Act III, scene i –in which spring has come into effect

She did not fear being different, nor did she revel in it. With the passage of time, however, she grew more aware, and not just of the things that mattered –her life, others' lives, life at large—but also the things that did not matter, and their numbers far surpassed those of the matters of greater importance. Coming to the conclusion to visit Kuririn, and for real, was a relatively minor decision, as was the decision to do it the traditional way, from the front step and with a double-knock on the screen door. She was not sure why she made them. Not only did she not want to see anyone other than Kuririn, she knew exactly where Kuririn was to begin with. Nevertheless, when she approached the Kame island, instead of swinging to the back she landed on the front porch. Then, just as protocol dictated, she bared her knuckles and knocked.

At first there was no answer. The sounds of the television were loud in the living room, however, and she knocked again, two times more than the last. It made her feel oddly official. She was here, after all, and announcing her presence unflinchingly, like any other important guest. There was no reply, though her sensors detected a slight increase in the volume of the music. She knocked, and, even though it was cheating, kicked the side of the house gently. The entire hut shook.

There was an irritated yell, followed by a sound suspiciously akin to furniture being hurled aside. The wooden door flew open, and Master Roshi was staring at her through the screen door. "Whatever you're selling, I don't—" he began, and stopped. His face became peculiarly blank.

"Hello," she said.

"Jinzouningen Juuhachigou," he responded neutrally. He hesitated, then looked down. His gaze grew shrewd. "Whatever it is you're selling, however…"

She resisted the urge to put a ki blast through his midsection. Guests, after all, and especially important ones, did not do such things. "I have a question," she said.

"I'll have an answer."

She acknowledged this sagacity with a nod, then asked, "Is Kuririn home?"

The turtle hermit blinked.  Behind him, upbeat exercise music pulsed from the t.v speakers, punctuated by the brisk, encouraging 'One! Two! Three! Four! And again!'s. "I beg your pardon?" he said at last.

"Is Kuririn home," she repeated patiently.

He stared at her a moment longer, looking as if he was not quite sure whether to be suspicious or incredulous, and finally jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out back."

"Oh." A stiff breeze jostled the palm tree in front of the house, slapping its leaves against the muted pink panels. "That's good."

An extra-deep line appeared in the mass already assembled on Roshi's brow. "Would you level my house if I slammed the door in your face?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Because, you know, I'm about to slam it in your face."

"That's fine."

He slammed it in her face. She went around back to find Kuririn.

He was kneeling in a patch of dirt smeared out under the back window, trowel in hand. His shirt and clogs had been discarded and laid in a careless brown-black tangle. As she approached he looked up, a bright smile on his face. "Flowers," he said.

Juuhachigou nodded. The wind picked up and the flowers swayed, lethargic. "I didn't know you were a horticulturist."

"You kidding me? You're kidding me. Whew." Kuririn carefully smoothed the dirt out at the base of a brilliant purple flower. A tulip brushed his elbow, and he straightened, smiling. "Why, hello, there."

Juuhachigou crouched beside him, taking in the garden with an unpracticed eye. Her databanks had very little on flowers, but she did, for her part, recognize some lilies and daffodils, as well as some hyacinths and tulips competing for the upper left hand corner of the flowerbed. The names of the others eluded her. "They're healthy," she said. "You must be very good to grow all these different flowers in such a small bed."

"Nah." Kuririn gently ran his fingers along the top of the cluster of hyacinths, though the smile on his face was one of tender pride. "They pretty much grow themselves. I just keep some of the pushy ones in check and make sure they all get enough water."

"Pushy ones…?"

"Yep." Kuririn's hand lifted from the hyacinths and gestured toward a clump of pink blossoms. "See these? They're called grebera daises. And those, see those? Snap dragons. Both'll eat your garden up if you don't lay a trowel on their borders every once in a while."

Juuhachigou shifted. "What are those?"

He followed her gaze. "You like those, huh? Those are chrysanthemums. Believe it or not, they're the pushiest of all. I'm not sure if it's the location or the fact that they were there first or what, but, boy, do I have a problem keeping them back. They're pretty, though, aren't they?"

She nodded slightly. Something about the white petals attracted her. Untamed, unguarded, they would advance and overpower the enemy like so many proud empresses, their beauty matched only by their strength. She reached out with a slender finger to touch one of the blossoms.

"…And you wouldn't believe how resilient they are," Kuririn was saying. "I probably couldn't get rid of them if I tried. Hey, do you want a couple? I can make you a bouquet or—"

"No," she said. She rubbed her fingertip along its edge hesitantly, wondering at the silky texture. The stems beneath them yielded politely at the pressure to their charges, then deftly sprang back into position as she released them.

Kuririn's half-smile grew slightly quizzical. "Miss Juuhachigou?"

She stood. "It's," she began, and hesitated. Her tongue was used to uttering short, hard syllables, precise and unpoetic, and she found herself stumbling over what she needed said about a feeling that was larger than words could convey. "It's a battle. They're… proud." Her hands lifted to help shape her sentence. "They're working hard at living. They've fought. Picking them is unfair."

Kuririn's expression was neutral, though she sensed a growing confusion. She sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. "I don't know. They haven't overstepped their boundaries. Picking them seems… unprovoked, I…"

The consternation cleared from his forehead. "I get it. Okay. Guess we'll just have to admire them from afar, ne?"

She lowered her hands. "Thank you," she said simply.

Kuririn scanned his garden a final time, then slapped his knee and stood. "I suppose that's that," he decided. He looked out to sea for a moment, then blinked as if a sudden thought struck him, turning to Juuhachigou. "Hey, sorry, I know this is completely off-topic, but do you remember what the date was that I first met you?"

Taken by surprise, she raised an eyebrow at him. As expected, he flushed. "Yeah, I know, random. I'm sorry. I just… I was curious, that's all. If you don't remember, though, that's fine, I really don't need to—"

She recovered herself swiftly. "Shut up," she said. She accessed her data banks and scanned through the information, an absurd GIF of dust flying from a folder making her sneer at herself. To her surprise, the data offered two dates: both the 25th and the 26th of May. "It's unclear," she said. "It has two different times."

"The 25th or 26th of May?"

"Yes," she said.

He faced back forward. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Juuhachigou closed the file, slightly irritated. "If you already knew the answer, why did you ask me?"

"Sorry. I wasn't completely sure until I did ask. I just wondered if you remembered." A breeze rushed up from the sea and swept past them. Kuririn busily chased the bangs from his eyes, looking thoughtful. "May. Wow. It's been a bit, hasn't it?"

She shrugged. "It's not that important."

Kuririn hesitated, halfway through a ragged clump, and continued the journey through it, allowing it to fall back to his forehead. "Of course it is," he said, looking pained. "Why wouldn't it be?"

To her annoyance, she found she could not quite hold his gaze. "You tell me."

"Well, I really couldn't, seeing as I don't get it myself." His hand moved; he slowly rubbed his index finger over the hair by his ear, up and down, prompting the solemn rise of an increasingly massive tangle. "I mean… gosh, Miss Juuhachigou, I dunno. I mean, I know I'm happy about it. Meeting you has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. Well, that and learning how to fly." He smiled, then, and it was shy. "They both kind of feel the same."

Juuhachigou looked off toward the sea, face impassive. For some reason the sincerity exasperated her, as did the nervous, repetitive motions and the childlike exclamations. Neither 'gosh' nor such effeminate timidity suited any man, let alone one with a power of such ridiculous magnitude. She often found herself resenting the façade of innocence from a man who had seen, done, and felt too much to be truly innocent anymore, and then she found herself marveling at the strength of it, and its entirety, and how the practiced shift of his eyes managed to disguise pain as introversion. Who does he think he's fooling?

Kuririn finally shifted, stooping to shake his shirt out from under his clogs. He tossed it onto his shoulder, then proceeded to pull on his clogs with fingers stiff with dirt. "Well, anyway, I guess I'd better be getting inside. Hey, I have an idea, why don't you stay for dinner? We're having Chili Mac. Well, at least I think it's Chili Mac. Whatever Master Roshi cooks always ends up looking something like a ruptured spleen."

She nodded. "Kuririn," she said.

"Mm? Yeah?"

She studied him; from the ever-present hopeful look in his eyes to the diminutive stature to the way his toes wriggled, again and again, moon-pale and tiny. "If you call me Miss Juuhachigou again I'll break your neck."

Kuririn tilted his head slightly, concealing half of his face in the shadow of the Kame hut. When he straightened it slid away to reveal a genuine smile, like a cloud gliding from the path of sunlight. "Okay," he said quietly.