The Hundred Item List
Summer is Dying
By Leishe
Aoshi Shinomori was done meditating. A miracle.
Under normal conditions, the man would spend at least three hours sitting cross-legged on the floor of some temple, eyes closed, unmoving.
Some said he was praying, others said that he spent time there to think about things that he really didn't have time to think about in the real world. The most common speculation, however, was that Aoshi was still psycho, and spending time like that was the only way to cure him. 'Therapy', they called it.
On rare occasions, when the man would actually reply to the actual questions of actual people, he would say, "I am redeeming myself." And they wouldn't dare to ask any more, at the risk of their own lives.
Well, whatever he was really doing, today, he was done with it, and that was that. It was time for the journey home.
Aoshi grunted, as he walked out of the cozy wooden temple that was hidden beneath the massive rock shelves of a giant, snow-capped mountain, or in other words, a cave. He had been there for almost a month now, having left that other temple at that other village a week prior to his arrival.
The man squinted, his eyes narrowing even more, if possible. A clear canvas of sky-blue greeted him, with no clouds, and thankfully, no annoying snowstorm. Aoshi stepped out of the warm, sheltering cave, his boots made a crunching noise on the newly-fallen, crystal snow. He nodded in approval at the nice weather.
A light, frigid breeze blew, making his hair go into his eyes, as he heaved his pack of belongings onto his back, walking a few more steps forward, and preparing to climb down the way he came. Aoshi lowered himself into the ground and snow, feeling his left foot make contact with a rock crevice.
His mouth formed a faint smile; almost a smirk.
"Kyoto, here I come."
.0o0.
Morning at the Aoiya brought many surprises, and just as many violent reactions. It all started when the wretched sun flew into the sky, and when the unsuspecting residents sleeping therein started to wake up, yawning and stretching leisurely as they did. Misao, as always, liked to sleep in a little bit more, and of course, Okon would rouse her only after she and Omasu had prepared the breakfast.
"Aaaaahhh…good morning, world." Omasu stretched leisurely, as she blinked and rubbed at her eyes. It was morning, her favorite part of the day. Morning was unspoiled, fresh, and was ripe with new beginnings.
"Well…I guess it's time to cook the breakfast!"
She smiled cheerily in anticipation, mainly because one of the few joys in her life was to be able to cook, clean and look after her small family, otherwise known as a short-tempered, obsessive woman, a headstrong, hyperactive girl, a frivolous old man and two men who resembled apes.
"Breeeaaakfasst…breeeaaakfasst!"
Omasu sang softly as she packed her futon away and got dressed, carefully sliding open the door to her bedroom, and tiptoeing quietly into the hallway. She didn't want to wake anyone else, and besides, Okon was probably up already, in the kitchen. If there was anything the ninja woman admired her comrade for, it was her punctuality for preparing meals.
"Tum dee dum dum doo…"
She walked to the kitchen. It was a good thing that the restaurant didn't serve breakfast, because Omasu really, really HATED cooking for a large number of people at the start of the day. She didn't know why, but for some inexplicable reason, cooking meals in bulk drove the adrenaline into her veins faster that Okina could say "hyper", and that was pretty fast.
So there. Omasu walked into the kitchen, with a small, happy smile on her face.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Needless to say, that small, happy smile didn't stay for very long.
"What—what—what have you…" she sputtered, her eyes as big as satellite dishes. The woman was reduced to a stuttering, pointing dummy, and for some reason, she couldn't move.
"My—my kitchen…!"
In front of her, splattered all over the stove, the counter, and the dishrack, was an ENORMOUS mess of egg, flour, water, milk, bits of tuna, tea leaves, and rice. It covered almost the entire span of the cooking area, leaving nothing but one clean patch of floor in the middle, to stand on.
And it just so happened, that standing right there, in the middle of that one clean patch of floor, hair covered in flour, and holding up one wooden spoon covered in a mysterious brown goo, was none other than their beloved guest, Seta Soujiro.
"Good morning, Omasu-san," he greeted her, smiling that annoying smile of his.
Omasu just stood there, clutching her cheeks. She didn't know whether to cry or to laugh.
"S-seta-s-san…" her voice was high pitched, and on the verge of breaking. "…wha…what h-happened?"
Soujiro was not one for telling stories; he really wasn't, and it probably wouldn't help him much if he lied to the woman then and there. He didn't make the mess, that was for sure, but how exactly was he going to explain it properly to Omasu?
"W-well, you see…" here, he paused to rub the back of his head sheepishly, "I opened the doors to get some fresh air in…" he trailed off.
The ninja woman looked distraught. Yes, that was the word. Distraught. With a capital 'd', mind you.
"…and then?"
"And then," continued Soujiro, "a raccoon came in."
.0o0.
9 o'clock in the morning, Shirobeko.
Sae couldn't help but wonder why the entire population of the Aoiya Oniwabanshu had decided to go out and eat in another restaurant for breakfast, and on a Tuesday, of all days. Tuesdays were the 'golden days' for eating places in this particular area of Kyoto, and, all friendliness put aside, the Aoiya and the Shirobeko were, in fact, competitors.
'Well…' she thought, 'I guess something bad must have happened back there…and although maybe I AM supposed to be feeling bad for them, I guess it's a good thing for my business…'
The woman smiled wryly every once in a while, clutching the wooden tray closer to her bosom, watching the amusingly rowdy group eat their breakfasts. Life was very ordinary here in Kyoto, but people like them added a little more color to the usual palette.
"WHY YOU EVIL—THAT'S MINE!"
A few other customers turned their heads in shock, glancing furtively with wide eyes at the table nearing the end of the booths. Misao's voice. Not hard to miss, and even easier to recognize.
A man poked his friend in the shoulder. "Hey Yori, it's her again."
Okina was once again sparring with chopsticks for the last piece of fried dumpling on the platter, with Misao as his opponent. Their eyes flashed dangerously, as each skillfully maneuvered the eating utensils, fighting neck-in-neck over the food.
As of forty-eight seconds ago, the former master was in the lead.
"Give that back you dirty old man!"
"Heehee…she's mine now, weasel…all mine…"
Misao watched in horror as Okina swallowed the whole piece in one go, which was surprisingly fast for an old man such as himself. The young woman glared at him murderously, but being the fanciful ancient geezer that he was, Okina just ignored her.
She shook her fist at him, trying to be threatening.
"Just you wait, Jiya. I'll beat you at chopstick fights soon enough…"
He gave a short laugh. "That'll be the day, Misao…that will be the day."
Okon, on the other side of the table, just sighed and continued spooning the delicious rice and chicken porridge into her mouth, marveling at the flavorful combination of onion, garlic and ginger. These were pretty simple ingredients, but when put together properly, made a wonderful, yet efficient meal. The ninja woman, who had a slight, contented and momentary smile on her face, turned to the men seated beside her.
"Glug, glug, glug."
"Burp!"
Kuro was finished, and Shiro, on his fifty-eighth helping. Okon shook her head in disbelief at the plump man, wondering how much a normal human being could possibly eat, before exploding into tiny bits and pieces.
Omasu, meanwhile, was still recovering from the shock of seeing her precious kitchen in ruins. She didn't eat a bite, but she did drink sixteen cups of tea in less than five minutes; a record which not even the old man could surpass.
Her hands were shaking, and the expression on her face resembled that of a scared zombie's.
"K-kit…ki—ki---kitchen…" she muttered, her eyes wide and aghast, "m-m…my—my…ki…tchen…"
Okon shook her head again, spooning yet another mouthful of porridge from the bowl. She predicted a very, very tiring day today. A day, which was not necessarily beneficial to all, or perhaps, any of them.
.0o0.
He was scrubbing the floor when they returned, and doing a fairly good job of it, too. Seeing her baby so clean and neat and tidy, and with sparkles to boot, Omasu would have almost forgiven the young wanderer, if only it hadn't been for Misao's timely intervention.
"Tenken let that-that creature in, so he's gotta take the punishment! You can't just let him off like that, Omasu-chan…it just isn't fair." Her adamant voice rose into the air, and the woman had to admit…the weasel girl DID have a point.
The ninja woman let out a small sigh, twiddling her fingers. "But Misao-chan, just LOOK at him! All hardworking and apologetic like that…And the kitchen's wonderful, too!"
Shooting a nasty glare at Soujiro, which, thankfully, he didn't see, the young woman was absolutely sure that he had somehow bribed Omasu, or put on some fake pathetic puppy-dog face to get out of cleaning up. A dangerous glint passed through her eyes.
Well, Makimachi Misao was never one to be so easily tricked. Never. Especially not by some poor little guy who couldn't even kick out some stupid little animal, in turn disrupting breakfast. Why, she herself would've gotten the raccoon out, if only it weren't for her great fear of animals with claws and teeth that could tear your skin into tiny little pieces, grinding it so that the blood seeped out and-and-and…
…shame on him for ruining breakfast. SHAME.
Squatting down next to him as he wiped the already clean floor for the last time, Misao asked a question. It was more to satisfy her curiosity, somehow.
"Do you feel guilty for this, Tenken?"
"…"
He continued wiping, which gave her the wrong impression that he was pointedly ignoring her. She felt a sting of annoyance zap through, but decided to stretch her patience a little bit, and so, Misao waited.
Soujiro stopped wiping. He looked up, and smiled at her. Through those same blank blue eyes; with that same lifeless smile that seemed so easy to put on. Misao didn't say anything, looking with curiosity at the emptiness of it all.
She opened her mouth to speak.
"It must be so easy for you to smile…you do it all the time."
At her words, something—he didn't know what—broke inside him, a voice a, feeling, or perhaps, a fragment of the shell of what had once been his heart. He blinked, sensing a familiar rush of blinding pain scream into his body. Not physical pain, mind you, but the kind that tormented you…the kind that seeped out of the recesses of your soul…the kind that lasted forever.
Soujiro had been through it so many times, and he liked to believe that it didn't hurt him anymore.
"I find it hard to smile when I'm not happy," the young woman cocked her head to one side, "It's just…weird." Why does he smile all the time? Is it because he's always happy? Somehow, she doubted that strongly.
But it did. It did hurt him. And besides, she would never really understand.
"…well?" Misao was looking at him now, with her wide, perceptive green eyes, and he felt them probe the insides of his mind. Soujiro quickly shook that feeling away, scrubbing at the floor a little more vigorously.
"Well what?" he asked, not realizing what she wanted.
The young woman rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation. For a moment, the wanderer wondered why she had the ability to break things inside him with mere words. It must be a special ability, he noted. She has a way with her mouth.
"Well do you feel guilty, or not? For letting the raccoon in and ruining our breakfast?" Misao's voice was coated in impatience.
It wasn't his fault, actually. Raccoons were very, very crafty and agile little creatures—they swooshed into your home, your backyard or your garbage can when no one was looking. Stealthy little animals, they were. Always looking for food.
"…"
Soujiro didn't answer again, this time folding up the rag he had used to wipe the floor with, and standing up. The weasel girl stood up as well, hands on her hips. He could sense an outburst coming.
Guilt? What exactly did she mean?
"What exactly do you mean, Makimachi-san?"
"…" she glared at him irritably. Was it her imagination, or was Seta Soujiro, right hand man of the crafty leader of the Juppongatana, famed and feared assassin, and now, possibly, a fugitive of the law, really that stupid?
"Are you really that stupid, Tenken?"
He winced at that name. "Please," he said, raising a hand, "Call me Soujiro."
But Misao wasn't listening. "GUILT!" she said, voice rising, "Guilt! Do you feel bad because you wrecked Omasu's kitchen like the bloody little mass murde—" she chose to cut herself off, at his point.
"Do you feel bad because of what you've done?" she repeated, this time on a quieter note.
He didn't think she was talking about the raccoon anymore. The words struck deeper than they ever meant to, leading down, down, to the past that he wanted to outlive, to forget.
'Of course I feel bad,' he wanted to say, 'I feel bad about killing all those people, spilling all that blood. But I can't have emotion. I can't feel bad. It is weakness, and weakness means death. That's why I smile. That's why I have to smile.'
But he couldn't say it. And if he did, why now? Why to her, an old enemy of his dead master?
Soujiro looked at her, in that peculiar, empty manner of his. Misao shivered involuntarily. Why did he have that effect on her? The Tenken, regardless of what he had become now, was still, to her, ever so creepy.
'Nothing like Aoshi-sama,' she added, as a footnote.
"Makimachi-san," He began, "I don't think I feel bad, really—" at this, she bristled, "—but, maybe because…" he trailed off, "Maybe…because…I just don't feel anything at all."
Her green eyes widened.
"…what?"
This was a lie. It had to be. How could one be human, and yet, feel no emotion at all? It was just…unbelievable. Soujiro was honest, that she would admit…but…having no feelings? Nothing? Absolutely nothing?
He smiled at her. Again.
Note to self, Misao thought, Item number fifty-seven: Must not be creepy emotionless wanderer who doesn't know what guilt is.
.0o0.
"Kanzaki Saburo!"
The middle-aged servant looked up at the mention of his name, which had come from the lips of one of the higher-ups; a servant manager. He stood, putting down his meal plate and walking over to the man, who was standing by the door of the servants' mess hall.
"Hai, Okane-sama?"
The man's face was grim. "Lord Akira would like to see you, Kanzaki." And, on a graver note, "He wants to talk to you regarding your activities in the forest, during your free time."
Kanzaki paled instantly. He knew where this was leading to; and the ending wasn't particularly wonderful, either. One thought echoed repeatedly in his head, neither the whispers of angels, nor the ordinary musings of an ordinary servant.
They found me. And from that moment on, he knew he would die, had it not been for one warm, strong, and reassuring voice that comforted him.
Do not fear, for I am with you.
"Go," Okane ordered, prodding the man for good measure. "Lord Akira has guests to attend to."
And so, Kanzaki went.
.0o0.
In the lavish parlor, where the servant in question was supposed to be received was Lord Yoji Akira, son of the trading magnate Haruto Akira, and his wife the beautiful Lady Kiyoko, who, was at the moment, participating in some small talk with their guest, a childhood friend, and none other than Yasuda Takeshi.
Lord Akira was not at all enthralled at the idea of killing one of his best, most trusted and most reliable servants over the sake of differences in religion, but since Japanese law deemed all that was neither Buddhism nor Shinto taboo, especially the beliefs brought in by the foreigners, it wasn't like he had much choice.
"Ahahaha! Very clever indeed, Takeshi…I like the way you think!" the lilting voice of Kiyoko rose into the air, but Lord Akira paid no mind to it, instead focusing on the small, timid form of Kanzaki, who had just entered the room.
Akira rose, and Kanzaki bowed. The master's expression was grim and regretful, and the servant's, woeful and apprehensive.
"Saburo…" he began. Kiyoko and Takeshi ceased their chatter, and all was silent. Only one voice spoke, reverberating strongly in the servant's mind; the voice of his true master, his father, his brother his friend.
I will never leave you.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, opening them again to meet with Akira's cold blue ones.
Everything was about to begin.
.0o0.
Mid afternoon. Under the eaves of a wide-branched tree, Soujiro sat. The air was getting colder, slightly, and he watched, as a single leaf flew from the tree, fluttering downwards, and settling to a stop on the surface of the crystalline river. It floated down, slowly, carried by the current of water.
"Sakura! Sakura!"
Look at the cherry trees! Their hair is falling.
"Ai! Aoi. Wae-tah."
Yes. Blue. Water!
Voices. High-pitched, young, and breaking out into giggles and gales of laughter. They were talking to each other in another language. The wind, or perhaps, just an illusion?
He watched, silently as two little children played with each other on the other side, carefree and lively. They were not Komachi and Mamoru, but a younger set, about five or four. The little boy ran towards the water, splashing some with his hands, and his playmate joined him.
They stayed there for a while, screaming and laughing in delight. What is it called? Soujiro thought absently, Happiness?
I wouldn't know, he thought, somewhat pessimistically, I don't feel anything. But deep inside, he knew that they were there, those emotions. They just had to be awakened once more, by someone, or something.
Perhaps…someone has to teach me to feel again?
Leaves were rustling, but not from the breeze. The young man looked up, and he was right. Someone had climbed up the tree, and was now looking down at him from a high branch.
"Hey, Tenk—I mean, Soujiro," Misao called, her braid swinging slightly from the momentum of her jump into the tree, "Come on, it's almost dinnertime. Okon wants you to help with the restaurant."
He sensed a note of hostility in her voice, but chose not to mind it. What was there to mind, anyway?
"Come on," she repeated, not looking at him, but casting her eyes over the expanse of the clear river, her gaze alighting temporarily on the two children. The air was getting cooler. The seasons slowly, were shifting. In a softer voice;
"Let's go. Summer is dying."
As they walked, more than a meter apart on the wide dirt road leading back to the Aoiya, the young woman looked up, raising her face in the direction of the sun. The bright, flaming yellow felt like it was slowly vanishing, slowly giving in to the cold. A slight smile graced Misao's face.
A breeze passed behind them both, and if he listened hard enough, Soujiro could hear, in the wind, the whispers of Autumn.
.0o0.
Note: Writing high. Wouldn't disappear. (sigh) I'm off to finish my requirements now. What you have just read is a horrible attempt at combining slight, slight, almost invisible shreds of angst with a bit of humor. Tell me what you guys think. :-D By the way, just read the SouMi oneshot, Butterflies. XD Fun. Very, very fun. Expect to hear from me soon. Thanks for the kind reviews! Really, really appreciated. Shall try to write more. Promise. ;-)
Leishe
P.S Hataoriweaver, weaving. Just in case you wanted to know. Coughcoughautumnwillowcough. ;-) Chapter 8 concludes the unofficial "part one". Heehee!