Makie Otono Tachibana

This is a kind of introduction to my version of how Anotsu found Makie in Dreamsong. The theme of sexual violence will also be addressed and like all in Blade, there will be people cut into itty bitty pieces, although that isn't the highlight of the story. N'wayz, please read and if you enjoyed it, remember to review!

Following Him…

"Makie…as a yotoka…you must learn the ways to pleasure a man, the way your hands must-"

"No!" Dark eyes blazed with childish defiance and the room rang with the sound of breaking bamboo chopsticks. The woman's voice stopped and she looked up as splinters of hollow wood fell to the matted floor from Makie's clenched hands. "What honor is this, Mother? Why do you not fight? You lay there, filling yourself with opium so that you may forget, yet you do nothing!"

The prostitute lidded her eyes, hand sliding towards the small wooden pipe. "No…There is no honor in this."

"Then why? Why are laying yourself open for men, letting them mount you like…like pigs!" She shook her head furiously then yelled, "You have forgotten who you are…you have become nothing but a common whore!"

The woman said nothing, a tendril of smoke curling from the open end of the pipe. Makie watched, shuddering in revulsion as her mother shifted slightly, her slitted kimono revealing a wide expanse of thigh and calf. Her stomach roiled. She would never become like her mother, so meek, so…so utterly servile! Her father had cast them both out…disowned his daughter for carrying the Gift of his forefathers, disowned his wife for protecting their only living child…and her mother did nothing!

"Go back to your lessons."

"No! I will never be like you! I will become a swordswoman, a kenshin, first! This is-" Suddenly, a hand lashed out, catching Makie across the face, sending her reeling backwards with enough force to send her slamming into the mat. The rushes scratched harshly against her face, against her palms and she gasped, tears of pain and surprise stinging her eyes. She crawled up to her knees, huddled in a bundle of silk cloth, her head hung as pearls of liquid formed at the corners of her eyes, then dropped silently into the mat, seeping into floor.

She had been out of line. She had known it, for her mother hated the sword with a passion, hated what it represented: the thin blade that had severed her from her former life as the first Lady to the Harukawa clan. The side of her face throbbed from the slap, but she said nothing, letting her tears caress the burning handprint. For a moment, only the crackling of the fire filled the room, the tongues of flames snapping at the pool of oil, consuming the slick fluid like a thousand greedy dragons.

"Makie…"

Makie looked up cautiously as her mother withdrew a single hairpin from her long tresses, sliding the glittering ornament towards her daughter without quite meeting her eyes. "Take it." When Makie made no move to accept the pin, her mother laughed softly, threads of pain cutting deeply into her voice. "Oh Makie, so untrusting of your own mother? Take it…" Makie's fingers stretched slowly towards the dull bronze pin, her fingers brushing the teardrop-shaped embellishments that hung from the end so they chimed softly against each other. It was a beautiful piece of art, with an opal fixed firmly above the golden drops, sparkling as it caught the light of the fire, turning the surface into an iridescent blaze of light.

"Listen to me, Daughter…become a woman of the pleasure quarters." Her mother's mouth touched the lip of the pipe again, and she looked up with dull, lifeless eyes, even as she smiled sadly, "…even more so if you wish to walk the way of the sword…"

The girl bowed her head in submission, clutching convulsively at the single pin, but her soul screamed rebelliously, bangs masking the sable flames that leapt in her eyes. Mother, I will never become like you...weak, spreading my thighs for a few coins…wallowing in the filth of others as they rut between my legs. I am not like you. I will never be like you…

Weak.

***

The wind whispered softly, murmuring playfully at the strings of her nagauta and Makie started, looking around her self-consciously before she pulled the folds of her hood lower across her eyes, resting her fingers on the three-stringed lute. Her mother had long since passed away, leaving her drifting alone in the world like a marionette without strings, a wraith with no aim, a puppet with no puppetmaster…she should have been free. But now, the hasu owned her body instead, plying her wares for a few yen, raping her soul to ill their coffers. For debts unpaid, they said, but she knew better. Once the hasu owned your body, they would do everything to keep it.

Makie reflexively clenched her hand, making the notes sour as the oiled wire bit into the delicate wood. They thought she was afraid…like any other yotoka, too afraid to fight back. It wasn't that; they were wrong. She…just had nothing she was willing to fight for. She was like her nagauta…harmless at a first glance, but beneath the façade of wood and strung sinew, lay the twin blades of her glaive; the flexibility of wood with the strength of cloven iron. She glanced apathetically into the dark shadows of an alleyway, and saw nothing. So she moved on, long fingers stroking the strings absently in a long-forgotten melody of her childhood.

Suddenly, a rough hand lifted her chin, eyes inspecting her with unhidden cruelty and greed. "How much for you, yotoka? And do not try to cheat me…I am interested in nothing but your body." He laughed harshly, his voice cutting like stilettos through the silent night, as if he had told a humorous joke. "If I wished that other kind of entertainment, I would have looked for a geisha this night…but you will have to do, pretty one."

Makie jerked her head out of the man's grasp and lowered her eyes to the dirty sidewalk, afraid that the man would see the revulsion in her expression. He smelled of too much sake, the sharp stench of sweat and who knew how many other women that he had rutted in the alleyways this night alone.

For a moment, her rebellious spirit reared its head in defiance. Her pride, born of a long lineage of swordsmen and samurai, unbowed despite the circumstances that had brought her to this miserable existence, demanded that she defend her honor with sword and blood…but her mother's training was more rigorous than that. Not of her own volition, her voice, meek and low, murmured quietly, "Twenty yen, sir."

"Twenty yen?!" The man threw back his head, and his harsh laughter hissed on her senses like a touch of acid. "For you? For this night, I want your body, girl, not your soul!" He moved a step closer to match the single step that Makie instinctively took away. "If you were worth anything, you would not be on the streets, selling your body as easily as one sells a fresh chicken in the market."

He shoved her again, pinning her slender form against the wooden planks of a building, hands palming and pinching her breasts crudely through the thin silk of her kimono before those same fingers wrapped around the delicate line of her throat. The naugata fell to the dirt, gut string twanging discordantly as Makie clutched at the meaty fist with both hands, straining away from him.

"S-sir, I-!"

A slap rang out across the empty streets, inducing a momentary silence before he forced her to look into his eyes, crazy with fire and lust. "So, you like it like this, do you not?" Makie freed a hand and raked her nails across his face, leaving long, angry marks, making him snarl. He slapped her again, slamming her face against the wall. "Bitch! Don't make me kill you, yotoka; remember, no matter what, you are just a whore!"

Makie stilled beneath his pawing hands, then with a cry of fury, brought her knee upwards to slam against his chest. He doubled over for a second, freeing her from her imprisonment, but that one moment was enough as she swooped low to grab her naugata. There was a series of rapid clicks as clasps unhooked, causing the wooden hinge to swing open.

The twin blades of her glaive shone fiery blue in the soft gleam of moonlight, as she spun it into her hands; she could feel it pulse, almost as if it were a live beast. It seemed to sing. Not the thready murmur of her lute, but an eager, steady growl; she thirsted for revenge. Her hair had fallen into wild disarray, tumbling down her shoulders and the cloth that covered her breasts gaped open, ripped from the man's unwanted attentions. Trembling, she brought the weapon up, molding her fingers to the light, maple wood as the man straightened, a hissed curse touching his lips.

"What's the matter? You want me to pay first?" He fumbled his fingers into a pouch at his waist. Then, withdrawing a few silver coins, flung them savagely on the ground so that they skittered across the dirt, chiming against each other in the ominous stillness. His chest was heaving heavily, each breath seemed to scratch across the silence between them.

He was afraid, afraid but aroused by the violence of the situation and Makie shuddered in revulsion. She had serviced dogs such as him before, men that had beat her across the face and body as they took their pleasure of her. Once, she had not been able to get up for days, the beating had been so bad. The customer had been fined of course, fined for "damaging the wares", but still…it was not enough. She still bore a scar from breast to stomach where he had drawn a brand across her skin. Her stomach roiled sickeningly at the memories as her hand strayed to the base of her throat; the skin was tender and she knew that the cyclone-purple beginnings of a bruise were appearing on her pale skin.

She could almost hear her mother's voice, pleading with her, telling her that the fighting, death, was not a way to live. Better a woman of the pleasure quarters than kenshi… The wind bore her mother's murmuring voice on its keening shrill through the streets of Fukagawa and she closed her eyes, the glaive drooping slightly in her hand.

Is this a better life, mother, She asked silently, spreading myself for a man in the streets between the whorehouses? Listening to the sounds of his squealing and grunting, feeling the pain of his hand, his punishment? Mother…is this truly life? But it was her mother's wish; her daughter would never hold a sword again.

She looked up, almost lethargically as he moved towards her; her eyes were dull with pain and apathy, her one second of passionate fury spent and well hidden beneath the mask of a woman that just didn't give a damn anymore. She straightened with an effort; her glaive seemed to be too heavy for her, so she let it drop. It clattered on the floor, curling around her bare feet almost forlornly and she let her head droop forward in submission. She closed her eyes, listening to his low, sneering laugh as his footsteps came towards her and wished that it could be over, for it would be painful. She knew it.

Suddenly there was a curse and the familiar sound of a blade grating through bone, and then liquid sprayed across her face and arms in a warm benediction, and she gasped, her eyes flying open.

It rained blood.

Everywhere. The man's body had been dissected with a surgeon's precision, and a shrouded figure slowly stood up and looked back at her, eyes glinting like onyx in the streetlight. Held lazily in his hand was a strangely curved axe, still dripping with blood and she moved back a step, self-consciously pulling her kimono closed. A murderer? She wondered. There was something distinctly menacing about him, menacing and yet…familiar. Perhaps it was his strolling gait, or the slightly arrogant tilt of his chin. Who was he?

"Makie." His voice was low, almost lyrical as he stood in front of her. Yet there was a faintly disappointed edge to his words that made her wonder…why should he be disappointed in her? And how did he know her name? "I have been watching you." He stooped low and swept up her glaive, pressing her fingers around the handles in a warm, almost intimate squeeze. It almost seemed that he knew her; his eyes were warm, almost possessive.

"Sir?" She tried to see his face, but the flickering lamplight cast a shadow over his face, obscuring his features in shadow and she was certain her eyes reflected her inner confusion. "You-"

The band at his forehead gleamed mutely of gold, sparkles glinting off the teardrop ornaments. He was staring at her intently, as if trying to divine some inner truth that she could not understand before letting his hand fall at his side. He stepped back and bowed slightly before saying slowly, deliberately, "With this deed, I repay your kindness to a weak boy whom you saved from a wild dog, so long ago. I am released from your debt."

Her breath caught. That boy…

"Anotsu-sama…?" Her perspicuity was awarded with a cool nod and she took a shuddering breath. "Why-"

"Why didn't you kill him? You, Makie Otono-Tachibana, matchless swordswoman of the Harukawa line, should have had no trouble at all. " There was harshness in his voice, and Makie bowed her head, not meeting his eyes as she picked up her nagauta.

"I don't know." She whispered. "Perhaps it is because I am weak, alone. What good would killing the poor bastard have done? Day to day, my life is the same; if it is not this man, it will be others. I must accept that as my place."

His fingers curled around her wrist and she stiffened slightly. His voice was hard as he said, "Have you fallen so low? What samurai's daughter are you?"

She smiled sadly as she looked up at him, her eyes soft and bitter in the dancing moonlight. "I have been lost ever since my father cast my mother and I from his side for though I am of his blood, I am his shame. His greatest shame for I deprived him of heir and bloodline in one night." She laughed at him, shaking her head when he put out a hand. "You ask me why I did not kill him? Because tonight, he might have ended my hell. If he had killed me tonight, no one would mourn the loss of this one yotoka and I would have finally been free of my shame."

"You are a swordswoman-"

"A swordswoman with a cause is indeed worthless," Makie enfolded her weapon back within the concealing wood of the naugata with a rough snap. "And my glaives are even more so when I have no direction."

There was a moment of silence and Makie looked up slightly, the watery form of the moon dancing in her eyes. The stars were so bright tonight, like a thousand dragons flashing their scales in the darkness. Funny. Near this time of the year, when trees shed their blossoms and took on the hue of gold and red fire, there should have been lazy blue-gray clouds creeping across the sky…but it was so clear.

He turned away from her, but his voice was low as he said over his shoulder, "You can stay on with me, in my sword school, the Itto-Ryo. Those of that school will not belittle you, nor care for this thing you call shame." He almost spat the last word on the ground, his disgust clear. "You and your skill should not go to waste."

Makie's eyes flew to his face, and she stared intently at him before dropping her eyes. "But why? I am but one, and a woman at that. Your men will scorn you, Anotsu-sama, for taking in a whore such as I."

"I don't care what my men say," he retorted coldly, "and neither should you. This is my decision…and yours. If you follow me, I will have your sword and your skill." He paused. "And you."

"Why?" She asked, more forcefully, and she stood up a little straighter, her eyes flashing. "You have yet to tell me."

"Because." He turned back to look at her, slipping the hilt of his axe gracefully into its sheath. The air quivered between them, thick with tension as he took a wavering breath. "Because…I want you to say yes. Because I know that one day, I will have you by my side, and you will be only mine." Then, without another word, he stepped carelessly over the gory mess, down the street and the shadows seemed to envelop him in a mantle of darkness. He didn't turn back again and she stood there, nagauta locked loosely in her arms.

Did she dare brave the path that this man was sure to take her on, glass-strewn as it was?

This will not last. A tiny voice whispered in the wind. It whipped around, and for a second it sounded like her mother's mournful keen. It is not enough; he only wishes the use of your blade, your skill. Is this enough to bind you to him?

Makie took a deep breath. "No," She admitted quietly, "But I am tired of being alone. And even a second in his shadow is enough, perhaps, to shelter me from this hell. For a while, perhaps…" she hesitated, taking a step forward. "Perhaps, it will be enough."

~*Owari*~

Author's Note:

Naugata: a musical instrument

Yotoka: courtesan, whore

This is just my version of how Makie came to meet Anotsu before Dreamsong. I hope it wasn't too bad and please RR. It's my first Blade fic and I want to know how it was. :S Arigato.