The Hundred Item List
Deluge
By Leishe
Several onlookers stood in front of the small, empty apartment. They were watching curiously, as the two foreigners moved their things inside, box by box, with several black suitcases, also. The taller white man wore a black hat that reminded them of a turtle's shell, while the girl with flying yellow hair resembled a thin, pale lily. She had big blue eyes that made her look like an otter, and her face was sprinkled with freckles. The people watched as she held onto her own small suitcase. It was flat and white, like her teeth.
"Alice," grunted the man, "Do open the door, the men will put the lizards in."
She nodded and slid open the flimsy, thin shoji door to let the lizards in. They were massive, hulking beasts that were kept inside a glass tank that was much too small for their size. A pair of scaly, reptilian faces looked out expressionlessly at the wide-eyed crowd of Japanese people, and a forked tongue slid out, and in. the bunch of men who were carrying the tank, walked, slowly, to the left, balancing the lizards so that they could be put inside the apartment without too much trouble.
The pale girl looked up at the man with the turtle hat. "Father," she asked, "How long are we staying here?"
He wiped the side of his forehead with a white handkerchief, and then looked down at her with kind brown eyes. "Just a week, love. And you needn't be afraid of the lizards, they're quite harmless."
She nodded, eyes fixated on the tank, which was almost completely inside their new apartment. "…and that kind Mr. Zenjiro Yasuda let us stay here for free, too," the man added, to reassure her, "These people are nice, once you get used to them, Alice."
Nothing escaped her mouth, except the mechanical, "Yes, Father."
One of the sweaty men gestured towards the father, indicating that they were finished moving the creatures inside. The turtle-hatted man just nodded, and moved to get some money from his pocket, to pay them with. Alice waited, hands behind her back, not saying much. The sun here was hotter, but the weather was turning, she could see, towards the brown and orange autumn. Alice watched the lizards, afraid. She also watched the crowd slowly disappear, one by one, and the figure of her father talking in broken Nippongo to the men.
She hated Japan.
.0o0.
The whir of business surrounded the restaurant, that busy Monday afternoon. People were flowing in, most of them weary travelers, and the orders were coming down like heavy rain. Smells of cooking food rose into the air, warming the Aoiya from the inside. Kuro had put on the small oil lamps for added warmth, closing the entrance doors as well. Everyone inside was eager to eat, hungrily anticipating their meals as the food appeared on the wooden trays carried by the waiters and waitresses. Voices clamored comfortably into the air, creating an atmosphere of familiarity.
Outside, the cold began to grow quietly.
"Here, take this."
Misao took it, inspecting the folded piece of paper that a second ago had been in Okon's hand. She unfolded it, scanning what was written, and then looked back at the older woman with and incredulous expression—wide green eyes.
"You want all of this?"
Okon nodded, getting back to collecting the meals that were lined up at the small kitchen counter. The ninja woman could see Omasu, ever hard at work, whipping up cooked food like a culinary thunderstorm. She smiled, brushing at her moist forehead. It really was getting too warm in there. Kuro'd overdone it a little bit. Misao tugged at her sleeve.
"I'm going to need help. I can't get everything back here all at the same time!"
"Misao—" Okon raised the tray decked with plates up, over her head, balancing it expertly on one open palm. She looked at her younger comrade with a slightly exasperated face. "Please, just do it…" At her tone of voice, the weasel girl immediately started feeling guilty for even attempting to complain about her duties, and nodded to Okon, her version of an apology.
"Got it, and sorry." She began walking away, to find Kuro or Shiro, or someone who could help her carry the needed groceries back to the restaurant quickly. Okon watched Misao's retreating figure for a minute, before whisking away to the dining area to deliver the orders. She shook her head at the unusualness of it all- that girl was making progress. Whether Misao realized it or not, there was something about her that was changing, slowly, in a natural, extraordinary way.
It's only a matter of time, Okon thought to herself, setting down a steaming plate, until I am relieved of my boredom, and real things begin to happen.
.0o0.
The second day was when the old man asked him to work. Soujiro hadn't really minded, figuring that the added exercise would be of some use to him, since walking too much couldn't be too helpful most of the time. Chores were fine, they weren't new to him, but in truth, he hadn't been able to do any chores since…since…well, since Shishio-san had taken him away from his family, a long time ago. Soujiro swallowed a light chuckle, despite himself. Family? He almost laughed at that. Shishio and Yumi and the Juppongatana were more of a family to him than his real one had ever been.
…but now they were all gone, and he was alone again.
Something rustled.
…or was he?
Soujiro gripped the handle of the sharp-edged tool firmly, raising it over his shoulder, and bringing it down in one smooth, quick stroke. The piece of log split cleanly in half even before it came in contact with the axe blade. The sound rippled lightly through the leaves, and the young man picked the two pieces up, bringing them over to the small pile of firewood that he had finished chopping.
He heard a step.
Clear eyes flashing, the young man looked up. Three words appeared. Girl. Braid. Emerald.
"Are you done with that?" The voice was pleasing and high-pitched, but it had a tone of hesitance to it. He met the young woman's questioning gaze.
"Almost," he replied, tossing the axe aside and crouching down to gather up the pieces of wood. Misao watched as he did so, with more than a hint of impatience. Soujiro stood up, arms laden with firewood, and turned to her.
"Okina-san sent you?"
She shook her head. She was standing, there, in the grass, legs evenly apart, braid hanging at her side. Her arms were folded, and Soujiro wondered, for a moment, why he noticed these things. "I need help with the groceries." Now, she was looking up at the sky. "Be at the shop beside the apothecary in half an hour." An order, but he knew he had to follow.
"Yes, Makimachi-san," he replied, looking at her with his meaningless smile. "Half an hour."
.0o0.
The machine was monstrous, and its appearance alone gave away its purpose. Lord Takeshi grinned, almost maniacally, as he surveyed his magnificent work of art. It was a large, elaborate torture device, designed specifically for executing a person in the slowest, most grueling way possible; the young man had tried his very best to make whoever was trapped inside suffer for the longest amount of time, before he was killed by the slowly swinging blade that hung from the right corner.
Takeshi tapped his fingers together methodically, his teeth gleaming in the daylight. Oh, what a beautiful killing machine it was! Not only was he the rich, young heir to one of the richest families in Japan, but he was also a brilliant inventor.
"Ah, Kiyoko," he murmured under his breath, smiling dangerously, "the things you make me do…"
"Excuse me, master."
A voice snapped him out of his reverie, and on instinct, Takeshi looked up and prepared to throw whoever had spoken, into his machine then and there. He saw, however, a familiar face appear in the courtyard, and immediately, the young man's anger dissipated. He smiled, although the smile was not so real, and walked towards Sho, who was bowing down awkwardly, as was the custom.
"Sho, my friend!" He was in a good mood now, expecting the news from the capital, "Anything from Kyoto?"
The servant just smiled, nodding his head in affirmation.
"Excellent! Now tell me, have you found the man I've been looking for?" there was excitement; a dangerous kind, Sho knew, but he was willing to take his chances. He bowed again.
"Yes, master," he hesitated, but then overcame it. "His name is Seta Soujiro."
.0o0.
The man with the turtle-hat nodded, and tried to talk to the group of sweaty men once more. He pointed to the large glass tank containing the two massive lizards, and pointed to the outside, then to the sun, then to the people. Alice just listened, silent as always, from the other side of the thin sliding door, while she unpacked her things from the white suitcase. She and her father would only be staying for a few days in this horrid little country, with the terrifying lizards that he had brought with him from Indonesia. 'Dragons', her father called them, "They are Komodo Dragons."
He was babbling, but they couldn't understand. They never would, unless there was some translator that helped her father, a scientist. He had brought his precious specimens to Japan, because he wanted to show them to the people there; to let them see these magnificent creatures from an exotic island, and talk about it. "It's sort of missionary work for science, my dear," he had told her once before, when Alice had asked him why.
"Yes, yes," he was saying now, taking off his hat and wiping the middle of his bald head with a handkerchief, "Out. To-mo-row. Haaaiii?" the men nodded, seeming to understand what he was trying to say this time. He then turned to his daughter, and smiled at her slightly. She could see he was tired of many things. Alice rose to close the top of her suitcase.
"Come, dear. Let's get something to eat."
.0o0.
Shiro was there to get the firewood when Soujiro had brought it in. The big man nodded to him, taking the wood in his burly arms, and carrying it out back. The young man could hear the busy, quick cooking sounds of a ladle scraping the bottom of a pot, and Omasu's voice calling out orders from the kitchen. There were footsteps, and then Okon appeared, all of a sudden, at the doorway.
"Seta-san," she said, seemingly stressed-out, "Have you seen Misao? I sent her to get some supplies from the grocery ten minutes ago."
Soujiro nodded. "Makimachi-san's on her way there now. Well, she was, when I last saw her."
Okon sniffed, nodding also. She smoothed her outfit, and prepared to go back inside. "Well, that's good. Tell her she's on dishwashing duty tonight, okay?" she paused, as if to think, "…and Okina said you're going to wash the laundry later…is that right?"
Soujiro blinked. Laundry? The old man hadn't said anything about laundry. He smiled, unsure. "Ah, he didn't, Okon-san. Am I to do it?" if there was a note of hesitation in his voice, no one noticed. The woman looked at him amusedly. There was a tiny glint in her eyes. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble…the whale and I have a bit too much work on our hands right now, as you can see."
He didn't understand what she meant. "Whale?"
Okon smiled. "Omasu."
"I heard that you ostrich!" came the voice from the kitchen. Okon broke out into soft chuckles. She winked at the young man, and reentered the restaurant, closing the door behind her.
"Er…okay."
He walked a little way from there, and then remembered that Misao had ordered him to help her out with the groceries. Soujiro, a smile on his face, turned on his heel, going in the other direction, to the part of town where the grocery was. Apothecary, he thought.
.0o0.
Misao was waiting for him, her arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently. She didn't enjoy waiting, or being bored for that matter. The young woman cast a careless glance at her feet, where ten bags of groceries were lined up neatly. The ninja girl had taken it upon herself to arrange them like that, for lack of anything better to do. Sighing, Misao took to observing the scenery.
"Aoshi-sama," she mumbled, chin in her palm, looking up at the dark-green leaves that lay patterned against the sky, "You're really late…"
A small animal scurried into the bushes, and the young woman bent over to scratch her leg, when she felt a mild, blunt object poke her waist. "Er." A brow rose, and she got up, wondering what was stuffed into her sash. Reaching in, her versatile fingers encircled the form of a small scroll, and pulled it out in one jerking motion.
"Oh…" she murmured, "…this…"
The list. Misao opened it out of habit, and watched as the paper unrolled, and fluttered to the ground, together with the other end of the scroll. For a few moments, her gaze darted to and fro, down the list, rereading what she had written some ten years ago.
"Anou," a clear, high voice said, smiling, "I want him to make mochi for me every single dinnertime!"
Amused laughter and fond faces smiled back at her, chuckling good-naturedly. Gently, two hands reached out to carry the small girl up, swinging her into the air lightly, before setting her back down again onto the floor.
"Are you sure, Misao?" A young woman's voice asked, lilting and feminine, "You might get sick of mochi every day!"
"No!" the small girl declared, wiping her ink-smeared hands on her yukata, "I won't ever! Not as long as he cooks it for me!"
"Misao!" shrieks of alarm emanated from the two young women, whose eyes widened at the sight of her stained clothing.
"What?" asked the child, looking at them all in puzzlement, "There's nothing wrong with my yukata…it's not broken…"
"Come on, Misao…" sighed Okon, lifting her up, "Time for a bath…" she turned to the other ninja. "Omasu, can you please put the scroll and her ink set away? This small one needs some appropriate discipline…"
"NOOOO!" She screamed, kicking wildly, "I don't wanna take a baaath!"
And, in the background, Okina would smile and tap his cane, whilst leering slightly at Omasu, who shot the old man venomous glare as she passed. "You know," he told himself, sniffing and stoking his moustache, "If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that little Misao there would make an excellent ninja someday."
And then, he laughed.
Footsteps, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were still trained on the smudged, messy writing of her childhood, fogged up slightly to indicate that she was still lost in memories. The sound of two feet walking on the ground towards the grocery failed to snap her out of her blank trance.
Soujiro bent over to pick up three of the bags at the same time, finding them quite easy for him to carry. Supplies in his arms, the young man cast a discreet, sidelong glance at Misao, who seemed to be reading something intently. He stepped over to where she was and peered over her shoulder.
…1. tall, 2. dark, 3. handsome, 4. (must be leader of the oniwabanshuu), 5. must know how to make paper balloons…
Before Soujiro could get a good look at the rest of it, the scroll was quickly rolled back into place and tucked into the side of a lavender sash, while two very irritated green eyes looked at him accusingly. Misao didn't like it. There was something about his aura that made her slightly uncomfortable—maybe it was his closeness, or maybe it was something else.
"What is it, Makimachi-san?" Was he asking about the list, or about her reaction? Or both?
The young woman sniffed indifferently. "Mind your own business, Seta," she retorted. "Just make yourself useful and bring those"-she jerked her head towards the bags-"back to the Aoiya."
He smiled, but persisted. It was one of his more…testing traits, Misao observed. "What were you reading, earlier, Makimachi-san?" Soujiro asked, bending down to pick up yet another bag. The weasel girl marveled at his ability to carry many things at the same time. She folded her arms and tried to glare him to pieces.
"No." One syllable, laced with poison.
Soujiro didn't take the hint. Or maybe he did, but then chose not to show it. For some reason, the young man enjoyed talking to this hot-tempered ninja girl, even when she just ignored him and complained most of the time. The grin on his mouth widened.
Misao rolled her eyes, tucking the list further into her sash, and picking up two bags from the floor. She shot the freeloader a look, telling him to get on with it because if he didn't there, would be dire consequences. The young man merely obeyed, letting her irritation wash over him-and enjoying the feeling.
As they walked back together, the young woman couldn't help but glance at Soujiro from time to time. And when he returned her glances, Misao would look away uncomfortably. She didn't enjoy the feeling…it made her uneasy, yet there was something awfully natural about it.
"Makimachi-san?"
"What."
"Did Omasu-san really ask for all this food?"
"…what do you think?"
"…nevermind."
There was no sound but those of their footsteps, with Soujiro's a little more muffled than Misao's. The occasional crinkling of the paper bags in resounded, as each held the groceries to themselves. The smell of unripe berries mingling with old bird's nests and leaves ready to fall on the ground filled the soft, slowly changing air.
The Aoiya appeared, in the distance, when Misao stopped abruptly. Soujiro looked at her, a question ready to spring from his lips. Unfortunately, she asked him first.
"Soujiro?" she said, staring off into space.
"Yes?"
"When do you think Aoshi-sama's going to come back?"
"…"
He noticed the light, almost wistful quality of her voice.
…and Shinomori-san? To be honest, the whereabouts of that man hadn't even touched his consciousness during his two years of traveling. The last time he had seen the stoic, trench-coat clad swordsman was during the downfall of Shishio, and that probably wasn't the answer that the weasel girl was looking for. Soujiro really couldn't say much.
"Well?"
"I…don't know, Makimachi-san." He answered, somewhat apologetically.
Misao raised a brow, and shot him an irritated look. "Don't call me that," she said, beginning to resume her walking, "It makes me sound old."
The wanderer smiled as usual, and kept pace with her. "Okay," he tried it out, "…Misao-san."
A small smile crept up her lips, and without warning, she whirled around to face him, with her braid twirling after. A startled Soujiro blinked, meeting her gaze. Those green eyes, he swore, were laughing at him.
"That's better," she declared. "You know Soujiro; you might actually be of some use one day."
He grinned in return.
"Why thank you."
A slightly chilly wind blew past them both, as the wanderer and the weasel girl walked towards the warm, welcoming doors of the Aoiya, with the young man carrying six bags of groceries, and the young woman, four. It was the pinnacle of change that day, with summer on the brink of giving in to the slow, cold pace of autumn, and also a lonely stranger, giving into the subtle, welcoming strands of acceptance.
.0o0.
Hoa…I don't think I pulled the Sou-Mi interaction off that nicely. (sigh) Oh well. :P thank you for all your comments. I really, really, really, really, enjoy reading them, and they help me out more than you know. :) So! 'Till next chapter! Ohohohohohoho!
Leishe