Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with Nobuhiro Watsuki or RK's publishers and studios. This is simply my fanwork, thanks.
Chapter 1: Prologue.
Kyoto No More
Once, they'd have told you, Kyoto was beautiful.
They'd have boasted of the row by rows of cherry blossoms blotting out the heavens in the hue of rosy cheeks, and the wind, painted with petals. Come summer, their scent continued to bless passerbys' from porcelain jars of perfume stalls, unfurling onto the streets.
The roads bustled with the continuous click-clack of wooden-scandaled merchants, heaving along carts and barrows of the morning's produce. They were unforgivingly overflowing with piles of fresh-cut greens, slugs still crawling; and exotic fruits bartered from every corner of the country. Down the most winding of paths, the fruits bruised in their rickety holdings, and the tops of the piles came crashing down- juices squelching on the floor. Here, the children laid in wait, a cluster of them robbing the fruits from behind and running away shrieking.
On another side, where the white paths were stone-paved, women graced the grounds in their best dress and high-heeled sandals. They travelled in trios, chuckling to themselves over the latest gossip; the sound of their voices jingling like bells in the air. Their kimonos were adorned with the colour of deep blues and sunset-reds. Flowers scattered over them, gathering near the length of the robes and long sleeves, flitting about.
Others were drawn to the spilling smell of deep-fried dumplings and sweet buns; long queues were draped in the billowing steam from makeshift, outdoor kitchens. Restaurants brimmed with chatter and grumbles as the chefs struggled to mass-supply takko-yakkis'.
The same old man stood elevated on a small wooden stool, waving haughtily around an array of hand-crafted fans attached to a string, and a painted doll in the other. Nearby, the sound of a whistle shrieked in the air as policeman, dressed in their proud gi, swords fixed smartly at their sides, broke up crowds that had gathered too large around the young and aspiring acrobat. Money clinked at his feet as they dispersed.
Fathers had hands full of half-eaten dangos and toy-drums as they mingled through the sea of people after their wives and children. From the square, the old and rich could be seen sipping sake of divinity, sheltered from the summertime sun.
Elsewhere, horse-drawn carriages disappeared behind the golden gates of the Kyoto estates, heading into the high-rising towers with their roofs strewn with lanterns- lighting up the night.
It was the sort of Kyoto a burly man with an overbearing coat- red rimmed and high-collared- would amble about, eyes carefully tracking a pony-tailed red head bobbing about somewhere in front. Man and boy were on a quest for sake. And maybe dango if the little baka-deshi behaved.
Once, Kyoto was beautiful.
And then War came.
The sudden trigger of a firearm plagued the outskirts, and where smoke rose above, the people fled. The spark of gunshots fired from long barrelled muskets lit up window frames at night. They blinked like fireflies before fading out, marking where death would come by. Odd fires spasmed alight, and sometimes singed bodies were pulled out- discovered with ropes bound to what was left of the arms and legs.
The nights became darker, and colder, and even in the absence of a night's rain, puddles still adorned the pretty-paved grounds in the morning. The downpour seemed to coat the walls in striking blotches, staining. Drag marks were customary around them. Grass grew green over bullet shells.
Morning, noon and night, and those desperate enough out after dark, were ravaged by petty thieves and beggars. And as time went on, they were one and the same.
The young recruits of self-proclaimed liberators picketed the ones siding with the shogun, many with no home to return to, nobody to go home to. Back rooms of restaurants held dives for the Ishin Shishi, out saving the country by killing its people. Revolutionaries started out by slipping messages into the coat sleeves of comrades passing by, not yet burdened with the knowledge of their association in planting gravestones.
Street performers, the 2-string musicians and the man on the wooden stool, were replaced by patrolling officers, sides armed with katanas no longer worn with pride- but warning.
Crowds didn't clap and cheer at performers, but rioted around men stripped bare- whip licking at their backs, top knots hacked off form their heads.
Women and girls stood barefoot on the streets, flowery kimonos slipped down a couple inches too low, flaunting, pleading, in wind or rain. Children too young to understand, were ushered onto the backs horse drawn carts. The promise of a single meal kept them silent.
The smell of sakura-scented perfumes were long gone- and instead, the haunting stench of severed flesh- weeks long decomposed- unfurled upon the streets in throngs. They were lined uniformly, the enemies of the state, each carefully fashioned on pikes staring with grey eyes or red eyes, or no eyes. Their blood dry and flaking, their pikes etched with claw marks, and their receding cheeks infested with maggots, burrowing.
The peasants, pillaged of their produce, didn't dare show their faces. The fear of all they had being seized, was all too real. The people starved. Merchant-turned bandits abandoned the city to raid the countryside with unsheathing machetes- and the odd, lucky one with a pistol by european make.
Kyoto had fallen.
At night, the city was manic, and the Shinsengumi maniacal- their game of cat and mouse with the Shishi yielded death tolls, higher year, by year, by year. The Wolves of Mibu greeted the brave, or stupid, or idealistic, or all- welcome to the city of the dead and dying. Kyoto, the city of the grotesque and diseased.
And one fine morning, the red-headed boy returns, alone, half a man, cursing at himself for letting the world go to the dogs.
Thank you for your time, I hope you enjoyed.
This is a rather dramatised version of what I thought Kyoto was like during the bakumatsu.
ok, so I quickly just did some googling, the part about the fires is mostly correct (outside the Kenshin story) . See the Great Genji fire, 1864. There is a list on wikipedia of Kyoto fires- everything was made of wood. There most definitely are cherry blossoms in Kyoto. There are quite a few unpleasant references in the second half, such as the selling women and children, and prostitution- which was basically an industry no matter the war. Guns, like some types of rifle, were most definitely used in the 19 century. There were plenty of skirmishes between samurai in the city- there was intense political instability.
ok here, from insidekyotodotcom : 'In the mid 19th century though, Japan was wracked by political instability. Kyoto, the imperial capital, was a hotbed of conspiracy and intrigue. Ambushes, assassinations and outright battles frequently erupted on the streets.' That said, I suppose I portrayed the intensification of civil war in Kyoto, making it seem kinda like an over-night change when it was more prevalent. Please let me know any other period knowledge relevant :D
Um, the rest of the series is not strictly about Kyoto, hehe, it centres around Kenshin.
Anyhow, I hope the fic is enjoyable, thank you so so much! I would absolutely adore a review!
-earl