelle, Ah! Ah! Ah que l'enfent est beeeeeeeeeeeeeee-lle, ah, ah—"
"GET OUT!"
And Iris's French carol was interrupted by the slam of Yoneda's office door, a breeze of cold air, and an exchange of worried glances between Ohgami and Maria. Iris turned to Maria and burst into tears, weeping into the shoulder of Maria's black wool coat.
The remainder of the day passed in cool silence, and Ohgami was elated to finally see Yoneda rise from his desk shortly after the sun had set on the gloomy day. "Finished in there, Ohgami?" Yoneda asked and Ohgami cringed.
"Not... quite... sir..." He'd finished three books and had most of one still to go.
"You'll want tomorrow off anyway, though, I am certain."
"...if... if quite convenient... I promised the girls that Maria and I would take them downtown to see the lights... and..."
"It's not quite convenient, and it's not fair. The books aren't finished and the first of the year won't wait for us, money is very tight until after tomorrow evening's show, yesterday's final dress rehearsal was a disaster, the girls want to see LIGHTS... and you all want to be paid for a day of no working." Yoneda sighed. "I suppose you'd better all take the day, all the same. Go... you and Maria take the girls to see the lights, but be BACK in time for costume, wig and makeup call. If the curtain rises any more than the customary six minutes late... there WILL be hell... and money!... to pay!"
"Yes, sir! We will, sir!" Ohgami nearly knocked his chair over with how quickly he jumped out of it, saluted, and ran off, his tie streaming back over his shoulder in his wake, the pages of the unfinished book fluttering ahead of where he left off. Yoneda simmered and stepped into the snowy, slushy streets of Tokyo in search of his favourite restaurant. But the place was packed on Christmas Eve, and turning customers away in favour of the ability to close early. Yoneda got a few bread rolls and a paper cup of hot tea to go and headed back to his apartments in the Imperial Opera Theatre.
Yoneda entered via the back stair so he would not have to confront anyone. He muttered to himself as the streetlight above the alleyway fizzled and popped, and went dark. "Perfect," Yoneda thought, reaching out with his empty hand to feel along the stone wall of the theatre and sloshing piping hot tea onto his other freezing cold hand as he stumbled toward the back door. He put his key in the door and reached to turn the latch, and nearly yelped in surprise when he looked up at the stained glass window set into the door and saw instead of a fleur-de-lis Shinguji's face.
Yoneda's eyes widened. He confronted demons on a regular basis, but this was different. He blinked as if to clear his vision, but the ghostly image remained. Shinguji's dark hair moved lightly as if in a strange wind, his eyes were closed, and his face was constructed of an eerie light, like swamp water amid the inky shadows. Yoneda reached out to touch the apparition...
...but it was no more than stained glass set into the door.
"Fuzakeru!" he muttered to himself, blaming the vision upon the mention of Shinguji's name earlier, and the long hours of work with all sake and no food. Still, he yanked open the door and flipped the stairwell light on very suddenly, as if he half expected to find Sakura's father standing inside the hall. But he was not there. Now fully dismissing the vision, he climbed the stairs.
Just as he reached the door of his rooms at the top of the stairs, a noise like thunder echoed through the halls, like thunder and wind and rain and a tide all together, and then faded into silence. Yoneda yelped in surprise and pressed his back against the wall, searching for the source of the sound and failing to find it. After looking this way and that for an onslaught of demons and seeing none, he decided it must have been the contraction of metal in the ductwork above the theatre – for certainly without him to regulate the use of heat, it must have been turned up. Resolving his fear back into irritation, Yoneda entered his rooms and set his paper bag of rolls and cup of cooling tea on the end table next to the leather sofa that sat before the fireplace.
It was a remarkable fireplace, scrollwork of ancient and stunning wood, painted scarlet and gold and carved into boxy patterns under the mantle. To the right of the mantle was carved cherry blossoms – sakura – mimicking the style of the Imperial temple; and likewise, oranges – tachibana – to the left. This was one of the most exquisite pieces in the Imperial Opera Theatre, and was, when Yoneda permitted it, included in the Backstage Tour Package. Yoneda's own décor included two folding paper screens to the right and left of the entire fireplace. Both were deep, brick red, painted in burnished gold, brilliant green, bright silver and jet black, images of demons and angels battling across the Japanese countryside. This was his own private tribute to the theatre's secret purpose.
Before taking a seat to rest, Yoneda bolted the door. Just in case. And to make up for the heat being used in the theatre, he turned his own down, and put logs in the fireplace instead. Drawing a blanket over himself and pulling the sofa a bit nearer to the flames, he sat in near darkness and opened the lid of his paper cup of tea.
On the wall inside his living room was an alarm with a red light. This was used to alert everyone in the building when the Koubu would need to be deployed to avert an attack. The alarm was a shrill and ringing bell. And a bell sounded, now, but it was not the modern sound to which Yoneda was accustomed. Instead, it rang like a hanging brass bell, slowly and rhythmically, as it did back in days when he himself would be off to fight the demons... and with no Koubu to assist him.
Transfixed, Yoneda stared at the bell that should no longer make that noise, all colour draining from his face in horror. And then the bell fell silent. Quickly, he ran to the telephone to alert Kaede, to see if something was wrong, if the alarm had gone off... but his telephone only produced the same sound... as did the fire... the windows... all his doors... until finally Yoneda sank to his knees in the middle of his living room, hands clamped over his ears, moaning in fear – and the ringing stopped. The silence held nearly more dread than the sound.
Now stood before him on the rug in the living room Sakura Shinguji's father. His eyes stared ahead as if he did not see Yoneda. His eyes were sad and tormented, his hair moved loosely about his shoulders like cobwebs in a breath of air. He was translucent and luminous. His kimono faded at the ankles into a cold mist of nothingness, and his hands disappeared into the opposite sleeves, his arms folded over his chest. Wrapped around him from sources unknown were untold lengths of thin, white fabric, holding him suspended, it seemed, above the rug, loosely twined under his arms, disturbing his hair, binding his waist, clinging to his legs.
"Who are you!" Yoneda demanded.
"Ask me who I was..." the ghost replied.
Yoneda shuddered to hear the soft, distant voice, as if it echoed through a dank tomb. "A-all right... wh-who WERE you, then?"
"In life, I was your partner, Kazume Shinguji..."
"C-can you... can you sit down?" Yoneda asked, rising up partially on his knees, and attempting proper behaviour toward an old friend and comrade.
"I can."
"Do it, then," Yoneda said, a bit too forcefully, strikingly uncomfortable with how the apparition's reactions were not socially natural.
With a breath of icy cold air and a ruffle of dozens of strips of white cloth, Shinguji's ghost sat in an armchair to the right of the fireplace, before the tree that represented his daughter's name. "You do not believe in me..."
"I don't." Yoneda chuckled in an awkward and forced manner, avoiding looking at the ghost.
"Why do you doubt your senses, Yoneda?"
"Because little things affect them," Yoneda began, logically, rising to unsteady feet. "A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. And a little bit of sake makes them bloody inventors. You might well be a pink elephant for all I know! See this bottle?" Yoneda held up the remainder of a bottle of sake.
"I do," Kazume responded, though his gaze remained fixed upon the far window near Yoneda's bed.
Yoneda wiggled the bottle, almost desperate to get the ghost to react to stimuli the way a living creature would. "You're not looking at it!"
"But I see it, notwithstanding."
"Well..." Yoneda set the bottle down again. "All I have to do is finish it in one night in order to be haunted by a choir of ghosts and demons until I sober up again. All this..." he gestured ineffectually, "the bells, you... it's all fuzakeru, I tell you! Fuzake—"
Seemingly hauled to his feet by the white ribbons imprisoning him, Kazume was lifted from his chair and splayed upright in midair, arms and legs outstretched, head flung back in a blood-chilling cry of outrage that seemed to need no breath and would not cease.
"Mercy!" Yoneda cried. "Please! Kazume! Stop!"
"Mortal man, do you believe in me or no?!"
"I do! I believe in you! But... why, my friend?! Why do you walk the earth and why do you come to me?" Yoneda had to bring himself up off his knees again after Shinguji's screams ceased and the ribbons loosened slightly.
"It is required of every man to fulfill his duty in life, to aid his fellow man. Since I was killed before I could complete my charge, I must continue now... until I succeed."
"You are bound..." Yoneda's voice permitted a note of sympathy through the protected walls. "Tell me why?"
"Promises, oaths, bindings I crafted in life, commitments I failed to keep because of my death... I am bound now to hold to my word. Oh... Ikki... if only you knew the wrappings in which you yourself are bound... the promises you have yet to keep."
Yoneda glanced around himself, now, as if he expected the ribbons to come and capture him at this very moment. "Kazume... please... speak comfort to me..."
"I have none to give, Ikki... your comfort comes from other sources, now – and I do not speak of your bottle. I cannot rest, I cannot stay..." Shinguji seemed to strain against the ribbons, and Yoneda noticed one snake around his throat. "How it is that I appear to you in a shape that you can see I am not permitted to tell you. Many days, invisible, have I walked beside you."
This thought was comforting to Yoneda, and he smiled sadly. "You were always an excellent soldier, Kazu—"
"SOLDIER?! I had more to my life than the dealing of death! And there is more to yours than the remorse of mine!"
Yoneda cowered again.
"Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts."
Yoneda, if it was possible, grew even paler. "I... I think I would rather not..."
"You have no choice, Ikki... without their aid, you cannot hope to escape this binding before your death. Expect the first when the clock strikes one."
Before Yoneda could reply, many more spectres appeared, eyes closed and heads held high, the mortal man's presence too insignificant to notice. Each one was an ancestor of Kazume Shinguji. Each one held one of the white ribbons, wrapped many times around his or her wrist, binding them to Kazume. And when they appeared, Kazume bowed to them, and they pulled the ribbons, seeming to tear Shinguji apart, and he disipated like mist. The other ghosts vanished as well, leaving Ikki Yoneda alone and terrified.
Daunted beyond the ability to analyze the situation, General Yoneda fled to bed and pulled the covers over his head.
(To be continued... when the bell tolls one!)
CAST OF CHARACTERS: (in order of appearance, for this chapter only)
Ebeneezer Scrooge - General Ikki Yoneda
Frederick (Scrooge's Nephew) - Count Hanakoji
Bob Cratchit (Scrooge's Clerk) - Ichiro Ohgami
Mrs. Cratchit - Maria Tachibana
Tiny Tim - Iris Chateaubriand
Jacob Marley's Ghost - Kazume Shinguji's Ghost