Author's Note:
I recently stumbled into this fandom through the live action movies. There I saw Fukuyama Masaharu as the oh-so-delicious Hiko Seijuro XIII. That image of him stayed with me. From that mantle he wore (so much better than that gawd awful cloak in the anime!), to his black leather boots and bracers, that gorgeous red robe, his sword and that hair!
Yep, I got sucked in hard and big time...
Then Eguchi Yosuke had to show up!
Ahhh! What's a girl to do?
Anyway, when you read this fic, picture the Hiko from the live action movies and you'll get my drift! Also, its just my take on things. It may be OOC? Who knows. All I know is I had some fun writing it. It is, for me, crack fic! So it may not be for everyone's liking. One of those "What If" in life that had to be explored!
Also Chapter Eight is a postscript with some extra notes, should you care to read it.
On'nanoko
(Girl)
1.
He knew, the moment he stepped inside his home, someone had been in it.
Pausing just inside the genken, Hiko Seijuro slowly lowered the rather heavy pack he had been carrying to the floor of the hut. He stood stock still, his eyes slowly scanning the room.
His shikibuton, and blanket, were exactly as he left them, unmade and unkempt. The fire was completely out in the irori. The ashes not having been disturbed. The cast iron pot, dangling on its hook from the ceiling, didn't move. His gaze flicked around the room, cataloguing his home. The storage room-door still shut-, the low chabudai, the water buckets and the side table where he had stacked dishes.
Nothing.
Sun filtered weakly onto the tatami covered floor, and dust motes swirled about lazily, disturbed by his entrance into the house. Still, Hiko didn't move. Everything was exactly as he left it. Yet...
Something was off.
Tentatively, he tapped into his chi, trying to sense if anyone was around. His left hand dropped onto the samé (rayskin) covered hilt of his sword. He carried an o-katana, considerably longer than normal katanas to accommodate his height. He continued scanning the room, looking past the wooden casks holding his supply of rice and other dried goods. One finger idly stroked the kagira end cap of the sword's handle. That sword being as much a part of his person as his arms and legs. He glanced at the saké jug and saucer, still sitting on the chabudai where he had left it from the night before.
Nothing.
His narrowed his dark eyes, rescanning again to no avail. He knew, though. Someone had been in his home.
Slowly he knelt, reaching down to tug the strings loose on his waraji's before stepping fully into the house. His lips lifted in a slight sneer, followed by a sniff of disdain as he grasped the top of his heavy pack, picking it up and depositing it next to the chabudai.
Still suspicious, his finger lightly caressing the end of the katana. He approached the storage room door. With his toe, he slipped it under the shoji and slid the panel back. Inside were numerous casks, wooden boxes, some larger chests, stacked floor to ceiling, pushed back against the walls. The only thing that could have possible hid itself in there was a mouse.
There was nothing hiding.
Turning back around, he glanced towards his unmade bed. Frowning, he stepped over to the thick cotton pad, and crouched, flipping the upper half of the bed down over the other. Letting go of the katana, he used his fingers to pry up the tatami mat under where he made his bed. Beneath it, the wooden floor of the hut was revealed. Holding the mat up with his left, he reached down with his right and pried the board up, revealing a small storage area. In it was a metal box, with a latch padlocked on it.
Pulling it out, he slipped a finger under the collar of his thick, cowled, mantle and tugged up a leather strand tied around his neck. A small key dangled from it. Deftly he unlocked the box and looked. A small sack with a drawstring sat inside. With his fingers he touched the sack and knew no one had gotten to it. Hell, no one even knew he kept his stash in there.
Besides being a Master swordsman, Hiko Seijuro was also a potter. A very good one.
A really, very good one.
He smirked a little, his finger idly tapping the small sack in the box. He was the only known potter in the entire district who practised Kintsukuroi. The art of mending broken, valuable pottery with gold. He sighed, still glancing around the house, before reaching into the pack he had brought in and adding another small sack into the box. His trip into the village for supplies included another few ounces of the precious metal for a new commision.
Presently he relocked the box, stowed it back and replaced the mat, before returning his shikibuton to its place.
His chi still hadn't detected anyone, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been in his home. All the same, nothing had been touched. Shaking his head, he stood back up and began unpacking, wondering if age was finally getting to him.
More or less retired now as a swordsman, he was the last practitioner of his particular style, something that had passed from Master to apprentice for thirteen generations. Himself being the thirteenth.
His former apprentice Kenshin was, technically speaking, the fourteenth. He was also a master in their form, but both knew and silently agreed that their form of swordsmanship should die with them. It had to. Their style depended hugely on the practitioner being able to be wholly neutral from the politics and influences of the world around them. Kenshin had failed miserably at that. Both understood that the way the world was changing would force them to choose sides.
Well with him they could try, but they'd fail.
Kenshin's vow of pacifism would prevent his being manipulated.
Yes, their style would die out.
Surprisingly, Hiko didn't mind. He was in his late forties now. Silver was beginning to show up in his long, thick, black hair. As much as he hated aging, despite being nicely in his prime, his joints were beginning to let him know that all the years of tireless training were going to exact a toll someday.
Still, secluded on his mountain, he could honestly stay retired and make his living as the potter, Ni'itsu Kakunoshi. That prospect actually made him happy. Naturally inclined to being anti-social, he found the life of being nearly a hermit suited him very well. He could barely tolerate most people, didn't suffer fools at all, and had a tendency to be arrogant and rude to keep people away from him. Being alone didn't bother him in the least, he craved and enjoyed his solitude.
He would sometimes show up in Kyoto, or even Tokyo, after harder to get pottery supplies, and to upset his former student's routine on occasion. It never failed to amuse him no end telling as many embarrassing stories about Kenshin's childhood as he could remember.
Hiko sighed.
Leisurely, he pulled his heavy, cowled, mantle off, settling it on the hook near the genken. He began putting supplies away, starting with the heavy bag of rice he'd bought. He dumped the contents into its wooden cask, and settled the burlap sack aside for use in the shed.
Pausing in his work, he glanced out the shoji at the smaller hut built nearby. His workshop. He hadn't checked in there just yet. Finishing up, he stepped back into the genkan, slipping on some zori's, and walked across the short distance to his shop. Still on alert, and still trying to use his chi to sense someone around, he approached the fusuma screen.
The shop didn't have a genken, the floor being made of compacted dirt. He slid the fusuma open glancing to the right at a small stool and his Korean imported onggi pottery wheel. Damned if that thing wasn't expensive and his absolute pride and joy. A deceptively simple device to use. A kick wheel at its bottom let him control the speed with his feet while the upper cylinder would allow him to throw and work clay. The onggi itself was no bigger than the stool. Short, stubby and compact. Ideal for a small space.
To the left were shelves loaded full of works in progress, his glazes, brushes, carving instruments and a bewildering variety of wooden and bamboo tools. Set in an underground recess against the wall directly before him where several containers of clay, some draped with old burlap bags. There were several water buckets nearby. He could keep his clay stock cool and moist below the ground and with soaked burlap. Hanging on a peg was a large canvas apron, something which he could use to keep as much of the slip from throwing a piece off his regular clothes.
Directly in front of him stood the work table. On sunny days, he could sit on the opposite side. The sun would flood the table with light allowing him to glaze, carve, or repair pottery to his heart's content. Currently a broken pot in need of his talents in kintsugi was set out on a small square of glass. The shards of the pot needing to be reassembled and glued back into place with lacquer before he applied powdered gold.
He snorted a little in frustration.
Absolutely nothing was out of place.
Frowning again, he stepped back out of the shop, nudging the fusuma shut and walked around behind it and his home. His brick firing kiln was to one side and his toire and ofuro to the other.
He stood there a moment, still trying to sense if anyone was around and came up with nothing. With a shake of his head, he walked back around to the front of the hut, pausing to gaze around. With evening coming on, the birds were beginning their twilight chorus, with a chill setting in. The sun lighted the grounds where he still practised his katas and forms on a daily basis.
Everything was as normal as could be.
Drawing in a deep breath, he shook his head and relaxed, drawing the katana out of his belt and feeling the first rumblings of hunger. Dinner wouldn't be all that hard. He veered to one side of the house, where his kitchen garden grew. Spring onions were coming up well. Those, a few mushrooms he'd harvested to roast, and some of the left over okayu from that morning would satisfy him for now.
Reaching down to grip a couple of the small onion, he suddenly frowned. Usually they required a bit of a tug, even in the rich organic soil he grew them in. These however, slipped freely from the ground. That felt weird. He studied the garden a moment. Daikons, cabbages, cucumbers were coming up, as well as negi and the first few sprouts of konbucha squash. His shiso plants were coming on strong, the perennials that they were.
Tilting his head slightly he examined the dirt. Everything looked normal. It was starting to drive him nuts. He looked at the clump of little onion, idly shaking the dirt off. It felt as if someone or something had pulled them out and put them back without packing the dirt back around them.
He scanned the garden further out trying to see if there had been any tracks. There wasn't a one.
Hiko paused.
Not even his.
He stood stock still. The garden was absolutely pristine, exactly as he had left it that morning.
Except his footprints were entirely gone from the track along side his onions.
He stood up straight, imposing at over six foot tall. He was big by everyone's standards in Japan. Again he tried to sense if anyone was around and came up with nothing. Still it rankled him that someone had been in his garden, messing with his vegetables and wiping out every trace of anyone being in there at all.
That just screamed thief in his mind. Which was something he wouldn't put up with. He shook his head, dark eyes narrowing as he brooded on a mystery he didn't like. It irritated him.
Heading back into the house, he set the slender little onions on the chabudai and turned to the fire pit, dropping onto one knee. The room had dimmed, with the sun starting to set. In mere moments, he'd set wood up, grabbed flint and striker and started the fire for the evening. As he let the tinder catch, he reached over to the nearby water pot, scooping up a ladle and pulled the lid off the leftover okoyu.
He blinked in surprise as he looked inside the pot.
The level of rice had distinctly lowered from what he remembered leaving it at.
Now he had no doubts. They'd even tried to make it look exactly as he had left it.
Someone had been in his house!
Someone who had been taking his food, not only from his garden, but from his own damned cooking pot. Scowling, Hiko looked around the irori, scrutinising every detail he could see around the firepit. He slowly shifted, crab like, to one side, allowing the fading evening light to shine through the genken.
His sharp eyed gaze studied the mats, the genken itself, his winter boots, the flag stone's he'd used to level the floor of the entry with. He suddenly smirked. Aha!
He stepped back into the genken and crouched down near the beginning entry way. Just barely, he made out a smudge on the flagstone, a very faint, dark, smear. He reached down, setting one finger on it.
He lifted his hand, gazing at his fingertip, lightly rubbing it and the frown returned as he carefully sniffed.
His nostril flared and his eyes widened, there was no mistaking that sort of scent. Slightly metallic...
It was blood.
He remained crouched, still feeling the trace of blood on his fingertip as he scanned the immediate area. If there was one smudge of it, there had to be more. Despite whoever it was trying to conceal their presence.
Scanning the area in front of the hut, he simply could not see any other tracks, other than what was his, that he had made since returning home. Scowling, he stood up, wiping his hand down his hakama and stepped into the 'yard'. He could see nothing, so he returned to the garden.
The look on his face soured as he carefully scanned the area surrounding his patch. His tracking skills were adequate. They were superb if he could locate the other's chi. Despite numerous attempts though, he could not sense anyone else in the vicinity. He always knew when someone was approaching the hut from below the mountain, and on rare instances, from the nearly abandoned temple near the mountain's top.
Hiko stood up straight and glanced up through the trees.
The temple.
Maybe...
He stepped back inside the hut where he grabbed and slipped his sword into place. Then he reached for his mantle. With a flick of his wrists, he settled it neatly around his shoulders, before he pulled the cowl down out of his face.
Satisfied, he went back by the garden, reflexively gripping the hilt of his o-katana and headed towards one of two paths that would lead him up towards the abandoned temple. Logic told him to take the path near the creek he routinely used to get water out of. Who ever it was stealing food, would keep close to water. They would eventually give up trying to conceal their traces.
If he could find a track, a footprint, disturbed vegetation, more blood...
Ahhh...
Hiko smiled in self satisfaction. That was more like it. Another smudge of blood, brushed against the grass along side the path. They hadn't seen that, hadn't bothered to hide it. Entering a clearing, Hiko paused and looked up towards the top. Despite the setting sun, he knew this area like the back of his hand. Getting from point a to point b was no problem, even in the dark. It was his mountain after all.
He decided to wait on seeing if he could sense someone up there. Most thieves simply took what they could find and departed for parts unknown at top speed. This situation however smacked of something else. More like trying to just survive without raising suspicions. Hiko smirked. Whoever it was didn't realize they'd run up against a master swordsman. Worse, he despised people who disturbed his home.
Dispensing with trying to track by chi, he simply began heading for the old temple. One path went up by way through trails that switched back and forth leading to the top. The other led to a set of steps and landings. It was towards those old steps, littered with nameless, and countless stone gods and icons, that he headed for. Up at the top, the decrepit remains of the old shrine were slowly being devoured by the surrounding vegetation.
At one point in time the old monks had diverted part of the spring that fed into his creek, creating a large pool near the shrine for the monks that had once lived there. When he had first claimed the mountain for himself, he'd gone up and rerouted the pool to feed back into the creek. Generations of carp had been freed to stock the creek all the way down to the village far below.
The place had been abandoned for decades now. Well, except maybe for foxes and owls, he mused.
He made it to the stairs as twilight took over the world. Nursing his indignation and irritation about having his peace disturbed, he began the climb up to the top. Before the sun completely sank below the horizon, he found two more traces of blood. Both having been wiped at, but no longer being obliterated. Who ever he trailed was getting sloppy.
By the time he got there, sunset barely lit the skies and the place was being plunged deeper into shadow. Night sounds settled all around, indicating nothing was amiss, reassuring that nothing was too badly out of place. Silent as a very large cat, Hiko paused as he crested the stairs and tentatively checked for someone else's chi.
He smirked when he felt it at last. The chi had a bright spark to it, yet seemed to waver, like a candle trying to gutter out. That just set his teeth on edge. Indignation, irritation, add a little annoyance, stir, and you had a fine boiling mixture brewing in the man. With a huff, he headed straight for the source, some where in the dilapidated ruins.
"Look," he said out loud. "I know you're in there. There is no sense hiding. Come out here where I can see you. I know you're stealing things from me." There was a long drawn out pause. He felt the chi flicker again and whoever it was didn't budge.
"Don't make me come in there after you. The situation is bad enough as it is. You can't possibly run now and you won't be able to hide from me again. That is a fact."
Nothing. The bit of chi he could feel still wouldn't move.
Rolling his eyes, Hiko stepped onto the creaky wooden en and entered the darkened shrine. Almost immediately he heard what sounding like the scurryings of a rat and instantly swivelled left, near the doorway. In the darkness he couldn't see into the corners. Whoever it was was in hidden there. Until the chi moved, trying to wriggle towards the corner of the building.
Smirking, Hiko realized where they were.
He decided then and there he wasn't going to prolong the situation either. In a single fluid move, he turned towards the building's corner, dropped to one knee and simply punched through a rotting floor board with his right fist.
He barely caught the sound of a horrified intake of breath before he jabbed through the hole he'd punched and grabbed a fistful of fabric from whoever was under the shrine's old floor. He hauled backwards, stepping out onto the old shrine's engawa, pulling with him a body he realized was much smaller than he expected.
To his credit, he managed to keep any astonishment off his face when he held up a small figure, like holding onto a cat by the scruff of their neck. He had a good fistful of dirty dark coloured haori robe in his hand. Immediately his catch began struggling furiously, trying to free themselves from the hold he had on their robe.
In a blink Hiko got a good look at a pathetically small, cobweb covered, child with a matted tangle of spiky black hair littered with leaves and twigs.
"Hell and damnation!" He exploded trying to shake off a vicious sense of deja vu. Hadn't he seen this once before in his life?
As that realization crashed through his senses, the little creature managed to twist around. They grabbed his forearm, got one bare foot on his chest, trying to push him away. Then they sank their teeth in his hand.
"Ah!" Hiko snarled, and with a simple flick of his wrist he sent the kid flying.
A resounding splash from the pool told him his aim was still dead on, of course, as he shook his hand. Looking at it with disgust, he stepped off the en, moving towards the pool. "Boy!" He snapped, "You just earned yourself a..."
He suddenly stopped. There had only been the one splash, followed by a horrified gulp and a minimal amount of thrashing then…
Nothing.
Thoroughly inconvenienced now he began swearing and plunged into the water. For him, it only came up to his waist. For someone that small...
They'd sunk like a rock.
A disgusted sneer curled his lip as he shoved the sleeve of his robe up and plunged his hand into the water, feeling around in the darkened pool. Almost immediately, he felt the little body, rigid where his hand landed. He clutched the haori again, pulling the kid up out of the water.
The whites of the child's eyes flashed in the fading light of the day, a look of sheer terror on their face as he held them up, water streaming off of them both. The child let out a strangled, choking gasp for air, followed by a gulp and a garbled retching.
Climbing out of the water, Hiko dropped them onto their hands and knees, still keeping a tight grip on the robe. There followed a fear induced vomiting, which wracked the little creatures body at the involuntary convulsions.
He waited just long enough for the last of the water to get out of their system, leaving the kid panting for breath. He pulled them up again by the robe, leaving them dangling, bare feet only just touching the dirt. They looked not unlike a sorry, wet, cat.
Bending down, he got right in the child's face. "Try biting me again, try escaping me again, and I'll chuck you back into that pool." Hiko growled, jerking his head. "Got it?"
From the grubby face, a pair of dark, terrified eyes met his. They were trembling, hard, water dripping in thin rivulets, spattering the ground under them. A nod of the head was all he got for an answer.
That horrible sense of history repeating itself hit Hiko again as he realized how feminine the child looked. Just as skinny as Kenshin had been, possibly a lot smaller, half starved... Why was this happening? Hiko felt his irritability grow. This could not be happening again! It wouldn't happen again.
"I don't like thieves," he announced, "Especially ones who get into my home and try to hide the fact they've been there. Don't even try denying it. I know it was you." For added emphasis, he gave them one good hard shake. "Wasn't it?"
The little head dropped, any tension in them drained away, and they just hung there in his grip. Defeated. Slowly they nodded.
"Speak up!" He snapped, causing the child to jump.
Their head came up, frightened eyes looking at his. Opening their mouth, teeth chattering, no words came out. All they could do was nod, shaking in fright.
It was about then that he caught a certain odor on the light breeze, and he realized that not all was water dripping off the child. His glare got just that much worse as he growled, "This cannot be happening!"
Maintaining his grip, he turned back around towards the pool.
The child, realizing what was about to happen, started twisting frantically again, latching onto his wrist with both hands in a desperately tight grip. No words came from them as they began to hyperventilate in terror. They shook their head, the eyes huge in fright, whites flashing.
Hiko however, had moved past caring. He plunged the child back into the pool. Though he maintained a tight grip on the robe and didn't dunk their head under.
"I asked you a question. I expect an answer!" He growled, holding the child in place. Enough thrashing around in the pool, trying desperately to get out, ought to take care of the immediate problem. Hiko just held them in place until they eventually grew still. Eyes still wild with fright and hanging onto his bracer covered wrist like their life depended on it.
Shaking in terror, the child hiccuped, struggling against tears of fright, and panting almost to the point of passing out.
"You'd better say something," Hiko growled again.
The child just looked at him, opening their mouth, trying to form a word and…
Nothing.
At least no words came out, just a soft, if harsh, gargle.
Then it hit him. He looked at the child sharply.
"Can you speak?"
Too frightened to respond they just clung to his wrist, looking at him in desperation.
Trying not to roll his eyes in disgust, Hiko stood back up, pulling the child out of the water, and plunked them on their feet. Almost instantly, there came a gasp of pain and one leg buckled under them. They sat on their butt with a thump. He still hadn't let go of his grip on the haori, but he dropped to one knee, getting closer to eye level. He reached up and pried their hands off his wrist.
"Calm down," he ordered, when they tried to to keep their grasp on him. "Catch your breath and calm down."
He waited a moment as the child struggled to obey him. Seeing a little progress being made, he said, "Answer my questions, and I won't dunk you back into the water. Got it?"
After a pause he got a nod, and the head dropped in defeat.
"Can you speak?" He asked again.
Very faintly he got a child's whispered answer along with a nod of assent. "Hai."
"Speak up..." he snapped, reaching over and tilting their chin up with one finger to face him.
"I.. I.." Came the stammered whisper. "I can't!"
His eyes narrowed, looking for signs of deception and he quickly put two and two together. "You can't speak above a whisper?"
Another nod and they tried to avert their gaze. Hiko just shut his mouth in a grim line and nudged the child's chin to force attention onto himself. "Why?"
Another shake of the head, a helpless shrug.
"Why because you don't know or why because you don't remember?" He asked.
The child just looked at him like a calf looking at a new gate.
Trying to rein in his impatience he switched track. "Did some one injure you?"
There was a pause, then a slight nod. The child reached up and pulled at the collar of their robe.
Hiko glowered, as they just pointed at their throat. It was too dark to see anything. "Someone tried to strangle you?" he asked.
Another nod, and they tried to look away from him again. The little face reflecting deep shame. Even though he still had his knuckle under their chin, their shoulder's dropped in defeat. The fight leaving them.
"Who did this? Your family? Your masters? Bandits?"
Another shake of the head, the child reaching up to pat their temple, shaking their head and avoiding his eyes at all costs. They tried to speak, stammering badly in a harsh whisper, "I... I... I... don't know!"
Hiko groaned, trying not to suddenly run a hand down his face. "Don't tell me I have another baka on my hands." He twisted slightly and shot a venomous glare towards the dilapidated shrine. "What did I ever do to you?" He grumbled, before looking back at the child.
"Look boy..." he said. "You're nowhere near off the hook with me." He looked at them, disgust writ on his face. "You're going to work off what you took, then I'm taking you to straight to the village to see what they'll do with you. One thing you are not doing is staying here!"
He stood up then, releasing the grip on the robe. The child promptly fell forwards, face in the dirt, hands up in supplication in a deeply reverential bow. He barely made out a pleading whisper from the miserable little form.
"You need to look at me when speaking." He growled.
The huddled little form just shook, whispering again. Hiko sighed and dropped back down on one knee, reaching forward and gripping the child's chin. He forced their head up to face him. "Say it again," he ordered.
"F... forgive me, s...s... sama?" Came the pleading whisper. "I'm not a boy!"