A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.
Days fall like water drops in rusty rain barrels. All alike. All swallowed in the mass of one glassy eye that stares indifferently at heaven, waiting.
Waiting for something other than a drop of rain; a sunlight tear, a fallen star, a whispered word to stir the dust.
One such drop came; a day, quite the same as every other, except not.
It began when the tips of her toes found the soft maws of her slippers. (a present from Baa-chan when she was twelve) It began when she brushed her hair and handcuffed it with clips. (cupcake ones and lollipops, she and Paku-san had bought matching pairs) It trailed her feet like surface ripples when she did her morning round and bowed to all her friends.
how do you tell when a story begins?
"Good morning Hoshi-san!"
A smattering of drops, an offering to one that thrives on thirst. Haworthias are small things, tough things, easy to grow and hard to kill.
"Good morning Momo-san!"
Shiemi would greet them all in turn, every potted friend she fed on her pilgrimage through the old house, like they were all kamidana to be honoured and tended. That story had begun with Hoshi, whom she gave greetings in place of water in his winter fasting; she didn't want him to feel forgotten. Her grandmother had seen it, seen everything, seen things that only grandmothers with sunshine eyes will see; and spoken things that only grandmothers can speak.
Did not the other plants also want a morning greeting?
Shiemi had been little then, heart bigger than her body; bigger than the red watering can she had to carry with both hands when it was full. Her face had been that same red colour when her grandmother's smiled inquiry had landed on it.
no one wants to be forgotten
Shiemi never does. She loves with gentle fingers, everyone and everything. She pours her love in words to water the world, gathers sunlight in her eyes to warm and soothe and nourish all they shine upon. She greeted all of them, and they loved her like a mother, like a father, like the sun itself.
The sick and wounded have their special wing, conservatory turned infirmary just past the backdoor frame. She goes there last – guardian, healer – weaving deftly past the crates stored there for the shop. A place of pungent smells, it is. A place where all kinds of things come to hide from winter's bite. Shiemi found a rat there, once; flaking fur and three good legs to limp on. She left a plate of breakfast scraps for him each morning, until that morning came when the meal from yesterday was still in place and Nezumi-san was nursing larvae in his gut.
Shiemi still leaves scraps of breakfast at his garden grave.
"How are you feeling today, Nana-san?"
The honeysuckle sapling nods, demure, as her steps make the wooden flooring sway beneath it. It thanks her for the water, for the hands that scan its sickly foliage so gently.
"Don't worry, you're going to be alright. We just need to get these meanies off you, Nana-san. You don't seem to have any today but we have to be sure, right? This might hurt a little – I don't know, but if it does I'm sorry."
On top of leaves and under leaves, in the soil and on the stems. Each stipule where leaves spring forth receives its due attention, receives all the love and care those hands can give. The ones she finds (plump, green little plant-killers) she crushes, face an irate puff of anger.
No one harms Shiemi's friends.
Lastly, then, the special medicine: soft soap and denatured alcohol. Shiemi sprays Nana's tender vines root to tip, humming soothing lullabies to ease the sting. She knows what it is to be a wilting plant in need of help to grow; and grown she has. With the help from her new friends she has grown, from a shy bud held in shade to a flower unafraid to face the sun. She's able to help them, now. She's able to do things for them now, as they have done for her.
Shiemi thinks of the ghost boy in the amusement park (little pervert!) and smiles. She was able to help him.
She thinks of Paku (sweet sister!) and the ghoul wound that almost necrotized her tissues. She was able to help her, too. She saved her. (something blossoms in her chest and she wonders if this is what flowers feel when they burst their buds in spring) Yuki-chan praised her, even! Yuki-chan, sweet Yuki-chan who is so strong and smart. Shiemi wants to be like him and Rin. Rin…
When Shiemi thinks of Rin her eyes fill up with water.
drops in rusty rain barrels, all alike
She was horrible to Rin. A selfish girl who wanted to be his friend without thinking of how he felt at all, no better than an aphid leeching on a plant. No, not an aphid: a weed. Shiemi wants to be a weed, a stubborn little dandelion with roots that bury deep and sprout anew when cut. A weed that burrows through asphalt and concrete. A weed that stands up on its own and is strong.
But she did help Rin.
A smile flickers on Shiemi's lips, not sure it can belong there yet brave enough to try. She did help Rin. She helped him be strong. Helped him believe in himself and break out of the magic prison.
he was always strong, he just needed to believe
The smile dims, blocked by cloudy thoughts that smell the rain behind her eyes when truth pierces the illusion. Rin was always strong. Shiemi was never strong.
useless
She grasps for light to chase the clouds away, thoughts to dam the rain; something to deny the truth. Shiemi hugs herself, clutches kimono colours that shine so bright and hide her monochrome identity.
"It's alright. Keep smiling. I'll… I'll catch up with them, one day", she thinks (prays) but her voice is trembling.
but they move ahead so fast
She doesn't want to think it. She doesn't want to, but it's there. Everyone is far ahead and the maelstrom eats her driftwood hopes as the distance to them grows, grows so much faster than she does…
Izumo.
The maelstrom roar fades on her ears and she knows how to breathe again. Yes, she saved Izumo: not once but twice. Shiemi could help her even if Izumo is so much stronger.
Her reflection stares back breathlessly, entrapped in conservatory glass. Shiemi breathes herself in slowly, flaxen hair and big green eyes that make her look so childish; breathes her shoulders down and loosens her grasp on the kimono folds. She saved Izumo. There is a deep blue bruise necklacing her throat (a bathroom spirit's parting gift) that says she saved her friend. It's still sore to touch but Shiemi does it all the same. It's proof.
Proof that she's working hard and helping people.
but is it enough
Shiemi pleads it to be enough. Pleads that if only she tries hard enough, works hard enough and does everything she can she will catch up with them one day and not… not be useless...
what good is it to treat a plant for aphids if the roots are weak and useless
A plant with weak roots won't grow strong. It doesn't matter how well you water it, how well you fertilize it, how much you love it. It will grow healthy only to fall ill again. It will always be a burden to others. Cling on others.
parasite
"I want to be a weed…" Her voice is a murmur in the conservatory; a quivering leaf, a yellow-spotted plant sick with disease and no one there to cure it. "I don't want to be a parasite…"
The honeysuckle sapling has no comfort to offer her.
Smiles are people's sunlight – the words belonged to Baa-chan while she lived. Now, they are Shiemi's. People need smiles like plants need sun. People need smiles to know someone cares about them, so Shiemi smiles. She cares about all her friends.
and yet she fails them
Baa-chan's garden became an orphan when Shiemi chose to go to school in the Academy. There are three creaky wooden steps from the conservatory to the garden and each one laments its quiet suffering. What meets her is a mass grave, parched leaves tossing death rattles in the breeze. Baa-chan's garden… Guilt explodes in Shiemi's chest, a violent detonation tossing guilt and anger and sadness like shrapnel shards and she rushes to the rain barrel to fill her can up. It isn't nearly big enough but the plants need water and they need it now. Shiemi rushes back and forth between the flower beds and the rain barrel, the vegetable garden and the rain barrel, the herb garden and reaching as far as her arm can go into the almost empty barrel.
It's not her mother's fault. She said she would look after the garden when Shiemi was in school but mother needs to run the shop, too. (Shiemi knows that) She said she would look after the garden when Shiemi was doing her homework but mother doesn't know about plants like Baa-chan did. (Shiemi knows that)
Only Shiemi knows plants like Baa-chan did. And she abandoned them.
undependable
Shiemi bites her tears back.
pathetic
Her hands are trembling around the watering can and the shame is burning through her eyes like acid. Crying like a child instead of doing something when her friends need help.
pathetic
Shiemi shakes her head, shakes her tears away. There is no time to be crying when there is work to do.
"Nii-cha-" Shiemi halts her words, eyes bright and big and childish; big enough to take in all the dead and dying in the garden. This is her doing. This is her failure to amend. To restore her peace with the garden she must do it properly.
There are… places.
Places where the air is sworn to secrecy and time plays hide and seek in undertaker gown. Places where things are buried by those wishing to forget.
Hunger, they know. Wait, they know.
They have waited a long, long, time.
Nothing wants to be buried. Nothing wants to be forgotten.
And so, one way or another, those places will be found.
Those things will be unearthed.
And those that did not want to be forgotten
will bury those that did not want to remember.
"Baa-chan used to go here." Shiemi's voice is thin, a spider string glinting in the sunlight of an unknown place. "She said the peat moss was best when it came from here."
"Nii…" her familiar confirms with hesitation, clinging tightly to her hair. Birds have always unnerved him (they think he's edible) and the busy foliage says this forest houses many.
Baa-chan left few material possessions, but she did leave behind a key. (an old, corroded one; could be iron but impossible to tell) It smelt cold, felt cold, and the dilapidated root cellar it led to is the same. Shiemi stepped through it into the forested area of the Academy. Where, she does not know. She only knows that these cedar trees are older than any she has ever seen, and that they anchor sky to earth with their majestic height and roots that touch the bedrock.
Without really thinking, Shiemi bows before following the fragrant trail into the cathedral forest.
Peat loves water, traps it like a sponge and turns lakes into bogs. A clearing where the ground is wet and no trees grow; that is what she looks for, among the monolithic trunks, and before long she has found it. The cedars part reverently around it and form a heavy baldachin above. The bog preens, tranquil like a Buddha, as sunlight reaches gently through the branches to pour rippling patches in its little water ponds. Breezes in the cedar crowns make them sway, sets the light to dance over the glinting, glowing bog. Shiemi rubs the iron key with her thumb, feels its crusty surface, thinking she must come more often to a place this beautiful. The bog has a nice smell, too – earthy, rich, and a lot of cedar.
Harvested and decomposed, peat can be mixed with soil to conserve water, to keep nutrients from washing away; and, because it is acidic enough to prevent bacterial growth, the fresh moss can also halt decomposition and be used for…
Dressing wounds.
Shiemi's heart grows cold then. Cold and still, hoping it won't be heard.
The Earth King sits at the edge of the bog. The Earth King. He wears nothing from the waist up, clothes left on the ground in a sticky, ragged heap of red. Lacerations bore into him from every angle, as though he had been stabbed repeatedly with spears. Lace of splintered bone trims the holes into his ribcage, and though he does his best to bear the pain of pushing ribs back in there come growls and grunts that tears Shiemi's heartstrings raw.
The poor thing can barely move enough to press the moss against his wounds.
"He needs help…"
But he is dangerous. He's a demon – a demon king.
But he's hurt. He's in pain. He might not attack in this state, or so Shiemi hopes, because the words are past her lips before she knows it.
"Uhm, excuse me…?"
Shiemi's heart has never pounded so hard before. The Earth King turns his head towards the sound, and in an instant the blue eyes - dull, like blades that have cut down too many enemies to count - have found her. Her heart keeps pounding fiercely, every muscle tense like steel wire in case she has to bolt and run.
And the demon does nothing. He stares, and that is it. That is all. He sits like a statue, not a muscle moving in his half-naked body. Shiemi hardly dares to blink (perhaps that is what he's waiting for) or breathe or even, even…
Until she can't bear it any longer.
"I-I noticed you're hurt, so… I… I can help you bandage it!"
Her voice is too loud, forced through a throat too tight for anything but screaming. Shiemi almost slaps her hands over her mouth but her limbs shake too violently for her command.
"I don't need help." As soon as he has said it, the bandage on his arm slips down in a cataract of blood. He doesn't even seem to notice.
Shiemi isn't sure if she should point out to him that help does seem like a good idea.
"Nii!"
"Ah, N-Nii-chan…!"
Nii-chan hops down from her shoulder, braving the spongy moss to where the Earth King sits and greets him. That seems to be what he is doing, at least. A stream of chirps and trills pass from the greenman, and the Earth King appears to listen.
"Can you… understand what he says?" Her voice is still loud in her head – or is that the pounding of her heart? Shiemi can't tell.
"Yes."
Time passes again. So slowly it makes her skin crawl. So slowly it might just stretch too thin and break. Shiemi doesn't want to tread nervously on the spot but she will start doing it if he doesn't say anything soon. Doesn't he want to tell her what Nii-chan says…? Is he considering whether to attack her or let her go? What does that indifferent stare mean?
"So, uhm, what is he saying?" she asks, when the silence is just about to crush her.
The Earth King speaks a single word: "Leave."
Electricity sparks through her system, a primal urge to run and not look back. But…
undependable
Shiemi steels herself, takes a deep breath the way she did before she entered Rin's demonic prison. She must be strong.
"Ah… Can… Can I just take some of the moss with me, then?" She dares to cast a glance away from him, at the moss she came to fetch. Her nerves are burning in her skin, flooded with adrenaline and screaming in her ears but she has a mission to fulfil. "I need it for my garden, it looks terrible now that my mom is taking care of it most of the time, a-and… I need the moss so it can stand draught better."
The Earth King looks at her. His head tilts to the side a fraction, maybe less, but it's a reaction and Shiemi wonders, breath hitching, if she said the wrong thing. (if it will be the last thing she says)
"You're a gardener?"
His face says nothing, but there is something in his voice that could be curiosity.
"Mh." She bobs her head to nod, too nervous now to speak.
"I thought you were an exorcist?"
"Ah, I-I'm both. I'm studying to become an exorcist but I'm also keeping a garden. I supply the exorcist shop with herbs."
"Nii! Nii nii, nii!" The greenman speaks with the Earth King again, and it seems urgent. He waves and gestures and Shiemi thinks he might be pointing at her.
"But your garden is dying because you don't have time to do both."
That stare again. Shiemi feels like an exhibition object: not one admired but one stripped naked in a critically scrutinising spotlight. That stare is seeing things (she doesn't know what) and considering things (she doesn't want to know), and Shiemi trembles. His face is frosted glass, leaving no clues what lies behind it. The wound in his arm still bleeds but the Earth King doesn't seem to care. He brings his hand up to his face, absentmindedly, and starts chewing on his thumb claw.
For a fluttering moment Shiemi thinks he looks more like a big child than a demon king.
"I can take care of your garden", he says.
…he did say that, didn't he? Shiemi was too startled to listen, but she is quite sure he said that.
"Nii!" her familiar chirps, and looks like he is very proud.
Shiemi is not proud. Shiemi has done this once before, made a promise to protect Baa-chan's garden once before, and burnt children do not step into fire. She holds her breath and waits, and silence coats them once again, because there is more that needs to be said. His words are words that come with conditions.
"But then you have to do something for me in return", he adds, claw still between his teeth.
It isn't Shiemi that holds her breath this time, no, it's the forest and the bog themselves, and time has slowed almost to a stop. Only now does she realise her whole body is beating like a heart, beating madly and spinning in a million directions but her mind is at the centre of it, and her mind is still.
She will not make the same mistake twice.
"Entertain me."
Shiemi blinks.
"Eh?" Had he really… said that? "You mean like… playing games?"
A nod. Short. Simple. The Earth King wants to play games.
Shiemi's mind is crashing comets and blinding supernovas. When the flash is gone she sees, she understands. The demon king wants to play, like the ghost boy in the park. Hadn't Rin told her so, when she came to after the disastrous summer camp? That Amaimon had wanted to "play" with him?
The memory of the ghost boy floats in her reeling mind, the little boy and his big, grateful smile.
'cause I've been sick ever since I was born I got scolded every time I tried to go outside an' play, so today was really fun! Thanks, Onee-san!
What if… this big child sitting in the bog…?
"Not the kind of game you played with Rin, right?"
"No. You're too weak."
The statement is short and frank and stabs into the pit of her stomach. Shiemi's hands clench and her face burns red. She is weak, yes. But her resolve is strong.
"But other games are okay? Regular games?" she inquires, needing to be sure.
Another nod, and Shiemi's resolve grows stronger. If she could help the ghost boy, then…
"So I entertain you with games, and you tend my garden?"
"Yeah."
"In that case…" She draws a breath, fills with cedar fragrance and peat moss scent, and brings her thumb up to her teeth to bite. "I accept."
Days fall like water drops in rusty rain barrels. All alike. All swallowed in the mass of one glassy eye that stares indifferently at heaven, waiting.
Waiting for something other than a drop of rain.
This story starts with one such drop.
A/N:
Japanese honeysuckle is a climber. It can't support itself on its roots and so clings to other trees to reach up to the sunlight. It might kill the ones it clings on, and thus it's parasitic.
Dear Yoko-Zuki10 – and probably others
I had a good laugh at the possibilities of letting Amaimon acquaint himself with Shiemi as his new host body. x) I would love seeing her walk into the men's bathroom with an untroubled deadpan and punch guys through the wall when they try to make her leave! Ahhh the unexplored possibilities… I have put Daisy harvest up for adoption hoping that somebody will feel tempted to develop it more. I know several of those who are reading this have expressed such wishes, so: if you feel your fingers itching, go wild! =)
Rose Quartz Caterpillars is a different story, in more than one sense. It has nothing to do with Daisy harvest, and frankly it doesn't have much to do with any other AmaiShi fic you've read either. Terror and suggestive scenes is exactly what drew this dimwit into writing this, you're right about that. x'9 With kind help from SkyHearts, without whom there wouldn't be any fic. It does feel a little weird to write for a pairing I don't actually ship, but the possibilities… Oh man, the possibilities. *_*
Brace yourselves.
/ Dimwit