Fic: Same Coin
Title: Same Coin
Characters/Pairing: Medicine seller, Chiyo, Kayo (sort of)
Word Count: 217
Chiyo quickly realised that the medicine seller rarely walked. He stood still in every movement as if posing for a picture, and it was only a trailing sleeve that belied he was one step between here and there, like a model mid-sashay.
She ‘hm’ed and glanced down at her grocery list, noting with a pout that the squiggle of ink was becoming familiar. Somehow she doubted actresses did their own shopping, ran errands and made iced coffee. Actresses were people like Ichikawa Setsuko - and the medicine seller, astonishing in his face paint and swathe of coloured cloth, so that every passerby seemed pale in comparison: appraising some exotic trinket which immediately lost its lustre beside him, flaxen-haired and curious.
The amused curve of his lips as he ran circles around yellowing store-keeps appealed to Chiyo in a way that bordered on scandalous. A carefully placed “Oh?” was enough to make histories lies, tickle the blackness of her heart. But as always, with a clock of wooden sandals, he was gone, leaving behind another purpling fool and his cursed monkey’s paw. And of course, Chiyo herself.
That night, she dreamed of red earth, and grey skies streaked with lightning.
She woke to a heavy head and rays like confetti, wondering briefly why the cabin boy called her Kayo.
Characters/Pairing: Medicine seller, Chiyo, Kayo (sort of)
Word Count: 217
Chiyo quickly realised that the medicine seller rarely walked. He stood still in every movement as if posing for a picture, and it was only a trailing sleeve that belied he was one step between here and there, like a model mid-sashay.
She ‘hm’ed and glanced down at her grocery list, noting with a pout that the squiggle of ink was becoming familiar. Somehow she doubted actresses did their own shopping, ran errands and made iced coffee. Actresses were people like Ichikawa Setsuko - and the medicine seller, astonishing in his face paint and swathe of coloured cloth, so that every passerby seemed pale in comparison: appraising some exotic trinket which immediately lost its lustre beside him, flaxen-haired and curious.
The amused curve of his lips as he ran circles around yellowing store-keeps appealed to Chiyo in a way that bordered on scandalous. A carefully placed “Oh?” was enough to make histories lies, tickle the blackness of her heart. But as always, with a clock of wooden sandals, he was gone, leaving behind another purpling fool and his cursed monkey’s paw. And of course, Chiyo herself.
That night, she dreamed of red earth, and grey skies streaked with lightning.
She woke to a heavy head and rays like confetti, wondering briefly why the cabin boy called her Kayo.