A/N: This was written real quick (highly unusual for me) and I sort of liked it (even more unusual for me), so I decided to forgo the double-, triple- and quadruple-check routine and just post it as it is.
I hope you enjoy it anyway, and please review.
(Beware the trap.)
Vintage
In order to overcome an obstacle one does not necessarily have to resort to brute force, Kenji thinks and stops pushing his weight against the unbudging gate.
Eight years old and bored right out of his mind the boy tries to formulate a plan which will get him out of this prison fast and with the minimum amount of damage on his part. The tree to his right is a possible escape route, but already he can see that the branches closest to the wall would be too thin to hold his weight and the probability of him falling off and breaking a bone before reaching the wall is high enough that he forgoes it for the time being. He keeps the plan in mind as a last resort though.
Climbing onto the roof and finding a way out from there seems feasible as well, but he is certain it would cause such a racket that his mother – who had promised to not linger to chat after their training lesson – would come running and ground him for the next few weeks.
Kicking a small pebble against the thrice damned gate Kenji sighs and admits defeat, then goes off to search for another occupation instead.
The only interesting part of the dojo, besides kendo itself, has always been the old katana displayed on a shelf in the entrance hall, so that it's the first thing any visitor would see upon entering the living space.
Kenji is drawn to the sword like a moth to the flame, knows there is something special about it, but having yet to find out what it is. Also, he is vehemently forbidden (repeatedly so) from ever touching it.
But do I have to keep promises if Mother doesn't?, he thinks with a quick glance to the room where she is still chatting away.
Decision made Kenji starts climbing the chest beneath the shelf to get a better vantage point.
The inevitable crash comes quickly and relatively painless. Landing on his backside Kenji cringes in prospect of the scolding he will receive and immediately tries to limit the damage as fast as possible.
The chest is upright again before his mother even enters the hallway, but Kenji fears that the way its innards are strewn around the floor is telling enough for her to know what has happened.
Dropping his hands to his side Kenji stands to meet his fate.
"How many times have I told you", she starts reliably as she kneels down to clean up the mess, "I don't want ..."
Well, that's new. Nothing short of a natural disaster could stop his mother mid-rant, and as Kenji looks to check what has her tongue-tied so suddenly he sees she is holding a photograph. Curious he slinks around to have a look at it, too.
Evidently it is a very old one, judging by the lack of color and its fuzzy look. There are two people on it, standing side by side in very formal clothing and Kenji doesn't think he has ever seen them before.
"Who are they?", he asks, but it isn't his mother who answers.
By now his grandparents have made their way over to the crime scene, looking at the mess with the sort of humor only old people have.
"Those are your great-great-great-great-great-grandparents, Kenji", Grandmother says with a cheeky smile, "It's their wedding picture."
Kenji takes another peek at it and feels slightly overwhelmed by all the greats.
"They could take pictures back then?", he asks, not really having the perspective yet to know which historical era they are talking about.
"Well, it was still pretty new then", Grandfather explains, "One has to wonder how they could afford having theirs taken, poor as they were."
Kenji watches his mother draw a careful hand over the picture. "They were poor?", she asks.
"Times were different then, of course", Grandmother says, "But they made do with what they had. Have we never told you about Kenshin and Kaoru, Sayako-chan?"
Smiling his mother shakes her head. "No, you did, actually", she replies, "I just never thought it was a true story."
"Why would we make something like that up?", Grandfather asks, and the incredulous tone of his voice matches the expression on Grandmother's face.
"It seemed so over-dramatic at the time. But he does have the scar, doesn't he?"
Feeling left out Kenji nudges his mother. "What story?", he demands.
She looks back at him with a scowl that's not directed at him, he knows. "I'll tell you when we get home, alright?"
Although he is dying to know Kenji nods and resigns himself to wait.
"Just this much beforehand", Grandfather says with a twinkle in his eyes, "the ancestor we always tell you you are named after is their son."
On the car ride home his mother is eerily quiet.
Kenji wonders what sort of story she is about to tell him.