Pomegranates

By The Great Wicked

Disclaimer: This is fiction... Not real... I do not own FY or any of its characters but it would sure be nice if I did.

Pairing: Tasuki/OFC

Rating: M

Summary: She was the only woman he had ever seen that he had to have. Watching her for a year, the way she moves, does her work, and when she looses her temper, she smolders. Its driven him mad for a year and Genrou has decided ha he can't stand it anymore, and has to satisfy his craving.

She Smolders in the Firelight

The darkness enveloped him and made him invisible to the world that existed inside the small tavern as it did every other night he was there. He sat watching her from the underlit corner, the lack of illumination his him perfectly. Not even a silhouette was visible, however the small details of his clothes would occasionally catch the light and dance across the room, sometimes being well placed enough to touch her as she passed. The beads gleaming around his neck as they rested on his chest, the heavy buckle on his trousers, his earrings, and the buttons on his coat. Darkness looked good on him, it was cheap and he liked it. But tonight, just like all other nights he came to this place it wasn't about him. It was always about her.

He took in the slightest breath as she walked into the path of his intensive gaze, no movement was too small for him to not take notice. He knew everything about her, she brushed her hair back with her left hand but would then untuck the hair over her other ear, letting it cover her face. Such a coy yet unabashed. She never let anyone touch her hair, it was just another thing she did that drove him mad, he wanted so bad to grab her hair and hold tight. As quickly as she had appeared she was then gone.

The village was small and if you didn't know where it was then there was a fantastic chance that you could pass it and never know it existed. Hardly worth the visit, and his men would probably have never come again if he had not seen her and insisted on coming again every month just so he would catch a glimpse of her. The hospitality was as warm as the weather, such kindness to these strangers.

The small village soon became a routine trip for the bandits, they would come every month sometimes it was just him. Phase two of rob the rich and give to the pour, and since the village was an agricultural place miles away from any major city they had little use for money so the bandits offered the next best thing; tools and time. It wasn't uncommon to see the men of the mountains bare chested working hard in the fields with the local men and women. The first night he came they were merely too tired to continue to their stronghold of the mountains and they looked for a place to stay, fully prepared to rough it in the fields under the stars. The villagers found them first offering their own lodging to the bandits in return for some help in the fields. A hot meal and a soft bed and the men were hooked on the small town.

It was no surprise that Genrou found his way to the only tavern the village had to offer, he had only meant to go in for a drink, nothing made him sleep better than the warm burn of sake. He froze with his cup halfway to his mouth when he first laid eyes on her. Her long dark hair off her shoulders, it was so dark the color was impossible for him to determine, her tone and slender frame just begging to be held, her tan skin told stories of her life; long hot days in the sun. Working long hours in the fields with her bare hands, and within her eyes mysteries were just beneath the surface. This woman was a tangled ball of everything he didn't know and he wanted to unravel her.

For a year every month and his men returned to the village that had no name, and he would watch. She had seen him numerous times, and they had spoken several times as well. It was never anything of great consequence, just bits and pieces of conversations as she was working near him, there was something so exotic about her, and in the midst of one of their short conversations he understood why.

It was late one light and a traveler had come in he was as drunk as his friends all breathing hard when they laid eyes on her. They were trouble from the second they walked in, mistaking her for a common prostitute, thinking they could buy their way into her bed. The couldn't have been more wrong. She broke a mans jaw that night, if he had been sober then that would've proven to be difficult as the man had about a hundred and fifty pounds on her. His blood boiled when he saw one of them grab her from behind and try to pull her in for a kiss, not those lips. They weren't meant to be bruised. She used the tray she carried to strike him upside his drunken head.

His friends soon came after her, but she wasn't alone when they faced off, the inn master had his small staff all bearing arms, ranging from knives to two by fours. He watched from his dark corner amused at the sight before him, she could handle her own. A strong woman, he liked that. The man had departed when he noticed that she was staring right back at him. A moment later she walked up to him to take him his drink.

"So how many jaws have you broken?" He made small talk as she continued her work cleaning up nearby tables.

"Back home no one behaves like this in the presence of a woman. We learned that long ago those who can't fight can still die." She spoke pulling her hair out of her face with her left hand, then moving the hair on the other side of her head so ti covered her part of her face. Again, he wanted to reach and touch her hair, pull it into his fist and hear her and feel her writhe in his hands.

"And just where is home for you?" He asked trying not to sound too interested in her.

"Far past your own borders" She replied in a voice only audible to him.

'So she was either a refugee or was brought here as a slave. Interesting' he thought to himself, his mind racing with the possibilities.

"You tell many men this?" He asked in a smoky voice, she crossed the small space between them and whispered to him

"No." She replied giving him a sultry smile, she'd just basically told him she was not a native and perhaps was a wanted woman. An outlaw woman. She'd trusted him with an enormous secret. He could easily sell her, turn her into her former masters, or take her as his own. "I think I can trust you,"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because a man who comes to drink the strongest sake once a month is hiding something, he wishes to forget sins in another time. You wouldn't shame my trust would you?"

He smiled back hotly at her and leaned close to her and whispered, "What would that say about my honor?"

After that conversation there was an intimacy of her nature in the way the two spoke when they did, it was only after that did he ask the inn keeper for her name and he was richly rewarded

"Henna."

"Her name is Henna."

She smolders for him in the firelight.

~*~*~*

As you can see I've gone over and paid some more attention to the story and I hope you all like it, as always read and review. I will be paying attention to the other chapters I've posted so keep checking.

~The Great Wicked