Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. I don't own the rights to
ANYTHING like my dear Aoshi-sama or the spunky little Misao-chan. No,
Nobuhiro Watsuki owns them and many other respected business-types.
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Tears of Buddha
Chapter 2: Reflection
By Starhopper
Drawing the long sleeves up to her heart, Misao leaned against the wall outside Aoshi's door and cast uncertain eyes to the little stream coursing through the Aoiya. She wasn't at all sure if she wanted to sink down into a lonesome corner somewhere, hide her face in the ornate silks, and let the tears that she now choked back dampen her new kimono.
Then again she could take the much more traveled path of wearing her emotions on her sleeves by shuffling through the kitchen, smashing pots and pans, and altogether ignoring Okina's cries to cease and desist with her mindless rampage. She continued to weigh her options as the rhythmic fall shower increased in intensity, concealing Misao and all her frustration with a heavy curtain of water.
With a nod of her head, the ninja opted for the nearly forgotten plan C: go straight to her room and cry there. Leaning forward, Misao suddenly remembered her new outfit. It was a gift from her friends in Tokyo, the opalescent fabric hand-picked by Himura, the ocean-blue flowers tracing the sleeves and hems hand-stitched by Kaoru, hand-delivered by Sanosuke, and the message whispered to her by the very knowing Myojin-brat. "Kaoru said this will turn his Ice-Blue eyes."
But her dear friend was wrong, Misao thought with a frown. Aoshi's Ice Blue Eyes remained immobile, never turning, never spinning with delight as she presented herself to him. Here she was, eighteen years old, mature and ready to be the lady on Aoshi's arm. She had thought that this new outfit would finally prove to him that she wasn't a child anymore. Only a lady could tie the obi just so, and kneel just so. Now the lady-like kimono would suffer a fate worse than the tomboy that pretended to wear it.
Misao stepped out into the rain without ceremony, tilting her head up to the heavens to breathe in the scent of Kami-sama's tears, letting them run together with her own. Steps slow, hair plastered to the sides of her face, she appeared the picture of loneliness. Unknown to her, the rest of the Oniwabanshuu were watching her walk through the storm and cursing Shinomori Aoshi's name under their breaths.
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Misao was drawn out of her reverie as she put sandal to wood bridge. She closed her eyes, and turned to lean over the railing. In the rippling waters below, her wide, innocent eyes stared back at her from a face she didn't readily recognize. It seemed disheartened as never before, totally crestfallen. A shining happy moment of pouring tea for Aoshi-sama flashed before her eyes but she blinked away the memory, not the least surprised to see a tear distort the image floating on the water's surface. She glanced up at the sky that grew darker with her moments of defeat, silently praying with her eyes that the rain would never end. She had too many tears for just one rainy day.
With one last nod of acknowledgement down to the reflection, Misao started on the short walk to her room. As she slid open the shoji, she paused in the doorway to look down at herself reprovingly. All hopes of being the lady for Aoshi-sama had slipped away just as the sea-green pigment of the flowers had run off of into the cream kimono. She looked like a wet weasel, shivering and shaking beneath the floodgates, hiding beneath a rag of silk tossed to the wind by some maiden scorned.
Drawing her legs up to her chest, Misao slid down the doorframe, pulling the material absent-mindedly around herself, not sure of what else to do. As she tugged at one of the sleeves, she heard a jingle. Her curiosity peaking, she stopped sniffling and held the sleeve by the shoulder while shaking it vigorously. Two small bells dropped to the floor, one with a sharp, but low note, the other more high pitched that actually bounced after its partner settled into the wood. She stared down at their shapes, running the morning's events through her head trying to discern as to how they made their way into the sleeves to begin with. Waking up, staring hopefully at the new kimono hanging above her futon, asking some of the other members to help her tie the obi, finding the Kodachi in the training hall and sneaking into Aoshi-sama's room to place them over his futon, pouring and singing about pouring tea for her dear Aoshi-sama, being frustrated at shuffling to his temple when she really wanted to run and jump, and finding that he wasn't there, set down the tray to pick up two round bells lying by a recently vacated meditation spot -
Misao cautiously stretched out a long finger from the cover of the silk and tapped at the one that had fallen nearest to her. It delivered the highest, happiest pitch she had every heard that kept ringing well after she touched it. A small smile crept upon her lips as she picked it up with her right hand, the bell continuing to resound with what was almost laughter. She rolled it around her fingers, listening to its song, softly humming its tune while she closed her eyes.
Unconsciously she stretched and hit its partner with her big toe. It returned the favor with another low tone that sounded more like an approving, 'hmm' at the back of a man's throat. Startled, she brought out her left hand and picked it up between her middle and forefinger, shaking it back and forth in front of her eyes before setting it down into her right palm, along with the laughing one. Burying her head into her left arm, Misao rolled the bells around her fingers, the bell's duet lulling her into a state of zen-peace.
That, like her happiness that morning, was once again short-lived.
With the advent of thunder, Misao shuddered, dropping the bells one by one onto the wooden floor where they sat, while the flashing lights of lightning arched over the polished brass. A cold gust suddenly swept through the doorway, blowing out the slowly dying candle hiding behind her folded futon in wisp of smoke. It rose in a lustful dance to be taken by the wind, and its final wish was granted as the thin trail was engulfed by its invisible partner, and swept back out the door, twirling in the wind's embrace as it whipped by Misao's face, smothering her in envy and self- pity.
Unconsciously she raised a finger to touch the flower tucked behind her ear, but let that finger drop as she realized it had fallen. And she had crushed it in front of his eyes. Her hand crumpled against her chest and she held it there as if hoping the whole incident was just a dream and she still wore Aoshi-sama's gift with pride. It wasn't often that he trusted anyone, or showed his appreciation to the few close friends he had. So when they were standing alone in the garden, and he had bent to pluck the dandelion from the ground, and slid the stem so slowly into place adorning her with one symbol of a possible affection that he held dear for her, her throat had closed in on itself before she could say anything. He had just stared at her with the flower in her hair, and walked off towards the temple, shaking his head.
And she had worn that weed for over a week now, determined to prove to him that she was greatly honored by his gift. Before she slept, Misao let it drink in a cup of water, and in the morning, had counted the petals to make sure none had fallen. She hoped that every day when she brought him tea, he saw how she took the greatest care to keep it alive. Yes, she understood how hard it was for him, that even after all the death and betrayal life had plowed him into headfirst, he could still trust this child he had raised. But couldn't he see that this child he had left behind at the age of six wasn't a child any more? Did he sense it in the line of her jaw, the matured refinement of how she held herself in check when she was around him? Even with the way she had accepted the flower, she had strived to be adult about it. Giddily dancing around him like an idiot wouldn't have been the adult thing to do, but standing wordless and surprised was.
She sat up, a sudden clap of thunder boiling over the clouds as her thoughts frothed over her emotions. Why had he given her the flower the way he did? If he had thought her a child, he would've handed it to her, letting her do what with it as she pleased. But he had personally adorned her with it, knowing that once it was in place, it wasn't going to be removed. Could he, was he, was he claiming -
Misao gripped onto her hair, forcing herself to shake her head, to believe that he couldn't possibly have given her that flower as the only way to let her and the rest of the world know that she was -
His.
That was all wishful thinking, brought on by the rising fever that she no doubt would be suffering from soon. It was all childish thinking that would have to go away soon if she ever wanted to be the lady for Aoshi-sama to walk with under the falling cherry blossoms.
With this thought and persistently charging wind, Misao picked herself up from the doorframe and as she closed the shoji, looked across the garden. There, filling the thin doorway of his room, sat Aoshi-sama, his steel eyes intently studying her every movement from the cover of the rain. She paused, her hand poised over a wooden bar, gazing at him through wide ocean set eyes that roiled with their own storm, tears willfully crashing over their corners. She wanted him to see this rejection she felt as he sat satisfied with watching her from afar, while she would gladly run through the rain if only to stop inches from his chest, just so that she could gaze upon him with her own eyes unhindered by sheets of water, her voice overriding the growl of thunder roaring behind them as she told him all that she had felt, all that she felt, all that she would continue to feel.
Instead of watching her with a predatory gaze that conveyed no emotions except a human's natural right to satisfying his curiosity. He didn't care. He didn't care that despite all the pain he put her through, she would continue to throw cautious glances over in his direction like this long one, while her heart poured out volumes of how deeply she loved him. If only he would just learn to read between the lines, maybe he would understand.
And might care.
Cracking under this pressure, Misao choked back a sob, letting the tears trace lines down her face even as she held the cry quiet in her heart. But she never let her head fall or give into the demands of an old obsession turned true love. Holding her head still, she closed the shoji door, keeping eye-contact with him until she heard the clack of wood meeting wood.
Then she fell. Her legs turned into the puddles that rippled over the ground as her Aoshi-sama took his first cautious step into the garden.
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Tears of Buddha
Chapter 2: Reflection
By Starhopper
Drawing the long sleeves up to her heart, Misao leaned against the wall outside Aoshi's door and cast uncertain eyes to the little stream coursing through the Aoiya. She wasn't at all sure if she wanted to sink down into a lonesome corner somewhere, hide her face in the ornate silks, and let the tears that she now choked back dampen her new kimono.
Then again she could take the much more traveled path of wearing her emotions on her sleeves by shuffling through the kitchen, smashing pots and pans, and altogether ignoring Okina's cries to cease and desist with her mindless rampage. She continued to weigh her options as the rhythmic fall shower increased in intensity, concealing Misao and all her frustration with a heavy curtain of water.
With a nod of her head, the ninja opted for the nearly forgotten plan C: go straight to her room and cry there. Leaning forward, Misao suddenly remembered her new outfit. It was a gift from her friends in Tokyo, the opalescent fabric hand-picked by Himura, the ocean-blue flowers tracing the sleeves and hems hand-stitched by Kaoru, hand-delivered by Sanosuke, and the message whispered to her by the very knowing Myojin-brat. "Kaoru said this will turn his Ice-Blue eyes."
But her dear friend was wrong, Misao thought with a frown. Aoshi's Ice Blue Eyes remained immobile, never turning, never spinning with delight as she presented herself to him. Here she was, eighteen years old, mature and ready to be the lady on Aoshi's arm. She had thought that this new outfit would finally prove to him that she wasn't a child anymore. Only a lady could tie the obi just so, and kneel just so. Now the lady-like kimono would suffer a fate worse than the tomboy that pretended to wear it.
Misao stepped out into the rain without ceremony, tilting her head up to the heavens to breathe in the scent of Kami-sama's tears, letting them run together with her own. Steps slow, hair plastered to the sides of her face, she appeared the picture of loneliness. Unknown to her, the rest of the Oniwabanshuu were watching her walk through the storm and cursing Shinomori Aoshi's name under their breaths.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Misao was drawn out of her reverie as she put sandal to wood bridge. She closed her eyes, and turned to lean over the railing. In the rippling waters below, her wide, innocent eyes stared back at her from a face she didn't readily recognize. It seemed disheartened as never before, totally crestfallen. A shining happy moment of pouring tea for Aoshi-sama flashed before her eyes but she blinked away the memory, not the least surprised to see a tear distort the image floating on the water's surface. She glanced up at the sky that grew darker with her moments of defeat, silently praying with her eyes that the rain would never end. She had too many tears for just one rainy day.
With one last nod of acknowledgement down to the reflection, Misao started on the short walk to her room. As she slid open the shoji, she paused in the doorway to look down at herself reprovingly. All hopes of being the lady for Aoshi-sama had slipped away just as the sea-green pigment of the flowers had run off of into the cream kimono. She looked like a wet weasel, shivering and shaking beneath the floodgates, hiding beneath a rag of silk tossed to the wind by some maiden scorned.
Drawing her legs up to her chest, Misao slid down the doorframe, pulling the material absent-mindedly around herself, not sure of what else to do. As she tugged at one of the sleeves, she heard a jingle. Her curiosity peaking, she stopped sniffling and held the sleeve by the shoulder while shaking it vigorously. Two small bells dropped to the floor, one with a sharp, but low note, the other more high pitched that actually bounced after its partner settled into the wood. She stared down at their shapes, running the morning's events through her head trying to discern as to how they made their way into the sleeves to begin with. Waking up, staring hopefully at the new kimono hanging above her futon, asking some of the other members to help her tie the obi, finding the Kodachi in the training hall and sneaking into Aoshi-sama's room to place them over his futon, pouring and singing about pouring tea for her dear Aoshi-sama, being frustrated at shuffling to his temple when she really wanted to run and jump, and finding that he wasn't there, set down the tray to pick up two round bells lying by a recently vacated meditation spot -
Misao cautiously stretched out a long finger from the cover of the silk and tapped at the one that had fallen nearest to her. It delivered the highest, happiest pitch she had every heard that kept ringing well after she touched it. A small smile crept upon her lips as she picked it up with her right hand, the bell continuing to resound with what was almost laughter. She rolled it around her fingers, listening to its song, softly humming its tune while she closed her eyes.
Unconsciously she stretched and hit its partner with her big toe. It returned the favor with another low tone that sounded more like an approving, 'hmm' at the back of a man's throat. Startled, she brought out her left hand and picked it up between her middle and forefinger, shaking it back and forth in front of her eyes before setting it down into her right palm, along with the laughing one. Burying her head into her left arm, Misao rolled the bells around her fingers, the bell's duet lulling her into a state of zen-peace.
That, like her happiness that morning, was once again short-lived.
With the advent of thunder, Misao shuddered, dropping the bells one by one onto the wooden floor where they sat, while the flashing lights of lightning arched over the polished brass. A cold gust suddenly swept through the doorway, blowing out the slowly dying candle hiding behind her folded futon in wisp of smoke. It rose in a lustful dance to be taken by the wind, and its final wish was granted as the thin trail was engulfed by its invisible partner, and swept back out the door, twirling in the wind's embrace as it whipped by Misao's face, smothering her in envy and self- pity.
Unconsciously she raised a finger to touch the flower tucked behind her ear, but let that finger drop as she realized it had fallen. And she had crushed it in front of his eyes. Her hand crumpled against her chest and she held it there as if hoping the whole incident was just a dream and she still wore Aoshi-sama's gift with pride. It wasn't often that he trusted anyone, or showed his appreciation to the few close friends he had. So when they were standing alone in the garden, and he had bent to pluck the dandelion from the ground, and slid the stem so slowly into place adorning her with one symbol of a possible affection that he held dear for her, her throat had closed in on itself before she could say anything. He had just stared at her with the flower in her hair, and walked off towards the temple, shaking his head.
And she had worn that weed for over a week now, determined to prove to him that she was greatly honored by his gift. Before she slept, Misao let it drink in a cup of water, and in the morning, had counted the petals to make sure none had fallen. She hoped that every day when she brought him tea, he saw how she took the greatest care to keep it alive. Yes, she understood how hard it was for him, that even after all the death and betrayal life had plowed him into headfirst, he could still trust this child he had raised. But couldn't he see that this child he had left behind at the age of six wasn't a child any more? Did he sense it in the line of her jaw, the matured refinement of how she held herself in check when she was around him? Even with the way she had accepted the flower, she had strived to be adult about it. Giddily dancing around him like an idiot wouldn't have been the adult thing to do, but standing wordless and surprised was.
She sat up, a sudden clap of thunder boiling over the clouds as her thoughts frothed over her emotions. Why had he given her the flower the way he did? If he had thought her a child, he would've handed it to her, letting her do what with it as she pleased. But he had personally adorned her with it, knowing that once it was in place, it wasn't going to be removed. Could he, was he, was he claiming -
Misao gripped onto her hair, forcing herself to shake her head, to believe that he couldn't possibly have given her that flower as the only way to let her and the rest of the world know that she was -
His.
That was all wishful thinking, brought on by the rising fever that she no doubt would be suffering from soon. It was all childish thinking that would have to go away soon if she ever wanted to be the lady for Aoshi-sama to walk with under the falling cherry blossoms.
With this thought and persistently charging wind, Misao picked herself up from the doorframe and as she closed the shoji, looked across the garden. There, filling the thin doorway of his room, sat Aoshi-sama, his steel eyes intently studying her every movement from the cover of the rain. She paused, her hand poised over a wooden bar, gazing at him through wide ocean set eyes that roiled with their own storm, tears willfully crashing over their corners. She wanted him to see this rejection she felt as he sat satisfied with watching her from afar, while she would gladly run through the rain if only to stop inches from his chest, just so that she could gaze upon him with her own eyes unhindered by sheets of water, her voice overriding the growl of thunder roaring behind them as she told him all that she had felt, all that she felt, all that she would continue to feel.
Instead of watching her with a predatory gaze that conveyed no emotions except a human's natural right to satisfying his curiosity. He didn't care. He didn't care that despite all the pain he put her through, she would continue to throw cautious glances over in his direction like this long one, while her heart poured out volumes of how deeply she loved him. If only he would just learn to read between the lines, maybe he would understand.
And might care.
Cracking under this pressure, Misao choked back a sob, letting the tears trace lines down her face even as she held the cry quiet in her heart. But she never let her head fall or give into the demands of an old obsession turned true love. Holding her head still, she closed the shoji door, keeping eye-contact with him until she heard the clack of wood meeting wood.
Then she fell. Her legs turned into the puddles that rippled over the ground as her Aoshi-sama took his first cautious step into the garden.