From Sailor Moon Flash!
| Featuring: | Atsumi, Kyouko, Ninmae, Yuriko, Eugene |
| IC Date: | May 2002 |
| Status: | In Progress |
| Summary: | When the annual Keio Hai Spring Cup is transformed into a Royal Ascot-themed outing for a member of the Japanese Royal Family, the great and the good of Tokyo dress themselves in exotic finery -- including four complete strangers with more in common than they think. |
"I don't want to go."
Futekino Koumaza heaved a great sigh. He felt like he was arguing with a door. It took him a moment to realize that he was, in fact, arguing with a door. His niece Futekino Kyouko was barricaded on the other side, refusing steadfastly to leave her room. Koumaza checked his watch and noted with some irritation that they needed to leave for the Shinjuku station very soon. He rapt upon the door again.
"Kyouko, you have to go," he said wearily.
"I am not going out in public in this... thing," replied the voice on the other side of the door. "What's on this thing anyway? Some blue-dyed dead ferret?"
Kyouko's comparison of certain decorative furs on an elegant hat to dead animals distressed her uncle and he once again heaved a great sigh. Another glance at his watch and Koumaza realized they were very near missing their train to Tokyo racecourse. He wished momentarily that his son, Kyouko's cousin Kouma, was there to persuade Kyouko -- he seemed to have a knack for that.
"Kyouko, think of the people who will be there -- it is a very prestigious event and many of the greatest trainers in Japan will be there. And they will be looking for jockeys for the Japan Cup," Koumaza reminded his niece gently.
There was a pause.
"I know, Uncle," Kyouko replied, defeated. Koumaza smiled triumphantly -- Kyouko dreamed of riding the Japan Cup, and he knew that reminding her of her duty would bring her around eventually. The door opened and Koumaza assumed a look of severity again as he regarded his niece in the blue dress he had bought her for this special day. He nodded, and Kyouko scowled. "Help me put this damn hat on."
Five minutes later, Kyouko locked the door of her apartment and entrusted her keys to her uncle -- she had no pockets to carry them in. They proceeded to the Shinjuku station, where they miraculously made their train.
This day was a special day, indeed. The Keio Hai Spring Cup was being run that afternoon, under the diligent gaze of a cousin of the most mighty emperor. In celebration of this royal attendance, it had been decreed that anyone wishing to attend the race would have to attire themselves according to the latest fashions of Britain's Royal Ascot. This naturally meant that the most prominent citizens and eminent trainers would be among the elaborately-dressed crowd, and it was before these eminent trainers that Kyouko's uncle wished her to make a spectacle of herself.
By the time Kyouko and her uncle arrived at the Tokyo racecourse, a good crowd had already gathered for the smaller races taking place before the afternoon's main event. The elegant attendees milled about the stands and cheered in a genteel, dignified manner. One must not jump up and down in excitement overmuch, lest one's enormous hat fall off one's head.
The verdant oval of the turf course was neatly mowed and racecourse workers were hurriedly working to replace divots in the turf churned up by the horses in the last race. The inner, dirt track featured neat, even rows in its surface, disturbed only occasionally by the workers who attended to the placement of the starting gate.
Into this crowd of moneyed and illustrious persons strode Kyouko, followed closely behind by her uncle. Luck would have it that the very first person who laid eyes on Kyouko in her ridiculous get-up was Matsumoto Eiji, a trainer who had always been very kind to Kyouko. She could tell by his expression that he had seen her and was trying not to laugh.
"Good morning, Matsumoto-san," Kyouko said, trying to bow elegantly in her hideous dress. Matsumoto-san had to return her bow quickly to hide his smile.
"Good morning, Kyouko," he replied, all pleasant straight-facedness. "I am glad to see you here, and looking so lovely!"
Kyouko resisted the urge to grumble 'Ihateyousomuch' at her uncle, who did not even attempt to hide his smile. Instead she smiled graciously and bowed again to Matsumoto-san when he moved away. She spun around to face her uncle -- not a wise move for one unaccustomed to heels and long skirts. With her uncle's help she regained her balance, glaring at him all the while. Koumaza chuckled affectionately.
"You do look quite lovely, Kyouko," her uncle insisted.
"Let's just go watch the damn race," Kyouko replied.
"You do look quite lovely."
To Shoumetsu Yuriko, the compliment coming from her father was indeed quite welcome, so much so that she slowly turned around in place to show off her sky blue dress and vest. The caution, of course, was not to upset the fresh flowers tucked into the matching ribbon on her straw hat. It wasn't all that often that she had the opportunity to put on such finery, and she made no secret about enjoying it.
Shoumetsu Kenshin beamed at his daughter, glad to see her acting like the young girl she still was. Setting his black bowler-hat upon his head, he offered Yuriko his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. "Now, let's go. We don't want to miss the train."
Much to Kenshin's disappointment, Yuriko's cheer did not quite last throughout the train ride. In addition to a handful of other people heading for the Keio Hai Spring Cup, there were a number of somewhat less polite "young men," never a good recipe for drawing her approval. Fortunately, the train arrived at Fuchu-honmachi Station before the boys' comparatively rowdy discussion became anything less pleasant.
The walk along the overpass leading to Tokyo Racecourse's West Gate was somewhat more pleasant, if quiet. Small groups of people, all dressed in Royal Ascot finery, gave a sample of what was to be seen in the stands ahead, and that anticipation brought a spring back to Yuriko's step.
Minutes later, the two were making their way into the stands, and it was all Yuriko could do not to goggle openly. The few outlandish pieces of headwear Yuriko saw on the overpass were nothing compared to the spectacle she watched now, particularly with the hats in motion caused by their wearers' discussions and cheers.
"I'm going to have to see if I can draw some of these hats, Papa," she said, standing on her tip-toes to address her father. Of course, she added to herself, it will have to wait until it's much less noisy.
Seno Atsumi's companion and opponent on the day of the Keio Hai Spring Cup was a broad-brimmed hat, trimmed and tucked with bows and ribbons, sprouting in several places with little profusions of lace. She had studied it a great deal, though it was difficult to deny the accessory was inconvenient -- walking on the street, or riding the train, it infringed most grievously on others' personal space. Now, waiting in line to be admitted, she allowed that it had become a minor blessing, forcing many of the event's guests to afford others more polite distance than they might otherwise. There were, of course, those who forged onward bravely, and would think little of poking an individual in the shoulder with a hat-brim, but this was only to be expected.
Atsumi kept in line behind her mother and accepted a glossy program when it was handed to her. Several paces ahead, Seno Morio stopped and consulted their tickets to see where they would be seated. This, she knew, was mostly courtesy, as they were company-owned seats and had not changed in several years. He nodded concisely, and the three of them proceeded in a most orderly fashion to a staircase four signs away and ascended the steps out onto the first large, cement platform.
She opened the delicate parasol mostly for the sake of doing so; although they were seated on the side directly in the sun as usual, the hat, with all its pretty froth of lace, provided more than ample shade. Atsumi was forced to close the parasol down again almost immediately, as it was here that they were met by one of her father's business associates.
The man, Sugiyama, executed a stiff bow, carefully remembering to doff his hat (a simple brown affair with which she could not sympathize, as it did not have a nine-inch brim and therefore did not threaten to strike out against any and all persons within a nearby orbit). Atsumi's father, who was also wearing a derby in black felt, replied with his own, starched bow. "Shizuka-san," Sugiyama said to her mother. "How good to see you." They exchanged pleasantries. Her mother looked quite dignified in her navy blue dress.
"You remember my daughter Atsumi," Morio introduced her.
"Atsumi-san," Sugiyama bowed politely, "as usual you must be the most elegant young lady in attendance."
She bowed in a graceful way that she had practiced, to ensure that the brim of the hat remain level with the horizon at all times. "Sugiyama-san is too kind -- and surely could not have made a study of all those in attendance in such a short time." She smiled graciously.
"You do look quite lovely," her father said unexpectedly.
"Thank you, Seno-san," Atsumi said with the bow for accepting compliments.
Sugiyama blinked, then recovered, "Your father tells me your studies are progressing quite well."
She lowered her eyes modestly. "Seno-san is most gracious in seeing that his humble and grateful daughter is indulged in her frivolous pursuits."
To this some platitudes were made, and other responses given, and finally the conversation turned back to the two gentlemen. Atsumi directed her gaze outward and onto the crowd. Nearby, a young lady with blonde hair (mostly) conversed with two gentlemen. The dancer could not help but notice the metallic rigidity of her posture, nor the way she seemed to be unknowingly crushing her program into oblivion within one tense hand. These things were at odds with what seemed otherwise to be respectable enough manners. She was obviously not at all at home in the Ascot clothing. It would not have been polite to stare in this way, but she felt there was something odd about this particular attendee that she was not able to place. Atsumi studied her carefully but discreetly, in case she recognized her from somewhere. Then she turned back to her parents with a very small smile once she realized what it was that was bothering her:
The girl had her hat on sideways.
They made their way down to their seats and Atsumi took hers, farthest inset. There was a woman directly in front of her whose hat seemed to be climbing toward the upper mezzanine. This was not uncommon for the day, and hardly an unexpected or insurmountable obstacle. Morio looked over at her solicitously as if to ask, 'can you see?' She smiled and inclined her head just slightly, as being able to actually see the races was simply a minor matter of fate which she could easily rise above.
In all these years, one thing the racetrack had never seemed to be able to do was to rid the place of the smell of horses. This was unfortunate, as neither had Atsumi. It was mingled into the smells of cotton candy and other audience fare, but unmistakable -- when they went home, they would all tragically smell reminiscent of horse. She opened her program and held it out in front of her as though to make of it a very dignified shield which would ward off the scent (it didn't), and pretended to be mildly interested in a two-page advertisement for winter-proofing one's home (she wasn't).
Another race began and she listened to it politely.
Dr. Eugene Clemens sat in the stands, impeccably dressed and completely at home with the smell of animals. Why should he not be? They surrounded him every day. He let his eyes roam the crowds of entertaining beasts. There was a particularly lovely dark-haired creature underneath a magnificent hat a few rows in front of him. Poor thing... she didn't look very pleased with the scent of other animals, but her elegance and calm marked her as a high-bred housepet and not a wild creature... unlike some of these others. The charming blondish female several stands over with her hat on sideways, for example.
Gene did love these gatherings.
Sokei Ninmae was not an altogether short woman. And Sokei Ninmae's spire-turned-headpiece (or whatever that was she was wearing on her head) was not an altogether small hat. Dainty, perhaps, as it was positioned ever so gingerly upon her ume-hued head, but small? Well, only if you consider the Tokyo Tower small. To say the least, it did not help lessen her stance, as it were, when it came to matters of height. All five feet and nine inches of Sokei Ninmae seemed that much more when six additional inches were added courtesy of a cluster of very long peacock feathers blossoming out of the hat's left side. Throw in three inch round-toe heels in emerald green, and you've got yourself a party. It was no wonder she had been spending most of her day ducking under doorways.
Beside her, Ninmae's younger sister, Mako, seemed positively diminutive. But that was not to say she was any less noticeable - dressed all in pink, she looked very much akin to a raspberry flavoured popsicle. The loud fuchsia dress she had chosen contrasted sharply with Ninmae's outfit of varying shades of green (a clash that Ninmae swore Mako planned on purpose), and where Ninmae's hat was not small in the very tall sense, Mako's hat was not small in the very large sense. It literally looked like a still-frame picture of what one might imagine an explosion at an aviary to look like. Well, an explosion at an aviary complete with a very, very large brim. Her pale blond hair was set in its trademark sugar curls and though she looked nothing short of angelic, already she had managed to make seventeen (and counting) jabs at Ninmae, making sure to add, with each one, a comment about how much she, Mako, looked better than everyone else around her.
The number of seventeen insults was a low one for Mako, considering it was already past noon. Of course, one had to keep in mind that the girl was forced to hold her tongue much more than usual, as even she wasn't foolish enough to make any rude comments when her great-aunt was within earshot. For yes, accompanying the two sisters was the older of their two great-aunts, Minoue Naiki, looking, as per usual, quite stern in no-nonsense black. Black shoes, a black kimono shot through with a design in slate grey threading, and black hair done up in a bun, Minoue Naiki was refusing to take any one's crap, least of all that of whichever idiot had decreed that all race goers wear all these ridiculously oversized hats. She obstinately had refused to put one on and actually leave the house wearing it, and ironically, it was precisely because of her non-eye catching, hat-less apparel that she stood out like a sore thumb. And also maybe because she had a pink popsicle and a green giant for granddaughters. Royal Ascot indeed, she had muttered when she had first heard about the dress code for the function. This was the great Empire of Japan, not the British Isles. What did the Brits know about Imperialism, anyway?
How the three had come to be here was an interesting story; under any normal circumstances none of them would have chosen to spend an entire afternoon with the other two. Naiki had one of those strange enjoyments that older women sometimes tend to have of gambling and all pursuits related to gambling. She'd been first introduced to horse racing by an old friend of hers a few years back, and when he had mentioned that his company had extra tickets for the Keio Hai Spring Cup, she had graciously accepted. Originally, the three were to be taken by herself, her sister (Ninmae's Oba-chan), and Ninmae herself (who from the start seemed more interested in the culture of the event than the racing itself). But when Oba-chan realized that she had already made plans to attend the opening of a new exhibit at a gallery that same day, it became impossible for her to go. Now, the fact that her Oba-chan was going too was the only reason Ninmae had wanted to also attend in the first place, but she could hardly back out herself without inciting Oba-sama's fury.
All this left one extra ticket, and no one to take its place. Except for Ninmae's younger siblings, Mako and Tenga. Tenga, at twelve, was deemed to young, but not wanting the ticket to go to waste, Naiki declared it necessary for her other niece to go. Mako didn't like the idea, naturally, but one stern look from her Oba-sama was enough to ensure she did. Ninmae herself didn't like the idea of her younger sister coming along any more than Mako did (why, oh why couldn't Oba-sama just skip her exhibit opening?), but of course, she wasn't about to raise protests to Naiki-sama, who was quite possibly the most frightening elderly woman alive. So now here the three were, all feeling somewhat uncomfortable in each other's presence, with all this plumage and opulence and horse-smell around them not helping matters.
The trio was already seated, with Mako in the middle, when Atsumi and her parents sat in the seats behind them. Atsumi had the unfortunate position of being seated directly behind Ninmae; that woman with the hat that seemed to reach the rafters? It was indeed she. If Ninmae was the least bit aware of what a viewing obstacle her hat might pose for any and all behind her, she did not seem to care, for she was much too busy scribbling into a notebook that was precariously balanced on her crossed-over thigh. Her posture was, as always, ram-rod straight, and the brim of her hat afforded her much-welcomed protection from the bright midday sun. The scratching noise of her pencil was drowned by the chattering noise of the spectators as it ran silvery graphite in Ninmae's oh so neat script across lined pages. Every once in a while, she'd glance up, centre her vision on something or someone, and then resume her rapid scribbling. What she was taking notes on, exactly, was any one's guess.
"You know, Oba-sama, you really do look lovely," chirped up Mako rather sweetly, seemingly growing too antsy to stay quiet any longer, at least enough to venture into conversation with her great-aunt. It's not like the race's themselves held any real interest for her, and she'd already exhausted all posibble criticisms of the outfits of everyone seated in her direct vicinity.
"Mmm." Naiki's response was terse; she was squinting from behind a little pair of glasses, her lips set in a hard line as she watched the action in front of her.
"I wish Ninmae-chan would take a page out of your book, Oba-sama. You always look so elegant, and she... well." Mako sighed, throwing her sister a wry look. Ninmae visibly pricked at the remark, at least enough to look up from her notes to meet Mako's eyes with her own. No one knew how to push her buttons as well as Mako did. She smoothed her skirt down with a hand; the gesture always helped her keep a calm head.
"Now, Mako," Started Naiki, her tone cool and lecturing. Her eyes were hard stones as they were flicked unhappily from the track to the blond. "We will not be voicing any of our rude opinions in polite society. Whatever you may think or do at home is different, but I will not tolerate such behaviour here. Now, please. Just watch the races."
Mako visibly pouted, but had no choice but to return her stare back to what was happening on the track. Ninmae, on the other hand, happily returned to her notebook, pleased because she knew her great-aunt's scolding would afford her at least five more minutes of peace before Mako dared make another comment. As she reclined her head upwards once more to survey the company she was in, (carefully, so as not to tip her hat off) Ninmae could not help to think to herself how much she could use a glass of wine right now.
Refreshment crossed another girl's mind, though along with some irritation. The two thoughts weren't quite related, though their cause was the same - a pair of young boys running past Yuriko, each with one hand keeping their wee bowler-hats atop their heads, the other clutching a miraculously-not-dropped ice cream cone.
Her attention having been distracted from the dual spectacle of horses walking upon the track and the sea of immaculately-dressed humanity, Yuriko narrowed her green eyes at the boys that ran well too close to her aisle seat than she found comfortable. Honestly, couldn't these boys learn a *little* bit about manners, particularly when dressed to the nines? All the same, however....
Her irritation passing as quickly as it came, Yuriko swiveled her head (carefully!) toward her father. "Papa, I think I'm going to go get some ice cream," she spoke softly. Despite trying to make it sound like a statement, however, she didn't simply jump off to indulge her whim - not without approval.
Besides, it's not as if Kenshin made her wait long, smiling pleasantly. "Of course, Yuriko," he answered. "Don't be long, or you'll miss the start of the next race."
Yuriko popped up from her chair - then quickly brought both hands up to stabilize her delicate hat. "I'll be quick, Papa!" she assured him cheerfully. And so she ascended the stairs back to find a vendor for her desired vice, with as much patient restraint as befitted her attire and maturity (and that she could manage).
With thoughts of wine still dancing in her head, Ninmae continued glancing around her, stretching her neck over a sea of bobbing hats. One hand absently held an ink pen upright over top a page of her notepad, so that already a dark pool of ink had formed beneath it. Ninmae did not seem to notice, her sage-green eyes elsewhere occupied. They were no longer scanning around, but had settled upon a single point of interest, and were now focused upon it quite intensely.
It was the flowers of Yuriko's hat that had caught - and held - Ninmae's attention. Flowers, surprisingly, stood out among all the bejewelled, feathered and ribboned hats; not many, it seemed, had thought to wear flowers, not, at least, fresh ones. And fake flowers never seemed to make quite the same impact upon Ninmae as the real thing did. She watched them float in the crowds, her gaze following them closely, as if though she were afraid she would lose them, before suddenly turning her face suddenly away to face her great-aunt.
"Oba-sama," Ninmae began, a touch of preoccupation set into her finely sharpened features, "I think I am going to get some ice cream. Would you like some?"
Naiki wrinkled her nose at the mention of ice cream (she never had possessed much of a sweet tooth), and, without looking away from the race track, waved Ninmae away distractedly, an action that was meant both to indicate her allowance of the ice-cream getting and to send Ninmae on her way before she provided any more interferences. Even though no one was racing at the moment, Naiki still found the between-race action fascinating.
Ninmae clamped her notebook shut, smoothed her skirt down with the tips of her fingers, and, with a hand on her head to steady her hat, she rose. She was about to place her notebook on her seat when she thought twice, and decided to take the small thing with her. Grabbing her purse and looping it around her arm, she cinched her way past the other sitters, handing out apologies as she squeezed by.
"I don't know if ice cream's such a good idea, dear sister, not with that figure of yours," called Mako after Ninmae in a falsely sweet voice, a satisfied smirk plastered on her pretty face. Ninmae hardly looked back, however. She was not ignoring Mako's comment, but rather, she had simply not heard it. Her attention was once more upon the flowered hat which she had managed to locate again. Lo and behold, it and its owner were a few levels up, and seemingly by the food vendor where Ninmae was herself headed.
It seemed the very greatest shame that Atsumi was prompted to take leave of her seat so soon after the skyscraper in front of her had quit its place, yet there was nothing to be done for it; her father suggested she get herself some ice cream. This was mostly Seno-speak for 'please take yourself off so I can have private business conversation' (regardless of the presence of total strangers being apparently no obstacle to so doing). Therefore, since ice cream was entirely outside of her dietary regimen and she had no intention of consuming any such thing, she agreeably gathered her parasol and sidled her way out of the row.
Loath to waste her time unproductively loitering near the ice cream vendor, she instead set herself to a somewhat more diverting task -- of locating the ill-dressed young blonde. Surely a well-placed comment helping her to correct her skewed hat would not be entirely amiss.
Finding her still was not difficult, as she had not gone particularly far. Gaining an audience with her was somewhat more so, as one simply did not start up conversation with others as a matter of intrusion.
Atsumi had to stand nearby for several minutes and make a concerted effort at being unable to locate a clock, which was somewhat complicated by the occasional individual who noticed her searching eyes and offered her assistance. She declined politely and with much gratitude.
After some minutes, the young girl separated herself from her conversation and Atsumi was able to gain her attention. There was no need to take hold of her arm or make other contact; she simply waited and the girl pivoted directly in front of her as she turned to leave. The ballerina smiled demurely as though unaware of having blocked her path entirely. "Please pardon the intrusion," she bowed. "Do you have the time?"
Kyouko was a bit taken aback by this, and it took her a moment to comprehend what the other girl was asking. "Um," she began, "yes, I do," and looked instinctively at her left wrist, where the simple black sports watch she usually wore was wont to be -- unfortunately, it turned out not to be there. Inwardly, Kyouko violently swore at the necessity of dressing up, which had necessitated her leaving her "too informal" (in her uncle's words) watch at home.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm afraid that I've actually left my watch at home. It didn't match my dress."
"Of course this is understandable," the longer-haired girl didn't miss a beat, "my apologies for intruding." She did not offer her opinion on which other accessories the girl might have wisely also left at home, such as her shoes, perhaps -- but instead admired the feckless way she wore the crooked hat, rather like a broad-brimmed baseball hat set at a cheerfully jaunty angle. Except with more cloth flowers and without a sweat-band built into it (she hoped).
"Your hat is very lovely," she complimented. "I wonder if you will tell me who designed it."
It was as much hope as it was honest expectation (all things considered) that she would have to take off her hat to examine the tag.
Kyouko's eyes widened perceptibly at this -- how in the hell was she supposed to know who had designed her hat? Who cared about silly things like that? Kyouko gave the girl before her something that fell between a pitying and a disdainful glance, but decided to be as courteous as she could be.
"I am not actually sure that I remember," Kyouko demurred with a sort of smile, and reached up to take her hat off (with a barely concealed sigh of loathing at the trouble of keeping all the dead animals from becoming disarranged), "but I believe the designer's name should be inside, somewhere."
Atsumi was stalwartly unmoved by the hatless look of disaffected fashionlessness and smiled on. Things proceeded according to plan; she took the hat delicately in hand, upturned it just slightly to see the brim, and gave it a forgiving but rather deliberate ninety-degree turn until the tag was in view.
"It is very interesting," she said conversationally and with all due poise, "that men's hats should be made to have the tag to one side, but ladies' hats are now made such that it sits in the back. I suppose men have less concern it will upset one's hair." She smiled sweetly and, with a slight bow, handed the hat back, hoping that if the girl did not follow her meaning, she would at least put the hat on exactly as Atsumi was holding it out to her.
A cold calm spread across Kyouko's face as she tried not to show that she resented the other girl's thinly veiled advice -- even if Kyouko was less resentful than mortified at her own capacity for a faux pas. It was this stupid damn hat's fault, she thought with a bitter curse, and felt very much like throwing it on the floor and stomping on it. Kyouko only prayed that her uncle hadn't noticed -- he'd never let her live it down.
Instead, Kyouko regained her calm and gave the other girl a smile, saying, with genuine emotion and a small bow, "Thank you."
Her emerald heels clicking rather steadily as she made her way up the stairs to a higher platform, Ninmae had kept her eyes trained carefully on the one flowered hat of many that had caught - and held - her interest. A hand had been brought up to hold her own hat firmly in place, ever since a passing wind had made Ninmae dubious about its stay-ability. Six curling peacock feathers stuck in an already otherwise large creation did not a sturdy headpiece make.
Once her destination, the platform that held the food vendor, had been reached, Ninmae stopped moving altogether. She had rushed up those stairs, and now, finding herself out of breath, she found herself compelled to catch it back. Instinctively, she raised her free hand to lie flat over her heart, as she closed her eyes and fought not to breathe in too loudly - that would be most unladylike, and she was quite sure Oba-sama was probably watching.
After no more then a minute, her breathing having fallen to an acceptable rate, Ninmae remembered the task at hand: ice cream. Looking back up, she scanned around quickly to find a nearby vendor. Much to her surprise the girl with the fresh-flowers tucked into her straw hat fell into her line of vision first. Smiling faintly to herself, Ninmae made the decision to ask for directions instead, and with but a few steps, she found herself behind the girl, delicately tapping the tip of her shoulder with a slim index finger hoping to get her attention.
"Pardon my intrusion." A deliberate pause was made, to allow for the appropriate response.
The girl's head turned quickly in response to the tap on her shoulder, almost upsetting the straw hat from her violet hair; she lifted one hand up to keep that situation at the "almost" stage. A split-second later, disaster averted enough to allow for courtesy, Yuriko bowed her head slightly with a soft, "Of course," while still keeping her hat held steady.
"Do you know where one might purchase some ice cream?" Ninmae added.
Yuriko couldn't help but smile, ever so slightly. "There's a vendor further this way," she answered, gesturing with her free hand - and finally letting the other down from her hat. "I saw it on the way in. I was just headed that way myself."
At Yuriko's confirmation that she did indeed know where the vendor was, Ninmae's smile widened, her upper lip curling up enough to reveal the barest hint of teeth. Her green eyes followed Yuriko's free hand as she gestured towards said vendor, locating the small stand - complete with a big line up - for herself.
Ninmae took it as an invitation to join her when, after gesturing to the stand Yuriko added, "I saw it on the way in. I was just headed that way myself."
The taller girl nodded once, briefly, before herself responding, "Perhaps in that case, if you would not mind it, might we might head over there together? I do not welcome the thought of waiting in that line without some company." Another glance was thrown over to the stand to verify the continued presence of that rather long queue. It seemed ice cream had been on everyone's minds.
This invitation caused Yuriko a moment of pause. Though normally slow to trust people, particularly those who she had just met, there was something about Ninmae that suggested that the younger girl might want to go against this habit. Was it her pleasant smile, her impeccable manners, her proper demeanor and speech, or something more nebulous that called to Yuriko's rare trust?
Whatever it was, after that momentary delay, Yuriko smiled more openly - deciding to heed this unusual feeling for now and figure it out later. "I don't mind at all," she answered. "Shall we?"
Ninmae registered Yuriko's open smile but did not comment on it; instead, her own persisted, small, yet genuine and unguarded. Still holding her hat in place with a raised arm, she tipped her head in the general direction of the food stand, gesturing towards it.
"Let's". A one word response to Yuriko was all that was needed before the taller girl took the lead and started making her way over to their joint desintation, with the shorter girl presumably not far behind.
Dr. Gene Clemens had gotten a bit bored sitting in the stands, and had turned watching into the more active pastime of wandering (slowly, carefully) through the crowds. There was something completely charming about the Japanese in Ascot wear. Watching ladies attempt to bow in lavish hats never intended to be worn during any such action (and most of them had not realized such millinery confections were supposed to be pinned to the lady's hair), he floated in his own amusement and pondered why, exactly, that was. Perhaps it was the disassociation of precise oriental greetings in very, very English clothing. It was similarly entertaining to watch Victorians attempt to be Chinese, after all. Perhaps it was their conflicting culture- to steadfastly cling to their own mannerisms and shun the outside world while trying to adopt foreign things at the same time. He had long ago grown immune to the persistent "what are you doing here?" vibe he received from the populace.
In this case, as in a few others, being foreign was useful. It kept the normally closely-packed Japanese from stepping on his feet while leaned against a rail, watching the comings and goings near the food vendors. There was a charming pair... a lovely young girl with fresh flowers in a straw hat, next to a taller young lady in green and peacock feathers. They had the air of chance acquaintances... with something else, something interesting bridging the gap of being near-strangers, making them slightly closer to each other than they otherwise would be. Like almost every other female present, both of them could probably use hatpins.
And over there... another set, less harmonious. One flawlessly lovely little bird (he'd seen her before in the stands, the perfect jewel for her father's side), attempting to preen a young wildcat who looked ill at ease with this sort of gathering. Gene chuckled to himself. No, that little one, if she had the choice, would be in sturdy pants and dirty shoes, down with the horses. She knew her territory, that one... but was without the courage or adaptability to stray from it at all comfortably. Commendable that she kept her manners under such circumstances, and didn't dissolve completely into brash language and threat-displays.
There was something very bright, very pure, about these four girls. They were special. Oh, most children were special in some way or another, Gene knew this very well, but something about the way these two pairs interacted...
He'd picked his afternoon's players, and he settled a little more thoroughly into the background to watch all four at once while he still held the opportunity.
The damnable hat having been put back on her head in the correct manner, Kyouko stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to remember what the appropriate thing to say next was. Should she introduce herself? Should she talk about the weather? Was there something else wrong about her dress? She looked around her, hoping find something to take the tall girl's mind off of her. She noticed a foreigner standing against a wall not too far away. Something about his didn't sit right, but Kyouko didn't think it polite to stare. Her glance traveled to the crowd around them, and lighted on a tall girl in green and a shorter girl with purple hair moving toward them. Nothing having leapt out at her, Kyouko fell back on the one topic she knew enough about to talk intelligently.
"How are you enjoying the races?" she asked the other girl.
The girl's dark hair and elaborate hat stayed exactly in place whensoever she moved -- a twist at the waist to regard the racetrack, a clasp of the hands. Kyouko had a private suspicion that the girl had somehow lacquered her hair in glue and cemented the hat on top of it; it didn't seem fair. "Well, thank you," she nodded. "I am here as a guest of my family, who have season passes." She paused, then with patience, added, "Seno Atsumi. I am gratified to make your acquaintance. Is this your first time at the races?"
Her bow was perfectly animated, courtly, respectful, unhindered by the ascot dress, and -- again -- entirely unfair.
Kyouko's own stilted bow only served to highlight the unfairness more as she attempted to maintain balance throughout her person while constrained by a dress and with a rather elaborate hat that, unlike her racing helmets, did not have a strap under her chin designed to negate the necessity for ladylike grace. Kyouko straightened slowly and then found the ability to be annoyed with her companion -- was this her first time at the races, indeed. Not that this Seno Atsumi should necessarily know who Kyouko was, but she could have the decency to answer Kyouko's question without subtly altering the subject.
"Futekino Kyouko," she answered. "No, this is not my first time here," Kyouko replied as she looked with wistful fondness at the race track, where the horses were parading before being lined up for the next race. "You might say I am often here."
Had Sokei Ninmae already been acquainted with one Eugene Clemens, Ph.D., the American doctor might have been able to inform the staunchly Japanese young woman that in Great Britain, those who wore such things often, knew to tack their Ascot hats down with pins. Alas, to the Japanese, who have never been a particularly headgear favouring people, hat pins are about as foreign as spotted dick, a most curiously named, thoroughly English dish that Ninmae most certainly had never had the pleasure of sampling (though perhaps the good doctor, for his part, had).
As it stood, Ninmae remained uninformed about hat pins and thus continued holding her pose of restraining the elaborate creation cocked on her head with not a proper pin, but rather a single, lifted arm, bent at the elbow and wrist. Her tall figure, which usually cut a sharp silhouette, got lost easily against the sea of brightly dressed fellow race-goers behind her, the bright green of her clothes nestling in comfortably in a backsplash of indigos and lavenders and chiffon yellows. And though she certainly was not moving fast enough to be likened to a blur, when Ninmae came to a gentle stop at the back-end of the food vendour queue, it had to help matters for anyone who might have been tracking her.
The tall woman took her place in the line in a manner that could only be described as prim, standing with her feet neatly together, and her hands folded placidly in front of her, held at level with her abdomen. Rather than squeezing herself directly next to those in front of her - a man holding the hand of a child about half his size - she stood at a well-measured half a foot away, leaving herself, and them, a comfortable distance. Ninmae did not like feeling crowded.
Though she had been silent on the short walk over to the vendour, once she had positioned herself, Ninmae turned at the waist to glance behind her, searching for the young, polite girl who had agreed to accompany her in her search for ice cream. All the while, she retained that same faint smile, which served to soften her harsh, finely-cut features.
"Here we are, then." Her voice was similarly soft, if not a bit low to hear over the din of racetrack.
It would have been almost easy for Ninmae to have forgotten about the young girl standing behind.
Rather than speaking, Yuriko had been quietly studying her taller "counterpart" in line, trying to place her as one might place a puzzle piece. Not for a moment did Yuriko recognize Ninmae herself as someone she may have met before, but there was a certain familiarity that puzzled the younger girl. The fact that there was no attempt to force a conversation helped; the woman clearly knew how to give people their proper space in speech as much as she did in physical distance. Still, just because the woman was polite company didn't explain why Yuriko felt as if she should know her.
It wasn't the spoken words, but the turn of the woman's head that brought Yuriko out of her thoughts. Her curious-yet-puzzled expression probably didn't go unnoticed, but the smile that followed was unforced. "That wasn't too long," she said. "The vanilla looks like it'll be worth the wait."
Kyouko let the vaguest look of confusion at that statement appear on the face of her companion before choosing to elaborate, "I am a horse jockey, one who rides a horse during the races. On a..." Kyouko chose her word carefully and added the slightest bitter emphasis, "normal day, I would probably be down in the stables."
Kyouko had the sudden desire to throw her manners to the wind and take this girl over to get a better view of the track and teach her some of the finer points of enjoying a horse race, but decided after a moment that this Seno Atsumi probably would not enjoy that half so much a Kyouko. All the same, they were standing in a rather precarious position in the crowd and Kyouko suggested they move to the side.
In order to accomplish this, they first had to pass along next to the ice cream stand line. A sudden shift in the crowd caused by a man seeing an acquaintance and choosing that moment to bow a greeting caused Kyouko to fall a step backward and rather roughly jostle the arm of a tall girl who was trying to holding her hat in place.
"Vanilla, hmm? I would have pegged you for strawberry, perhaps. Something with fruit. Although..." Ninmae squinted towards the glassed in counter that lay ahead of Yuriko and her: the domed roof of the ice cream stand prevented the glass from catching and reflecting any sunlight, giving her a satisfactory view of the large tubs of various ice cream flavours housed behind it. Before picking up conversation again, Ninmae took a little while studying their contents from afar, her face pressed with the sort of intensity one usually lent to solving complicated equations or attempting to think up an appropriately deep title for one's essay, an expression likely far too serious for the simple study of ice cream.
"...You are quite correct, I must admit. The vanilla does look rather lovely. Perhaps I will follow your lead in its sampling."
Having said this, Ninmae took a small step back, one that within split seconds placed her raised arm directly into a collision course with Kyouko. Ninmae had already loosened the strength with which she had been holding her hat in place considerably; a jostle to the elbow was just enough to disconnect her palm from the surface of her hat, sending her arm flying backwards. It was only through sheer luck that she managed not to strike anyone with splayed fingers. Unfortunately, she was not fast enough to resecure her hat and an ill-timed gust of wind had picked the creation clean off her head and sent it tumbling to the ground in between a couple just to the right of where she stood. Ninmae did not seem to mind. In fact, the hat had quickly taken second place in importance to the girl who had, through no real fault of her own, ignited its departure. Ninmae blinked at Kyouko, took in her features, briefly did the same with Atsumi who was accompanying her, and then allowed her generous mouth to break into a small, barely perceptible smile.
Dark-haired Atsumi returned the smile without interrupting her own movements. A subtle bow marked her deference as she turned away, a more beautiful one flowed like a comma as she begged the couple's pardon to retrieve the downed hat. By the time she bent forward a final time to present the stray object to its master, the three girls watching had a shared feeling as though they were watching her sweep perfectly through the motions of some kind of politeness kata. It was martially, beautifully structured.
"How unfortunate," she said at a controlled volume. Her eye contact was sharp, targeted -- as aberrant among the rest of her gliding good manners as the brutally straight edges of a side or corner puzzle piece. "Futekino Kyouko-san and her most humble and mortified accomplice, Seno Atsumi, are deeply apologetic for our ill-restrained misbehavior and for any damage caused to our poor victim's very dazzling hat."
There was a distinct lack of any elbow to the ribs or stamp on the foot, but it was obvious to Kyouko -- who really would've preferred the stupid elbow to the ribs just as a matter of pride -- that she was the partner expected to perform the next step in politeness kata. It was her arm's "ill-restrained misbehavior," anyway, and she could damn well apologize for it on her own.
It seemed on the whole advisable to mimic Atsumi's lead in this case, and Kyouko gave as deep and respectful a bow as she could manage in her aberrant get-up. "I am humbly apologetic," she said, hoping she was maintaining the correct keigo. As she straightened, she allowed herself to take in the faces of the green-eyed and purple-haired girls. The group they formed with the yellow-and-blue-haired Kyouko and Atsumi with her magnificent teal locks seemed strangely perfect -- all bold colors and, it would follow, personalities.
"I hope my regrettable clumsiness has not caused you any lasting harm." Kyouko stepped forward quickly and accepted Ninmae's hat from a gentleman who had picked it up off the ground. With an elegant flick of the wrist, she mimed dusting its intricacies off before presenting it back to Ninmae with a bow.
"Dazzling though I wish it was, this one must admit that it is but a hat, and not one that is particularly beautiful, not like, for example, the masterpiece that makes its home upon the very lovely head of Seno Atsumi-san." Ninmae nodded towards the lace and ribbon encrusted creation as she mentioned it.
"That said, it would be terribly unethical of me to allow you to possess any lasting regret over a hat so unworthy of it. Nonetheless, I am most grateful to you for ensuring its safe return to my arms, for, I am sure you must agree, that no hat, no matter how un-dazzling it might be, should go without a home."
Ninmae accepted the offered hat with her head bowed in thanks, folding her arms neatly around it, so that her manicured nails peeked over its brim. She titled her face to one side, thoughtful for a second's time, before she continued speaking. "Besides, we must consider the fact that it may very well have been the will of providence that forced your hand - or, well, elbow, as it were - in this matter. In which case, you have no cause to apologize so sweetly for an action that you really could not help, ne?"
Ninmae's smile returned, this time deeper than it had been at first. "In any matter, we are both very pleased to have met you, Seno Atsumi-san, Futekino Kyouko-san. I am Sokei Ninmae, and my elegant companion is... well. Perhaps I will allow her to introduce herself?"
Said elegant companion had remained silent, almost unnoticable, since the minor collision that had expanded the conversation from two to four. This wasn't accidental - one new person who seemed oddly familiar was all right, but adding two more to the mix drew Yuriko into herself, observing rather than participating. All the more odd was the sensation that there was something familiar about the supposedly-impromptu foursome, not just each of its individual members, that reason simply couldn't explain.
The reference to herself thus caught Yuriko slightly off-guard, and feeling not a little awkward at what she quietly felt was an undeserved compliment, shifting her gaze from Ninmae toward Atsumi as if to wordlessly emphasize what "elegance" was. Yuriko bowed at this point, invited into the flow of the politeness kata, and found her voice. "I am Shoumetsu Yuriko. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you." She straightened, silently thankful that no further chance shift in the wind occurred to take away her own hat and ruin the moment - honestly, there had to be a better way to wearing such finery.
Dr. Clemens chuckled to himself. His chosen diversions had quite literally run into one another, and engaged in interaction. So very delightful... the finely-bred bird picked at the wildcat, who grudgingly allowed herself to be dragged out to the proverbial sea- while the smallest drew into herself ever so slightly. Shy, or perhaps something was amiss? Perhaps...
Ah. Yes, no wonder these jewels had caught his attention. He looked at them, one after another, and his afternoon became more blessed with each glance he took. Each one of them was special, a true treasure that glowed to his other sight (cool greens with the faintest hint of smugness in the case of the bird, and the brighter orange-based tones of irritation and frustration tinged with rose embassment for the wildcat) so brightly as to make all the other fauna fade and dim in comparison, and meeting so many of your own kind among strangers was probably unsettling for the little flower (as proven by the pale white and uneasy-yellow threaded through with lavender and the remaining tinges of enjoyment). Her stately companion seemed to have no problems, however, shining peacefully in hues of garnet and happy-yellow. The lily and the iris. He smiled wider; Dr. Clemens had always been fond of flowers. For reasons he'd never been able to quantify, they usually made him smile, and the violet-haired young ladies were no exceptions.
The bird, the wildcat, the lily, the iris... surely it was no coincidence or twist of providence that drew them to each other. Like had once again called to like, and his witnessing the event was the fortuitous will of God. He'd be horribly selfish if he didn't share this glad event with his good friend the company president, so it would be best if he could acquire the means to find them again later.
Dr. Clemens pushed away from his observation place at the railing smoothly and decided he rather fancied some ice cream himself, and joined the queue placidly, four persons away from his objects of interest. Ideal if they would speak louder... Gently, gently, he spun out of himself a sense of confidence and cockiness, not unlike a drunk's sense of being in the right, and wrapped the thinnest of veils of it around the wildcat. Dr. Clemens felt it would suit her best, but, if not, the influence would simply fail to strengthen. One more, perhaps... well, the crowd was close enough, he could manage two. Dr. Clemens sent gossamer-fine wisps of confidence to cling to the bird and his favored lily.
to be continued
