fic: White Butterfly 33/?
Ask, beg, threaten and plead and I will, eventually, deliver
Title: White Butterfly 31
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: http://www.Seraphim-grace.livejournal.com. If you want it ask.
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18.
Pairings: Crawford x Ran others to be notified later.
Warnings: Het, yaoi, vast cast.
Aya knelt on the veranda in front of his master, on a low hessian mat to preserve the rich fabric of his hakama, with his kimono spread about him. Naoe had pulled his hair into a high tail that fell down the back of his head highlighting the tattoo there. Crawford stood behind him, in dark colours, as the other lords of the court gathered around the small courtyard, as well as a few retainers and two other Onmyoji. The ground was wet from a light spring rain and there was a sharp chill in the air as the winter held it's last on the morning.
Omemie of the San Hikari stood in the centre of the courtyard, on a small hessian mat, not unlike the one that Aya knelt on, in full regalia. She wore at least ten layers of kimono, some of which were as fine as whispers, each of which was delicately embroidered with spring motifs and colours. Her feet were tiny, and she wore a stripe of pale peach coloured silk over the paint on her eyes.
Twelve perfect gold kanzashi were placed through her hair which had been pulled and waxed into a perfect oval around her narrow face, with flowers and beads and ribbons hanging from them to frame her face. Her skin had been whitened and her mouth was a small red slash, her teeth blackened to preserve her beauty and her eyes were covered by the sheer fabric but Aya had no doubt that they were beautiful too.
“State your name for the court.” Kuchiki said in a cold voice, like this was routine for him.
“I am Omemie of the San Hikari.” She said and held her head up high as she did so.
“You stand convicted of the hiring of an assassin who crept into the Imperial Compound and crossed into those chambers held by her majesty, long may she reign.” The Empress sat beside her husband, and the two of them, in formal robes, looked like nothing more than two of the dolls from the room in the Fujimiya house, impassive small wooden heads under layers of beautiful fabric.
There were lords here, but the Empress and Omemie were the only two women present.
“I hired an assassin.” Omemie said in a low clear voice. “I have no shame in it, but I meant no ill against the Empress, long may she reign, my target was the doxy of the onmyoji who calls himself the Aya no Bara.” She sneered at that. “For the murder of my danna, Takatori Masafumi.”
No one snickered or muttered at the revelation and Aya noted that the gossip had spread so far.
Tezuka wore solid black, with a white kataginu with the empress' mon emblazoned on each solder, draped over it. He held in his hand the full length sword of his place. “It is irrelevant your intent, you hired an assassin. That assassin stepped within the chambers of the Empress, and such your place in this is clear.” Two servants stepped forward and quickly undid her clothes, until she stood there in only her white silk kosode. Her feet had been bare under the layers of expensive robes. “By the law all that you own, all that your danna gave you and all that you have earned becomes the property of the Empress to distribute at her will. Is there anything left you have to say.”
Omemie reached up and took the kanzashi from her hair herself, handing them delicately to the two male servants who took such care of the kimono that they had draped over their shoulders, the fabric heavy and beautiful.
“I ask only that the Aya no Bara himself delivers the blow, that I might be with my danna.” Her smile was a small, cruel thing on her lovely face.
The Empress for a moment showed an emotion, quick and bitter across her cold face. Perhaps she intended to distress him, but Aya turned his head to look at his master, who nodded then he stood up and untied his obi, sloughing off the outer layers of dark kimono he wore to let them fall. Ken dashed forward to pick them up.
“I can say,” he said clearly, “I had no part in the murder of your danna, but he was killed in my name. I will bear the sword, if you will let me, Omemie-Tayu.” Like her he stripped down to his hakama and undershirt that his expensive robes would not be spoiled by the blood.
“Have you done this before?” Tezuka asked, offering him the hilt of his sword. It was a full ceremonial sword, he wore both his tanto and wakizashi thrust through his belt and held in place with soft white cords. For a second Aya wondered how the cords would feel about his wrists and then he steeled himself.
“I have, my father,” Aya stopped himself as his hand tightened around the shagreen hilt, “he believed it was improper to sentence someone to death if one did not have the stomach to hold the sword.”
Tezuka shrugged. “It is a good rule to have.” He said calmly. Then from a servant he took a piece of paper. “When you are ready, Aya-no-bara.” This was the man, Aya thought, who had lain with him in the small moon temple on his family's land when he lay dying. This was the man who had stood between him and his master to give him time to heal. This was the quiet lover who decimated Fuji with his smile. This man was the Imperial Torturer and Executioner. This man was the greatest swordsman that Aya had ever known.
The sword slipped in it's sheath with a quick snick, before Aya took it from the saya in a single fluid motion, letting his body find it's weight and it's momentum. Then he took a deep breath and spun on the ball of his foot, letting the blade fly.
Tezuka caught Omemie's head, she was still smiling as the blade cut through her neck with such ease it might as well have been a tatami, rolled up around a wooden post like they were in practise, there was no blood at first, as Tezuka pressed the paper to the stump of her neck, and offered the head to his Emperor with a bow.
Aya took a piece of cloth from the waist of his hakama, carried there in case of spills of tea around his mouth, and wiped the blade down. It was a good sword, well cared for and beautifully weighted, before he returned it to its saya and offered it back to Tezuka. Behind him Omemie's body started to crumple, the whole thing had happened so fast that it was only now realising that it was dead. Aya didn't bother to look at it. The woman had signed her own death warrant, all he had done was hold the sword.
Tezuka took the sword with a bow of the head, one that acknowledged mastery of a skill and a look in his eyes that was a little sad and a touch fearful, before Aya bobbed his head in response and then returned to his position, kneeling at Crawford's feet still in his nagajuuban despite the early spring chill, and Crawford rested his hand upon his head, in a gesture that was reassuring if not actually condoning. Tezuka would not have been surprised if Crawford had been angered by it.
Servants took the body away. “That was well done, Aya-no-Bara.” The Empress said leaning forward. Her voice was a rough growl and her face was as impassive as porcelain. “Such skill deserves reward, does it not, Negotiator Crawford?” It was a barb, Tezuka knew, the Empress gave nothing for no reason. “That which belonged to Omemie it is mine as I was the injured party to do with as I will. I give it to you, Tayu, that you might accept her beauty as well.”
Aya bowed his head in low deference. “I thank you for your largesse, Heika,” Crawford said from behind him. “But little that Omemie had access to was her own, and I have been trying to wean him from the clothes that are usually worn by a tayu.”
The empress raised a perfectly painted eyebrow, one that was set on her forehead higher than her own would be. “Are you refusing my gift, Negotiator?” she asked.
“Certainly not, heika.” Crawford answered, “but I would be remiss in not pointing out that the gift might not be as large as you might think, and perhaps those clothes would be better suited for your handmaidens, although I see that she is not present today, is not your own Aya-hime the sister of my Aya-no-Bara?” The Empress' eyes were dark and hard. “Might not they reflect her own beauty as well as that of her brother.”
“And should a young princess of my service dress herself as a whore?” The empress asked, “for we pretty them up and dress them in silks and gold but does that stop them being just paid better than a street whore.”
Aya did not flinch. “There are many differences between a street whore and a tayu, wife” the emperor said blythely, “one that more than earns what they are paid, although it is not much that they receive for their time, most of it goes to the Ochaya, Negotiator Crawford speaks true, Omemie would own little of her wealth, and that came from the Takatori, perhaps giving her furs and jewels to Aya-hime might suit better, she is married to a Takatori.” Aya flinched at that, his eyes tightening but his expression remained cold. “Perhaps it would be best to simply sell them and line our own coffers if you will not wear the robes of a whore, wife, then we can buy things with it that would better please you.”
“And if it pleases me to see the Aya-no-Bara dressed in the robes that Omemie wore?”
“Majesty,” Aya said standing, “if it please you I would wear sack cloth and ashes that I might make you smile, I am a mere tayu, a concubine bound to his danna's pleasure, a gift given from one lord to another,” his voice was like ice, “but if it would please you I would wear her robes, bring them now and I shall dress for you.”
Tezuka noticed how carefully it was worded, he said that he would wear them, but not that he would keep them.
“Is that not tasteless,” one of the Onmyoji said, she was a small woman in a black kimono with a black silk veil over her hair, she had bound her hair into twin braids that framed her face, “with Omemie's blood still on the courtyard?”
“Hanajima-Omyoji.” The Emperor said, “again your wisdom humbles us.” The sorceror's expression was deliberately vague. She had a sweet expression despite her black robes, which Tezuka knew were as fine as anything that Omemie might have worn, with just as much embroidery, but deliberately black upon black. The only cosmetics she wore was black lacquer upon her fingernails, and her face was as unpainted as that of a country man.
The Empress did not like Hanajima's statement for her painted mouth tightened. “It is an honour to be the voice of reason to the Heika and his Empress.” She said deftly. The Onmyoji were loyal to the emperor but the Empress had her own negotiators. Perhaps she had forgotten that Crawford was Onmyoji too because he served as a Negotiator. “I agree that Aya-no-Bara would look tremendous in the true robes of a tayu, but sometimes things which are beautiful can lose their lustre if they we are over exposed to them, so perhaps it is best that it is a delight saved for times when we are in need of such beauty, when we see Tayu abroad in the street we no longer pay them heed for they are all beautiful and educated and miraculously robed, should we consign such beauty to a sight that are are so comfortable with.” Hanajima-onmyoji sat perfectly with her hands, in lace gloves, and her expression was somewhat wistful. “Does he not have robes of his own?”
“He does.” Crawford agreed. “Although they were left at the Fujimiya estate in anticipation of our return there. He suits dark reds and purples of winter more than the pinks and greens of spring.”
“See, Heika,” Hanajima said, “it is not that Crawford rejects your largesse, more that he thinks that they would be wasted upon Aya-no-Bara, when his sister has a more sweet complexion and darker hair who could wear those clothes. We are not men, heika,” she said, “and we lack a male eye for such beauty, sometimes it is necessary that we ask their opinion even if it does contradict our own.” Saki Hanajima, Tezuka thought, was very dangerous.
“I agree.” The Empress said then, “and he shall attend me at supper, Negotiator Crawford, have him dressed in his own finery, or what you can borrow at short notice, it will be nice to be surrounded by that beauty and education that so overwhelms the men of my court.” She sounded like a cat that had gotten the cream, “I am surrounded by my ladies, I forget sometimes what it is to hear a male voice.”
“By your will.” Crawford said bowing his head, but Tezuka could not help but notice how tight the fist Crawford's hand made.
this had been so long I couldn't remember half of the Japanese terms, bad SG! Bad!
do not be afraid to harangue me if you think it's been too long between chapters, really, I don't notice.
Title: White Butterfly 31
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: http://www.Seraphim-grace.livejournal.com. If you want it ask.
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18.
Pairings: Crawford x Ran others to be notified later.
Warnings: Het, yaoi, vast cast.
Aya knelt on the veranda in front of his master, on a low hessian mat to preserve the rich fabric of his hakama, with his kimono spread about him. Naoe had pulled his hair into a high tail that fell down the back of his head highlighting the tattoo there. Crawford stood behind him, in dark colours, as the other lords of the court gathered around the small courtyard, as well as a few retainers and two other Onmyoji. The ground was wet from a light spring rain and there was a sharp chill in the air as the winter held it's last on the morning.
Omemie of the San Hikari stood in the centre of the courtyard, on a small hessian mat, not unlike the one that Aya knelt on, in full regalia. She wore at least ten layers of kimono, some of which were as fine as whispers, each of which was delicately embroidered with spring motifs and colours. Her feet were tiny, and she wore a stripe of pale peach coloured silk over the paint on her eyes.
Twelve perfect gold kanzashi were placed through her hair which had been pulled and waxed into a perfect oval around her narrow face, with flowers and beads and ribbons hanging from them to frame her face. Her skin had been whitened and her mouth was a small red slash, her teeth blackened to preserve her beauty and her eyes were covered by the sheer fabric but Aya had no doubt that they were beautiful too.
“State your name for the court.” Kuchiki said in a cold voice, like this was routine for him.
“I am Omemie of the San Hikari.” She said and held her head up high as she did so.
“You stand convicted of the hiring of an assassin who crept into the Imperial Compound and crossed into those chambers held by her majesty, long may she reign.” The Empress sat beside her husband, and the two of them, in formal robes, looked like nothing more than two of the dolls from the room in the Fujimiya house, impassive small wooden heads under layers of beautiful fabric.
There were lords here, but the Empress and Omemie were the only two women present.
“I hired an assassin.” Omemie said in a low clear voice. “I have no shame in it, but I meant no ill against the Empress, long may she reign, my target was the doxy of the onmyoji who calls himself the Aya no Bara.” She sneered at that. “For the murder of my danna, Takatori Masafumi.”
No one snickered or muttered at the revelation and Aya noted that the gossip had spread so far.
Tezuka wore solid black, with a white kataginu with the empress' mon emblazoned on each solder, draped over it. He held in his hand the full length sword of his place. “It is irrelevant your intent, you hired an assassin. That assassin stepped within the chambers of the Empress, and such your place in this is clear.” Two servants stepped forward and quickly undid her clothes, until she stood there in only her white silk kosode. Her feet had been bare under the layers of expensive robes. “By the law all that you own, all that your danna gave you and all that you have earned becomes the property of the Empress to distribute at her will. Is there anything left you have to say.”
Omemie reached up and took the kanzashi from her hair herself, handing them delicately to the two male servants who took such care of the kimono that they had draped over their shoulders, the fabric heavy and beautiful.
“I ask only that the Aya no Bara himself delivers the blow, that I might be with my danna.” Her smile was a small, cruel thing on her lovely face.
The Empress for a moment showed an emotion, quick and bitter across her cold face. Perhaps she intended to distress him, but Aya turned his head to look at his master, who nodded then he stood up and untied his obi, sloughing off the outer layers of dark kimono he wore to let them fall. Ken dashed forward to pick them up.
“I can say,” he said clearly, “I had no part in the murder of your danna, but he was killed in my name. I will bear the sword, if you will let me, Omemie-Tayu.” Like her he stripped down to his hakama and undershirt that his expensive robes would not be spoiled by the blood.
“Have you done this before?” Tezuka asked, offering him the hilt of his sword. It was a full ceremonial sword, he wore both his tanto and wakizashi thrust through his belt and held in place with soft white cords. For a second Aya wondered how the cords would feel about his wrists and then he steeled himself.
“I have, my father,” Aya stopped himself as his hand tightened around the shagreen hilt, “he believed it was improper to sentence someone to death if one did not have the stomach to hold the sword.”
Tezuka shrugged. “It is a good rule to have.” He said calmly. Then from a servant he took a piece of paper. “When you are ready, Aya-no-bara.” This was the man, Aya thought, who had lain with him in the small moon temple on his family's land when he lay dying. This was the man who had stood between him and his master to give him time to heal. This was the quiet lover who decimated Fuji with his smile. This man was the Imperial Torturer and Executioner. This man was the greatest swordsman that Aya had ever known.
The sword slipped in it's sheath with a quick snick, before Aya took it from the saya in a single fluid motion, letting his body find it's weight and it's momentum. Then he took a deep breath and spun on the ball of his foot, letting the blade fly.
Tezuka caught Omemie's head, she was still smiling as the blade cut through her neck with such ease it might as well have been a tatami, rolled up around a wooden post like they were in practise, there was no blood at first, as Tezuka pressed the paper to the stump of her neck, and offered the head to his Emperor with a bow.
Aya took a piece of cloth from the waist of his hakama, carried there in case of spills of tea around his mouth, and wiped the blade down. It was a good sword, well cared for and beautifully weighted, before he returned it to its saya and offered it back to Tezuka. Behind him Omemie's body started to crumple, the whole thing had happened so fast that it was only now realising that it was dead. Aya didn't bother to look at it. The woman had signed her own death warrant, all he had done was hold the sword.
Tezuka took the sword with a bow of the head, one that acknowledged mastery of a skill and a look in his eyes that was a little sad and a touch fearful, before Aya bobbed his head in response and then returned to his position, kneeling at Crawford's feet still in his nagajuuban despite the early spring chill, and Crawford rested his hand upon his head, in a gesture that was reassuring if not actually condoning. Tezuka would not have been surprised if Crawford had been angered by it.
Servants took the body away. “That was well done, Aya-no-Bara.” The Empress said leaning forward. Her voice was a rough growl and her face was as impassive as porcelain. “Such skill deserves reward, does it not, Negotiator Crawford?” It was a barb, Tezuka knew, the Empress gave nothing for no reason. “That which belonged to Omemie it is mine as I was the injured party to do with as I will. I give it to you, Tayu, that you might accept her beauty as well.”
Aya bowed his head in low deference. “I thank you for your largesse, Heika,” Crawford said from behind him. “But little that Omemie had access to was her own, and I have been trying to wean him from the clothes that are usually worn by a tayu.”
The empress raised a perfectly painted eyebrow, one that was set on her forehead higher than her own would be. “Are you refusing my gift, Negotiator?” she asked.
“Certainly not, heika.” Crawford answered, “but I would be remiss in not pointing out that the gift might not be as large as you might think, and perhaps those clothes would be better suited for your handmaidens, although I see that she is not present today, is not your own Aya-hime the sister of my Aya-no-Bara?” The Empress' eyes were dark and hard. “Might not they reflect her own beauty as well as that of her brother.”
“And should a young princess of my service dress herself as a whore?” The empress asked, “for we pretty them up and dress them in silks and gold but does that stop them being just paid better than a street whore.”
Aya did not flinch. “There are many differences between a street whore and a tayu, wife” the emperor said blythely, “one that more than earns what they are paid, although it is not much that they receive for their time, most of it goes to the Ochaya, Negotiator Crawford speaks true, Omemie would own little of her wealth, and that came from the Takatori, perhaps giving her furs and jewels to Aya-hime might suit better, she is married to a Takatori.” Aya flinched at that, his eyes tightening but his expression remained cold. “Perhaps it would be best to simply sell them and line our own coffers if you will not wear the robes of a whore, wife, then we can buy things with it that would better please you.”
“And if it pleases me to see the Aya-no-Bara dressed in the robes that Omemie wore?”
“Majesty,” Aya said standing, “if it please you I would wear sack cloth and ashes that I might make you smile, I am a mere tayu, a concubine bound to his danna's pleasure, a gift given from one lord to another,” his voice was like ice, “but if it would please you I would wear her robes, bring them now and I shall dress for you.”
Tezuka noticed how carefully it was worded, he said that he would wear them, but not that he would keep them.
“Is that not tasteless,” one of the Onmyoji said, she was a small woman in a black kimono with a black silk veil over her hair, she had bound her hair into twin braids that framed her face, “with Omemie's blood still on the courtyard?”
“Hanajima-Omyoji.” The Emperor said, “again your wisdom humbles us.” The sorceror's expression was deliberately vague. She had a sweet expression despite her black robes, which Tezuka knew were as fine as anything that Omemie might have worn, with just as much embroidery, but deliberately black upon black. The only cosmetics she wore was black lacquer upon her fingernails, and her face was as unpainted as that of a country man.
The Empress did not like Hanajima's statement for her painted mouth tightened. “It is an honour to be the voice of reason to the Heika and his Empress.” She said deftly. The Onmyoji were loyal to the emperor but the Empress had her own negotiators. Perhaps she had forgotten that Crawford was Onmyoji too because he served as a Negotiator. “I agree that Aya-no-Bara would look tremendous in the true robes of a tayu, but sometimes things which are beautiful can lose their lustre if they we are over exposed to them, so perhaps it is best that it is a delight saved for times when we are in need of such beauty, when we see Tayu abroad in the street we no longer pay them heed for they are all beautiful and educated and miraculously robed, should we consign such beauty to a sight that are are so comfortable with.” Hanajima-onmyoji sat perfectly with her hands, in lace gloves, and her expression was somewhat wistful. “Does he not have robes of his own?”
“He does.” Crawford agreed. “Although they were left at the Fujimiya estate in anticipation of our return there. He suits dark reds and purples of winter more than the pinks and greens of spring.”
“See, Heika,” Hanajima said, “it is not that Crawford rejects your largesse, more that he thinks that they would be wasted upon Aya-no-Bara, when his sister has a more sweet complexion and darker hair who could wear those clothes. We are not men, heika,” she said, “and we lack a male eye for such beauty, sometimes it is necessary that we ask their opinion even if it does contradict our own.” Saki Hanajima, Tezuka thought, was very dangerous.
“I agree.” The Empress said then, “and he shall attend me at supper, Negotiator Crawford, have him dressed in his own finery, or what you can borrow at short notice, it will be nice to be surrounded by that beauty and education that so overwhelms the men of my court.” She sounded like a cat that had gotten the cream, “I am surrounded by my ladies, I forget sometimes what it is to hear a male voice.”
“By your will.” Crawford said bowing his head, but Tezuka could not help but notice how tight the fist Crawford's hand made.
this had been so long I couldn't remember half of the Japanese terms, bad SG! Bad!
do not be afraid to harangue me if you think it's been too long between chapters, really, I don't notice.