Go forth, be conquered.

Laa...~

Sun, 18 May 2008 15:28:38 GMT

Computer is out of commission for a few weeks. I'll be able to get to a compy (hopefully) at least once a day, though, so I hope to talk to some of you soon!

Have a nice day,
Ashes.

Please enjoy the dancing British banana in my absence. The feeling you'll have at the end of the video is approximately the same feeling you get from a conversation with moi, anyways.

If I could have him burst into my room every morning as my personal alarm clock- that would be the beginning of a glorious era.

So like, out of nowhere...

Mon, 05 May 2008 22:01:41 GMT

...surgery. Literally, within three days I went from being me to being me in a hospital bed with a line of bloody staples holding my lower stomach together.

On tuesday I had these awful muscle cramps for about an hour and a half. They stretched from my ribs down my thighs to where I couldn't even stand up straight. I got nauseas, and then had a round of hot flashes, and then all the symptoms popped out of existence and I was suddenly fine.

The next day I was completely fine, and had forgotten about the pain except to every once in a while pray that it wasn't an oncoming kidney stone. (Which my friend had told me about, because she thought my symptoms matched hers when she'd had them)

On Wednesday I woke up with the pains. I knew it was all over. I was driven to the doctors, given a prescription for painkillers and a time to show up for an ultrasound the next day. I get home, get a call that they changed their minds and I have to go to the emergency room. I was in the emergency room from 4:45 p.m. to 3:00 a.m.

That morning I had surgery. Another scar to add to the collection.

I'm actually pretty cheerful that it's over, and looking forward to catching up with reading since I'm not suppose to move for 4-6 weeks.

On that note, I found this cool website that took up a large chunk of time I should have spent sleeping. Goodreads.com! It's really cool, especially for people who have a great love for reading. On this site, you can catalogue, rate, and review all the books you've ever read. Then you can browse other people's profiles, and through the miracle of a single 'compare books' button, the website will sort through their entire list of books they've read, and match it up with yours. Then it gives you stats on how many books you've both read, and the percentage that your rating of those books match up. So when you find people with similar tastes you can browse their lists to see what books you might be interested in reading in the future.

Yay!

So yeah, I have that to keep me busy, and then I'm also using my emergency room experience as a basis for a little Zuka ficlet. It's good to write that kind of experience out I think, since it really is so intense and full of memorable sensory observations.

Now I just feel a little nauseas, and am slightly worried since my staples are supposed to come out tomorrow or the next day, but everytime I check them I find new blood on my bandages. >_> *sigh* Sorry if I'm grossing anyone out.

I'm never good at breaking news like this. I mean, it's kind of weird to come up to someone and be like *poke* "Hey, guess what? I had surgery." Or announcing the occasion in LJ like it's an auspicious thing to be bowed to immediatly. I mean, so what? But then, when you don't tell anyone and they find out months later they're like "Why didn't you say anything?" There is no winning.

That's really all I have to say.

Have a nice day. =)

When Worlds Collide

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 18:52:40 GMT

The finale of Les Bijoux Brilliants is playing while I clean up my room. My 17-year-old brother, chains jangling from his camo pants, plants himself in the chair before the TV. I freeze where I am standing, pouring myself a cup of tea on the other side of the bedroom.

A few tense moments stretch out like taffy as the Takarazuka orchestra plays on ebulliently.

Finally:

Me: They have a lot of feathers, don't they?

Brother: Yes. *one eyebrow up in a rictus of confusion*

Me: The more important they are, the more feathers they have.

Brother: *slightly alarmed expression*

*Sena Jun appears on the screen, feathers wafting, sequins on the unnecessary headband glittering*

Me: Ah, if you have an ugly headband, you are even more important.

Brother: ... I swear to god I just saw that guy come down the stairs a minute ago.

Me: Yes, there are really only three actresses in Takarazuka, and a team of very crafty video editors.

*Tom appears, in her needlessly striking lipstick and clashing gold accoutrements.*

Me: Ah, if you have a gold headband, you are even more important.

Brother: That's the same guy as before. They all look the same.

Me: Mirror tricks.

Brother: They look like gigantic Indian headdresses strutting around.

Me: *chokes violently on tea, staggers to the bathroom*

I bleached my hair.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 15:28:16 GMT

Eels up inside 'ya...!

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 20:36:04 GMT

"Elements of the past and the future,
combining to make something not quite as good as either."

Reoccuring pirate theme...

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 22:55:58 GMT

<3 Can't wait for Merry's Branded Ann party. <3

While visions of kirinipples danced in their heads...

Wed, 19 Dec 2007 08:20:04 GMT

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:04:39 AM): Santa Seshi?

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:05:16 AM): oh god... the cute...the image in my brain.... oh goodness.... she'd be an adorable Santa.

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:06:22 AM): does that mean I need to leave you cookies and milk? XD

anaspenleaf (12:06:26 AM): Haha, I would not say no.

anaspenleaf (12:06:39 AM): Look though, I even found the outfit Seshi is wearing

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:07:19 AM): *giggles* and normally I'm not too fond of Santa....

ATTENTION (12:07:12 AM) Transfer complete: b06f_1.jpg. :

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:07:51 AM): eeep! oh my.. well if Seshi is wearing /that/

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:07:57 AM): I think I must take my leave LOL

anaspenleaf (12:07:48 AM): except you gotta imagine the boobs not being there

anaspenleaf (12:07:50 AM): to be accurate

anaspenleaf (12:07:52 AM): lol

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:08:21 AM): LOL but Seshi has boobs. impressive surprising boobs

anaspenleaf (12:08:32 AM): ah, of course. you would know the measure of their boobage

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:09:29 AM): LOL well she is my baby XD I was surprised when I discovered the boobs... since the others I like tend not to have them (Komu, Tom, etc)

anaspenleaf (12:09:21 AM): haha!

anaspenleaf (12:09:56 AM): ....I already made you watch that part in the sports fest with Kiriya's nipples, right? *cracks up hysterically/insansely*

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:12:38 AM): LOL! oh yes, I'm quite... familiar with the Kirinipples *giggles*

anaspenleaf (12:12:56 AM): do all their nipples have certain nicknames?

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:13:15 AM): although Komu has sprouted a nice pair of little boobies in her retirement, I approve, greatly. As I'm sure Tom does. And Tom had boobs at one point, I want to know where they went

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:13:19 AM): LOL Komunipples?

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:13:26 AM): Kirinipples is really funny

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:14:40 AM): I do enjoy hunting the elusive Tomboobs

anaspenleaf (12:15:59 AM): do you care if I post this snippet of conversation on LJ?

KomuTomuRabuRabu (12:16:24 AM): LOL go right ahead

Shades All Over Babylon: Chapter 3

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 14:55:54 GMT

Shades All Over Babylon

Chapter 3

By El Higgins

Hikaru’s father carried the sword Alexandria in an oiled cloth tied over his shoulders. They left the house a little after noon to walk towards the main road that ran into the city. The prince would pass through the road in the afternoon if all had went well on her journey.

Wataru talked quietly with her father, sweetly calling him “Bronden, dear,” and touching his shoulder. They walked ahead of her, and she caught only snatches of their conversation and was sickened by it. Her whole body ached, and much of the water skin she’d brought for the wait out in the sun was gone. She’d had to continually pour it down her back to keep the shirt from catching in the whip wounds. The heat was beginning to make her feel faint. She clenched her fists and kept her eyes straight ahead. She watched Wataru and Bronden’s every movement and let it feed her anger and keep her mind from wandering.

The walk took nearly an hour. They met up with others making the same journey, women holding barefoot children by the hand and eager-faced men leading pack mules laden with gifts. Shepherds came from footpaths overgrown with brambles, from farms too deep into their valleys to see. Young girls came, legs dangling off the backs of pull-carts as they struggled to lace up all the ribbons on their showy festival dresses. There were bursts of song and laughter and the crowd grew denser with every moment. Finally they made it to the wide, cobbled, road. It was already swarming with thick packs of people. Hikaru followed the wake left by her father as he bellowed himself up to the front.

The street was lined with posts on which were tied red ribbons that snapped in gusts of wind. The street had been scrubbed and its potholes filled. Vendors had set up, selling slivers of fresh melon and roasted potatoes. Hikaru was starving but had brought no money.

The events of the morning had drained her. She no longer felt excitement for the arrival of the Red East ambassador, no longer had a flicker of hope that the appearance of this strange woman would bring good tidings. She cared little, and would not have come if her father had not forced her. She moved away from the crowd and found a flat stone on which to sit. As she sat she thought. She thought deeply and quickly, swarming over the contents of her mind like a nest of furious hornets. Every once in a while her dark eyes would flicker over to where she knew Wataru and her father stood in the crowd. She had to leave. She had to get away from them and from this life somehow. But where would she go? How could she support herself? One choice was stealing money from the house, taking provisions and a horse and leaving. She could end up stranded, but anything was better than her life as it was. But at the thought of stealing her heart quailed.

Then her mind was up again, sniffing out other trails in the paths of her thought, looking for the one that led to freedom. The fervor of her scheming somehow made her feel immensely lonely, as if she had already left.

There were populous towns in all directions of her city of Snow: Moon to the north, Flower to the east, Star to the south, and Cosmos to the west. There are plenty of places to go, she soothed herself. She could find work at a forge. There was always forge work no matter where you found yourself. And once she earned enough money, why not open her own smithy? Her heart began to pound.

She shifted to keep her legs from numbing and cried out softly. Her back was on fire. Those ropes of agony spoke to her. Run. She would not spend one more night in her father’s house. She raised her head and pushed her heavy hair from her eyes. She stood slowly, calmness washing through her. Her hands began to shake. This was the time to do it, this was the time to flee. They wouldn’t know until the ceremony was over, hours away.

Just as Hikaru began to move it happened. Horns blared and shook the leaves from trees. She froze like a snared rabbit. On the horizon, far down the road in the distance, the caravans had appeared. A roar rose up from the crowds and over it she could begin to catch jangling snatches of exotic music. She thought she even smelled strange spices and cloying perfumes on the air. She glanced one last time towards her father and Wataru. They were lost in the shifting wave of people. She hopped down from her rock and began to run.

She ran parallel to the road, towards the caravan. She felt possessed by some invincible, playful, god who would have her try anything and withstand anyone to gain her freedom. No one noticed her as she brought up bursts of dust with her pounding boots and weaved between families eating picnics. She was just another rustic youth caught up in the excitement of the day.

When she could run no more she stopped in the shade of a plum tree and caught her breath. She had made it to her goal. The caravan was nearly right in front of her. The sheer exhilaration of the moment had rekindled her desire to set her eyes upon this ‘Prince.’ She would see what spoiled woman brought such delirious pleasure to these half-brained folk. Just a little glimpse and then she would be off.

When Hikaru could breath easily again she went towards the road. The crowd had condensed so that she could hardly fit a hand between them, let alone her whole body. She paced around their edges like a hunting wolf, looking for a weak spot. She had to hurry, for the Prince’s great caravan was rolling ever closer.

Then she spotted the little gap where gift-givers waited in a line to present their offerings. She rushed forward and squeezed into the line behind a man leading an impatiently dancing horse. She knew the man as Kishin, a poor neighbor from a farm down the road. She nodded to him. He gave her a thin but enthusiastic grin in return. She shoved her hands in her pockets, stroking the moonstones, and tried to peer above the crowd at the caravan.

The caravan was like a great, scarlet tent, made of silk and pulled by two rows of sturdy black horses with trailing manes. Their manes were twined with red ribbons and their tack decorated with red roses that were withering in the sun. Court jesters, androgynous beings garbed in tight, bright, clothes and glittering makeup, tumbled and teased the crowds, playing bursts of music on lutes and pipes as they escorted the massive construction down the road. A slender woman walked near the rear, holding two enormous lions that strained and growled against their silver leashes.

Hikaru’s heart fluttered. It was all so wonderful.

“Approach the prince Todoroki!”

Kishin yanked the horse forward, and her mouth went dry. She beheld the prince. Her body was draped lazily over a palanquin set on the ground. Her skin was brushed with gold and her eyes blackened with kohl. Her hair was cropped close into bronze curls. She wore loose silk trousers and a belt hung with a jeweled dagger, framing a hard, bare, stomach. Unpretentious breasts were hidden only by a band of tasseled yellow silk. Hikaru felt herself flush. The woman was watching the proceedings like a cat flicking its tail.

The poor farmer knelt before the prince. He was mumbling against the ground and Hikaru couldn’t hear him, but she saw him gesture to the horse and give it an appreciate pat from his crouching position. Without moving the prince turned a glacial gaze from Kishin to his horse and then back to him. The hair on the back of Hikaru’s neck stiffened in his benefit. Better to be gutted with a dull dagger then endure such a stare.

The prince raised a ringed hand- her nails were polished and brilliant like diamonds- and slapped Kishin so hard he toppled sideways. The noise of the crowd died. Presently Hikaru heard the snap of wings beating the air near her. Above the crowd, a black eagle folded his wings into a sharp point and dove. The wind of his passing ruffled their hair. The magnificent creature careened towards a robed figure following the entourage and clung to her slender wrist. The falconer stroked his head with his fingertips and fed him something from his voluminous sleeve. The prince was not distracted by the eagle‘s entrance. Her face was a mask slashed with a horrible, subtle, smile. Todoroki knew that she could snap her fingers and the world would be moved. This knowledge illuminated her.

“How you insult me.” She said to cowering Kishin. Her voice was spice and smoke, like the scent of the incense that had settled heavily over the area. The syllables of the common tongue sounded rich and dark in her mouth.

“Do you not see the horses I already have?” She raised a hand towards the prancing black horses that had come to a rest at the front of the caravan. Their necks were brilliantly arched, like fine bows.

“You think my horses are not good? What is this bug-bitten beast you have brought me instead? What honor is this horse, for me?”

The pale man finally found his voice and pressed himself to the hard ground. “Sorry, I, I’m so sorry your grace, my prince, your highness. I had no idea.”

The prince ignored his groveling except to nudge him with her sandaled foot. She looked at the servant standing to her left, a woman with velvety eyelashes and a fae-like smile that looked charming and conniving at once.

“Kimu. It is time for this man to leave. Send him off.”

Before the crowd of horrified watchers, Kimu lifted Kishin up from the ground with stunning strength. His face was coated with dust, making his wide white eyes more unsettling. Kimu took a length of cord from her loose sleeve and bound the man’s wrists. He began to blubber, to duck away and fight her. The servant snapped her knee up with a dancer’s grace. It cracked against the man’s jaw and he lolled in her arms. She ran the cord from his wrists to the horse’s saddle. When the crowd realized what the slim woman meant to do they gasped and staggered to clear a path. Hikaru did not scatter with the rest. She started to run forward, cried out and tried to snatch at the rope that bound him. Hands grabbed her back.

Kimu slapped the horse hard on the behind and it reared. The man screamed, but only for a second. As his horse yanked him bouncing along the ground a jagged rock met his skull and he was silenced.

Hikaru wished for Alexandria. Had she had it in her hand she would have took off the prince’s head. She turned towards the golden woman as she stroked her silk-clad servant’s arm appreciatively, murmuring something in a seductive growl. Hikaru looked around quickly for something she could use as a weapon. There was nothing and there was too much. She could snatch the dagger from the man who stood next to her, but he was quickly moving away, obviously shaken by events. She could pick up one of the stones beneath her feet but they were too small to do any harm. She would attack her with a sash if she must but she yearned for something sharper. And it was too late.

“Approach the prince Todoroki!” Shouted the long-haired servant on her other side, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground. No…not his spear. Her’s. Hikaru realized that this servant, too, was a woman. A strange creeping feeling grew in her but she had no time to inspect it. She stepped forward, her hand in her pocket. Her fingertips brushed the moonstones. A smile grew on her face. The little part of her that had gone free when she decided to run was awake, and dancing with glee.

Shades All Over Babylon: Chapter 2

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 02:35:17 GMT

Title: Shades All Over Babylon (Chapter 2)
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairing: WataruxKomu, MizuxKomu, MizuxTomu, TomuxKimu, TomuxKomu, and more
Summary: In a medieval universe, Hikaru is a blacksmith's daughter working under the abusive authority of her father and his assistant, Wataru. At the time of the story she has forged a sword to be presented to the ambassador prince from the Red East, Todoroki. Hikaru, determined not to live another day in her father's house, will do anything she can to get away...

Hikaru cursed loud enough for clouds to hear as she picked at her tattered, sticky, shirt.

“Gods damn her, cast all the curses under sun down upon her!” She swore through grit teeth. For all her oaths she felt no better; there was not a word for her pain. She had to peel off her shirt carefully, fiber by fiber, to stop from peeling up her skin. Tears rose in her eyes, betraying her agony. The whip bites crossed twice over her shoulders, once over her rear, and back and forth again over the back of her legs. Wataru’s musky taste lingered in her mouth like a living thing.

“You‘ll keep silent to your father,” the woman had taunted, and walked out into the sunlight. “As if he would mind.”

Hikaru slumped on her modest pallet and leaned against the wall. Her choppy reddish curls were plastered against her forehead. She held her shirt bundled in her trembling hands. She had to bathe, there was no getting around it. She would be there when the sword was presented. She would not have the prince see her through layers of soot and dust.

She grabbed a clean pair of trousers, a deep blue tunic and cream-colored shirt from the chest at the foot of her bed. She opened her door just a crack to make sure the kitchen was empty. It was. She slunk silently through and out the back door. Their blood-colored chickens chased seeds along the foot paths. The day was growing warmer and the scent of their small farmyard was rising from the mulched ground. There was a time when they smell of warm horses, corn meal, and freshly-turned earth was comforting to her. Now she hated it as she hated everything else. She lingered for a few moments against the shadowed side of their modest cottage, watching with fox-eyes for the presence of Wataru or her father. When it was clear, she scattered the chickens and headed for the broken fence at the edge of their property. Past the boundary tall golden grass sprang up, humming with grasshoppers. A large green grasshopper landed on her shoulder and clung. She reached for it half-heartedly and it sprang back into the old wheat.

The land quickly turned into a young forest. She crept through a dense grove, ducking mazes of white branches and new leaves glowing with the sun. Her legs became soaked with chill dew. Through the still forest was the lakeside that they shared with a few neighbors in this more rural-area of the city. Water-birds hopped among the white-washed rocks and snatched up the morning’s stranded fish. Hikaru undid her belt, slipped off her pants and boots, and waded in.

The water was freezing and streamed from her hair like icicles. She scrubbed quickly, shivering out of her bones. When she turned back and moved towards shore she heard it: the sound of tools ringing in the forge. She stiffened, eyebrow raising. There should have been no more forge work today. She had finished it all. She leapt out of the water and staggered into her new clothes, not feeling the pull of it against her wounds. Hikaru was still yanking one boot up past her ankle when she staggered through the door, coughing at the sudden change of air.

Her father turned to her, scowling. “Were you running around half-naked? Your hair is still wet. Y-” He stopped and stared at her chest, hard. “Your shirt is wet. Have some decency, for god sakes! God knows it’s too late for you, but you still have to live under my roof so make my suffering a little less.”

His words were nothing to her, but she pulled her tunic on over her shirt to silence his complaining. “Father, what are you doing?” She struggled to peer around his broad shoulders at what he was working on. He held her words in as high regard as she held his, and he ignored her. She growled in frustration and slipped past him to the worktable, crying out in anger.

“You old fool! What are you doing?!”

Her Alexandria, her precious Alexandria…

Hikaru and her father each had their own sigil which they fixed into the hilt to attest to their workmanship. Her father’s was always a bear’s head fashioned of one stone or another. Hers was always the triple moonstone pressed close in a triangle. Her moonstones were gone and an ugly bear’s head roared in its place. He lifted the sword and blew away the scrap curls of metal. Hikaru knew her father’s mind.

“You would take credit for the work I’ve done, in case the prince finds it favorable.” She growled, finding it hard to breathe.

“That is the way many businesses work,” he said without concern.

“That is not how this business works,” she answered, knowing that she shouldn’t, not when her father stood so close to the sword. He would wield it at her without a second thought.

He didn’t reach for the sword, but his lips grew tight, all but vanishing under his bristled mustache. “That is not for you to decide.”

“But it is for you to steal my work like a street thief?” She snapped, her voice trembling at the last word. She was going too far. Her whip wounds ached as if to upbraid her. She expected the fist to slam into her face at any second. She began to raise her hands, stepping away as if she’d stumbled onto a feasting mountain lion.

But her father’s eyes just bored into her, and strangely, softened. Pity. She noticed for the first time how hateful pity made his face look. He was looking not at her face, but at the sleeve of her shirt. She looked for herself. The blood had begun to soak through from her shoulder. Hikaru looked up to meet her father’s gaze. Suddenly she felt seven years young, reliving one of the daily disappointments her parents’ coldness had brought her.

“Why don’t you stop that damn woman then, father? Why not show you have bones beneath your skin instead of just standing aside and looking at me with pity later?! You’ve stolen my sword, why don’t you beat me about the head with it while you’re at it!” The words just kept coming, bereft of sense and forethought. Hikaru’s heart was crying. Half of her wished her father would throw off his hate and sweep her up into his arms, stroke her curls; tell her that even though she had been rejected by all the young men in the city he still loved her with that undying paternal love. What she wouldn’t give to be told she had a place in the world.

Instead she saw fury tighten every fiber of his body. He drummed his fist against his leg. It was what he did when he was struggling not to swing it.

“The sword will be presented with my emblem. I am the master of this business,” he said. That was it. That was final. He left her alone, shivering and remembering the hours she had spent delicately laying down the moonstones in perfect harmony. She began to look around for them. They were on the floor, smeared with soot. She picked up the tiny jewels and pressed them deep into her trouser pockets. They felt warm against her fingers. She imagined they were saying to her Don’t cry, don’t cry. She listened to them. She had no time for crying.

~~~~~~ Sorry it's so short, guys. I already have the next chapter ready, though. n_n And hey you, comment! Even just to say that you read it- I'd ADORE it! It's always disconcerting to feel like you're posting into this black, empty, void with no one around that hears you. If you've ever posted on LJ, I'm sure you know that I'm talking about. =)

Shades All Over Babylon: Chapter 1

Mon, 10 Sep 2007 16:35:48 GMT

Title: Shades All Over Babylon (Chapter 1)
Rating: Pg-13 (for now >D)
Pairing: WataruxKomu, (in future: MizuxKomu, MizuxTomu, TomuxKomu, and more)
Summary: In a medieval universe, Hikaru is a blacksmith's daughter working under the abusive authority of her father and his assistant, Wataru. At the time of the story she has forged a sword to be presented to the prince from the Red East, Todoroki. Hikaru, determined not to live another day in her father's house, will do anything she can to become a part of the prince's entourage...

Shades All Over Babylon

Chapter 1

By El Higgins

Asami Hikaru was the only waking life in the sleeping outskirts of the city. It was deep night and the stars were cold and far away, little more than pinpoints. Even the bats were sleeping, and the insects still against their twigs and leaves. But in the forge noise and fire raged in tamed ferocity. The mortar in the walls rattled with the silvery ring of hot steel, and smoke billowed up from the banks of flaring embers as it had since early that morning. Asami’s skin was black from it, except where sweat painted bronze lines down her back and arms. Her shoulders worked with feline power as she raised her hammer and snapped it down on the blade that lay glowing against the stone work table. There her eyes caught the miniscule fault, the imperfection. There and now there, one last stroke. Sparks snapped around her scarred hands but she took no notice and her arm kept working despite its bone-deep ache. When the blemish she chased out from the soft, red, metal was gone she paused and wiped her forehead. Weariness had carved deep lines under her eyes. She had been awake since the night before and her father had not brought her any drink or food. She’d eaten only the heel of bread and the ladle of water she had been able to snatch for herself from the kitchen. She would have grabbed more but her father’s assistant Wataru was there, looking at her with that calculating stare and false smile, always staring at people as if she was considering purchasing them.

None of that mattered to her. Her hunger and weariness were nothing. Asami couldn’t pull herself away from her work, no more than a mother could leave her crying infant. And this infant, the sword that was to be a gift to the ambassador from the Red East, was not yet born. Asami ached to hear its birthing cry, and had resolved to work until the last hammer-stroke fell. She was in love with the way her hands took the flowing liquid metal and shaped it into a weapon that would taste blood and battle. Death might come from a sword, but the swords came from her cracked, scorched, hands. More than once Asami had raised her head to the prize blades hanging in the wall of her father’s shop. She had caught her bleak, black, glaze in their polished metal bodies and thought, “I am your mother and I am your father. Do not forget.” And then, thinking quieter, deeper in her heart, bring pain for my sake.

When the sky grew lighter and smoke began to snake up from city chimneys her father entered the forge, scratching his belly and wiping breakfast from his face. Asami’s nostrils flared at the smell of fried bacon. Compared to her father she seemed ridiculously small. Her shirt was her father’s cast-off and she had to tie it up around her shoulders. Her muscles were strong but slender, but dwarfed against her father’s which were thicker than squash and had knocked many a nose out of its place. She hated how he made her feel like something he could destroy at any moment. He knew it, as well, beneath his heavy brow, and used it against her. It was his revenge. He’d held his disdain of her black in his heart since she’d grown out of childhood. She’d been nothing but a disappointment to him, a burden that spoke. Marriage was his only hope, but in all the years it was custom to be married in she’d not caught the eye of one suitor. Young men avoided her like she had the wasting sickness. She was quiet and quick to anger, had no hand for sewing or spinning or baking. And there was something in her rolling saunter, in the way her father’s clothes looked too handsome on her, in the way more than one doe-eyed girl of the city looked upon her with flushed cheeks. This “something” irked and disquieted them like nothing else.

The marriage-time had passed now, and she was reminded of her father’s bitter disappointment everyday.

“When will you finish?” He asked gruffly, chewing a strip of bacon with relish and watching her face grow pained.

“I’ll finish when it’s finished, you old boar,” she snapped. In truth the blade was done. Now it cooled, and it would be ready for the ambassador when he passed through the town in the afternoon.

“That sword is important to us.” Her father said. She growled and wiped her hands off with a rag. She’d heard this speech too many times.

“This is our chance to extend our wares into the Red East! Think of it! If the prince likes it word will spread from one sea to the other! We’ll be flooded with business!”

Hikaru flinched. She knew who it was that would break their shoulders under that extra business, and it wasn’t her father or his assistant.

“How could the prince possibly like a sword?” Hikaru found herself saying bitterly. “It’s well known that the prince of the Red East hardly raises herself off the cushions, much less raise up a sword.”

Her father grew very quiet. Hikaru stepped away from him, her fists rising. Silence was dangerous from her blustery old father. His rippling arm snapped out and caught her shoulder, yanked her forward so his breakfast breath was in her face.

“This sword had better be nothing less than a legend, or you’ll feel it, you will.”

Hikaru twitched against his hold but couldn’t gain an inch. Anger flooded her, anger and the anguish of being trapped by those stronger than her. Her eyes couldn’t stop from glancing at the image of the sword, which she called Alexandria, flickering beneath a cooling pool of water. It was a good sword, yes, a great sword even… but a legend? A legend was a legend for a reason: because it couldn’t simply be found from a forge run by an evil-hearted old man who left the work to his daughter.

He shook so hard she bit her tongue. “You hear me, girl?!” He sneered.

She swallowed blood and nodded. He let her go. Her arm pulsed with pain and she already felt the bruises spreading from his finger-hold.

She lifted Alexandria from the water, set it aside, and followed her father back to the house. The air was cool and the sky looked like water paints. New sunlight turned the morning moths to gold blurs. Crickets sang their last under the drooping ferns that lined the path from the forge to the house. Hikaru began to feel every drop of her exhaustion and barely made it to the table where the remains of breakfast waited. Wataru was waiting there, too. She groaned inwardly.

Kozuki Wataru handled the actual selling of the family’s swords; she vended in markets and in courts and occasionally followed the traveling caravans to other cities. She was a smooth-tongued woman, always cloaked in thick robes that hid her shape from eyes that might be distracted from business. Here eyes were perfectly almond-shaped, and these she fixed on Hikaru.

“You’re all dirty,” she said. Her voice toyed like a cat.

Hikaru’s father groaned in disgust in left. He hated seeing the two women bicker, it only served to remind him of his daughter’s shame: If Hikaru were ensconced in a husband’s house there would be no bickering.

Wataru’s gaze watched him leave. Her expression remained unmoving.

Hikaru swallowed the last of the bacon and reached for a hunk of staling bread. She didn’t let the woman out of her sight. The past had taught her better.

“I was disappointed you did not return to your room last night,” Wataru said, easing down in the chair beside her and scooting it close. Hikaru stiffened as the woman’s thumb found her lips. “Very disappointed.”

Hikaru knew her next words would be dangerous, but she was too tired to stop them. “Why don’t you just get out of here? I’ve done the brunt of the work, now why don’t you do your pitiful part. My father doesn‘t pay you to loiter in our house.”

Wataru slapped her. It was so fast that only the sound served to confirm what had just happened. Hikaru would have whimpered at the pain, maybe fled from the room, but rage made her numb.

The woman’s thumb slipped into her mouth as her other hand found her throat. The squeeze that she gave could have been seen as affectionate to lovers, but it was a warning. Hikaru tried to pull away but the bigger woman had trapped her against the table.

“Come now, darling. You have such a sweet mouth. Use it.”

Hikaru’s anger flared up and scorched her heart. The food she’d eaten turned rotten in her stomach. She wanted to lash out, to fight, her whole spirit burned her for the cause. But fear had taught her a broken obedience, pain had taught her the faces of those she could not fight: her father, Wataru, the young city men who roamed the evening streets in packs and had more than a fair share of nasty words to share.

Wataru pressed another finger into her mouth. She met them with her tongue but found her fury could not be curbed. Not this morning. She made as if to take her fingers in deeper, but instead pressed them against her teeth and bit down. Wataru sprung away like she was flame and held her fingers in a fold of robe. Blood bloomed through the cloth. Hikaru, terrified and pleased at once, smiled. And then Wataru pulled out the whip from a pocket in her robe. The whip she used for horses. Hikaru knew that whip; The bite of it and its voice. Wataru stepped forward. The color had drained from her face but she was smiling and shaking her head as if regretful of what she was about to do. Hikaru hated her. She burned the image of Wataru’s face into her mind even as she flinched and backed away. I will one day destroy this face. There was nowhere to run to. She crouched in the corner, coughed at the stirred dust. Her mouth tasted like forge smoke still. She could see no one outside the windows in the yard. No one would hear, or else they would hear an animal in the distance being disciplined.

Am I really anything other than that?

She lowered her face. Her eyes bled defeat. The whip arced back.

Rest Your Head

Sun, 09 Sep 2007 02:57:37 GMT

Hey friends! I just wrote up a shortish Takarazuka fanfic inspired by Love and Death. (what else is there, really?)
Title: Rest Your Head
Pairing: HarunoxSena, DeathxSena
Rating:PG/PG-13
Summary: Sena becomes very sick around the time of her Moon Troupe Elisabeth performance, and receives a visit from Death herself. Will Death tear her away from the one she loves?

Rest Your Head

By El Higgins

“That’s all for tonight.” The director yelled and snapped the stereo off. Like marionettes on cut strings we all slumped, coming to various states of repose on the polished floor. The air filled with sighs. The rehearsal room was stifling and alive with stirred dust. The week before the first show was hell, it always was. My knees felt swollen in their sockets and even the bones of my face hurt. Worst of all, I still felt painfully awkward in my own skin. In the room with almost all the other Moon Troupe actresses I seemed naked and alone. I had not been in the troupe that long and I was still being measured; every word weighed, every step carefully calculated. It wasn’t that anyone was or had ever been unkind. It was that most of my troupe mates still drew that deep, cool, edge that separated them from me. I was waiting and waiting to be welcomed as a part of their singular, functioning, body. Our presentation of Elisabeth would be the real test.

Through it all there was a big, bloody, sore spot in my heart. This is where Haruno Sumire, my former partner in crime, my top star that I served with all my soul, belonged. I was trying to keep it together. I was trying not to feel resentful at the rest of the world for tearing me away from the only one I cared about so deeply. I forced myself everyday to give Ayaki, my new top star, a sort of mollifying encouragement or compliment, as if she could feel my sullen disappointment battering her like waves. Over and over I had to soothe myself, tell myself that it wasn’t like I was betraying Masa-chan, I was simply fulfilling my duties as a Takarazuka actress, no matter what they were.

Two flush-faced musume passed me for the door, murmuring softly to themselves. “Good work,” I said wearily. They bowed politely, but little warmth reached their eyes. I sighed. Sweat had crept out on my scalp in a chill wave. I was itching for a bath. I straightened up and stretched and a thin film of dizziness passed through me. I ignored it. You dance until so late in the night and it happens.

I caught movement from the corner of my eye and turned. A narrow hand slipped around my waist.

“You stumbled a lot tonight,” Ayaki’s smoky voice whispered, somehow sounding gentle and concerned despite her bold statement. (A statement that was regretfully true. Another time I might have been offended, but I was just too exhausted.) I flinched away and her hand left me. My skin crawled where it had been. At once I felt horrible that my rebelling body was so cruel. Ayaki had really been nothing but kind to me. Some evenings I even thought I saw something deep and strangely tender in her shadowy eyes, an emotion I did not want to contemplate.

“I-I’m fine, Ayaki-san. Thank you for the hard work.” I bowed stiffly, excruciatingly aware that I looked like a flustered middle school boy.

Ayaki lingered for a moment, and then nodded and turned and left. I watched her back for a second. She walked like she was eternally on stage, as if the sun and moon shone just to light her person and paths unfurled just for her feet. I shook my head, allowing a soft smile. Masa-chan had a bit of that in her, too. A stage-drama that trailed after her like a velvet cape. It made her even more beautiful. It made her a creature of dreams, to me.

My mind began to wander to the rehearsal nights when Masa-chan and I and the other Flowers would go in a noisy, jovial, group down the streets of Takarazuka. We’d pile into a small nook of a restaurant and it would be only us. There would be great smiles splitting our tired faces and sukiyaki steam heating the room and Masa-chan touching me softly. I don’t think she always realized she was touching me, and I really don’t think she realized how her touches scorched me with pleasure. Then there would be those long, soul-searching gazes she gave, the ones that left me trembling. It took courage to not look away when she stared into me, courage that I had only when I was with her. I noticed that she never looked at anyone else the way she looked at me. That was my secret treasure, and I guarded it with wicked glee.

Almost everyone had left now. I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned, almost tripping over the unfamiliar curtain of skirt hanging around my legs. I was so used to practicing in my sweat pants. It made me feel a shade clumsy, and even more anxious during rehearsal. I took a deep breath and shrugged it off. Rehearsal was over for tonight. I must force myself to relax, even if just for a few hours.

At the door a hand caught me and I turned. Oozora Yuuhi’s openly kind face greeted me. Of all the Moon Troupe she was the only one I felt I could depend on for genuine camaraderie. Our roots went deep compared to the other Moon actresses. Now her black eyes were playful, reminding me of an otter‘s. “Ah, Yoh-chan, good work!”

The woman bowed, and when she faced me again her face looked anguished and apologetic at once. She clasped her hands together.

“Asako, I have to clean the room tonight, right? But uh, I just got a call.” She waved her phone in my face so I fully grasped ‘got a call.’

My heart seized and sunk a little. “Yeah?”

“Do you think just tonight you could help me out? One of my friends, she hardly ever makes it over to Takarazuka so I never see her anymore, she just stopped by. She’s waiting for me. What do you think, huh? Would you please help me out, please?”

I really wanted to say no. As the adrenaline drained slowly from my veins I found that my head was pounding and each toe cried its separate hurt from my foot. But I was desperate for the approval of the new troupe, and Yuuhi had a way of making her smooth black eyes suck up your soul. I swallowed a sigh. Mostly I was just too nice for my own good.

“Of course. I’ll take care of it. Have fun and be careful. Bring me some kitsch!” I yelled at her retreating back. She threw back her head and laughed once at my Elisabeth reference. I crack me up.

I was alone. Out the windows on the far side of the room the stars hung like still snowflakes. I threw down my bag and got out the cleaning supplies from the closet. Never had the rehearsal room seemed so big. Never had I noticed how the dust crept so thoroughly into its corners.

I filled one bucket with water from the bathroom in the hall. I had filled it too full and left a trail of water all the way from the sink to the room. I groaned. It killed my back stooping to wipe up the mess. Back in the room I threw the rag into the bucket and watched it swirl in angelic slowness. My mind wandered as my exhausted body wrung out the rag and pushed it through its duties.

I thought again of my Haruno. Out of this whole ordeal, this changing troupes and being made to play a musumeyaku’s part, of being ripped way from old friends and thrust into a group of mostly strangers with almost no time left till the performance-- out of all this what irked me most was the bad timing of it all! If I was to be forced into being Elisabeth, why could it not have been in the shadow of Masa-chan’s Death? Why switch me at this last moment, when I could have been so close to bliss? I felt gypped. So close yet so far. Why hadn’t the board members had me play Elisabeth while I was still in the troupe where I belonged?! To dance across the floor in the arms of my pale prince of darkness…The thought made me swoon. Suddenly I was back in the room and I had knocked the bucket over. The water soaked my shoes. I didn’t feel it. My feet looked so far away. The rag fell to the floor, too. It had been in my hand. I didn’t remember dropping it. Then my feet were very close to me, and then gone.

A voice that could sing ice from water woke me. The voice was whispering, and I roused to the cool caress of it passing over my face and unfurling in the air and vanishing. It had left some of its chill with it, lingering on my face. It felt good against my skin, which felt hot. I was on my side and my clothes were soaked.

I pushed myself up, blinking black puddles away from my vision. I had fainted. Alarm began to grow in my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I had passed out over something, if ever I had. How long had I been out? I glanced at my watch. Only a few minutes. I steadied my heart and my breathing, and then sighed in relief. Just a spell of dizziness, then. That’s all.

I rubbed at my arms. Every independent nerve in my body was complaining now, as if some menace had gone around and punched each of those nerves individually in the eye. I recognized this pain now: the full-body ache of fever. I shuddered at the thought. No. No. This could not happen now. I can be sick as long as I want after the performance, but not now. Forcing the possibility completely from my head, I cleaned up the spilled water, shivering at the damp folds of skirt that now alternately slapped and clung at my thighs.

While ringing the last of it into the bucket, I looked around. The room wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. I was desperate to get to my room, my bed. I carried all the supplies back to the closet and picked up my bag. As I stood at the door to leave, my hand on the light switch, I remember that strange voice I had heard on waking. I stared around the room. Everything still. I glanced at the little stereo tucked against the wall, wondering if it had been left on and produced the soothing ribbon of voice. It was turned off. I shrugged and hit the lights.

Out in the night air, my legs turned to stone where the wet skirts touched them. I wrapped my arms around myself and ran quickly, head down, towards my dorm. I fumbled with the keys at the door, my fingers numb and not wanting to grip anything. The door swung open and I staggered in, sighing. I paused for a second and simply rested my forehead against the cool wall inside. So blessedly cool. I toed off my shoes and let my feet, too, soak up the cold from the floor. It was one of those moments where you could have turned into a statue at that moment for all eternity and that would have been perfectly okay. Eternal rest.

I forced myself out of my repose and turned on the lights. My whole body froze. A slender black shadow slid out from the corner of the room and vanished. Vanished into nothing. There was nowhere it could have gone that could have escaped my eye. Feathery silver motes hung in the air where it had passed. I staggered backwards into the kitchen, the knobs on the oven digging into my backbone. I forced myself to breathe. There was nothing there, now. But then there was, but close to me, against me. A coldness like long fingers sweeping down my throat. I snatched up the knife from the counter and slashed it through the air, hoping to scare away the…the…

My arm went slowly to my side. I was going insane. There was nothing here. How could there be? Although better than many of the younger actresses‘, my room was very narrow and straightforward. Nothing could hide from me, here. I set the knife down. I bit my lip until my heart fluttered into a more normal beat. I needed something hot to drink and clear my mind.

I filled the teapot and collapsed in a chair at the small, round, table. The next thing I was blinking at was the tips of my hair brushing the lacy tablecloth. I had nodded off. Something in the room was buzzing. I could feel it faintly through my fingertips. My cellphone. I fished through my bag and popped it open. Warmth flooded my frozen skin. A message from Masa-chan.

“I’m sure you are doing great. We all miss you.”

My hands grew clammy and I set the phone down. The tears were at the back of my throat, a solid knot. Just as I was contemplating letting them go in one big flood, the teapot begin to whistle. I took some chamomile down from the cabinet and loaded a cup with sugar. I watched it swirl up into a clear syrup as I poured. I needed that sugar. I felt barren inside and very sad, and I didn’t want to go to sleep, afraid the sweetness of my dreams would only intensify my loneliness; just as Masa-chan’s message had only reminded me I was alone.

I sat down at the table, spinning the cup in my fingers and waiting for it to cool enough to drink. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught that I had missed the arrival of a second message on the phone, probably drowned in the clatter of dishes. The message was from Masa-chan again.

“More than anything,” she had texted, “I miss you. I want you here with me, always.”

I reread the message. Very calmly, I stood up from the table. All those abused nerves had suddenly leapt up in me and were swarming. I felt like running a marathon and I felt like dying. What did this message mean, what did it mean? It was obviously not a normal message.

I picked up the phone and read the message over and over again, having to keep clicking buttons to keep the screen lit. Always must keep it lit. The bone-aching rehearsal I’d been at mere hours ago seemed like years ago. My misery was a distant memory that belonged to someone else. Masa-chan was like that. Her words rearranged my world. Her words swept all pain away. But never had I gotten a message as dear to my pounding heart as this. My mind was spinning with its possibilities, ached with its possible implications. I paced over and over through my room, stumbling more than once over my futon. I was grinning foolishly. Again and again my trembling fingers typed out a message to her, but never had the guts to press send. Messages like:

“And I miss you too, more than anything.”(Understanding, mutual)

“I thought of you all night!” (stronger, still nodding the idea that I returned her emotions)

and then messages like: “Shall I come to your room?” (daring, hopeful)

or “I love that you miss me. And I only want to be with you, as well.” (but what if Sumire doesn’t feel that deeply for me? What if I’ve read her wrong? What if she’s still speaking to me as a friend? She’s always one for making situations over dramatic with her dialogue. Too many sickly sweet scripts.)

Finally I found myself shut up in the cramped bathroom, holding the phone in my lap but exhausted now from reading that same message over and over. I hadn’t sent one to her in reply. I must wait till I could think clear. The initial excitement had died down, but now it pulsed in me warmer than embers. After a few minutes of dozing I tossed the phone onto the futon and practically floated back into the kitchen. With the leftover water from the teapot I made a small bowl of ramen. When the garlicky steam rose up to my nose my stomach did a sick flip flop. I stopped pouring the water. This was not good.

Turning my face away, I added the rest and carried it to the table. I stared at the floating carrot chips and poison-green peas floating among the noodles. I caught myself thinking absurdly that they looked like children’s toys, not food. Too bright these dried vegetables, like plastic pieces. I shoved at the noodles with my chopsticks and finally lifted a sheaf of them to my mouth. The second they hit my stomach I was on my feet and rocketing into the bathroom. My knees dug hard against the tile floor. The ramen was out of there. And so, it felt, were all of my major organs. I slumped back, finally, my throat feeling sandpaper-scraped. I moaned, my eyes teary. My hair felt too hot for my head. I messed with it and messed with it, trying to get it to stay back but it wouldn’t. Finally I dragged myself to the shower and took a cool one. While my hair was wet I pinned it away from my face.

I went out of the bathroom and stared at the phone. I felt awful. I was quivering on legs that felt no sturdier than twigs. I wanted to call Masa-chan, to tell her tearfully that I didn’t feel so well and would she please come over and hold me and explain to me the mystery of her strangely intimate message. I didn’t though. I didn’t call or text. Because I knew she would come, and I was exhausted and didn’t want her to see me this way, didn’t want her to try and persuade me to quit the performance, which would be another nightmare all its own.

Leaving my ramen and tea out on the table, I laid down in the cool sheets of the bed. My overheated mind began to wander instantly. It was that kind of strangely vivid wandering it does when you are on the brink of awake and sleep, that twilight time when you swear you hear clear snatches of conversation, see familiar faces and walk unfamiliar roads buzzing with detail. Voices I almost recognized floated around me in quick conversation. Flocks of black-winged birds flew through the ragged clouds over my head, beaded with rain. Suddenly I believed with every centimeter of myself that I was Elisabeth. My eyes found the knives on the kitchen counter. I reached weakly in their direction, thinking it was my time to sing and that I didn’t have my knife, and it was just too far away.

The sheets alternately burned and froze my skin. I kicked them away and then pulled them tight, shivering. I dreamed of walking across a rope and falling, but I didn’t hit ground I just kept falling and falling…

The voice wove complicated patterns through the air. The voice was my friend and my most terrible dream. It melted my skin and froze my heart. It was right in my ear, now tickling against my throat. I opened my eyes to pitch black. I was shivering so hard my teeth chattered. The sky outside my small window was obscured with dark clouds. I was stiff and terrified, and goosebumps had risen on my neck. I was afraid to turn my head and look towards the door; I knew a steely presence lurked there.

“What do you want?” I croaked.

The black shape detached itself from the wall and floated forward. The muted moon-glow shone on her polished nails and in her silver tumble of hair. I could not see much in the dark, but I could see her mouth quirked up in one corner, looking extremely satisfied. She was cloaked in sable fur; it flowed soundlessly behind her.

“Death.” I said. I could feel that my eyes were very wide.

“Naturally.” She cooed, and sat down against me on the bed. Her long fingers ran through my hair, pulled it away from where sweat had plastered it to my face. Where she touched, my misery seemed to drain away.

“I feel better…” I wondered aloud.

“Many do, after their time has passed… it is only that passing that sometimes hurts.”

My mind was too clouded to try and digest that. I felt generally that I should be alarmed, but found that I could not be.

“I cannot see you well,” I said. “Turn on a lamp.”

She paused, and smiled slowly. “No lamp.” She lifted her luminous eyes towards the window, and with her fingers made a turning gesture. The clouds opened like a curtain before the moonlight and the room flared in silvery, distinct, relief. I gasped. Death had Haruno’s face. Or was it Haruno, herself? I lifted my hand, felt a smooth cheek.

‘It’s you!” I cried. Tears actually came out and ran down my cheeks.

Death looked at me almost sadly, and caught my hand. “Yes, it’s me. My face pleases you, as I knew it would.”

“Masachan.” I sighed, my eyes falling shut. I was waiting for her to take me up in her arms. When those arms did not come I opened my eyes. No one was there. The room was dark. Death’s sudden absence terrified me more than her sudden appearance. With a stifled shout I snatched up my sheets and wrapped them fast around me, glancing around the room in fear. I expected icy fingers from every direction, stabbing weapons and leering undead faces. I moaned and fell back into the pillows. The world spun and burned around me. A small part of me, one that was still whole and coherent, cried out for help. There was something very wrong. I was no longer shivering. I felt…warm.

“Would you kiss me now, Asako?”

I gripped her slender shoulders and pulled myself up. I had known she was crouched above me for a long time, but I had kept my eyes closed and just listened.

Death’s silver hair glowed with the moonlight that had again grown outside my window. There was a feather from my pillow in her hair. I plucked it out carefully. She caught my hand and pressed it to her chest. One very aristocratic eyebrow rose. Despite the coldness in her expression, I felt safe and comforted near her.

“Answer me.”

“Will I kiss you?” I murmured.

She nodded, and her gaze was serious.

“That would mean…I die?”

She purred deep in her throat. “Would that be so bad?”

Her voice made fire stir sleepily in my belly. I swallowed, feeling thirsty but I could hardly focus on the strange spirit’s face, let alone a walk to the kitchen to locate a cup and water.

“I would miss things.”

“What would you miss that I couldn’t give you?” She said, moving closer to me. I stared at her, her face that was Masa-chan’s.

“I would miss her!” I blurted. It was so strange to me, so strange that it hurt my head: that I should be shouting that I would miss Masa-chan, but shouting it to Masa-chan’s face!

I pressed my hands over my face and moaned. “Leave me alone! I am not Elisabeth!”

There was a velvet silence. All the silences left by Death were velvety, I was learning.

“Ah, Elisabeth. You don’t want to be Elisabeth. You don’t want any of this. Your life as you knew it has twisted and you hate it. I don’t blame you.”

She sighed luxuriously and tossed her head of liquid silver. Her skin was white and poreless. There seemed to be no shadows anywhere on her face though she was cloaked in them everywhere else. She was so very close to me but she carried no scent, unless the moonlight flooding the window had a scent.

“Why are you saying that? To torture me?” I asked brokenly.

She pulled me into her lap. I blushed, but didn’t try to move. Her long nails were pressed flat across my stomach.

“To help you. What is there for you? What you loved has been taken away. And what’s more, they will move on while you are left here alone and defenseless.”

I dug my fingers into her knee and shook my head. “No, no! That’s not true, she just sent me a message, here. She misses me, she wants me there!” I groped around the wreckage of my bed for my phone, couldn’t find it. I began to grow frantic.

“It’s somewhere around here.”

Death gave me a poison-sweet, pitying look. I only let myself look at her from the corner of my eye, because I didn‘t want to see her face.

“I-I can’t find my phone, but she really did send me a message….I…I think she loves me!” I shouted boldly. “And I feel the same way!”

Death gripped my shoulders and flung back her head to laugh. I stared at her throat, and then she brought her head forward again, and I was accidentally staring straight into Masa-chan’s face.

“Haruno-san, doesn’t she always talk this way to everyone? ‘I passionately feel THIS way, and I passionately feel THAT way’? I thought that was just how she spoke. What separates you from everyone else? Haruno-san is a top star. She could have whatever and whoever she wants. She could have you if she truly wanted, yet she doesn‘t. Strange, that.”

My heart broke. I flinched away from Death when she tried to touch me. I hugged my pillow tight and pressed my eyelids against my hand. My dreams spiraled away from me and I knew my life for what it was. I had been dropped in the middle of a wasteland of hopelessness. All I had in my future was a hatefully tight corset and long skirts that I felt awful in and a troupe that didn’t accept me. I would have to flounce around the stage and be held by unfamiliar hands and pressed close to unfamiliar curves. And everyone from Flower would nod in a congratulatory manner to me afterwards when we passed, and then turn back to each other and whisper all the secrets that were Flowers‘ only. Haruno may have been my friend, but friends vanished as quickly as they were born, especially in Takarazuka. I had seen it. I had been part of it and its sad and fragile dance.

Cool fingers pulled the hair back from my face and throat. Breath tingled in my ear. Death, Haruno, Death, so close to me and holding me so kindly like a mother. I wound my arms around her. We became all hard edges under silken flesh, moving together. My mouth sought hers. Her lips spread in a dark, sharp-toothed smile. A hand stroked my thigh.

Her breath was in my mouth when the door to the dorm opened and banged against the wall. Someone tall and slender stood in the muted hallway light, as familiar to me as my own shadow. The body in my arms unraveled and vanished like mist. I cried out in joy and horror at once. I tried to speak as my rescuer snapped on the lights and moved to my side and gathered me up. I could hear words:

“Asako, oh Asako! Your skin is on fire! The neighbor said you kept talking and talking but there was no one here with you. She said you sounded strange.” She cupped my neck and tried to make me stand. I was trying desperately to answer her, but my tongue wouldn’t wrap around any words. My eyes would hardly stay open. My mind was giving up and could suddenly not supply the name of this person holding me, though my heart rushed with blood.

Lips pressed to my forehead, familiar smell washed over me and settled into my clothes. My tears smeared against her soft shirt.

“I am going to take you to a hospital, okay?” This voice was speaking to me. “You are very sick Asako, do you understand me? You are very sick.” Her voice sounded broken. Her arms held me even tighter.

“Oh I love you,” the voice said this time, but very softly. “I love you.”

I was being helped up and out the door. Two actresses were waiting in the hall. My mind still refused to give up names. I was nearly gone now. I was sinking away from myself. There was the girl with the red hair and the charming beauty spots on her face. There was the girl who had asked me to stay and clean, otter-eyes. They were touching me, and their touches were kind. They were speaking anxious things and then running off.

I looked over my shoulder, into my room filled with night. Death stood against my window. Her face was the moon wreathed in clouds. Her hair was the stars, the wave of the milky way. Her mouth was like a deep cut in the heart, and I could not tell if the mouth was angry or pleased or calm or filled with sadness. She raised a pale hand to me in promise. The curtains swayed over her, and when they swayed back, nothing.

I blinked. My hands were wrapped deep in this woman’s shirt. This woman carrying me away. I could feel her voice humming in her chest but no longer hear it. She was taking me to safety. I knew this. I needed no more words. And even though at this time there was no name my mind could grasp, my heart knew her name. It would always know her name.

NDK Pirate Lolita Thing

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 03:27:43 GMT

Nan Desu Kan is an anime convention for the Rocky Mountains and an excuse to post pics of yourself on the internet.