Post by HARUKO SUGIHARA on Jul 7, 2013 3:43:59 GMT -6
Late in the afternoon, Haruko slipped back into her studio and slunk off her sneaking-out kimono, its yellow hems brushed in river dust from the reeds on the bank back in the Sugihara District, for her much less incriminating navy-blue kosode. She sat, cross-legged, on the pillow before her painting screen, took out her hair idly with one hand and unwrapped her furoshiki bundle with the other, unknotting a silk square of green arrows. Her eyes widened; she dropped her pin. ‘No—oh, no—’ She gutted the wrap, tossing aside pens, a stick of charcoal, and a half-eaten bun tied up in plainer cloth. ‘—No, it’s not here! My sketchpad’s gone—’ Haruko dropped her forehead in her hands, sighing. ‘I flirted with Death to get those sketches!’ And his hot breath, ripe with fish and old rice, on her cheek and the tongue of his knife on her neck had been no charms. ‘I can’t believe it. Maybe I can finish it from memory?’ She glanced half-heartedly at her painting with its fragmented garden, its phantom trees and hollow streams, and the gray veranda traced before a deeply red wall with the half-boy waiting in its breach. ‘I’ll forget if I don’t try and sketch it now—’ She pulled another sketchbook into her lap and flipped for a blank page, one of the empty faces from her earlier attempts to draw the boy flitting by. She paused, taking her pencil lightly to the corner of his eye as her wrist and fingers shuddered barely, the tension of afternoon pulsing still and slowly through her, dragging on the current of her blood—its memories sat just behind her eyes; the clutch of the bandit, the bright spark of the boy’s sword unsheathed, its light striking fire on the river. ‘I wonder,’ she thought, feathering out a nose against the shadow of an eye socket. ‘If he matches—’“Haruko—” The studio door slid open roughly, battering its track, and her mother staggered on the mats and slumped on her knees. “ Haruko—where have you been?” Haruko dropped pen, pushed aside sketchpad, and went to her mother. “Mother—what—” Haruko started, and Lady Sugihara grabbed her by the hands, dragging Haruko down on the floor with her. “Haruko,” Lady Sugihara moaned again. “ Where have you been? Minoru—Minoru—” “What—” “I was so afraid, I was so afraid, that he, he would—Minoru—Minoru is—” Lady Sugihara trembled, her face streaked in old tears as new ones began to spill, and Haruko sat up on her knees and caught her mother’s shoulders, her head falling against her daughter’s shoulder. “Haruko—oh—Minoru is dying—” The house seemed to move, independent of Haruko, even as she walked with her own legs, flying from the studio to her brother’s room on the wings of her mother’s desolate sobbing and her hopeless words, through now unfamiliar corridors hung with the bleak, black fog of a funerary parlor, passing servants and faceless physicians. His room assaulted her senses like chamber of ghosts, his gray, still, and sullen shape in his bed, the widow’s shade hanging over her sister-in-law as she knell by his side. In the last half-hour before Haruko came, her brother’s voice faltered, failed, and he drifted from, off into a kind of slumber's stillness, though he didn’t seem to sleep. His eyes opened dizzily, spinning in sickness, the sweat on his brow gleaming in candlelight, and his breathing thick and labored, as if he awoke now and then from under water, floated just free of drowning—but never escaped. Haruko remembered saying, “Please wait,” and apologizing, to her brother, when she shoved his doctor out of her way after he told her in a voice too crisp, too cool: “It is poison, of an unknown nature,” and therefore, of an unknown antidote. Her mother, or perhaps her sister-in-law called after her, but she couldn’t listen, and couldn’t care, their calling fading as she clung to daylight. ‘Damn him! Damn him, he’s useless,’ she thought, dashing out into the garden, toward the city gate. ‘Useless idiot, he—he doesn’t even know what he’s talking—’ She glanced into her mirror, blinding her with the last, failing, falling light of day. ‘I will find someone—someone REAL! Instead of that—that—USELESS—man—’A sunset-colored pallor fell over her, her body dwindling into the palace walls, and she slid beneath the gate, beneath the eye, and out into the city, to tear through streets of houses and shops, closing slowly as deeper evening fell, but nothing seemed so important to Haruko as the words hammering in her mind. ‘I will find a way to make him better!’She made fists of both her hands. ‘And I will find a way to kill whoever did this! I will find a way to—’ She stopped alongside a quiet house, its lamp-light small but stretching like a white cloud across its darkening walls. With her feet shoeless and raw, a dark tear of blood filling one of her smallest toenails, she stood for a moment, swaying, her eyes itchy with salt. The ward seemed to go on infinitely in both directions, houses stretching this way, houses stretching that way, rows of locked doors, shuttered windows, their names, their signs sinking under the nightfall. ‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ Haruko realized, her fists uncurling, her composure drunk as she leaned against the wall, and her eyes so wet with unshed tears, they burned, like she would go blind if she didn’t cry soon. She looked up at the sky, adrift with clouds uncurling like blood and golden banners. Then, she swallowed air and shouted: “Help me! Please! Someone’s sick! Where is a healer?”
|
|
Post by ENFAI SIAO on Jul 7, 2013 14:26:21 GMT -6
While not the house Haruko leaned against, another house, with a lantern swaying in the breeze, flowers luring those inside from upon the street, and a sign clumsily painted with the signs to indicate that the occupants were still there. Attached to the back of the shop, which was a small two story building (the top holding the plants and planting boxes), was a much larger house. Four bedrooms rested within--two of them were empty and used for nothing more than storage. This place was visible from where Haruko sobbed out her frustrations beneath the flickering light of a friendly and yellow-glassed lantern.
The shop was still open even though it was already far closer to dark outside than light; people, usually those late for a rendezvous, stopped in for flowers. Besides, as they were both adults and the shop opened later, the two people (and cat) in the house saw no reason to close early. The redhead was currently leaning against her window, her dark green eyes deep in thought. How many times had the village children make fun of her today? Had the fur truly rose an entire half an inch in the past month? Had the tai. fully merged with her backbone? How long was 23 months? How long before she lived in the forest with other deer? Would she be able to talk then? Was that lump in her throat the beginnings of a life filled with nothing but bleating and quickened breaths? Her hands briefly lifted to her head to check for any changes before returning to their former task.
Her nervous fingers, covered in scars from stubborn roses, moved repetitively as she stroked the chubby orange tomcat dozing beside her. The alley in front of her, which seemed to hold her interest, was nothing more than solid, and dull, walls. Her thoughts consumed her. Her father would call her down to close soon and end her introspective break--which, as her mind was dark, would have been a relief.
One ear twitched and swiveled in the direction of the call from the dark-haired girl. Pine-colored eyes moved down to her feline companion as if trying to confirm the noise's existence. Being asleep, and a stubborn cat, he did not turn to stare at his companion (he did roll over in response). The redhead desperately wanted to ignore the call for help, just to be safe and remain warm in her home, her conscience would not let her.
A little girl, one without the odd ears of the one beside this bed and the dark eyes, stumbled through the streets. The hair was long and down to her hips filled with frazzled edges and loose curls; the color had seemed even more vibrant all those years ago. Her legs, which had been hooves then as well , stumbled through the narrowed streets of a somewhat less affluent neighborhood. Tears cluttered her eyes and fell from her full lashes as she ran from home to home looking for help: "My mama fell! Someone help her! Please!" Her sobs distorted her words; each time a strange adult turned to the girl, she would find herself frightened and moved to the next.
No one had helped her (partially because the child had been frightened and hard to understand). The doctors had been busy with far too many cases on the hot summer evening. Enfai had only found relief when a man, the same one currently negotiating with a customer downstairs, had picked her up and let her guide him. The calls outside reminded her of that time--when her mother lay on the cold streets and the young woman had been completely powerless to help.
Her father had done the right thing. Enfai would do the proper thing as well.
Her 'feet' clapped against the hardwood floor as she moved back into the shop. It was warm enough to go without a jacket or change out of her work apron. Wide eyes turned briefly to her father as she nervously spoke: "I s-shall be right back, sir. Don't lock me out.." The use of the word 'sir' drew her father's dark eyebrows up as he shooed her outside with his large hands and nodded at her request. The door opened and the petite young woman vanished into the night. Her ears worked like flesh-covered satellite dishes as she tried to pinpoint the source of the noise.
Was this disease contagious? Would the nearest healer even be open? What could she, being a weak and stupid girl, do to help? Was it a trap? The questions stopped as she found Haruko and she gingerly stepped forward with concern obvious in her dark gaze. Her ears lay nervously against her head as she stepped into the circle of light offered by the lantern.
"W-what kind of healer? Herbs? It's r-rather late but I know a few of them. P-please calm down miss. I am c-certain it will all turn out fine. D-do you have much money--the one I know if is rather pricey..."
Enfai did not sound confident. She also refused to meet Haruko's bright gaze as the words spilled out in a quick torrent. Her hands tightened around her drab dress as she stared at the other woman with lidded eyes and a guilty expression.
How many times had she heard that lie? Had it made her feel better? Would it help this girl? Had she promised never to lie about these kinds of things?
|
|
Post by HARUKO SUGIHARA on Jul 9, 2013 20:43:20 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] [atrb=style, width:400px; ,bTable] | Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand! Keep it up! I know you can! Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand!
| [cs=2] In the long gaze of history looking back, this was the start of a fable; it would change, word by word, breath by breath, with time and tellers as such tales do. In a few centuries or so, grandmothers would tell their children’s children of how, once, long ago, a Duke’s youngest son fell ill, and his older sister ran frantically into the woods to find him medicine, a plight so moving and so sad that the forest’s deep green goddess, a crown of boughs on her wild hair and her ancient and timeless heart heavy for the child, sent a deer with a healing sprig in her mouth to cure him.
But this was fable and future to come, first remained the business of living it, and Haruko sniffled hard and rubbed out her tears. She whined to herself as she stood up off the wall, her feet aching and a pebble jabbing her heel.
‘I won’t cry again tonight until he’s well, or he’s—’ She picked out the stone and straightened her back, wiping idly at the redness still in her eye. ‘—I won’t cry.’ She sighed the sigh of constricted lungs too full, too tight, loosening and releasing just enough air to keep breathing. ‘I’ll keep looking—’
And there was another lantern up ahead in the alleyway’s darkness, carried by a small girl, shorter than Haruko, with a anxious gait, as if her feet were uncertain of the cobble laid under her, and shapeless, baggy clothing and a pair of shadows lying in her hair. Haruko caught only subjects of her speaking, assurances that all would be well having lost all meaning, and ‘herbs’ stuck out to her. Herbal remedies—leaves and stalks delicately dried, green and browning, with parched, preserved blooms or the fresh heads of white flowers with red centers like open mouths. Medicine wet with life and sap, unlike the cooked salamanders her brother’s physician ground into powders, his thick, blue liquids, silver prodding rods with round, pointed tips, and the haunted ashes to round on the brows of the ill.
A bundle of herbs just seemed so much more alive.
“I can pay,” Haruko said resolutely, even though she knew she didn’t look it in her rough kosode and shoeless feet. “Thank you—I can pay whatever it costs.” She ducked her head once, to sweep at a stray tear with her finger. “But—they—he can’t be moved—will you come to the house with me? I can—I can take you there,” she added, her voice shaking. “And I will pay you there—I’ll pay anything. I mean it.”
|
LAIKA OF GS!
|
|
Post by ENFAI SIAO on Jul 16, 2013 22:49:18 GMT -6
Heal him? Enfai would be lucky if, with her curse and nerves, she had the ability to keep this other girl—with hair of a similar color—from ending up with a smile on her throat. This friendly street, supposedly, had a few bad crimes on it. Both petite girls, neither overly tough, would likely pose a target to any hungry criminal. Enfai just hoped none of these men enjoyed the taste of dear. The part of that tale that would be correct were as follows, if things continued: a deer would have helped Haruko, it likely would have one of those stupid rose crowns stuck on its head, and this other girl’s brother was very sick.
The good thing about hooves? They did not get sand, pebbles, or splinters stuck into them. The bad part? Most locales were not made for horse access, they cracked when used too much, and some hostler wanted her to have metal things drilled into the edges. At the moment, as she walked on smooth streets she knew better than the back of her hand—as it changed constantly—Enfai found little wrong with her feet. What was needed for this encounter: her brain, mouth, and fingers were still quite intact (hopefully for a long while).
The lie that spilled from her mouth, empty and likely hurtful (as she doubted this woman would be wandering in the night to cure a common cold), made her look away. Enfai was a horrid liar; she could never remember not having her dishonesty easily caught and punished. Her green eyes gave too much away. Luckily, in the swaying and erratic light of the lantern, her dark eyes just looked haunted and concerned (you could barely see her turn away).
Tip-Tap! Tap! Tip-Tap! The ‘feet’ on the redhead lifted and slammed down two or three times in the dark alleyway. The princing was a sign of her anxiety and nerves—she needed to keep her muscles loose in case this was a trap or some other nonsense (as instinct dictated). Instead of anger or biting words, which might have sent her scurrying away, Enfai was faced with the resolute words of a loving sister. “I c-c-can take you to th—I do mean quite expensive—miss. We could not afford them..“ Would her mother had lived if she had more money? Enfai, when she later found her friend to be both wealthy and a noble, would feel horrid and offensive for her chatter about money. Her nervous smile remained. Could she find them? Would that office even be open this late? Would this brother like that his sister was put in danger for his welfare? Had he ordered such a potentially dangerous outing? Thoughts began to drown her as the half-Kirin paused and tried to discern her own answers.
A napkin, smudged with dirt and a few wilted leaves, was gently offered to the crying girl. Tears began to pick at the lashes bordering eyes the color of pine. Enfai was a very empathethic individual—even a single tear could prompt her to tears. Her heart, which she sometimes felt was as worthless as her disgusting and ugly hide, swelled. Fingers reached out as if to comfort the girl (with more than a napkin). Afraid of breaking some old law, or giving the wrong impression, Enfai pulled her hands back into her baggy and simple sleeves.
Take her there? Ears, alarmed and slightly curious, swept her hair aside to pull themselves straight. The frown deepened in confusion as the dark-eyed girl looked for something hidden in the shadows. What did this girl think she could do? Had she been listening? Did she look like a doctor? Did she even remember how to tell apart the closely related poisons and plants? Still , with such familiar sorrow and fear etched into Haruko’s features, Enfai nearly found herself starting forward to go to this mystical home with a ‘beggar’ who claimed riches. The half-Kirin truly hoped her companion did not mean to pay sexually (the doctor, old and cantankerous, was a woman). Finally, though she felt horrible, Enfai managed to refuse the heartfelt request (she would just kill the boy): “M-miss—I can’t help you; I’m not a d-doctor. All I can do is mash herbs and even that I do..I do it wrong. The doctor I speak of is by my home, another block or t-two..” Used to drifting down, her green gaze dropped to the cobblestones with a muttered apology. It was then, seeing those feet attacked by rough and jaded stone, that Enfai gasped. Was that blood on those toes? Why did someone in such simple clothing not have the callouses attributed to that class. Enfai shrunk for a moment, afraid of being forceful, and finally (after a few seconds of pause) spoke up: “B-but first, miss, we must put you in sandals of some sort! We do not need your feet to get harmed—what if they get infected or swollen and fall o-off?” This time, afraid of her conscience, Enfai did reach for the other woman’s wrist. ( I can edit if this is confusing at all)
|
|
Post by HARUKO SUGIHARA on Jul 17, 2013 1:42:07 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] [atrb=style, width:400px; ,bTable] | Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand! Keep it up! I know you can! Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand!
| [cs=2] At first, Haruko let the girl lead her further into the ward sullenly as the bones of her ankles twinged and danced, her steps short and wobbling, the handkerchief, sweet-smelling from the leaves, balled in her hand. The night grew thicker, older; the hour where fables were born slipping away on moments of mundane miseries.
“He—he has doctors, already,” Haruko said suddenly, bullheaded. Minoru was tended by one of the best doctors in the empire after all. Her heart hardened—one of the best doctors in the empire had told her own sister-in-law in the half-shadow of the hall outside her brother’s room: ‘It is poison,’ and his voice dropped low, weighted with sympathy, ‘with no earthly cure.’ She grimaced, her mouth hard and her eyebrows pinched. She tore out of the other girl’s soft grasp.
“I don’t want any more doctors to see him! Doctors are—are liars!”
She shook with her own fury, having no reason to say this of any of Minoru’s doctors, ‘but they must be lying—he—he can’t go like this.’ Her head fell, her chestnut hair a veil over her eyes. ‘He’s supposed to be old, with lots of children, I should be old—it should not—be like this.’
“I can pay you, the price doesn’t matter,” Haruko repeated blankly. “But I don’t—want a doctor. Please—just—try—please—” She paused and felt a dry if acute shame rise in her heart for begging like this. “I’m sorry—for asking this—but I—I have to go back, I don’t have time to get shoes. He is going to—” She paused again, drawing herself up anew (if woozy) in a breath. “I understand if you can’t come with me, and you shouldn't if you can't.” But for a moment, a princess’s regal resolve glinted in her eyes, shining through her grief. “But if you are willing, tell me what you need, and I will get it.”
|
LAIKA OF GS! Looked great to me! Sorry to post so fast, but I had to get this out fast before Haruko goes on sabbatical again.
|
|
Post by ENFAI SIAO on Jul 17, 2013 23:06:40 GMT -6
It had worked! Enfai was relieved that the woman seemed to come along quietly.
The gently tugging was gentle and sporadic; not only did Enfai pause at every noise, ready to burst into a run at every moment, but the girl was hesitant about being in charge. Their paces were quite similar--hooves, especially those attached to human leg muscles, did not do well with sweeping steps. The green eyes had watched for a moment for the fellow redhead to use the handkerchief--this never happened. Was she okay? Did squeezing it make her feel better? That wasn't the one embroidered from her mother, right? Her hands squeezed at Haruko in comfort as memories threatened to overwhelm.
Her left hand tightened around the lantern. Enfai hoped she had no need for a free hand or two during this short walk--she was likely defenseless if such a thing occurred.
Had this been how the doctor had lead her home? Had she been strong in silent in her tears like this girl? Had not the alleys looked nearly identical? A tear was blinked free from her lids in both sympathy and a bit of self-indulgent pity for her own past. The words came out from Haruko suddenly and Enfai quickly pivoted in response: "O-oh, I am s-sorry to hear that. Maybe there is n--" The words shriveled in her throat as she just offered another comforting flex of her timid and scarred fingertips. Pine colored eyes widened as those fingers were torn from her grasp. Enfai stumbled backward--teetering on her hooves for a moment--as if stunned.
How many times had she slapped the softly spoken doctor with his mask, sad Labrador eyes, and even more sorrowful smile? Had her fists hurt him or had her words, not so different from those Haruko yelled, hurt more? Was that doctor even alive? Had he truly tried everything? Shaking her head, unsure of at what, the carrot-topped female spoke: "M-miss, I know this m-might be hard but, unless they have a m-motive, most d-doctors are q-quite honest. . ." The half-Kirin paused and backed away from Haruko as if frightened by her potential reaction. She quickly swallowed--twice in succession, before venturing forward the rest of her thoughts: "W-w-what they say may sometimes, maybe a lot of the time, hurt.." Why was Haruko worried the doctor was lying? Was it just something she did not want to hear or the truth? Was this girl running from an assassin--maybe one after the money she held? Dark eyes turned to scan the alley behind them.
Enfai wished she knew a love for a sibling as strong as this one. Would she, in this girl's (figurative) shoes, do the same thing? When she finished formulating a reply that would not hurt Haruko, while politely refusing a request her heart yearned to feel, the noble was just a few seconds away from running off into the dangerous streets. Could she allow such a distraught girl to run off alone? Had destiny sent this frantic young lady into her worthless hooves for a reason? "I..I..t-there isn't much I could do; everything I t-try just ends up hurting them in the end. It w-works for a little while; it t-then turns sour like some sort of rotting and withering plant.." The brother was going to die. He was going to die without his sister as she stumbled barefoot through the streets and brained herself on a piece of loose stone. Maybe she could just hold a lantern? Enfai found those eyes, determined and devastated, both familar and impossible to refuse.
"Can you get a message to my father---lest he worry? T-there is also a box next to my bed. If he is in dire s-straits, as you seem to f-fear, it may not hurt to have the items inside.."
Why wasn't she letting the doctor do her job? Why could she not just refuse this request? What god wanted her to poison a dying man? Wouldn't she just make it worse?
Hooves had stopped just inside the edge of the main road. Her eyes turned toward the warm glow of her little shop and its even smalller rooms.
Would she ever see them again?
|
|
Post by HARUKO SUGIHARA on Jul 29, 2013 0:40:34 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] [atrb=style, width:400px; ,bTable] | Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand! Keep it up! I know you can! Just keep following! The heartlines on your hand!
| [cs=2]
The night grew thicker, the blaze of the lanterns brighter, and their shadows flickered like nervous puppets on the walls of the ward.
“You—you can’t make it any worse than it already is,” Haruko admitted, as she slumped and looked away from the girl. “Just please try. Please.” She broke from the trance of her desperation for the first time. “Of course, I’ll tell him. I’ll send a messenger as soon as we get to the house— and let’s go get whatever you need.”
She followed the other girl’s lead again past a handful of dark houses to a little shop-front with a house tucked in back. She waited outside in the deepening shadow, flames reaching high through the darkness from windows and street-lamps, until the girl returned from her rooms, with her things wrapped in a pale green furoshiki. They met on the street, and Haruko led her, pulling her through the streets from the edges of the ward into the heart of Shangdi and down the Emperor’s road, lined with torches burning in the mouths of stone dragons. The east gate, the closest gate to the Shionoya apartments lay ahead, swathed in night and guardsmen as dragons looped down the pillars of either side of the gate, their jaws open and grinning at the unwelcome, the menace in their eyes and the poisonous gaps in their teeth exaggerated in the hopping lamp light. Guardsmen flanked the gate, their armor, scaled and feathered, their helms spiked with plumes of metal, their faces and forms turned twisted and frightening in the unnatural darkness. Haruko ignored them and gripped the other girl’s hand tighter even as their spears crossed her passage.
“I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t say this earlier but,” Haruko said to the girl, and then she turned to the guardsmen, their human faces locked behind dragon’s grins of metal. “My name is Haruko Sugihara. My brother is Duke Minoru Shionoya. You will let me pass.” The inhuman glamor of their armor fell away as their spears trembled.
“Princess!—Princess, how did you—what are you doing out—”
“Let me and my attendant pass,” Haruko reminded him.
“Of course, Princess.” The spears parted, the whole of the Emperor’s city waiting as Haruko took her healer across the plaza, past the line of the Emperor’s personal guard, a force standing twelve men deep and twelve men wide, to the stairs leading up to her brother’s house—her house. The great house itself lay quiet and dark under the rising sliver of moon at the top of the stairs, its gardens black, and a single light burning in a far, dark corner, its Master’s room.
“Thank you for coming with me. We’ll—we’ll be there soon,” Haruko said, her voice heavy as they took the stairs, Haruko jumping them two steps at a time as often as she could until she stopped at last under the front gate. “What—what is your name?”
|
LAIKA OF GS!
|
|
Post by ENFAI SIAO on Jul 30, 2013 10:17:09 GMT -6
The lantern seemed little defense against the darkness--the moving shadows reminded her of demons in the night. She hated the way that light and shadow always seemed to join together to frighten her. Fingertips tightened on the handle of the lantern. Those eyes, not that different from the toddler screaming at the doctor for help, were far too familiar to refuse. She tried to block out the image of that mortar and pestle at home--as if that could ward off the curse.
Fingers that she had made better had, with one more dose, become twice as deformed as before. The healing was so tempting--it was a curse. The girl could not refuse to help; at her core, beneath her anxiety and nerves, she was an empathetic person with a true desire to help others. Even with dark images of her failed healing in mind, none of these ever ending in death (as she refused the begging before then), Enfai turned to Haruko with her ears flat against her head: "I c-can try--I always make things worse. Are you certain there's no other opt--" The doctors had likely stormed that house, as Haruko had indicated; they would not have told her the worst if it was not coming on quickly. She swallowed: "You will have my help, what little of it I c-can give..." The redhead just hoped that her curse did not choose to bite her in her deer-tailed behind; she was not looking forward to her 'help' being a person to slap. A simple nod as she resisted the urge to apologize--for what may happen. She was grateful that her father would not stay up all night worrying. He had told her to get out more: "Thank you--I just do not wish for him to worry, m-miss." Hopefully the situation was not dire enough that a quick stop at home--and a kiss on a cheek like bristle--would not endanger the man. This would go badly. Enfai could not refuse--which is why that damned box was a curse.
Enfai had went to invite her in--paused at the doorstep--and did so in a quiet manner. It would only take a few minutes for her to gather her stuff. The cat on the bed seemed to glare at her as she pulled the lacquer box from beneath her bed--it was cold and made her shiver at its touch. Did Petal have to stare at her like that--like he was scolding her? "P-papa? I will be back tomorrow--a f-friend invited me over." A big man swept her up in a hug with a grin and she breathed in the scent of fertilizer and flowers that comforted her. It comforted her as she bundled up her items. She had a change of clothes thrown into the package as well. Dark brooding eyes, those of her father, wondered but did not ask--his daughter would use the thing if she felt it was necessary. It hurt to see him look so happy about her leaving--even if it was just because he wanted to see his daughter thrive.
Hooves clapped loudly in the night as she followed closely behind Haruko; Enfai was afraid that letting the girl out of the lantern's light would lead to bad consequences. Where were they going ? The houses seemed to expand and swallow the landscape; wood creaked as they passed and chimes whistled their blessing (though the redhead felt as if they were screaming into her ears). This place was wealthy--the type of home where she would be thrown out or mistook for a doormat. Her heart began to pound. Enfai had never been too comfortable with the powerful or wealthy as most of them seemed to dislike the weak (which she was).
She nearly bolted at the sight of the guards. The freezing that happened before she ran, pure instinct, gave Haruko enough time to tug her away. Fear had blossomed up in that moment. Were they allowed past that gate? The smaller frame nearly bumped into Haruko as they paused. Her jaw went slack. She did not want to walk beneath those metal dragons--the human faces looking as if the dragon had wanted a macabre mask. The explanation was soon in coming. Hands tightened around the box as her mind began to race with thoughts and self-defamation: Fantastic! You get to kill a duke, Enfai! Oh well. Guillotine is quick--damnit girl why are you so big-hearted? Cynical thoughts or not, the half-Kirin knew it was too late. There was no way she would snap away what little hope her woefully inadequate presence had given. "It's q-quite alright,miss,umm...I d-don't know the proper title.." At least the guards seemed more concerned about Haruko's welfare than the fact that Enfai may have been some insane assassin. The box curled even tighter against her chest--not that the accursed thing could offer any comfort.
The soldiers were gifted a nod of thanks as she renewed her race toward the dying man. Hopefully, when she tried to get out tomorrow, these men would remember her face or, at the very least, not try to skewer her with spears.
The steps were very tall to the short girl. The row of guards made nervous. Was this the palace or just a home? Was it improper of her not to know such a thing? The introduction helped calm her nerves as she stood heaving on the front steps. Her chest ached and she needed a moment to rest. It would take her a moment to digest all that had happened in the last few minutes. A pause and then a response: "My name is Enfai; I'm quite obviously not a p-princess or anything of the sort.." She was sort of breath. Her gaze lifted to the light in the distance.
Whatever god is out there, maybe not the one that cursed me, help me to make this man feel better--please. At the very least, don't let me kill him.
|
|
Post by HARUKO SUGIHARA on Jul 3, 2015 23:58:26 GMT -6
Shionoya’s doors slid open at their arrival, moved by the phantom hands of servants draped in drab colors and the thick shadow of a house anticipating the untimely death of its lord. Forms solidified in the courtyard under the gate, one bearing a lamp as it approached, the walls glowed at the touch of the light, stroking deep urns painted in indigo and gold as dark orchids hung from recesses among the pillars. While down on the steps still, Haruko smiled barely in the rise of milky moonlight. It spilled ghostly through the pikes of the Imperial Guard, turning torchlights green. “Sometimes it’s lucky not being a princess. You can call me Haruko, but—” Seriousness put aside her smile and hardened her voice. “—but do that later. I’m—” “Lady Haruko.” A grim-faced man intruded on their conversation, a cool purpose in the lines of his face—his was a still handsomeness, pale and red-haired. He might have been young, but he did not seem to permit it—his lips were very curiously scarred, dashed with the shallow pits of healed boils. His gray eyes moved from Haruko—to the girl beside her. “And this is?” He asked coldly—disinterested in the humanity of this—other subject. Haruko bristled and demurred to this stranger—but only just so—with a bow of her head. “Lord Issei. This is a healer in my employ I sent for—” “ Personally, my lady?” he asked. “Personally.” And Haruko seemed to dare him to fight her over it, but the gentleman stepped aside. A servant of the Shionoya House appeared from the gate. “My lady—welcome home!” The maid’s greeting to Haruko was stiff, hurried. “Your—your family is waiting.” She changed attentions to the leaving gentleman—she too demurred to him, bowing low. “Lord Issei, Lady Shinonoya sends her farewells.” “I have received them,” Lord Issei told her, and then to the two girls, he said: “With that, good night to you as well, ladies.” The gentleman departed down Shionoya’s stairs, the hang of his coat sliding along the granite after him. And Haruko’s composure got away from her— “My brother is dying, of course he would come when—when—like he—” She glared down at her feet—bleeding, reminding her of the wonder that she ran all night and back again. The maid did not remark on the state of her, or of the girl she had brought with her—instead she pulled them inside, gently, her presence guiding them into the Shionoya House. “N-n-nevermind,” Haruko continued, this time to Enfai properly. “Just—just keep near me. And let—let me do the talking. It’s—it’s a big house.” And indeed, it was. Beyond them, the mansion spread its wings under shadow across eight courtyards knitted toward with long chambers and corridors. It stood in the courtyard of the Jade Palace as one of four noble houses risen up on steps three stories high and bannered in the colors of the Great Clans—their roofs sat still three stories below the proud rise of the Imperial residence itself. But as they passed through the Shionoya corridors, the walls seemed to grow tighter, drawing closed like a throat around them. Tepid shadow pressed through the shuttered, paper doors, dripping and hot, and creeping in their clothes, as if fire and water steamed together in the still darkness inside those rooms, as the long, narrowing hall funneled them to a door of light. —And on the other side lay the Grand Duke of all Western Shambala. He lay sweating in his bed, and Haruko winced and nearly buckled over—hit with a smell of powerful— unwellness. She swallowed air through her mouth and stood up straighter. ‘Was it like that before?’ Haruko had been so distressed, she barely remembered her visit to this room—if that smell had always been there or settled in during her absence—after all, her family drifted about, unaffected. (As they often did when she encountered such ‘vapors’.) Just as before, they did not touch the Duke—it seemed to bring him pain, so they stood only as near as they dared. He lay still for the moment, his breath coming in pants, fast but soundless—and his eyes opened, and he stared idly up into the rafters, and held his breath—long, and longer— And they all held their breaths with him, until the Clan Prince slammed his arm against the floor, the silence cracking, as he thrashed and nearly swung into the wall before a physician rushed to restrain him—dragging him against the damp bedding—his fingers jerking—as his mouth worked, wordless yet screaming, tears streaming from his eyes— They held the Clan Prince still, and he lay beneath them—a Grand Duke made painfully young, achingly mortal, empty-eyed with eyelids fluttering, his arms still jerking automatically, lashing against the men that pressed him down as he threw his head back against the futon. The dull smacks of sound ringing with sympathetic pain in Haruko's own head as she clutched Enfai’s hand so tight, she felt the pressure of her grip stiffening in her own bones. She wanted to let go, but her hands just began to shiver without anything to hang to. “Can—can you do something?” (To Minoru: I’m sorry, man. I ended up reading about dimethylmercury poisoning. So sorry, dude. Nobody else read about that.
To Fae: Naturally, I can edit if anything is confusing! - Zel)
|
|
Post by ENFAI SIAO on Jul 4, 2015 0:47:12 GMT -6
Watching as the servants ushered her into her tomb, Enfai wished she had the courage to end this nonsense. Remembering those tears upon this face, lips better pictured in a smile, traitorous hooves continued forward. It is better to not die like a coward, is it not? Maybe in heaven, or hell, they will at least remember to be kind. Weak statement, half in jest, suddenly seemed to claw and cloy her strained breath. “I understand—I am sorry, I know this is important…” It is likely unnecessary to know the name of your executioner, fool. Quiet. Each word murmured in these hallowed halls, by her unclean and unblessed tongue, spoke of blasphemy. The faceless guards reminded her of statues that stood watch at shrines and embraced coffins. Fingers tightened in those of the girl as a stranger appeared from the darkness. Something in his countenance, flickering eyes, frightened her more than the gruffness of the guards. His lips? I wonder if such a thing can be healed, it is rude to judge him! That is why you are frightened, fool thing. Even if he seems frightening and rude. I wonder if we may be related. A respectful nod followed at the man as Haruko’s word, straining the half-spirit’s spine with its weight, echoed. Personally.
It made her feel unworthy. Who was she kidding? She was not worthy. She was just the desperate ploy of a frightened little girl.
A whirlwind of movement as a woman, far less frightening, appeared in the doorway. Hearing the title of nobility flow from those of the servant, Enfai bowed lower until her accursed item threatened to spill out of its embracing box and clatter upon the floor. “Goodnight, my lord. Safe travels…” Something in hre, reminiscent of a mouse, was glad when his slithering robes vanished from view. Hearing the words of distaste flow from Haruko, the auburn-haired woman frowned. “If you wish to talk, I will listen..” It is unlikely, Enfai, that you have a choice. Gaze moved down to bleeding feet as her words dwindled into silence. Though she wished to bolt, solidified her urge to go on. Love this strong is worth what I may provide, even if it is little. Like a dutiful dog, one with antlers, she followed behind her friend. “It is quite large—the largest I have seen. Is this all of it? I mean—I am sorry, I know that, nevermind.” Childlike wonder, staring at wall paintings, was soon overwhelmed by memories of death. As paths continued to wind, Enfai hoped she did not become lost when she chose to leave—if she was allowed. “….” Shadows drew the occasional paranoid glance as ajar doors tempted the eyes of curiosity.
A light caught her gaze and beyond it, through enhanced senses, she could hear mumbling. Heavy breathing and the smell of diseased sweat assaulted her nose. For all of this individual’s power, all the Kirin saw was something ill. Something that her foolish sacrifice might help. Claws scraped against rough stone as the rhythm of rattling breathing drew her into the past. A time when her ears had been almost human.
-----{{FLASHBACK}}------ Clutched in tiny hands, looking as if made out of gold, clutched the same bowl. Herbs tossed into it—some for fever, some for cough, and all punctured by tiny claws. The sound of stone on stone erupted. A shattered box lay to the side as hooves, scraping freshly polished wood in excitement, raced into the room. “Momma! I will help! Look what the gods gave me!” Pushing past the doctor, unhuman in her strength, she moved to shove tiny fingers down a stiffened throat. Herbs flowed from her grasp. “You will be all better now. I promise!” Hands wrapped around a tiny waist as the doctor, halfway through pulling up a shroud, completed the jobs. Wails of a frightened child, as her curse drove ears into a devilish point, erupted through the tiny cottage. Enfai learned what the gods gave that day: nothing.
--------{PRESENT}------- Painful tightening of Haruko’s hand drew her into the present. I cannot allow anyone to be that little girl. I will not. Even if it may kill me—I cannot leave him like this! “I will try my best, my lady…” Please do not die, my lord. Burn the sheets if you must. Please. Ignoring the greed in her soul, begging for a pause, half-Kirin collapsed into a kneel beside the prince. Again, in a perfect mimicry of before, she poured a small container of herbs into the bowl. The sound of grinding was heard as green light briefly appeared.
Jumping prince nearly frightened her to death, but, she remained resolute—too scared to move.With a tiny spoon, silver, she dug a bit of the concoction and moved to leave just a hint of it upon his tongue. A single word flowed out. A prayer? A plea? A name: “Momma….” She closed her eyes and waited.
|
|