STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY: I could claim to own Rurouni Kenshin but, then again, I'm not that far gone just yet…
Quick little message from author: This chapter has, like so many others, gone right on ahead and foiled my plans. I had every intention of sticking to the little script I had written out before getting down and dirty typing up this chapter, only to find that I really have no control whatsoever over the story or its characters! I started it off as I had planned but, as this installment evolved, it sort of took on a life of its own and dialogues that weren't on the rough draft suddenly found themselves at the very heart of chapter 20, the initial title even getting completely discarded after only 5 pages. Writing is madness people, there's simply no other way to put it. All this being said, here's the latest chapter of 180º Spins, Twists and Turns.
Soundtrack: Well, De Lazy Lime wanted specifics on the music front and, who am I to deny my wonderful reviewers anything?
Therefore, the lowdown: the music for this installment – in general terms – has a basic theme, which is a sort of bell chiming sound, and every part of this chapter is separated from the other by a grayish line. Every part was inspired by one or more songs, as listed here:
Part 1: Song: "A walk in the park" Album: "Great Expectations – The Score"; Song: "Estella's Theme" Album: "Great Expectations – The Score". Part 2: Song: "La Redécouverte" Composer: "Yann Tiersen" Album: "Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain soundtrack" ; Song : "Maddening Shroud" Artist: "Frou Frou" Album: "Details". Part 3 : Song: "Pas Si Simple" Composer: "Yann Tiersen" Album: "Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain soundtrack". Part 4: Song: "At home" Composer: "Jan A. P. Kaczmarek" Album: "Unfaithful Soundtrack". Part 5: Song: "Tiny Vessels" Artist: "Death Cab for Cutie" Album: "Transatlanticism" -- (Stop at guitar soloPart 6: Song: "Innocent (Piano Acoustic)" Artist: "Fuel" Album: ? . Part 7: Song: "Dancing in the moonlight" Artist: "Toploader" Album: "Onka's Big Moka".
Chapter 20: Persona
In latin, 'persona' means 'actor's mask'.
Act I
Scene One:Early morning. A garden area. A man in green overalls is bent over a flowerbed, clipping weeds. Enter Ms. Writer.
Ms. Writer: Excuse meare you some sort of gardener?
Man in overalls: I sure am, miss!
-- Stands up and removes gardening gloves. --
Man in overalls: Herb Gardiner's the name. What can I do you for?
Ms. Writer: I would just like to know how these beautiful flowers are called.
-- Walks over to a nearby bush and points. --
Ms. Writer: I've never seen flowers quite like these before.
Mr. Gardiner: Those right there are gardenias ma'am; your garden is full of them.
Ms. Writer: Is that so? I would not know… I've not been outside my house for a very long time
Mr. Gardiner: It would explain why I've never seen you around these parts. Then again, you are one of them writing folk, are you not?
Ms. Writer: Up until today, I was indeed a writer.
Mr. Gardiner: Did you quit?
Ms. Writer: That's right… I suppose I did.
Mr. Gardiner: I beg your pardon miss but, if you've quit, what do you suppose you will do now?
Ms. Writer: I… I'm not really sure, Mr. Gardiner.
-- Wringing hands behind back. --
Ms. Writer: This is a very recent development, after all.
Mr. Gardiner: Gardening is my life, it's all I know.
-- Opening arms wide and gesturing towards the whole of the garden. --
Mr. Gardiner: I could never see myself giving any of this up. I could never imagine abandoning this here garden; why, what would happen to them gardenias if I suddenly took off? Leaving this place would be mighty irresponsible of me, that's for sure!
Ms. Writer: At the very least you take care of something; I didn't have anyone or anything to leave behind, save for some blank sheets of paper and a dusty typewriter. I won't be missed now that I am gone.
Mr. Gardiner: What about them people that read your writing, won't they miss your words?
Ms. Writer: I… I've only ever written for myself.
Mr. Gardiner: I must say miss, your kind is quite strange.
-- Walks over to Ms. Writer and joins her by the gardenia bush. --
Mr. Gardiner: I work here day in and day out. Because the grass needs me, as do the trees and the flowerbeds. Because I need them too. I could never be selfish with these plants; were I to be selfish, the gardenias would surely die. If they died, I would keep on living but, gardening is my life and I would have nothing to tend to. And what – I ask you –, is a gardener without a garden to tend to, miss?
Ms. Writer: You mean that… you live only because you keep them alive?
Mr. Gardiner: Them darling blossoms miss, they make melook forward to every rising day.
Ms. Writer: Every rising day… Does it not get boring, though, Mr. Gardiner? Having the same responsibilities to look forward to every day? Don't all days come to seem the same, on occasion?
Mr. Gardiner: Why, of course not! No sunrise is ever the same, just like no flower or leaf are alike. Every little thing is somehow different come tomorrow; every day is brand new!
Ms. Writer: That's strange… Back inside the house, every day seemed the same. I must say, sometimes it got incredibly boring and, when that happened, not even my muse dared show its face; I take it that my muse got tired of life indoors as well…
Mr. Gardiner: Is that why you quit?
Ms. Writer: In a sense. You see, Mr. Gardiner, I was so very bored and so very tired… I just wanted to come on outside and find out what it was like, what gardenias were like.
Mr. Gardiner: Then the rumorsare true and writing folk rarely go outdoors
Ms. Writer: I am afraid that it is for the best: writers must learn to live within themselves, isolated from the real world during the creative process. It is a golden rule that should not be violated; otherwise… terrible things could come to pass.
Mr. Gardiner: What kind of terrible things?
Ms. Writer: Well… if real life is ever to interfere with the time spent working on the writer's ultimate creation, it could all blow out of proportion and have the author put the story… on hold.
Mr. Gardiner: But if the writer puts the story on hold, then he…
Ms. Writer: …stops writing.
Mr. Gardiner: But… but…
-- Turning away from Ms. Writer, shaking in fright. --
Mr. Gardiner: What - what does that mean? A writer can't stop writing, not unless he 'aint a writer no more!
Ms. Writer: It truly is a terrible thing.
-- Placing a hand on Mr. Gardiner's shoulder. --
Ms. Writer: Oftentimes, the writer vanishes into thin air for days, for weeks, even months. Sometimes, forever…
Mr. Gardiner: Forever?
Ms. Writer: Forever. I myself vanished once for three whole weeks.
Mr. Gardiner: That's awful!!!
Ms. Writer: Indeed. Tell meare there any perils to being a gardener?
Mr. Gardiner: Nothing quite as grave, miss. The grieving process can be a heavy burden to handle, though.
Ms. Writer: The grieving process?
Mr. Gardiner: But of course! You see miss, flowers and plants die every single day, just as others grow: it is the natural order of things. This means that, though my job is to keep this garden in full bloom, a part of its survival is beyond my control. There are days when accepting that it comes with the territory is easy, but, other times…other times it saddens me like nothing else. I get particularly sentimental when one of them gardenias wilts away.
Ms. Writer: You must love them greatly…
Mr. Gardiner: As they do me, miss, as they do me. However, it is an unspoken love, you see, and so, when they finally go, one by one, so very much is left unsaid. My heart, it breaks every single time one of them delicate white petals takes its secret to the grave; the worst type of love, in my eyes, is the one that is never made known. Love can be felt deeply, but when unvoiced… I cry for each one miss, for each special and unique flower that harbors a secret that remains untold.
Ms. Writer: If I were to pick one, would it sadden you? If it does, then I'll not think of doing it anymore but, I must confess, today is the day that I have seen a gardenia bush for the very first time and…I am curious.
Mr. Gardiner: It is your garden miss.
Ms. Writer: But you tend to it!
Mr. Gardiner: The gardenias… they always die and their love… their love dies with them. Pick one miss. Hold it close to your heart and hear it whisper its secrets to you, feel it proclaim itself yours. Feel how the tall grass tickles your feet, how this entire garden moves with you, how it grows to love you, how it buds and winds strong vines around your heart. I shan't be sad.
Ms. Writer: Is this how you feel everyday, working in this place?
Mr. Gardiner: This place is my life; it has a hold on me, it makes me who I am and I, I am a gardener.
-- Picks gardenia from bush and deposits it in Ms. Writer's hand. --
Mr. Gardiner: Your first gardenia; if you no longer know your place then let it lead you.
Ms. Writer: It is so soft and fragile.
Mr. Gardiner: Love is a delicate thing, miss.
Ms. Writer: Thank you for this, Mr. Gardiner.
Mr. Gardiner: Hold it close now! Unspoken love is brittle and I have a garden-full of it to tend to!
"Question."
"Shoot."
"The importance of a gardenia lies in…?"
"In the fact that it's a symbolic representation of unspoken love."
"…"
"…"
"Gotcha."
"Good!"
Sitting on the edge of the school theater's empty stage, Misao hunched over her copy of the neatly typed out first pages of the school's senior year original theater production, while the author of the play in question switched between eyeing her intensely and fidgeting with the thick and dusty burgundy grand drape.
"The garden… it represents Miss Writer." Kaoru explained, both jumpily and loosely.
"I get that, it's just…" Misao scratched her head and tried to figure out a polite way to phrase her question before giving up and deciding to be plain blunt, "…are you going anywhere with this?"
Kaoru faltered and nervously clawed at the old curtain: was her secret out? Did her best friend figure out that she had no clue whatsoever as to what she was doing, that, basically, she was winging it?
"I…I prefer working with…well, what one could call, if so inclined, a…uh…a loose plot." She elucidated, tripping over her own tongue as she vainly attempted to cover her tracks.
Crossing her legs and tugging at her braided hair none too gently, the future star of the play – if there ever was to be one – hung her head low and sighed.
"In other words…"
"I'm pulling it out of my ass."
Giving the amateur playwright a measuring look, the peridot-eyed female gave herself a moment or two to gather her thoughts before patting the space beside her in an inviting manner and speaking up. "You may not be sure what you're doing Kamiya, but me likes!"
"Really?" the authoress questioned doubtfully, wearily plunking down next to her partner in crime.
Kaoru had been so concerned over the stupid play as of late that, between thoughts of a rotten theater piece and recent developments with the perplexing – as in break-out-the-Panadol – Kenshin Himura, she was deadly sure that the premature worry lines were coming on! At this rate, her forehead would not make it unwrinkled by the end of the month…
Misao rose and began to pace the stage, counting off on her fingers what she thought gave merit to the piece: "It's fresh, it's soulful, there's a love story – there is a love story, right?"
"Sure, why not?" Kaoru agreed, throwing in a shrug for the heck of it.
"In conclusion," the wannabe thespian proclaimed, halting her long strides and speech, staring off to the vacant audience before making eye contact with her friend and resuming her laudatory spiel, "what's not to like?"
"Oh, I don't know: the lack of a plot could pose a problem, but that's just my opinion." the less extroverted of the two intoned sarcastically. "All I know is that, if Mr. Martin doesn't dig, I'm washing my hands clean of this mess."
"Oh, he'll dig; if he doesn't, it'll be 'Romeo and Juliet' this year…again."
Misao couldn't help the sourness that overcame her features at the thought of impersonating a role that had already been done to death: where was the professionalism or broadening of horizons in that?
"You guys could always perform 'King Lear' or go all out on anything Broadway!"
"Kaoru, listen carefully: first off, Broadway requires dancing, none of us are Pavlova or Joaquín Cortés and Mr. Martin isn't Fosse. Second: if it's not an original story, then the PTA insists it be a tale of star crossed lovers – props and costumes are already available."
"Cheap bastards."
"It's Parent Teacher Association: do not bite the hand that feeds you."
Glaring at Misao, the blue-eyed high school senior lunged for the other's hand and tugged her down to sit on the floor, alongside her.
"My parents haven't attended a PTA meeting since I was eight; allow me to go right on ahead and bite the hand that feeds the rest of you instead." She grouched.
"The point is you're writing the play and I… I should have more lines, don't you agree?" The schoolgirl wearing a canary yellow, spaghetti strap tank top suggested, scanning the would-be manuscript's initial pages all over again.
"You're the lead! What more could you possibly want?" Kaoru cried out in honest to God irritation: this whole writing-a-play 'thing' was grating on her already fragile nerves and, truth be told, her darling, whiny chum wasn't helping much at the moment.
"Worldwide recognition, stardom, a million dollars: you know, the basics!" Misao listed off boldly, somehow managing to look meek as she picked at her ankle-length olive green skirt.
"More like the works!" her companion corrected, poking her shoulder playfully. "You're such a diva."
"And I don't even have my own dressing room yet!"
Shaking her head at the girl's antics, Kaoru's mind wandered back to the matter at hand and, inwardly, she cringed: sometimes, she was keenly aware of the fact that God, whoever he, she or it was, didn't hold her in particularly high esteem.
"So… meeting the whole of the drama club is a good idea, right?" she ventured asking for the umpteenth time in less than half an hour.
"According to Mr. Martin, it's supposed to help you get a grip on the type of characters you can create based off of the kind of actors your creative genius will have at its disposal." Professor Martin's favorite student recited in a rehearsed manner, all the while swatting a loose thread off of Kaoru's raspberry colored cargo pants.
"In other words…"
"…Time to bury the muse."
"Is it that bad?"
Stretching her arms, Misao stood up and shrugged indifferently. "I'll let you be the judge of that." She then inched over to her backpack and rummaged around for something. "What is taking everybody so long? All I want is for this little meet to be over!"
Kaoru's head whipped around. "Hey, that's my line!"
"What can I say? I have stuff to do."
"Misao, you live and breathe stage magic; it's your greatest passion next to the dispassionate Aoshi Shinomori: are you feeling well?"
Oh, just feeling like I'm stuck to the bottom of my shoe, Kaoru."
"Tip-top and dandy!" Misao announced, flashing her standard grin over her shoulder.
Sometimes, she surprised herself when it came to her so easily, being so fake, behaving so phony. She had been born with the talent of deceit, something she had been told since she was a small child able to get away with anything so long as she made use of a well placed smile, giggle or wail. Yes, she was remarkably talented…
"You sure?" Kaoru insisted, incredulity written all over her face.
"Of course I'm sure that I feel like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe, Kaoru."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Really, she had no reasons to be feeling unwell – except for maybe the fact that she wasn't meant for keeping secrets and, right now, she felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She couldn't tell a soul – or rather wouldn't dare – and it was killing her to hide the truth from the one person she had always trusted. Aside from that, she had every cause to be her lovely, chirpy old self…
"Did you not hear yourself just now?" Kaoru insisted, wondering what kind of a stupid question 'why wouldn't I be?' was, in light of the circumstances and all. For heaven's sake, they had both been the best of friends since they were children; did Misao really think she wouldn't notice if something was up? Just who did she think she was talking to?
"What?"
The question was uttered so guilelessly that our girl was tempted to outright drop the subject and leave the future drama major be. As things stand, though, to be tempted does not mean to bite the apple, but to merely stare at it prettily for a few dazzled seconds as it dangles before one's face; once control is regained an apple – no matter how red or provoking – is just that… an apple.
"You claimed to be too busy for the scenic arts, that's 'what'!"
"It's just a stupid school play anyway."
"The last time I checked, we were two separate, very different people; why are you acting like me all of a sudden?"
On any other day, Misao would have been more than happy to be victimized by Kaoru's caring nature. Today of all days, however, she was having a hell of a time bearing with the cross-examination and poorly covered-up apprehensive looks that she was being submitted to. Getting Kaoru off her back, at the very moment, was essential but, how to go about it? The power of denial, no matter how strong, just wasn't cutting it. That only left her with one piece of as of yet unused weaponry in her arsenal: admittance… laced with a stretch of the truth, of course.
"I give up!" The scheming girl bellowed, flailing her arms wildly in the air above her head as she slumped down to the ground. "I admit it: I am not okay!"
Having a certain healthy fear of Misao's histrionically bizarre blow-ups was, in Kaoru's mind, the best defense, by far surpassing the benefits of a good offense. "Okay then…"
"Actually, no, it's not okay!" Misao cried out shrilly, twisting the candy wrapper in her hand round and round.
She was unable to stop herself. She was all for the lying that was to come, but her brain seemed to think that a desperate cry of relief before smothering everything down and bottling her emotions up again was in order. If only she could tell Kaoru about Aoshi…
Popping the cherry candy she had previously unwrapped into her mouth, Misao bought herself the precious seconds she needed to recompose herself, put on her game face and complain about some random, ridiculous and insignificant melodrama that would get her friend off her case.
"I had that horrible nightmare again!"
"Nightmare? What nightmare?" Kaoru asked suspiciously.
"You know!"
"No, Misao, I don't know."
"Yes you do! You know, THE nightmare! The one where I win an Academy Ward and walk up stage to receive it with no clothes on and plenty of cellulite for show and Billy Crystal yells 'look out, we have a streaker!'"
All things considered, that did sound like quite the nightmare – especially the part where a famous comedian made a very un-clever remark! Heaving a loud sigh, Kaoru easily bought the strange story; after all, only Misao could turn a bad dream into a Greek tragedy.
"Is that all?"
"What do you mean, is that all? I work out every day and, trust me, I do NOT have that much cellulite!"
"Misao… grow up!"
The teenage drama queen had to hand it to herself: she was GOOD!
"And scene!"
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Trudging towards her house's front porch, Misao discovered that the sprinklers on her front lawn were busily squirting potent jets of water onto the grass. Sidestepping a puddle, she lopsidedly plodded onward, inadvertently stepping over a yellow daisy.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
The smell of moist earth was in the air and not a cloud marred the flawlessly blue sky. The sturdy wooden fence that separated her garden from the neighbors' stood firm and unmoving, even as a sudden gust of wind attacked the nearby almond trees at full blast.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Nimbly, Misao's fingers undid her plait, her body shivering slightly in the cool breeze. Due to the small tremor that shook her frame, the ponytail holder within her grasp slid through her fingers, just as her hair came fully loose.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Bending down with a muffled curse, the teenager fumbled around for the green elastic, nearly invisible to the naked eye because of the equally green tall grass into which it fell. Moving around and feeling patches of prickly blades for the missing object with her bare hands, Misao blew her long, blue-streaked bangs out of her face.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Still scouring the area, she cocked her head to the side, something shiny catching her eye: at long last, the search was over. Picking up the ponytail holder, she stood upright… and sighed: right within her line of sight was none other than Aoshi Shinomori, hose in hand, watering his mother's beautiful front yard.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Probably sensing that he was being watched, the young man looked off, beyond the rose bush and beyond the wooden fence, his eyes landing on the lovesick girl. Smiling brightly, she waved in his direction, her long dark locks swaying to and fro with the motion.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Still waving, Misao sadly witnessed as he looked away and continued doing his chore, not once smiling at her or waving back. Allowing herself to sag almost imperceptibly, she let her hand fall limply to her side before regaining both her bearings and footing and marching on.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Taking a deep breath, the disheartened girl inserted her key into her house's front door and let herself in. Outside, Aoshi watched from the corner of his eye as she headed inside, the brown door swinging shut behind her.
TSS – TSS –TSS –TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS TSS – TSS – TSS – TSS
Another gust of wind flittered by, a few water droplets from the sprinklers going off course and raining down over the yellow daisy Misao's sandal had trampled. Aoshi wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. The day was hot, the sun shining almost a little too brightly in the perfectly blue sky.
He came bearing gifts; it was a birthday party, after all. Nevertheless, it didn't take a special occasion for him to visit with a gift-wrapped box neatly tucked in the crook of his arm. No, he was a generous man, after all.
It had been a while since he had last stopped by, but his prolonged absence and unexpected reappearance didn't seem to bother anyone – not that it ever did: the expensive presents that accompanied his eventual social calls more than made up for his mysteriousness, she supposed.
He was always given the red carpet treatment when he swung by the apartment, even as sporadic as his stopovers were. Then again, he was loved by the whole of the family and treated as if he were truly one of their own.
Once he stepped through the threshold, several pairs of arms wrestled their way over to him and embraced him tightly, nearly making him loose his balance. Various sets of hands took turns ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks. Baritones and sopranos alike bade him welcome in a more than dissonant choir of excited and enthusiastic greetings.
As a silent spectator, sitting on the sidelines and watching the typical sequence of events play out before her, Tsubame could not help but feel nauseous.
Maybe it was the money, the commodities, his easygoing way and undeniable charm or maybe they really were all that blind; nonetheless, she couldn't bring herself to understand her mother, or her aunt, or the rest of her family.
To Tsubame, it was plain as day – it always had been: as soon as his pearly whites came into view, trouble was there to stay.
Writhing beneath him, like so, she was lovely. The sight of her dark locks cascading over her pale face and tangling themselves with the bed sheets was breathtaking.
And yet, it didn't mean anything.
Her long maroon nails raked his back, her plump lips trailing openmouthed kisses down his neck, her heel pressing painfully against his upper thigh: it all felt exhilarating.
And yet, it didn't mean anything.
His fingertips skimmed across her flat stomach and his teeth nibbled her earlobe teasingly: he felt compelled to bring her pleasure.
And yet, it didn't mean anything.
Moving together on the cheap motel room's bed, their bodies slick with sweat, they sated a powerful hunger and a mutual need. And yet, to him, it didn't mean anything.
It could never mean a thing, even if she was the perfect woman for him, even if she was utterly devoted to him and his cause, even if she was gorgeous. It was impossible for it to mean something, no matter how alluring, how submissive or how very much in love with him she was.
To him, beauty meant nothing.
To him, base human instincts meant nothing.
To him, love meant nothing.
And so, he could love her, he could desire her and he could allow her to remain by his side, but none of it would ever be able to mean anything at all.
She didn't mean a thing to him – it would be a weakness on his part for the situation to mean otherwise and the weak, they never survived long, did they? He was anything but weak.
After she had fallen asleep, he lay awake in the blackness that engulfed everything, lazily chain smoking a cigarette, the sun's fading rays filtering through the blinds. If he believed in nothing and cared for no one, then some other purpose surely should drive him on, right?
He smiled, a sinister smile: of course that certain things held meaning for him. He wasn't entirely soulless, after all.
Power meant something.
Money meant quite a bit.
Revenge meant everything.
Leaning over the beautiful woman's resting form, he reached for the ashtray on the night table and crushed his cigarette out.
Revenge. What a sweet word.
Now that one of his best men was back in town, all the pieces had finally fallen into place, hadn't they?
Ah yes, revenge would finally be his! This called for another cigarette… and, in the morning, a phone call to Soujiro.
Something called to her, beckoning her to run away and, if she wasn't completely mistaken, she believed that 'thing' to be the rusty fire escape located outside the building, a few feet away from where she stood staring off at the balcony through the large window's smudged glass.
Picture this: you're turning fourteen, you're at home with your family and zero friends plus an unwelcome guest – at least you, the birthday girl, aren't too fond of having him around – and the birthday cake is covered in layers upon layers of chocolate fudge – never mind that you are allergic to chocolate –, not to mention that your mother had the brilliant idea of forcefully planting a cheesy party hat over your head; sounds like a situation anyone with minimal brain functioning would be dying to get out of, correct?
That being said, it should come as no surprise that Tsubame Kinjo, a hostage in her own home – ironically enough at a celebration devised specifically for her – wanted out, wanted liberating freedom, wanted to be away from the phony actors' masks dancing around her every which way she turned.
Once again, being timid and passively compliant to all forms of authority were not traits that were doing her any good or helping her out in the least: if she had a bit more of a daring side, she could have thrown a tantrum, complained about how no one was paying her any attention, revealed that this idiotic family gathering was something she had never wanted, told everyone that she had had it and stormed out the front door.
Tsubame was a daydreamer. She was the kind of girl who, chewing her pen cap and staring blankly at the blackboard, conjured riveting stories out of thin air, tales wherein she was a different, braver person who stood up to the mean girls at school who gossiped about her. At home, her attitude was no different: once her mother began telling her about her day, about her minimum wage salary, about the paycheck that was not in the mail, Tsubame's wandering mind would take off, would lead her to other more pleasant places like Barbados or some other Caribbean island, where all she had to worry about was lounging at a paradise-like beach and choosing between getting Coppertone or Banana Boat tanning oil rubbed on her back.
In spite of it all, there were some perks to being quiet, shy and, basically, a wallflower: if she left, no one would even know she was gone and, when she was around, people didn't really notice her, which lead to her listening in on oftentimes interesting conversations.
Like everything in life, sometimes her nature itself was counterproductive; other times though, it… evened out the odds, sort of speak…
"What do you know about Mr. Makoto?"
"How long have you been back in town?"
"I arrived yesterday night."
"Took you long enough!"
"Yes, I'm afraid so! Keeping up appearances requires time and, unfortunately, my hands have been relatively tied, as of late."
"They were watching you too?"
"Well, they would be fools not to, now wouldn't they? True, they were foolish enough to let down their guard, but, by all means, everyone deserves a little credit."
"You're a strange man, did you know that?"
"No stranger than you or anyone else here, I imagine."
"You do your job very well, Seta."
"Oh, I do not believe that you are familiar with my work; if that were the case, you wouldn't be here right now, would you?"
"Mr. Makoto will be very pleased with your arrival."
"And I will be quite pleased to see him again. Now, where is the birthday girl's father?"
"He hasn't showed yet."
"It will please me immensely to see him again as well."
"You and me both."
There was hushed up talk of that Makoto person again: she had know that the man of the hour's arrival wasn't to be taken lightly, that it was as ill an omen as only a flock of vultures gliding in circles above a deserted area could be.
Well, she had heard just about enough; the fire escape had her name written all over it and, quite frankly, she wasn't willing to stick around and obligingly play the part of one who had not overheard the most foreboding news she could have possibly received in weeks.
Personally, she had no clue as to who "Mr. Makoto" was, but their bizarre next door neighbor and Mr. Smiley discretely talking up a storm about him in a secluded corner of the room was pretty shady. What a horrible afternoon.
As quietly and hurriedly as possible, Tsubame slid the window open and slunk onto the tiny balcony, fresh air instantly filling her lungs, quite a change from the secondhand smoke she had been forced to inhale for the past couple of hours. Freedom was hers, if only for the rest of the evening.
Flowers in hand, rehearsed greeting in front of the mirror on the tip of his tongue and all semblance of composure asunder, he was ready for his big moment. One tanned finger wiggled in the air twitchingly, without direction, then aimed for the buzzer. This was it! It was time! The pad of his finger was ever so close to the round white button! One more inch and…
"Yahiko?"
… he screamed like a girl.
"Yahiko?"
"Tsu… Tsubame?"
How was it that his pretty, freckly coworker was standing right there, startling him with her sudden appearance, when she was supposed to be at her own birthday party on the building's fifth floor?
"I'm sorry Yahiko, did I scare you?" She questioned timidly, folding her small hands before her chest in a silently pleading gesture.
"No… No! Of course you didn't Tsu!" He responded quickly, a hand sheepishly going to the back of his neck and a rosy blush spreading involuntarily over his face. How could he deny that kind of body language? Never mind that she had gone on ahead and scared him out of his wits! "It's just… I thought… I was going to ring…"
"I'm sorry Yahiko, I know we were going to spend some time upstairs with my family before going to the movies but… I couldn't be there anymore."
She tried to hide it, she really did, but he could always see right through her. Contrarily to what people might believe about her, he knew she wasn't a happy person, neither was she as shy as she let on, not if properly and patiently urged out of her shell.
The way Yahiko saw it, her introversion had more to do with her avoiding her life and her shortcomings and less to do with actual full-blown timidity. In fact, he had come to see Tsubame's reactions to life situations as Pavlovian; she had conditioned herself to handle curve balls as mousily as possible, even when he was quite inclined to presume that the sweet girl standing before him was not entirely as self-conscious as she thought herself to be.
Unfortunately, despite his keen inner observations, Yahiko Mioujin was but a fourteen-year old boy attracted to a kindhearted brunette with doe-like eyes; his hormones pretty much always tended to get in the way of any words of wisdom that he, at times, felt like sharing with her. Getting on her good side was far more important than mending any holes in her broken soul, after all.
"I brought you flowers."
Once the bouquet of daffodils in his hand came to her attention, Tsubame's face lit up like a Christmas tree.
Now, this he could do! Entertain her for a while, keep her happy for the rest of the afternoon, make her laugh at a few choice dumb jokes; all of these things were within his power. Granted he wasn't the most confident of people around girls, but with Tsubame, he didn't have to be.
"Thank you, Yahiko." She spoke in a somewhat coy manner, her hands gripping the cellophane wrapped around the trumpet-like flowers rather tightly, a soft smile forming on her lips.
That soft smile washed over him like only a spring shower could, making everything in the world suddenly seem brand new.
With Tsubame, simple flowers became something else, something more meaningful. With Tsubame, a simple boy like himself became so much more. And the few friends he had wondered why he kept going after her instead of making a complete ass of himself in front of the pep squad!
"No one has ever given me flowers before." She pressed on, her glassy brown eyes shimmering brightly in the afternoon's dying light.
A bus rolled by, the deafening noise it made delaying Yahiko's reply.
What none of them realized was that an unhappy girl like Tsubame could breathe life into a room, that the wallflowers were what made the centerpieces stand out. What none of them seemed to understand was that her common and meaningless story was the gentle undertone of an enthralling plotline.
"They say there's a first time for everything…"
If all life's a stage, then leading actors aren't enough to make it exciting or worth paying for one's seat; in the long run, stage hands are equally important, if not more so.
Reviewer Responses:
To De Lazy Lime: First of all, I have to say, your last review was one hell of a review!!! It lifted my spirits like you wouldn't believe and it made me even more aware of just exactly how fortunate I am to have reviewers such as yourself around. And so, I continue lethargically bringing these two beings ever closer, even if in this chapter one of them didn't make an appearance; never fear though, with Soujiro's definitive entrance in the story… actually, I get the distinct feeling that next chapter it will be even clearer just how much that character is vital to the development of K/K's relationship. I know it sounds odd, but you'll get my meaning soon enough. As for your thoughts on the "GOODNIGHT/GOODBYE" scene, you are absolutely right. When I wrote it, I wanted imperfection to show itself, I wanted fantasies to be seen for what they are, merely unrealistic imaginings. I wanted the idea of a K/K relationship to be very much possible, but at the same time, I wanted to cast all idealism aside, as I will continue to try and do little by little throughout their story. Theirs will never be a perfect tale, but I doubt that anything dealing with human emotions can be perfect so, I am glad that you agree with me on this point, because it is one of this fanfic's focal points. I am also glad that we are both on the same page when it comes down to Aoshi's subtle part in this fic – we both know that that won't last long. In regards to the characters' age differences, in this story they are not the same as in the original manga/anime, but Aoshi and Kenshin are, no doubts about it, older than their female counterparts. I hope the change in the soundtrack section at the top was an improvement; in the case of this chapter it is only the songs listed and not the whole album that inspired me, or that are meant to be heard for background purposes. Thank you for your comments and your appraisal. Thank you for always being around. Till next chapter!
To Vic'chonn: I took a philosophy class last semester: Sartre blew me away! And Heidegger… he's so very interesting! Last chapter was difficult to put in words – everything was pretty much already clicking in my head – because it's hard to get across how meaningful Kenshin's sudden existence in her life has become to Kaoru and to not let that indicate that LOVE with a capital L is in the air, but rather that everything you hold dear or even that you know, is temporary. I'm happy that, even as charged as the chapter was, for that cannot be denied, you felt it and liked it. I can't really say anything right now – wouldn't want to give myself away or anything – but your suspicions relating to Soujiro are and both are not accurate. I know that that just makes me sound like "the Riddler" from Batman, but as secrets start to unfold, that sentence will actually make sense. Hahaha. More Tsubame in this chapter: want to take any guesses as to how she fits into the grand scheme of things? As to understanding your notion of coming to better comprehend the author through a chapter like nº 19….we see eye to eye and I get your drift. Thanks for the review and always keep 'em coming! Bye!
To missaw: Well, the movie "Mighty Aphrodite" is a comedy starring Mira Sorvino. It's nothing major as far as movies go and it isn't, I'll admit, one of Allen's best films, but it's a nice rent, it's entertaining and the part with the Greek choir is so bizarre it always made me laugh, no matter the circumstances. Besides, the storyline is pretty interesting in and of itself. I know that you are one of the reviewers who is most interested in the Aoshi/Misao side story: as you can see, I added to it this chapter and your opinion on it would be much appreciated. I'm sure I still have you on your toes because nothing has yet been revealed and the interaction between both characters has not changed but, all in good time, nay? Thank you for always reviewing and… got any movie recommendations? 'Cause, I got to tell you, a night curled up on the couch with popcorn sounds real good right about now! See you next chapter!
To Shiomei: Last chapter was pretty bittersweet, hunh? The thing is, I believe that when it comes down to Kaoru, there are many unexplored layers to who she is as a person. The cheery, upbeat, optimistic side of her is just that; a side. Like everyone else, she too has her darker hours, perhaps not with the same intensity as others and surely not in the same way as most, but… Remember when Kenshin left for Kyoto and she became almost dead to the world? That is a clear surefire sign that this girl is much more than meets the eye! And I guess that as the author of a story with her as the main character, it is my responsibility to make every single aspect of her known to the readers. Kenshin has skeletons in the closet that I, just like you, think he has to put behind him to be able to move on with a girl like Kaoru by his side. The problem is, what if these past demons catch up with him? On that note, I leave you with a hearty thank you and the assumption that you will review this chapter as well.
To VanyD: No need for violence, alright? We are friends! Sheesh, I think Kaoru is rubbing off on you a little too much! Hahahaha. I've taken your advice and read "Moving On"; I've also reviewed it and enjoyed it since you have a good storyline in your hands right there. Tests are evil, and don't I know it! Luckily December is on its way and that will be one more semester of journalism behind me, tests and all! Thanks for always being so kind and wishing me good luck during those test weeks that make me feel as if I am purgatorying or something! Having reviewers like you makes it all worthwhile!
To Rhapsody07: Yep, I'm a journalism student, but my greatest dream is actually to be a successful writer. The journalism part of my life equation is the bit where I need to figure out how the hell to make a living because, studying English will clearly not get me very far, or at least that's the way I saw things when I had to start my university days. It's cool to hear that your sister is interested in journalism, just make sure to tell her that it's not everything it's cracked up to be, that being on the inside makes you see just how flawed the world of mass media is. Kenshin… he's Kenshin, he's dense by nature, he says stuff like "we were not on a date" without thinking about the possible consequences. And, to appease you, no he is most definitely not the father of Tomoe's baby; that would just have been geographically impossible! Thanks for the review darling. Till next time!
To Kean: Aha! I made you feel bad for Tomoe! I think that that is, by far, one of my greatest accomplishments as of yet! I am not entirely surprised that after reading chapter 19 you felt kind of hollow considering that that was basically how I was feeling at the time. What doesn't cease to amaze me, though, is the fact that that feeling managed to reach you, that my writing was able to touch you so, something that I desperately seek to do, as you very well discerned by uncovering the meaning behind this story's title. Sorry to hear that tests were held so close to your birthday, but so is life, right? Rarely is fate fair! You could never rave too much, in my opinion…of course, that would be my ego talking! Hahaha! I should tell you that, no matter how it may seem at one time or another, this is a K/K story so, although I am flattered by the fact that you would consider reading this despite the possibility of another pairing taking precedence, you won't have to worry about that ever happening. Doesn't that make you glad? As for Tomoe and Kenshin…I'm trying to make their past involvement as moving as possible, my main goal being to try and get people to stop frowning down at Tomoe so much. Lovely review really! Thanks ever so much for it! I hope that this chapter was up to your standards as well! Bye!
To Ri-nee-chan: Clichés… actually, I think I do employ plenty of them, I just give them somewhat of a twist. In fact, I think that my take on the typical frat party situation is a perfect example of the use of clichés in my stories; they're there, only approached as differently as I can. I have to say, I enjoy writing Kaoru like you wouldn't believe! You are right when you say that she doesn't just know what to say, that generally she simply happens to stumble upon the right words: imperfection in characters is what, to me, makes them endearing and relatable, something that I find essential. I would love to lower the rating of this story in order for you to add it to your C2 list but, sadly, I'm not willing to take the risk of this site deleting this fic. Trust me, if I could lower the rating without the danger of having this site erase the story, it would be my pleasure. Sorry to have to let you down though. Could you refresh my memory and tell me which quote it is that placed in the last chapter of "All I wanted" that you love so? Kisses and thanks for constantly being on my side!
To Dea Mariella: In your last review you asked me how the Aoshi/Misao thing was going; I guess that, in all fairness, now it's my turn to ask you the same question: how do you think it is going? I am glad that you like my Tomoe, especially since I work really hard on her, precisely because everyone tends to be so hard on her. I don't understand why exactly, since she's not Kikyou or anything… Granted she betrayed Kenshin, but she fell in love with him also and died in order to save his life – albeit emotionally scarring him for life. Okay, so I understand why she isn't exactly the most sympathetic of characters, but I still don't think she's the bitch everyone makes her out to be. Well, I'm going now so, I'll see you soon!
To me Oh, I don't know… Megumi can be a hard person but, in her own way, she does know how to love.
To Aryanne: Tell me about it: studying for classes like "the sociology of communication" or anthropology wipes me out! Thank goodness for December being only a November away! On another note, I am so happy that you no longer feel the urge to groan aloud when Tomoe's name pops up on the screen…especially since I'm not done with her, meaning you will still have to put up with with her for some time. Tomoe is a character that I don't particularly love or vehemently hate; she simply intrigues me, which could very well be the reason why her part in this story isn't nearly as insignificant or small as it could have been, to the displeasure of most of my readers. Curiously enough, you are the only person to have broached the subject of Tsubame and the way I wrote her into the story, with the idea of a country still brimming with hope, despite its deplorable situation: I find it great that you enjoyed that specific tidbit of chapter 19. Identifying with a piece is always nice and, as for my own Nana, she too left a significant impression on me. Sometimes, I find myself talking like her, quoting her and stuff without even realizing it. It just goes to show… Long reviews are wonderful, so never ever feel as if though you are writing too much; as you put it, yep, they totally rock! And so do you! Thanks for reviewing and… see ya!
To evilteddybear: It's always so flattering to hear that a story of mine is being added to someone's favorites list! Thank you for reviewing and for you words of praise!
To Misato-Katsuragi2: I know, I know, this chapter also has a lot of narrative: I can't help it! I'll try for more dialogue next chapter, I promise! And yes, what made Kenshin all introspective and vitriolic was indeed Tomoe's call, the one that ruined a perfectly good reconciliation between two people who are but beginning to get to know one another; that's bound to make anyone bitter, right? Ah, grasshopper, I see you catch on quick: indeed, the past is soon going to come into the present and turn everything upside-down, sort of speak. This chapter…I'm not sure if it cleared up anything at all; you tell me, hunh? Thank you for reviewing and here's to hoping that this chapter was okay in your eyes!
To Venus Smurf: You're back!!! This is most definitely awesome news!!! I know you haven't reached this chapter yet, but I will go on ahead and respond to the reviews that you have already left me, so that everything doesn't pile up, okay? I don't hate you and I did not urge you to review – in spite of how much I wanted you to – because I understand that sometimes life takes precedence over a simple fanfiction. Therefore, I learned to grow patient and, hey, you've come back, which means that this whole waiting calmly business paid off! All that being said, there is nothing to forgive. As for your comments: I know that you are fond of my sound sequences so, to be truthful, reading your review gave me the idea for the Aoshi/Misao scene with the sprinkler in the background in this chapter. It is fun to taunt Megumi, isn't it? Kaoru is a very pleasant character to write. I think I have worked so long and hard with her that, to me, she comes ever so naturally now. I try to keep her as real and as imperfect as possible without straying from her original good-hearted self; it's a difficult balance to find, but the fun of it is in the challenge, I suppose. I know that a naked Sano should be a good thing, but the idea of Kenshin seeing him naked… I bet that that's what made you shudder! I have a question: how come all of your teachers are foreigners? Where do you study? I once had an English teacher who was Colombian and spoke with a Jamaican accent: it was a hoot! Personally, I think that the Hobbits are the gayest creatures to have ever been thought up but, to avoid getting killed by a crazed horde of "Lord of the Rings" fans, I decided to play it safe and put both opinions down on paper; after all, if it is in writing, then no one need die! You, my friend are kinky! The things you and a Kenshin of your own would have to do to distract him from ever getting around to doing the laundry! Seriously, I'd rather not know, thanks… hahahah. You know, I do think that it is wrong for you to wish that Tomoe gets killed off soon especially because I fear that you cannot see a blessing in disguise when it is right beneath your nose! Oh no, have I said too much? Perhaps I should leave you to ponder that, hunh? As always dear, your reviews make me blush like no others and I can't help but be ecstatic at the thought of you, once again, reviewing me. Welcome back!!!
To Ocean Fish: Ah, the "Deep Throat" comment: before you jump to conclusions, you have to remember that I am a journalism student, which, in turn, means that I have to study stuff like the history of journalism and therefore learn about important cases and journalist's active roles in them. That being said, do you remember the Watergate scandal? Well Deep Throat was the codename given to a source that helped the journalists who uncovered the fiasco go public and gather the information necessary to, in a way, bury President Nixon. Of course, later on, trash culture went right on ahead and gave Deep Throat a dirty connotation with the production of a porn flick with that very name. Now do you understand that I meant that you would be my source? Well, I for one find TV to be pretty educational, even VH1; it helps you learn something new every day – be it useful information or not. As for the chapter, glad you liked it. As for your fanfics, I know that university is bound to keep you busy, busy, busy, but please try to find the time to update before the year is over. Alright pookie, I'm saying goodbye now; e-mail me whenever you can. Bye!
Well, I never knew I was receiving so many reviews until after writing out this 'reviewer responses' segment. I'm tired now so, until I write again everyone, this is me saying 'adios amigos'!