DISTURBANCE ON LOTUS; LAWMAKERS ARRESTED
A disturbance on Monday at the famed bawdy house on Lotus Street left several imprisoned, and others shamefully charged with indecency. Most notably, several offenders are those that represent us in government! When quoted, the police captain said, "No one really knows the private lives of these politicians, but we could tell some stories. No one's record is clean in this city." Among those charged. . .
A knock on her office door drew Tenten's eyes up and away from the paper she was reading. A young girl around seventeen was hovering around the partially open door.
"Yes?"
"Madame, there are some gentlemen here to see you."
Tenten's mouth pursed, but she nodded. The girl disappeared from the doorway and reappeared a second later with two men, who only began to remove their hats when they met Tenten's gaze.
"Gentlemen," she greeted, leaning back comfortably into her desk chair.
"Madame," returned the older of the two. His dark hair was lined with gray. "My name is Mr. Tono. This is my colleague, Mr. Mimura. We are property acquisitionists."
Tenten's eyes narrowed, her smile polite. "What an interesting profession," she said.
The older gentleman relaxed a fraction and flashed her a brief smile. "We like to think so, though I'm sure it's much . . . livelier here."
Tenten remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"Madame, what do you know of the Hyuga Group?"
"Very little," Tenten answered, her tone sharpening, "other than that they have deep pockets."
"That they do," nodded Mr. Tono. "The Hyuga Group is owned by several different Hyuga family members. They are very interested in acquiring your property."
Tenten's brown eyes danced. "Hence your acquisitioning presence."
Mr. Tono chuckled lightheartedly. His partner, Mr. Mimura's frown deepened.
"Yes, that's right. I'm sure you're aware that they own most of the property on this street. They would like to make you an offer—"
"Before you go any further, both of you gentlemen should know that I'm not selling," Tenten interjected, her head lilting to the side as she studied her guests.
Mr. Tono smiled pleasantly; apparently, he thought his offering from the Hyuga Group was worth it. A second later, he confirmed Tenten's suspicions by withdrawing from his pocket a slip of paper, folded twice for privacy. He laid it on her desk, on top of the newspaper she had been reading. Tono's lips faltered a moment later when Tenten had yet to pick up the paper to view the offer, seemingly more intent on gazing between himself and Mimura.
"Please," Tono encouraged, gesturing to the paper.
Tenten smiled, tight-lipped. She tapped the slip with a rounded fingernail. "I think you misunderstand me. No sum written on this piece of paper would move me to sell my property."
Tono nodded in agreement, but Tenten could tell he was calculating his next move. She turned her attention to Mimura.
"Mr. Mimura, do you have any other offers for me to consider?"
Mimura turned to Tono, looking for guidance.
"This is the only offer we brought, madame. Are you sure you don't want to look—?"
Tenten wordlessly plucked the piece of paper from her desk, stood, and walked briskly to the dying fire in the grate. She cast it in without a second's hesitation. The three watched the paper settle on embers and slowly, slowly, blacken and curl into itself.
Tenten returned to her desk and sat, her hands clasped in her lap.
"If that will be all," she said, looking between them.
"Madame, the Hyuga Group is very adamant about securing this property. What else could they offer you?"
Tenten pulled the newspaper towards her again, sighing. "This property isn't for sale, gentlemen. I suggest you tell the Hyuga to not continue to waste their time in convincing me."
Mr. Tono bowed his head in good humor. Tenten found his smirk irksome; it meant he thought she was being unreasonable, or that she didn't know how to play in negotiations.
"Yes, madame. We will report back to the Hyuga Group and tell them you've rejected their offer. We are so sorry we bothered you."
"Good day," Tenten said, already opening her newspaper back up, holding it up to hide her face.
The men bowed their heads and exited, being led away by the seventeen-year-old girl who had been eavesdropping just out in the hall.
When their footsteps faded, Tenten cast the newspaper back onto the desk, troubled. This stupid courting had been happening for months, with a whole host of "buyers" and now the Hyuga wanted to be direct?
Tenten irritably tugged on her collar and got to her feet. Moegi, her seventeen-year-old attendant, scampered back, wide-eyed, as Tenten opened the door.
"Did you need something, Madame?" she asked in a hurried whisper.
Tenten shook her head, distracted. She studied Moegi for a moment before asking, tone sharp, "The men that were just here—did they sit in the parlor for any amount of time?"
Moegi nodded once, trying to read her mistress' expression.
"Who did they speak with?" Tenten asked.
Moegi wrinkled her nose, thinking. "Miss Ayame, maybe? I wasn't watching very closely."
"How long were they here before they asked to see me?"
"Only a few moments, I think."
Tenten pursed her lips. "Bring Ayame here."
"Yes, madame." Moegi turned and scurried off back down the hallway, her bushy hair bouncing.
Tenten leaned against the open doorway of her office, one hand on her hip. A moment later, Ayame entered the hallway, Moegi trailing a few steps behind, looking anxious.
"You wanted to see me, madame?" Ayame said, her expression neutral and kind.
"There were two men who entered earlier. One of them was older, the other younger with facial hair. Did you speak with them?"
"Mr. Tono and Mr. Mimura?" Ayame said. She inclined her head in assent. "Yes, I spoke with them."
Tenten's eyebrows rose a fraction. "They told you their names?"
Ayame nodded again, shrugging. "They didn't seem guarded to me. Not like all those other inquirers."
Tenten shifted her bangs, musing. "What else did they say?"
"They attempted to ask me how long I had been working here, what my job entails. Things like that."
"Did they seem upset with your answer?"
"I wouldn't say so. It was a brief but polite conversation."
Tenten sighed, rubbing her neck. Moegi noticed and walked off, disappearing from the hallway.
"Madame, what do all these people with briefcases want with you? This isn't a place of trouble."
Tenten smiled wryly. "For the moment, no, it's not."
Ayame's forehead furrowed in suspicion. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Ayame. What will we all have the pleasure of eating tonight?"
Visibly put out, Ayame rattled off the menu for that night. Tenten squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you. I look forward to supper."
Ayame nodded and walked away to return to her post, her expression resigned and pleasant once more.
Tenten returned to her desk, pulling a dusty ledger towards her. Moegi returned with a warm rice pack for her shoulders.
"Thank you, Moegi," Tenten said, sighing with relief when she draped the weight across her neck.
"Madame, may I ask a question?"
"Yes."
Moegi reached forward and tapped the newspaper with a fingernail, jagged from nervous biting. "What does this mean?"
Tenten sighed. "Moegi, what did I tell you about reading the newspaper?"
"I can't help it!" the girl claimed. "It's like a bad habit."
"You're never going to stop biting your fingernails to the quick if you keep doing things that encourage your anxiety," Tenten said sharply. She snatched the paper from the pile on her desk and threw it into the fireplace. Like the slip of paper before it, the edges slowly curled inward.
"What did it mean though? Are they going to close us down?"
Tenten looked up at her charge, her features softening as she gazed at the girl.
"Even if they do, everyone will be taken care of. You don't have to worry."
"But what about you?" Moegi pressed. "Who will take care of you?"
"Moegi, don't worry alright? Just trust me."
Moegi still looked doubtful but was wise enough to know when she'd used up her mistress' patience.
"Thank you for the rice."
Moegi nodded, and swept out of the room, leaving Tenten alone. She turned in her chair to view the fireplace, and watched the newspaper languidly crumble to dust.
-o-
At four in the afternoon, Tenten finally departed her office and headed down the dimly lit hallway to the front dining room. Chatter was upbeat and raucous as she entered. Several girls greeted her, but most were too engrossed in their gossip to pull themselves away. Tenten silently went to the sideboard and filled a glass with deep red wine, even though it gave her headaches. A beautiful girl with long blonde hair sidled up to her, her blue eyes sparkling with knowing.
"You must have had an awful day if you're drinking that."
"Don't start," Tenten warned, taking a wincing sip.
"Who's starting anything? I'm just making an observation."
"I had more visitors today."
The blonde's eyes widen, her plush mouth puckering in distaste. "Bastards. Why can't they leave you alone?"
"Because I'm the last holdout. Everyone on this damned street has given in except for me." Without another word, Tenten brushed past her and took her place at the head of the table, sipping more wine.
As per their usual ritual, the younger girls served the oldest, beginning with Tenten. Ayame came in from the kitchen and sat at Tenten's left, her forehead beaded in sweat from her work.
"Thank you, Ayame," Tenten murmured.
"It's my pleasure, madame."
Tenten waited until all the girls were served before regarding them, her expression serious. "I'm sure most of you noticed the return of men with briefcases," she began.
A few nodded, their foreheads knit in confusion; Tenten had never spoken to all of them so directly about it before.
Tenten continued, taking a short sip of wine, "They've been coming here for months, always different people with supposedly different agendas, but it seems that their employers are finished with pretense. Every time these people have visited, they have been assessing this property. Obviously, that's not what they told me they were doing. They said they were interested in partnerships or rent or wanted to sell me something. But I think the truth has finally been revealed."
"Today, the newspaper featured a small story about the house on Lotus Street. There was a police raid the other night that resulted in five arrests of government officials. Most of them were released, but they also imprisoned several of the women, claiming they were contagious."
There were rustlings of discomfort among the girls around the table, several shaking their heads.
"What I wanted to tell all of you is that this city is changing. It's been changing for a long time, and I think it would be wise for all of you to start figuring out what you want for your future."
Tenten gazed at each girl in turn, making sure they understood, and then turned to her food. The girls followed her lead, and soon, the room was again filled with laughter and gossip. Tenten listened, trying to ignore the foreboding feeling in the pit of her stomach. She drained the rest of her wine and stood.
"Have a good night, ladies," she said.
Tenten walked into the entrance hall and looked around at the large parlor. As usual, it was spotless, every lamp and table immaculately dusted. The carpet on the floor was freshly beaten, free of dirt. The wine and champagne glasses on the large marble sideboard were sparkling from the dim lighting. Tenten took it all in as she leaned against the wall, wondering and questioning its worth.
Ino rolled onto her knees, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She gave him a small, girlish smile. He rolled his eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed, reaching for his trousers.
Ino tucked her legs underneath her, watching as he slowly—always so slowly—buttoned up his shirt, fussily pushing his stiff, long hair out of his eyes.
"I've been thinking about your position on property taxes," she said, a smirk in her mouth.
"You have," he stated, the tiniest amount of interest in his voice.
"Yes. And I think you should lower them," Ino responded decidedly. "As you know, this establishment stands in a highly taxed property division, and if you're going to pursue what the newspapers say you're thinking about doing, then that means the taxes on this place will hike up to two percent in the new year, and it's abominable of you to do such a thing to hardworking businesses such as this one."
He had turned from fastening buttons, and was staring at her baldly, a crease of interest at the crow's feet in his temple.
"Anything else?" he asked after a moment.
Ino tapped a finger to her chin, as if she was thinking. "I also think your hair looks much better down."
He snorted and silently gathered his hair up to tie it. "I'll take your comments under consideration."
Ino made a face. "Is that what you say to all of your constituents when they give you a piece of their mind?"
"Yes."
"I have another comment. You should work on your delivery some."
A rare, full grin spread across his mouth. "I'll take that under consideration as well."
Ino groaned and got to her feet, slipping on a robe.
"Listen, I'm a master of charm. I'm only trying to help you win over the people."
"The people don't pay that close attention, I've realized. Once they elect you, they only care if it directly affects them—which most of the time, it doesn't."
"And the poor souls whom it does affect?"
He shrugged. "You can't win over everyone."
"Cold-hearted bastard," Ino said with a smile.
"She-devil," he responded, crossing to the door. He glanced over his shoulder, and turned back, wordlessly reaching out and taking hold of the loose knot she'd tied to fasten the robe. He unloosed it with one hand, his gaze direct. "Can I make my own suggestion?"
Ino felt her heart hammering heavily against her skin, a buzzed rush filling her head. She nodded, her mouth dry.
He pushed off the robe, and it slipped to the ground. Ino shivered, goosebumps erupting over her skin.
"Don't hide what's clearly meant to be seen," he murmured, a self-indulgent smirk at the corner of his mouth.
Ino swallowed against the lump in her throat, her body tingling from the blood racing through her veins.
Without another word, he opened the door and swept into the hall.
"I'll see you next week, then?" Ino called, stopping in the doorway.
He gave a noncommittal wave as he headed to the concealed alleyway exit. Ino sighed and leaned her shoulder into the wall, feeling her heart clench a little as he disappeared back into his world.
-o-
Later, clothed and bleary-eyed from the night hours, Ino made her way to the dining room. Breakfast was the only meal they were free to take at whatever hour they chose, and as usual, most girls skipped it, valuing sleep more. Ino poured herself a small cup of coffee and wandered into the kitchen, finding Ayame withdrawing sweet buns from the oven. The smell made Ino's stomach growl.
"Good morning," Ayame greeted, shutting the oven door. "How was your night?"
Ino shrugged, plucking a bun from the baking sheet. She gasped at the heat and promptly dropped it; it landed on the floor and rolled under the icebox.
Ayame swatted Ino on the arm and marched over to retrieve the dirty sweet bun. "Honestly, Ino, couldn't you wait five minutes for them to cool?"
"I'm hungry," Ino whined, pouting.
Ayame hummed, ignoring her, and continued bustling around the small kitchen. Ino sipped her coffee, musing to herself, eyeing the steaming buns sitting in front of her.
"I saw Mr. Nara leave again last night," Ayame said, her tone lofty and gentle, as if she was afraid to broach the subject.
Ino bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the strange mix of thrill and nausea whenever his name was mentioned. Ino watched Ayame's back as she stirred congee from a pot hanging over the fireplace. She knew Ayame was not being unkind, only curious, if not a little protective.
"Yes," Ino said, deciding to permit the conversation. She sipped primly from her cup.
"Third time this week he's been here. Isn't that somewhat unusual?"
Ino hummed and shrugged, noncommittal. "He could be having a difficult week," she said, unsure.
"You know that I'm friendly with his cook," Ayame said, her tone shifting towards a hushed, confidential whisper. "Apparently the lady of the house is desperate for a child."
A sudden twist of queasiness burned in Ino's stomach.
"Everyone says she's barren," Ayame continued, unaware of Ino's discomfort. "Obviously you can imagine her family's reaction to that."
Ino reached out for a sweet bun, now cool enough to touch. But her appetite had left her. She tore off a strip and tore it into smaller pieces, imagining Mrs. Nara and her empty belly.
"Is she complaining to him?" Ino found herself asking.
Ayame finished stirring and reached for a cracked bowl, filling it with steaming congee. She placed it in front of Ino, along with a small dish of meat and eggs. "In not so many words. You know that woman's temperament. But the cook did say that she'd ordered tons of greens and fish for the next few weeks. And she's been eating boiled eggs with all of her meals for the past few months."
Ayame lowered her voice and said, "The cook also said that they've been having sex at ridiculous times of day. She'll have him come home in the middle of his work day and everything."
Ino mindlessly moved her spoon through the thick congee, her jaw tight. "Seems like a lost cause to me," she muttered.
Ayame shrugged, removing the sweet buns from the oven sheet and placing them on a plate. "Who knows? At least she's being proactive. I'm sure her family breathing down her neck hasn't helped matters."
Ino shoved the food away and stood from her stool.
"Ino, you didn't even eat—!" Ayame called after her.
"I'm not hungry," she responded, disappearing through the kitchen door to head back upstairs. As she passed the door to the back alley, however, her stomach seized, and Ino flung herself out of the door. She clutched her hair as she retched into the alley, the stench of sewage and bile assaulting her senses.
Ino wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Behind her, a familiar voice said, "Are you alright?"
Ino looked over her shoulder to see Tenten, her brown eyes questioning. Ino nodded.
"Come back inside," Tenten said, holding out her hand. Ino accepted it and let Tenten lead her to the washroom.
Without a word, Tenten drew Ino a bath and handed her a cloth to wipe her sweaty face.
"Did you have a bad night?" Tenten asked, once Ino had undressed and settled into the tub.
Ino shook her head, clenching her bony knees with shaky hands. Tenten perched on the lip of the bathtub, staring down at her.
"You shouldn't spend any more time with Mr. Nara," Tenten finally said.
Ino trained her eyes on the ripples of the water as it filled the porcelain tub, refusing to look her friend in the eye.
"I've told you a million times that it's a bad idea to keep taking him on as a customer. You need to think more clearly."
"I can't just refuse him," Ino replied, running a hand through her hair. "He asks for me."
"Then have Moegi tell him you're with someone else."
"You know that he would never come back if I did that. And he pays one of the highest rates."
Tenten pursed her lips, unwilling to argue the accuracy of that point.
"He likes me. I can tell," Ino said in a small voice.
Tenten sighed. "It doesn't matter, Ino."
"Why not? Listen, Tenten, he talks to me. He tells me things about his job, about his life. We share secrets." Ino winced. Even to her ears she could hear the desperation in her voice, and it both annoyed and excited her.
Ino met Tenten's gaze, seeing all the things she wanted to say in her brown eyes. Instead, Tenten merely replied, "Fine, I trust you."
Finely attuned to lies, Ino knew Tenten was telling the truth. But Ino could sense how it was against the brunette's better judgment.
"Get clean. You reek," Tenten said, smirking, as she left the washroom and closed the door behind her.
Ino sighed, still feeling sick. She slipped under the water and held her breath.
"A word, Miss Haruno?"
Sakura's cheeks warmed a little in irritation, her mouth slanting in a grim line. She turned and followed the hospital director into his office.
Sekka was an imposing man of considerable height with a thin, narrow face. He settled into his office chair and regarded her with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"Everyone knows you're new at this, Miss Haruno," Sekka began. He reached for a newspaper and held it up, tapping a small article at the bottom right hand corner of the front page. Sakura's green eyes flicked to the miniscule black and white photo of her, dressed in white, looking serious. "But just because you've graduated medical school does not mean that you have the right to re-diagnose someone who isn't your patient."
Sakura blinked, mulling over her response. "But she was misdiagnosed, Doctor."
Sekka waved his hand irritably. "That's not the point, Miss Haruno. You interfered on another doctor's work."
"But he was going to kill her. He'd been bloodletting her for hours," Sakura snapped fiercely.
Sekka's mouth tightened angrily. "But she is his patient."
"As a doctor, I could not stand by and let him kill her, even if she was his patient," Sakura defended, clenching her fists.
Sekka flinched, his expression haughty. "You call yourself 'doctor'. But in this hospital, you and I both know that you are nothing more than a casual observer who runs errands."
Sakura's face flamed in indignation. "I graduated from medical school just like any of these other men. You've seen my diploma, and you've seen my work. Your refusal to regard me as a doctor in this hospital is ridiculous. I know just as much as the others, if not more. Medicine has changed, Doctor. It is changing. And these ancient rituals that all of you are performing here are unnecess—!"
"Be quiet!" Sekka interrupted furiously. "I knew you would be trouble as soon as I saw your application! But I thought to myself, well, why not give the girl a chance? You came with good recommendations, but as soon as you walked through the doors of my hospital, I could sense you were going to be meddlesome. And I was right! This hasn't been the first time you've stuck your nose into a place where it wasn't needed, and I know now I can't trust you to learn from your mistakes. Please leave."
Sakura stared at him, green eyes flashing. "Are you firing me?"
"Yes. And if you make a scene, I'll be forced to call the police."
Sakura considered punching Sekka in the face but thought better of it; now that she was unemployed (again), it wouldn't be good to also end up in jail. She stood to her feet and stormed from the room, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as she strode from the hospital.
She slowed down after she'd put a few blocks' distance between herself and her former place of employment, wondering what she was going to do now. She had waited months before being offered a job in the hospital, and now what was she supposed to do?
Crossly, her thoughts turned again to her previous apprenticeship as a midwife; she could already hear their delighted cackling as she came crawling back for her position. "How long did you last, Miss Sakura? Three months? You would have been better off staying here, where you belong!" and "You stupid, prideful girl! You thought having a diploma was going to solve all of the prejudice against you?"
Sakura gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.
She ambled down street after street, troubling through her next move, resigning herself to return to the midwife school with some semblance of dignity.
As she turned the street corner, a rank smell caught her nose. Looking around, Sakura noticed a young woman with blond hair, retching against a wall. Instinctively, Sakura rushed forward and held back the woman's hair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
When she had finished, the woman straightened, leaning against the wall behind her. Her face was pale, her blue eyes dulled and watery from sickness.
"Thank you," she said in a labored sigh, holding her stomach. "I was just going to the store and felt sick again."
"You were sick earlier today?"
The woman nodded, pressing a hand to her head.
Sakura told herself to refrain from asking the dozens of questions floating through her brain. "Can I help you home? If you're sick you should be resting."
"I feel fine, just a little weak, besides all of the vomit." The blonde attempted a smile, though it turned into a half-formed wince.
"You should lie down," Sakura replied firmly. "Where do you live?"
The woman sighed and gestured vaguely north. Sakura nodded. "Come on." She wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders and began to walk.
"This really isn't necessary," the blonde said. Her breath reeked of sick. Sakura had the good grace and training not to pull away.
"Whether it's necessary or not, it's my responsibility as a doctor to make sure you recuperate."
The blonde turned to look at her. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes."
The woman raised her eyebrows, though Sakura couldn't tell if it was because she was impressed or pitying her.
"That seems like a horrible job," the blonde finally said. Pity, then, Sakura thought.
She frowned, offended. "Well, it's not," she replied shortly.
The blonde woman laughed, a high, frilly laugh that served to annoy Sakura further.
"Why is that women always get the most horrible jobs? Men get to be lawyers and statesmen. And what do we get? The messy stuff."
Sakura had no reply for this—she loved being a doctor, loved the messiness. She loved making people feel better, and bringing knowledge to confusion, and comforting those that were suffering. She opened her mouth to tell the woman so, but abruptly the blonde shook off her arm.
"This is my stop," she said, stepping towards a three-story brick building.
Sakura looked around her, unfamiliar with her surroundings; she'd never been to this area of town before. The blonde woman watched her confusion, a wry smile on her lips.
"Don't worry. You won't get arrested for standing around over here—that kind of business happens two blocks over."
Realization dawned on Sakura's features, and the blonde laughed coldly. She turned to go inside, but Sakura called out, "Wait!"
Sakura stepped closer as the woman paused, a single eyebrow arched in question.
A new idea was swimming around in Sakura's brain, and she latched onto it hungrily. "If you need something or if someone's sick or has a problem, why don't you call me? I really am a doctor; I have a diploma from a medical college and everything. I'm sure that. . . Well, none of you go to the doctor, do you?"
Slowly, the blonde shook her head, suddenly guarded. Both women knew what kind of ridicule waited for prostitutes in any kind of medical establishment.
"I can help. I can . . . treat you."
There was a beat of silence where the blonde considered Sakura curiously. Then, she shrugged, seemingly careless, and said, "Alright. I'm sure the owner wouldn't mind speaking with you. She's out right now but come back tomorrow morning."
Sakura nodded and began to walk away.
"Thank you for helping me," the blonde called after her.
"It's my job," Sakura called back with a small smile.
Hinata sat quietly in her family's dining room, hands clasped in her lap, letting the buzz of conversation pass over her. It had been harder, lately, to stay attentive in these informal meetings. Her thoughts wandered from the subjects being discussed, flitting to things she could tangibly experience: the fineness of the china plates set at each place, the delicate lines of silver thread on the tablecloth, the refined sweetness of sugar in her tea.
"Hinata?"
Hinata's eyes snapped to the eyes of her father, worry lines pronounced on his forehead and around his mouth as he frowned.
"Yes?" she replied in her quiet voice.
"Are you paying attention? This is important for you to remember when you talk with your husband."
Hinata nodded and tried to look more interested. Her cousin caught her eye from across the table, his expression watchful. Hinata looked back at her empty plate, wishing she was back home, far away from the prying eyes of her family.
But, unfortunately, this was not to be; her family's traditions were impossibly strict, and her marital status was not something that would change that.
Her father cleared his throat and continued, "As I was saying, the raid was incredibly important in condemning the kind of indecent behavior that these politicians seem intent on committing. As soon as we can secure the house on Leaves street, we can push through our agenda among our supporters."
Hinata sighed silently to herself, wondering when her father would permit breakfast to be served.
Her cousin leaned back in his chair. A maid rushed forward to refill his cup with hot tea. "Thank you," he said, distracted. To her father, he addressed, cautious, "Tono and Mimura returned the other day with details on their visit with the owner. She refused. Again."
Her father cursed, and Hinata shifted in her chair, uncomfortable.
"That woman is an unbelievable nuisance. What did she say—that the offer was too low?"
Neji touched his cup, but did not drink, eyes downcast as he chose his words carefully. "She didn't consider the offer. Tono said she threw it in the fire without looking at it."
The china clanked as the table shook, her father's knuckles white and taut in a fist.
"Those idiots. Everyone we've sent there has proved themselves to be woefully incompetent," said Hinata's father waspishly.
Hinata hated seeing him angry; it made her nervous. She gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, wondering if she could calm him with good news. But Hinata didn't have any good news to share; her ventures were as unsuccessful as her father's.
Neji continued, "Perhaps we should reconsider our approach. We've seen that she doesn't respond well to offers. . . Maybe she needs a different kind of incentive."
"Such as?"
Neji paused, thinking, but Hiashi decided to answer his own question. He let out a pleased sigh, "Neji, you're right. We need to take an even more direct approach. You will go and negotiate a deal. Whatever it takes."
Neji looked up at his uncle sharply. Hinata could see her cousin's jaw working, attempting to come up with an excuse, but they all knew he wouldn't offer one. Her father, seeing this, smiled kindly.
"Neji, you're very skilled at negotiating; you didn't graduate from law school at the top of your class without earning it. I know you can get the woman to sell. None of us will look down upon you for undertaking this. You're clearly the only person for the job."
Hinata watched her cousin closely, reading his subtle gestures. He did not want this job, that much was obvious. But who could refuse her father?
Finally, Neji nodded, once, in assent.
"Good," her father said, turning to Hinata. "And now you, Hinata."
Hinata felt her heart speed up in anxiety.
"You're taking the remedies I've been prescribing, haven't you?"
"Yes, Father."
"And still, there is nothing? Are you having your husband visit you regularly?"
Hinata's face flushed in embarrassment, in anger. "Yes, Father."
Hiashi sat back in his chair, perturbed. "I am at a loss then, why you aren't pregnant yet."
"Uncle," Neji began.
"You are dismissed, Neji. Go and deal with the madame on Leaves street," Hiashi said, interrupting before Neji could continue.
Silently, Neji stood from his chair and walked from the room, sparing Hinata a single, pitying glance.
Hinata looked at her hands again, fisted in her lap. "I'm trying, Father."
"Does he seem to enjoy himself, when you are together?" Hiashi pressed, oblivious to his daughter's discomfort.
Hinata pursed her lips.
"He won't look at me," she finally said, hating the words, hating their truth.
Her father sighed and took a long drink from his teacup. When he spoke again, his voice was lighter and more kind. "You know that I only want to do what's best for you, Hinata. I wondered, for a time, if marrying you to Nara would result in your happiness. But, as I'm sure you know, a good life isn't about happiness. It's about ambition."
Hinata looked up and met her father's gaze, wishing she could convey the depth of her unhappiness. If he understood, would he let her be free?
"When your mother died, she made me promise I would make a good match for you. And I truly believe I have. The Nara family is incredibly influential in this city. He was the only proper choice. And you must secure yourself to him and his family. You know the only way to do that is to have his child."
"Shikamaru would never divorce me," Hinata replied, her tone a warning to her father.
Hiashi waved this away, unconcerned. "Of course, he wouldn't. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't take a mistress. There are more damaging things to a reputation than divorce, Hinata."
Hinata's eyebrow twitched. Hiashi sighed again, heavily. "You know I'm telling the truth. It won't do to ignore my advice."
Hinata bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could scream in frustration. "I'm not ignoring your advice, Father," she finally said.
"Good. Then you'll agree it's time to invite in an expert opinion. You will see a doctor."
Hinata blanched. "Father—!"
"Don't worry, Hinata. I will make sure it is someone with discretion. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." He looked over his shoulder and gestured to the maid.
Quiet fell as she ushered in breakfast. Hinata wished Neji was still present to alleviate the tension; he would surely commiserate with her when she told him of her father's new plan.
The maid daintily placed Hinata's breakfast in front of her, and Hinata ignored the urge to throw the plate against the wall. Slowly, stilling her shaking hands, she picked up her fork and began to eat her eggs.
A/N (3/9/19): Well, it's been awhile, hasn't it? This idea has been sitting in my brain for months now, and I finally gave in and wrote it down. I'm planning to tell it in six parts; my fingers are crossed that I can succeed in that. The idea was heavily inspired by an episode of the podcast, The Exploress (the episode is entitled "The Madames: The Steamy Lives of Mary Ann Hall and Madame Restell" if you're interested in checking it out-I suggest you do!). This fic doesn't take place anywhere specific in time or place, though it would be safe to say it would ideally be placed in the late 1800s-you'll note the lack of modern technology. I'm going to refrain from posting research notes throughout the fics like usual-if I find anything of note I want to point out, I'll place it down here in the Author's Notes.
With that, I hope you enjoyed. :)
P.S. - the happiest of birthdays to my forever queen, Tenten!
-KNO