Hope in the Hollows
Part I: This Night Never Happened
Summary: The Okashira was dead. A young leader in the Oniwabanshuu, Shinomori Aoshi, will do anything to acquire power. The young daughter of one of the former leaders may be the key - she may just be trouble.
Note: Misao & Aoshi have never met before, total AU.
"How are things?"
Okina looked up as Misao stepped in. He hated lying to her, but Misao worried. As much as he would have liked to not tell her anything, he couldn't. If he refused, she would simply rush off on her own pursuit of information.
He sighed heavily, feeling defeated by youth.
"Not any better."
Misao plopped down in front of him. "This Shinomori man is still trying to take over? Who is he, anyway?" She asked, looking expectantly at him.
Okina nodded. "Shinomori Aoshi was an orphan adopted near Tokyo many years ago. He is... ah, some twenty-eight years now I think. So long..."
He sighed.
"The Oniwabanshuu has always made a policy of adopting abandoned children. They are raised to be ninja's and very rarely do they ever stray from the lifestyle they've known all their lives. He was one of those children, much like you. He has worked in Tokyo many, many years. He traveled around for a good period of time and has many followers. As I'm sure you know, after the death of our previous Okashira, Mitsuri- the man after your father, Shinomori made a claim on the leadership. He broke away from the Tokyo branch and then later came back and took over the installation. At present, he demands recognition, citing the previous Okashira's recommendation of him."
"So, he wants to be our leader because Mitsuri-sama gave him a good word? Isn't that good enough?"
Okina shook his head. "No. I have my doubts about it. Shinomori has a far and wide reputation for being, shall we say merciless'. It worries me, trusting your future and the others to him."
"Merciless? So, he's a mean guy?"
"I haven't seen him in many years, only rumors reach my ears these days and eyewitness accounts of his operations. They do not seem promising."
Misao frowned. "Do you think he's a bad guy? At heart?"
"There is no way for me to know that," Okina admitted, standing. "But I must think of your future, Misao. If Shinomori becomes the Okashira, your life will be out of my hands. What am I to do, if Shinomori decides to send you out?"
"Hey! I can work just like anybody else!" she protested.
"The female ninja uses all resources to her advantage. Are you ready to sacrifice your body to your work as a spy? To be married off for good relations? To seduce men for information?"
She recoiled slightly. "I'd have to do that?"
He smiled and patted her on the head. "I am hungry, let's go eat."
He turned to leave and she grumbled.
"'Don't leave the Aoiya without an escort', 'don't linger around town', 'don't walk alone', orders, orders, orders... blah!" Misao muttered as she stomped out of the Aoiya.
She pouted.
She wasn't dragging someone along with her every time she left the Aoiya because Jiya was paranoid. She huffed. Did he think she couldn't take care of herself? That she was incapable? That she was, somehow, less of a ninja than the others?
She grumbled some more.
The path to town wasn't shady or concealed. It was wide open. There weren't even any trees around or anything. What was she supposed to do? Stay cooped up all day?
She yawned, passing under an outdoor arch. There was a garden near here on the way to town. She'd been through the tour once or twice, the arches were strewn throughout.
She was seriously considering detouring in that direction. It was such a beautiful place. Very relaxing, maybe it would calm her down.
She was just about to head in the direction of town when a pair of gloved hands clamped down on her upper arms. She struggled, unable to break free of the restrictive hold.
"Let go!" she growled, crumpling forward when the hands on her arms suddenly released.
She whirled around, ready to fight, already reaching for her kunai. The sight wasn't what she expected.
A man, tall, and beautiful, stood before her. She recognized the cut of his dark clothing as Oniwabanshuu, but the long beige colored was foreign for certain.
She didn't relax entirely. The Oniwabanshuu members were iffy these days, especially if one was unfamiliar with the face or name.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Who are you?" he countered, raising one perfect eyebrow curiously.
How did she get stuck with the weirdoes, she wondered staring at him. Even if he was absolutely gorgeous, that wasn't really the point. He looked dangerous as hell, who knew what he was hiding under that big coat.
She started to back away from him, afraid to turn her back to him when he lunged forward. She opened her mouth, perhaps to scream, perhaps to yell, the motion was wasted.
His hand clamped hard across her lips as he forced her body hard against his yanking her forward. It was incredibly awkward so he whirled her around, pressing her back to his front.
"No more talk."
He changed positions curling his elbow across her mouth anchoring her to him while his other hand snaked up to her neck. Her vision blurred and her head became light before everything suddenly dimmed, and she lost consciousness.
"This is her? She's so tiny…" The voice was foreign, as was the hand suddenly laid upon her thigh. She tried to shoot up and kick her perverted host or visitor or whoever it was, but she couldn't move.
She felt so heavy.
"Hands off, Beshimi. Do not disrespect Aoshi-sama, this girl belongs to him."
There was another voice. How many people were in the room? What was this room? Was it a room at all? She was laying on something half-way soft, that she did know.
She could hear the wind blowing against the sides of a building, so she was, in fact, indoors.
"She looks so young."
There, that was yet another voice. She was up to three now.
"How old is she?"
Same voice, she knew that one already.
"Sixteen, I believe."
"What's she sound like? Does she have a girlish voice, or a womanly voice?"
-Whack-
"I already told you; do not disrespect Aoshi-sama. This girl, her voice and everything else, belong to Aoshi-sama!"
The voice was stern and resolute.
"If you cannot behave yourselves, wait outside."
Her eyes remained closed as she heard the sound of shuffling feet and the slide of a door.
Oh, what happened to her?
"Are you awake yet, Makimachi-san?"
She groaned weakly. Her head hurt. She tried opening her eyes. Who was this that knew her name? Who was that man who'd captured her?
The room seemed bright and hurt her eyes. She looked toward her left where the voice had originated from. Beside her futon sat a man. His arms strangely garbed in striped cloth. Covering his face was a demon mask.
A demon mask…?
Why would he cover his face? She trembled at the possibilities.
"Aoshi-sama is preparing the finalities. Can I bring you anything before we start?"
"What are we starting?" she managed to choke out.
"I am not at liberty to disclose. Perhaps some tea?" he suggested, rising to his feet.
"No," she murmured, feeling defiant, closing her eyes again.
She felt like fighting, but her head ached. She felt like he'd dropped a brick on her head, how had he done that by touching her neck? She didn't really want to know, she thought.
Actually, at a more convenient time she would like to know…
She tried to blink away the pain, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the place seemed to burst into activity. For the next minute or so people walked in and out of the room, all men, she thought off-handedly.
The masked man came once more and grabbing her hand, pulled her from the futon.
"Come, it is time."
She tried to ask what time it was, but couldn't manage. Her mouth was dry.
She found herself pulled down a set of stairs and into a candlelit room. In front was a priest of some sort and beside him stood the man she recognized as the one who'd accosted her on the road.
She could do little more than stare as she was propelled to where he stood. What was this?
She had a dreadful feeling in pit of her stomach. This was going to be bad, she just knew it.
"Ah, here she is." The priest was an elderly man, with a cheerful smiling face.
"What is going on here?" she asked, her tone suspicious, head cocked to one side in contemplation of the scene.
The priest blinked. "This is a marriage ceremony, my dear."
Her eyes widened and she looked toward the man at her left. "Ooohh nooo!"
Aoshi looked toward the priest. "Begin."
He seemed hesitant, but followed orders and began to speak. Misao, convinced this wasn't happening began to struggle. The priest fumbled, watching Misao uneasily.
The man holding her didn't seem bothered as he tightened his grip. When the man she was apparently marrying moved closer and slipped an arm around behind her, she didn't think too much of it. It seemed more intimate than threatening.
When she felt the point of blade cut straight through the cloth of her garment and press against her skin, she began to worry. Her blood was suddenly pounding in her ears and she trembled. Her skin felt cold.
"Do you – ah, what is your name?"
She grit her teeth together and refused to answer.
"Her name is Makimachi Misao," the man beside her helpfully replied.
"Do you Makimachi agree to this man, Shinomori Aoshi?"
"No," she answered.
The blade pressed closer, cutting her. She gasped in pain, almost recoiling, but unable to do so as the man holding her held firm.
"Are you sure?" Shinomori asked.
His voice was deep, velvety almost, she thought, trying not to focus on the pain. Now her back was bleeding and her head was pounding.
"My answer is no."
Laughter was the last thing she expected. He leaned closer, the blade changing position as he shifted the tip against and then into her skin. She cried out brokenly.
He leaned toward her, pressing his lips against her ear intimately. "You can do terrible, painful things with knives. Those women at the Aoiya, do you think they'd like the feel of my knife, Misao?"
She glared. "You're disgusting."
"Give your word to the priest."
She trembled. How could this man be such a beast? What would cause someone to act so insane? Did he desire power that much?
The knife against her back seemed to twist and her knees almost gave out on her. She felt barely conscious through her haze of pain.
Did she speak?
She did, she realized, a moment later as the priest continued. She saw his lips moving, but she couldn't hear anything. It sounded like wind was rushing past her ears. She could feel the warm wetness of her blood that was now beginning to feel cold as the night air cooled the wet fabric.
Bleeding. She was bleeding, she blinked. The insane hope this was some bad dream seemed too much to ask for, only reality could hurt this much.
Her vision blurred. The priest's face became a blurry glob, no distinguishable features.
Was his mouth still moving?
She no longer felt the knife against her back, how sweet of him. Resentment and anger sprouted deep within her belly and grew. She felt her heat flush in anger, but it only served to make her head feel lighter.
She wobbled only vaguely aware of the sake glass as it was pressed to her lips. The bitter liquid slid down her throat, one or more times. She lost count.
The pain at the back of her head intensified and she prayed for release. She felt her eyes finally drift closed. She sighed contentedly and she was gone.
AN: Reposted and again alive. Tonight I am editing and adding and changing the general plot line. Sort of.