All Roads Lead Here - by Harukami
She was at her part-time job waitressing, then. It was a little dessert shop; with her background or lack thereof, she couldn't really get anything but retail or food services. She doesn't tend to make many tips, but it's money, at least. She needed her money. She didn't remember ever having any.
She didn't remember anything.
When the ambulance picked her up ten years earlier, all she remembered was her name. Once she'd recovered enough to understand human language, they'd told her that this was normal enough: she'd been stabbed so many times that she was lucky to be alive; the amnesia would fade with time.
That's what they told her, but she never remembered more than scraps of dreams, and those dreams bothered her. Drowning. Engagement to a man who - she couldn't remember. She really couldn't remember.
Knives. Failure. So much hatred.
She really couldn't remember.
"Tenjou," the government man had quipped faintly as he set her up with a job and enough financial support to get her legs under her. "I wouldn't worry overmuch about your future. With a name like that, you will take to the sky."
She didn't, but at least she had work, and at least she had money.
"At least it's a job where you can meet men," the other waitresses would sometimes say, and talk about this or that customer who gave this or that of them the eye in this or that way. Sometimes they'd go home with someone who stayed late; Takamura Keiko had even married such a man, and she seemed happy when Tenjou Utena saw her again.
"Lucky Keiko-chan," the girls would sigh, and resolve to marry soon. Utena always felt on the fringes of such conversations. She'd stay silent and listen, eyes downcast, rubbing her ring finger as if she expected to find something there.
One of the girls, Mika-chan, noticed once and asked if she'd ever been engaged? It looked like that sort of habit, Mika-chan said.
Utena had to murmur that she didn't know. It was that sort of habit, the girls said, but she didn't remember. And anyway, had she been engaged to someone, he'd have come forward to claim her when she was in the hospital, wouldn't he?
Wouldn't he?
She'd be in her mid-twenties soon, old to marry. "Find a husband soon," Keiko had said. "You'll make a good wife."
It hurt someplace inside of her that she didn't understand - but the doctors said that was normal, to feel phantom pains. They may never go away. She ignored the pain, smiled and looked down and nodded, wished Keiko luck.
Still.
She looked at her hand on the counter, unadorned. She could never bring herself to wear jewelry; earrings hurt her ears and rings weren't... right, anymore. A strand of hair escaped her bun and she tucked it back carefully, pinned it. Her fingers brushed her cheeks as she lowered her hands and she thought about the scent of roses.
"Tenjou. Tenjou. Stop daydreaming, Tenjou. There's a customer at table three."
Utena jerked, startled. "Yes!" She took up her tray, wobbled in her high heels for a moment, and then clattered over to the table. "Can I take your order, ma'am?"
The customer looked up. She had this hesitating look on her face, as if not sure what to say; perhaps she doesn't understand the language, Utena thought. She was certainly foreign, with her coffee-dark skin and her large green eyes. Like pools she could drown in. The green of new leaves, new leaves on budding roses. Utena swayed, caught herself. She couldn't breathe.
"Are you all right?" The woman reached out and caught her, and for a foreigner, she spoke Japanese very well. Utena thought, dizzily, that she could only hear a faint trace of an accent. Some kind of thickness, perhaps a careful way the words were phrased. "Are you all right?"
"I'm sorry," Utena said, embarrassed. "I - ah. It's an old injury. I'm all right now."
The girl held on. "I understand," she said. "I have one myself."
"Ah..." Utena wondered how she could pull away without being rude to the customer.
"I understand, Utena," the woman said, and let go.
Utena stood carefully. "Do I know you?" she asked, after a moment. The answer was no, she knew, but perhaps they'd met, even if she didn't know her.
"Yes," the woman said. "I'd like rose tea, please."
"Ah-" Utena pulled out her notebook and jotted that down. "Anything else?"
"What do you have?"
Utena focused on what she knew - here, now - and recited the specials. "...cherry cheesecake. Oh, and there's a special on shaved ice-"
The woman considered. After a moment, she smiled, widely. Utena's heart fluttered, her eyes widening. It was so unfamiliar. The smile was so unfamiliar. She wrote, paused, and looked at what she'd written. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Cheesecake, please."
Utena noted that down, unsteadily. "I'm sorry. I thought you asked for the ice."
"No."
Nodding at her, Utena clattered her way to the counter to relay the order. She leaned there, for a moment, breathing. Stars in the night sky. The scent of roses. The heavy feel of a sword in her hand. No. No. No.
"Order's ready, Tenjou."
She carried it to the table. The woman had taken the ornamental rose from the vase in the center of the table, and was spinning it between her fingers. "Here's your tea, ma'am. And your cake."
"Sit with me," the woman said. The rose spun whitely from her right hand to her left and back again. "Won't you sit with me, Utena?"
"I don't know you," Utena said, which was as close as she could get to expressing discomfort at the familiarity that the woman addressed her with. "I don't remember anything."
"I know."
"I don't remember anything," Utena repeated. "I don't even know your name."
"Yes," the woman said. "You do. Sit with me, have tea. You promised tea."
Utena shook her head. The traitor lock of hair slid loose again. "I can't. I'm working."
"After, then." The woman had a calmness about her, a sort of inhumanly deep patience. As if she could wait forever. As if she could endure anything. "I'll stay."
Utena's cheeks heated and she fled back behind the counter.
Mika gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. "Was she- did she approach you?"
"I-" Utena watched the woman drink her tea, watched her cut into her cheesecake with a placid expression. "...I don't know."
Mika let out a little giggle. "Still... that kind of person is kind of cool, don't you think?"
"I don't know."
The woman stayed, occassionally ordering more tea. She became sort of a fixture of that shift; Utena would wait the other table in her area, then pause by the woman's table to refill her tea, bring her another bowl of sugar. She noticed that the woman had tucked the rose against her ear. It shone whitely against that dark skin and that violet hair.
Nine o'clock came and went and the manager nodded Utena back to the table.
"Ah," Utena said. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're closing. You're going to have to leave."
"All right," the woman said, and flashed another brilliant, unfamiliar smile. She headed outside and just stood there, waiting under a streetlight.
Mika giggled with the other girl on shift, Ruri. "I think she wants to go home with Utena!"
"You're kidding!"
Utena changed out of her uniform in the back room. She thought of leaving her hair up; it blew around so on the way home, but in the end, after a few minutes of deliberating and murmuring to her mirror self, she pulled the pins out and let it fall around her shoulders. It would likely just have escaped anyway, she thought. Her scalp tingled with sudden freedom.
The woman was standing outside in the streetlight still. She'd put a hat on - a beret, really, sitting on that mane of hair. It was pink, and matched the little jacket and skirt she was wearing. The colour seemed too familiar for a moment, and Utena breathed deeply before stepping outside.
"Shall we go to your home?" she inquired and Utena's cheeks darkened at the forwardness of this woman. She stared at the woman's back; she was already turning and starting to walk away.
"I don't even know your name," she protested weakly.
The woman turned back and flashed a brilliant smile. "I'm sorry, Tenjou Utena. My name is Himemiya Anthy, and I was your flower. I'm here to free you."
Utena stared at her. It made no sense and hurt like breathing did when the air in your coffin ran out, hurt like a sword to the gut, hurt like fingers scrabbling at a gate that didn't want to open.
The woman held out a hand, reaching for Utena. "Let's shine together."
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.
It doesn't have to, she thought, and the thought felt like her hair tumbling down.
Slowly, Utena reached out and took the hand.
It was warm in hers.
She was at her part-time job waitressing, then. It was a little dessert shop; with her background or lack thereof, she couldn't really get anything but retail or food services. She doesn't tend to make many tips, but it's money, at least. She needed her money. She didn't remember ever having any.
She didn't remember anything.
When the ambulance picked her up ten years earlier, all she remembered was her name. Once she'd recovered enough to understand human language, they'd told her that this was normal enough: she'd been stabbed so many times that she was lucky to be alive; the amnesia would fade with time.
That's what they told her, but she never remembered more than scraps of dreams, and those dreams bothered her. Drowning. Engagement to a man who - she couldn't remember. She really couldn't remember.
Knives. Failure. So much hatred.
She really couldn't remember.
"Tenjou," the government man had quipped faintly as he set her up with a job and enough financial support to get her legs under her. "I wouldn't worry overmuch about your future. With a name like that, you will take to the sky."
She didn't, but at least she had work, and at least she had money.
"At least it's a job where you can meet men," the other waitresses would sometimes say, and talk about this or that customer who gave this or that of them the eye in this or that way. Sometimes they'd go home with someone who stayed late; Takamura Keiko had even married such a man, and she seemed happy when Tenjou Utena saw her again.
"Lucky Keiko-chan," the girls would sigh, and resolve to marry soon. Utena always felt on the fringes of such conversations. She'd stay silent and listen, eyes downcast, rubbing her ring finger as if she expected to find something there.
One of the girls, Mika-chan, noticed once and asked if she'd ever been engaged? It looked like that sort of habit, Mika-chan said.
Utena had to murmur that she didn't know. It was that sort of habit, the girls said, but she didn't remember. And anyway, had she been engaged to someone, he'd have come forward to claim her when she was in the hospital, wouldn't he?
Wouldn't he?
She'd be in her mid-twenties soon, old to marry. "Find a husband soon," Keiko had said. "You'll make a good wife."
It hurt someplace inside of her that she didn't understand - but the doctors said that was normal, to feel phantom pains. They may never go away. She ignored the pain, smiled and looked down and nodded, wished Keiko luck.
Still.
She looked at her hand on the counter, unadorned. She could never bring herself to wear jewelry; earrings hurt her ears and rings weren't... right, anymore. A strand of hair escaped her bun and she tucked it back carefully, pinned it. Her fingers brushed her cheeks as she lowered her hands and she thought about the scent of roses.
"Tenjou. Tenjou. Stop daydreaming, Tenjou. There's a customer at table three."
Utena jerked, startled. "Yes!" She took up her tray, wobbled in her high heels for a moment, and then clattered over to the table. "Can I take your order, ma'am?"
The customer looked up. She had this hesitating look on her face, as if not sure what to say; perhaps she doesn't understand the language, Utena thought. She was certainly foreign, with her coffee-dark skin and her large green eyes. Like pools she could drown in. The green of new leaves, new leaves on budding roses. Utena swayed, caught herself. She couldn't breathe.
"Are you all right?" The woman reached out and caught her, and for a foreigner, she spoke Japanese very well. Utena thought, dizzily, that she could only hear a faint trace of an accent. Some kind of thickness, perhaps a careful way the words were phrased. "Are you all right?"
"I'm sorry," Utena said, embarrassed. "I - ah. It's an old injury. I'm all right now."
The girl held on. "I understand," she said. "I have one myself."
"Ah..." Utena wondered how she could pull away without being rude to the customer.
"I understand, Utena," the woman said, and let go.
Utena stood carefully. "Do I know you?" she asked, after a moment. The answer was no, she knew, but perhaps they'd met, even if she didn't know her.
"Yes," the woman said. "I'd like rose tea, please."
"Ah-" Utena pulled out her notebook and jotted that down. "Anything else?"
"What do you have?"
Utena focused on what she knew - here, now - and recited the specials. "...cherry cheesecake. Oh, and there's a special on shaved ice-"
The woman considered. After a moment, she smiled, widely. Utena's heart fluttered, her eyes widening. It was so unfamiliar. The smile was so unfamiliar. She wrote, paused, and looked at what she'd written. "What did you say?" she asked.
"Cheesecake, please."
Utena noted that down, unsteadily. "I'm sorry. I thought you asked for the ice."
"No."
Nodding at her, Utena clattered her way to the counter to relay the order. She leaned there, for a moment, breathing. Stars in the night sky. The scent of roses. The heavy feel of a sword in her hand. No. No. No.
"Order's ready, Tenjou."
She carried it to the table. The woman had taken the ornamental rose from the vase in the center of the table, and was spinning it between her fingers. "Here's your tea, ma'am. And your cake."
"Sit with me," the woman said. The rose spun whitely from her right hand to her left and back again. "Won't you sit with me, Utena?"
"I don't know you," Utena said, which was as close as she could get to expressing discomfort at the familiarity that the woman addressed her with. "I don't remember anything."
"I know."
"I don't remember anything," Utena repeated. "I don't even know your name."
"Yes," the woman said. "You do. Sit with me, have tea. You promised tea."
Utena shook her head. The traitor lock of hair slid loose again. "I can't. I'm working."
"After, then." The woman had a calmness about her, a sort of inhumanly deep patience. As if she could wait forever. As if she could endure anything. "I'll stay."
Utena's cheeks heated and she fled back behind the counter.
Mika gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. "Was she- did she approach you?"
"I-" Utena watched the woman drink her tea, watched her cut into her cheesecake with a placid expression. "...I don't know."
Mika let out a little giggle. "Still... that kind of person is kind of cool, don't you think?"
"I don't know."
The woman stayed, occassionally ordering more tea. She became sort of a fixture of that shift; Utena would wait the other table in her area, then pause by the woman's table to refill her tea, bring her another bowl of sugar. She noticed that the woman had tucked the rose against her ear. It shone whitely against that dark skin and that violet hair.
Nine o'clock came and went and the manager nodded Utena back to the table.
"Ah," Utena said. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're closing. You're going to have to leave."
"All right," the woman said, and flashed another brilliant, unfamiliar smile. She headed outside and just stood there, waiting under a streetlight.
Mika giggled with the other girl on shift, Ruri. "I think she wants to go home with Utena!"
"You're kidding!"
Utena changed out of her uniform in the back room. She thought of leaving her hair up; it blew around so on the way home, but in the end, after a few minutes of deliberating and murmuring to her mirror self, she pulled the pins out and let it fall around her shoulders. It would likely just have escaped anyway, she thought. Her scalp tingled with sudden freedom.
The woman was standing outside in the streetlight still. She'd put a hat on - a beret, really, sitting on that mane of hair. It was pink, and matched the little jacket and skirt she was wearing. The colour seemed too familiar for a moment, and Utena breathed deeply before stepping outside.
"Shall we go to your home?" she inquired and Utena's cheeks darkened at the forwardness of this woman. She stared at the woman's back; she was already turning and starting to walk away.
"I don't even know your name," she protested weakly.
The woman turned back and flashed a brilliant smile. "I'm sorry, Tenjou Utena. My name is Himemiya Anthy, and I was your flower. I'm here to free you."
Utena stared at her. It made no sense and hurt like breathing did when the air in your coffin ran out, hurt like a sword to the gut, hurt like fingers scrabbling at a gate that didn't want to open.
The woman held out a hand, reaching for Utena. "Let's shine together."
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.
It doesn't have to, she thought, and the thought felt like her hair tumbling down.
Slowly, Utena reached out and took the hand.
It was warm in hers.