Act IV, scene i---in which summer has arrived

She had never particularly liked the heat, nor disliked it, but, rather, tolerated it, and waited patiently to begin lamenting the fall of summer and secretly rejoicing in the coming of autumn.

It occurred to her sometimes that she had become the one to always seek out his company, rather than the other way around. Strangely enough, it did not bother her as much as she thought it might have at one point. The huntress, after all, was the one to stalk the prey, and in stalking the prey had to be careful not to be preyed upon herself. And she was.

It was the middle of July and when she tracked him down, he was sitting at the top of a slide. "Believe it or not," he said, "this place is chock full of kids on the weekends."

Juuhachigou landed at the foot of the structure. Other than them, the park was completely deserted. In the center sat a melancholy teeter-totter and a round contraption with handles that she could not positively identify. On the outskirts, the swings on a rusted set were swaying in the breeze. "This park is in the middle of nowhere," said Juuhachigou.

Kuririn shrugged. "Excuse me," he said politely.

Juuhachigou moved aside. Grasping the handles, Kuririn launched himself down the slide. He landed hard in the pile of woodchips and rolled. "When I was younger," he said as he stood back up, "I always dreamed about having a playset of my own. At Orinji everything was so… strict, you know? As if it were a crime to have fun."

"It was a temple, idiot," she said without malice.

"Well, I know that, but… I don't know. Personally, I think everyone would have been happier if they'd have grown a little hair. Seriously. Waking up every single morning and realizing that you're ugly and bald can't be good for the mood. And believe me, I would know. Wanna try this with me?"

She shook her head. Kuririn hopped onto the round structure and ran around a few times, holding onto the handle tightly, before swinging himself up into it. Juuhachigou watched him. "What are you doing here?"

Kuririn's face flashed by her again, and again, and again, pensive. "Like I said, I always wanted a playset when I was younger. Parks are just fun, I guess. People really don't appreciate these things the way they used to."

The structure gradually spun to a halt. Swaying only slightly, Kuririn eased himself to the edge and put a hand to his forehead, throwing a shadow over his features. "I'm convinced that if everyone had a playground in their backyards, there'd be a lot less crime in the world," he added. "Everybody would be too busy having a good time to worry about trivial things, like blowing each other up."

 "You're not working anymore," said Juuhachigou.

After a moment his hand lifted, pulling the shadow from his face. "Yeah, I quit my job a couple of weeks ago. I finished paying off the aircar, and nobody has another birthday for a couple of months. Besides, I hate being a waiter. I'm not cute or anything so the tips are lousy. Besides, I needed some time off to spend with my friends."

"There are more important things than friends," she said, disapproving.

The smile on his face, though gentle, was not condescending. "Nothing's more important than friends."

Juuhachigou found a reason to look away. Over by the edge of the playground, the swings creaked moodily. Kuririn followed her gaze. "Hey, do you want to swing?" he asked.

"Why do you keep asking me these questions?" she replied, annoyed. "You know I'm just going to say no."

Kuririn looked genuinely surprised. "But one day you might change your mind. If I don't keep giving you a chance, you won't have the opportunity to tell me."

"I didn't ask for your chances," she said. "And I didn't ask for you to care."

Kuririn looked down. "I'm afraid it's a bit too late," he said softly.

She did not know how to respond to that.

"But really, you should try some of this equipment," said Kuririn a moment later. Though his smile was hesitant, the enthusiasm behind the expression was genuine. "It's a lot more fun than you might think. Besides, we have the park to ourselves."

"These activities are childish and pointless," she said automatically, but she was not really listening to herself. "What do you call that thing?"

"This thing? Oh, heck if I know. The round thingie? The circle-spinny-thingie? Your guess is as good as mine." He kicked out lightly and began to move in a lazy circle again, squeaking on the pole beneath him. "But seriously. You should. They say there aren't a whole lot of things more soothing than playing on a playground. Well, that, and swimming naked in warm salt water, in the dark."

She noticed the rise of color in his cheeks as he said 'naked', though she had a feeling it was reflexive. "You're full of it," she said, not unkindly.

"No, no, really! Philosophers have said to have done their best thinking when immersed in a salt-water bath. It's supposed to work on ninety percent of the people who try it, I think. Around there. Anyone who wants to have fun, I guess."

"And the remaining ten percent?"

Kuririn looked toward her, and his eyes became very round. "Become nuns?"

She was startled to find herself fighting a smile. "Your eyes are brown."

"Gee-eez. Nobody ever believes me!" Kuririn covered a yawn with instinctive civility, kicking again with his toes, lightly. "Mm. And my eyes are always brown."

"They're very deep today."

"You think so? Wow. You know, seriously, I can't even remember the last time I actually told any lie, leastwise a good one."

"Half of the playground just got buried," she deadpanned.

Kuririn burst out laughing. Juuhachigou watched him, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction. Not because the comment had evoked such a delighted response, necessarily, though that was a pleasant surprise, but that she was carrying on a decent conversation with someone. And not just anyone, she realized. Had it been Vegeta or Tenshinhan or even Chichi it would not have mattered much; Vegeta and Tenshinhan were men of few words, and carrying on anything with Chichi did not require any effort much beyond staying awake to listen. Kuririn, conversely, required her to constantly be on her toes. There was a wit underneath the diffidence, dry and often just south of acerbic, for all his face denied its existence, and she often found herself enjoying matching it with all she had to offer. Similarly, she was constantly surprised at the ease in which the questions were coming whenever she was with him, and more so, she admitted to herself, at the growing candidness of her responses. He baffled her in areas she had thought impossible to be baffled in, and he did it without warning or effort.

"Hey, Juu," said Kuririn upon winding down, "are you sure you don't want to swing? Because I'm headed over there now, and I just thought you might like to come." When she didn't respond he shrugged and got up to trot over to the swing set. After a moment she grudgingly moved to follow him. He had sat down in the one furthest to the left and was now allowing his feet dangle. His toes were several inches from the ground. "Aw, come on, at least sit," he pleaded as she stopped beside him. "You don't even have to swing. But, I mean, I feel bad, sitting while you're standing."

Juuhachigou studied the chains of the swing, poking at them gingerly. "You have no reason to."

"I do," he said stubbornly. "You're a lady. If anything, I should be the one standing."

She snorted, though she felt an odd sort of warmth from deep inside. "I suppose if it'll make you stop pouting…"

Kuririn brightened as she sat. "Thanks," he said.

The next few moments passed in a comfortable silence. When a cricket hiccupped a chirp to their right Juuhachigou tilted her head, turning up her perception. There was a keen energy in the air, she noticed: in the plants, racing through their veins, in the animals, in the grass and the trees and the mast and the sky. From all around came the sounds of summer, joyful and unabashed, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Juuhachigou felt herself relax. "If you had a genie," said Kuririn suddenly, "…and I mean a real genie, like the ones that come in lamps… and he gave you three wishes, what would you wish for? And they can be anything."

"Are you ever serious?" she asked.

Kuririn gave her a puzzled grin, stretching out his legs in order to begin walking the swing around in circles. "What do you mean? I really am curious. Aw, come on, Juu, please?" he pleaded, seeing her roll her eyes. "I really, really want to know what you think. Seriously."

She hesitated. "Anything?" she probed cautiously.

"Absolutely anything at all. Even more wishes."

The chains squeaked. Juuhachigou nudged at the woodchips at her feet. "I'm not sure," she said at last. "Maybe… maybe a house, or… or I could wish Juurokugou back. I could wish that Juunanagou's brain be donated to you humans for scientific purposes. He's not using it."

Kuririn turned his head to look at her. His eyebrows were lowered; he was confused. "But… those are wishes for other people. How about some wishes for yourself?"

"Those are my wishes." She lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. I don't really want anything."

"Wow. You're really unselfish." Kuririn looked forward again. "Me, I'd milk it. I have a ton of different things I want."

"Such as?"

"Oh, just stupid things, really. I want to be taller, smarter, stronger… that kind of stuff. A nose would be nice, too. I've always wanted one of those. Oh, yeah, and I would wish for all the guns of the world to be taken away and replaced with pillows. All the world's problems should be solved by one gigantic pillow fight." He grinned, continuing to turn around and around. The chains clinked as they wove together above him. "Can you imagine the feathers all over the battlefield? It'd be like a bad CLAMP manga."

"Is that all?"

"No," he said, and she watched as the happiness faded into a sort of fixed amiability, allowing his gaze to flit away without insult. "I'd wish for other things, too. Like… I don't know. A better personality. More courage. Maybe then I could stand up for myself –you know, not be such a coward all the time. At the very least, be able to talk to people without stuttering." The chains finally knotted above him. He lifted his feet and allowed himself to begin spinning. "I'm so horrible with that. They used to whack me for it at Orinji."

Juuhachigou was nonplussed. "You're not a coward. And you don't stutter, or at least not with me. Not anymore, anyway."

His face was flashing by too quickly for her to be able to decipher his expression. "Well," he said, "you're not just any person."

The statement caused an arrhythmic patter at her chest. "Stop it. There's no reason to start lying to me."

After a minute the swing began to slow. Kuririn blinked at her, pained. "I'm not lying to you," he said. His voice was low. "Why would you think I—"

"Because you're a religious smart-ass," she interrupted impatiently. "Since when did I become so special? Unless, of course, you think it's because I'm the one most deserving of your sparkling wit, in which case you might as well think again."

Kuririn had the look of someone who had just realized he had swallowed something barbed. "I didn't know you felt that way," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to be… rude, I… Oh, gosh, Juu, I didn't realize I…"

She watched him struggle, red-faced and ashamed, and was suddenly and inexplicably annoyed with herself. "Oh, shut up," she said gruffly. "I didn't say that just to have you start pouting. It's… I just don't see why you would act differently with me, that's all."

The swing came to an abrupt halt; Kuririn had dug a toe into the ground. He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure why," he said. His voice had become oddly decisive, as if to make up for his tentative words. "You… you're an incredible person, Juu. Sometimes I don't think you seem to realize that. When I'm with you I feel… I don't know. Invincible? Maybe not. But something like that. I feel, you know, tougher. Like I can take on the world and get licked and still come back up again, none the worse for wear."

She did not dare ask the reason why. "You shouldn't."

"What?"

"Feel that way."

"Why not?"

"Because there is no reason to," she snapped, feeling her temper beginning to fray. "I've never done anything to encourage you. All we've ever done is talk, and barely that…"

"That's the thing. I know you don't look to encourage me. But I feel that way anyway; do you see how that's to your credit? You…" He paused, then grinned, though she got the feeling it was more to himself than to her. "You inspire."

"I could hate you," she said bluntly. "What would you do then?"

Oddly, Kuririn's smile did not fade. "Jump off a cliff, probably."

Juuhachigou looked down, tried to hold on to her irritation, and failed. Kuririn kicked off and flew upwards on the swing. At first it seemed it would take him over the bar. At the last moment, however, he tucked his legs and shot back down again, laughing breathlessly.

Juuhachigou's lip curled. "There is no way you're a man."

Kuririn zoomed forward again placidly. "Nowhere does it say that a man can't swing."

"I thought it was one of those unwritten rules, like 'men can't say 'cute' and 'men can't wear sequins'."

"I don't know." Up; back. "I know plenty of men who look damn good in sequins."

Juuhachigou caught herself looking around to see if anyone was watching and spent the next few moments hating herself for it. "If one of your friends came by they would laugh at you," she said, aware that it sounded feeble.

"They laugh at me anyway. Besides, they're the ones missing out. Woo hoo!"

Juuhachigou shook her head at another unmanly giggle, then kicked her own legs slightly. The swing took her forward agreeably, and back again, and it was surprisingly painless. "Betcha I can swing higher than you," said Kuririn.

"Stop being ridiculous," she said.

He nearly went over the bar again, but he kicked his legs firmly and brought himself back down. As he zoomed past her again she distinctly heard an incautious, 'sourpuss'. "Don't make me knock you off that swing," she warned. "Of course I can swing higher than you. There's just no reason for us even to make it a contest."

"But that's the fun."

"I'll swing because I want to." And just to prove to him that she could, she kicked her legs again. The resulting motion startled her so much she nearly fell off. She glanced up quickly to see if he had seen, but he was squinting off in another direction, apparently, for the moment, concentrating on something else. Reassured, she gingerly tried again. This time the motion was more controlled. There was an art to it, she realized: one had to lean back slightly to compensate for the straightening of the legs when the swing came forward, then tuck their legs right at the peak of the arc and lean forward as they were coming back. Smirking triumphantly, she repeated the process precisely, this time swinging up nearly as far as Kuririn. To her surprise, her stomach gave a pleasant thrill as she swung back down again.

"Fun, isn't it?"

She looked up to find Kuririn smiling at her. She nodded. "How?" she asked.

He was silent for a long time. She opened her mouth to repeat the question, but he suddenly shrugged, looking thoughtful. "I don't know," he said at last. "I mean, we're humans, and most humans have the desire to do impossible things –like flying, you know?—and just because you and I can fly doesn't necessarily mean the instinct would be erased. Or maybe there's just a good feeling in knowing you're not too old, or too jaded, to enjoy something that's intended for a child." He shrugged again. "Or, of course, I could just be sounding like a nerd."

"Humans." Juuhachigou watched the ground rush by and back again. "I'm not human."

He looked surprised. "Of course you are, why wouldn't you…?"

"I'm not," she said tiredly. "There's nothing human about me save my form. What makes you think I want to be one of you anyway?"

"But you are human," said Kuririn earnestly. "You have a heart, and you think, and most importantly, you have a conscience."

She kicked out mechanically, zooming forward. She wanted to be angry at something, anything, but she found, again, that doing such a ridiculous activity took away the will to do so. "You'd be surprised."

He shook his head. "Why are you always in such a hurry to be down on yourself?"

"You absolutely can't talk," she said.

Surprise; a sheepish expression came to his face. "Oh, yeah," he said. He tilted his head. "Guess we both have some stuff to learn, eh?"

"You do." She slid off the swing as it came forward, landing easily, and began walking away. Kuririn followed, albeit clumsily. "All I need to know has already been programmed into me. The rest is inane.'

"You can't mean that," he said. It was not a statement as much as it was a question. "I mean, there are so many other things in this world more important than fighting and… you know, killing Goku."

Juuhachigou stopped suddenly, almost causing him to run into her. Above them, a blossom-laden tree sent down several petals in a lazy sort of greeting. ('Unknown', her sensors reported; the function of her intelligence that was responsible for the recognition of base anomalies happily reported the unusualness of blossoms in the summer.) "Like what?" she asked quietly.

Kuririn looked back up at her, blinking. "Like…"

"Like what." The leaves on a low-hanging branch were brushing against the back of her head. She moved, not taking her eyes from his. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "I want to know what else is worth knowing."

His teeth found his lower lip. "Well," he said, "there's always the really stupid, useless things. Eight furlongs equal one statute mile according to linear measure. The short-term memory capacity for the average non-android is between five and nine items, I think.... The cashew is actually a part of a fruit called the 'apple cashew' and only grows in tropical regions."

Without knowing why, Juuhachigou found herself drifting closer. Though he at first seemed not to notice, she saw the rise of color from his neck to his ears. "And?" she prompted.

"The brain freeze you get by eating ice-cream too fast happens because your body thinks you're hypothermic and… um. The blood vessels constrict..."

She crossed her arms, hiding her smile behind an increasingly cool façade. Kuririn flushed even more deeply, though he was still, amazingly, managing to hold her gaze. "And?" she said again.

"And…" This time he hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, as if he hoped she would not hear. "And then there's the important stuff, like… like knowing when not to quit and when not to fight. Or knowing how to go on living when you're dying. Knowing when… and knowing where… to look for beauty."

The wind swept through the branches of the tree, sending down a deluge of white-tipped petals. Juuhachigou studied his eyes through the curtain, disappointed, but not surprised, to see that they had finally dropped to the ground. Unsure of why she was suddenly concerned for his comfort, she sought to find a question suitable to boost his confidence. "What kind of tree is this?" she asked.

As she expected, he instantly brightened. "Oh, this? This is a Catalpa tree. Isn't it pretty? It's one of the only trees on Chikyuu that blooms in the summer. Well, I guess Cottonwood does, too… and Mock Orange, but that's a bush."

He drew in a quick breath then, looking interested, but his face fell almost immediately. "What?" she said.

He hedged for a bit, but it was half-hearted, as though the idea was too good to conceal behind reluctance. "Would you mind if I put a flower in your hair?" he asked.

Despite herself, she was taken aback. "My hair? What for?"

"I dunno, it would just…" He took a deep breath and finished in a rush, "look real pretty."

She tapped her foot once, twice. Now that he mentioned it she vaguely remembered seeing a flower in a woman's hair once before. The woman had been dead, actually –ki blast through the stomach, was it?— but she could recall thinking how pretty it had looked on her; how maybe the stem tucked behind the dainty cream-colored barrette had been gently plucked from the ground—by a lover, perhaps?—with the sole intent to please her. She could remember her intense hatred –not of the woman, as sense would dictate—but of the flower; symbols had always irritated her.

Kuririn obviously mistook her silence for refusal. "Well, uh, never mind, I guess," he said. He chuckled nervously. "I… I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was out of line. I'm sorry."

She snapped back to attention. "I didn't say no."

His expression did not change, though a rapid blink conveyed his surprise. "I didn't say no," she repeated. She crossed her arms. "You should stop making assumptions. I don't understand the purpose, but I haven't refused."

"You mean… you'll let me?"

She lifted a shoulder. After a moment the consternation slowly vanished into barely-concealed glee. "All right! This won't take a second."

In a move that barely disturbed the grass beneath them, Kuririn raised hi ki and eased up to the nearest branch. After a moment's search he murmured, "Here's a good one," and allowed himself to lower enough so that they were face to face. Juuhachigou held her breath as his gentle fingers smoothed away the hair by her ear. His face was a mask of tight concentration, as if he was an artist adding onto a painting already so superb that he was to the point of indulging himself. She could feel his breath on her cheek and the subtle waves of his energy nudging against hers, tickling her skin and tingling at the roots of her hair. There was a rush of heat in her cheeks; it took her several moments to realize that she was blushing.

The wind stole the hair from her other ear and brushed it across her nose. Kuririn finished positioning the flower and lowered his gaze. To her surprise the spark in them had intensified, joined by something at once both fervent and vulnerable. He hesitantly reached up and nudged the errant strand away, tucking it back where it belonged. "There," he said quietly. "I'm finished."

Her sensors were picking up irregularities. Seeing the warning lights beginning to flicker at the corner of her vision, Juuhachigou closed her eyes briefly. Erratic heartbeat, her sensors were telling her smugly: increased body temperature, dry mouth, anxiety. For all they were foreign, all of the changes were slight. In a way Juuhachigou feared her own reaction more than the situation itself –though certainly on edge, she was not bothered nearly as much as she should have been.

She opened her eyes again. Kuririn was studying her—too polite, she realized, to proceed without her permission. With this she felt irritation (why did he have to be so timid?) and then she surprised herself by feeling a sharp pang of longing. Her sensors instantly shrieked for her attention. Caught off guard and hopelessly confused, she found herself leaning in. Kuririn's eyes widened marginally, and a moment later he moved in to meet her, hope springing across his face.

The expression was like a splash of cold water. Jerked her back to her senses, Juuhachigou shook her head and took a step back. Kuririn stopped immediately, the hopeful look replaced by a slow, sad smile. Juuhachigou took several deep breaths. After a minute her systems slowly cooled down, allowing the fear to fade away. She felt herself flush again, first in embarrassment, then in something that was completely unfamiliar to her: shame. "Kuririn… I..."

Kuririn shook his head. He lowered himself to the ground and held out his hand. "Come on," he said. "There's a lot of things I still want to show you. Just up ahead is a grove I know you're going to love. Will you come with me?"

Juuhachigou stared at the proffered hand. Something was burning behind her lids. She blinked rapidly.

Kuririn looked up at her. His eyes were clear; nowhere in them was hurt or resentment. "Please?" he said softly. He tilted his head. "I promise it won't hurt."

A bird flitted overhead, dislodging another cloud of white petals. Juuhachigou shifted, slowly extending her hand. He took it. "Kuririn," she whispered again.

He smiled at her. Taken aback, she closed her mouth and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, allowed herself to be led. Together they wove through the bordering trees, through shadow and light and back again, in drafts heavy with petals and sunshine. Juuhachigou paused as they reached the edge of the grove, wondering what to make of her confusion. Before she had not realized that a feeling could manage to both speed up and hinder the flow of time, turning lifetimes into instances and summers into eternities. She had not ceased to be the huntress, but until now she had not thought it possible to be at once ensnared and set free. That, she supposed, was enough to end the season of the hunt: she was finding what she was searching for.

Kuririn gently tugged her hand. This time, she did not hesitate.

thus a play in four acts serves well for a prelude

(exeunt)