Submission #32 -- Volantis, "Lady Sumeragi is Dying"
Title: Lady Sumeragi is Dying
User ID: Volantis
Rating: PG
Characters: Lady Sumeragi.
Warnings: Angst
Summary: Tea ceremony and harsh truths.
Her hands are old, the skin revealing thin veins that snake their way between sunspots and deepening wrinkles. They tremble of their own accord as she whisks the light grey green mixture of tea, the colour reminds her of her grandsons eyes’ and she is no longer certain if it’s just age that makes them tremble.
Lady Sumeragi is dying.
~~~
Ten years have passed since the service for her grandson at the Sumeragi Estate. His bodiless coffin placed adjacent to his sister’s empty plot, a poetic balance for the twins, oddly kinder than leaving one alone. She had picturing his body cleansed in the fires of the final battle.
Priests, onmyoiji, and monks had come from all of Japan to pay their respects for the reclusive head of Japan’s greatest spiritual family. However Lady Sumeragi did not hear any of the speaker’s eloquent half-truths, instead she spent the funeral envisaging her grandson in the afterlife, reuniting with his twin. Her granddaughter would be wearing something of neon and lace and pushing a modest Subaru into a heavenly change room. The young mans hands’ free of the gloves that bound him in his youth.
A tear had caressed the lines on Lady Sumeragi’s face, falling the short distance to her kimono and make a small circle of the black fabric even darker. In her thoughts she also saw her son and daughter-in-law laughing at the antics of their children, relishing that which they had missed in life.
The tears had turned into two small tributaries by the end of the ceremony, marking lines down the old face. They were tears of joy, for an afterlife that was perfect in every way that life was not.
For the briefest of moments she even let herself see a tall dark figure protectively walking next to Subaru…
And it was okay, because in the afterlife her grandson was smiling.
~~~
Lady Sumeragi remembers being taught the tea ceremony by her mother, a long forgotten child full of promise and vitality. It was a constant simplicity in her life, teaching restraint, humility and the beauty in imperfection.
She always felt that the way of the tea had an ability to cleanse a weathered soul. That a cup of green tea had such life, fresh like spring but wise with almost infinite age.
She gained great joy passing it on her children and grandchildren. Her grandson had been able to project the sober refinement of wabi, using it to strengthening every aspect pf his life.
For the breifest of seconds she thinks of the 13th Head of the Sakurazukamori Clan…
… the tea ceremony was a celebration of the mellow beauty that time and care imparts to materials.
~~~
It was winter when lady Sumeragi returned to Tokyo, seven years since the battle and the first time since she had come searching in vain for her grandson. New buildings have filled in the gaps of destruction; Tokyo has moved on and in the process become bigger, faster and lonelier.
The Sumeragi Clan has not trained a 14th Head.
Dark snow clouds loom over the city and seem to caress the tops of sharp skyscrapers. They have taken a brief pause from letting out their cargo which now lies thick over the city, creating an eerie silence to a frantic metropolis.
Despite the snow she walks with an air of determination not seen for over a decade. She has left her wheelchair at the entrance of the park, along with her guards. She has come to a decision and it fills her body with a forgotten strength. Her heart beats with fear, strength and a decision and it feels like the last 17 years never happened.
She has heard soon after the battle that the 14th Head of Sakurazukamori Clan was taking jobs, and the proof stood before her, its strong branches and sturdy trunk seeming to mock the frailty of her figure, its soft pink-near-red petals dancing in the wind. Lady Sumeragi stands as tall as her frame would let her, she was adorned in the white robes of her long retired position, mirroring the pose her grandson had made as a naive young child, and her granddaughter as a defiant teenage.
She will not lose; she has nothing left to lose.
The Sakurazuka’s branch’s rustle, as though laughing at a joke she was not privy to, as she pulls crisp ofudu out of her robes and starts a binding chant. She has no care for her safety; she does not want it that way.
Winds whips around her head as the spell builds. She can sense a quiet figure watching behind her but is choosing to ignore it. The spell was almost finished, and she was certain she would be able to unleash its devastation of all her life’s magic on the tree before the figure could reach her.
Silent feet walk up to her from the side, not threatening, just curious, and for the slightest of moments she allows her gaze to shift-
-and her world stops.
Her vision closes in and the universe around it, her heart is rushing in her ears and her head feels dizzy. For a second the figure continues to watch, tall and slender, and seeming to sway to the breeze. He looks older, his frame slightly sturdier, but still unmistakeable. His gaze is mildly curious but otherwise emotionless.
“Obaa-san.” It wasn’t a question, it was just a statement.
She watches him, blood dripping from his fingers like a pair of molasses gloves.
As he gets closer the breeze picks up his hair and it dances over white skin. The snow crunches under his feet, disturbing the silence. His eyes are a set of grey green, faded amber and sombre insanity.
“You shouldn’t be out here in this weather.”
She can hear the tree rustling its leaves again in mock laughter and he eyes returns to the initial object of her attention. Lady Sumeragi blandly thinks she should have brought an axe. The man follows her gaze and sidesteps her with slow even steps to its trunk, one hand reaching out to caress the knots and curls of the bark.
Her thoughts race with questions and find difficulty settling on one. Etiquette finally steps in.
“You look well, Subaru.” It’s an empty statement, and she delivers it without emotion. But it serves its purpose, breaking the silence.
And something in him shifts, his hand suddenly drawing away from away from the surface, looking to the snow on the ground with guilty eyes, and Lady Sumeragi can’t help but remembers catching an eight year old boy playing with his twin in her private study, ofudo scattered across polished floors, and clearly out of his depth.
“Why?” Her tone the same as it had been all those years ago.
Subaru looks at her for the briefest of second before his gaze slides to her right.
His voice is “He said he loved me.”
Her grandson says it as though this should solve the riddles of the universe and it leaves her full of rage. Her universe is collapsing; she is struggling to keep hold of the ability to form words.
“You’re wish… you went to Tokyo to kill the Sakurazukamori.”
Subaru looks down at the backs of his blood stained hands.
“I did.” His voice is devoid of emotions but soaked in memories.
“You wanted to avenged your sister’s death-”
“-I completed her dying wish.” The Tree’s leaves rustle again as though it finds its servants words humerous.
Lady Sumeragi’s finds herself once again frustrated by the vegetation. Perhaps weedkiller could have worked just as well.
“You are Sakurazukamori…”
The statement lies frozen in the air for a second.
“I have found happiness Obaa-san.” If only for the briefest of seconds, before watching it die in his arm’s.
“Grandson, this is not what life meant for you.”
The man looks up suddenly his eyes are once again crazy and empty and the Sakurazukamori chuckles. ‘The life meant for me?’ A blank smile spreads across thin lips.
“You should head home before you catch cold, Sumeragi-san.”
The kind words are devoid of emotion and the strength that had driven her to Ueno Park has faded. Her legs, once again weak with age, give way and she falls to the snow, white robes making it hard to see where ice ends and her frail body begins.
Behind him she can sense the Tree’s bow keen to its servant. Miss matched eyes of the man glance sharply at it.
Looking back to the old women his eyes are bottomless and cold. The Sakurazukamori effortlessly crosses the few steps between them, feet incidentally crushing one of the ofudo that had fallen from a half completed spell.
Suddenly blood stained hands moving sharply in her direction toward her fragile frame.
And for a second she realizes she wants the same thing the Tree does.
However his firm hands are helping her to her feet and in an empty silence the he is leading her back to the edge of the park. The guards stand, watch with a curious alertness as they come closer. A vague sense of deva ju passing through their minds and is absently ignored.
He helps her into the wheelchair, every gesture leaving no room for question.
As she turns to address him once more and a gust of sakura petals obscures her vision.
The Sakurazukamori is gone.
She vaguely notes that there are crimson marks on her white robes from where he touched her white robes.
~~~
Years have passed since she could sit seiza on the tatami mats and her legs can no longer shift her body to allow the correct pouring of tea. She has been forces to abbreviate her meticulous ceremony.
Her hands are only just able to accommodate the necessary movements, to pick up the warm chawan bowel and use a chakin cloth to wipe the lone drop of tea that has made its way done the lacquered surface, threatening to escape the ceremony altogether.
~~~
In the afterlife Hokuto has been making bright yellow outfits in the afterlife, full of lace and ribbons, she twirls to show off her flair in her skirt, a jubilant smile gracing her bright red lips but the no-eyed-man continues to stare right through her into nothingness.
“Ne, Sei-chan?” She says, spinning with one hand holding her matching yellow top hat in place, it has a brown centre and yellow ruffles around the brim, making it look like some bizarre sunflower. A matching outfit, with a much simpler yellow hat, has been neatly laid out next to her.
“Hnnn?” Seishirou nonchalantly answers, not opening his lips but tilting his head slightly in her direction.
She stops spinning to look at him, her skirt swaying once before coming to rest on its bodice. “Do you suppose Subaru will be joining us today?”
The no-eyed man’s lips fold upwards, sparkling with an untold joke.
“Perhaps…” He replies and the joke has also found its way into the word. It resonates like the bright tinkle of a stream running through an empty forest.
This is the game they have played for ten years now, and game they will play for ten years more, and perhaps the ten years after that…
The afterlife remains a sort of melancholic jigaw puzzle, the centre piece missing and the picture somewhat devoid of meaning.
~~~
The fragile porcelain cup brakes as it hits the mats on the floor. Her fabric of her kimono shifts slightly, the vaguest gesture of defeat in its motion.
Tea has spilt onto the tatami mats and must be cleaned before she can restart the ceremony, the cup lays shattered around the hearth. The ritual has provided no calm for her soul tonight, and in her mind the twelfth head of the Sumeragi Clan isn’t certain if she has the energy to start the process all over again.
Tomorrow she will start to repair the bowl with a mixture of lacquer and gold. Like so many other she believes that repairing the bowl has he ability to make it into something new and beautiful.
She sighs and leans forward, her hands picking up the broken ceramic, and wonders if perhaps there are too many pieces to make it worth the effort.
Lady Sumeragi is dying, but right now she is terribly alive.
She no longer knows which is worse.
User ID: Volantis
Rating: PG
Characters: Lady Sumeragi.
Warnings: Angst
Summary: Tea ceremony and harsh truths.
Her hands are old, the skin revealing thin veins that snake their way between sunspots and deepening wrinkles. They tremble of their own accord as she whisks the light grey green mixture of tea, the colour reminds her of her grandsons eyes’ and she is no longer certain if it’s just age that makes them tremble.
Lady Sumeragi is dying.
~~~
Ten years have passed since the service for her grandson at the Sumeragi Estate. His bodiless coffin placed adjacent to his sister’s empty plot, a poetic balance for the twins, oddly kinder than leaving one alone. She had picturing his body cleansed in the fires of the final battle.
Priests, onmyoiji, and monks had come from all of Japan to pay their respects for the reclusive head of Japan’s greatest spiritual family. However Lady Sumeragi did not hear any of the speaker’s eloquent half-truths, instead she spent the funeral envisaging her grandson in the afterlife, reuniting with his twin. Her granddaughter would be wearing something of neon and lace and pushing a modest Subaru into a heavenly change room. The young mans hands’ free of the gloves that bound him in his youth.
A tear had caressed the lines on Lady Sumeragi’s face, falling the short distance to her kimono and make a small circle of the black fabric even darker. In her thoughts she also saw her son and daughter-in-law laughing at the antics of their children, relishing that which they had missed in life.
The tears had turned into two small tributaries by the end of the ceremony, marking lines down the old face. They were tears of joy, for an afterlife that was perfect in every way that life was not.
For the briefest of moments she even let herself see a tall dark figure protectively walking next to Subaru…
And it was okay, because in the afterlife her grandson was smiling.
~~~
Lady Sumeragi remembers being taught the tea ceremony by her mother, a long forgotten child full of promise and vitality. It was a constant simplicity in her life, teaching restraint, humility and the beauty in imperfection.
She always felt that the way of the tea had an ability to cleanse a weathered soul. That a cup of green tea had such life, fresh like spring but wise with almost infinite age.
She gained great joy passing it on her children and grandchildren. Her grandson had been able to project the sober refinement of wabi, using it to strengthening every aspect pf his life.
For the breifest of seconds she thinks of the 13th Head of the Sakurazukamori Clan…
… the tea ceremony was a celebration of the mellow beauty that time and care imparts to materials.
~~~
It was winter when lady Sumeragi returned to Tokyo, seven years since the battle and the first time since she had come searching in vain for her grandson. New buildings have filled in the gaps of destruction; Tokyo has moved on and in the process become bigger, faster and lonelier.
The Sumeragi Clan has not trained a 14th Head.
Dark snow clouds loom over the city and seem to caress the tops of sharp skyscrapers. They have taken a brief pause from letting out their cargo which now lies thick over the city, creating an eerie silence to a frantic metropolis.
Despite the snow she walks with an air of determination not seen for over a decade. She has left her wheelchair at the entrance of the park, along with her guards. She has come to a decision and it fills her body with a forgotten strength. Her heart beats with fear, strength and a decision and it feels like the last 17 years never happened.
She has heard soon after the battle that the 14th Head of Sakurazukamori Clan was taking jobs, and the proof stood before her, its strong branches and sturdy trunk seeming to mock the frailty of her figure, its soft pink-near-red petals dancing in the wind. Lady Sumeragi stands as tall as her frame would let her, she was adorned in the white robes of her long retired position, mirroring the pose her grandson had made as a naive young child, and her granddaughter as a defiant teenage.
She will not lose; she has nothing left to lose.
The Sakurazuka’s branch’s rustle, as though laughing at a joke she was not privy to, as she pulls crisp ofudu out of her robes and starts a binding chant. She has no care for her safety; she does not want it that way.
Winds whips around her head as the spell builds. She can sense a quiet figure watching behind her but is choosing to ignore it. The spell was almost finished, and she was certain she would be able to unleash its devastation of all her life’s magic on the tree before the figure could reach her.
Silent feet walk up to her from the side, not threatening, just curious, and for the slightest of moments she allows her gaze to shift-
-and her world stops.
Her vision closes in and the universe around it, her heart is rushing in her ears and her head feels dizzy. For a second the figure continues to watch, tall and slender, and seeming to sway to the breeze. He looks older, his frame slightly sturdier, but still unmistakeable. His gaze is mildly curious but otherwise emotionless.
“Obaa-san.” It wasn’t a question, it was just a statement.
She watches him, blood dripping from his fingers like a pair of molasses gloves.
As he gets closer the breeze picks up his hair and it dances over white skin. The snow crunches under his feet, disturbing the silence. His eyes are a set of grey green, faded amber and sombre insanity.
“You shouldn’t be out here in this weather.”
She can hear the tree rustling its leaves again in mock laughter and he eyes returns to the initial object of her attention. Lady Sumeragi blandly thinks she should have brought an axe. The man follows her gaze and sidesteps her with slow even steps to its trunk, one hand reaching out to caress the knots and curls of the bark.
Her thoughts race with questions and find difficulty settling on one. Etiquette finally steps in.
“You look well, Subaru.” It’s an empty statement, and she delivers it without emotion. But it serves its purpose, breaking the silence.
And something in him shifts, his hand suddenly drawing away from away from the surface, looking to the snow on the ground with guilty eyes, and Lady Sumeragi can’t help but remembers catching an eight year old boy playing with his twin in her private study, ofudo scattered across polished floors, and clearly out of his depth.
“Why?” Her tone the same as it had been all those years ago.
Subaru looks at her for the briefest of second before his gaze slides to her right.
His voice is “He said he loved me.”
Her grandson says it as though this should solve the riddles of the universe and it leaves her full of rage. Her universe is collapsing; she is struggling to keep hold of the ability to form words.
“You’re wish… you went to Tokyo to kill the Sakurazukamori.”
Subaru looks down at the backs of his blood stained hands.
“I did.” His voice is devoid of emotions but soaked in memories.
“You wanted to avenged your sister’s death-”
“-I completed her dying wish.” The Tree’s leaves rustle again as though it finds its servants words humerous.
Lady Sumeragi’s finds herself once again frustrated by the vegetation. Perhaps weedkiller could have worked just as well.
“You are Sakurazukamori…”
The statement lies frozen in the air for a second.
“I have found happiness Obaa-san.” If only for the briefest of seconds, before watching it die in his arm’s.
“Grandson, this is not what life meant for you.”
The man looks up suddenly his eyes are once again crazy and empty and the Sakurazukamori chuckles. ‘The life meant for me?’ A blank smile spreads across thin lips.
“You should head home before you catch cold, Sumeragi-san.”
The kind words are devoid of emotion and the strength that had driven her to Ueno Park has faded. Her legs, once again weak with age, give way and she falls to the snow, white robes making it hard to see where ice ends and her frail body begins.
Behind him she can sense the Tree’s bow keen to its servant. Miss matched eyes of the man glance sharply at it.
Looking back to the old women his eyes are bottomless and cold. The Sakurazukamori effortlessly crosses the few steps between them, feet incidentally crushing one of the ofudo that had fallen from a half completed spell.
Suddenly blood stained hands moving sharply in her direction toward her fragile frame.
And for a second she realizes she wants the same thing the Tree does.
However his firm hands are helping her to her feet and in an empty silence the he is leading her back to the edge of the park. The guards stand, watch with a curious alertness as they come closer. A vague sense of deva ju passing through their minds and is absently ignored.
He helps her into the wheelchair, every gesture leaving no room for question.
As she turns to address him once more and a gust of sakura petals obscures her vision.
The Sakurazukamori is gone.
She vaguely notes that there are crimson marks on her white robes from where he touched her white robes.
~~~
Years have passed since she could sit seiza on the tatami mats and her legs can no longer shift her body to allow the correct pouring of tea. She has been forces to abbreviate her meticulous ceremony.
Her hands are only just able to accommodate the necessary movements, to pick up the warm chawan bowel and use a chakin cloth to wipe the lone drop of tea that has made its way done the lacquered surface, threatening to escape the ceremony altogether.
~~~
In the afterlife Hokuto has been making bright yellow outfits in the afterlife, full of lace and ribbons, she twirls to show off her flair in her skirt, a jubilant smile gracing her bright red lips but the no-eyed-man continues to stare right through her into nothingness.
“Ne, Sei-chan?” She says, spinning with one hand holding her matching yellow top hat in place, it has a brown centre and yellow ruffles around the brim, making it look like some bizarre sunflower. A matching outfit, with a much simpler yellow hat, has been neatly laid out next to her.
“Hnnn?” Seishirou nonchalantly answers, not opening his lips but tilting his head slightly in her direction.
She stops spinning to look at him, her skirt swaying once before coming to rest on its bodice. “Do you suppose Subaru will be joining us today?”
The no-eyed man’s lips fold upwards, sparkling with an untold joke.
“Perhaps…” He replies and the joke has also found its way into the word. It resonates like the bright tinkle of a stream running through an empty forest.
This is the game they have played for ten years now, and game they will play for ten years more, and perhaps the ten years after that…
The afterlife remains a sort of melancholic jigaw puzzle, the centre piece missing and the picture somewhat devoid of meaning.
~~~
The fragile porcelain cup brakes as it hits the mats on the floor. Her fabric of her kimono shifts slightly, the vaguest gesture of defeat in its motion.
Tea has spilt onto the tatami mats and must be cleaned before she can restart the ceremony, the cup lays shattered around the hearth. The ritual has provided no calm for her soul tonight, and in her mind the twelfth head of the Sumeragi Clan isn’t certain if she has the energy to start the process all over again.
Tomorrow she will start to repair the bowl with a mixture of lacquer and gold. Like so many other she believes that repairing the bowl has he ability to make it into something new and beautiful.
She sighs and leans forward, her hands picking up the broken ceramic, and wonders if perhaps there are too many pieces to make it worth the effort.
Lady Sumeragi is dying, but right now she is terribly alive.
She no longer knows which is worse.