"Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space." ~ Dave Barry
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Sunday 2nd December 2012: Traditions
"Haru, are you sure you don't want to come? It's an open invitation." Shizuku lingered guiltily at the door, purse lightly being passed from hand to hand in a vaguely sheepish fashion. "My writing group are always happy to see a new face..."
Haru only laughed and shook her head. "No thanks, but thanks anyway. I don't want to impose..."
"Oh, you wouldn't be imposing!"
"And I could do with the rest."
Seiji laughed and began prompting his wife out the door. "It's a quiet writers' Christmas get-together; it's hardly going to be a wild party."
Shizuku made a face at the man. "Are you saying writers are incapable of having wild parties?"
"Of course not, dear." He looked to their young guest. "Haru, you're sure you'll be alright by yourself?"
"I'm twenty, Seiji. I think I can cope by myself."
"I'm sure you can. Try not to burn down the house while we're gone."
"I think you've already made that joke once."
"I have? Huh, perhaps I'm getting old."
Shizuku giggled. "Would explain a lot."
Haru resisted rolling her eyes as the pair indulged in their petty bickering, eventually moving the location of their discussion to the outdoor porch, then the front garden, and finally onto the pavement. Their guest smiled and eventually shut the door behind her.
'At last. I thought it was going to take all day before they remembered they had a party to attend.'
She sighed, wiped at her eyes with the back of her palm in an attempt to offset tiredness, and drifted into the kitchen. A cup of hot chocolate later and she was heading upstairs to her appointed guest room.
She hadn't done much unpacking yet; her suitcase was still propped up against the end of her bed, a few stray clothes spilling out of the edges from the morning, but otherwise it lay untouched. Her backpack was dropped at the far end of her bed, not so far from the suitcase, but showed more use.
Haru collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling and examining the pattern above her. It was paper, rather than paint, and despite the first smooth appearance, it was in fact patterned with semi-irregular bumpy streaks. She took her time to commit it to memory, soaking in the new peace of the house. For once there weren't whispers of violins floating from two floors down, or the strangely loud clatter of computer keys from Shizuku.
Haru had always assumed, from various films and adverts, that writers had a pretty laid-back routine. Get up whenever, write, daydream, eat, write, go to bed whenever. The last day with Shizuku had already shattered a few of those expectations. True, she was usually late up, but that was counterbalanced with the past-midnight writing times; words pasted across the computer screen at a frantic pace. She also discovered it wasn't good to interrupt Shizuku; the woman loved her goddaughter, but when she was writing, there was little else that could possibly interest her. Only Seiji appeared able to convince her to take a break and eat.
So now Haru relished the settling peace of the house. Her sense of personal space expanded from the guest room to the entirety of the house, realising she had the place to herself until the party ended. Seiji had hinted that the writers could natter past midnight, so she wasn't expecting them any time soon. She grinned to herself, then the grin faded when the thought of unpacking came back. She groaned, pushed herself off the bed, and started with the suitcase.
The Amasawas had provided an empty wardrobe in the guest room, something Haru guessed she should take advantage of, and began with moving clothing, now creased and squashed despite earlier precautions with packing, into the more roomy space of the wardrobe. Halfway through the suitcase, and she came across the personal items packed between the clothing for protection. A couple of photo frames, one of her and her mother, the other of her and a friend, were carefully placed on the bedside table, followed by a ballerina figurine.
The statuette was about a foot tall, her delicate arms raised in mid-dance and her china tutu falling past her knees in layered folds of snowy white and icy blue. Ebony black hair was pinned up into a bun, with eyes forever closed in the illusion of peace. A small smile tugged at Haru's lips as the figurine was neatly placed on the table's surface.
"Guess I better savour the peace while it lasts," she murmured. She turned away and seated herself on the end of her bed, lingering while the tiredness still loitered in her limbs. For a moment she entertained the idea of dancing, but discarded that when the exhaustion rose again. She would be in rehearsals tomorrow anyway; she would be dancing her shoes off over the next few weeks so that impulse could wait.
A ringing broke her train of thought.
Her phone was buzzing on the same bedside table, vibrating so violently that it was managing to travel across the table. Haru instinctively scooped up the mobile before it could inch its way off the desk.
And then she stared.
She knew the number – heck, she knew it better than her own mobile's – but the surprise was caused by decisions rather than the unexpected. The phone continued to buzz, ringing with insistent demand, and continued to do so even as she dropped it onto the sheets.
She couldn't cope with that drama. Not tonight.
Her mother's call went unanswered.
ooOoo
Haru eventually found a pastime in one of Shizuku's many books. Either out of pride or just the need to display her achievement, Shizuku had the majority of her novels lining the guest room's rather over-full bookcase. Then again, Haru mused as she wandered through fiction, it might have just been because they had run out of book space anywhere else. Between Shizuku's fascination with books and Seiji's violin collection, there never seemed to be enough rooms in the house for everything they owned.
But Haru managed to finally choose one of the books and retreated back to her bed. The story was one of Shizuku's early ones – in fact her first novel, if Haru remembered correctly. Haru knew it almost backwards – due to it being the book of her mother's friend, Haru had quite literally grown up with it – and for that evening she allowed herself to fall into the familiar world of the Baron.
The Baron was Shizuku's first character. Haru had been told repeatedly of the discovery of the wooden cat figurine – how she had found the doll in that very shop – and the sudden inspiration that followed it. For most of the early books, the Baron had lacked any further name; only several years later was his full name revealed, although Haru had never heard the story behind it. She knew there was one, for the name always made Shizuku smile although the smile was sad too, but she had never received any answers.
She hadn't asked in a long time.
But now, for now, she simply stepped into the Baron's world. Despite her familiarity with the book, she still struggled to pull herself away from its pages. Midnight struck and, surprised, she looked up. For a moment the page floated before her eyes, caught off guard by the abrupt change in scenery, and she acknowledged the time. Hours had flown by.
But she was nearing the end and she promised herself she would head straight to sleep when she was finished. However, even as she convinced herself she would follow that promise through, there was a kerfuffle downstairs.
She paused, and tilted her head to one side.
Strange. She hadn't remembered hearing the front door open. Perhaps Shizuku and Seiji were trying not to wake her, but she would have thought she'd have heard the door. She hesitated, waiting for any other tell-tale sounds. She knew the Amasawas – even if they tried their best, she doubted they'd be able to be that quiet in sneaking back in.
A frown began to form when the house stayed quiet.
She shook her head and tried to convince herself that she was tired – that she'd been up reading too late – and that it was nothing. Unfortunately her mind was still too full of the Baron and his adventures and, as she was quickly learning, there was nothing better than some late-night reading to prompt the paranoia.
Her hand fluttered over the light switch, torn between ignoring the noise and investigating. Curiosity eventually won out though and soon she was donning a dressing gown and tip-toeing out into the landing.
She had been right; the Amasawas had returned. She could see the light emanating from the lounge. Initially she hesitated. She had expected them to head straight to bed once they returned, but perhaps their love of tea had won out and they were having a last cuppa before heading in. Either way, she found herself sneaking down the stairs, doing her best to avoid the creaking sections of the staircase.
But, even as she neared, she realised something was wrong.
The light was blue, not yellow, and it almost seemed to be... pulsing. Haru's feet slowed and she inched her way for the last metre, coming to a stop at the side of the doorway. This wasn't right. She sunk cautiously to the ground, hunched on her haunches and back pressed against the wall. And she could hear... voices. Voices that didn't belong to either of the Amasawas.
"Search, babes, come on. He has to be around here somewhere. The rumour said he was seen only three blocks away."
"Your Majesty, what certainty is it that he is here? There are many other houses–"
"This is where he came from. It can't be a coincidence that he was seen so close..."
"What about the humans here?"
"They are out. Reports came in of them attending a party."
Haru scrunched up her nose and tried to make sense of the messed-up conversation. Unfortunately, tiredness and too much reading didn't make the task very easy. But there were several things of which she could be sure of.
Firstly that she was dealing with intruders. Secondly that she should be phoning the police.
Curiosity was still playing on her mind though. Instead of sneaking straight back to her room to her phone, she snatched a glance round the door.
And stared.
And stared some more.
And finally concluded that Shizuku's books had finally got the better of her.
The lounge had been invaded by cats.
Haru had accepted her cat-speaking abilities a long time ago; they were something she had never tried to explain, with her mother only dismissing it as childish fantasies, along with the majority of most adults. Only Shizuku had believed her. Had even based one of her stories on Haru – changing the name, but promising the then-girl that the heroine was really Haru – and her cat-speaking abilities.
But she drew a line at cats invading the lounge.
But there they were, parading around the room. They poked the Christmas tree and upset the delicately-balanced holly and left several claw marks on the side of furniture, all while Haru watched. Her eyes rested on the fat cat lazing about in the middle, pompously shouting his commands while the rest of the felines busied themselves with the search. An overt crown rested atop his head, an eerie purple gem blinking in time with the cat's own mismatched eyes.
She shivered and retreated back behind the wall, but not before her mind had registered the portal.
It had been blue and round – and, to her unease, resting in the fireplace. It felt like some distorted Father Christmas joke. It also seemed familiar somehow. She closed her eyes and wondered whether she dared try to chase the cats out or just sneak back upstairs and pretend nothing had happened.
After all, who would believe her?
There was the sudden bang of the front door, sparing her from making a decision. The cats were heard to screech and perform a hasty retreat through their portal; the blue light was seen to flicker from Haru's vantage point. And then, as if the world was utterly, completely, blessedly normal, Shizuku and Seiji entered.
Shizuku was the first to spot Haru curled up against the wall. The hallway light was flicked on and Haru saw the woman's eyes widen.
"Haru? Is everything okay?"
Haru got to her feet. She spared one last glance to the lounge.
The cats were gone. The portal had vanished.
Everything was normal.
"Yeah, everything's fine."
ooOoo
A/N: Before anyone asks or comments on it, Shizuku's story based on Haru isn't TCR. This isn't a straight crossover, merely a dabbling of the two fandoms (TCR and WoTH) with no true canon for either; I guess it's AU for both. Shizuku's story is similar to TCR, but there are significant differences that will be lighted upon later and are important for the avoidance of plot holes.