Motto Omoide – More Memories

She glanced at the black envelope one more time. The location was a back street behind a restaurant in the imperial district – she would have to be careful. Placing the message back in her sleeve, she checked the tightness of her binder once last time, then folded the collar of her gi high up near her throat. Placing her katana and wakazashi in her hakama belt, she set her face as she slid the shoji to her room shut behind her. She swept out of the inn as the sun began to set, unaware of the alarmed look on Souma's (1) face as she passed him.

She kept to the side of the streets while she was still in friendly areas, not noticing the children who first ran up to her, then slowed to a halt – a frightened look in their eyes. She was too busy thinking about her assignment.

She wasn't as nervous as she had been the first few times. It had been a month since she had first started her role as the Choushuu hitokiri, and she had killed over a dozen men. She hadn't been sick after them, like she had with her first assignment, but she hadn't been sleeping well – Souma could attest to that. But she was determined that this time she would not be affected. If this was the way she was able to help bring an end to the Bakufu's reign of oppression, then she needed to be able to do it professionally.

Also, she had overheard a conversation about her target earlier that day. Iizuka had told her that it was best she knew as little as possibile about those she was assigned to, but this conversation she heard made it actually seem easier to walk out the door to deal out his fate.

"So… how about that Hosokawa guy, huh?" One was saying as she passed by a partially open shoji.

"Oh Kami-sama, don't get me started on that guy!" The second guy growled, as she slowed down to hear more. "Hosokawa is one of the worst of them out there!"

"Yeah, he bleeds the poor merchants dry by forcing them to sell their goods to Bakufu members dirt cheap. It's disgusting – I hope someone deals with him soon…"

"Me too – he deserves to die."

"He deserves to die," she repeated to herself as she got closer to her destination, the sun now almost out of sight behind the horizon. In this area, her Choushuu colours would stand out too much, so she went to the shadows until she found the entrance to the alleyway she was looking for. Walking down the narrower path, she made her way through the twisted maze on the track she had picked out earlier that day until she was at the opening to the back street. Pausing as she heard voices approaching, she backed up, looked around briefly, then sprung up to the roofs, crouching down low as the owners of the voices passed.

Slowly pulling out the envelope again, she re-read the message within – 'Hosokawa Senji, mid-50's, balding. Back alley of Yosomono Shokudou, 10:00-10:15 p.m. 2 bodyguards possibility.' Listening hard, she heard the faint chimes of a clock in a nearby house give the time of 8:00 – she still had plenty of time. But that was ok. She could wait.

While she sat and watched the light slowly leave the sky and be replaced with the lights of houses and street lamps, she found herself pondering over her target's life. What drove him to grind the poor merchants into the ground? What made him support the Bakufu? Would there be people who would miss him? She shook her head furiously after this last thought. How could she let herself think like that? Who could care about someone who brought sadness to so many?

More time passed, and she slowly found her legs starting to freeze up. Carefully stretching them out, she tensed as she felt a hostile ki coming closer. Edging towards the end of the roof, she peered down with narrowed eyes. She saw a muscular man swaggering up the alleyway, his swords gently clinking against each other. It wasn't her target, but his ki felt familiar, and so did his appearance. She continued to watch him as he went up to the back of the restaurant and knock loudly on the door. A man slid it open, and a conversation ensued.

As she was starting to think about getting closer to listen in, the man with the ki suddenly started yelling. "What do you mean, Aida?" his coarse voice rang out, "I told him I might come early! What made him think bringing his family here to eat with him first was a good idea?"

As the other man tried to calm him down, she leaped across to the other roof and silently moved closer to hear more.

"… hasn't been out with his family for a long time, Hotei," the man in the doorway was saying, looking extremely tense, "And though he would have time to be with them first before getting on with business…"

"Then he thought wrong!" the hostile man growled as his hand shot to his katana. Before the other could react, he had whipped out the blade and beheaded him. She watched through narrow eyes as he flicked the blood off his sword and kicked the body out of the doorway. "Hosokawa! Come out now, you old fool!"

She remember why he seemed so familiar – when she was scouting her location earlier that day, she had seen a incident occur when a peasant was beheaded because he did not show enough respect to the samurai who went passed, who had declared himself to be a Hotei Tomoyasu. This man was as much as a menace to society as her target. Her hand slowly went to her katana, and felt for where the hilt joined the scabbard.

But before she could do anything, she felt another ki coming towards them. She wouldn't have called it a warrior's ki, but it was definitely a ki with a warrior's spirit. Guessing it was her target, she flattened herself against the tiles, and slowly looked over the top of the roof to see what would happen

"Hotei…" the man in the doorway did not looked impressed, "Why did you slay my servant?"

"He was annoying me," was the reply, "And so are you, Hosokawa. Why did you bring your family here? I thought you didn't want them involved with your politics anymore."

"I don't," Hosokawa answered, crossing his arms, "I merely wanted them to enjoy a meal with me here. It is a nice place to eat as well as hold meetings, you know. Now, you're early, so why don't you go away for another hour so I can get my family out of here?"

Hotei snorted, but placed his katana back into its sheath. "Fine, old man… do as you wish…" And with that he left the older man by the door, swaggering back down the alleyway.

Hosokawa sighed and looked down at the body of his ex-servant. "What a waste…" He fumbled around in his gi's sleeve until he eventually found what he was looking for – a packet of western cigarettes. He placed one in his mouth and was about to light it when a noise caught his ears. Looking to the alleyway, he thought he saw a shadow sweep past. Frowning, he dropped the cigarette and grasped the sword that hung at his side. Walking over, he glanced around with narrowed eyes. He stood like that for a minute until he felt satisfied, and let go of his sword. It was then that he realised someone was behind him.

"Hosokawa Senji, I have come to bring Heaven's Justice upon you."

Spinning around, he came face to face with a petite swordsman, with blood-coloured hair and eyes that glowed with fierce amber. It looked like the demon the Bakufu soldiers were whispering about. His face contorting with hatred, his hand flew back to his sword and started to draw. "You little"

But before he could continue, the demon had whipped out its own sword with unbelievable speed, and had beheaded him in mid-sentence.

Whipping her sword in a similar action Hotei had to get rid of the excess blood, she quickly re-sheathed it, as she guessed the old man's cries had been heard. Hearing footsteps approaching, she relaxed as she recognised the ki that came with it. Sidestepping the fallen body, she watched Iizuka come up and pull out the paper declaring 'Tenchu', placing it next to the severed head. He made eye contact with her and nodded, indicating for her to follow him out to the back street. Passing the opening of the alley she had used to get there, she was going to keep walking when the noise of a commotion outside the back door of the restaurant made her pause…

Kenko's eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath. She remembered this dream. Even though she was awake, it kept going on in her head. Now the women's screams started. Cries and wails of despair… they hacked away at her very soul.

"He was an enemy, he was an enemy…" she mumbled to herself, remembering how she had started running down the alley after hearing them, even when Iizuka had hissed at her to wait.

It was a human life.

Her body was shaking, like it had when she'd walked back up to her room that night. Back then she hadn't felt as nauseous as she had the first time, but she had kept seeing the man standing in front of her, face ugly with hatred, then crumple, headless. And that sound, the sound of the women crying—why couldn't she block it from her mind? That man was the enemy! But that man was also someone's father, husband, son, wasn't he? Like many times after this kill, she had taken the life of someone who, despite everything, had been loved and depended upon by people who were totally blameless in the political affairs of the country. But he had also had been bleeding the merchants dry for years, forcing them to sell way below cost to the Bakufu, right? That's what the others had said. He was an enemy of the people, he was oppressing them…

Shaking her head, Kenko closed her eyes. She should be used to these nightmares by now – she always had them the night she killed someone. But this particular one… her grip on her katana scabbard tightened slightly as she returned to the world of her dreams, filled with wailing, crying, and headless bodies…

"Ah, ohayou, Himura-chan – you're up earlier than I expected," the landlady Okami (2) greeted Kenko as she entered the kitchen around 10 o'clock. She saw the usual sadness in the girl's eyes she had after a night of killing. When she had first arrived at the inn, she was a great help around the kitchen – awake and getting things ready before even herself, and always willing to help with anything. But the morning after her first assignment, she didn't turn up in the kitchen, and didn't even appear for breakfast with the other men. So she would always leave a tray of food just inside her room the mornings she didn't appear – as she did this morning. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

"Uh… hai, Okami-san, thank you," Kenko answered softly, watching Aya and Miyuki already starting to prepare lunch. She had decided a long time ago not to tell her that she never ate the food she left but gave it later to various children who roamed the street. She felt vile eating the food offered to her in kindness after she had murdered someone. Turning to face the older woman, she asked, "Is there anything you'd like me to do for you here?"

"Ne, Himura-chan," Miyuki looked up from her work of cutting up vegetables, "I don't suppose you'd like to do this for me?"

Before she could answer, Okami had given her worker a glare. "You can do your own jobs, Miyuki. However, Himura-chan – I would appreciate it if you could quickly go buy some daikon radishes for me. I don't need them until tomorrow, but it's always good to be prepared."

"Uh… that's fine, but I'll have to get my hat first…" Kenko answered, looking down at her usual grey hakama and green gi. Unless she had to have extended contact with people on the street, she preferred to wear the mens' clothing, and today she was planning on just staying at the inn. Dressed as she was, she could pass as a boy, but her face and red hair were a bit too much.

"Oh, do you need some daikon, Okami-san? I can go get that for you if you want…" Ikumatsu startled everyone by sticking her head inside the kitchen, including Kenko. She had assumed that she had gone back to where she stayed with Katsura, since staying in an inn with at least 20 lecherous men isn't something most women would like to do by choice. Considering she was the Choushuu clan leader's woman, however, that fact would have to give her some protection.

Okami, however, wasn't particularly happy to see the consort around her girls or Kenko. She wasn't a particulary bad person, it just that Miyuki and Aya were bad enough as it was without getting tips from her, and she had no wish to see Kenko turn out like that. Although, it would be better for her to be like that then be as she was now, she thought later on. "Ah… Ikumatsu-san," she said with a plain voice, "That would be much appreciated. The basket is to your left there, and take what money is needed from the front desk."

Ikumatsu pretended she didn't notice the landlady's usual indifferent tone. "Sure thing… although, since you don't really need them until tomorrow, I'll also be doing some shopping of my own while I get them for you, so I'll be a bit late. Well, ja ne!" With a wave to Kenko, she left the kitchen, and Miyuki took the moment to take hold of Kenko's sleeve and pull her to the chopping board.

"Well, since you're not doing that now, you wouldn't mind doing this, ne? I also need to pop out for a second…" Giving a quick smile, she placed the knife in the younger girl's hand before ducking out of the kitchen.

"Miyuki! Where do you think you're going?" Okami called out behind her, then turned to face Kenko. "I'm sorry about this, Himura-chan. You know you shouldn't let the girls make you do their work."

"Yes, but it's ok, Okami-san," Kenko forced a smile onto her face, and fixed her grip on the knife. "I don't mind at all – you know that." She ignored Okami's tuttering as she quickly sliced through the carrots Miyuki hadn't finished.

What she had said was true – she really didn't mind doing simple chores like preparing the vegetables, fetching water from the well. Even chopping the wood, which she had often complained to her master about it being a backbreaking task, was something she could find some solace in these days. For the one reason that it helped pull wool over her own eyes. It helped her think that she could live a normal life where chores were everyday burdens that she had to get through, instead of being the most feared hitokiri on Tokyo's streets.

If she was lucky, she could have three days in a row like this, where she could slowly piece her shattered soul into an almost reasonable state. But the arrival of a black envelope from Iizuka always came along just when she would start thinking that perhaps they didn't need her for a while. Its arrival would force her to bring back the cold Battousai, making her lose what sanity she had manage to salvage.

Kenko was thinking about how many days she'd have this time to recuperate when Aya walked towards her, carrying a heavy basket. She couldn't see where she was going, and tripped over the younger girl's leg, falling into her chopping arm. The action caused the blade to scrape across to Kenko's other hand and cut her thumb. While the girl only scrunched her face up slightly in response, Aya's eyes flew open in shock. "Oh! Gomen nasai, Himura-chan! That was so stupid – are you ok?"

Kenko found herself smiling slightly at the hysterical older girl. "Daijoubu, Aya-san – it's barely even bleeding, see?" Lifting up the bloody thumb to show her, she couldn't help but be amused at her reaction. Looking at the cut itself, she decided it wasn't deep, but the smell started to fill her mind, making her feel uncomfortable. She needed to get rid of it.

Moving to clean her hands, she remembered that she hadn't washed her blue gi from last night. Looking around for Okami, she couldn't find the landlady. Guessing she had gone to see what Miyuki had disappeared to, she told Aya what she was doing and headed for the stairs, gently sucking at the cut. Going up them, she noticed some of the men edge away slightly as she went past them. She was used to them being scared of her by now. When she had first come, there was only one person besides the women who befriended her, even when he found out who she was – a teenage boy, only a few years older than herself called Souma. But he was killed on a group assignment gone wrong months ago, and now she only exchanged a few words with his old friends. There was Iizuka to talk to, but there was a limit to how long you could stand to be around the sleazy man. Whenever Katsura came, so did Ikumatsu, and they were the best days. But they were few and far between. When she worked in the kitchen, Miyuki and Aya always talked to her and shared gossip (even though she never showed any interest), but they were too busy to do much else with her.

Not that she wanted anyone to try and be nice to her. She was a murderer. She did not need friends.

Reaching her room, she slid the shoji open and stepped inside. Sure enough, her navy gi was waiting for her, the smell of blood already stirring in Kenko's mind. Ignoring it, knowing she was just her imagination, she reached out for it when the sound of rustling paper made her pause. A light breeze coming through the open window, and two pieces of paper sticking out from under the stack of books on the low desk were fluttering about, trying to get free. Reaching down, she pulled out the top one to look at it. It was a tanka (3), written with a not so neat hand or flow of words, but the message was what counted to her:

'Stay strong, little friend,
Never let them see you weak,
Or you'll be alone.
But when you fall down,
Friends will pick you up.'

A small, sad smile crept forth. Souma had written this for her, when he had shared her room when the men were required to double up – not that any other man would volunteer to go with her, nor would she let anyone else. He knew of the nightmares she'd have, of her fears that she actually enjoyed the death matches, and would always reassure her. She remembered him telling her as he wrote it down that she would need to stand strong in the world of men, and to never let them see her weak side if she wanted to be accepted for who she was.

Reaching down for the other piece of paper, the smile slowly widened as she remembered what it was of. Raising to her face, she began to read the slightly audacious description of a man they knew. Kenko felt a small chuckle reach her lips.

'Gangly arms and legs,
Eyes that droop like onion weeds,
Oily hair and smirk,
He is the greatest
Weasel of them all.'

The sound of someone at her door made her tense, and she quickly turned around to see the subject of the tanka looking at her, the same oily smirk on his face. "What ya smilin' about, Battousai?" Iizuka drawled as he slowly entered her room. She winced slightly at the nickname – she didn't want to hear the name of her bloodthirsty self when she was trying to be who she really was… or at least who she thought she really was. With the passing of time, the lines between her personas had blurred heavily.

She didn't move as the older man's hand reach out for the paper in hers, but suddenly the thought that he might be offended by it flashed through her mind.

"O-oh… uh, about that…" she stammered as Iizuka raised an eyebrow while looking at the tanka.

"Heh… I like it – a stunning resemblance, wouldn't ya say?" He looked down and grinned at the embarrassed-looking girl. "Though I'm sure any poetry-loving person would choke on this use of such a classical form of writing… did you write it?" Before she could answer, a softer look covered his face. "Nah… it would've been that Souma kid who bunked with you, right? Yeah… he was a good kid – funny, too… shame… Well," he concluded, placing the paper back into the girl's hands, "Here you go – oh!" He raised a hand to his head, "I almost forgot the other reason why I came looking for ya."

Even before Iizuka began to reach into his sleeve, Kenko could feel her stomach begin to sink. Sure enough, a black envelope appeared from the folds of the man's gi and was passed to her. "Now, you might want to think about bringing an umbrella this time – it's gonna rain. I'm sure you don't wanna catch a cold and sneeze when your target walks past. Grab one of the sabre ones, if you'd like…"

Kenko resisted the urge to glare at him as he walked back out the room. It was only after the shoji had been slid shut that she realised that her hands were clenched tightly, with the poem and envelope being crushed within them. Trying her best to flatten the paper out, she placed both of them back under the pile of books and, after placing the black message of murder in her sleeve, went to pick up her uniform.

Notes:
(1) Souma – this is actually a last name, and I never really decided on a first name for him. It was Shigure for a while… then Hatori… then Momiji… but I figured that people might not find the 'FuruBa' reference as amusing as me…
(2) Okami – this is the title that is used for women who run an inn/hot spring etc. Watsuki-sensei never gave her a name, and in the fanfic 'Descent into Darkness' (written by Conspirator – btw I love you, I'm sorry my story has too many references to yours, please forgive me, I'm eternally indebted to you etc…) they use the excuse that Okami hates people using her real name, so everyone calls her Okami-san.
(3) Tanka – a style of writing, somewhat similar to haiku. While haikus were first written in the 17th century, tankas were around before then, and their syllable count is 5-7-5-5-5. I had thought of writing the tankas in japanese, but my grasp on all the forms of grammar isn't that great… also in english it's easier to fit in more words, like turning 'I will' into 'I'll'. Also, as Iizuka points out, the way that Souma uses the style – especially when doing the description of him – is not how it's meant to be used. Like haikus, they're usually on the subject of nature.
Also, I don't think anyone would have picked it up, but the guy I named Hotei Tomoyasu is named after the Japanese artist who did the main theme song of Kill Bill (vol. 1)… I was listening to that song (called 'Battle without Honor or Humanity') at the time, so I thought, "Oh well, what the hell…" (as a certain old fool would say )

Translations:

Kami-sama – God, Good Lord etc… (sama is a very polite suffix, usually translated as 'Lord')
Ki – a person's spirit, usually that of a warrior's
Tenchu – Heaven's Justice
Ohayou – (good) morning
Daikon – Japanese radish
Ja ne – see ya
Gomen nasai – I'm sorry, forgive me
Daijoubu – It's ok/alright, no worries etc… there are heaps of variations on how to translate this…
Shoji – a type of sliding door, the type with the non-see-through paper panels.