Acquired from repatriation operation on the Kirisame Household on the Year of Our Grace 187, 4th of Satsuki, with assent from the Her Lady, Patchouli Knowledge.
Sanae's Super Omurice!
Note to Self: Serves four people, and remember that Lady Kanako doesn't like onions, and Lady Suwako often eats double portions! (~_~;)
IngredientsFor Fried Rice
1 onion
2 whole skinless, boneless chicken thighs
cooking oil
a cup of assorted veggies, any'll do
cooking salt
4 cups of rice (don't forget to use day old rice from last night!)
soy sauce
ketchup (dunno how to find a consistent source of this, but try anyways!)
salt & pepper
For the Omelettes
4 eggs (as large as possible!)
4 tablespoons of milk
3/4 cup of cheese (shredded, very important!)
Fried Rice
Step 1: Mince onion finely; Dice chicken into cubes the width of your thumb.
Step 2: Heat cooking oil in skillet over medium heat; sauté onions until tender.
Step 3: Add in chicken & cook until no longer pink; add in vegetables and season with salt and pepper.
Step 4: Add in 1 tablespoon of ketchup, 1 teaspoon of soy sauce, stir to combine.
Step 5:Transfer fried rice to a plate, and clean pan for omelettes.
Omurice Proper
Step 1: Making the omurice one at a time. Whisk 1 egg and a tablespoon of milk in a bowl.
Step 2: Coat pan in oil over medium-high heat.
Step 3: Once pan is hot, pour in the egg mixture and tilt the pan to coat the entire surface with the egg. Cook until the bottom has set, but top is still liquid and soft. Lower heat to medium-low.
Step 4: Sprinkle a fistful of cheese on top, then add a quarter (1/4) of the ketchup fried rice across the middle of the omelette.
Step 5: Use whatever cooking instrument you're using (likely a spatula), carefully fold both sides of the omelette over the middle, where the fried rice and cheese. Carefully move the omurice to the edge of the pan.
Step 6: Holding a plate with one hand and the pan in the other, flip the pan to transfer the omurice opening side down, onto the plate.
Step 7: Cover the omurice with a towel (paper is also fine) and form it with your hands into an long oval shape.
Step 8: Repeat until enough omurice have been made.
To Serve
Drizzle additional ketchup onto omurice as desired, and enjoy!
Sanae awoke in a daze.
Her eyes, frenzied and unusually responsive for someone who had just woken up, darted from side to side, trying to make sense of her surroundings.
The sudden loss of sight, in a situation where one would very much expect to be able to see, frightened Sanae. In a desperate attempt to regain her vision, she scrunched up her two hands into fists, rubbing her eyes, hoping that it would provide some relief, however temporary.
Well, she would've done that, were it not for the fact that her hands were stubbornly refusing to heed her commands. Not to mention, she was also lacking any sort of feeling in them.
In fact, this lack of any sensation - as Sanae would soon find out - had also spread to the rest of her person, as if her entire nervous system had decided to pack it up and leave all of a sudden. Panicking, Sanae could feel her heartbeat (good, she still had one) rising to a crescendo, along with complementary sweat beads beginning to form on her neck.
Fortuitously, however, her sense of touch and feel slowly began to return to her. Sanae breathed in deeply, savouring the reassuringly consistent crisp mountain air, and let out a huge sigh of relief.
Opening her eyes, light finally spilt into her pupils, temporarily blinding her.
And inflicting upon Sanae a splitting headache.
Strange, Déjà vu.
Letting out a pained yelp— or at least, what she thought was a yelp, her ears registered something more akin to a hoarse rasp emerging from her throat, Sanae slammed shut her eyelids as fast as she had opened them. It didn't help alleviate the rapidly-onsetting migraine of course, but it made her feel better regardless.
Planting both of her palms onto her forehead, Sanae emitted something akin to a droning groan, all whilst slowly twisting and turning her body left and right, her legs rising to tent the sheets of her futon.
It was quite the sorry display, of the sort that was quite alien to Sanae, since she had never been the kind to drink herself into such a state, especially well into the next morn. Perhaps she had eaten something bad last night? Or perhaps she had been poisoned! Now that would be something to write about— if she survived, that is.
Such delusions melted away when Sanae felt a cold gust of wind brush her fevered face, cooling it down to a more tolerable temperature. After all, there was only one person she knew who possessed both the ability to manipulate wind and who cared for her enough to perform such an act.
Flopping her fatigue-stricken body towards the direction from which the passing wind originated, Sanae glanced up to see the visage of Kanako Yasaka staring down at her, concern and pity evident in her expression.
"Sanae, are you alright?" Kanako inquired in a worried tone, crouching down to place her hand on Sanae's forehead, which was positively sizzling.
"Hnnrngghh... I'm fiiiiine, Lady Kanako..." Sanae drawled, her fingers pressed on what was presumably the source of her pain.
Kanako grimaced; it was one thing to be dedicated towards one's duties, and another thing entirely to be willfully negligent towards one's personal welfare. "Well, evidently, you're not." Kanako insisted, crossing her arms. "Now, you stay in bed for now, and I'll soon return with some water and breakfast, is that okay?"
Sanae desperately yearned to protest the God towards whom she was beholden to - well, one of them, at least - performing menial tasks for her benefit, every fibre of her shrine maiden training screaming out to graciously decline the offer.
Before having her memory promptly clear up, and recalling how she had to clean up last night's sake-fueled debacle; the most likely cause of her current incapacitated state.
"Mmmmh... yeah sure, go ahead."
Satisfied with Sanae's tacit approval, Kanako sauntered off towards the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast, walking out of the miko's view. Suddenly remembering her manners, Sanae called out after Kanako.
"By the waaay, thaaanks Laady Kanaakoooo!"
Kanako smiled slightly to herself; she certainly did appreciate the girl working herself hard, often precariously so, in service of the Moriya Shrine. Although, it was always moments like these, coddling the outside world guardian of her shrine, that the wind god felt most joyous.
Not that she'd ever admit that towards Sanae's face— or, her forbid, Suwako'sface, of course.
Violently shaking her head to rid her face of, in Kanako's mind, the sickly sweet grin that had formed on her face, she turned back towards Sanae to face her with a far more mellowed, motherly smile; a visage more befitting a god.
She did so in vain, however, for Kanako saw that Sanae had already fallen fast asleep in the short time that she was turned away, likely ruminating on past memories, giving the wind god a slight pause - and motherly smile.
Smiling warmly at the slumbering Sanae, Kanako turned back around to return to more present matters, such as deciding on what to cook for breakfast.
And therein, unfortunately, lay the problem.
What to cook, exactly?
As embarrassing as it might be to admit, Kanako (and by extension Suwako) had little experience in the kitchen to speak of, not to mention the modern gadgets that Sanae insisted be imported in from the outside world.
Cooking, and other traditionally menial chores, were always left to the designs of the incumbent Moriya shrine maiden, neither gods had given much thought towards cooking for themselves in the centuries- if not millennia spent on this mortal coil.
All of this left Kanako in quite the conundrum, when realising that she could hardly boil an egg— even the process of which had to be explained, in agonizing detail, to her by Sanae, to serve as an introductory course to the intricacies of the newly-imported outside world technology, of which both gods found to be progressing far too quickly in recent decades for their static tastes.
Not all was as dire as it seems however, for Kanako, genius god that she is, was not one to ignore and shun the potential boons of outside technology— regardless of the massive social upheaval it would, admittedly, invariably create for the poor, backwards inhabitants of Gensokyo. Anything and everything for the future prosperity of the Moriya Shrine, after all, even if the situation has been put on... temporary hiatus by the actions of the damnable scarlet-clad miko.
The Crimson Slasher could claim and excuse her actions as "In the interests of the balance and safety of the Barrier" and "To stop you from inadvertently killing everyone again, damnit!" all she wants- it will never avail her, Kanako would see to that personally.
For now, however, Kanako's task was to make breakfast for her poor, tuckered-out shrine maiden. And by her, it will be done.
She came to a stop when she reached the kitchen, and stood silently, yet proudly, in the very middle. Basking in the glory of Moriya Shrine, Kanako feasted her eyes on the immaculate modern kitchenware and appliances that littered the area, imported from beyond the border.
There wasn't a whole lot that she wasn't proud of when it came to her and Suwako's shrine, given the oft-dire state of the Hakurei Shrine, both in donations and in the state. But, if she were ever forced to pick but one thing from her long, long of things she'd gladly consecrate if it were not for the fact that it would be a senseless waste of faith, it would have to be the kitchen, in all its glory.
Kanako's spirit was slightly dampened upon hearing of similar advances in cooking technology being made elsewhere, though she never let the... unexpected developments crush her resolve to be the best, even after hearing news proclaiming that much of the same was happening over in the domain of the Hakurei Miko. It simply meant she'd have to purchase and import in newer and fresher tech to leave her competition in the dust.
Akin to a one-god arms race, Kanako had invested who knows how much (not even her!) of her finances into revamping and modernising her kitchen. Sure, perhaps not everyone had gotten the message that such a race was occurring, which also meant that soon, she had far-outpaced her contemporaries.
A victory, yes, but a surprisingly hollow one. What joy was there to be found in competing with oneself? If at least one other contestant had thrown in one of their incomprehensibly elaborate and often abstract hats, then it would have been a victory worth fighting for. But that never happened, and by the end of it, Kanako just felt like all her effort had just gone to waste in a foolishly petty conflict, orchestrated and attended by her alone.
But enough mulling over lost and potentially undeserved victories, there was a morning meal awaiting to be made, and Kanako's own mouth was beginning to water incessantly in a rather un-godly manner that was very much unbecoming of her.
And because in the middle of her meditations, Suwako had entered the kitchen alongside her, and was currently wearing perhaps the most smug grin Kanako had ever seen her flash.
"Yer sulkin' over something again, dear?"
The 'eyelids' of the 'eyes' situated on her 'hat' was half-drooped, mimicking the mirthful expression of its wearer. Kanako had half a mind to take on an irritated scowl, and immediately scold her partner for perceived transgressions. Thought it would be a truly hopeless endeavour; the wretched mountain goddess had long ago, already come up with a myriad of snarky, snappy responses to anything she could throw at her.
Sighing as to make her frustrations clear, though to also communicate that there was no malice intended in her actions, Kanako spoke up. "It's nothing, Moriya."
Suwako's face visibly fell, her self-satisfied grin contorting into an adorable pout. "Whaddya call me?"
"Moriya," Kanako stated, afraid that she had a good idea of where this conversation was going.
"Hmmm..." Suwako mused, cupping her right hand on her chin, and eyes glued shut as if in deep thought. "Nah uh, way too formal. Yer gunna hafta call me by somethin' else, dear."
Damn it by her, it looks like the situation has taken a turn for Kanako's worst fears.
"Fine then, Suwako. There, happy now?" she said, exasperated.
"Happy? Sure thing. Satisfied? Not in the slightest." Suwako said, regaining her smug demeanour.
That, at least, gave Kanako the proper justification (in her mind) to glower menacingly at the vertically-challenged deity— though obviously, she would never dare introduce her as such, lest she gave cause for Suwako to tease her for the rest of her long, long life.
"C'mon, I know ya wanna say it..." Suwako cooed, now grinding up against Kanako's side.
Kanako's scowl only creased further at the feel of her touch, but it came accompanied by a fierce flush emerging from her cheeks. "Godsdamnit, Suwa..."
Her face lit up. "There we go! Weren't so hard now, was it?"
And there it was. Kanako despaired, crestfallen, and reluctantly admitted her defeat. How she possibly put up with Suwa's antics up until now had always eluded her, and does not seem to be willing to give out an answer anytime soon. At the same time, she does not feel as if she had been defeated, per se, but rather, that she had just finished performing an elaborate routine with her partner.
In a way, she supposed that was true. Kanako had endured the arduous trials of marriage for this long, going along with the flow of many similar presentations that had come before, this was no different.
Sighing, Kanako moved to separate herself from Suwako's hold, only to find the glorified frog goddess holding on tighter than she had expected, and being awfully clingy; far more than usual, that is. Twisting and turning her entire body, the pint-sized god still diligently held on, seemingly determined to glue herself to Kanako's body.
It was seriously starting to get on her nerves. "Suwa, could you please let go of me?"
Suwako had smushed her face into Kanako's upper thigh by now, both obscuring her current expression and quietly sending Kanako's heart aflutter with feelings she could absolutely do without right now, for fear that her reprehensible little frog gremlin thing might potentially cause her to experience an emotion. A rather uncouth emotion as well, one born from the depths of one's hypothalamus, threatening to manipulate Kanako into performing actions she believes herself to be above.
Like breaking out into one big, gentle, warm smile. And completely forgetting why she was angry at Suwako in the first place.
Perhaps this is how the two have stayed together this long without attempting to tear out one another's throat at least once. Whatever this 'love' thing was, it certainly had little place in the analytical and scheming folds of Kanako's mind. She simply cannot fathom how such an errant little thought could have possibly developed into a such heart-rending longing— for her (ex)-greatest rival, even!
Yet, this is how things turned out, one wrench after another in Kanako's immaculate machinations. Still, the ability to adapt was never lost on her, and while not everything went her way at first, she got used to it, and eventually, even grew to love it.
"Mmmrgghh..."
Oh, right. Suwako was still faceplanted onto Kanako's side, despite her clear objections towards it. Though, she found the sensation to be not all too objectionable. A warmth that she found to be so very much attractive, both emanating from her body and the one currently glued to her like a Siamese twin.
She would tolerate it. For now, at least.
Finally understanding that Suwako wasn't going to be letting go of her any time soon, Kanako relented and turned her body towards her partner.
Kanako could not have possibly known just what Suwako's face looked like when she returned her embrace, but judging from the sudden shudder given off by her beloved's body, she concluded that it could've been one of immense embarrassment. Victory, one however small, at long last. Though, there would always be a time in the future to celebrate. Right now, the only thing on Kanako's mind was to simply stand there, and bathe in each other's glow.
After a period of time that none of the two bothered to measure had passed, Suwako was first to speak up, her voice muffled by cloth obstructing her mouth. "Ya need help in cookin' up something, dear?"
Kanako responded in kind, though her speech was slightly slurred. From last night's residue alcohol in her system, or from side effects of this morning's intimate interactions, she did not know. "Do you mean a plan, or...?"
"Both. I'm always by yer side if ya need me."
That reassurance, however vague, still managed to kindle a sudden warmth in her chest. "Thank you for your generosity. I think I'll just need some help in the kitchen today."
Suwako suddenly separated from her impromptu hugging cushion and stood up straight as if awaiting orders, the eyes on her hat-thing opening up again to give off the feeling of alertness.
"I'm right beside ya! Eggs, rice, that weird red sauce stuff that tastes awesome, if ya need it, then jus' gimme a call!" she proudly proclaimed, hands on hips in a display that Kanako found to be absolutely adorable, given her short stature.
"Of course, Suwa."
"An'?" Suwako teased, once again gaining a grin a mile wide.
Kanako sighed. Never mind whatever she said previously, this pint-sized goddess was going to kill her someday. "Suwa, dear."
Suwako's grin mellowed out immensely. "Now, I heard ya were itchin' t'cook some a' that Omurice, ain't I right?"
But she loved her all the same.
"Omurice? Yes, that sounds lovely, dear."
Marisa was not having a good day. In fact, it was going so badly, that she would almost wager that whatever Reimu is going through right now, is probably a whole lot more pleasant than the stuff she's had to bear witness to over the past few hours.
And it's such a shame too, because everything had been going just so damn well!
Of course, not too well; but hey, who's counting, right? And in the end, that's all that really matters. Besides, this whole horrid business; comparing who drew the shortest stick and who got dealt a crappy hand, it's all subjective anyways. And like any other game deriving its entire meaning from nothing but flimsy, malleable, and unreliable human emotions, it wasn't one worth playing.
Needless to say, Marisa was definitely not interested in pursuing the world's worst match of misery poker with herself.
She felt the need to drown her sorrows in the nice, piping-hot bowl of mushroom stew that she and Alice had just (barely) managed to coax the modern stove thing to create, before remembering that it was, in fact, poisonous.
Yup! All those hours of rummaging through the damn cold, rising up early in the morn' to perform a tedious task that even Marisa herself never quite got accustomed to, when she could've been using that time to experiment and study— though, she'd never actually say that out loud, unless she wanted her illusive status as a mushroom-munching cute witch girl to be shattered into a million different pieces.
Alice may have constantly whined and moaned about being dragged outside to reluctantly go along with her bidding— not that she blamed Alice or anything, honestly, it's kinda understandable, how angry she got, that is- but it's not as if Marisa was always rearing to go in the morning, a spunky genki girl to her dying days. It was difficult for her as well to get up and roll out of bed in the morning, she was just better at hiding it, and not grouching on and on about it every chance she got.
Marisa wasn't even angry- how could she be, considering that all of the poison shrooms came from her basket? But she'd be damned if she weren't just a little bit irritated at the whole situation, and just about ready to pack it all up and call it a day here and now.
But if she was going to do that, Marisa figured that she'd at least needed to apologise to Alice for what had happened today. She felt annoyed and betrayed enough by whatever guardian deity that just so happened to be looking over them at this moment, that she wanted someone - hell, anyone - to give an apology to her, of all people.
Desperate as she may be, however, Marisa wasn't about to go out to try and beseech some stuck-up god's blessing. Not like she was going to get one anyways- she already beat up half the gods her mind could immediately conjure up, and she'd rather die than be caught offering prayers to the other half she could think of. So, who better else to pay recompense, than Marisa herself?
Sitting up from the chair in which she had been sulking for the past few minutes, Marisa made her way across the veritable minefield that had become her kitchen floor— a shame, she had prided herself on this room being on the cleanest in the entire cottage- and into the living room, where Alice was sprawled out on a couch, engaged in a blank thousand-yard-stare with the wall, the stare that someone gave when they're either brooding about something, really mad, or both.
Gods willing that it's the former. But Marisa wouldn't want to bet anything on it.
Marisa was surprised at how Alice had managed to traverse the deadly obstacle course that was the living room carpet, before realising that she probably had simply glided above it. Not that Marisa couldn't float, she just didn't like expending the necessary energy for such a (to her) minute task. Despite this, it would be extraordinarily awkward for her to be witnessed by Alice clumsily maneuvering past objects that would spell certain doom if stepped on the wrong way, if at all.
So in lieu, Marisa instead decided to apologise from a distance, despite it potentially being perceived as 'less sincere'. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, Alice beat her to the chase.
"Marisa," she stated curtly, face still holding a moribund and empty expression.
This was it. Now Marisa would have to stand here, for hours on end, listening to Alice rant on and on about her grievances with her. All while maintaining the facade that she was at least somewhat attentive unless she wanted a doll to smack her in the face. Perhaps she should actually listen to her one day, and learn from her hubris and mistakes.
Nah, that'd actually require some effort on her part. Why fix something that's not broken, right?
"I'm starved."
That managed to catch Marisa off guard, who arched her left eyebrow upwards, more bemused than she had ever been in recent memory. "That's what yer worried about, Alice? And not worried in the slightest bit about ou- ahem- my mistake in the kitchen today?"
Alice turned her eyes towards Marisa, now a considerably paler shade of blue, but made no effort to shift the rest of her body. "...'ve got no energy to be mad at you."
Marisa relented, sighing in resignation. "Fine, I'll getcha somethin' t'eat."
Swivelling back around in place and moving to return to the kitchen, Marisa heard Alice's voice echoing from behind her, as soft as can be. "Something edible this time, please."
Marisa smirked in response, though with her face turned from Alice. "Got it, Ali."
The Seven-Coloured Puppeteer always did have quite the voracious appetite, one which did not immediately become apparent to the casual observer, nor seem befitting a lady of her relatively diminutive stature. Alice wasn't necessarily any shorter than Marisa, but she certainly boasted a thinner frame than most, likely from all the time spent shutting herself off from the outside world in her house, Marisa reckoned.
Whatever the reason, she had gotten used to whipping up simple, yet incredibly filling foodstuff for Alice to gorge herself on. In fact, the promise of a warm, hearty meal at the end of it was probably what mainly drove Alice to agree with Marisa's request in the first place. There was, of course, always the issue of running out of food herself, but whenever Marisa thought her pantry to be far too barren, it was off towards the Hakurei Shrine.
It was both an excuse to stay with Reimu and steal borrow for life her provisions— not that there were usually much of, but that was to be expected from the impoverished shrine maiden. Marisa would feel bad for stealing borrowing, but she figured that Reimu getting to spend some time with her super ultra mega best friend was payment enough- hopefully.
Speaking of stealing (ok, now she wasn't even going to bother with sugarcoating it), Marisa scoured her kitchen drawers for some ingredients to cook something with but came up empty-handed. Well, empty-handed as in only managing to find a loaf of stale, mouldy bread and two equally suspicious-looking mushrooms; considering Marisa's current disagreements with fungi, she thought it wise not to tempt fate just yet.
It's settled then, she's going to have to pay a visit to Reimu soon.
Channelling her powers to gently lift herself off the ground, Marisa carefully navigated her cottage's floor towards the exit, not even bothering to follow the overly elaborate and labyrinthine path set out in her mind.
Apparently, she made enough noise to wake Alice, who opened her eyes from a light slumber, still splayed awkwardly on the couch. "...Going somewhere?"
"Yeah, but it'll be quick, trust. Jus' headed out t'buy some groceries."
Alice raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "By 'buy', you mean..."
Marisa laughed, then shrugged it off. "Ya know damn well what I mean by now, Ali."
That got a chuckle from her, at least. "Heh, of course. Just make sure not to piss off Reimu too much this time around, okay?" she closed her eyes as if to drift off again, but opened them whilst halfway through doing so. "Oh, and before you or I forget."
Marisa turned around, only to barely catch her thrown broom in time without it hitting her smack in the middle of her face.
"Make it back in one piece, please."
Smirking confidently yet again, Marisa provided her response.
"Ya have my word."
Opening the door with her witch broom in hand and stepping out onto the veranda, Marisa closed it behind her and took a deep breath in.
And leapt up into the air, headed for the Hakurei Shrine.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Momiji, for her part, was most definitely not. "I can foresee no drawbacks with my plan."
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Reimu let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not that I don't think your little plan won't work, it's that—"
That got Momiji's attention. Perking up, she began marching onwards without Reimu. "I am glad that you have no objections. Now, if you would please."
If it weren't obvious enough to her already, Reimu could certainly now see why wolf tengu were relegated to the more menial tasks, as compared to their crow tengu 'peers'. Guard duty, patrolling the mountain ridges, providing the few needs for manual labour that even advanced tengu technology cannot compensate for.
It's no wonder only crows are able to achieve higher-ranking positions, given the wolf tengu's propensity to lack even the most minute grasp of social tact.
The few times that Reimu had the unfortunate opportunity to meet the daitengu who ran the whole show, she found them to be disagreeable stuck-up creeps at best, and at worst, verifiable threats to the stability and wellbeing of Gensokyo. But even then, she couldn't fault them for silently nudging Momiji and her peers towards less... intellectually demanding tasks. Not for their lack of intelligence or cunning, for they were always invariably well-spoken, but simply impossible to deal with without feeling some form of animosity towards them.
Balking at Momiji's, quite depressingly, expected impertinence, Reimu interjected before the guard tengu could move on forward without her. "But, uh, I do have one!"
Twirling around, Momiji craned her neck sideways in confusion, her snow-white ears drooping in an admittedly endearing manner, not too unlike a common mutt. "Then please, speak your mind."
Reimu crossed her arms. "I think it's already quite obvious enough, Momiji."
Momiji scanned her eyes, first on Reimu's person, and then around it. "I do not see anything too objectionable on or around you, Miss Hakurei."
Narrowing her eyes in frustration, Reimu pointed towards the ridiculous tokin hat on her head that Momiji had made her wear. "This, damnit!"
The wolf tengu remained mostly unfazed, aside from a slight twitch of her eyebrows. "I see, you wish to voice a concern about that state of the tokin I have given you?"
"More about having to wear it in the first place, but your thought process is in the right place." Reimu sighed.
"I see little reason as to why this would be of such distress to you, Miss Hakurei." Momiji mused. "Perhaps it is because of your animosity towards Tengu, no? And as such, you do not wish to associate yourself with them?"
Reimu recoiled as if to take offence to that last statement, but found worryingly, found herself mostly in agreement with what Momiji had said. "It's just that I like my hair bow, and I'd like to keep it the way it is." Idly twisting and turning on one of her legs, she moved her arms as if to shield the crimson hair tie on her head from attack. "This sort of stuff takes forever to tie, and I don't wanna have to redo it all over just for some stupid errand."
"Even if it means having to fight through the entirety of Tengu Village?" Momiji helpfully reminded.
She had a good point there, as loath as Reimu was to admit it. Seeing the Hakurei Shrine Maiden suddenly rock up to your doorstep, itching for a fight with one of your most famous subordinates, wasn't a good look. And although Reimu cared little for the PR nightmare it would bring for the daitengu, she did care for the measures they'd likely take to both stop her and Momiji to save face.
Reimu sighed for the third and (hopefully) final time, hands moving to untie her overly elaborate headwear. "Fine, but this had better be worth it..."
Momiji smiled, whether for professionalism's sake or relishing in achieving yet another verbal victory over her, Reimu did not know. "I assure you it will, Miss Hakurei. I would not subject you through it otherwise."
The last of her knots and cloth becoming undone, Reimu smoothed out her hair with her hands, making sure to narrowly avoid knocking off her tokin hat off the side of the mountain ridge. "There, happy?"
"My, in such a state, you truly do look a dead ringer for that illustrious moon princess. Lady Kaguya, was it not?" Momiji smirked.
"Oh please, I've gotten that sort of aside plenty of times already. If you think you're the first one to make a comparison with me and that errant shut-in, then you'd be sorely mistaken." Reimu flipped her now long and waving hair, making sure to shake loose her bangs so her style does not become too similar to the hime cut that Kaguya boasts. "Besides, I personally think that I'm far prettier than her."
Momiji didn't look convinced, but she had the grace to not let her true opinions become known. Instead, she did the proper thing, and let Reimu infer through a pained, albeit professional smile.
"Tch, figures."
"Regardless, we would do well to make haste," Momiji said, turning back around to continue their trek across the mountain ridgeline.
"Mhm, of course," Reimu responded, before realising that the hairbow she had just taken off and was supposed to be sitting snugly in her hands, was gone.
"Wha—"
For the slimmest of moments, a signature gap in the air hung open, before immediately closing shut once Reimu laid eyes on it.
At first, she was mad; mad enough to fly back home right this moment and sock Yukari in the face for stealing her one defining trait. Though soon after, Reimu realised something yet again, that her dress possessed no pockets.
Then, it became an internal conflict on whether she should begrudgingly thank Yukari for her forward-thinking, chastise her for apparently spying on Reimu while she was out, or returning back to sock her in the face anyways, just because she could. Ultimately, the decision was made to just do nothing about it, and get this whole charade over with.
"Is yet again something the matter, Miss Hakurei?" she heard Momiji yell from afar, indicating that she should probably make a move on.
"No, nothing! Just caught up on something, promise!" Reimu yelled back.
Dashing forward to meet up with Momiji, narrowly avoiding slipping on the ice several times, Reimu figured that there'd be a time and place for everything eventually.
Whether or not Yukari would get either her comeuppance or receive a reluctant gesture of gratitude would be decided by how today went. If all should go well, and Shameimaru lay in a tussle of her own raven black feathers, out cold, then Reimu would consider thanking the gap hag.
If not, well, she'll deal with it when the time comes.
However, for now, at least, she had a reporter that needs silencing.
"SHRINE MAIDEN IN PERIL—RUMOURS OF STARVATION ABOUND—FAMINE IMMINENT?"
—And other such similar ridiculous, alarmist headlines adorned the title of every paper worth their salt in the Human Village.
Truly, even the most minute, inconsequential of happenings could be blown well out of proportion, and catapulted into sensationalism, should there be enough bending of efforts from any one particularly enthusiastic publisher and/or reporter.
Such stories are a depressingly frequent resident of every newsstand in the village, but it was not always like this. The age of what outsiders might call 'tabloid' or 'yellow' journalism is a relatively new fad, brought on by the poisonous influence of the dastardly tengu reporters, and their desperate human counterpoints attempting, at first in vain, to imitate their style.
This means, that for a while this sort of reporting did not catch on. But as more and more publishers began including big, bold fonts on their front pages, and filled the latter pages with meaningless refuse, the inhabitants of the Human Village had little other option than to read the now newly printed slop. Focusing less on honest, reliable reporting and far more on daily mundanities that were given far too much precedence, these new newspapers became the new norm and were now here to stay.
There hadn't been a single day in recent memory, where a local paper did not proclaim there to be "BREAKING, EXTRAORDINARY NEWS!", only for it to turn out to be incoherent hogwash, inflated to some modicum of importance with flowery prose by an overpaid literate apprentice. Yet, since people keep reading, the presses will keep printing.
Even the circumstances of how printing presses became available to the myriad, disparate human publishers are shrouded in mysteries. An easy explanation would be that it was the influence of the ever-scheming tengu, watching as the various newsvendors tore each other apart in petty squabbles. Though, another would be to simply say that it was the work of foreign forces from the equally mysterious outside world, watching from beyond the borders of Gensokyo.
Youmu could continue recalling the various conspiracies and inane theories that her (half) fellow mortals of conjured up for a very long time indeed, but right now, what she needed to be doing was pulling her wheel cart along, various foodstuffs piled into a tower as tall as some shops and buildings.
It was hard work at first— the cart most definitely weighed far more than it would initially let on- but she managed, and eventually, learned to embrace the bi-monthly errands to and from the Human Village.
She liked to believe herself ingratiated with the Human community, but her steadfast loyalty to, and belief in the superiority of the Netherworld lent her no such luck with developing a relationship with the local population. Her hanrei did her no favours towards this end as well, as much as both she and the occasional small child alike were fascinated by her ghost-half's willowy whispers and mystical origins.
Though, for herself, it was much less fascination and more of a deep-seated uneasiness. This, obviously, raised an issue; if Youmu were to be deathly afraid of ghosts, does this mean that she also, simultaneously, hated herself as well? Well, at least half of her own person, that is.
Youmu shook her head in order to ground her thoughts. There was a time and place for such philosophical questioning of one's lifestyle, and now was certainly not either of those. Lady Yuyuko may not be a harsh mistress by any means— if anything, she was far too lenient, and that came from herself- but Youmu hated both disappointing her master and seeing her master disappointed, so a quick march it would have to be.
Still tugging along at her cart with the comically tall pile of groceries on top, Youmu caught a glimpse, for a short second, of a black streak flying across the rapidly clearing grey sky, patches of blue now intersecting the clouds.
Something was afoot yet again, Youmu could sense it. And if that witch Marisa was involved, then it might perhaps be something of great importance after all. Youmu scoffed to herself; the papers may be unintelligible rubbish, but it seems the old proverb was true— a broken clock is right twice a day.
It'll have to wait, however. For matters more pertinent to her current situation awaited, and Youmu was not intent on keeping her mistress waiting for much longer.
...
She probably should also stop thinking in purple prose. It didn't really suit her.