The next day, Tsubaki goes to one of the makeshift offices set up by the Trustees to request a ration card. The line of people waiting with their packets of personal documents is enough to wrap around three blocks of her neighborhood, individuals with their heads bowed, hands in pockets, clothes with poorly sewn sleeves and hems to accommodate the heat.
She can only imagine what this looks like in the more populated neighborhoods.
As is typical in Ame, the wait is quiet, save for parents who scold their children or talk in hushed tones amongst themselves. There is little socializing, and few are unwise enough to draw undue attention to themselves
Eventually, enough people are pushed through that Tsubaki is next in line to receive her rations. In front of her, a woman angrily waves her ration booklet in front of the clerk's face while a disinterested child traces the floor tiles with his foot.
"This is it?" the woman demands. "Three children and you expect me to survive on this? There's hardly enough rice to feed my husband and I, let alone the children!"
"Resources are scarce, ma'am." The desk clerk gives the woman a bored look. Tsubaki imagines this is not the first upset parent he's had to confront, nor will it be the last. "And unless you'd like me to reconsider that generous allowance, I'd suggest you move on."
The papers in the woman's hand crumple, but instead of making a scene in a building with hundreds of other starving, angry people, the woman pushes her child out of line and stomps away, her mouth twisted harshly.
"Next!" the clerk calls out. His eyes roll dully up to Tsubaki, his face flat. He looks over her neat collar and skirt and offers her a stiff nod. "Your papers?"
Tsubaki holds out her folder with its neat tabs. "Here."
He frowns as he opens it and begins thumbing through it, then pushes aside several of the ledgers on his desk.
"Ah," he says. For a moment, he seems to perk up somewhat, and his shoulders become straighter. "Chiba-san, you run a business, don't you?"
"I do." She hesitates. "Should I have brought additional papers…?" She trails off, unsure of whether she wants to be humiliated, like the woman who just left, or concede that she'll need to leave and return if she wants whatever is going to be rationed to her.
The notices posted around the city hadn't mentioned any sort of registration system, but the thought of spending another day waiting in line - and in such heat! - has her feeling irritable.
"Oh, no. Nothing of the sort." The clerk gives her a warm smile. He excuses himself politely before scurrying into a back room, catching the eyes of several other clerks and people waiting.
Tsubaki keeps her eyes trained steadily ahead, though she overhears several heated, frustrated sighs behind her, and is increasingly aware of a prickle in the back of her neck where those behind her have begun to glare.
It's no matter; Tsubaki waits, hands politely clasped in front of her, even as small droplets of sweat begin to form under the tight curl of her chignon. Attempting to address them would only make matters worse.
After several minutes, the clerk returns with another ration booklet clasped between his hands, and a sudden urgency in his step.
This booklet, unlike the one given to the woman, is printed on firm cardstock and is thick with ration stubs. Even from several feet away, Tsubaki can tell it's different.
The clerk bows in front of her and presents her with the booklet in a grand gesture, as if it were some sort of award. "You do an incredible service for our city, Chiba-san. Please accept this as a token of our appreciation."
A service? Because of her business?
She blinks in confusion, unsure if there's been a mistake. "I—"
While she has no interest in questioning the Trustees' apparent favoritism, Tsubaki is wary of the unwitting attention the clerk has called to them, both from the growing line of irritable people behind them, but from the others who, while waiting for their own booklets, have caught sight of his unnecessary and ostentatious gesture of thanks.
Rather than force the issue, Tsubaki thanks the clerk brusquely and tucks the booklet into her dress, where it'll be secure and close to her person.
As she leaves, she's conscious of multiple sets of eyes following her.
Sizing her up.
Again, she curses Itachi's inopportune absence.
Rather than go to one of the small centers the Trustees have established for people to exchange their ration cards, Tsubaki hurries home, where she quickly locks the door behind her and runs her fingers over the slim seals Itachi had left around the front door and balcony, activating them.
She's never had the opportunity to learn exactly what it is they're meant to do, but she supposes whatever it is, it's better than nothing.
After this, she rearranges a chair from the kitchen behind her door. It will do little to deter someone with enough determination, but at least will provide her with advance warning. The curtains in her apartment have long been pulled, the windows secured with similar seals.
Once she's confident that the apartment is as safe as she can hope for, Tsubaki takes a pair of shears and slices close to half of the pages out of her book and buries it under a stack of books, where the cover will ideally flatten somewhat, giving the appearance of a much more modest, slim ration book.
It will not do much for those who have already seen her, but going forward, she can at least give the appearance of having much humbler circumstances.
That night, Tsubaki lies in bed, wholly sleepless, her ears straining for the slightest sound of invasion—the click of a lock, the creak of a floorboard, the whisper of one of Itachi's spent seals falling to the floor.
The next morning, she rolls over in bed, shaky and bleary-eyed, never having quite passed the threshold of pure unconsciousness. Her feet drag along the floor as she forces herself out of bed, but she finds Itachi's seals untouched and solid, still pressed firmly against the door frames and windows.
In spite of this, she's careful still the next night, and the next, and continues to canvas her apartment, checking each lock and seal before she scurries into her bedroom, where she barricades herself.
In the days that follow, Tsubaki is careful to only leave her house as much as is necessary. She keeps her head down as she walks and travels as briskly as she can manage without bringing undue attention to herself.
She sews tiny pockets onto her dresses to make the baskets she carries appear smaller. It's the sensible thing to do, and she can't imagine Itachi advising her differently.
In times of war or disaster, people like her have to prioritize themselves, after all.