From Sailor Moon Flash!
| Featuring: | Kenrou, Chikara |
| IC Date: | April 2002 |
| Status: | Completed |
| Summary: | Ishino versus Iron Lady ROUND ONE FIGHT |
Chikara realized to her utmost humiliation that she had no real idea how one got out of a car while wearing kimono.
Kenrou, who had opened the door for her, understood, and reached in to grasp her by the waist, lifting her easily and setting her on her feet outside. "Don't worry," he murmured. "No one saw. We will practice. It was my fault for not thinking of it."
As much as she loved the sound of his voice, she wasn't really paying attention; she was staring up at the great house shaded by tall green trees in utmost surprised delight. They had ridden in the back of the black car through ten city districts to be here in Nagareyama-shi, in the southern marches of Yedo, nestled in the heart of modern Tokyo and untouched by it.
"This is Amakusa-ke," Kenrou said, smiling at her. "You are welcome here, as far as this Amakusa is concerned."
They climbed the front steps slowly, Kenrou kindly giving her time to adjust to this step backwards in the ages, and entered the firstroom, where there were racks and shelves for street shoes, and many modern coats, umbrellas, and other indications that occasionally the inhabitants of Amakusa-ke made concessions and forays to the world outside.
"Is it all right just to come in?" she said, and realized she was whispering. She made herself stop. She was not nervous. She caught herself toying with the edges of her obi and made herself stop that as well.
Her beloved glanced at her, smiling. "It is Our house, Chikara." She took some time to figure out if he was speaking metaphorically or not -- sometimes even she had a hard time being able to tell his poetry from his statements of what was -- and permitted him to help her step up to the tatami mats of the house proper.
Kenrou stepped up beside her, wearing a kimono so dark purple it was nearly black. Seeing it reassured her; his indigo and her pale yellow complemented each other, just as they themselves did, and this visual reminder of how united they were, how well they fit, helped ease her nerves.
Not that she needed it, because she was not nervous. Her beloved was at her side, and she was Ishino Chikara, and the world lay before her.
She *again* forced herself to stop fidgeting, and to save herself embarrassment let her hands grasp Kenrou's, as he announced to the house that he formally had entered, with his most honored guest.
A slim woman in mint-green kimono came forward, out of a door to the left. Chikara realized in some amazement that this must be one of her beloved's sisters -- her face was a rounded, feminine, utterly lovely version of Kenrou's own, although this woman was older, and something about her features bespoke fragility rather than the glacial strength of Kenrou. She also had no silver-white stripe in her hair, Chikara noted with some amusement. Apparently this really was Kenrou's curse, and his alone.
Her beloved's sister looked at her, and the dark eyes widened. "Brother," she said, almost whispering, "Our honored mother will see you and your -- guest now, please."
Chikara glanced up at Kenrou, and was startled to see him unsmiling. It was so unfamiliar that she began to feel slightly on edge despite herself. Which was ridiculous; Ishino Chikara was not nervous, and Amakusa Kenrou was ... probably deep in thought, rather than in any state of mind less than his usual equilibrium.
As if to confirm this, his face smoothed and resumed his normal Zen half-smile; he nodded to his sister. "Futetsu-aneue, this is Ishino Chikara. Please treat her kindly."
Futetsu -- what an odd name -- made a deep bow that carefully included both Kenrou and Chikara, and indicated that they should follow her.
Chikara wanted to stop and look at everything they passed, in the nearly fifty feet of passageway from the entrance to the sliding doors where they stopped; Kenrou smiled at her, and she was pleased to see that this smile reached his eyes. "Later," he said to her quietly. "I will show you everything you wish to see, later. It is... best to be punctual where hahaue is concerned."
She nodded, with only one disappointed, longing look at the ancient fans in an alcove, and they were ushered into a large, lofty hall with wooden floors and silken banners. Chikara tried very hard not to go wide-eyed in admiration and awe -- well, not very much so. She let her expression for just one second contain everything she was feeling, for Kenrou's benefit, and saw him smile just for her. It made her pleased, and smug, and inexplicably shy that he was pleased that she liked his home.
She did. Oh, she did, very much -- it thrilled to the center of her, touching on everything she'd loved as a little girl about the history of their nation. Amakusa-ke, caught in its own small protected world of two centuries ago, made her feel as if she were home, back in Uji, surrounded by living history -- here, in this room with crossed swords and silken banners, most of all.
And in the center of the room, surrounded by women in kimono of pale colors, all of them with an indefinable look of Kenrou to them, was a woman who was everything Chikara had ever secretly pictured, whenever her beloved spoke of his home or his family: the great lady Tanagora Tetsuyo, matriarch of Amakusa-ke, seated in chuu-ri like an empress in her court.
Kenrou led Chikara to the edge of the small dais, and they made their deep bows; Futetsu likewise made hers, and with a glance at the dais murmured that they might sit.
Chikara had been secretly practicing the kata of kneeling in kimono, over and over; she had not done it in such a long time, and she could imagine nothing more mortifying than falling over in front of her beloved's mother, whom she wanted so desperately to like her. Kenrou's mother was at the center of everything her beloved had ever said about his childhood, his life before meeting her, his family, his home -- everything that made Kenrou who he was.
She had knelt to her own satisfaction, between Kenrou and his sister, and only then did she risk a closer look at her beloved's mother, the dark-robed woman in the center of the dais, the hall, and Amakusa-ke.
The Iron Maiden Tetsuyo: spare of frame and as tall for her sex as her son was for his: straight-backed and unbent, garbed in formal kimono of darkest gray and deepest purple, crowned with thick hair of snowy-white held in place with ebony combs.
Her features were those of her daughter and of her son; she would have been very beautiful when she was young, and still retained what Chikara, like all good Japanese, had been taught to see as the unique beauty of the old, the tincture of sabi overlying well-sculpted bones and paper-fine skin.
Her eyes above all were Kenrou's: black, and intense, and very, very cold. Chikara could see no trace of the glint of humor always in Kenrou's glance; this was Kenrou at his most glacial, most aloof, most August, a look she had never seen directed towards herself.
"Honored mother," Kenrou said, bowing from the neck, "may this dutiful son present his most worthy beloved, Ishino Chikara, born of Uji-in-Kyoto, respected teacher of the traditions and lore and history of this nation."
Chikara glanced sidelong at him. She might have corrected him -- she taught far more than just Japanese history -- but felt that maybe in this place a small error would be allowed.
"This one wonders," said the great lady on the dais, in measured, sweet tones; in the elegant phrasing of the highest level of formality. "At the sheer gall involved in referring to one's decadent self as a dutiful son when he brings before his mother and sister and delicately-reared female relatives his plaything that he has clearly seduced from her ... studies in order that he might cause his long-suffering mother further grief and loss of face."
Chikara sat rigid in shock, once she had separated each word from the tones of sweet reason and martyrdom.
"This Kenrou begs his honored mother's forgiveness," Kenrou answered, in the same formal dialect, the same pleasant tones, further contributing to Chikara's stunned state. Was he -- he couldn't be agreeing with the woman --
"He has clearly misheard his honored mother, who would surely never speak so unkindly or wrongfully to one accepted as guest as this Kenrou believes that he heard," her beloved continued, and upon looking at him she discovered that what she had thought cold in the matriarch's eyes was an oven compared to the chill in the gaze of her beloved. His smile never faltered, and his Zen never slipped, but somehow she discovered that his hand held hers very tightly, in a grip just short of hurtful.
Her shock continued unabated. Had that woman -- called her -- a plaything? She had not heard Kenrou's mother accuse him of seducing her. She couldn't have. Kenrou was right, they must have misheard --
The Iron Lady spoke again, and this time her tone was far from pleasant, although she still held to keigo. "My son begs my forgiveness. How gracious of him to do so. He will not yield his willful stance in withholding his talents and drives, but yet wastes them on nonsense and childish cant when he might give of himself to enrich the nation. He persists in his association with eta and naive whores who encourage his selfish inwardness. He brings into the house of his honored ancestors a southern woman not strong enough in herself to resist the calculated lures of a poet who beckons with hands dripping with the wealth of ancestors who wail in the worlds beyond. Well they should wail, at the insolence of a son who shames his parents with his refusal to serve, protect, and guide those who require his focus. Well shall this Tetsuyo withhold blessing or forgiveness until Kenrou will prove he is worthy of it."
The Iron Lady never once glanced at Chikara; black eyes on the dais stared into black eyes kneeling on polished wood. "There is nothing more to say. You may go, and take this scholar, this southern woman, this listener-to-poetry, with you."
Chikara tried vainly to make sense of what she was hearing. The words formed sentences and the sentences formed meaning, but obviously she must have misheard; the great lady whose presence so filled all of her beloved's stories about his past would never -- could never -- say such cruel and hurtful things.
She took a moment to replay the events from her entrance to this audience in her mind, trying to find something she had done or had failed to do that would cause this reception, and she came up with nothing. Her kimono was perfect. Her steps were perfect. Her obeisances had been perfect. There was no reason for The Lady Tanagora to treat her this way.
This merely returned her to her original conclusion: that she had heard incorrectly. Obviously, the woman was speaking some archaic dialect that sounded hateful, but was merely out of modern use. She longed to speak up and ask for clarification to this effect, but as she had not yet been recognized by the Lady of the House, she held her tongue; instead, she tilted her head just enough to look quizzically up at Kenrou. This explained why he wasn't leaping to defend her; he, surely, could understand the words properly.
Her beloved did not look back at her, but he held her hand, and gently stroked her palm with his fingertips, and she saw the corners of his mouth curve more deeply, which she was certain only she recognized as the most clear indication that Kenrou was laughing.
She trusted him. He loved her.
"Most honored mother," Kenrou said, gently, "We are clearly unwelcome in your gracious presence. We are sorry to have offended you or caused you shame; We are reminded that We owe everything that We are, all that We know of honor, duty, obligation, and saving face, to your most worthy teachings. We are grateful --" and here her beloved's voice acquired a razor's edge on the smooth politesse -- "that Our honored mother spent so much of her time and wisdom in imparting these things to Us. We have always sought to return the duty to Our mother and repay what is owed, maintaining the balance."
Kenrou rose, unfolding himself and towering over everyone in the room, simply by being himself.
"As to Our beloved," he said, reaching to Chikara to raise her to her feet, "Ishino Chikara is the most moral, honorable, dutiful, and worthy woman in the world. We understand your disappointment at not being able to present Us with Chikara as a formally-approved choice, and We deeply apologize for depriving Our mother of the chance to gift Us, as surely was the gracious lady's full intent."
The Iron Lady tilted her head to one side, and said pleasantly, "I would rather gift my arrogant son with a living kinhabu than see him further waste himself writing poetry for a southern naif who fell into his bed upon being informed of his lineage and inheritance."
Chikara's eyes widened, and she saw the laughter tucked at the corner of Kenrou's mouth wink out entirely.
That one she heard correctly, she knew. There was no archaic dialect.
She allowed herself to be helped to her feet with all of the frozen dignity she could command; she was rather pleased that she managed to hide her temper enough to project gracefulness even in the awkward kimono-movements. "Kenrou," she said very quietly, "Please tell me that I heard that incorrectly."
He made no indication of agreement or disagreement; the only indication she had that he'd heard her at all was a momentary tightening of his grip on her fingers.
Well, that settled that.
She briefly wondered which was more offensive: the idea that she was incapable of making up her own mind where the contents of her bed were concerned, or that these people who had helped form her beloved into the man he was thought so little of him that he would willingly spend time with anyone unworthy of his presence. Neither were particularly pleasant, and Chikara was getting angrier with every passing moment.
Now back on her feet, she found she was less intimidated by the Lady on the dais. She would have preferred to hold a sword, but standing to hear her absurd pronouncements was better than humbly accepting them on her knees. "A thousand apologies," she spoke aloud without waiting to be addressed, deciding that she could no longer wait to make herself heard. "But could you please repeat that? We southern whores tend to be a trifle deaf." She kept her tone even and humbly apologetic, but didn't bother to remove the frozen whipcrack of enunciation.
"Ah," said the Iron Lady, still without looking directly at Chikara. This only furthered her fury. If Kenrou's mother was going to call her a whore to her face and imply that she was unworthy to take up so much of Tetsuyo's son's precious time and attention, then Kenrou's mother ought to do so to her face instead of focusing only on Kenrou.
"My son's pet speaks. What does it say, when it has not been given leave by its betters? Really, Kenrou, an obedient pet would have been more seemly. I noted that this one feels free to walk by your side instead of three steps behind, in the correct manner."
Chikara would have lashed out, but Kenrou's calm, steady voice spoke first, still with his back to his mother. She almost regretted this; looking at his face reassured her, but she couldn't help thinking that the frozen wastes in his gaze would have been better turned on the harpy on the dais.
"Our beloved is Our equal in all measures and shall not be treated as anything lesser, but as Our partner, as she deserves by merit and love. We are aware that this balance and harmony does not necessarily exist in every household and might not be recognizable for what it is."
That said, Kenrou turned to Chikara, and now there was warmth in his eyes, and his entire attention was focused on her. "We choose to extend mercy," he said, in a low tone just for her. "It is taught that pity for the lesser is an essential component of Yamato Damashii." He smiled, devoid of any humor whatever, and went on, still quietly, "However, it is also taught that vengeance is a moral imperative, and while this Kenrou seems to have been struck deaf and cannot hear a word that his generous and gracious mother might say, this Kenrou would hear and ... appreciate... any wise words Chikara might happen to permit to fall, like jewels, into receptive ears."
There was a difference, Chikara's upbringing had taught her, between levels of politeness and etiquette. The most important differentiation was that by default in their culture, all people deserved to be treated politely; however, once it was determined that a person was unworthy of amae or giri, they had disavowed their honor and it was required to treat them appropriately.
Amakusa Tetsuyo was no longer worthy of Ishino Chikara's politeness.
Chikara dropped Kenrou's hand and looked disdainfully down her nose at Tetsuyo; the curtain of giri had dropped, and she could see her -- and her banners and her dais and her stupid, stupid hangers-on -- for what she was: a woman who clung to the old ways not through any reverence or appreciation, but out of some innate fear that the new ways would diminish her in some fashion. "I am no man's pet," she lashed out with eyes aflame.
She had had enough, and the haunted look in the frozen wastes of Kenrou's eyes tore at her soul with every breath. "I, Great Lady," she spat out venomously, "Am Ishino Chikara, and if Amakusa Kenrou asked me to be his pet I would have carved out his liver and fed it to dogs." She was peripherally aware that Kenrou was stiffening at her side; she knew that he would have every right to be angry with her, later. As long as it was later. She couldn't bear it if he were to accuse her of losing face in front of his horrible mother.
The last time she had lost her temper had been so long ago it was vague and hazy in her memory, and wondered if perhaps she should just close her mouth and walk away with her dignity intact; unfortunately, she couldn't find the ability to stop while she was ahead. Her mouth just ... wouldn't close.
"And I will have you know that our dalliances were my choice! Your precious son fell to my charms and not the other way around, AND --" Chikara realized that by this time, there was no going back; she cast her dignity aside and resignedly let her temper tantrum cast her where it may. "-- I am not even remotely interested in his name or his wealth as much as I am his exceptional talents in pleasing me with his pillowing, which I am sure you would never understand as obviously nothing nice has ever touched you."
There was absolute silence. No one breathed. No one moved. The Iron Lady on her dais sat with black eyes wide, austerely lovely face gone utterly blank. Her attendants and cousins and stupid court sat in even more obvious shock.
Then at last there was a sound: the soft sigh of Kenrou's sister Futetsu quietly crumpling up into a dead faint.
"Thank you, hahaue," Kenrou said at last, from behind Chikara. His hand slid around her elbow, and she found some measure of calm in his touch. She was grateful she did not hold a sword right now. Her beloved would be an orphan, and while she was sure he'd be better off, really, ... He might not think so.
She winced, already coming back from her temper. Amakusa Tetsuyo wasn't worth it, was worth not one particle of her attention, and for this worthless pathetic woman she might have just made her beloved furious with her.
She settled for staring straight into the cold, black-ice eyes of the Iron Lady, and saw the Iron Lady blink first.
"Our deepest compliments for the bottomless hospitality of this house, Our home," Kenrou went on, and bowed deeply to his mother; turning, he grasped Chikara's hand firmly, and gave her a bow just as deep. He waited for half a second, his smile as firmly in place as ever; she realized at last that he was waiting for her to precede him from the room.
Head held high, Ishino Chikara left the great hall of Amakusa-ke in front of the heir to the house, and behind her came the whisper of brittle iron: "... You may go now."
