Title : Rest and Tomorrow
Author: ShoshanaFlower
E-mail: ShoshanaFloweratgmaildotcom
Rating: T
Spoilers: Jinchu arc
Disclaimer: I don't own Enishi or the Rurouni Kenshin series, and I am making no profit from this piece of fanfiction. I have, however, created all of the non-canon characters.
Summary: What's left for a young, former weapons merchant? Enishi goes to Takefu to find a way to earn a living until he can formulate a better plan for his future. Involves old people, little girls, and rare appearances by cannon characters.
Takefu.
I can smell the salt from the sea, though the water itself is beyond my sight. This seems like a good choice for now, though it's only a middling distance from the putrid city of Kyoto. Still, I'll stay here for a little while. Until I can figure out what I'm doing.
I only have a few days worth of honest pay with me, but that'll at least be enough for a night in an inn. Wandering the main street, I see one, small place that stands out to me. Away from the busier part of the city, it should at least offer me some solitude.
I'm going to Kyoto. Don't expect me to come back. Take care of father.
I make my way up the stone path to the entrance of the building. As soon as I step inside, a scrawny girl scurries into the hall and greets me. She bows low and speaks so softly that I miss what she says.
"What?"
The brat shrinks back and repeats, "Welcome to the Shinju, sir. We hope you enjoy your stay here."
Immediately an older woman, the landlady, I assume, comes out, ignoring the girl, and gives me a polite welcome. I return it with the best of my ability. She looks a little too old to be the girl's mother, so maybe the child's just a servant who was surprised by my sudden appearance.
With full formality, the landlady leads me upstairs to a guest room. The little maid clambers behind us with a barely-folded yukata, which she timidly places in the room. The landlady wishes me a good rest, tells me when the evening meal is, and bows and politely excuses the girl and herself.
When they're gone, I close the shoji and glance about the room. The first thing I notice is the western desk. Its painfully over-carved surface draws all attention to it. And it's very stupidly placed, too, since there's no chair to go with it. I'm sick of western tables, chairs, desks, food, everything. If I wanted to live like a foreigner I'd move to the Occident. But, at least the desk is the only intruding thing in the room. Everything else seems fairly peaceful.
Though I won't be staying here for long, I can't see any sense in wearing wrinkled clothes. There's a stand in the room, so I take my other hakama out of my bag and drape it. Now the only things left in my plain travel bag are her diary and a tanto, each wrapped carefully. I leave them there.
Go back home, Enishi.
There's a shoji leading to the second-story porch on the south wall. The only view is of the city. I don't care for cities much. Probably because I don't care for people much. And people in large numbers, festering together in close spaces ... I'd rather avoid the whole thing. But I need to think of something to do, and I might as well do it here in Takefu. Unlike Battousai, I'm not fond of wandering aimlessly for years at a time. I like to have a plan.
The evening is coming on quickly. I go back inside. My eyesight hasn't been good recently, so even in the twilight, I need a candle to see. I remember seeing one on top of the desk, but of course there are no matches in view. They're probably kept inside, so I search for the latch to open it. Instead, I accidentally open a small, hidden drawer at the top. It's perfectly disguised; the loops of the carvings interlock when the drawer is closed. I could run my hand over it and never know it's there. Abandoning the search for matches, I take her wrapped diary out of my bag, set it in the open drawer, and push it closed again. I look closer when it's shut; the drawer is impossible to see. Even though the owners probably know the drawer is there, it's still a much safer place than in my luggage bag.
Should I read some of the passages?
No. Not tonight. I don't need to read them anyway to have them repeat through my mind. I can't even sleep at night sometimes for the sound of her elegant handwriting, read aloud by her own voice. And still, with every line of her diary memorized, I don't understand it.
I'm tired. At least this bed smells clean. This graceless inn might be a decent place to rest after all.