A/N: Jikkan-chan and Arashi-chan don't really know much of anything about Japanese funeral practices; what we do know, we got off of the wikipedia dot org encyclopaedia entry (http/en. combined with Arashi-chan's Chinese heritage, and then corrupted as seemed proper. No disrespect is intended; we're just at the whim of the story, here…
Now, we feel that Aika is ever so much more neglected than Kakera… why don't more of you readers review this one/sniffles/ Please? We work hard on both…
Aika no Tsuki
A Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon fanstory by Arashinobara Jikkankakyoku
IV – Kaigan
Zoicite looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, his usual arrogant manner visibly subdued as he winced in pain. Queen Beryl's wrath had not been easy to weather: not only had he lost control of a powerful shadow warrior, but he'd fled the battle scene before retrieving the nijizuishou, which was now in Tuxedo Kamen's possession. That was two the cape-clad warrior had now, and Beryl was rapidly losing her patience and faith in her third general. The bloody welts across Zoicite's back proved that.
It was Kunzite who appeared, a frosty expression on his face and the black crystal in one hand. The white-haired man lightly tossed the nijizuishou locator onto Zoicite's pallet. "Queen Beryl grants another chance," Kunzite allowed a tiny bit of what could once have been human compassion into his voice. "Please don't throw it away. If you fail, you fail not only our Queen, but yourself."
Zoicite attempted to sit up and Kunzite relented enough to help him to his knees. "Twenty lashes," the strawberry-blond man whispered, voice tight as he tried not to let the pain get the better of him. "Like a common criminal!" His green eyes were alight with cold fire. "Tuxedo Kamen will pay for this indignity."
"Do not allow thoughts of vengeance to distract you from your mission," Kunzite warned, ice-blue eyes narrowing.
"Oh, no," Zoicite smirked in spite of the way the deep cuts on his back burned. "We currently have two of the nijizuishou in our possession and between them, our enemies have three. After we locate and take for ourselves the remaining ones, we will turn our sights to those that Tuxedo Kamen and the senshi brats possess. It will be then." he looked up at the other man. "I don't think it will be too much of a trouble, really. Last I heard, poor, dear little Moon was absolutely devastated by Enseiyamu's death. Mortals like her are weak and prone to all the wrong sorts of emotions. If I play my cards right…"
Kunzite turned to leave, cape swirling about his strong frame as he left. "Do what you must, but do not waste this chance. It is likely to be your last one."
Zoicite lay down again, one white-knuckled hand clenching itself around the dark crystal. "Show me," he intoned softly.
A laughing redheaded woman brushed dirty-blonde bangs out of a grinning young man's face. She glowed ethereally with the aura of the sixth Shadow Warrior.
Then, the image was snuffed out as suddenly as it came. Zoicite's smile was feral, and it did not relax; not even in sleep.
She was dressed in a black skirt and blouse, her hair left down as a sign of respect. The crisp, dark material contrasted sharply with her porcelain skin and golden hair. She looked far older than her age of fifteen –
– And he hated it.
Black aged her, cast features that often laughed and grinned into sombre shadow instead of her customary endless light. Her three usual friends were there too, as well as a fourth addition that looked strangely like Usagi herself. Two were in mourning black and the other two, like him, were in the traditional undyed linen, but it was Usagi's drawn, blank face that stood out from their supportive and gentle ones. Her ankle-length hair, whipped about by a strong breeze, contained far more life than this strange, beautiful girl who moved ever so slowly and painfully.
Mamoru watched Usagi and wondered what on earth she was doing at Ensei Yamu's funeral.
He looked over the pitiful gathering and saw that there were two off-duty doctors, another intern and maybe a nurse or two. Other than the five girls standing at the very back of the group, near to a Roman Catholic priest and — Yumeno Yumemi? What was she doing here? — only a handful of stupid reporters who had tagged along to get some gossip on a dead nijizuishou carrier had come to pay their last respects to a very lonely man.
Anger spiked in his stomach as he caught sight of a camera lens. They actually had the audacity to make a profit out of the laying to rest of a dead man? A blue-white light flashed as the priest began to recite the sutra, causing Mamoru's body to stiffen in fury as he reached the end of his tether with a snarl.
Unable to take it anymore, he turned away from the haka, the Ensei family grave, in the middle of the prayer and shoved his way to the back of the group; much to the disbelief and disapproval of several strict-looking matrons. Grabbing a random reporter as well as the photographer by the collars, Mamoru shot a sinister stare at the other journalists that had them scrabbling to get away. The ones whose shirts he'd gotten handfuls of squirmed unhappily but he shook them sharply, like one would chastise a naughty puppy.
"This guy's life was screwed up enough as it is," Mamoru growled. "If you screw up his death, print just one incorrect or disagreeable word…" he let the threat hang, and watched with sadistic amusement as the reporter paled.
"You can't do anything," the photographer complained breathlessly, held a foot above the ground as he was.
Mamoru cocked a brow at him. "I assure you, your lawsuits and the like aren't going to be much help to you when you've got a broken neck."
"You're completely psycho!"
"Domo, so glad you noticed." Mamoru began walking towards the graveyard's exit but turned his head as he caught sight of a cobalt gaze. The Usagi look-alike nodded to him, eyes twinkling with humour, and he grinned back before continuing his quest of 'escorting' the two from the area.
"…didn't want this story anyway," the reporter complained, notebook dangling in half-limp fingers. "The boss sent us to do the job!"
"You could have refused it," Mamoru rolled his eyes. "What man with honour would leech off an innocent emphysema victim's death?"
"Emfy-what?"
Mamoru gave up and dumped them unceremoniously and a little roughly on the gravel outside the iron-wrought gates, taking a disturbing amount of delight in their grunts of pain as they fell. "Not even researching him? A disgrace to your profession. I retract my earlier statement – if I see you so much as print a word about him, good or bad, expect a visit from me."
As the dark-haired junior turned away, the photographer was suddenly distracted by his camera combusting in a flash of golden sparks and smoke and so did not see the satisfied smirk on Mamoru's face.
Somewhere ahead of her, a priest was mumbling something in some language she didn't understand. Somewhere behind her, there were fierce hissings, answered by an angry rumble; a bit of a scuffle ending in a small explosion.
Usagi couldn't bring herself to care. All that mattered was the stone edifice before her, the last flecks of red ink still clinging to Ensei Yamu's funeral name.
His funeral name.
Her hand crept furtively to her blouse, clutching at her brooch.
Your fault.
Some day, she was sure, it would freeze her fingers off, burn away her hand.
'I know.'
So few people here… So few to mourn, so few to care, that the temple in charge had skipped the wake entire; had already cremated his body and were holding the funeral at the same time they interred his ashes; had only allowed him such a long funeral name because it, like his place here, had been bought with his wife's and carved already.
So few.
Was this what it meant to be a nijizuishou bearer? To be strong and wonderful — Jou and his magical power and countless admirers; that handsome priest, so spiritually strong but so very gentle, so kind to Naru when she needed him; that sweet boy Urawa Ryou, so smart and with more than enough foresight to know Ami was the perfect girl; dear Yumemi-chan, whose beautiful paintings kept alive a love that might have been forgotten long ago —
— but if that were so, why Ensei Yamu? Why this? Why an exhausted man in constant pain who might have been glorious in his youth, now remembered as nothing more than that poor old man who died of emphysema?
'That poor old man who died of incompetent healing…'
Her hand tightened on the brooch; she didn't quite register that her knuckles were white, or that she was irritating skin already fragile from the constant assault of her nails, so intent was she on the stone.
But clearly someone else did, and she was already covering Usagi's hand with her own, gently coaxing her fingers from around the brooch and giving it over to an already quietly-tutting Ami for inspection.
Usagi was quickly finding that Aino Minako was very difficult to ignore.
Minako gave her a gentle smile and a pat on the shoulder, and nodded her head towards the girls on the other side; Usagi looked obediently and was rewarded by Makoto's encouraging grin and a quick dumb-show involving much sleight-of-hand showcasing of various treats the Jupiter senshi seemed to have secreted away on sundry portions of her person.
She tried to smile. Makoto'd been popping out of nowhere with newer and tastier titbits every half-hour, it seemed like; everyone was trying so hard…
Whatever expression Usagi managed, it seemed to satisfy Makoto; she beamed and might have actually started to do a little dance if not for Rei's reprimanding elbow. The sharp pain in her ribs seemed to remind the brash but well-meaning girl of where she was; she immediately turned forward and stood almost as if at attention, cheeks tinged with pink. Rei rolled her eyes in Usagi's direction, but smiled gently and nodded to the priest.
He was almost at the end of the sutra, and with it would end the ceremony… she thought… she hadn't been paying much attention to the whispered explanation the novice had given of the changes, too wrapped up in holding back tears (of grief or rage, she wasn't sure any more) that no-one would understand from Tsukino Usagi. What should she care, after all, that Ensei Yamu was dead? Stupid, heartless, careless, clumsy little failure —
A hand was at the small of her back, gently guiding her forward. She blinked and saw that most of the gathering had already dissipated, leaving only a little huddle just before the grave's fenced recess, silhouetted by a small fire. "They're making the offerings now, Usagi-chan," Minako said in her ear. "Do you have anything you want to leave for him?"
"Aa, hai, just a moment—" she reached for her purse, and then bit her lip in horrified realisation. "Oh, no — Minako-chan, I never did think of anything, and Luna told me to leave it but I forgot completely…" She bit her lip on the wail. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid bunny…'
"Shh," the taller girl said gently, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "You'll have something, I promise. Look in your heart, and see what you find."
Usagi wanted to question, wanted to beg for reassurance, for guidance, but the look in Minako's eyes brooked no denial. The Goddess of Love's disciple was utterly confident in her sister's ability to think of something — no, not just in this, in her capability of creating a proper offering for Ensei Yamu.
She was utterly confident of Usagi in everything.
How could something be so utterly humbling and so terribly uplifting both at once…?
"Hai," Usagi said softly, and stepped into line.
She saw, but did not quite register the offerings. An eagle, falcon and kestrel pinion wing feather tied together with fisherman's twine joined an old and battered-looking deck of cards in the flames. A leather purse, contents clinking merrily, and a jade pendant carved into the face of a dragon.
Freedom.
Luck.
Fortune.
Protection.
'Such meaningful tokens,' she thought desperately. 'I don't even deserve to be here, let alone offer something.'
The man in front of her reached into his pocket and retrieved a fresh, thornless rose, its petals a dark red and glistening with dew.
Love.
He tossed it gently into the flames, and the fire flared up to claim the rose, the dew evaporating in the heat. Usagi's breath caught, and then he turned around. Startled dark blue eyes looked into hers before they softened.
"Usagi-chan, it's your turn," Mamoru said gently, brushing past her. She didn't even respond, although some dim part of her recognised the emotion in his voice as care.
"From the heart," she whispered aloud, and closed her eyes, cupping her hands together, kneeling on the stone before the pyre. "I can do that, I think."
She didn't know just how long she knelt there, but as her soul calmed, she began to take little strands of her energy and weave it into something beautiful, something rare, something that would symbolise all she felt. As a sudden wind whipped up the dried leaves lying around, she opened her eyes slowly.
She saw the world about her far more acutely than should have been possible: the scents, the sights, the sounds. She could taste the wind and feel the uncomfortable black skirt chafing her skin. A small orb of silver energy writhed between her cupped palms and, spark by spark, she began to build the rose. First the centre, then each petal, sepal, leaf, thorn. A mental twist solidified it, and another filled the almost-invisible flower to the brim with colour.
Black for sorrow, darkness, grief and
Thorns for pain, suffering and a
Rose for love, beauty, poetry and a
Black Rose for rarity.
Breathing hard from the effort it took, she plucked the revolving flower from the air with trembling fingers and threw it shakily into the fire.
Minako was at her side in an instant, supporting her, and Usagi felt Makoto make as if to lift her into her arms. Too tired to resist, she closed her eyes and darkness enveloped her.
The five girls left the graveyard swiftly, and three pairs of astonished eyes followed them before darting back to the black rose in the fire.
It wasn't burning.
They stood there for a moment, frozen, until a murmur of Latin phrase broke the stupefied silence; Mamoru turned to see the Catholic priest crossing himself. "A second miracle," he murmured to himself in English. "Blessed Mother, to see a saint being born…"
Mamoru grabbed his shoulder before he could stop himself. "Miracle? Saint? Are you talking about Usagi-chan?"
"What?" the shorter man blinked, a little shaken. "Usagi…? Is that her name?"
"Yes, Usagi, the girl with the ankle-length blonde hair who has no more business wearing black than a fish has to fly. What did you mean second miracle?"
"Hai, Father," piped in Yumeno Yumemi, reminding Mamoru of her presence. "Why are you calling Usagi-chan that? She's a wonderful girl who brings light into the life of everyone she meets, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her seijo."
"Wouldn't you?" the priest asked her. "I was almost certain —"
"I asked you a question, Father," Mamoru said quietly. "Please don't change the subject."
"My apologies," the priest said, making no attempt to break the hold on his shoulder. "But, that girl — Usagi-san? Not quite a month ago, I saw her in another graveyard, the one my own church looks after. A friend of hers was grieving and came to me for solace… we were attacked by a man — a sorcerer — who seemed to know the little redhead — I think he had killed the one she was grieving for. He taunted her; I tried to reprimand, and he replied by —"
"— by tearing out your heart," Yumemi guessed. "And to your surprise, it was a beautiful gem —"
"— and the loss hurt so much that my pain and anger turned me into a monster," he confirmed. "You know."
"As did Ensei Yamu," Yumemi said softly.
The priest nodded, crossing himself again. "Rest his soul, yes. The sorcerer made me attack those little girls, but then she came and bathed me in light, healing me of all the pain… surely she must be one of His Own, to work such miracles?"
'But that was Sailormoon who healed you,' Mamoru wanted to protest. 'I saw her. Look at this if you don't believe me — recognise your heart, father?'
Sailormoon, not Usagi. Not the golden bunny, the carefree Odango Atama. The super-powered ditz who tripped over air and was so clearly scared out of her mind but still risked her life day in and day out couldn't be his innocent little Dumpling. He simply wouldn't allow it.
'As if you'd have any business denying her?' said the sensible part of his brain, but he ignored it. No, she simply couldn't be Sailormoon. Never mind that she'd been devastated for the past two days — 'Ever since Sailormoon was,' — or that she'd freaked out over a simple joke about not killing him if he screwed up — 'When Sailormoon was clearly convinced that she'd killed Ensei-san,' — or that she had attended the funeral of a man she couldn't possibly have known.
'At which she made an offering every scientist in the world would tell you was impossible.'
His eyes turned to the perfect black rose, still cradled in the fire, each velvety petal still as fresh and perfect as when it had appeared. The flames seemed to lick at it almost reverently, as if it, too, were in awe of what it held.
When it appeared. When it had been made.
'When she conjured it, Chiba,' something in his head said acidly. 'Let's call a spade a spade.'
"…Let's say that she did heal you," he said cautiously, letting go of the man's shoulder. "I'm not saying I agree with you, I'm just allowing for the possibility — if I were to introduce you to her, what would you do?"
'Sailormoon or no, I am not letting the bunny get dragged off and locked up in Rome.'
The priest looked as if he wanted to laugh out loud, but kept it down to a quiet chuckle out of respect for the dead. "My dear sir, are you questioning my intentions?" he asked, brushing down his cassock.
Mamoru felt himself colour a little as Yumemi-san giggled. "Um… er… well…" He coughed lightly. "It's just that Usagi's been having a really hard time lately, and if you make this 'saint' business out as some sort of obligation, then…" he let the sentence trail off.
'From object of ridicule to towering menace in fifteen seconds,' commented the almost snide little voice. 'Not bad. Perhaps later you can essay a transformation from Mamo-baka to, oh say, Mamoru-kun? Perhaps even — dare I hope — Mamo-chan'
Mamoru resolutely ignored himself.
The priest looked sympathetic. "No, no — I understand, and she was very obviously in distress. One does not pressure an incumbent saint…" He gave Mamoru a gentle smile. "But — she helped me when no-one else could have. If I can aid her in some small way…"
'Then you'd honestly consider adjusting your stance as a devout atheist.' "..I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you talk to her," he said aloud. "Of course, how and where to introduce you would be a problem — I can't exactly bring you to the arcade and introduce you as — you know, Father, I don't think I caught your name."
The other man grinned. "Well, our conversation did start rather abruptly," he pointed out. "Robert Aves."
"Chiba Mamoru."
"And I'm Yumeno Yumemi," the artist put in, "And I think I have an idea on that."
"Ne, Yumemi-san?"
"Well," Yumemi admitted, "while I came to pay respects to someone I had no idea I should know, I must confess that as soon as I saw you and Usagi-chan, Mamoru-san, I knew I had to ask you to model again."
Mamoru sighed. "Again? I thought we agreed that I would only do it once —"
"You agreed you would do it once, 'out of respect for the good coffee'," the artist reminded him. "I'm trying to lure you with the prospect of a new package of Jamaican Blue Mountain and the hope of cheering Usagi-chan up."
Mamoru gave an embarrassed cough. "Hai, demo —"
"Mr. Chiba — Chiba-san —" the priest began.
"Mamoru, onegai," the junior blushed. "And if it will help Usagi-chan…" he trailed off, a faint tinge appearing on his cheeks. "Anou… it'd mean a lot to m – her friends." The older girl and priest snorted in unison, and Mamoru's blush deepened before he controlled himself and put a lid over his emotions. "I'll ask Usagi, then, for both of you."
"Iie, iie," Yumemi interjected. "Father, you will come to watch their little modelling stint, will you not?"
Father Aves' eyes twinkled with laughter. "Of course; how could I refuse such an invitation?"
Mamoru resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shuffled uncomfortably. "Anou… I have a psychology paper due in a few days." He nodded to both of them, feeling a little awkward, and then retreated hastily. "Ja!"
The two left in the graveyard exchanged glances and Father Aves offered Yumemi his arm. "Perhaps I may see for myself some of your art?" he asked.
Yumemi nodded, smiling broadly before she turned to watch Mamoru's tall form disappear from view. "There is something about Chiba Mamoru…"
"Perhaps there is. We shall just have to wait and see, hmmm?"
She couldn't sleep.
Usagi tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. The window was open, but there was no breeze to cool her fevered skin. Her covers had long since been discarded, and she sat up abruptly, unable to bear just existing like this any longer.
'This is what I get for taking a nap in the middle of the day,' she thought wildly, half-rising from the bed. 'No sleep when it actually counts… school tomorrow, too.'
Usagi wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself gently. The moonlight streaming through the window washed her golden hair out with silver, and she turned her face towards its soothing radiance. Moonlight held a serene, cool kind of beauty, Usagi reflected dazedly as she soaked it up desperately. Perhaps that same beauty would be absorbed into she, Usagi, and lend her some kind of grace and power, both of which she so obviously lacked.
"Se – Usagi-chan, daijoubu?" Minako's voice breathed into the younger girl's ear.
To her own surprise, Usagi didn't jump or startle but instead replied dreamily; "the Moon is full tonight, Minako-chan. She watches over her children, and sometimes I wonder if she considers me worthy of being one of her scions?"
Hair that smelled of autumn twilights and vibrancy in direct contrast to Usagi's spring nights and delicate wildflowers draped over the smaller girl's shoulder as Minako leaned her chin there, wrapping slender arms firmly around Usagi's trembling frame. "I do not know why you punish yourself so, Usagi-chan, but you must understand that Queen Selenity herself could not have been prouder of you. You have done no wrong to anyone but yourself by taking on useless guilt."
"Demo –"
"Let it go," Minako's voice lilted, a soft croon in the trembling girl's ear. "Let it go, Usagi-chan."
"Minako…" Usagi breathed.
"It's not your fault… none of this is your fault… you should be living a peaceful life, yet you hung up the robe of normality to assume the mantle of duty. Let it go, bara-ko…"
There was a silence fraught with contradiction then, and Minako was terribly, terribly frightened for one agonising moment…
…and then Usagi let a tiny moan, a fat tear splashed noiselessly into golden hair – which girl's, it was impossible to tell, they were so close to one another – and went limp in Minako's embrace.
Minako pressed kisses to her princess' hair, her own eyes welling up with an emotion terrible and beautiful all at once. "Cry it all out," she choked, wanting so badly to cry along, but knowing that she must be the anchor in this storm. "Demo, Usagi-chan, know that our sisters and I will always love you; aishiteru… let it go, let it out, itoshii…"
When the storm had passed, Usagi spoke, her voice hoarse with weeping. "Minako-chan?"
The older girl looked anxiously at her charge. "Hai…?"
"I feel… hollow. But it's a good hollow. Does that make any sense?"
Minako felt her lips curve into a small smile. "Hai, it does. And if it is a good sort of hollow, then it means you have cried out all the horrible things in you."
Usagi turned to face Minako, the area around her eyes puffy and red, but the crystal-clear gaze reassuringly familiar. Minako felt her pulse quicken. "Usagi-chan?"
And then there were a pair of lips pressed to hers, slightly salty from tears, but the kiss was chaste and sweet. Minako's eyes widened, and then it was over.
Usagi looked shyly at the pole-axed Minako and pressed an even lighter kiss to the corner of the other girl's mouth. "Domo," she said lowly, and stood, reaching over to retrieve her broach. The transformation was swift and silent.
Minako finally found her voice and bowed her head reverently. "Sailormoon…?"
"There is someplace I must be, Minako. Will Venus come with me?"
Blue eyes met blue, and smiled.
"Always," Minako promised.
A moment later, two golden-haired young women leapt from the window and bounded away over the rooftops, hand in hand.
Mamoru jerked awake, Tuxedo Kamen's tuxedo and cape coalescing around him as he rose off the bed. The masked man's eyes, hidden behind a white half-mask, flickered briefly to the glowing numbers of the digital alarm clock before he left the bedroom silently, ghosting over the balcony rails and onto the next building with an easy leap.
It was several moments later, when he was halfway to his destination, that he realised the determination and underlying fear that always signalled Sailormoon was in danger, was not present. Increasing his pace, he realised that he'd lost his top hat somewhere and shrugged mentally. It'd appear again when he next henshined, although he wasn't sure if what he was feeling was relief or not. He always did hate that thing.
Tuxedo Kamen allowed himself a brief smile, and landed soundlessly in the branches of an enormous tree. He crouched, letting one gloved hand rest against aged bark, looked around to get his bearings — he hadn't really paid attention to the landmarks on the way — and froze.
"Funny that we should be here now," he muttered to himself, his lips twitching into another smile, this time a bitterly ironic one. He slunk from shadow to shadow until he heard a high, clear voice speaking softly and at some length, a similar but slightly more dulcet one sometimes answering it.
"Sailorvenus… England… Sailor V?"
"Hai… come back… much pain… bond…"
"…men nasai… disrupted your life…"
"Iie… glad to be here…"
Tuxedo Kamen's eyebrows shot up as he spotted the conversing pair. One was, of course, Sailormoon. She looked considerably better than she had the last time he saw her, and she was leaning into the gentle embrace of a new senshi, this one in a ginger skirt and wearing a chain of interlocking golden hearts like a girdle about her slender waist. As he watched, the orange-clad senshi leaned down to brush a tender kiss across Moon's temple, and Kamen felt a short, vicious stab of jealousy; his gloved hands clenched into fists almost of their own volition.
Just as that moment, she whirled, blue eyes flashing with menace. "Crescent…Beam!" she shouted, pointing a gloved finger at the tree he had just vacated. He watched in horrified fascination as the very branch he had been standing on was sliced clean through, falling to the ground with a muffled crash.
"Venus-chan, what is it?" he heard Sailormoon ask, alarmed. "Oh, the poor tree…"
"I swear I heard something, bara-ko, and I'm going to —" Sailorvenus looked questioningly at Sailormoon as the younger blonde raised a hand, head turning this way and that before a bright smile – his heartbeat quickened – materialised on her face, and he realised just how much he had missed it.
"Iie, iie!" Sailormoon laughed in relief. "Tuxedo Kamen?"
The man in question debated with himself for a moment if he should show his presence. In all honesty, the cold way Venus had simply lashed out at the merest suspicion of an outsider had him a little rattled. This new Senshi was not like her fellow 'pretty soldiers' at all.
…But Sailormoon was still here, at the Ensei family gravestone, and there were a few things that Yamu-san might have wanted known.
He cleared his throat. "Will your new bodyguard strangle me with her belt if I say yes?"
Sailorvenus chuckled darkly. Moon pouted at her, but giggled a little herself. "Mou… Tuxedo Kamen, that wasn't very gentlemanly of you. Venus-chan is really a very nice person; she won't hurt you. Come out and say hello."
Kamen eyed the new golden-haired Senshi warily, not sure if he agreed with Sailormoon's assurances. From the look in her eye, Venus was not at all a 'nice person', but was for the moment willing to pretend to be one if it made her leader happy.
'Oh, marvellous. The tigress is letting you near her cub. Perhaps if you are a very good boy, she'll let you leave again without first tearing both your arms off…'
…but when Sailormoon was looking at one with those pleading sapphire eyes that could lure birds down out of trees and draw tears of blood from a stone, what man could resist?
Certainly not he.
Tuxedo Kamen glided out of the shadows and into the little pool of moonlight that illuminated the haka; pausing just at its edge, he made Sailorvenus a little bow and wished suddenly that he still had a hat to doff. Stupid as it was, it was a fairly good throwing object; if he really screwed up, he could've flung it in Venus' face and made his escape…
"Tuxedo Kamen, miss. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Sailorvenus," that worthy replied. Drat the woman, she was enjoying this. "Charmed, I'm sure."
Sailormoon looked unhappy for a moment, but seemed determined not to let the tension between her new 'bodyguard' and her erstwhile protector deter her from her purpose. "They made the offerings for —" she took a deep breath. "— for Ensei Yamu-san today," she said softly. "I couldn't exactly come like this —" she gestured vaguely at her seerafuku. "—I mean, what if his family blamed me and threw me out or something? – so I came when nobody could see."
"Anyone who would blame you —"
"He wouldn't have wanted you to —"
Both speakers fell silent, staring at each other. Venus raised an eyebrow at him. 'Speak,' her eyes said. 'All that I might say, she has already heard. This is why I let you near her at all, because you might have something new.' Her lips twisted slightly. 'Don't screw up.'
He threw her a sardonic look before turning to Sailormoon, who was staring at both of them, confused and sad. "Ensei-san had outlived all his family," he told her gently. "And if he hadn't, I think they would have thanked you — no. They would have blessed you."
She gave him a look of complete incomprehension. "Blessed me? For killing him?" Her brows drew together. "For not fixing the problem, for not making him better? You think they would have blessed me for letting him die?"
He approached her slowly, shaking his head; half an eye was on Sailorvenus, but all the rest of his being was concentrated solely on the girl he was very much afraid might be the love of his life, grieving for the lonely old man in his mind's eye. "He'd been in long-term care for over six years, Sailormoon. Six years all alone, with no friends but a few busy medical staff — always being constantly reassigned — six years labouring for breath so strongly he had heart attacks two and three times every two months, each time praying that this one would be the end."
Her eyes were locked on him; one gloved hand clutched Venus' at her shoulder, the other went to her throat.
"But he never died, Sailormoon. No matter how hard he prayed, no matter how earnestly he begged — something always brought him back."
He went to his knees before her, and dared to take that free hand in both of his. Let her bodyguard kill him for the liberty; only let her allow him to finish the sentence.
"Ensei Yamu didn't want to be better, Sailormoon. He wanted to be free."
He allowed his words to sink in, bowed his head and stood slowly; squaring his shoulders but never releasing her hand. Unable to stop himself, he inclined his head ever so slightly to brush the gloved fingers with a chaste kiss and then straightened, surprised he had not been struck dead where he stood. "Pray, think on my words," he requested, feeling Venus' near-murderous stare boring a hole right through his head but seeing only the faint, demure blush Sailormoon herself wore.
Sailormoon blinked slowly, and shut her eyes, inhaling slowly. "I can do that, I think," she breathed, words almost lost in a sudden whisper of wind.
Tuxedo Kamen's eyes snapped right back to her, but she didn't seem to have realised what she'd said.
…she whispered aloud, and closed her eyes, cupping her hands together, kneeling on the stone before the pyre. "I can do that, I think."
'That tone of voice… the words themselves… shimatta, it can't just be coincidence…'
And then a crescent-moon earring caught the light of the moon and twinkled merrily at him. For a moment, all he could see was silver moonlight and gold crescents…
And then he furrowed his brow and wondered exactly what he'd just forgotten. He knew it was important, and it was nagging away at the back of his mind.
His attention, however, was caught as Sailormoon removed her tiara and a moment later, several long, golden hairs fell to the ground. She ignored Venus' and Kamen's shocked looks and knelt to tie the severed tresses around the perfect black rose.
Rising gracefully, she turned to Tuxedo Kamen and – to the surprise of all present – wrapped slender arms around him in a thankful hug. "Domo arigatou gozaimasu," she whispered into his vest, and let go before he could do much more than stare dumbly at her. He gathered his wits and dignity about him once more and with a curt nod, a smile that was somehow warmer than usual and a flutter of crimson and black, he was gone.
Sailormoon turned to her self-appointed bodyguard and Venus smiled grudgingly. "He's fast, I'll give him that."
Moon could only smile as she gazed up into the treetops. 'He watches over me yet…' "Let's go home."
Glossary
kaigan — enlightenment; spiritual awakening; opening one's eyes to the truth.
sutra — A prayer or litany in the Buddhist or Hindu faiths.
haka — the family grave. Looks somewhat like a small, rectangular stone courtyard, fenced in on three sides, with two steps leading up from the path to a platform on which there's a shelf-like arrangement under a slab of stone carved with the names of the family's departed. http/en. wikipedia. org / wiki/ Japanesefuneral has pictures.
usagi — 'bunny; rabbit'
seijo — 'saint; holy woman'
ja — in this usage, 'later', as 'see you later'
daijoubu — 'are you alright?'
bara-ko — 'rose child'; 'my little rose'
aishiteru — 'I love you,' in the most formal and devoted form
itoshii — 'lovely; dear; beloved; darling'
Don't blame Jikkan-chan for the hint of yuri in this chapter. It's all Arashi's fault.
