Subject: [kenshinfanfics] A Sword and a Ponytail Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1998 07:15:48 -0700 (PDT) From: Kristin Olson Reply-To: kenshinfanfics@makelist.com To: kenshinfanfics@makelist.com Ohayou, minna! I had honestly completely forgotten that I wrote this until I was perusing my files last night and stumbled across it. It's *very* short, rather random, and some people may find the suggestions in it (despite the extreme vagueness) offensive. (No, not yaoi. If anything, quite the opposite.) That said, I thought I'd go ahead and post it. ^_^; I'm wondering if there's some way I could eventually expand it (or the idea) into something longer/more substantial. Thoughts, anyone? Also at http://www.crosspaths.net/~kolson/fics/omasu.html -Kristin ------------------------------------------------ A Sword and a Ponytail Omasu lifted the brush from the page of her diary. A soft breeze toyed with the windchimes outside her open door, teasingly, making them giggle like a schoolgirl. Other than that, and the distant sounds of dishes clinking and water boiling from the restaurant kitchen, the afternoon was quiet. Kyoto was drowsing through midsummer, with no sign that scarcely a month ago, the entire city--no, the entire country--had been in grave peril. But the crisis had been averted, and, for a time at least, peace assured. Everything had seemed so quiet since their visitors had left for Tokyo at last. It was precious, this quiet; it was what they had fought for, at risk of their lives. Why then was her heart so noisy? She dipped her brush to clean it, watching the ink darken the water like a stormcloud in blue sky. The characters on the page were still drying. She did not want to look at what she had written. It was hard to admit such things, even to one's self. A sword and a ponytail... Light quick steps, and then a blur of blue and a whiplike braid flashed past the doorway. Misao skidded to a halt and backtracked, panting. "Omasu-san! Can you help in the kitchen just for a minute? Onegai!" The other girl clapped her hands together and bowed exorbitantly. From beneath an irrepressible fringe of black hair enormous eyes pleaded with her. In a whisper, then: "Aoshi-sama is--is--" "He's probably going to the temple again, Misao-chan." But she smiled ruefully and stood. "Go ahead. I'll take over." Misao prostrated herself further. "Hontou ni arigatou!" Then she vanished, quick as a cat's leap, feet pattering like the wingbeats of butterflies. Omasu shook her head. The girl had taken to trailing Aoshi whenever he left the Aoiya, less like a stealthy ninja than an exuberant puppy. Omasu was certain that Aoshi knew of his shadow, since no one could follow the Oniwabanshuu's former Okashira without his knowledge--certainly not a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old girl. But Aoshi made no mention of it, so Misao persisted. She was nothing if not determined. Omasu had thought to try to discourage her, but hadn't the heart. It would likely have proven futile, anyway. And who was she to scold another for wistfulness? A sword and a ponytail... She rose and went to the kitchen, where Okon was boiling rice. The older woman greeted her with a nod and a smile. "Konnichiwa," Omasu murmured. "Misao-chan is up to her tricks again?" Okon asked, already certain of the answer. "Yes." Okon's mouth twisted. "One of these days she'll have to give up her wild ways and start behaving like a decent young lady. She's already sixteen. She can't play the tomboy forever." Omasu tilted her head and began to slice the vegetables on the cutting board. Her throat tightened on what she wanted to say. "But...she shouldn't have to lose...that spirit..." "No, of course not." Okon stirred the rice. "I think a compromise can be reached, don't you? It doesn't have to be only one way or the other." With expert fingers Omasu minced the radishes and celery. "Sou, ne. I agree." She paused in cutting, her hands trembling a little on the board. "Kaoru-san...was like that, wasn't she?" "What? Oh, yes...yes, I think she was. Not entirely proper, maybe, but... admirable, still." Omasu made a face. "We are none of us entirely proper." Okon laughed. "It's true, isn't it? Here, give me those. I don't know what Misao told you, but you don't need to be slaving away in here. The restaurant isn't busy in the least." "Are you sure?" "Go on, go." Okon shooed her. "It's too lovely a day for both of us to be stuck in the kitchen. Just one more thing--would you take those teacups out and rinse them? Arigatou." Omasu clutched the tray to her breast as if fearful of dropping it. At the water pump she tied back the sleeves of her kimono before beginning to fill the basin. The small ceramic cups fit neatly into her hand. She ran her thumbs over their ridged surface as she washed them, somehow reassured by their rough domesticity. The wind blew her bangs back from her forehead, cooling her. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up at the sun hanging lazily over the blue rooftops. Was it this warm in Tokyo? she wondered. Was the breeze there so mild and sweet? On returning the cups to the kitchen, she peeked into the restaurant to be certain that Okon was telling the truth. In the corner sat a young woman in a yellow kimono patterned with blossoms, sitting with her young man. The girl was laughing, the young man smiling. They were the only customers. Omasu blinked quickly, and let the curtain fall. Well, she thought, it was all right, then. A sword and a ponytail... Aimlessly she returned to her room and knelt by the table, fingering her brushes again. But no, what was left to write? To herself she had said everything that could be said. There was no one else to speak to. The days were all so quiet. The nights too. From outside she heard Misao's excited voice, and could not repress a smile. Evidently Aoshi had not gone far, after all. The breeze from the garden blew the fragrance of summer flowers over her face. She tested the page of her diary with a finger; the ink was long since dry. She closed the book then, pressing the pages firmly, as if to press shut her heart. A heart, she reflected, was too like a flower for comfort. Once a bud opens, it will not re-close. And once it has budded, a flower must bloom. Even in a place where no one will breathe of it, where no one will see. "Omasu-san!" Misao was calling. "It's a letter from Kaoru!" Quickly she stood, then paused in silence, swaying in the doorway. Even then, she thought, even then it is not the less beautiful, is it? A sword, a ribbon, a ponytail... She blinked to ease the sting in her eyes. "Coming, Misao-chan! Is--is she well?" --------------------------------------- * Rurouni Kenshin and all related characters belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Sony Entertainment, et al. This unworthy (and destitute) author is merely borrowing. * ------------------------------------------- p.s. for those who may be wondering "Where the HECK did that come from??" the answer is: 1.) a few rather significant looks Omasu gives Kaoru during the Kyoto Hen (in the anime, at least) and 2.) a firm conviction that unrequited love makes the world go 'round. ^_^; _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com ---- Read this list on the Web at http://www.makelist.com/list/kenshinfanfics/ To unsubscribe, email to kenshinfanfics-unsubscribe@makelist.com To subscribe, email to kenshinfanfics-subscribe@makelist.com -- Start a FREE E-Mail List at http://www.makelist.com !