... ano toki ...
RoseMillenia
Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin in any way, shape or form. Although I do not own the original idea of the great animated samurai classic, I do own the contents of this story (as in plot) thus republication/stealing/plagiarism will not be tolerated. You have been warned. (creepy grin)
xxXXxx
... ano toki ...
commemoration part 2
xxXXxx
The day was warm and full of hustling excitement. It was a busy day in Kyoto. Such a busy day, and the day would only get busier as it progressed. A small group of friends sat under the shade of umbrellas held by water weights and chatting was occurring contently. Misao giggled happily as her Aoshi held her hand with love. Aoshi sat next to her, his warm eyes filled with joy to be with his two best friends. Misao looked different...much different from when she was a small, un-endowed genki sixteen-year-old. Her hair was still as long as ever, but now she usually left it out without hurrying with the metal clasp at the end every morning. She wore kimono's now, but was still the same hyper, courageous girl she always was. She also wore makeup from time to time, which was a rare thing for the weasel girl. But women who were married definitely were expected to be as lady like as they could. She and Aoshi had been wed only three years ago, but the always enjoyed every year of it. Misao was turning twenty-seven in a few weeks, so she felt old. But -- from what Aoshi told her -- she looked radiant from the second she got up, and to the second she laid her head down to sleep, even if she thought she looked like a mess. His heart had gone soft for her those years ago, and found he truly did love her. So Misao could do nothing else but happily reply yes to his proposal, and there they were, the married couple that they were meant to be forever.
Misao wore a beautifully decorated classy kimono with swirls of silver embedded into the fabric and the original color an olive green. The obi was silver and the strap across, black. She wore geta on her feet instead of her old ninja strapped-shoes, which were far more comfortable than the geta, but she wasn't complaining. Misao smiled even more brightly and snuggled into Aoshi's arm with glee. She grinned to the other man sitting across from them, staring at them with a smile and tiredly contemplating what to think. Kenshin had his sword standing upright and his palm resting gently on the hilt. His amethyst, iridescent orbs gazed at the couple with happiness. He knew it was beautiful to be that in love. His clothes had changed with little extent over the years, but his hakama color had been converted to something with variety. It wasn't exactly a thrilling color, but his piinku colored one made him think of his rurouni days. The longhaired samurai now wore an alabaster filled hakama with his usual gi. His geta were the same, and the socks had also changed to a white color. He looked rather conspicuous in the crowd, but it was all right. His ponytail still stayed loyal by his side, and the cross-scar never leaving. He was now thirty-nine years old. He felt weaker, somewhat less of a help to the people around him and more like a nuisance. Misao and Aoshi always explained that wasn't the case, saying he was more than welcome to visit them at any time, but he usually declined their kind offers, even though a small part of him did have the regretful urge to move out of the empty, dusty and alone dojo. So he would be happy. But he couldn't.
Not that now she was dead.
A year had now passed from the tragic day. It was more than a year, actually, and Kenshin held his dying love in his arms that mournful juncture, to hear her last words, to feel her last caressing whispers, and to let her tears fall as she smiled weakly. Kaoru-dono had been a loved and cherished part of himself, more than Tomoe, even. Kenshin knew that now. But she was gone ... a disease they knew nothing about swept over her quickly and so it took her life from her tightly enclosed hands. She struggled and held tightly to life like a small child, and Kenshin saw her die a little more every day. The disease was eating her. He cringed and wished her to get better; the tears cascading when he was around her for the last few days she was vital. When she was alive ... when she was alive, everything was better. Hell had to be better than to see that happen twice. It had to be.
The samurai had been able to find out what had killed her, it was a new disease that somehow made it's way to Japan from America. She seemed to be the only one affected from back then, as other doctors didn't know how to treat it. It was something called 'The Plague.' Kenshin loathed saying that word. It made his spine start to shake and his eyes glint with hatred. Sickness took his parents, and they took her too.
He knew he still needed to live, but everyday that reason dimmed a little inside of his battered and bruised heart. Both women were deceased, and he had loved them more than anything he had ever known. But living was still important. Maybe. Someone needed him, even if he didn't know who that was at the current moment.
Yahiko had moved out and married Tsubame, only half a year ago; they lived in Hokkaido now. Near where Shishio's and Yumi's grave where, if Kenshin thought correctly. Yahiko doubted leaving so soon and to leave Kenshin all by himself, so soon after the death he thought Kenshin was too emotionally disturbed to be left so rapidly. But Kenshin urged them to go, they were married, they shouldn't stay with a doddering old fool like himself. Yahiko was very determined to stick with his idolized father figure, but persuasion from Tsubame finally led him to the decision that Kenshin could definitely survive without the young man around. Yahiko was only twenty-two, but he was smarter than a herd of people with his calculations that he made inside of his always generating mind, and he was unbelievably powerful. He held the same type of lean-ness that Kenshin possessed, and he carried the Kasshin-Hiten-Ryuu with him. After the death of Kaoru, Yahiko had the marvelous idea to combine the two techniques of sword into a melded style. It held the power of Hiten but held the principle of the Kasshin, so it was the lovers' gift to the sword world, to protect and to fight, to kill and love, the opposites that attracted and made music. Kenshin remembered how proud of Yahiko he was when his "son" had done this for him. He felt so loved. But Yahiko was away now. And Kenshin had only his ultimate grief. Why was life this unfair?
Sanosuke had left him as well, but that was well over five years ago. Sano had left to travel the world, he spoke of Russia and a small place named 'Mongolia,' which the scarlet-haired 'oro' boy knew nothing of, but supported Sano all the way. He missed the kind man more than perhaps Yahiko, but that was reasonable, because Sanosuke couldn't be contacted, and because Sano didn't even know about Jou-chan's cease to be. He would go insane when he found out. He might go hysterical, as Kenshin knew how much that man loved her too.
It was all screwed up.
Well ... Kenshin had Misao and Aoshi. He had their daughter Midori and he had the Aoiya. But ... that wasn't enough. It couldn't be. No matter what he felt alone. Always alone. There was silence in his mind for days at a time. No strategizing, no processing, no thinking. Emptiness. It was so wrong.
" ... Himura?"
Kenshin's head came up from it's dazed trance and he stared at Misao's bright mizuiro colored eyes filled to the brim with concern.
"Are you all right, Himura?"
As long as Kenshin had known Misao, she never did have the proper respect that she owed him, but he really never wanted to tell her. She would never call him 'Kenshin.' It would always be 'Himura.' That was comforting. He smiled up to the docile twenty-seven year old and blinked twice.
"Sessha daijoubu, de gozaru," He said quietly. "Not to worry, Misao."
"Would you like to make your way back to the Aoiya, Ken-san?" Aoshi asked softly. Kenshin had noticed that the man had begun to call him 'Ken-san' a few months ago after deserting the name 'Battousai,' as Kenshin was now one of his dear, dear friends. Aoshi had never planned anything to be like they were, but wouldn't dream of it any other way. He was too content.
Maybe it was meant to be that way.
And perhaps the glint of long, black hair in the crowd made the rurouni stand up with fright and knock the table down with excitement. Was--was it him?
RoseMillenia
Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin in any way, shape or form. Although I do not own the original idea of the great animated samurai classic, I do own the contents of this story (as in plot) thus republication/stealing/plagiarism will not be tolerated. You have been warned. (creepy grin)
xxXXxx
... ano toki ...
commemoration part 2
xxXXxx
The day was warm and full of hustling excitement. It was a busy day in Kyoto. Such a busy day, and the day would only get busier as it progressed. A small group of friends sat under the shade of umbrellas held by water weights and chatting was occurring contently. Misao giggled happily as her Aoshi held her hand with love. Aoshi sat next to her, his warm eyes filled with joy to be with his two best friends. Misao looked different...much different from when she was a small, un-endowed genki sixteen-year-old. Her hair was still as long as ever, but now she usually left it out without hurrying with the metal clasp at the end every morning. She wore kimono's now, but was still the same hyper, courageous girl she always was. She also wore makeup from time to time, which was a rare thing for the weasel girl. But women who were married definitely were expected to be as lady like as they could. She and Aoshi had been wed only three years ago, but the always enjoyed every year of it. Misao was turning twenty-seven in a few weeks, so she felt old. But -- from what Aoshi told her -- she looked radiant from the second she got up, and to the second she laid her head down to sleep, even if she thought she looked like a mess. His heart had gone soft for her those years ago, and found he truly did love her. So Misao could do nothing else but happily reply yes to his proposal, and there they were, the married couple that they were meant to be forever.
Misao wore a beautifully decorated classy kimono with swirls of silver embedded into the fabric and the original color an olive green. The obi was silver and the strap across, black. She wore geta on her feet instead of her old ninja strapped-shoes, which were far more comfortable than the geta, but she wasn't complaining. Misao smiled even more brightly and snuggled into Aoshi's arm with glee. She grinned to the other man sitting across from them, staring at them with a smile and tiredly contemplating what to think. Kenshin had his sword standing upright and his palm resting gently on the hilt. His amethyst, iridescent orbs gazed at the couple with happiness. He knew it was beautiful to be that in love. His clothes had changed with little extent over the years, but his hakama color had been converted to something with variety. It wasn't exactly a thrilling color, but his piinku colored one made him think of his rurouni days. The longhaired samurai now wore an alabaster filled hakama with his usual gi. His geta were the same, and the socks had also changed to a white color. He looked rather conspicuous in the crowd, but it was all right. His ponytail still stayed loyal by his side, and the cross-scar never leaving. He was now thirty-nine years old. He felt weaker, somewhat less of a help to the people around him and more like a nuisance. Misao and Aoshi always explained that wasn't the case, saying he was more than welcome to visit them at any time, but he usually declined their kind offers, even though a small part of him did have the regretful urge to move out of the empty, dusty and alone dojo. So he would be happy. But he couldn't.
Not that now she was dead.
A year had now passed from the tragic day. It was more than a year, actually, and Kenshin held his dying love in his arms that mournful juncture, to hear her last words, to feel her last caressing whispers, and to let her tears fall as she smiled weakly. Kaoru-dono had been a loved and cherished part of himself, more than Tomoe, even. Kenshin knew that now. But she was gone ... a disease they knew nothing about swept over her quickly and so it took her life from her tightly enclosed hands. She struggled and held tightly to life like a small child, and Kenshin saw her die a little more every day. The disease was eating her. He cringed and wished her to get better; the tears cascading when he was around her for the last few days she was vital. When she was alive ... when she was alive, everything was better. Hell had to be better than to see that happen twice. It had to be.
The samurai had been able to find out what had killed her, it was a new disease that somehow made it's way to Japan from America. She seemed to be the only one affected from back then, as other doctors didn't know how to treat it. It was something called 'The Plague.' Kenshin loathed saying that word. It made his spine start to shake and his eyes glint with hatred. Sickness took his parents, and they took her too.
He knew he still needed to live, but everyday that reason dimmed a little inside of his battered and bruised heart. Both women were deceased, and he had loved them more than anything he had ever known. But living was still important. Maybe. Someone needed him, even if he didn't know who that was at the current moment.
Yahiko had moved out and married Tsubame, only half a year ago; they lived in Hokkaido now. Near where Shishio's and Yumi's grave where, if Kenshin thought correctly. Yahiko doubted leaving so soon and to leave Kenshin all by himself, so soon after the death he thought Kenshin was too emotionally disturbed to be left so rapidly. But Kenshin urged them to go, they were married, they shouldn't stay with a doddering old fool like himself. Yahiko was very determined to stick with his idolized father figure, but persuasion from Tsubame finally led him to the decision that Kenshin could definitely survive without the young man around. Yahiko was only twenty-two, but he was smarter than a herd of people with his calculations that he made inside of his always generating mind, and he was unbelievably powerful. He held the same type of lean-ness that Kenshin possessed, and he carried the Kasshin-Hiten-Ryuu with him. After the death of Kaoru, Yahiko had the marvelous idea to combine the two techniques of sword into a melded style. It held the power of Hiten but held the principle of the Kasshin, so it was the lovers' gift to the sword world, to protect and to fight, to kill and love, the opposites that attracted and made music. Kenshin remembered how proud of Yahiko he was when his "son" had done this for him. He felt so loved. But Yahiko was away now. And Kenshin had only his ultimate grief. Why was life this unfair?
Sanosuke had left him as well, but that was well over five years ago. Sano had left to travel the world, he spoke of Russia and a small place named 'Mongolia,' which the scarlet-haired 'oro' boy knew nothing of, but supported Sano all the way. He missed the kind man more than perhaps Yahiko, but that was reasonable, because Sanosuke couldn't be contacted, and because Sano didn't even know about Jou-chan's cease to be. He would go insane when he found out. He might go hysterical, as Kenshin knew how much that man loved her too.
It was all screwed up.
Well ... Kenshin had Misao and Aoshi. He had their daughter Midori and he had the Aoiya. But ... that wasn't enough. It couldn't be. No matter what he felt alone. Always alone. There was silence in his mind for days at a time. No strategizing, no processing, no thinking. Emptiness. It was so wrong.
" ... Himura?"
Kenshin's head came up from it's dazed trance and he stared at Misao's bright mizuiro colored eyes filled to the brim with concern.
"Are you all right, Himura?"
As long as Kenshin had known Misao, she never did have the proper respect that she owed him, but he really never wanted to tell her. She would never call him 'Kenshin.' It would always be 'Himura.' That was comforting. He smiled up to the docile twenty-seven year old and blinked twice.
"Sessha daijoubu, de gozaru," He said quietly. "Not to worry, Misao."
"Would you like to make your way back to the Aoiya, Ken-san?" Aoshi asked softly. Kenshin had noticed that the man had begun to call him 'Ken-san' a few months ago after deserting the name 'Battousai,' as Kenshin was now one of his dear, dear friends. Aoshi had never planned anything to be like they were, but wouldn't dream of it any other way. He was too content.
Maybe it was meant to be that way.
And perhaps the glint of long, black hair in the crowd made the rurouni stand up with fright and knock the table down with excitement. Was--was it him?
