3. A Hearth and a Cup of Tea
- Shirou Tora Byakko
An empty house.
A silent room.
The outside world seemed to fade behind the paper doors as they slid to a close.
He felt alone.
Here in the house in which he was supposed to call home. He had never felt welcome inside of its walls. There was a sort of strained indifference that remained hidden in the hushed whispers of its quarters. Not that he could complain. Never had he felt that he had the right to. After all, he was the one who had. What was the appropriate term for it? Abandoned her? Yes. That was it.
Even if he could've explained that, he still couldn't explain to her what followed. The encounter with Okina. Shishio. then Himura. Then Shishio again.
Explaining that would've been about as easy as taking away the world 'lecherous' from Okina's persona.
Looking beyond him, he allowed himself to select a place for the figure that he had chosen to carry back with him. Sometimes fate had this uncanny way of turning your entire life around completely, letting you face the start while standing at the edge of what you thought was the end.
Finally he had set her in his room. Stripping her of her garments had been a bit of an ordeal, since the damp fabric had managed to mold itself onto her wounds. Each time he tried to take them off, they would re-open the healing injury, peeling the thin layer of skin and letting the blood flow once more. By the time that he had finished dressing her wounds, he had wrapped her in an old robe of his, not wanting to incite an argument should he have gotten something from any of the women's rooms.
He wasn't even supposed to be there. He was supposed to be resting at the inn by now, making his way to Tokyo by train once the sun had risen. He was supposed to be speaking with the Mibu no Ookami.
Instead he had found himself back in this house, which was a little closer to a home... Deep inside he wondered inwardly if he had been lucky or unfortunate that Omasu, Ochika and Misao had decided to visit Himura and his friends for a while. Kuro and Shiro, last time he had heard, had gone to the market, thoughtfully pointing out that the goods would be less expensive in the evening since the vendors would need them to be sold before they rot.
Okina was. Elsewhere was the only correct term that he could find. Since the geisha houses acquired more of their 'stars', his 'long walks to clear the mind' had become much more frequent, lasting past the strokes of midnight.
Aoshi nodded solemnly to himself. At least that was something he had been thankful for. Had the old man been there to welcome his unexpected arrival, he wouldn't have known what to explain concerning the girl.
"An old friend." He would've said. Or maybe he would've worded nothing at all. When he thought about it once more, maybe he wouldn't have asked. Maybe he would've known.
Looking back, Aoshi watched as she stirred slightly, wincing as she leaned against a scrape. Watching her made him think of the dancer at the geisha house for a moment, before he sighed to himself. "This is what we're forced to be." He had whispered in a voice barely above audible.
Somewhere within him, he thought he remembered saying the same things once before.
Moriya.
He remembered a fraction of her name clearly enough. It held the kind of memory equivalent to the sunset. You could watch the sun slowly lower itself into the horizon but by the witching hour the thought of it in your mind could seem centuries old.
Now, as he began to brew a pot of Hoji Cha for himself, he finally allowed his mind to weigh his memories once more.
She had felt like a ghost from a past life; one that was more haunting than Beshimi or Hannya due to the fact that she was still alive.
"Moriya."
This time he had whispered her name to himself, inwardly lost in the memory behind the syllables.
His whole life somehow seemed hauntingly familiar. As if he was a stranger staring at the shattered pieces of how he had lived, watching the people that he knew and had known. The Ancient gods seemed to deny him piece of mind and instead allowed his probing thoughts to dig up each memory and scratch it open, letting it bleed like an old battle wound.
For indeed, some memories went deeper than the blades.
How long he stood there, watching the tea slowly come to a boil he did not know. The rest of the world seemed to be drowned out by the sound of the rain that had resumed outside.
Kuro and Shiro had come in moments earlier but he paid little to no attention to their arrival. A surprise to see you here. Came one comment. The reply was a careless shrug. It turned out that they had already eaten at the restaurant. Had he? Again he shrugged. He didn't really seem in the mood to talk. Then again, he never was.
They had gone to bed upstairs after talking for a few more moments, leaving him to his tea.
By the time he had lifted the pot from the hearth, he heard the paper doors slide open once more. Okina? His mind sighed and told him other wise. Turning around, he caught sight of a familiar form tucking the folds of his garments for comfort ability. They were a few sizes too big on her.
Facing the hearth once more, he moved the pot to the table and tried to look for a suitable sentence. Even just a word that would allow him a more tangible grip of the situation that fate had so calmly presented himself with. After a while, he brought out the only statement that he could pull out of his vocabulary without a confused stutter.
"Tea?"
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Author's notes: My third chapter in three days. Just to point out, this is a revised edition, the earlier being re-hashed and re-edited. Footnotes have also been added to chapter two to explain the origin of Miss Moriya more clearly. I apologize for the mix up. I had apparently uploaded a draft version. Rest assured that I will be paying more attention to my updates next time. Thank you and good day.
