Sometimes it's difficult to know whether you're coming or going.
Soujirou stared at his hand, still frozen on the Western-style wooden door, and wondered at this sudden thought, staring into the darkness. Was he *coming* back to Kyoto, to visit Saitou-san and get directions to where Himura-san lived? Or was he *going* from Kyoto, to get directions where Himura-san lived?
He frowned. No wait.that wasn't quite it.the phrasing was off.
Was he *coming* to Kyoto.no, was he *going* to Kyoto.coming, going, coming, going.
He knew what he meant, he just couldn't even think it to himself.
"Ahou. Move."
Soujirou stepped aside, smile unconsciously brightening, to make room for the Wolf of Miburo himself. "Yada na, Saitou-san, gomen nasai." The boy laughed and ran a hand through his hair, as the tall "policeman" brushed past him to stand in the sun. "I just got stuck thinking in the doorway. It's been happening a lot lately. I think."
Saitou took a drag on his cigarette, the tip a miniature sunset, and lifted a white-gloved hand in laconic salute.
"Your problem, boy, is that you're *not* thinking." He blew a plume of smoke out. He raised a sardonic brow. "You've been often stuck thinking in doorways?"
"Iie, Saitou-san. Only just now, I th--only just now."
A twist of the wrist and ash flicked away, speckling the ground gray. He glanced at Soujirou, and there was a slight, though unmistakable, narrowing of his wolf-gold eyes.
Soujirou wondered at that. He hadn't thought it possible for Saitou-san's eyes to get any narrower without closing completely--they were already slits in his face, through which he glared disdainfully at the world--but apparently he had been mistaken.
"Are you here for a reason?"
"Hai, Saitou-san. Would you be so kind as to direct me to Himura-san's residence?"
The eyes impossibly narrowed further. "Why?"
Soujirou moved to stand next to Saitou, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and watching the people bustle by in the street, chattering to each other, carrying packages wrapped in cloth or thick crackling paper, working women with their hair daintily covered in white kerchiefs and men with straw hats' round brims covering their eyes. So many people, and how many of them had suffered in the Juupongatana's attacks?
"I want to see him again, Saitou-san. I want to speak with him, talk to him about his ideals. There's so much that I don't understand--" a smirk crossed Saitou's thin lips at this, he definitely agreed with Soujirou about that, "--and that I need to ask him. I've learned a little, but I want to know more."
"Very admirable," said Saitou, deadpan. He glanced at his cigarette and then dropped it to the ground, grinding out its ruddy glow with his heel. "Is that all you've come here for?"
Is that all you've come here for?
Such a simple question surely required a simple definitive answer, yet Soujirou could not bring himself to simply say either yes or no. Yes, he had come for directions, for a specific location, a destination. No, he hadn't come here for that alone. To put his mind at peace and see Kyoto, the very place where his life had so dramatically changed.
Yet here he was, and he felt curiously unfulfilled, standing unnoticed beside Saitou and watching the people pass by. There was no sign of that fateful period during which Shishio-san had implemented the beginnings of his Kuni-tori, of the destruction that had taken place when Kamatari-san and the others had attacked; really, an amazing amount of repair had been accomplished after Soujirou had left. The people of Kyoto did not recognize him; he was not one of those who had actively terrorized them. So they did not fear him and they did not hate him.
He could scarcely believe it, but he identified what he was feeling as.disappointment? Surely not! How could anyone be disappointed that nobody hated him on sight? How could anyone feel that vague plummeting of the stomach that mothers did not pull their children away and men stand fearfully but protectively in front of them at his passing?
Perhaps it was that he was unrecognized. After all this, the epoch that marked the second turning point in his life (the first being Shishio's taking him under his wing), he was unrecognized. But perhaps, he admitted, that was also a good thing, not matter how disappointing.
Perhaps.
He couldn't help wondering how it was that Himura-san felt about people whispering in fright the name of Battousai and cowering at the sight of that cross-shaped scar.
"You're thinking now," Saitou observed, voice breaking in upon Soujirou's internal monologue, "but you haven't answered my question."
Soujirou looked at him. Nobody recognized him here. There were no ghosts here to confront but those of his own conjuring--and anyway, it would have been counterproductive to his current rurouni's goal to help people to terrify them with his passage. Being unrecognized was, therefore, a good thing.
There was little here for him in Kyoto. Perhaps he might, after this visit with Saitou, visit the Aoi-ya and make amends.if he could. He wasn't certain. After all, there was that incident with Misao-san to consider. Her reaction to his presence had not been reassuring. It could count as penitence of a sort, though. After all, wasn't that what he had become a rurouni for, to atone for the past as well as to find his own truth?
Yes.
There was his answer.
Soujirou smiled. "Hai, Saitou-san. That's all I've come here for."
Soujirou stared at his hand, still frozen on the Western-style wooden door, and wondered at this sudden thought, staring into the darkness. Was he *coming* back to Kyoto, to visit Saitou-san and get directions to where Himura-san lived? Or was he *going* from Kyoto, to get directions where Himura-san lived?
He frowned. No wait.that wasn't quite it.the phrasing was off.
Was he *coming* to Kyoto.no, was he *going* to Kyoto.coming, going, coming, going.
He knew what he meant, he just couldn't even think it to himself.
"Ahou. Move."
Soujirou stepped aside, smile unconsciously brightening, to make room for the Wolf of Miburo himself. "Yada na, Saitou-san, gomen nasai." The boy laughed and ran a hand through his hair, as the tall "policeman" brushed past him to stand in the sun. "I just got stuck thinking in the doorway. It's been happening a lot lately. I think."
Saitou took a drag on his cigarette, the tip a miniature sunset, and lifted a white-gloved hand in laconic salute.
"Your problem, boy, is that you're *not* thinking." He blew a plume of smoke out. He raised a sardonic brow. "You've been often stuck thinking in doorways?"
"Iie, Saitou-san. Only just now, I th--only just now."
A twist of the wrist and ash flicked away, speckling the ground gray. He glanced at Soujirou, and there was a slight, though unmistakable, narrowing of his wolf-gold eyes.
Soujirou wondered at that. He hadn't thought it possible for Saitou-san's eyes to get any narrower without closing completely--they were already slits in his face, through which he glared disdainfully at the world--but apparently he had been mistaken.
"Are you here for a reason?"
"Hai, Saitou-san. Would you be so kind as to direct me to Himura-san's residence?"
The eyes impossibly narrowed further. "Why?"
Soujirou moved to stand next to Saitou, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and watching the people bustle by in the street, chattering to each other, carrying packages wrapped in cloth or thick crackling paper, working women with their hair daintily covered in white kerchiefs and men with straw hats' round brims covering their eyes. So many people, and how many of them had suffered in the Juupongatana's attacks?
"I want to see him again, Saitou-san. I want to speak with him, talk to him about his ideals. There's so much that I don't understand--" a smirk crossed Saitou's thin lips at this, he definitely agreed with Soujirou about that, "--and that I need to ask him. I've learned a little, but I want to know more."
"Very admirable," said Saitou, deadpan. He glanced at his cigarette and then dropped it to the ground, grinding out its ruddy glow with his heel. "Is that all you've come here for?"
Is that all you've come here for?
Such a simple question surely required a simple definitive answer, yet Soujirou could not bring himself to simply say either yes or no. Yes, he had come for directions, for a specific location, a destination. No, he hadn't come here for that alone. To put his mind at peace and see Kyoto, the very place where his life had so dramatically changed.
Yet here he was, and he felt curiously unfulfilled, standing unnoticed beside Saitou and watching the people pass by. There was no sign of that fateful period during which Shishio-san had implemented the beginnings of his Kuni-tori, of the destruction that had taken place when Kamatari-san and the others had attacked; really, an amazing amount of repair had been accomplished after Soujirou had left. The people of Kyoto did not recognize him; he was not one of those who had actively terrorized them. So they did not fear him and they did not hate him.
He could scarcely believe it, but he identified what he was feeling as.disappointment? Surely not! How could anyone be disappointed that nobody hated him on sight? How could anyone feel that vague plummeting of the stomach that mothers did not pull their children away and men stand fearfully but protectively in front of them at his passing?
Perhaps it was that he was unrecognized. After all this, the epoch that marked the second turning point in his life (the first being Shishio's taking him under his wing), he was unrecognized. But perhaps, he admitted, that was also a good thing, not matter how disappointing.
Perhaps.
He couldn't help wondering how it was that Himura-san felt about people whispering in fright the name of Battousai and cowering at the sight of that cross-shaped scar.
"You're thinking now," Saitou observed, voice breaking in upon Soujirou's internal monologue, "but you haven't answered my question."
Soujirou looked at him. Nobody recognized him here. There were no ghosts here to confront but those of his own conjuring--and anyway, it would have been counterproductive to his current rurouni's goal to help people to terrify them with his passage. Being unrecognized was, therefore, a good thing.
There was little here for him in Kyoto. Perhaps he might, after this visit with Saitou, visit the Aoi-ya and make amends.if he could. He wasn't certain. After all, there was that incident with Misao-san to consider. Her reaction to his presence had not been reassuring. It could count as penitence of a sort, though. After all, wasn't that what he had become a rurouni for, to atone for the past as well as to find his own truth?
Yes.
There was his answer.
Soujirou smiled. "Hai, Saitou-san. That's all I've come here for."