Disclaimer: You know the drill. I do not own Inuyasha, Inuyasha-related things, the song Asthenia by Blink 182, and Emperor Hirohito's quote at the beginning.
Painted
III. We Were
-
Believe me, I failed this effort
I wrote a reminder, this wasn't a vision
-
"Should we continue to fight, it would not only result in the ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation but would lead also to the total extinction of human civilization."
August 1945
When his father had told him that he was previously training to be a monk before he met his wife, Miroku had made it a personal mission to continue that path in his name.
The challenge had been made doubly hard due to the hereditary inheritance of weakness for women, and Miroku had exploited many loopholes in order to get where he was today. A student ready to be ordained.
Now, Miroku tried to be an honest man, and he dutifully confessed to a senior monk every single one of his 'undesirable thoughts.' The loophole was that this monk was Mushin, and for some odd reason, Miroku's misgivings were never reported to the other teachers. In fact, in the eyes of the other head monks, Miroku was a perfectly fine lad indeed.
It had been a long, hard road, but all his hard work was about to pay off. But now he was having another problem. He was having second thoughts. He was compassionate, yes, he cared for others, yes, but there was one problem. If he was made a true monk, he thought it would be quite disrespectful to his dear father to carry on in this manner and be a holy man. In addition, he wasn't quite confident that he was of the calibre the brotherhood wanted.
But he had made a vow to go through with it. And so he would.
After hearing the morning announcement, he wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the induction ceremony had been postponed indefinitely. On one hand, he wanted it to be over so the decision wouldn't be turning over and over in his head, and on the other, he knew that the world was in turmoil and the monks had to put in every effort to pray for the delusions of war.
He hadn't disregarded the earth-shattering blows that had fallen on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The three days between the bombings had been the worst for Miroku. People came from the cities, telling their horror stories and showing him the burns. He had lived in constant fear that he too, would perish in an explosion of mass proportion. This sort of fear was against his teaching, but he could not deny his humanity, and so he was scared.
Japan had surrendered a few days later, on the fifteenth of the month.
During the days that proceeded those events, the candidates for ordination were still expected to carry out their regular tasks, so Miroku elected to go on his daily alms collection alone.
He didn't pay much attention to the paths, he knew them well enough, so he carried on with the seemingly mundane task of jingling the rings on his staff and standing at the end of a bridge with a solemn expression on his face. He noticed nothing disturbing save for a few travellers running somewhat frantically up the paths.
When dusk had settled in, he began the trek back to the temple. Soon, the smell of smoke and ash became evident, and in the distance he could hear shouting and screams. His pace quickened.
The ambience grew louder, and smoke was now tangible and made his eyes water as he inhaled it.
Eventually, he came upon the temple, and his eyes met a horrible sight.
Thick grey smoke poured out of the doorways; the high gate at the entrance had fallen, now lying in shambles. A few stragglers fled the scene, carrying their torches, some colliding with Miroku in their haste. Some shouted in victory as pillars collapsed, brining the ornate roof of the temple crashing to ground.
"We've followed this- this religion, and look what it's done for our country!" a bystander yelled, and it seemed like the flames rose higher.
"All Buddhist temples shall be burned to the ground!"
He had underestimated the claim that the violence was over.
The image of the burning temple reflected in Miroku's wide eyes as he fell to his knees in front of it.
All his friends, Mushin-sama, everyone he had ever known-
His breath hitched in his throat.
--
Naraku tapped his foot lazily against the leg of his chair. "Well, we've lost," he commented to Kagura, who was whipping a broom, more violently than required, at the floor. "Don't you have anything to say to that, Kagura?"
She let out an inaudible exasperated sigh. "What do you want me to say to that Masuyo-sama? Boy, I'm really glad that two of our largest cities were blown to pieces?"
He merely smiled thinly. "Kagura, all these years and you still speak to me like that. I don't know why you do it."
There was a soft knock at the door and a young woman entered. She kneeled before Naraku and touched her nose to the floor in a bow.
"Ah, what a nice surprise," he remarked. "What brings you here today?"
The girl straightened, but still did not look him in the eye.
"Izumi Emi asks a favour of Masuyo-sama."
Naraku idly twirled a strand of his hair between his fingers. "What does she request?"
"She wishes for a two day leave to visit her hometown, Masuyo-sama."
He smirked. "And why, pray tell, would she want to go back there?"
Her tone began to grow strained. "Surely Masuyo-sama has heard of the destruction of Nagasaki and Hiroshima," she pleaded.
"And what if I have?"
"I- I want to see if everyone's okay."
Naraku stretched his arms out leisurely before regaining his arrogant composure.
"Denied. You are to remain here and carry out your duties."
"Incomprehensible bastard - " she muttered under her breath.
"I heard that wench. But I'll pretend I didn't, for your sake," he said, dismissing her. She stood up, dusted her yukata off, and left without a backward glance.
Kagura quickly resumed her cleaning.
"Can you imagine?" Naraku asked, seemingly talking to himself. "Ever since she was brought here, she's been incompetent, and after four years of breaking her down, you'd think I finally made some progress, but she turns around and completely contradicts that claim."
"I must disagree, Masuyo-sama, " Kagura cut in. "She possessed a fierce aura when she arrived."
"And now?"
"Your extreme usage of violence in her case has tamed it somewhat."
"Yes, she always did require more incentive than the others, now that I think about it. She was the only one to run away," he closed his eyes as he reminisced fondly. "I remember the lashing she received that night. I must have had her within an inch of her life. I would be surprised if she didn't still have the scars! Imagine, trying to flee from me, on more than one occasion, and failing each time? It's laughable."
"Isn't it enough though? She bends to your will easily enough."
"That is one thing. But she merely acts in that fashion in order to not be subjected to violence."
"Violence that is unnecessary. She must have noticed that you enjoy picking on her more than others."
"So she does. And she makes no effort to improve our relations. I particularly enjoy punishing her, the wretch."
Kagura sighed. "It's useless to reason with you Masuyo, I just wish that you'd...tone it down."
He chucked. "Why would I want to do that? Things are acceptable for now, she brought in a lot of money this week, and I expect that to continue."
--
Miroku sat in front of the remains of his home. The once elegant trees surrounding the temple were charred and smoking, the ruins of the building were surrounded by a thick layer of ash.
'They were nationalists,' he thought. 'Blaming this religion for all that's happened.'
"But instead of trying to rebuild their lives. They take more," he said aloud.
He had planned to make an attempt to search for survivors among the wreckage, but everything had been so heavily torched and destroyed he doubted he'd find anything. He moved a few heavy pieces, becoming thickly coated in ash in the process, but his efforts yielded nothing.
The sun was now setting, the sky coloured with mixed purple and orange hues. For once, Miroku was truly alone. He thought he'd been alone before, without his father and mother, but he realized the true reality of the situation.
He had wandered for what seemed like hours, and he was beginning to think he was lost. His initial objective was to get to the city and find an inn, but darkness was quickly falling and his surroundings all looked unfamiliar. He'd only been to the city once or twice in the past four years, and each time someone had accompanied him.
As soon as thought he would have to sleep on the ground that night, a grand and statuesque building came into view. It was a large house, with beautiful sakura trees and a small pond surrounding it. Thinking he must try his luck, he ran forward in the darkness.
--
"Ah, a newcomer!" Naraku exclaimed in delight as an unfamiliar face appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, actually, I was wondering if you had any accommodations available. I have a little bit of money with me."
Naraku shook the man's hand. "We always have room for a new guest, come in, you look quite dishevelled."
"I suppose I do. I come from a temple near here...it was torched by nationalists."
"My condolences. Are you a holy man?" asked Naraku in slight amusement.
"I was supposed to be, soon. It's all because of this...this fucking war," the man exclaimed in frustration.
"Well, we can help you relieve some stress," Naraku offered, leading the visitor into the room.
"You need to bathe, and get some rest. I have the perfect girl to help you."
He looked up. "I'm sorry, a girl?"
"Yes, all the girls here are always willing to help earn their keep."
The guest became slightly suspicious. "Help?"
"You'll see," Naraku laughed. "Kanna, go fetch Emi. She has a customer."
The small albino girl left the room silently.
"May I ask your name, sir?" Naraku inquired.
"Miroku," the visitor answered politely.
Naraku made to introduce himself as well. "And my name is-"
"You called for me?" a new voice interrupted in a bored tone.
"Ah, here she is," Naraku declared, giving her a warning look. "Emi, this is Miroku, see to it that he is cleaned and taken care of."
Sango paused. Miroku. She heard that name before.
"What are you staring at?" Naraku demanded.
She regained composure. "I'm sorry, Masuyo-sama. He is just very dirty."
"That's why you're going to clean him up. Now go."
Sango moved forward and bowed politely in front of her customer. "Please follow me."
Miroku just followed her silently. She was beautiful, this girl. A mass of deep brown hair was piled and twisted at the base of her neck, with three or four white flowers tucked into the sides. A silk kimono fluttered with her strides, stark white patterned with deep pink and orange foliage. He had only had a quick glimpse of her face, skin painted a pale white, lips and eyelids tinted a deep pink.
She led him outside of the house into a private bathhouse. Once inside, she turned around to him and bowed once more, obscuring her face.
"Does Miroku-sama wish for me to undress him?" she asked in a slightly strained voice.
"Is that customary?" he asked curiously.
"I am to serve you," she replied, circling him and untying the knot at his waist. She gathered the dirty outer robes in her arms and folded them. "I will wash these. Please bathe, and I will return momentarily."
He watched she left, holding her head high.
Not one to pass up an opportunity, he dropped the white furisode she had thankfully left on him, and sank into the warm bath he assumed she had drawn.
He had relaxed in the water for a few minutes when he heard her return. "I'll wash these for you as well," she informed him, taking the white inner robes and departing once again, leaving him to mull over his thoughts in peace.
'What was the name that man called her by?" he mused. 'Wasn't it...Emi?'
As if on cue, she returned, standing dutifully by the bath, folding her hands and bowing her head.
"Is Miroku-sama ready to be washed now?"
He was beginning to find this situation very odd. "I guess?"
Without a word, she dropped her fine silk kimono and pulled her plain inner robe up so it rested around her knees. A small table sat next to the bath where some soaps were laid out neatly.
"So," Miroku began, trying to fill the awkward silence between them. "So?" she echoed, and he felt something warm start rubbing at his back. He struggled to find words. "How long have you lived here for?"
The scrubbing paused, and then resumed. "Ouch, not so hard now," Miroku advised, the sponge being dragged across his skin with more force than required.
"Oh, sorry," she apologized. "What was your question?"
He slowly relaxed back into the sensations. "How long have you been here for?"
"Since I was thirteen," she answered distantly. "So, about four years. I'm seventeen now."
"That's a long time," he commented. "Do you like it here?"
Her nails dug into his skin. "It...could be better."
Wanting to change the subject, he racked his brain for another topic. "I didn't catch your name back there," Miroku remembered, as the sponge moved to his shoulders. "What was it?"
The scrubbing paused again. "Emi Izumi," she said flatly.
She decided to ask a question of her own. "Your robes. Are you a priest?"
"I was supposed to be. My temple was destroyed," he said quietly.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's alright. I don't think it's quite sunk into me yet. I feel like I should be feeling something more...but I don't. It still seems so unreal."
"Did you have family there?"
"My father died when I was still young, my mother too. I lived at the monastery with my father's friend, Mushin, since I was fourteen."
He stopped himself. Why was it that he was able to talk to this girl he had just met, about such personal things? Here he was, being washed by a girl he barely knew, talking about the tragedy of his life. He laughed inwardly, reflecting on what he had become.
He was shaken from these thoughts by her voice.
"I don't know where my parents are either, and my little brother. He must be twelve now. Ever since the bombing, I've been wondering if they're all okay. They could've been hurt..." she trailed off.
"They never came to see you in four years?" Miroku asked.
"They couldn't. I came from a farming village, far away from here. It would cost them a lot to come here to see me."
"You couldn't see them?"
"I've known nothing but this place since I was taken here."
"What are you-"
He was interrupted as she poured a bucket of water over his head. "You're finished now, I'll just fetch you a towel."
Sango wiped her feet off and went to the corner of the room to retrieve said towels. She clutched them tightly to her chest for a moment, shaken. Usually her charges never showed a smidgen of interest in her actual life. It was a cycle of pay and receive. Naraku made money, and she sold herself.
But Miroku, he seemed interested in her deeper than a physical sense, and she wasn't sure about this, but almost concerned for her. She'd had to stop him asking questions before she let out more than she was allowed.
It didn't matter what appeared different about him. If this had taught her anything, it was that money was the most important goal in life, and to get it, people would lie, beat, and exploit others.
She had lived four years of selling false love for money, money that she had not had a glimpse of save for the disgusting men pressing the bills into Naraku's outstretched hands, while he grinned in satisfaction at having increased at his fortune for the small price of a young girl's dignity.
"Are you okay over there?" his voice startled her from her musing as she blinked in surprise.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, rushing over to him and handing him the towels. "I'll just get your robes for you." Usually she treated the customers with sarcastic exaggerated manners, but she was compelled to be courteous to Miroku.
"You can turn around if you like," he suggested. "You look uncomfortable."
A blush rose in Sango's cheeks, a feeling that she thought she'd long forgotten. She complied, crossing her arms in front of her chest and facing a corner of the room.
He hurriedly threw on his robes and cleared his throat. She turned around, and bowed once again, remembering the formalities.
"I shall now escort you to the room," she informed him, straightening and motioning for him to follow her.
'She is really complex,' Miroku noticed as he followed her once again. 'One minute...she's sympathizing with me, the next she's suddenly become a cold servant again.
'Don't be careless,' Sango chastised herself. 'Why are you even thinking that he's different? That's why he's here isn't he? To fuck you and leave you.'
They were in the main house again, and Sango led him down a corridor into a room with the door ajar. Miroku noticed something suspicious once again about these rooms. He could hear...strange noises through the screens.
His attention diverted back to Emi, who was waiting for him in the doorway, fidgeting with the embroidery on her kimono. He went inside, and she slid the door shut.
The room was small, with a bed on one side, and a table with a vase of fresh flowers in the corner. Beside the bed, she was kneeling, and when he walked into the room, he suddenly felt cold.
He sat down on the bed, and rested his elbows on his knees.
"How does Miroku-sama wish to have me?" she asked in an emotionless tone.
"I beg your pardon?" he returned..
"Will he have his way with me? Or shall I undress myself?" she continued, in the same empty voice. Her hands moved to the front of her robes.
"Is this what you're-" Miroku exclaimed, his suspicions confirmed. She approached his seated form, her robes now pooled around her ankles.
"No- I don't want-" he began, but she had come too close. She pressed her lips to his firmly, and encircled her arms around him. He hadn't had many opportunities to kiss a woman, but this- it felt strange. Her lips were moving with his, she was touching him, but it seemed rehearsed. Something she did routinely, almost robotic.
His hands moved to her shoulders and he pulled her away from him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, keeping his voice low.
"Miroku-sama has purchased me for the night. I am only to please him." Her eyes held a sort of fear, and as he held her, she flinched as though he would hit her, rape her, or worse.
"This is...the brothel," he said in slow deliberation. "I had only heard about this place until...her."
He looked down at the girl he was grasping, her eyes downcast and lipstick smudged from forcing herself on him. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do," she argued. "I'm a whore, what else do you have to know!"
"I'm not going to hurt you."
She wrenched herself away from him, falling back onto the floor and gathering her discarded robes to her chest. He observed her frail form in the dim light, her hair slightly dishevelled and falling out of place, her smudged face paint and bare back.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
"What do you mean?" she responded, still looking towards the wall.
"Your back."
Her hands unconsciously reached behind her and traced one of the patches of darkened skin, then returned to her front.
"What is it to you?" she whispered.
"I want to help," Miroku automatically answered. "I want to listen."
There was a pause.
"When I was thirteen I tried to run away from here. Naraku found me and brought me back here. I received lashes across my back. This happened again three more times, each time he doubled the amount."
He was unsure of what to say, thankfully she kept talking.
"He said that if I didn't lose my virginity the next service, he would take it himself. He sold me to a disgusting man who had his way with me. After that, he was delighted, and tried to save me for the nastiest man who showed up. He hates me."
Something throbbed in Miroku's memory. "When you ran away...did you-"
"I met a boy who said he would help me," Sango whispered, her head turning to look at him. "It was dark, but I remember he was with a monk...I said I was sorry that he got hurt because of me, before Naraku took me away."
"Sango," he breathed, the name coming to him like the sun from behind a cloud. "But that's not your name, is it?"
She nodded. "They call me by a different name here. But it is me. Are you...you're him, aren't you?"
"Yes," he confirmed. "I think it was."
"But...you're alone too, aren't you? Your temple-"
"Burned down," he finished shortly.
"You'll be leaving then," she concluded, pulling her hairpins out. Long brown hair tumbled down her back as she did so, obscuring her scars.
"Do you think I'm going to leave you like this?" Miroku said incredulously. "I will help you escape."
"You don't have to," Sango declined. "I-It's the same as before. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I won't get hurt," he countered. "If I can avoid death I can avoid hurt."
"Why would you try? We - we don't even know each other. Hardly."
"Sango, you're the only one I do know," he said gently. "That counts for something."
He offered her a small smile. "Here," he said, standing up. "Sleep on the bed tonight. I'll just sit over here." He indicated a corner.
Her eyes travelled over him once, and then back to her hands. "No, you're the guest - my customer - you sleep on the bed."
"I refuse to accept that answer," Miroku declared, walking over to the corner and lying down on the floor. "This is comfortable enough." He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.
Uncertainly, Sango shrugged her robes on, sat on the bed, and attempted to lie down and sleep. She knew he was faking it so that she wouldn't sleep on the floor, but something in her heart stirred her.
She hated having to share the bed with those nasty clients Naraku always lined up for her. It was in a bed just like this where she had been reduced to a tool. But seeing this man, the single person who had offered her help, this war had left them with nothing but the skin on their backs.
She didn't know what to make of him. He too, was another person who had lost everything in the war. In a different sense, but still with the same outcome.
Even if he did want to help her, what could he do? They both had virtually nothing, no one to help, no one with power. She didn't even know why he was willing.
She pulled the sheets off the bed and lay down beside Miroku on the floor. She threw the blankets over them, and lay an arm softly across his chest. 'This is against everything you've stood by here,' Sango's mind berated her. 'You despise lying with men you feel nothing for.'
She craned her neck to observe him more closely. She hadn't seen much of his face since she was expected to bow in his presence, and now she could freely look at him all she wanted, even if he was pretending.
'Well, I'll put aside reason for now,' she decided tiredly. Today had been too intense, and sleep was now rapidly catching up with her. Besides, she didn't want Naraku to check on her and think she got away without disgracing herself further.
They were both alone, and for tonight, they could be alone together.
Painted: We Were - July 1st, 2004
This week I decided to put actual real reponses, since the reviews I'm getting are so nice! Thank you!
Vilja - Thank you so much for your review. I think this chapter is a little lacking in keeping in character, since there's a lot of things going on, but your commens mean a lot to me. The epilogue for void is coming soon too, trust me.
morelen - Thank you for your kind words! I'm just happy that some people are receiving it well.
firebird5 - Thanks, I really have lots of trouble with characterizatio, so any criticism to help me with that is very much appreciated. Miroku was fifteen when he first met Sango, who was thirteen. Now they are nineteen and seventeen, respectively.
ghettotrampoline - Thanks for the review! Anything you have to say really helps me to keep writing.
Lady Sango 7 - That honestly had to be THE best review I have ever gotten. When someone takes the time to really write a long comment like that, it has to be recognized. Thank you for taking the time to review this story, and just for that, I'm going to work extra hard on this fic. Sometimes it's hard to be inspired to write when you're just all by yourself, no beta, no other fanfic-buddies, and not getting much feedback, but this helps, it really does. Thank you!
I rushed this chapter, I don't know how evident it is, but I wanted to finish it before I left for a week-long vacation. I'm going to still try and write, so let's hope for the best. Thank you again for all your support!