The Hundred Item List
marketblade
By Leishe
"Eggs! Eggs for sale!"
Tinkle.
Metal twisting in the breeze, and music.
"Fiiishhh! Fresh Fiiiish!"
Cluck, cluck, cluck. Bakaww!
The sound of pattering feet on dry, dusty ground. And a baby crying.
"Hey! Give me back my doll, you big meanie!"
"Ha-ha! Make me!"
"Here little girl, would you like a paper balloon?"
A door slid open, and a female voice called out. "O-kay! The Akabeko # 2 is now open for lunch!"
Click. Click. Snap.
Mumble, mumble, mumble. Four old men huddled over a shogi board.
"Fish! FIIIIIIIIISH!"
Soujiro had been walking through the bustling Kyoto marketplace for a little over ten minutes, now. The sun beat down on his back as he made his way through the crowd of people passing through.
As he observed the myriad of faces flashing by, the young man found that he didn't recognize any of them.
'Maybe because I didn't go to the marketplace that much,' he mused.
Gurrrgle.
He stopped, all of a sudden, looking down at his stomach in surprise. That empty, unpleasant feeling was beginning to grow again, just as it had done yesterday, the day before, and during the past week.
Soujiro put a hand over his complaining abdomen. He was hungry again. Blinking, the wanderer decided that it was time to have lunch, or, in his case, to find a way to get something to eat before the heat and that empty feeling got the better of him, as it did on some days.
"Mochiiii!"
…and the food vendors weren't helping, either.
The sheath of his sword clinked a bit as he stepped forward, and the sound of metal on metal only reminded Soujiro that he didn't have any money to spend, as he had left all of his belongings minus his sword back at the Juppon Gatana headquarters. Was it a year ago? Two years?
He really didn't remember.
"Apples! Get your juicy Fuji apples riiight here!"
A man was calling out to the people, sitting beside a cart full of red, delicious-looking apples. There they were, about a hundred of them, glistening in the sunshine, begging, eat meee…eat meee…
Soujiro tore his eyes away from the cart, reminding himself that it was wrong to steal. Even if he could. It would be oh-so easy. Besides, it was the cart owner's own fault if he wasn't able to protect his wares from petty thieves.
The strong live and the weak die, Soujiro thought, remembering Shishio-san. But what did Himura say again? You must protect the weak?
"Apples! Who wants apples?"
The young man shook his head, and walked off at a pace a little quicker. Although he was hungry, although he was hot, Soujiro was still smiling. It was a habit that wouldn't die, but the former Tenken wasn't really worried .
Gurrgle.
'You'll survive another day,' Soujiro told his stomach, 'and stop complaining.'
.0o0.
Misao was sitting down at the Shirobeko, as Tae's sister had decided to call it, and was having lunch. Well, maybe having lunch was a bit of an understatement. Rather, the young woman was gobbling lunch.
"Sae! Two more orders of tonkatsu, please!"
"Will I put it on the Aoiya's tab?" a faint, female voice called back.
"Hai! And thanks!"
A table away, two middle-aged men were talking quietly to each other. One of them glanced uneasily at the heartily eating Misao, and nudged his companion lightly.
"What?"
"Look at that girl, Yori. She eats like …like nothing I've seen before! It scares me."
The other man chuckled. "You know what they say, she's a growing kid. It's normal, you idiot."
"Still…" the man named Yori glanced at her warily. "I don't like her."
Misao, of course, was oblivious to all this, and continued downing rice bowl after rice bowl. Smiling contentedly to herself, she patted her stomach after a while, and let out a sigh. Her eyes travelled to the open door of the restaurant. It was a little past eleven, and Aoshi would probably be finishing lunch, wherever he was, right now.
A small smile crept up her lips.
She would see him later, in a few days, when he returned.
.0o0.
He decided to go looking for a sword. Kikuichimonji-norimune, his current weapon, the one given by Shishio, was efficient, light and readily mastered. It suited him perfectly, but it was the one sign that he was, indeed, the Tenken, and Soujiro wanted to get rid of whatever was left of the smiling killer.
"Another sword…" he murmured, "But which?"
One that wouldn't kill people, a voice on the inside told him. Useable, but not fatal.
Soujiro's blue eyes widened. He knew the answer. And as ironic as it seemed, the young man had an inkling that his path as a wanderer might be just a bit similar to that of Himura's.
His mouth twitched into a half-smile, but not a real one. Life really does play tricks on unsuspecting people, he thought.
.0o0.
"…excuse me, but do you know of any sword shops around here?"
Thirteen shops past, and no one he had asked had given the young man a decent answer. Passerby either ignored him, avoided him or shot him a glare and walked past a bit faster.
Soujiro was a patient one, however, and continued asking around. There was probably at least one person in this part of Kyoto that had a sword for him, and the young man wouldn't stop asking until he found out.
Wooden wheels of all sorts and all sizes hung from the roof of the store that Soujiro peered into. At first, it seemed that the wares were unguarded, but the wanderer knew better, and stepped into the shop, careful not to step on any of the wheels that were laid out on the dirt floor.
There, in a corner, hidden behind a whole basket of small wooden cogs, was the shop owner. He was counting his earnings, Soujiro saw, and shaking his head. Apparently, they were not enough.
"Um," the wanderer said.
At the sound of another voice, the short man behind the basket jolted up in surprise, quickly pocketing the money.
"Y-yes?" he said, looking up at the boy with slightly surprised eyes.
Soujiro smiled reflexively. "Would you know of any sword shop nearby?" he asked. It was the fifty-seventh time that he had repeated that question.
The man shook his head, and pointed to the next stall, a large fruit shack, where two women—a young one, in her thirties, and an old one—were arguing over something.
"Ask them. They know," the dark-haired man said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Soujiro nodded and smiled his thanks, bowing slightly and walking over to the fruits. As he approached it, high, shrill voices pierced the air around him.
"The price of the mangoes is too high! Sayuri gave me half that last week!" said a pitchy, female voice.
"Bah! I've got nothing to do with Sayuri! Now, pay up!" A croaking, demanding old woman replied, frowning and balling her bony fist.
"Give me a thousand yen off, and I will!"
"A thousand!" squawked the old woman incredulously, "preposterous!"
Soujiro smiled. "…ah, pardon me ladies, but—"
"Okay, then, I'm not buying these! Any of these!" The younger woman proceeded to drop the bag of mangoes violently back on the counter.
The vendor waved her hands around in protest.
"Wait! All right! All right! I'll cut five hundred off, and then we have a deal!"
A small smile formed on the young woman's lips, and she picked the bag up again.
"Thank you." There was more than a hint of smugness in her voice, as she slid the proper amount onto the counter.
"Hn." Grumbled the old woman, hastily snatching the money away. "You Aburakojis are so cheap…and I've a feeling your family's going to be the death of me!"
The young woman sniffed. Clearly, she didn't take the insult to heart.
"Excuse me, but do any of you ladies happen to know of a sword shop in town?" Soujiro, smiling as he usually did, felt the need to raise his hand halfway.
The two women looked at him blankly, before he could get any response out of them. Then, the younger woman holding the mangoes spoke, raising one thin eyebrow as she did so.
"Yes. My father owns one."
Soujiro felt himself grow a bit hopeful. "Would you take me there, please?"
She smirked, holding the bag of fruits out in front of him.
"Only if you carry this for me."
.0o0.
She was leaning against one of the wooden columns supporting the roof of a sake shop. Currently, a gang of unscrupulous men were bunched up in front, confronting the poor owner.
"Hey mister, you owe us ten bottles free," boomed a tall one, who looked like the leader.
"Yeah," piped up another, "'For bein the handsomest guys in Kyoto."
Hearing this, Misao almost gagged. Handsomest my butt, she thought disdainfully. The only good looking guy in this part of Japan is Aoshi-san.
She really shouldn't have bothered, but, unfortunately, Misao Makimachi was Misao Makimachi, so she walked up to the group of men in a slow, suggestive manner, and flashed her most alluring smile towards the tall one.
Misao winked, and the man was ensnared. Looking at her lecherously, he grinned.
"What's your name, honey?"
She waited until she was close enough to that fat-looking moneybag that hung from his belt. His breath stinks, Misao thought, smiling despite herself.
"My…name?" she asked, in a breathy voice.
"That's right…" he said, moving closer.
Misao closed her fingers around the bag. Luckily, the bunch of dimwits hadn't noticed her, too engrossed with the pretty lady talking to their leader. A smirk crossed her lips, as she detached the bag from its owner easily, sliding it into the folds of her own outfit.
"I don't give my name to uglies like you!" Misao declared, pausing for a moment to stick her tongue out at the man.
Naturally, the leader was enraged, the gang was surprised and the store owner wanted nothing more than to get this unruly group of people out from his storefront.
The ninja girl leaped into the air, playfully brandishing the moneybag she had stolen. This riled the leader even more, and he pointed to her angrily.
"Seize her!"
…and so, the chase began.
.0o0.
For as long as he could remember, Aburakoji Shinichi's family had been making, selling and repairing swords. It all started a long, long time ago, when his great-great-great-great-great grandfather had found an old, rusted wakizashi by the side of the river. That was during the Heian period, when things were significantly prettier. Anyway, the first Aburakoji, out of total boredom, had decided to scrape the rust off the small weapon and use it for himself, only to find out that the owner of the wakizashi, a wealthy samurai, looking for it in the middle of the night.
Wisely, Aburakoji returned the weapon to the samurai, (but he wondered why the man wanted something so rusty) and the warrior, in his gratitude, paid the merchant's son ten thousand yen for his now shiny dagger.
…and that's how it began.
Shinichi, the only male in his father's family, was eighty-five years old and married to the daughter of a fisherman, and also, father to one boy and five girls. He lived in Kyoto and was used to repairing swords when the need arose. Unfortunately, business wasn't doing very well, ever since the Meiji restoration, that is.
The old man sighed, fanning himself with his youngest daughter's paper fan. It was a hot day today, and the sun hung high in the sky. Grumbling, he wondered where his good-for-nothing eldest son was with their lunch.
"Ojisan! Ojisan! Will you make me a paper crane?" the high voice of his little grandson floated from behind him, and Shinichi turned around.
The old man grinned, showcasing his mouth of worn out teeth. "Only if you promise to take over this wretched sword business, little boy!" he cackled, lifting the child by his armpits.
"Shame on you, father!" came an accusing, female voice. The child's mother. A slender woman loomed in the doorway, her pretty face frowning. A few steps behind her stood a young man whom Shinichi had never seen before.
He put the squalling child down, curious to see who his daughter had dragged into the store this time.
"Eh, Hiroko, who's that you've got there?" he asked, stroking his white beard.
His daughter put her hands on her hips, glaring at her father.
"I've got a customer." Every word was laced with venom, said with halting anger. To Hiroko's dismay, however, the old man ignored her, instead getting off his chair and hobbling towards the young man she had found at the marketplace.
Shinichi inspected him thoroughly, squinting his already small eyes at the boy.
"What's your name, boy?" he asked.
The young man bowed. "Seta Soujiro, sir." He replied.
Hiroko was incredulous at his politeness, and was at Soujiro's side in a flash.
"Oh…don't bother with the bowing, Seta-san, my father is not worthy of such honor." She slanted her eyes at the slightly annoyed old man, who waved her away dismissively.
"Never mind her," he said, "What do you want? You do know I only sell swords, right?"
Soujiro nodded. "Yes."
Shinichi put his hands on his hips, "Well, what kind of sword are you looking for?" the old man paused to observe the young man's gi,
"…and, uhh…how much money do you have?" he added, with a twinkle in his eye.
The young man smiled sheepishly. "Er…you see, I was planning on trading in my sword for another one, if that's all right."
The current Aburakoji patriarch blinked twice. "What? Trade?"
Soujiro made frantic gestures with his hands. "Ah, yes, if that's all right with you."
The old man glared at him menacingly. "And how," he began, "did you assume that I, Shinichi Aburakoji, trade swords with random, grimy, dust faced little—"
"Father!"
Shinichi paused to eye Hiroko sharply. She glared back at him with equal fervour.
"I think," she said, "That you should consider the fact that Seta-san here is the ONLY customer we've had in one whole confounded MONTH! It would be wise to cut him a little slack, y'know!"
Aburakoji blinked. "Uh…right." He turned to the young man. "Let's see that sword, boy. From the looks of you, I don't think that it'd be with much, though."
Wordlessly, Soujiro slid the sheath out, and placed it on a table, leaving it there for the swordmaker to inspect. Shinichi strutted to the table in what he thought was a dignified manner.
The old man blinked, after unsheathing the sword.
"Why, this isn't a katana," he said. Hiroko was pleased to observe that there was a hint of amazement in her father's voice.
"It's a—"
"A kikuichimonji-norimune." Said Soujiro, looking at the swordmaker impassively.
Despite himself, Shinichi nodded stiffly. "Yes. Where did you get one of these?"
Not wanting to elaborate on his past, his dead master and how he acquired the weapon, the young man simply smiled and waved his hand, as if dismissing the old man's question.
"It was a gift."
Shinichi grunted, wondering why on earth any sensible person would give something such as a kikuichimonji-norimune to someone like this skinny, strange looking little kid. The old man took the sword up with a flourish and unsheathed it.
He tilted the weapon left and right, so that the light coming in from the windows bounced off the blade, making it flash.
After a few minutes, the question came.
"What do you want for it?"
Soujiro smiled, as he always did. He already had an answer for that.
.0o0.
Late afternoon. The sky was dimming, it blue color taking on a hue of orange-gold. Tufts of white clouds scattered the ethereal canvas, as the burning sun sank slowly into the mountains.
The river was running. It always was, but the difference was that today, it was calm.
On the grassy riverbank sat a slender young woman, with her legs folded to her chest, and her back resting against the trunk of an ancient Acacia. Her eyes were closed, and a look of peace was on her face. A dreaming mind thought of Aoshi, the man she loved, and his return.
Misao shifted her position with a soft murmur of contentment, yawning a little bit, and then going still again. She had about an hour of rest left before dinner was going to be served at the Aoiya.
.0o0.
Soujiro walked along the dirt path, in the direction of the river. A new sword hung at his side, and oddly, although it was longer and a little heavier, the young man felt that the sakabattou fitted him perfectly.
He smiled, and hummed something to himself.
Life really was ironic.
.0o0.
Thanks for all the reviews:) And to "Oro" 0bject, thank you for the info! that helped a lot. More Sou this time around, and a few extras as well. A sakabattou for the Tenken? Hehe…I wonder…
'Till next chapter, and as always, friendly suggestions, corrections and reviews are greatly appreciated:) (to Misao-chan, thank you very much for the wclcome)