This is for Tumblr user @kawa-akarin who wrote me a wonderful Shingen smut for the 2017 SLBP Holiday Exchange. This is my thank you to her!
“Oh man.” Shigezane mumbles over and over again while raking his hand through his hair so many times it starts to feel greasy. “I have NO idea what to do. Like, none.”
He’s pacing the stable taking deep breath after deep breath, shaking his hands when they’re not in his hair.
“Like…what do people even talk about on these things?”
Shigezane’s horse, Kurodayu, lets out a whinny.
“No, I’ve had a lot of hookups - not actual dates. Hookups are easy! You don’t need to talk at all! This is different - maaaaaaaajorly different.”
Kurodayu gives shigezane and irritated look.
“That wasn’t a horse joke, just a human exaggeration! Anyway - you’re a girl! What sort of things do you like to talk about?”
Kurodayu let out a long sigh through her nose and looked down.
“Hmm? Your salt lick?” Shigezane crouches down to get a better look. “I don’t think she has one of these so I’m not quite sure…”
Kurodayu stamps the ground three times in a row.
“AH! That’s right! She cooks! That’s a great idea! I’ll talk to her about recipes and things…things I like to eat and make. I only really know how to make rice but that’s a great jumping off point! Thanks girl!” Shigezane leaps up and ruffles her mane appreciatively. Kurodayu lets out a delighted whinny and snort.
Shigezane’s confidence is fleeting though and in just a few seconds he is thoughtful once more. He reverts back to pacing and raking his hands through his hair.
“One topic isn’t going to be enough. I should have a backup in case she’s sick and tired of talking about cooking after cooking all day…”
Kurodayu steps up once more and huffs.
“What’s that?”
Kurodayu huffs again. Harder.
“Horses? You want me to ask if she likes horses? Well…It’s a bit of a stretch but hey - why not? You’re the best girl!”
Shigezane once more pats her appreciatively and feeds her a cracker from his pocket. It is when he does this that he suddenly looks at his outfit critically.
“What should I wear?”
Kurodayu whinnies.
“I can’t wear this! I smell like horse and crackers!”
Kurodayu lets out an angry huff.
“It’s okay for most days but not on a super fancy special occasion. Do you understand girl? I’m sorry I’m really not trying to offend you. I just want to smell - you know - like a man.”
He takes her by the muzzle and rests his nose against hers. Kurodayu doesn’t react but she doesn’t pull away either.
“How about you wear the blue kimono?” a voice calls out from the doorway.
Lord Ibano stands there holding the very kimono he just mentioned. He smiles and shakes his head.
“And how about you come to me and stop asking the horse for advice?”
Kurodayu rears up.
“Sorry girl, but he shouldn’t be putting this burden on you! You’ve had a long day and need to relax. You can’t let this guy be stressing you out too.”
Kurodayu settles down and turns around in her stable.
“Thanks.” Shigezane walks up to Lord Ibano.
“Don’t mention it, but seriously, next time just come right to me. I’m not a woman like Kurodayu here but I’ve had more than a few successful dates in my life so this old guy knows a thing or two.” Lord Ibano’s eyes crinkle with his smile.
“Really…thank you…I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous. I really l…l…like this girl. Like, like-like.”
“Love?”
“Yeah…maybe…yeah.” A tint of pink spreads across Shigezane’s face as he looks away.
“Well if you love her, be yourself and trust her to be on this date with you. She will be nervous too and worry about the conversation but just listen to each other and comment as you naturally would. I take it you two have conversed before?”
“Oh yeah! Plenty of times!”
“And it was fine?”
“Yeah! It was great actually!”
“Then don’t psych yourself out so much. Just relax, listen to her, and think before you speak. You’ll be fine.”
Shigezane looks back at Lord Ibano and takes a deep breath before flashing him his signature grin.
“Right again - as always.”
“I’ve been saying that for years.”
Shigezane takes the kimono from his hands bowing deeply.
“Thank you. Please pray for me and wish us luck.”
“I will pray for you now, but I’ll save the luck-wishing for your wedding.”
Shigezane’s eyes grow wide and he bites his lip. Lord ibano laughs.
“I’m kidding! Now go! Before you’re late!” He shoos Shigezane off with a wave of his hands. As Shigezane clears the hill to the castle, Lord Ibano lets out a happy sigh. “Half-kidding.”
“My name is Yahiko.” The boy beside Lord Kenshin was tiny. Smaller than everyone in the castle, almost the same height as Kanetsugu, but somehow smaller.
In other words, Yahiko was positively tiny compared to himself. He didn’t want to fight the small boy, he would crush him, so Kageie didn’t go out of his way to make friends with the tiny boy.
He… fit in somehow. A bit awkward in the way all growing boys who weren’t quite adults yet were, but alright.
Also, he was very jumpy.
It was like they had gotten a rabbit.
2. Oishī.
A small rabbit that could cook he amended a few days after his introduction. He was much better than the other castle cooks so hopefully, they got to keep him, if only for his food.
He could make kusa-mochi edible. He made Tsugutsugu’s bitter kusa-mochi sweet like they were supposed to be. A relief for his taste buds because Tsugutsugu was fast when it came to making others eat them.
“Yakko, food.” He plopped his head on top of his, his hair was soft, and tossed his arms over those tiny shoulders.
He barely stumbled with his weight this time.
3. Houchou.
Yakko would be very good with a tantou he decided, watching the swift cuts he made to the fish. No hesitation. A good thing on the battlefield.
“Hey, Yakko, want me to teach you how to fight?”
“No.”
That was a shame. He was small. And fast from the few times he had seen Yakko run.
“Are you sure? I’ll go easy on you.” He offered. Tsugutsugu was starting to get boring. And Yocchi never wanted to spar.
He blinked and stared down at the blade that was pointed at his throat.
“No.”
Kitchen knives suited Yakko’s hands more.
4. Kasa.
“You’re so small.” It was part complaint and part… he didn’t mind how small he was, compliment, observation?
But this was starting to hurt his back a little. If he straightened his back, the umbrella would be too high to cover Yakko and the rain was pretty heavy.
Not to mention, both of their feet were already covered in mud and their hakama were getting wet.
“Sorry about this.”
He seemed light enough.
“Yakko, hold this.” He handed the umbrella to him and then picked the smaller man up.
“Kageie-san!”
“Kakki.” He corrected. “We’re friends, so call me Kakki.”
5. Yomu.
Yakko was staring blankly at the scroll. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.
But, he was a commoner. Not a samurai or a noble.
“Yakko, do you know how to read?”
“… no.” Just as he thought.
“I’ll teach you how!” Yocchi popped his head onto Yakko’s and started pointing at the scroll. “This kanji is-”
“Yocchi, he needs to learn kana first before kanji.” His teacher hadn’t been merciful when teaching him the Chinese characters, but he could at least make sure Yakko didn’t suffer too much learning. “I’ll get some books for him.”
6. Okaeri.
“Kakki, you’re super lucky, you know.” He eyed Yocchi as he led him and his group somewhere after their wounds were treated. Rear guard was fun. The injuries not so much.
“What are you talking about? You want to join us?” Laughing, Yocchi shook his head and slide a door open.
A feast. There was no better word for it. It looked good for what wasn’t covered.
And there was a familiar form in the corner, fast asleep.
“When Yakko heard you were coming, he asked Lord Kenshin for permission to make a feast to welcome you back with.”
7. Moku.
“What is this for?” His stare was almost accusing. No doubt he still remembered their conversation in the kitchen.
Yakko didn’t want to fight. But that didn’t mean he should be defenseless.
“You’re too weak.” But still sturdy. “Some defense never hurts.”
A practice sword would hurt, but not in a permanent manner.
Just enough for him to get away.
“I still don’t want to fight.”
“But I won’t always get there in time, Yakko.” Good, Yocchi could do this. “We want you to be able to defend yourself a little, so please?”
He crumpled like paper in no time.
8. Ue.
He woke to a blanket being placed on him and a shadow cast over him.
Wordlessly, he lifted his arm up. An invitation. One he didn’t offer often.
“I have to help with lunch.”
He frowned. Yakko’s food was good and people would get upset if he deprived them of his cooking. So he just sighed and settled back under his blanket which was a haori. But too big to be Yakko’s. Who could have given Yakko one then?
Too much effort to think about he decided, closing his eyes again.
It smelled like sandalwood and felt like sunset.
9. Amai.
The first time Tsugutsugu offered his weapon-grade kusa-mochi, he was unaware. Afterwards, he ran, but that rarely stopped Tsugutsugu. Honestly, they should just equip Tsugutsugu with his food and let him throw them at the enemy. Or feed them. He was such an aggressive feeder.
The first time after Yakko’s arrival, the kusa-mochi was sweet for once.
Just like all the other sweets leaving Yakko’s kitchen.
He wondered what it said about him when he took to napping near the kitchen in order to wake up to a plate of sweets nearby with a pot of tea and a cup.
10. Neru.
He was pleasantly surprised when he woke up in a small human curled up under his haori. Or rather, one under and the other leaning on the wall right by him. It was rare for Yakko to not have a shadow called Ai behind him.
They were both so small that his haori easily covered both of them. It was warm enough he didn’t need it to nap.
Kanetsugu couldn’t scold them. He wouldn’t. He was oddly fond of Yakko though that might have had something with the way Ai followed him around.
A nap would be good for them.
11. Tōrō.
“Kakki-san,” Opening his eyes, he was met with soft lantern light being cast on the floor and Yakko looking down on him. “You missed dinner.”
Giving the smaller man a look, he deliberately dragged his eyes from his to the tray in his hand.
The action got him a giggle and the tray moved in front of him.
“Itadakimasu.”
It wasn’t bad. Eating on the veranda with a lantern’s light and Yakko’s quiet presence.
Perhaps he should keep doing this.
“Kanetsugu-san seemed annoyed with you not coming to dinner.”
Or maybe he shouldn’t. An irritated Kanetsugu was feared by all.
12. Kage.
Officially, Yakko was a page. Kenshin’s page. Or Kanetsugu’s depending on who snagged him first. And a cook.
Unofficially, as in Ai had decided it and no one ever denied her anything that wasn’t dangerous, he was Ai’s main caretaker.
Though, watching the two of them hang laundry up to dry from his spot on the roof, Ai looked like she could have been Yakko’s little sister. Or daughter if he was a little older.
“Nii-san, can we make mochi for Father today?”
“Of course.”
He was good with kids. Did he have a little sister in the capital?
13. Himitsu.
Yakko had secrets. And he wasn’t very good at hiding their existence. He supposedly had an older sister and a mother back in the capital. If anything, Yakko seemed more like Kanetsugu than Yocchi so did he have another sibling?
Not like it was in his position to pry when Yakko was mostly harmless. Unless it involved his kitchen.
Yakko was very good at not revealing his secrets.
“B-b-breasts!” Tsugutsugu covered Yocchi’s mouth before he could get louder.
Except, he couldn’t hide this one after falling into the pond. Then, loud stomps came before them.
“What is going on here?”
14. Shiragiku.
Well, in hindsight, he supposed it made sense. Yakko was built more like a willow and so light compared to even Kanetsugu, he had worried he wasn’t eating enough.
The wet clothes clinging to her frame made it quite obvious a woman had been underneath them.
“You’re soaked!” Grabbing a towel, Kanetsugu started to pat her dry. Not even blinking at her gender. He probably knew from the start.
So why did he let her stay? Did Kenshin know?
“Don’t just stand there! Get me another towel!”
Too troublesome to think about it now he decided, getting another towel.
15. Bijin.
“Yep, Yahiko’s a woman.”
So Kenshin knew too.
“Women are forbidden in the castle.”
“She’s here for Ai. Kanetsugu figured she could use some feminine influence in her life.” Then why weren’t they told in the first place?
The shifting and frowning meant he wasn’t the only one to think that.
“Yakko’s still Yakko.” Yoshichi decided with a firm nod. “So where is she?”
“Lord Kenshin?”
“Come in.”
The door to the main hall slide open.
Her still somewhat damp hair clung closely to her neck and he could see why they felt the need to hide her.
Pretty.
16. Aho.
Yakko, as she didn’t mind being called that, was an idiot, he decided, for continuing to stay when she could have gone home. It was a castle full of men and one girl, and, now, one woman.
“No. Spar with me.”
Oh, wait, it was their own fault for making her feel safe enough that staying was an option. There went Tsugutsugu dragging off his latest victim for a ‘spar.’
More like beating him black and blue. In the name of training so they couldn’t get in trouble.
And Kanetsugu seemed to approve of their methods.
Kenshin didn’t mind either.
17. Ku.
“Kakki-san, I made onigiri. Would you like some?” It was nice to hear her normal voice. Pleasant, not at all hoarse like she pretended it was to hide its high pitch.
“Yeah.” He sat up. Taking one of the balls of rice off the plate, he bit into it when something caught his eye.
Where had she gotten rouge? They always went shopping in town together so he would know if she bought something.
Did Lord Kenshin give it to her?
It was a nice shade.
He should warn Yocchi and Tsugutsugu. They were going to have more work now.
18. Namae.
The only people who knew Yakko’s actual name were Kanetsugu and Lord Kenshin. And no one asked her what her name was.
As if, if they did know, Yakko wouldn’t be one of them anymore.
It would be much more real that she was a she and not simply a beautiful man like Lord Kenshin. And happened to dress like a woman.
“Hey,”
“Yes, Kakki-san?”
“Your real name, what is it?”
Looking around and then gesturing him to lean down, it felt like she was telling him a secret.
Something private she was going to share just with him.
19. Nyuu.
It was dumb. It was no secret that Lord Kenshin was fond of Yakko. He doted on her constantly as evident by her growing collection of hair accessories and fine kimono. In addition to his habit to escaping the castle with her.
Lady Uesugi, they whispered in the halls. The rumors were flying around.
Before he didn’t pay attention to them, but these ones irked him.
Now he was downright irritated.
He wasn’t surprised by the fact that Lord Kenshin liked to do her hair.
It was the fact that he minded that surprised him.
It was just a hairstick.
20. Atsui.
Too hot to nap. Way too hot, even in the shade. Especially near the kitchen.
“Yakko,” He whined. From outside the kitchen, right where he could start to feel the heat. It was almost dinner time so it was hot from the flames.
“Yes?” Soft, but quick footsteps signaled her arrival.
… perhaps he shouldn’t have called her outside.
The sheen of sweat on her skin caught the setting sun’s light and there goes a drop down her neck and into… her… cleavage.
She looked good regardless of the weather.
“I want sweets.”
“After dinner if you’re still awake.”
21. Suki.
He wasn’t an idiot. He was very familiar with emotions contrary to what his comrades might think. He was a rather simple man. None of that complicated denial stuff.
The worst that could happen was Lord Kenshin taking offence in the scenario that she was his lover.
He might die.
But that was highly unlikely since she wasn’t the type to get retribution for anything.
Except messing with her kitchen.
“Kakki-san?”
He gestured to the spot beside him on the veranda and waited until she was seated.
“I love you.”
Oh, her surprised squeak was adorable. Along with that blush.
22. Aka.
“You can’t just say that!”
“I just did.”
He could wait until her stammered retorts ended. Except it didn’t look like she would be done anytime soon.
Softly, he called her name, putting a stop to her voice.
“I love you.” He repeated calmly. As calmly as he could with his heart thumping louder than usual. “I liked Yakko, now I love you.”
Well, her blush and attempt to hide behind her hands seemed like a good response.
Side Ponytail Relationship Success Support Squad – the ship no one asked for, I’m sorry!
Watercolor background by Balasoiu. Reference one & two
Officially, Kiyohiro oughtn’t approve.
Emotional attachments are liabilities in the shared business of Iga villagers, and he has seen their cost paid enough times to understand why they are considered so; it’s much easier to clean blood off your blade that never belonged to someone once held dear.
But there’s something nice about seeing them form, and blossom.
The softness in the Lord Assassin’s smile looks like it belongs there. Like its shape has settled and sealed some shattered foundation and strengthened it.
Put more simply—Saizo looks happy.
As for Kiyohiro himself, who is not overly prone to strong emotions one way or another, he finds that watching sunlight creep into a soul sworn to shadows makes him happy as well. He keeps this to himself—but he does his best to protect it. He delivers gifts from Oyuki (though often while wondering if doing so is protection or problem-causing), redirects the wayward Hotaru, puts forth his own blade to distract the mad Hojo ninja intent on Saizo’s attention, such that his odd ardour won’t disrupt few stolen moments of alone time the Lord Assassin takes with his little lady. It is an offering of admiration if not precisely friendship. He supposes that suits best—he is neither guardian, nor protector. He is not even quite shadow, for if he were, he would not interfere. He is an ally of sorts. An admirer.
He notices—because it is his job to notice things—the pretty maid in pink lingering in the hallway. Ostensibly, she is scrubbing the floors, but to his trained eye they are already sparkling and so the activity is suspect. From his place tucked in the dim, Kiyohiro grips his weapon, and waits, weary of another interruption to thwart, but her purpose becomes clear as soon as the younger Sanada lord approaches. She flings her arms around Yukimura’s to prevent his entry into the closed room, and he stops short, free arm frozen from where it would knock.
The little lord, as Saizo calls him, predictably, sputters, and stammers, a shocked caricature of himself in scarlet from head to toes. The pretty maid shushes him and shoos him away from his course with a sweet smile and smooth words. His mission forgotten, the samurai returns from whence he came, face still burning in a blush and inarticulate mumbles stuttering under his breath. The maid watches him go, and Kiyohiro watches her. Her fingers are steepled, her hair pulled to the side, and her cheeks are bright with her pleasure. She gives a wordless thumbs up to the closed door. Kiyohiro does not detect a smile has taken up residence on his own lips in silent accord.
The couple has another ally, it would seem.
(He makes a note to learn her name.)
He does.
He also learns that she meddles.
He can only suppose that’s what she’s up to now, as she lies in wait in the garden, visible to him from his perch on the roof where he waits for Saizo’s return. He knows she is waiting, because he’s seen her and the woman in blue with her take the wash down before, and this particular instance seems to be requiring twice the usual amount of time. That, and she keeps checking less than subtly over her shoulder with impatience in her lips. Kiyohiro raises an eyebrow at Kansuke, who has silently joined him, unnoticed by the pair of maids working on their tasks below. The other ninja’s expression remains blank, focused but unconcerned. He gives a faint shake of his head; the reason for their apparent languor is unknown to him as well.
They need not talk, but Kiyohiro supposes once more that it is a sort of kinship, in that at least they are not fighting, as so often their kind must when encountering one another. He lets himself relax, but notes Kansuke does not. The other man is not tense, but he is still as he always is, watching and waiting as the maid does. Kiyohiro thinks again of sunlight and reflects that perhaps Kansuke’s is a different sort than that which Saizo has found.
He’s amused for a moment, that they are all waiting. He, for Saizo, Kansuke, for his lord, and the maid—for what?
But it becomes clear when Shingen strolls down the halls, laugh hearty and full, and Umeko calls for him sweetly. Kansuke, who was at Kiyohiro’s side one second, is not the next. His absence is as whisperingly unremarkable as his arrival, and Kiyohiro knows better than to look for where he has gone. Instead he watches, as Shingen obligingly approaches, and Umeko artfully—or perhaps, artlessly, trips on her sandal, careening into her blue-clad partner, who is then flung forward towards and into her lord…
Kiyohiro supposes he should sigh, but there are advantages to being an unseen observer and so he smiles instead, a faint press upwards of his lips. In any case, Shingen not only has an armful of blue-dressed and blushing maid with stars in her eyes, he has Kansuke, and that makes such meddling not Kiyohiro’s concern.
He spares a glance for the unrepentant Umeko, regarding the Tiger of Kai and her friend with as focused and bright a gaze as a child receiving a treasure.
He shakes his head and hears the crows calling. When he turns to seek them, and so the one who has called him here in the first place, he catches a stretch of sunlight creeping up clasped arms in red and blue, and smiles.
Because he learned it, when he hears Umeko in Owari, he pays more attention than he might have otherwise. From his position behind the gold-robed Lord Ieyasu, he watches, and there is no one to watch him and so detect the flash of a concerned crease that appears between his brows.
Sure enough. There she is, expression sheepish but no less bright, far from the lands of Kai, and in the service of the Demon King.
He does not serve Nobunaga, so he does not offer up his knowledge.
But he watches.
She is still there, still in pink, still with her hair to the side and her thoughts clear on her face. He notes other changes with her arrival, most notably in the lord she serves, whose eyes follow what appears to be a lad, but to Kiyohiro’s observant skill is clearly a woman. His business is secrets, and the risks they may carry. So he watches, as the would-be lad slips into the kitchens, and emerges with a jar of sugar candies, Umeko at her side, urging and encouraging some romantic purpose.
He hears her confess in the sheepish, girlish whisper of confidences shared between friends and not meant for eavesdropping shadows, that she was dismissed for not getting her work done. Since she is, at the particular moment Kiyohiro is observing, making the tea too hot and too full such that when it inevitably spills its victim will need nursing, he is not terribly surprised to learn this.
He, who is wired to work and work well, cannot quite reconcile her methods. But perhaps because there is something about the mighty being nudged by the modest, or simply because he appreciates her for pursuing what he will not, and the fact no word of what she knows from her prior service spills from her lips to endanger those he admires, when the sunlight reflects off of the tray of too-hot tea pressed into the not-a-lad’s hands, he smiles.
The way to a samurai’s heart is, apparently, through his stomach. Kiyohiro files that away with quiet consideration as he watches Ieyasu—like Saizo and Nobunaga before him—fall in love with the daughter of a cook. For his own reference, he makes a note of the chef’s home town. He wonders if perhaps there is some new ninja clan forming in Kyoto, one that focuses on foods instead of more immediate seductions, but try as he might, can find no wile in the lady’s affections for the caustic lord they both serve.
But then, if she is a very good ninja, he wouldn’t, would he?
Worried, he holds himself quiet in the dark, and crafts a message in his thoughts to be later delivered to Oyuki, who would know such things and hear him out. The silver-haired kunoichi of Iga may seem flighty and unfocused, but even in his mind he gives her name the respect she has earned. After all, she always comes home, her missions complete and her skin unkissed by wounds. Her wiles are perhaps more… exuberant than others in the village, but Kiyohiro can appreciate the effectiveness of her methodology. Surely she knows of stomachs, and as this now involves his employer, it will not do to be caught unawares.
Having decided on a next action, he feels something like relief, until he notes that here in Ieyasu’s castle, just past the quiet space near his Lord Ieyasu’s rooms where he holds himself in silence, there is a maid in pink scrubbing the floors. She looks familiar. As he is wondering just where from, footsteps and squabbling echo down the corridor.
“But Lord Ieyasu—”
“Just be quiet and come along, kitchen wench!”
Kiyohiro winces, but the maid’s head shoots up with a delighted grin, and she overturns her bucket of water, grabs her rag and the the now emptyied vessel and scampers with great haste out of sight.
He knows her name, and in surprise, it flows from him in a whisper, and she turns, shrieking at his (what to her must seem) sudden appearance, but he grips her arm as gently as he is able in his frustration, and pulls her into his shadows.
What is she planning? What has she done?
“Your lord could have gotten hurt.” His voice is calm—it always is—but even he can hear the firm disapproval in its tone. The maid’s quick, darting glance to the side and muffled twist of her lips tells him she doesn’t really see that as a problem (her defiance baffles him, he who serves without question and eyes downcast).
“Weeeell,” she hedges, drawing out the vowel in the way of someone who doesn’t know where they’re going next. Surprised at himself, he feels his fingers tighten on her shoulders, and her pretty, dark eyes fly back to his. (He doesn’t notice how happy he is for that, but later, when he settles onto the rooftop to guard his liege’s door for the night, the stars remind him of that startled, brightly defiant stare). His voice is soft, but does not waver. “Or the cook,” He does not know her name, they all seem the same to him, so long as they are not a threat, “I believe you did not consider that?” That gets guilt, which flashes briefly before settling back into determination, and her chin juts up even as a slim finger bangs into his chest, poking just to the side of his heart, not far off.
In an insistent whisper, she hisses, “They won’t get hurt, they—”
“YAAACK!”
Splat.
Though he’s done nothing wrong—except, perhaps, fail to warn his employer of a threat—Kiyohiro tenses, and Umeko eeps in his arms, but wastes no time leaning her head back. The ninja is less eager to look, but she turns back to him, full smile coquettish and radiant with triumph. She giggles, and the finger that had been so willing to poke him now beckons. Uneasy, Kiyohiro obliges, peering for himself around the corner.
Because he knows what has happened—and who is to blame—Kiyohiro does not misunderstand the scene before him, but it would be easy to do. The little cook hovers inches from the ground, disheveled and wide-eyed, locked in her lord’s arms. Her alarmed hands have tangled in his golden robes, his are wrapped around her waist and up her back, their grip white and tight in the fabric, a picture of passion and shock and…
Kiyohiro has no desire to deal with having been caught witnessing such a scene and hurriedly pulls Umeko away and out of sight. The hallway only leads to their lord’s room, so deciding on the most expedient option to get them out of there, he scoops her up and darts up instead and out through the rafters.
Her gasp of shock is ignored, as are her arms, flung quick and tight around his shoulders. In the courtyard he sets her down and finds himself relieved that her cheeks are not pale in fright from his handling. She stares at him for a moment, and he dips his head, ready to return to his task when she asks, “Have I seen you before?”
It surprises him, that she’s asked. “Not if I have done my job well.”
She grins. “Of course, the…” She waves a hand at the rafters, and pink brightens the spots above her smile. “And you always do your job well, I bet.” He doesn’t have to say yes, she’s already nodding on his behalf. He lets her and stays quiet. “I don’t,” She confesses with a mischievous grimace, and out of courtesy he refrains from nodding on her behalf, “I mean to! I do! And I can but sometimes…” She trails off.
Kiyohiro thinks of slippery floors and close embraces, of fluttering sheets of laundry and trays of tea. “Sometimes circumstances are extenuating.”
“Yes.” Umeko looks relieved he understands. Which he doesn’t, exactly, but he has some sense of it. He bows, assuming their exchange is complete, and turns to leave when she seizes his hands. Hers are rough as his are, from a different sort of work than wielding swords and climbing buildings. “I HAVE seen you! You threw Lord Saizo’s crazy ninja down the well!”
He blinks owlishly at her. She is leaning in with delight, furtively glancing around, before whispering “At the castle of the Tak—” His hand is quick to cover her mouth in warning, well aware of how even whispers travel to the right, or wrong, ears. It is not so bad for him to have been there, but she is not—and he is certain of this now, for reasons he worrisomely cannot root in logic—a ninja, and would be called a spy and quartered. To his surprise, he realizes he would regret such a thing coming to pass.
Perhaps he is getting used to seeing pink wherever his role takes him.
She mumbles into his hand, breath warm and undeterred, “On Lord Saizo’s birthday!” Since she will talk anyway, despite the look he levels at her to warn her to silence, he drops his hand. “I know it must have been you because I thought at the time how we have the same style!” At his faint expression of confusion, her hands part, one going to her own ponytail and one to his. He catches the scent of something floral as she runs her fingers through their strands and thinks she is a rather strange person. It isn’t a bad thing, he supposes. “That was very sweet of you, to fight him off so they could have time together.” Uncomfortable with her praise, his eyes drop to the side, and he almost misses her next words. “You ship them too, don’t you?”
His brows furrow. The Takeda are more inclined to cavalry than armadas, and he wonders suddenly if she is a spy and knows something he does not, “Ship… them?”
“Yes! Together! Lord Saizo and his little lady! Oh they were just so adorable, don’t you think?” She’s sparkling again, Kiyohiro thinks, and it reminds him of sunlight. He tries to remember that he’s always been fonder of the rain, and wondesr what Lord Saizo would make of being deemed adorable. “Just like Lord Ieyasu and his sweetheart.” There, again. Sweetheart and Lord Ieyasu are hard to put together in the same sentence, but Kiyohiro cannot deny a soft spot for the capricious man. Though he can lie, as doing so is often critical to his survival, he prefers not to if it is unnecessary, and so once again he says nothing and once again Umeko does not seem to mind. “Oh it won’t be long now with them, it just won’t! I wonder if perhaps there is some way to speed it along.”
“Speed what along?” Kiyohiro murmurs, unaware he has asked out loud. Umeko looks at him like he is silly, and that seems very unfair to him. He is not the one sparkling.
“Their relationship of course. Their love story!” He puts it together then, ship and shipping with relationship, and considers again that she is a bit strange, but Umeko is still talking. “Isn’t love beautiful?” Her eyes have gone starry, the question ending in a sigh. The honest answer, that he wouldn’t really know, rises in his throat, but her gentle, roughened hands are clasped once more in dreamy appreciation, misty in her smile, and he says nothing. “They just need a bit more of nudge.” The misty dreaminess abruptly skews towards something more purposeful, and a warning bell chime in his mind, “I wonder…”
“He is your employer.” Kiyohiro murmurs, asking at last what he has longed to know. How can she so flippantly insert herself into his affairs? It is reckless, and so against what he has been taught and how he is that he cannot help that it sounds like an admonishment.
“Of course. Don’t you want him to be happy?” He did, but that fell into the category of not relevant to doing his job well, so he didn’t act on it. “And I’m sure he’s marginally more pleasant to work for when he is.” He frowns at her, because that is even less relevant, but she flaps a dismissive hand. “Oh don’t give me that scary face! You aren’t half as scary as Milord Ieyasu is.” Kiyohiro isn’t certain if he should be amused or insulted. He settles for neutral—it’s never bad to be underestimated. “Oooh you have a sword, don’t you?” She’s only just now seen? Kiyohiro worries for her sense of self-preservation. “Perhaps you could kidnap her, or prete—”
“No.” The gentleness of his speech does not make the statement any less iron-clad. That is a line he will not cross, however appreciative he is of this determined woman’s fearless efforts in pursuit of… ships. He believes he’s gotten that right.
She puffs her cheeks out in a pout, but moves on quickly enough, tapping her chin in thought. “Well, I suppose I could ask the fellow in the market who’s sweet on me to do it…”
He feels a flash of unexpected irritation, and tells himself it is because he does not wish for harm or fear to come to anyone, and does not appreciate her disregard of the risk. It is uncharacteristic of him to interfere. He should leave her to her machinations, return to the shadows, and be unsurprised when she is dismissed for her efforts. It’s something he knows, but he closes his eyes, and then opens them, and wonders what he is doing. “May I present you an alternative?”
She giggles. “You’re so formal.” So he’s been told, but that’s his nature. She tilts her head in a way that sends her silken bangs into her eyes, considering him. Without realizing, he brushes her bangs aside, and only realizes what he’s done when her cheeks turn pink. He yanks his hands back, and she stumbles in her words, “An alternative?”
He apologizes silently to Ieyasu’s page, but it is better than her staging violence. Surely. Or, not that he wishes to admit it, going to someone else. “The young lord, Ii Toramatsu would… appear to hold affections for the same lady.” He offers this with great reluctance. It’s not as though he has been asked to keep the secret, not as though it bears relevance to anyone except a matchmaking maid in pink. Still, it is enough enough unlike him to freely offer information when his business is secrets to be sold that his brow furrows once more in concern with himself.
(Kiyohiro does not see how but it seems unwise to offer that up.)
She doesn’t seem to notice, and continues, “We can certainly use that.”
“We?” Kiyohiro blinks, but her arm is tangled around his, freely and willingly, and the soft pink fabric looks bright against navy armor and red rope. She squeezes cheerfully and drags him down the hallway to some unknown purpose. He could escape, but he doesn’t.
“Well sure! We’re partners now! The Side Ponytail Relationship Success Support Squad!”
Kiyohiro frowns.
Umeko pouts. “Alright, maybe that’s a bit much of a mouthful. We can be—” She pauses in surprise, “I don’t know your name.”
To his surprise, he wants to tell her. Wants to give her the truth. He doesn’t like to lie, unless it is necessary, but it is in this case. So he lies, and tells himself there is no reason to regret it, as she’ll never know. “Kiyohiro.”
She beams, “Kiyohiro! It’s nice to meet you.”
He has to smile at that, thinking of shadows. He murmurs gently, “I’m uncertain you would find any to agree with you.”
She sniffs, “Well poo on them.” His eyebrows raise, but she ignores it, as usual he is beginning to suspect, “I’m Umeko.”
He doesn’t tell her he knows already.
Manners dictate the response, for all that it is also true. “It is nice to meet you, Miss Umeko.”
“Of course it is,” The confidence is tempered with a tinkling laugh that tells him she is aware how silly she is being. Conspiratorially, she tugs on the elbow she’s captured, and he obliges, lowering his ear closer to her height. “Next? I think we should hook up Lord Tadakatsu. He’s such a sweetheart, he just needs the right partner, you know? And we can find them! Or perhaps poor Lord Toramatsu. Yes, yes I think he will need to be next, the poor dear, since his lady love is desperately smitten with someone else. Even if they are both stubborn and won’t admit it yet, silly dears. But we can help! They’ll find love with our help! I’m sure of it!”
He is less so, and uncertain that he should spend his time on such pursuits when he has work for Lord Ieyasu and the village to see to, but she’s smiling, and it is bright as sunshine.
