Disclaimer: I don't own Sengoku Basara. However, the reluctant heroine of this piece, Ichijou Akoya, is mine.
A/N: For ease of explanation – a shiro refers to a feudal Japanese fortress, like the one Toyotomi Hodeyoshi operates from, in the anime.
Any Engrish that Date uses will be in bold type.
Good-looking ladies, my ass.
The deed was done; his fate sealed.
Date Masamune, Lord and Master of Oushuu, was officially a married man.
Ergo, he now had a lady wife.
At least, he assumed it was a lady wife, because it was impossible to make out anything about the creature buried under what looked to be a whole year's supply of kimono and thick white face-paint and a hairstyle that resembled a flower-adorned shiro.
Lady, indeed, the One-eyed Dragon snorted to himself. More like dumpling. A very cylindrical, brightly-coloured silk dumpling, to be exact, but he wasn't in the mood for such trivial details when there were other, far more pressing concerns weighing on him.
Such as getting his wife to speak to him. They had been married for all of an hour now, but the woman hadn't uttered a word since she'd stepped into his home. Masamune could accept that for better or worse, he was bound to her for the rest of his life; he just preferred 'better' rather than 'worse.'
Perhaps she's just shy.
That had to be it, he ruminated, eyeing her with newfound pity. It had to be a difficult change for anyone, he supposed, and he wasn't being asked to pack every last thing he owned and cart it off to some stranger's house at a moment's notice. The trouble was, he was notoriously bad at anything that required a tender hand, and he had a feeling that whipping out his swords with a rousing speech to accompany the gesture wouldn't go down well. At all.
Damn it, where's my blasted retainer when I need him?
The silk dumpling finally moved. Masamune found himself staring into large, dark eyes that blinked out of a spectrally white visage.
He shuddered and looked away, finding the image more than a little ghastly. Shit.
Belatedly, it occurred to him that he must have voiced his thoughts aloud. Ruffling his fingers through his hair, he attempted an explanation – not that she'd asked. Just stared at him like some spook out of a particularly nasty folktale.
"I'm not very good with these delicate situations, you see? Someone should have told you...eh, too late for it now. My retainer'll have your rooms ready by now. You wanna get some rest before we…uh…?" She stiffened visibly, and to his horror, he found that he couldn't say the words.
It was easy enough when it was a regular prostitute or teahouse girl. But for some reason, he couldn't talk about physical intimacy with this cold, white-painted little creature that didn't even look human.
Masamune scowled and called for Kojuurou. When the retainer arrived, he neatly dodged the concerned glance being sent his way and instructed the man to get his wife settled in her chambers.
"And ask some of the maids to help her clean up – that doesn't look comfortable and I'd rather look at a woman. Not a…" he waved his hand in wordless surrender and stalked out to the dojo for lack of anything better to do till the time came to consummate his marriage.
Please review!