a/n: This is something I've worked on for about a year. I've always wanted to write an alternate universe of where the Shiroyasha met the Courtesan of Death. This is an ongoing series, for the record.
Summary: He thinks about how he's gotten to know how to get under her skin. Knows what makes her tick, knows what makes her smile. And he thinks she's worth a gamble or two in this fucked up little world, a wild card in a sea of monotony. She was the sort of woman who could make a man like him - a devil, harborer of destruction - fall to his knees.
City of Dreams
"Take care when dealing with roses, lest you be pricked by thorns."
- Tsukuyo
1. the beginning
This is her earliest memory, if she ever cared enough to reach for it. (She doesn't.)
It begins with her, ten years old. She doesn't remember what her real name was. The village is small, the rice paddies ruined by the tsunami that had swept through the countryside. The rain left roads in a state of permanent mush, and too many houses had washed away. That morning she had wondered why her father had chosen to take her to the market all by herself, and pondered why her mother had chosen to cry that morning as she made breakfast - a barley gruel flavored with the last reserves of bonito flakes - for the entire family.
Her father hunkers down. "This man is going to take you to your new home," he says curtly. "Be a good girl."
There is a man, a trafficker, stooped with wrinkles and eyes filled with hardness and caustic cynicism. He stands next to a carriage and a horse who stomps his feet angrily into the red mud.
"When will I get back?" she asks, already scared.
"This is the last time I'll see you," her father says. He takes a bag of money from the rider, and shoves her in front of the slave trader.
The realization strikes her like a lightning bolt, and panic rises in her throat. Already the old man with his mean eyes clamps his wrist on hers, jerking her away from her father.
She knows that other girls have been sold before. Never had she assumed it would have applied to her. Why, it was only seconds ago had she truly believed her family loved her!
"Otou-san," she said, with tears. "Please - please, can't you - "
"No," he said. He turns his back. Doesn't look away as she screams and begs for forgiveness.
The door shuts in the carriage. She won't see sun until another decade.
-x-
Vulgar men line the streets. The girl looked around timidly, with her wrists bound tightly as she took in the darkness of the city. Women, carefully painted, were there to lure customers. Later she would learn of the nature of barter, not through goods, but through services of the body.
This is her first introduction to Yoshiwara, a heaven for men and a hell for women. It is a floating city, where one can spend their entire fortune on beauties from the East.
She can already see the women, dead and weary behind the bars of the window. She wonders if that's to be her own destiny, and lowers her head, already defeated. She doesn't want to see any more of this.
-x-
"Welcome, dear," Lady Kamekichi said in a voice of poisoned honey. The courtesan's eyes were cold and grey, unlike the warm amber of her mother. "I will teach you be my assistant," she continued silkily. The girl didn't trust her from the start, but followed obediently. This was not home anymore, with no Mother and Father to lead the way ever since their house burned down, selling daughters who they couldn't afford to feed anymore.
"What is your name?" the courtesan asked, walking towards the girl.
No answer. It had been so long since she had a drink of water that her throat had gone dry. As she opened her mouth, only air came out, her voice suddenly vanishing.
"Are you mute?" Lady Kamekichi asked sharply, her eyes narrowed in disdain. "Koichi-san, I have no use for mutes."
"Answer the lady!" the slave trader snarled, swatting the girl's head.
She couldn't shake her head, couldn't breathe as the strength left her body. She hadn't eaten for days. A blow to her face snuffed out all her energy and she crumpled to the ground, motionless.
"Hmmph," the courtesan sniffed. "You would have better served as a lowly prostitute on the bottom." She left the room in a swish of silk and ordered another one of her assistants to tend to the girl.
-x-
When the young girl came around, a kind servant held a wooden basket of cool water and a small tray of onigiri. A wet towel stuck to her forehead as she blinked wearily, taking in the opulence of the Yoshiwaran palace.
"You'll have to forgive Lady Kamekichi," the servant said, as she dipped a ladle into the water and placed it against the girl's mouth. With water, there came life. "She isn't very forgiving of new girls."
"More," she said, her throat rasping. The servant obliged until the girl felt comfortable with sitting up.
"That woman... who is she?"
"She's the top courtesan in Yoshiwara. She picked you to be her assistant."
"Why?"
"Your fair hair and blue eyes, of course. They stand out from the rest of everybody else in this city. Was your father a foreigner?"
"I don't know."
"It looks like it, though. I bet you'll fetch a high price when you grow a little bit older."
Something about the arbitrary system of judgment seemed off to her. "What do you mean - didn't they pay my father enough money?"
"They'll buy little girls from the villages when they're young and cheap, keep them over here to train to incur a debt, and you'll have to work to pay your way out of it," the servant explained. "For now, you won't have to do anything, since Lady Kamekichi has already signed a contract to keep you. But - "
"I need to escape."
"Good luck with that. The elevators to this place are strictly off limits to women. This is a city run by the Amanto. We haven't seen sunlight in a decade. If you run, they'll kill you."
"I see..."
"It's a prison," the servant girl said, with a wry grin. "Good luck - what was your name?"
-x-
"Your hair reminds me of the moonlight," Lady Kamekichi said. "Therefore, I will call you Tsukuyo."
Obediently the girl accepted it, as there were no options otherwise. Her mentor was a cold mistress, but held more power than her. In life there were rules to be followed and this city was bound to imprison her anyways - why make life difficult?
She learned how to buff white powder onto the necks of geisha; to twist hair in elaborate coiffures in forms of immaculate perfection. Learned: to wash the delicate silks of the courtesan costumes and to polish hair ornaments. Learned: the name of the ruby lacquer that was painted onto every courtesan's lip, the precision of a bow to a patron. These things she memorized intimately, for to make mistakes was to suffer from lashings of a cruel man who hated women for their lasciviousness.
On one of those occasions where Tsukuyo had spilled ink onto Lady Kamekichi's summer robes she had been put into solitary confinement for three days. These were three days without proper nutrition, only a small cup of water every few hours or so to make sure they didn't die.
The word insanity came to mind. To keep away from descending into darkness Tsukuyo yelled out questions whenever she heard of a person approaching the room - to know of the time, to know when she would be free. Some were sympathetic. Most were not.
Her stomach growled frequently, hunger gnawing from the inside out. It had been half a day already, and she was keeling from the lack of food.
It was then that a young and beautiful woman walked in with a tray of riceballs.
"Wha - what are you doing?" Tsukuyo rasps, her voice so small and weak.
-x-
When one door shuts, another opened.
Lady Kamekichi examined Tsukuyo with a cool eye. "She's no good, that one. Doesn't know how to dance worth a darn, or even smile."
"We'll see about that," Hinowa replied, equally cool.
Smiling indulgently, the courtesan gave Hinowa a pen to sign the contract that would allow Tsukuyo to be transferred in her care. The debt had not changed one whit.
Hinowa's room was more sparse and less opulent than Lady Kamekichi's, but she was quickly building up a reputation for her exquisite beauty and grace. There was something in her eyes that defied classification. She transcended the idea of a simple courtesan who engaged in petty gossip and mindless prostitution. Men were intrigued by her sunny demeanor and women somehow felt more reassured when Hinowa entered the room.
This is a person I want to protect, Tsukuyo thought to herself one day, as she was in the middle of pinning up Hinowa's hair. It was such a radically new thought that she paused for a moment, wondering where such words had come from before.
"Tsukuyo?" her mentor asked gently. "Is there something wrong?"
"... No," she replied, resuming her task of inserting the hair ornaments Hinowa had wanted to wear for a patron that night. Yet her mind was whirling, of thoughts beyond hating her weakness, her small size.
I want to protect her. I love her. I don't want to lose her.
-x-
"Hosen-sama, I think this child has potential to be part of the Hyakka."
Even the King of Yoshiwara was not immune from the influence of Hinowa, who was now the most courtly and prestigious of all the courtesans in the city. People visited her from far away and her name was known throughout the city of Edo.
"She would make better fortune as a courtesan," the old man remarked, roughly. "Look at her fair hair, her eyes, her skin."
"She has no temperament for it, yet possesses a keen mind. It would be a shame to eliminate her, my lord."
"It would be far quicker to take her out of misery if she had not the aptitude. I already know that she will grow up to be a fine beauty," Hosen said. On two sides were lowlier courtesans plucking their shamisens, eyes drooped low out of respect.
"Perhaps I shall be the judge of that," another voice interrupted. Tsukuyo's head turned.
A man with bandages wrapped around his head had sneaked in without any notice. She had not noticed him at all when she had crawled into the room.
"Jiraia! How good to see you," Hosen said, grin spreading from ear to ear. "I have not seen you for months."
"Forgive me, my lord. I was busy."
Hosen laughed, his voice dark and rich. "I expected such from such a shinobi like you. I may have a student for you, if you are willing to take on this child."
Jiraia looked at Tsukuyo. "I don't teach girls," he said flatly.
"I'll kill myself if you won't take me on," Tsukuyo said fiercely. "I swear on my life that I will."
"Little girl, you underestimate the gift of life."
"There's no life to be lived in this city as a woman," she cried out in her little-girl voice, her eyes snapping like firecrackers.
"Such astute words, coming from a child like you," Hosen said, though his eyes were glittering with dark interest. "If you won't take her on, perhaps I will."
"You'll kill her," Jiraia said. He kneeled down and handed Tsukuyo a short sword. "Little girl, scar your face to show me the conviction of your desire."
The blood makes a beautiful stain on the tatami floor. She can remember the warmth of Jiraia's hand on her head, but barely feels any pain.
-x-
- to be continued -
a/n: As always, please review if you enjoyed my writing! :)