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destinyfell2016-07-18 12:16 am
meteorrains) wrote in destinyfell2016-07-18 12:16 am
» Action Four | Cloud And Tifa «
[It seemed as if the world was spinning impossibly fast, twirling rapidly around it's axis in such a way that made time seem to move much quicker than average. Somehow, without truly realizing it as he had lived it, the entirely day had passed within the blink of an eye. Party after party, all which absolutely required his attendance. Each with a multitude of people who had not seen in years, all welcoming him home, all congratulating him on leading their army to victory. All praising him for managing to make it through a nasty war which had claimed many lives unscathed.
Learning that he was being gifted his own household located in the city as a present from his father had come just as dinner was about to begin, everyone raising a glass and cheering as the news was announced. He had nodded in acceptance, had thanked his father profusely for this grace and generosity, had listened to endless speeches of how lucky he was to have such a noble and wealthy family.
All he wanted in the entire world was a soft place to lay his head, to sleep knowing that peace had fallen over the land, that despite the previous years of suffering, he was finally safe.
Slipping his shoes off, he placed them upon the mat directly inside the door, closing it behind him and moving further into the house his father had chosen. It was well decorated, tasteful and bright, perfect for someone who would soon be searching for a wife. His chamber was easy enough to locate, the door slide back into place carefully. Each garment was peeled from his body slowly, until nothing the pants remained. Something cracked along his spine as he moved, muscled sore and stiff and for once, he wished he had stayed at his fathers estate. At least there he would be able to take a warm bath, or have one of his fathers servants message the area for him.
Sighing softly, he lifted a hand to rub gently at his neck, stretching slightly, before resuming the motion, trying to ease away the ache.]
Learning that he was being gifted his own household located in the city as a present from his father had come just as dinner was about to begin, everyone raising a glass and cheering as the news was announced. He had nodded in acceptance, had thanked his father profusely for this grace and generosity, had listened to endless speeches of how lucky he was to have such a noble and wealthy family.
All he wanted in the entire world was a soft place to lay his head, to sleep knowing that peace had fallen over the land, that despite the previous years of suffering, he was finally safe.
Slipping his shoes off, he placed them upon the mat directly inside the door, closing it behind him and moving further into the house his father had chosen. It was well decorated, tasteful and bright, perfect for someone who would soon be searching for a wife. His chamber was easy enough to locate, the door slide back into place carefully. Each garment was peeled from his body slowly, until nothing the pants remained. Something cracked along his spine as he moved, muscled sore and stiff and for once, he wished he had stayed at his fathers estate. At least there he would be able to take a warm bath, or have one of his fathers servants message the area for him.
Sighing softly, he lifted a hand to rub gently at his neck, stretching slightly, before resuming the motion, trying to ease away the ache.]
aaaand we're back lol
Except that lord. Who could hopefully remain a bit naive to it. So far he hadn't struck her as someone that needed to ride tight rein on every little instance in a household. It would leave her free to do so herself and leave him free to do the things that truly would need his time and attention instead.
Tomorrow, every servant would be up and waiting before dawn and dressed in black and white if Jiro had to go door to door and borrow the clothes. Leaving him in charge of that, Tifa warmed some water and collected a few small cakes, arranging everything on the tray with the casual careless beauty of a carefully arranged flower display. Half the time, beauty was in pretending it hadn't taken effort.
She could hear the water through the paper walls and so she knew she would not disturb him when she pushed the door to his bedroom open from outside and went in to wait, legs tucked under her, tray covered and in front of her. When she heard the subtle splash and drip of water that told her he was getting out, she poured the still hot tea from the tetsubin into the cup, timing it so that she would be finishing just as he came out.
Somehow... his looks had been easier to ignore when he hadn't been still dripping water and clean out of his bath. She offered his cup with both hands, having already pulled out a pillow for him to sit on across the tray from her.]
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Muscles no longer carried that deep ache, no longer screamed in protest when he lowered himself onto the plush expanse, as he reached out, fingers wrapping carefully around the precious china. Only to brush hers as they pulled away, the touch lasting no longer than a singular heart beat, but it was enough to send a jolt of electric light dancing along his spine.
His grip almost faltered, but he recovered with the ease and grace of a warrior, free hand quickly lifting, warm glass pressing against the palm and stabilizing.]
It's strange. Having done everything myself for so long, and now suddenly having other's to do it for me.
[Maybe he shouldn't be speaking to her, shouldn't be divulging those thoughts.
But he remembered growing up, there had been a geisha under his father's employ. A woman in her late twenties, beautiful as freshly bloomed cherry blossoms. She had been kind to him, always ensuring that he had the very best care possible, even when his mother couldn't have cared less. He remembered his father treating her well, with kindness and respect, asking instead of demanding, the only servant with which he interacted, and the only one who was ever spared from his wrath.
As he grew older, he had learned that he could confide in her. She had been the first to know of his dreams to join the army, to be a hero, celebrated and praised, honored and adored. She had encouraged him to follow that dream, to pursue it despite the path his father may have wanted him to take. There would be time after, when he'd found his glory and his place in the world.
She was too had grown older, but she was still no less beautiful, no less kind. She had welcomed him home, bowing low and speaking the words, face practiced and blank. But silently, he knew that her affection for him still stood, that she was proud of what he had done.
And so he wanted that with his own, wanted to know that he could confide in her, that she could be trusted to keep his secrets. That she would be proud of the man that he was, of what he had accomplished. That she would be honored to give his name when asked, to say that she was the master of his household.]
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And she wondered if she hoped it was true or not.
But when he spoke, her eyes lifted to his face - and they softened. Because she understood what he was trying to do.
Society had strict boxes everyone had to be fit into and every action in their life was expected to mirror that box and conform to it. Each box nudged against other boxes and their were strict rules about how those boxes interacted. Geisha had their own box and rules as well. But part of their 'box' was that every other box was allowed to open when it touched theirs and, for those moments, the rules relaxed and faded.
He could speak to her in ways he couldn't speak to anyone else because she would keep them safe when they stepped outside the boxes. That was her job. It was her honor.
She reached out, subtly turned the small plate of cakes to draw his attention to it - and the curve of her wrist. And her voice was soft. Because she understood having her entire world have to rearrange.]
It must feel strange, being so surrounded by people who have no idea what your life was like before now.
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There had once been a boy, thin and wiry, stubborn and determined, who had dreamed of a world outside of his small village. Who had wanted to find his own place in the world, to leave his mark upon it. Who had been an out cast, disliked for no other reason than his father was a wealthy, influential man who had taken up residence in a rather small pond. A boy who had been eager to find adventure, who had been eager to make something of himself, to break past the expectations of others that had been placed upon him.
There had once been a teenager, short and muscular, having finally come into those awkward, lanky limbs and built them into solid foundations of strength. One who had begun to traverse his chosen path, who often snuck away for hours at a time to train under one of the most celebrated and respected warriors the country had ever known. Who spent long hours practicing each movement, honing each skill, training himself how to properly hold a blade, how to compensate for it's weight. Who had gone against his fathers wished and enlisted, knowing his dream may never full come true, maybe never fully be realized. Who had fled from the city he'd come to know, the one that had been his prison for all of those previous years, always wishing he could return to that small village, to the world he'd had once inhabited.
There had once been a young man, battle hardened and weery, respected and feared. Who had risen through the ranks quickly, who had earned every titled that had been given. Who had earned the trust of the men he'd led into the battle, who had never left a comrade behind. Who had given orders to not harm innocents, but instead give them the chance to flee. Who had quietly given orders to those he knew would carry them out to not search as thoroughly as they should, to not set each house on fire. To not always lead with violence. Who had come through countless battles covered in dirt and blood, who had seen things too terrible to speak of. Who had spent the previous ten years fighting and winning a war that he no longer had a vested stake in. Winning it only for the sake of peace for those who deserved it far more than he did.
Each seemed like a different lifetime now, like there had been three separate people who had all converged to form one past. And now, at twenty four, he was facing the start of another, unlike any of the ones who had come before.
This period of his life should have been known as happiness, but instead it was called uncertainty.
Hot steam rose as he lifted the cup to his lips, a soft sigh falling from them at the aroma, only now realizing how much he'd missed the more floral leafs that were available to someone of his statue. Having spent so much time drinking strongly brewed, bitter black tea, the subtle hints of jasmine were a welcome change. As was he taste, exploding upon his tongue and lingering pleasantly, leaving behind a soothing, calming effect long after it had been consumed.
It was almost enough to make him miss the offering, the way the pale skin of her delicate wrist was put on the display with the soft motion.
He knew that she wasn't entirely there to be his servant, wasn't entirely there to run his household in order to allow his attention to be better spent elsewhere. Knew that she wasn't only there to aid him in the finding of a wife, to help take care of whatever child may come from such a union. Knew how these things often went, that she was to be his mistress, to please him in whatever ways were required.
Growing up, he remembered hearing whispered conversations, snatched of things he was too young too understand. As he'd grown older, he had learned the signs, had come to know what they meant. Had seen her leaving his fathers quarters early in the morning still dressed in her clothing from the day before more times than he could count.
It would be a long while before he'd want to search for a wife, despite the pressures society would surely place upon him to do so earlier. No one would blame him for partaking in the beauty that was available to him.
But he wasn't that person, wasn't that sort of man, and so he tried his best to ignore it, to focus on the conversation at hand.]
For most of my life I have been surrounded by people who have not truly known me. Who have only known what they wanted to see. The son of a powerful man, a mindless soldier following orders. My life before seems like it happened to someone else.
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And some, like Tifa, are rare birds who bring bragging right simply from having visited.
But each and every geisha is, above everything else, a work of art. Something safe for men to fall in love with from a distance and be inspired by but not for touching. If a man wants carnal pleasure he goes to the courtesans. If he wants soul pleasure, he goes to a geisha.
But she is not just a hired geisha for an hour, to sweep in and give his ragged soul rest, an escape from the demands of society for a moment and then gone. She accepted his father's proposal to buy her contract on his behalf. He is her danna. And while she is allowed to keep other appointments and continue her trade as long as she makes his appointments ascendant, she is tied to him in much deeper ways than a geisha is usually tied to a client. In moving into his house, instead of having him set her up in a place of her own, she has agreed to even more binding than usual for a danna contract. If he reaches for her, if he draws her down into his bed, she will not refuse him even if it is implied that she is allowed. The truth is that she has agreed to make his needs paramount and the physical ones, as her danna, are implied as well.
She was aware of that when she agreed to the contract's purchase, sight unseen. It was not the part that scared her the most.
She heard his quiet sigh of release and pleasure and the thought passed through her mind as well. Geisha were allowed to take lovers, if they were discrete and kept it a secret but she had never considered it. Danna were not lovers. They were eternal clients. She thought... in that moment as she watched the lines of tension slip for just a moment from his face... that maybe she should not have accepted him as her danna...
But she had. Because a geisha didn't take care of her lovers the way she would be able to take care of her danna.]
No man can step into the same stream twice. Neither he nor the river are the same. [She did not touch him but she did rest her hand on the tray for a moment, palm up. The gesture of openness to his not being who he once was, acceptance of who he was now, before her fingers curled and her hand shifted back into her lap again.] We are never who we were. All we can do is be who we are now and make them the best we can. Others may not see you clearly. Do you?
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Despite how much he may long to go back, to become that boy who had once belonged within that village, who had once had dreams and aspirations as big as the sun, he knew it was impossible. Time had come and swept that child away, changing and transforming him, placing him where fate desired.
It was only by luck that fates design had matched his own ambitions, had fallen into line with his own desires. If it had been any other path that had been laid out before him, he very much doubted the stream in which he currently stood would be the same.
Wouldn't be here, in this moment, speaking to a beautiful woman who his father had purchased for him, wouldn't have his own household, elegant and graceful, filled with servants and simple lines and colors. Wouldn't be an accomplished, celebrated warrior who's name was widely known and respected.
Wouldn't have to wake up each day and pretend he hadn't smelled the scent of blood, pretend that he couldn't still feel it upon his hands, no matter how fervently he washed them.
Did he see himself clearly? Had he ever? Or was his vision simply mistaken, simply desperate to see what he wanted.]
I don't think I ever have. [Suddenly, he felt so much older than his twenty four years, each limb heavy with exhaustion that he'd been fighting for far too long.
Reaching forward, he place his cup upon the tray carefully, ensuring that it's weight would be perfectly balanced when it was lifted.]
It's late. [The night was half gone, and day light would be fast approaching.] Please, take care of these things and then get some rest. I will expect everyone to appear before me in the morning. [Shifting, he lifted himself from the cushion, muscles once more aching with the movement.]
Tell them, if you will, that there is nothing to fear, so long as they are loyal.
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Which was why this new situation was so painful. And also why she could not have turned away from it even if she had wanted to. Because that lost little girl had pinned all her stars on her belief in one skinny little boy. And if that little girl was long dead and buried... the stars had remained fixed.
She recognized dismissal when she heard it and she worried she had overstepped. She enjoyed talks that went deeper, the ones that dove into the dark pools and sank below the lotus flowers to find the roots. But perhaps, tonight, this first meeting, she shouldn't have presented herself that way. Perhaps she should have been light and bright and cheerful, a spring breeze passing through to lift away worries and tiredness. The truth was that, no matter how her heart said it knew him, she did not. They had both changed and she needed to remember that. That she was not familiar with him yet. That he did not know her at all. That what she thought she knew must be tested before she put her faith in it. Her eyes lifted as he stood even if her face did not and it hurt her heart, to hear the weight in his voice, see the ache in his body even if he didn't move as if it were there. He had told her to leave and she did not know him well enough to stay.
And yet, she did not move to rise when he did, still too long on the other side of the tray. It was too early to push. She had already risked his disapproval once tonight by breaking tradition and ordering everyone to their beds.
Her bottom lip pressed in for a moment and she bowed low over the tray. Her voice was very soft in the night and the request was formal.]
May this one please ask the gift of a few more moments with you, lord?
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Confusion rose within him, wondering why she would not be content in the dismissal, in knowing that she could finally retire to her bed, the hour late and the sky at its darkest point. Should he deny her, firmly assert his place as master, as lord, to be feared and obeyed? Did he allow her to do as she asked, to think that all she had to do was request it, and it would be given?
Far too tired to think of the consequences of each action, he lifted a hand, rubbing gently at his forehead, as if trying to stem off some incoming ache.]
Not tonight. [Although her presence was warm, comforting, the call of sleep was far more powerful.] Tomorrow. We may spend some time together after dinner.
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Most geisha knew their danna for years before they sold their contract to them. It was the culmination of a long client relationship and if that had been the case with them, she would already have known when to push and when to sway for him. She did not have that basis and she'd misstepped.]
Tomorrow.
[It was only an echo of his words and no claim of any promise in them and she let herself out of the room like smoke, door sliding shut behind her. He was her danna. They both knew that if he requested her presence after a meal, she would remain.
It wasn't until she was far down the hall that she let the frown mar her face and her eyebrows pinched down. She would have to reapply her makeup, the consequence of wearing the heavy white even though it wasn't required any more. Now that she was a full geisha she was allowed to attend her clients with a bare face and most did. But the heavy white was a mask and one she was glad of. She only let it crease now because she was going to go back to her room and reapply it soon anyway.
Geisha walked a fine line. They had to be enough themselves to be interesting and unique - and they had to fit themselves to each clients individual needs like an empty shell. She'd always been good at it, but this was so much more delicate than a half hour or so. She'd made a mistake tonight, perhaps a very bad one but she couldn't retreat or refuse to see him again. It wasn't her nature. And even if it had been, this was her world now. Her life. She would never earn enough to buy back her own contract. All she could do was fix what she had made a mess of and do better at it the next time.
By the time she had dropped off the tray and collected her own and passed on the words he'd told her to tell the others to servants that were already awake and preparing for the morning, she was determined again. The world of Flower and Willow came alive at night and she wouldn't sleep. Back in her own room, she sent her own servant to the storage chests to take out the dress that she would wear for tomorrows ceremony, drank her tea, read the letters that had been left for her and she pushed everything she thought she might have known about her new lord back into the smoke and ash of her past. By the time she was done with her bath and dressed in the new kimono that would offset perfectly against the stark black and white of the servants new uniforms and her face was reapplied and she had finished answering some of the letters and written several lists of supplies needed, she was ready to start new and try again. As a maiko she had been required to learn how to play go. She had never enjoyed it, but she had been good at it. In the hour before dawn, kneeling on the polished wood of the floor, forehead bowed low enough to almost touch it, surrounded by every other servant that wasn't currently required to attend him while he got ready for the day, waiting, she decided that she would view this as a game of go. Each step from now forward would lead somewhere. She wouldn't take them carelessly again.]
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Dressing was yet another ritual in which he wasn't accustom, each piece carefully handled, crisp, clean lines of cotton, each piece carefully tied into place before he could even begin to do it himself. Perhaps it was something he would grow accustom to in time, but for the moment it felt strange, foreign and awkward, as if he were incapable of doing even the simplest of task for himself.
More than once, the thought crossed his mind to send them away, to send the entire household away.
But he endured, quietly, insisting on at least being allowed to brush his own hair, blond spikes responding better to a few quick passes of splayed fingers, working out any tangles before allowing it to simply do what it would.
Somehow, he hadn't quite been expecting his orders to be followed, for all of them to be awaiting his arrival, knees pressed against gleaming wood, backs bent so low it was a wonder their foreheads didn't also rest upon it. A flutter of activity behind him signaled those who had previously aided him hurrying into position, until there were twelve perfectly bowed forms in front of him. Each one dressed perfectly in dark, inky black and stunning white.
Suddenly, he didn't know hoe to address them. Did he treat them has he had his men, giving orders and words to raise moral? Did he treat them as one would the dirt beneath their feet? Did he show them kindness?
Taking a deep breath he found the middle section, ensuring his voice was low enough for them all to hear.]
Please, face me. [Slowly, each form rose, resting back onto their leg's, eyes intently finding his face and remaining there, keen and earnest.]
While you are in my employ, I expect all of you to conduct yourself with dignity and respect. You are each an extension of my house, and therefore of me and my name. [Another pause, filled with a deep breath.] So long as you are here, you will be treated well. I do not wish for you to fear me. All that I ask is for your loyalty in return.
Each of your expenses will be taken care of, with a small allowance given once a week. For two hours each afternoon, should your chores be completed and nothing more be required, your time will be your own, to do with what you wish.
Black and white clothing will be provided for each of you, and should be worn during the daylight hours. Meals will be taken in the early morning, at mid day, and after night fall.
[Another pause, thoughts rapidly filling his mind.]
I do not require aid in the mornings, but would instead like for my clothing to be left for me, both for the day as well as at night. [Another deep breath, along with a short nod of his head, satisfied with what had been spoken.] All of you may now return to your duties.
[Turning, intent on moving into the proper room for dining and stopping short, attention turning backwards for only a moment.]
Willow, if I may speak to you.
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And that they'd come to a very generous lord. Something she knew everyone had been worrying about since being moved to this household to wait for him.
So there was just the hint of a smile at the very corners of her lips when he finished and she was already rising when he spoke her name and added his request.
Her stomach took an unpleasant plunge and, for that moment, she felt like the fifteen year old girl with burned fingers failing time and time again at her koto practice, disappointing the one woman in all the world she wanted the most to please.
But she let none of it show on her face or in her posture, instead bowing to show she heard and then moving forward to join him in the dining room, one long slender flow of motion that all seemed to flow together.
If she had made more of a mess last night than she had even realized she would mend it. Every mistake could be turned into a lesson. It was what she had trained so long and hard for. All she required was the chance to make it right again.]
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Pillows were already perfectly placed, spaced just far enough from the low table to provide comfort, but close enough to making reaching easy and manageable. Each room was far too large for one singular person, and he knew the expectation was for him to fill it. With a wife, and then with children, with family and guest.
He vastly preferred the echoing emptiness.]
Please, do not take my dismal of you last night as a sign that I do not want your company. [Voice nearly silent, barely loud enough for the two of them to hear, aware, as always, of the thinness of the paper walls that surrounded them.]
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Close enough to him that the long silk of her embroidered sleeve with its tumbling cherry blossoms almost touched him, she heard his low voice. And she appreciated his delicacy. It would never do to have the household know that she had stumbled and been dismissed by him so quickly. It would have undermined her influence and made her job of controlling without seeming to control that much harder. As her danna he was watching out for her -
but she thought, just a moment, that he would have done so anyway whether she had been his or not.
Her blink was slow, a long drop of dark lashes against ice white skin but it was not in surprise or question but rather acknowledgement. She could tease him now, subtle. He'd given her the opening whether he realized it or not but... but he was giving her sincerity and she thought... she thought he might, more than light flirting or breezy avoidance, appreciate sincerity in response. Surely he knew she had not asked for those extra moments of his time to simply sit in his presence and do nothing. She did not turn her face to look at him but her dark eyes shifted to watch him and her voice was the same soft answer as his.]
You were right to dismiss me. It was crass of me to ask a boon on our first meeting. I am grateful it has not made me unwelcome in your sight.
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Now, he's thankful for the sincerity he hears contained within her tone, thankful for the gentleness, the agreement that he had made the proper choice, despite whatever awkward air it may have temporarily caused between them. Stumbling was certain to happen whenever one set out upon a nee endeavor, and this was the further possible reach from his old life. Nothing had prepared him for what was now expected of him, for commanding servants instead of warriors. For having everything done for him instead of doing everything for himself and other's besides.
Something near a smile crossed his features, only the barest soft hint, eyes slightly lighter, clearer, lips a little upturned. Subtle, but there for those who sought it or knew how to properly look.]
Please, know that you will always be welcome within my sight. [A sudden, loud bang came from the area of the kitchen, followed by a rather loud curse and the sound of scrambling.] It seems as though I am not the only one who is having trouble finding my footing.
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Listening to his talk to the servants today and remembering last night, she thought - the adjustment from war lord and camp tents to a household himself in high society must be an awkward thing. He had gone off to war so young - and the war had lasted so long. She had known that his father was buying her contract to make his son's way in society a little smoother, his household more genteel but perhaps she had not considered how her danna himself felt about things. Or at least, not enough. The fact that he was concerned for his footing showed that he respected both his name and his household. It was a gift, not a weakness. One of her hands moved, a subtle, graceful shift, a signal to the watching servants that they should bring the tea, but as they turned to fetch it, while they were still as private as two people could be in the common dining room, her other hand turned. Showed her danna the inside of a pale wrist. An intentionally vulnerable gesture no less graceful for the lack of a fan.]
Great lords are allowed - eccentricities. [She said it as if she was speaking of observations or fairy tales instead of a personal suggestion.] It would, in fact, be considered strange, if a new lord didn't have certain things he personalized as differences in the way he wished to be served from the standard. [Her dark eyes slipped sideways to look at him as she paused. Watching for a moment before she added gently:] Servants take great pride in being able to tailor their service to their lord's desires as much as his needs.
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Once, perhaps, in a life time that had come before, that had ended abruptly when he'd walked away from his last battle, when he'd stepped over his last fallen comrade, when he'd looked into the eyes of the last innocent he'd saved, before the end of that world and the beginning of this one, he had been a great warrior.
Lord was nothing more than a title handed down from his father, given to the first born son. Nothing more than a benefit of being born into such a family, nothing more than a safety net in which to fall back on. There was nothing great about being given a title you hadn't earned, of coming to it through inheritance instead of will.
A great swordsman. A great fighter. A great captain. A great friend.
All titles that had been earned, through hard work and sheer determination. Not handed to him upon a silver platter, not coming with the expectation for him to suddenly transform into something he was not.
A door slide from it's place, opening slowly, a line of three servants entering one after another, bowing as low as their heavily laden trays would allow. Food of all sorts were laid upon the stout little table, offerings of tea and drink, plates and utensils carefully laid in front of two singular places. The arrival forced him forced him from his thoughts, forced his attention back into the moment.]
Thank you. [Perhaps it was odd for him to be thanking them for their service, for perform as they had been hired to, as their lots in life had demanded. But if they were appreciated, if they felt respected, they would far exceed expectations.] You may go.
[It was only once they were alone that he shifted away, choosing a place around the table to call his own, settling against the plush blue pillow.]
I have agreed to begin working with my father in the afternoons. To begin to learn what will be expected of me once his duties are passed on. [He'd rather be training, be passing his knowledge on to those who may one day make use of it.] Your time shall be your own while I am gone. But I - [Hesitating, he wondered briefly if there was some sort of boundary he would be stepping across, if he would be taking things too far with such a request.] I would prefer if you not entertain other's company.
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A lord was a lord. Born from peasant stock, she viewed them very differently than they probably viewed themselves. Her geisha training had not stunted that. Because - if she had not become a geisha, they would never be sitting here in this moment. A noble did not dirty his meal with common earth and sparrows did not sit on branches made for falcons. What they had had as children... if the fire had not taken her to ash and him to blood - adulthood would have. Save this. This saving. This chance of luck and face that had led her to the one place a woman could step outside society and be free. He was a lord with absolute command over every life in his care. And as a lord he could curse it or cherish it. She thought it was one of the highest responsibilities a person could own, and one of the most easily abused.
And then the pot, half raised to pour, paused, and she went very still.
He overstepped. He overstepped perhaps even worse than she had last night. As her danna, he was her client. Her prominent client but still - a client. He had no place to ask her to give up her lifestyle and her profession. A geisha's contract was sacred. At least one as highly ranked as hers was certainly more impervious to abuse than a lower ranked one would have been. She let the silence fall inside her mind -
and her hand lifted, a shift of a slender wrist, and she poured his tea, sending steam and aroma into the early morning air, other pale hand balancing it by pressure to the lid.
She had every right to refuse him flatly, danna or otherwise, though face forward refusal could cause all kinds of other problems for her. Though - she thought she could survive well enough if it came to that. It wasn't why she didn't immediately though. The silence was still thick inside her chest and she let that steer her over what her mind informed. So she simply set the tea pot back in its place once his cup was full and rested her hands loosely in her lap. Her dark eyes rose to watch him and there were no walls or harshness in them. He had her curiosity over her caution for the moment.]
Why would you ask that of me, danna?
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It was strange how closely this resembled a battle, each leading with carefully considered tactic. Only he had been given the advantage that came along with a wealth and privilege, with respect and a title. If he wanted, he could refuse her, could turn away from her. Could shame her. Could ensure that no one else purchased her contract. Could do any great number of things that would cause a great deal of difficulty.
His father would be disappointed, would likely have unkind, scolding words to offer in light of his sons decision. But another would be found, another contract would be purchased, and they would begin again.
But he wasn't that cruel, had spent so much trying to keep himself from becoming that hardened. If she were to refuse his request, he would accept it, would not stand in her way to do as she wished. And he would watch her, would always be mindful of the words he spoke, of the things that he told her, for fear that someone may try and use her to gain access to the information he and his family were privy to.]
Perhaps it is wrong of me, to view you all as I did my men. As extensions of myself, of my name. To want you to feel pride when asked who it is you serve, instead of fear. [Fear may had gotten obedience, but it would never bred loyalty or respect.] You are free to do as you wish, always. I will not stop you if you should chose not to honor my request. But I would greatly prefer to have you be loyal only to myself.
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Silent and still, she listened to his answer and thought it wasn't much of an answer at all. How very far away they were from each other and the childhood that was nothing but last years vanished autumn leaves falling on dark water. She did wonder though, how much contact he would have had with geisha before this. War fields and conquered towns and winter camps were not the places for her kind. If he had never been attended by a true geisha before she would not be surprised. He would only know stories and perhaps half-guess at those, trying to find the truth behind the tales. Because she thought she saw an inkling of what he was pointing at and -
and it was insulting.
Which meant he either realized it was insulting, he didn't, or he'd meant something entirely different that she'd failed to comprehend. And, whatever he'd meant in his oblique way, the point was still the same. He was asking her to give up not just her profession but her future as well. She let his words sink in, sat without offering anything at all, as still as frozen water for a very long moment. This could easily be the pivot pin of their entire relationship, this one moment. Finally her hand moved, a slow sweeping gesture that brought the rice bowl and his empty rice cup to her. Watching what she was doing she began to fill it. One very small pinch at a time. Her voice was low. Telling a story.]
When a girl is very young, her family sells her to a geisha house. She works very hard, as a servant, scrubbing, washing, cooking, carrying. If she sparks though - if she sparks the mother of the house will take her under her wing and teach her what she needs to know to begin to hope to become a geisha one day. It is hard work. Harder work. A girl will spend hours a day in the large classes, going over her work again and again, fighting to be the best, to be noticed. And then she will go home and she will continue to practice. A girl will pluck music strings while sitting outside in the snow long past sunset, careful not to get their blood on the box of her instrument. She will dance so long and hard that the backs of her legs will clench and claw at her all night long. Her wrists will grow swollen, her back will never stop hurting, her neck is always uncomfortable. She remakes herself by tearing herself apart and she will do this for years. Years and years. Until finally, if a girl is good enough, if a girl is lucky, if her mother's house has a good reputation and the right connections, an established geisha will agree to mentor her, will become her older sister. And then she will follow in her older sister's shadow for many years, watching and listening, always learning. She learns the names of the tea house mothers, the other maiko, the other geisha. She learns the names of politicians and soldiers, generals and daimyo. She, perhaps, is present when her older sister entertains at the shogun's residence one evening and is given a beautiful obi for being young and pretty and making him laugh. And, when she is finally ready to become a geisha, the young girl has a vast debt to pay off of all the time and attention that has been poured into her for those many years. Her name is her house's name, her mother's name, her elder sister's name and she must carry them all, perfectly, gracefully and without any effort, all the days of her life. To dirty herself is to dirty all of them and to spit into the hard work of a lifetime. She carries not just her own honor, but the honor of everyone that has invested their lives into hers. It is sacred.
[With a pause, she raised her eyes to him, black in the white of her face. Then she set the full rice cup in front of him, chopsticks gracefully across it.]
One day, you will marry. One day you will have children. I never will. All I will ever have is my reputation. A geisha can build her own house and train her own girls if she has money and her reputation. They are her children, her future, her old age security and comfort. Money alone is not enough to build a house and bring in children. Only a woman's name can do that. If you sweep me from the face of my profession, my name will be forgotten and by the time I am dismissed from my work here, there will be no house and no children and all the money you could give me will not buy me more. I will give you my loyalty because you are the path I have agreed to travel and if you say it pleases you that I should lose my name, I will do so. You are my danna, the one I have chosen to follow because I believe you are worth following. Your name is my name and as carefully as I guarded the names of my mother and my sister I will guard yours. My reputation comes to you spotless and well trusted by everyone that has come before. All I ask is that you, in turn, as my danna, assure me you understand exactly what you are asking me to give up when you ask me to let my name die in the circles that will one day be my future.
[Reaching out she set the bowl of fruit before him and her voice went softer. For the first time, there was a slip in the veil that she had carefully kept between them. Her voice wasn't entirely geisha and when she said his title it sounded like his name. Her hand moved on the table and it was almost a single finger's touch to the side of his hand that never came close enough.]
Danna... when I took your name to protect, I gave you mine for safe keeping in turn. Throw it away if it pleases you, but tell me you realize at least the hard won value of it to comfort me first before you let the my only pearl drop into the sea.
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Such things had already been drastically delayed by his own doing, by his own choices, by the war he had fought and won. Time, in the minds of those who mattered, was already quickly running out. Twenty four and not a single marital prospect in sight. To those outside, the situation would seem almost dire, as if there needed to be some great rush to find him a partner before what was left of his youth was wasted.
Truly, in their minds, being the wife of a powerful man, of a celebrated soldier, feared and respected with wealth and influence would be a lucky turn of events indeed. To live in a large house full of servants, to have nothing more expected of you than to be beautiful, to be present, to have children. There was a line a mile long of willing partners, all hoping for their turn, for their chance to be chosen.
And there he was, trapped in the eye of the storm, vultures preparing to descend at the first hint of weakness, pressuring dragging downwards until it was nearly enough to drown.
Be like your father. Marry a beautiful woman. Give her children. Carry on your name. Your name is all you have.
Your name and your memories and your regret and your shame and your sorrow.
He wanted to tell her, wanted to counter that once there had been a boy, young and naive, who had entered into a dangerous world he knew nothing about. Of nights spent in the snow, training with the rough wood of a practice sword, until bare feet became frost bite and hands bleed from cracks so deep they never truly healed. Of days spent in the rain, bitter cold biting against skin, muscles so weary they could barely lift the heavy metal of a weapon and swing it properly. Of breathing taking moments of acknowledgement, of being celebrated for the first time, of being handed all of your dreams, all of your wishes upon a silver platter.
Only to find all of your accomplishments had been gained because of the suffering of others. Watching those around you die, smelling their blood upon the dirt, looking downwards and seeing upon your hands, your clothes, your sword.
Of how he could smell it even now, tainting floral jasmine and hot, steaming rice. How he never quite felt clean or whole or warm.
But he didn't. Didn't want to burden another with those thoughts, with those memories, with those jagged, shattered pieces of himself. If he could make other's believe that he was whole, perhaps he would begin to believe it himself.]
Willow. [Those eyes had never strayed from her face, had never stopped watching each careful movement, memorizing each, accessing each, trying to discern what secret, hidden meanings might be contained within each one.] If that is the future you wish for yourself, then I will not take it from you. Your path is your own to decide, and I will not take the choice from you. I will hold your name within my heart and protect it as I have protected my own.
If that is what you wish, then I will make it so. When your time with me is done, I will ensure that you and those who will become your children are given the finest of everything. Your name will be as clean as it is in this moment. Your reputation will be vast and sought after. If that is what you desire, when our paths should split, then I will make it so.
[Allowing silence to fall over them, thick and heavy, his attention finally drifted, taking in the various offerings that had been place before him, and finding that he no longer held any appetite. It hadn't been his direct intention to insult her, to start off their partnership as he had. There was no undoing this moment, no forgetting, no changing. It was what it was.]
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If she had had to give up a husband and children of her own body and love - than she had.
Her eyes had lifted to his when he started to speak though and if he had searched her mask of a face, just as closely she searched his and the endless blue of his eyes as he spoke as well. Searching, trying to see what was behind and hiding under what he spoke. Because, yes, she had won and she would keep her freedom - but her time here was about so much more than that. She had meant it when she had said she was here to serve and protect him and there were so many more ways a geisha could do that then the surface gave away. This could not be her win, not unless it became his as well. For now, and for a very long time to come, her fate was tied intimately to his.
And, perhaps, she just imagined the shadows and sorrow in his eyes. Perhaps she just pretended that perhaps he felt as trapped and lost as she had when her world had suddenly shifted from what she had known to the utterly foreign and lost feeling of coming to the Floating World. Perhaps... she remember too much a little boy with grand dreams and gentle words...
But a geisha did not triumph unless she brought those in her care with her. So she raised a single long finger to her lips, pursed them for just a moment, bitter cherry red and ice snow white and her eyes danced for him, sunlight on waves. For a moment she was light breezes and water bubbles for him but underneath the soft silk remained for him.]
Hush, lord. No one is supposed to realize that geisha are not born instantaneously from moonbeams and fireflies. You can never tell anyone that I admitted we are actually trained and that one day we all become old wrinkled women with untrained geisha of our own.
It was just a light joke of course. Anyone that bothered look knew the truth but - she thought, first hurtle over between them, it was all right. She realized she had not seen him anything but serious and thoughtful since he had come back and if she had not seen him much, still - he had always been a serious boy too. Lonely and alone, even when surrounded by others. That memory overlaid her present one, that he had changed his course for her sake and yet - there had been a reason he had asked her to set aside her profession in the first place and surely it was still there. He had just stumbled with her and, as staunchly as he had come to her side after, she wondered if he was still sensitive enough to feel the stumble. Her face softened and her eyes darkened just a little. Geisha had a freedom that others didn't and because of that she could, very lightly, very gently, close the distance between their hands and rest the tips of her fingers, with their koto calluses on her first and second finger, against the curve of his hand. It was not quite a curve, not enough to be holding his hand which would have been far too intimate - but it was something that offered almost the same and her eyes held his face in them. Her voice was soft and low, intimate just for him.]
My danna, I thank you for guarding over me so gently. My future is safe with you. My trust was well given. Now let me do the same. You will be expected to give parties, to introduce yourself to the bureaucrats and samurai and politicians and merchants and lords of this city who do not know you by anything but reputation. Your father cannot help you with this without sweeping you under his shadow. [Her eyes searched his, offering what she hoped might be a solution to his not wanting her to keep clients and yet his promise to make her name great.] I do not need to attend clients in teahouses if I am attending your guests well enough to keep my name breathing. If you will give your public gatherings and entertainment to me, I will always be within your sight and your hearing and yet I will be free to do everything I would if I was hiring out privately. And you - you will not need to worry yourself with the latest fashion or whether something is currently favored or not in court. Give them to my hand and I will make sure you approve of what I plan and then make it happen for you.
[It was the memory of the little boy on the edge of things as well as his acceptance of being greeted alone his first night and his desire to care for himself in the morning that had her gently adding:]
I will promise to make them well enough spoken of that you will be able to have many more nights of quiet for yourself than usual and your house to yourself and those you hold close more nights than most men are allowed. I will give you the single flower that is more noted for its beauty by itself than the field that is quickly blurred and forgotten in memory. And you will have my services for yourself alone all the years that I will live with you.
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As much as he may have wanted to protest, may have wanted to rebel against what was proper and what was expected, he knew better than to tempt fate. All of his life he'd lived knowing how very lucky he was, how fortunate he had been to have been born to a noble family, one who's very name was both respected and feared. To have been born to wealthy parents who had been able to afford to flee before the small village they called home was destroyed. That his father had been able to cull out another place for himself within the hierarchy of the city. That all of it would one day, very soon, far sooner than he'd ever expected, be handed to him upon a silver platter.
The wealth. The name. The title. The respect. The prestige. The power. All of it would be his without ever having strived nor worked for it.
He had fought long and hard, won difficult, never ending battles, had forced the impossible to become possible in order to earn his place among the samurai. His armor had become a symbol of his pride, of his honor, his sword an extension of himself, of his heart and of his sword. He'd earned their respect, had earned the loyalty of his men. Had honored those who had seen their work through until it's end and had proudly rode with them back into a world in which they no longer had a place within. Had buried those who had been lost, had written letters of condolences to grieving widows and families who had lost far more than they ever should have been asked to give up.
That was his place. Not here, not with this false title, not putting on airs to satisfy people who only cared about superficial vanities and how they may come to benefit from his false friendship. To have her handle it, to give it all over into her hands, to only have to put on that mask from time to time while still fulfilling his duties as his father's son was like a whispered promise he almost didn't dare believe. Like sweet music after silence had reigned for far too long.
It was quite a promise.]
My fathers birthday is in a month's time. If I were to host his celebration, it would set the tone for those which are to come. Everyone who knows my father will be expecting an invitation, and if I were to show them what you have spoken of, it would leave them with a good first impression to carry away, and something other than the fact that I have yet to enter a courtship to speak of.
[Naturally all of those who were in attendance would bring their daughters, their nieces and cousins, all of which were unmarried, all of which would see him as a prize to be won. None of which he would have any interest in. He didn't want nor need another pretty face, nor a soft, willing body to sink into. If that was all he desired, he would have taken on a mistress long before this moment. Whomever he choose would have to be intelligent, would have to know the ways of the world, would have to understand the horrors he had seen, had faced, had fought and won against. Would have to be strong willed and determined, quietly nurturing, calm, kind and compassionate.]
It should be elegant without being stuffy. Classy without putting on too many airs. Everything should be of the highest quality without appearing so. My father very much likes to appear as if he is a simple man with simple taste, modest to a fault while still showing off. [It would be quite a feat to pull off, something in which even his mother had never fully mastered, despite how hard she had tried.] There is a geisha under my father's employ. If you speak to her, I am certain she will be able to tell you the various foods and drinks he would prefer, since I have long since forgotten them myself.
If you are able to do as you say, if you are able to make this the most beautiful flowers that blooms within a field of snakes, then I will do as you have asked in return. Your name will be as well spoken of as mine. [And then, eyes lowering under thick lashes, the first hint of a smile crosses his features.] And perhaps, because you are young and beautiful and there is a chance that you may still make me laugh, I will present you with a gift. An obi is your preference, correct?
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You're asking a geisha to be subtle and elegant in something she does? [Her eyes didn't wrinkle, it would have marred her perfect makeup but the edges of her lips curved and her pointed chin tipped just a little to the side for him.] I think as first tests go, I might be able to measure close.
[Her eyes softened but the whisper of a smile stayed at the edges of her lips, almost lost in the white paint and she gave a small bow, eyes closing for a moment. It revealed the small patch of pale painted vulnerable skin at the back of her neck.]
I thank my lord for his trust in me and will not fail that trust. Your father's celebration will be fitting for someone of his tastes and will free you from speculation and other gossips for a time of peace. Both before and after.
[Because she was trained for nuance. And she'd heard a great deal of it in what he'd said to her. That his father had a geisha was good news but more informative than that - 'field of snakes' and the way he referred to his lack of courtship. She - would have been married off years ago, to some boy in the village whose family had a connection to hers. She had never regretted missing that thread of fate. Perhaps... she was not the only one that longed for freedom... And, in that, she would always have more than he. It hurt her heart for him - but that was private and she didn't let it show, focusing instead on something simpler and less invasive of his privacy.
He was an alarmingly attractive man but that hint of a smile and the look through his lashes made him dangerous to a woman. She felt the pleased thrill of that down her palms and over the backs of her shoulders.
And he wanted to give her a gift. One as personalized and one of a kind as an obi no less.
Of course if she did her duty to him well, he would give her many gifts over the years. Enough, most likely, to live comfortably off of if she never saved a single coin herself her entire service to him. Geisha were used to being given gifts. It was what one did, for artists and things of beauty. But the first gift... the first gift was special. Always. And so much more so from her danna.
And even more so because this was a gift before she had truly earned it. A gift because he realized she had offered her triumph back to him or perhaps simply for the relief of having social duties he did not want taken off his shoulders or - perhaps - simply because she was pleasing to him and his heart needed to express it. Any of those reasons was good. But each one came from a very different place. She reached for her own rice bowl -
and cocked an eye at him from the side.]
You laugh, my lord?
[And then her own eyes hid behind dark lashes for a long moment before her chin turned and they lifted just enough to look at him through them. The look was feminine and not exactly safe because of that fact. Her voice was silk sliding down on a polished wooden floor.]
I have many preferences, danna. But an obi from your hand would please me deeply.
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Those words alone were like a whispered invitation, begging to be answered in turn with another well spoken tease. Accompanied by that look, eyes dark and burnt coal, peaking up through thick lashes, full of secrets and mystery and knowledge they became dangerous, no longer quite holding the same offer they would have alone.
This first offering was by far the most important, would set the tone for each that would come after. Choosing the proper and perfect offering was only part of the equation - it had to be something appropriate, something that she would find pride in, something that she would enjoy seeing and knowing that it had come from his hand. Something that she could show off, both as a sign of her own triumph, but of his families wealth.
The meaning behind it, the reasoning for giving such a gift played a much quieter, muted role, one that only they would ever be aware of. A beautiful obi given for making him laugh. A necklace offered for throwing a stunning affair and pulling it off without a hitch. A hair clip for hosting a dinner party and helping to entertain those who were considered important.
A kimono because she was beautiful and pleasing to him, or because she had proven she could hold each of his secrets and never allow them to slip.]
I have been known to. [How long had it been since he'd laughed and actually felt any joy behind the action? Surely the night before he'd laughed, acting the role of the perfect returning son, finding amusement in each jest and antidote.
A harsh, overly mirthful fake laugh. One that was exactly like his fathers, rehearsed into perfection.]
I will leave the preparation to you. I will provide an ample amount for anything that may need to be purchased. Each servant, should they perform well, will also receive a small compensation. [It was their duty to serve him, but there was much work to be done if they were going to throw a proper party, especially of the sort his father would be expecting.
Without thinking he reached forward, quickly selecting a small bottle of soy sauce, drizzling a small portion onto his rice, mixing it quickly with his chop sticks before beginning to pursue the offerings that sat before him.]
I will have to meet with my father for a time this afternoon. While I am gone, if you will, I would very much appreciate you locating a tailor. It is alright if I must go to him, but I would prefer one in the city. I trust that you will find one who offers good quality of work. Each servant will need several sets of garments in the colors I have asked, and I will myself will be needing quite a few pieces.
[His father had provided him with a full wardrobe, all in styles that he himself preferred. None of them were actually suitable or held any level of comfort. For now, he had no other choice, besides wearing the clothes that he had returned with. Torn and dirty and bloody.]
Afterwards you may do as you wish. I will be home not long after night fall.
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Once he started eating it signaled a transition and so she let herself as well. She would need her energy. This upcoming month until the party was going to be very challenging. It would be her first real test - but even more than that, it would reflect on him and she would not let that be anything less than perfect.
Soft hums of sound answered his instructions, showing she had heard and understood and would see his instructions followed. Some would tell him that offering a reward to his servants for doing their duty was spoiling them but she thought it showed kindness and care.
She would weed out anyone that would take advantage of his generosity. His father had no doubt picked very carefully when he'd set up the household for his son but there was never harm in evaluating for herself. One mismatched servant could throw off the wa of the entire household.
Her eyes did light up, just a little, at the acknowledgement that he would need new clothes. The ones he wore were - attractive but he did not move in them the way she thought a man comfortable with his body as a soldier must be would. And - she thought - with the right clothes he could easily move from compellingly attractive to dangerously so without being aware of it. That was a good thing. Dangerously attractive men were given a bit more time to exist outside of marriage. It intimidated the fathers of some and made the fathers of others more willing to stretch the political and social dance that led up to an opening offer.]
I have two tailors in mind. I can arrange interviews with them for you here if you will tell me a time that is pleasing to you this week.
[She did not have to worry that they would be too busy or refuse. A new arrival on her danna's level to the capital, with his mysteriousness and history would have them jumping at the chance to be sponsored by him. Especially when it would be such a profitable connection as well as a politically powerful one. If they pleased him and dressed him well, they would not lack for clients in a hurry to follow whatever trends his new clothing set.
Another small bow of her head to show her gratitude for his giving her her freedom for the rest of the day - and she would need all the free time she could hoard and more if she was going to present him with something worthy at the end of the month.
And then her eyes slipped sideways to look at him and the whisper of the smile touched the edges of her red painted lips.]
If I may offer a suggestion to my lord... when people begin to ask what you are doing for your father's birthday, please say 'something simple' and nothing more. [The light danced in her dark eyes, mischief, but something swam, deeper and quieter, under that.] No one will believe you and they will be so busy guessing what you truly have planned that they will forget to guess at anything else about your life for a month.
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