"Fractured Tales of the Rose Bride"
Just when you thought it was safe to spoof the brothers Grimm.
Our Third Chapter Is: Snow White and the Seven Samurai
She was supposed to be as fair as snow, with hair as dark as ebony, but as it turned out, the heroine of the story was actually quite tanned, with a clear orange mane and a temper only matched by her swordplay. This was no weeping maiden, defenseless against the tides and fortunes, but a strong and independent creature, poised upon the brink of greatness and lunacy. She was Juri, not a maiden pure as snow, but a complex and torn-apart individual, certainly worthy of achieving a royal title at least. Here, she has earned the rank of princess and heroine—because let's face it, she puts up with a lot of crap.
"And just what are you suggesting?" Nanami blurted. Thankfully, since she is not in this story, this is her only cameo. "What the? You mean I… Oh, not again! I'll never have the chance to redeem myself!"
Anyway, no matter what she was, Juri was clearly the fairest in the land, although it's not really correct to say that. As was mentioned earlier, Juri was hardly a maiden, and it'd be improper to call her "fair" in this sense. Her beauty and skill went without peer; the strength she had, constantly struggling to overcome all fragility, made her appear all the more indomitable. Others across the land had to wear masks to cover the sheer green of their faces whenever they passed her, so envious were they. Their smiles were cruel and bright, like an overbearing sun above harsh desert sands. But Juri could weather their hatred; she could bear it all and not seem weighed down in the least.
But every mountain has its feeble moments, every force of nature must have its time of tranquility, and even a goddess may find herself limping in the face of a more prominent threat. Juri's cross to bear was a voluntary one, and she could not part with the chain around her neck no matter how hard she tried, or how great the distance she tried to separate from it. The golden noose bore her photo, that damned princess from afar, who was so good and evil, and everything she feared, loathed, and wanted.
Shiori—the gallows, personified. This was a woman who loved and loathed; Juri was her poison, her sweet nectar in oblivion, the thirst in the desert and the oasis after. She recently became aware of just how great a burden she was causing her dear fellow princess—hiring that man to steal the golden chain had been worth her time and money—but the gallows weren't enough, and there did not seem to be any other equalizers. Shiori wanted Juri, body and soul, and she wanted to drink her blood, to kill her, to have her: the three divisions of the mind fought, id and ego wrestling with superego. When three persona compete, there can be no real, true happy ending.
Bathing seemed to cleanse her for the moment. Shiori undressed and found a pool; the nakedness seemed scandalous, though she was alone. The water rippled when she stepped in, as if it were afraid of her, Little Miss Executioner, the hanging princess. She baptized herself and felt devilish. She wondered if Satan drank holy water as a mocking gesture. She put some in her mouth and found the taste bitter, but of course: this was all Shiroi Soup, with her as the main ingredient, and she could make anything bitter. When the waves calmed, adjusting to her presence, she finally beheld her reflection, a reverse-Shiori, looking back up at her.
"A mirror," she stated. "Mirror, mirror, before me now—tell me who's the fairest, now." It only showed herself. She took in a great breath, chest ballooning, and smashed her reflection, knowing this was the only time that a mirror lied. Forget seven years of bad luck: Shiroi was damned eternally thanks to that perfect princess, who would always be the mountain to her gloomy hill.
"A bitter pool," she muttered, lifting her wet hand up to her face. She drank the water again and smiled. "Humankind fell out of want for a mere apple. Wouldn't it be proper, then, to make Juri devour the bitterest apple of them all?"
I'm not a wicked queen. Juri is the only one I love. Why am I going through with this?
"Morality has no place here," she said before thrusting her head into the pool.
………
A repulsive ding-dong woke Princess Juri from her daze. She tossed aside whatever object was in her hands and walked to answer the door. On the opposite side was a man, faceless as all men seemed to be in that era. She regarded him stoically, because this man was not special—just another dot in the line of humanity.
"Package for Miss Juri Arisugawa," he announced. Juri performed the usual signature dance and made arrangements to tip him and retrieve the package. It was from Shiori, she noticed with a smile. Opening it, she discovered an apple, so red it almost seemed purple. She glared, first at the fruit and then at the delivery boy.
"You eat it," she ordered. The poor guy became flustered and refused.
"Ma'am, I—"
"Eat it." He obeyed. Juri raised an orange eyebrow of suspicion as he toppled over and fell into a comatose state. Hmm. How odd. She picked the apple up, smelled it, and sighed in annoyance. Definitely Shiori. The girl could not poison her any more, so without any hesitation, Juri consumed the fruit and left its core in the trash. She then abandoned her house: Shiori would never bother her again once she discovered isolation. Maybe then she could be rid of the last vestiges of frailty that resided in the dark corners of her heart.
Braving the unknown, the princess set forth into darkness, each step putting her away from that which she needed, that which she feared, her bane and blessing, the curse and the joy, Janus herself. The sky was dark enough to constitute a nightmare; perhaps the very sensation of running was now false, thrown up as an excuse, a mere dream. She was not penetrating anything, though she found herself lurking further into the black inky hole before her. Shiori. Shiori. Shiori. Shiori. What a name. It was driving her crazy. It was like the chug of a locomotive, rumbling its way across the void, barring her way all of a sudden. Juri froze—the train seemed to run for decades, each car shining and golden and plastered with her image. The darkness it slipped into resembled a ghost she no longer wanted to look at, so with a shriek, she jumped as high as she could, vaulting over the machine as it vanished into the night.
Okay. Okay. Calm down. Don't lose yourself. It's just a noise. Trains were common. This is a familiar place. You've been here before. Grope for something real, something like pain or your pulse or…or her. Juri found herself reaching for her locket. Of all the things to discover in a place like this. The chains were unbearable, the sphere of gold like an anchor, dragging her down into the depths. But Shiori had been strong for those years, a safe haven in rough times. And she felt so good.
Nothing seemed correct anymore, so she just ran, realizing that only action could save her. Juri ran and confronted her dark self; she realized she had more to fear than originally believed, and that the greatest walls often lead to the deepest descents. She must've fallen for ages, because she remembers a darkness greater than fear washing over her, and all sense of time, space, and logic losing their value. It was a traumatic experience, but it sure beat home economics.
Juri was not rewarded well for the effort of waking up. She distinctly remembered hearing a great big voice screaming, "And that's the story of how I defeated the 108 bandits of the rogue city of Inoshinke!" A much calmer, smoother voice followed, reason against chaos.
"Sure, big fella, whatever you say."
"It's true!" screamed the first voice. "I've got proof!"
"Oh, like that scroll was your proof of being a samurai?"
"Shut up!" it screeched again. Juri wished it would only take its own advice. In an effort to silence it and bring attention to herself—first came hearing, then came the sensation of touch, followed by a world of pain—she groaned, and weakly moved her arm. One of the more pleasant voices spoke up, indicating that yes, she was now everyone's focus.
"Oh, look, the sleeping princess awakes. Guess you owe me a bowl of rice, Kiku." The first voice grumbled; Juri's vision came next, just in time to see who her rescuers were. There were seven of them, as ragtag as any group, and when her vision became complete, she recognized them all. Samurai, every last one of them.
"Terrific," she moaned. "I ran right into a crossover."
"Crossover?" said Heihachi, scratching his cheek. "What's that?"
……
Shiori was dueling when she discovered that Juri had not only survived, but was completely unaffected. She lost the match and isolated herself.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she sighed, feeling guilty. "I've hurt you so much in the past that not even my own brand of venom can spoil you. You may have even enjoyed the treat. Juri, my mind is at constant battle with itself. I'm afraid, my dear, that you've got a nihilistic princess for a friend. It must be so difficult."
You should stop this game. Just give up. Can't you see this feud is tearing both of you apart?
"If we're both torn apart, we can become sewn up together. We'll be as one forever."
You're quite mad, you know.
"Didn't I kill you?" she wondered, tracing lines on the floor. Shiori would surrender her kingdom for a gun. Suicide was supposedly painless. Juri would be broken if she died. Death really was the greatest equalizer.
I'll live on even if you do die. I'll put Juri in her own personal hell.
"Don't do that!" Shiori screamed, clutching her head. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you!"
What a fool. You don't even know what you're talking about.
"Stop it! She's mine!"
Then do something.
"I can't!"
Do something.
"No!"
Do something.
"STOP IT!"
Nothing. Emptiness. Oblivion. Silence. Shiori remembered to breathe.
"I hate you," she whispered, weeping openly. "I hate you so much." She found the strength to stand, and gradually composed herself. No way Juri was going to want to be around her in this condition. She bathed again, using the showers, and got dressed in her most practical outfit. And, of course, she remembered to pluck a flower as a peace offering before leaving.
……
"There's no need to introduce yourselves," said the princess, tanned with orange hair, face like a lioness, tongue like a saber. "I already know who you are."
"And how would you know that?" wondered Kambei. Juri shifted in her seat, creating a subliminal shrug.
"Let's just say that I've been…familiarized with more than just my own world. Anyway, I'm sorry to be a bother. If it's not too much trouble, do you think I could stay with your group for awhile?" Kambei nodded once, stoic as ever.
"It's our duty to protect those who need it most."
"Besides, how can we ever refuse the company of a woman?" That was Shichiroji, sly yet caring, eyes glinting with a fraction of their true intent. Juri delivered a smile and seemed to relax.
"You have my gratitude." Gorobei spoke next, abandoning his showman's bravado.
"Just out of curiosity, what exactly are you running from? You don't have to tell us; I was just born nosy." The heavy silence in the air seemed to discomfort all but a few samurai.
"A friend."
Liar.
Am I?
"Uh? Why would you… Never mind. Like I said, none of my business. I just thought… If you were in any danger…"
"I can handle myself, but I appreciate your chivalry. This is a problem swords cannot handle."
"Nonsense! All problems can be solved with a few good whacks!"
"Kikuchiyo, kindly do us all a favor and close your mouth."
"What was that!" Juri rolled her eyes, only slightly amused. Same old Nunky, always thinking with his fists. As usual, Heihachi tried calming the big guy down while the other samurai went about their business. Shichiroji and Katsushiro began to prepare a place for their guest, and Kyuzo, well…
Juri followed him. Naturally.
Kyuzo was a man of extremes. One moment he was a statue, oblivious to the world around him, and all civilization moved without his knowing. Then, he flinched, and creation trembled. Luckily, only the tree bore his wrath as it fell; the cut cleaved right through it, perfect and flawless. Juri waited until it crumbled and the world was silent before speaking.
"Mind if I watch?" Kyuzo was, as she knew, very curt, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
"No. Don't interrupt." She became as taciturn as he, and sat upon the stump which he created. Kyuzo exercised for some thirty minutes before retiring; Juri stopped him again with her words.
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to test my skills against yours. It's been ages since I've fought a superior foe."
"I accept," he said, hesitating to think it over. "Don't hold back. Meet me here in an hour." The man in red was gone, leaving Juri to shiver. He had learned to calm his inner storms and embrace the few weaknesses he had. True warriors, she knew, sought to hammer out their shortcomings—they eagerly looked around every corner for something that needed to be improved. All she could do was close off the world around her and run, or else mope, or else act like a martyr. Juri felt shame all of a sudden, because she could not be anywhere near their level.
The woman tasted blood. She had chewed her lip too tightly again.
She never learned why the seven samurai were staying there in that place, nor where they were headed or where they came from. They seemed to be lost in a moment, like her, each one trapped in a section of time, content to stay and seek out temporary adventure. Katsushiro was darling and honest, and reminded her heavily of Miki. Juri gravitated towards him after her chilling experience with Kyuzo, and he, combined with Heihachi's earthiness, brought her down to a more mellow level.
"My experiences here have told me that running is not always an evil solution," said the lad. "Sometimes, we need to escape our world and take things in from a new perspective. Looking at the world from a strange place can give us new clarity, but staying there doesn't help. Eventually, we must return and confront our fears, though the time apart from them gives us wisdom."
"I do think you should relax while you're here," Heihachi added. "Take a breather and do things your own way for awhile. Look at the sunrise without feeling the need to rush. Eat some lunch at a leisurely pace. Take a walk and don't make any destination. This place can be a baptismal for the mind."
"If it's rejuvenation of the soul you're looking for, I know just the place." Juri looked up and regarded Shichiroji with a nod; the blond leaned over and gave her his most flirtatious look. "Tell me, gorgeous, do you dance very well?"
"I suppose, but I won't be dancing here."
"Yeah, I know. This place is too informal for those kinds of dances. It's not even a great place for a real jig. It's too quiet and serene. All you want to do is meditate."
"Which I am through with," she said, rising to her feet. She turned and bade the three men farewell, sparing each a smile. "Thanks to you, I think I may be able to come to terms with some things. I may not be Snow White, and I may not be running from an evil queen, but there are still many problems I must face, and as a person and a woman, it falls upon my pride to confront them accordingly."
"You said it!" growled Kikuchiyo, barging in at his usual inopportune time. "And as we all know, the best way to meet a challenge is to run at it straight on, screaming at the top of your lungs! C'mon, Juri-dono, let's hear your battle-cry!"
"I'll pass," she murmured, smirking a little. "Right now, I have an appointment to keep. If you'll excuse me."
Juri had never fought a man wielding two swords before, let alone with the skill of Kyuzo. She insisted that they both use real blades in the fight—duels never did feel the same with bokken—and selected a clearing where they wouldn't be disturbed by obstacles. After bowing slightly, Juri raised her sword and lunged, wanting to show this man she meant business from the start. Kyuzo was dynamic, moving as quickly as a rubber ball, his reflexes on par with a housefly. His strength was only slightly greater than Juri's; it was his speed she needed to worry about. She actually had to fight just to keep herself from being injured.
The princess knew she had made a mistake when she felt pain. Her arm retracted just enough to avoid mutilation, but the scar remained as proof that he had drawn first blood. She allowed the stinging sensation to pass and went back on the offensive, trying to find a single opening, if any. Maybe if Kyuzo only used one sword, she could, but Juri didn't ask for any quarter. She hammered away, wanting to show him every skill she had. She had once defeated five people in a row, and yet now, she could barely hold her own. Juri at last got a hit in, but only because Kyuzo moved to strike her harder. She tried not to scream as she felt her skin being torn apart.
As the two continued their deadly dance, another figure appeared in the distance. None of the other samurai were so dishonorable as to disturb this meeting—rather, it was a person who was unaware of the fight, approaching Juri with (for the first time in ages) good intentions. She witnessed her friend's fight for many moments, and even as the young princess began to falter in the wake of this superior opponent, the lone spectator beamed, proud to see her friend so furious, so powerful, still as stubborn and unbreakable as ever. In a flash, though, it was over: Juri noticed her standing there, and froze.
Shiori.
"You're distracted!" Kyuzo shouted. He lashed out violently, ending the duel with amazing speed. He didn't cut Juri—rather, he knocked the wind out of her by smashing the butts of his swords into her solar plexus. Juri crumbled to the ground, defeated by mere chance (or by mere glance), unconscious and not breathing. Kyuzo had not made that last blow gentle; she was now in serious trouble. With all her might, Shiori screamed and ran to her side.
"Juri!" Kyuzo made no apology for his actions. Juri was a warrior; she knew what she was getting into when she started the duel. Even Shiori would know this, given time. He left them alone, but not without some meager parting words.
"If you attend to her, she'll pull through." Exactly what Shiori had in mind.
"Forgive me, Juri," she whispered, before placing her lips over the mouth of the princess. CPR was meant to save lives, but Shiori wondered if this humble act could also save souls. She didn't even know if she was stealing kisses from Juri or delivering salvation; all she knew was that this was her duty. With one final compression, Juri gasped her first breath of new air, and coughed mightily. The first thing she said, after catching her breath, was expected.
"I feel terrible." She then noticed Shiori, wicked queen and savior prince all in one, and realized what had happened.
In the aftermath of this event, no account could say what became of the seven who helped drag Juri's mind and spirit up from the muck, for there were no records of their presence, no indication that they had even been there. Juri might've even thought the whole thing was a dream, were it not for the scars on her body and the bittersweet taste of her companion permanently sealed on her mouth.
There was no happy ending for these two—there hardly ever is, even for the best pair—nor was there even an ending, for their lives had not concluded, and so, logically, neither should their tale. As a matter of fact, one might say that this is where it all began—but what do I know?
The EndStay tuned for the next installment.
I swear it'll be funny.