Eizen stood between the dark-haired man and where Fuchi knelt before her parents, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the young woman, save for her hair being a deep shade of brown and a man who was short, just an inch or so taller than Fuchi with a head of thinning blond hair. The man had entered just in time to catch the tail end of demands given by her parents, that she was to gather her things and return home immediately— that they had already arranged for her to be married without her knowledge, that contracts had already been drawn up and a date had been set, a date that was coming sooner rather than later. The elder Yamada Asaemon had tried to negotiate with her parents, not only because Fuchi was an important asset, but because he had already guessed that the blooming nature of her relationship with his former pupil, it didn’t take a genius to decipher the small glances and stolen moments, still, the offers he had given them fell short of their demands. The clan she was to be wed into had more impressive merits, higher born samurai who worked close with the shogunate.
Only days before had she breathed her feelings for Shu to life; she swore could still feel the warmth of his flesh against her own as she whispered admissions of her affections against his lips. Now she felt like a fool, not because she regretted what she had done, but because in a way she felt as if she had betrayed him.
This..this was simply the way of the times they lived in.
So far she had been able to maintain her composure and hold herself in a way that was befitting of her station, though as she heard the harsh slam of the shoji being slid open, she would curl in on herself, her shoulders slumping as shame washed over her. The blonde hung her head, her knuckled white from how hard she grasped at the fabric of her hakama, the shame pooled hot behind her eyes before it spilled over. Slowly, she turned her gaze to look at him, her cheeks glistening with thick, hot tears as she let out a broken sob.
“S-shu…”
The young woman moved quickly, scrambling to her feet before her father would reach forward and anchor her in place, she might not have been the strongest of her comrades, but she was one of the quickest. Before anyone could stop her, even Eizen himself, she had thrown her arms around Shugen’s torso, her face burying into the man’s chest, salty tears dampening the charcoal robes he had been gifted, though the contact was but a fleeting moment for her father’s hands were already prying her from her beloved Shu.
“I think it best that we take our leave,” her mother spoke firmly as she picked up the bundle of her daughter’s things from where they sat on the tatami, a stack of books, a change of clothes, and a few trinkets she had picked up, the most treasured being a beautiful kushi Shugen had returned with on one of his ventures, an item she treasured dearly.
After that day, she had not seen him for nearly a year and with each season that passed, her longing to be at his side never once waned, even as she would lay next to her husband, she could only clutch the comb he had given her as if he would simply come to sweep her away if she wished for it hard enough for it, but she also knew him, she knew he would never come for her, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was a man that lived strictly by the laws of the land and she would not tempt him.
Not even if she lived such a miserable life for it was expected of her and she had no say in the matter, marriage was not something as simple as vows or companionship, it was an exchange of property, money, and flesh and in that exchange all were seen as the same thing, she was her husband’s property, his word was law and if she tried to run she would only be met with punishment by both her husband and the law, if seen fit.
The man she called husband was cruel to a degree, cruel in a way that allowed others to be able to turn cheek without guilt, cruel with precision for he knew how to cut her deep. The books she had treasured- her journals that held every late night of research and every note she had written during her dissections, he had thrown them in the hearth just to see her mourn her life’s work before telling her that “A woman’s only job is to bear her husband’s heirs.” It had been only the beginning of his cruelties, though she had not simply rolled over, not at first, she rebelled in silence, sneaking literature into their house, planting medicinal herbs in the flower garden, and the boldest of her actions was wearing the decorative comb Shu had given her whenever she ventured into the village to shop.
It was on one of those very ventures, when she was draped in a peach colored kimono woven from fine silks that she would cross paths with the man that truly owned her heart. Seeing him had nearly stolen the breath from her lungs, she had frozen in place, her small coin purse clutched tightly in her hand.
One would figure a shut in would despise the outdoors, would not bother with enveloping themselves in natures beauty, but this, this moment of tranquility, surrounded by beauty, it offered the perfect opportunity for rest, to refuel and focus for a moment on the little things in life. All one needed is the perfect spot, food to fill one’s belly, a book, and a warm lap to rest one’s head upon.
The warmth of the boulder soaked through the fabric of his hakama, warming his cool flesh in a way that could only be described as utterly pleasant, it made him understand for a moment why felines were so accustomed to sunbathing. The warmth from the sun kissed rock mixed perfectly with the cool air carried off the pond by the breeze, a perfect balance, just like them.
Fuchi busied himself with his skewer, his teeth cutting through tender charred flesh, his tongue occasionally flitting over his lips in an attempt to clear away the juices, though some still escaped his attempts, a mix of juices from the meat and the sauce that had coated the eel glistened on his chin unbeknownst to him, a small wavering in dining etiquette, one he only let slip in little intimate moments like these.
“I had a feeling that you would appreciate this place.”
He would not look at the other man as he spoke, but instead he would take a moment to look around again, to really look. To admire the quality of the blossoms that adorned the weeping branches of the willow trees like spilled gemstones, to the patch of moss that sat atop of a smooth stone on the bank of the pond, a perfect, soft layer of green- he wondered if the frogs found it to be a pleasant basking spot.
Placing the book he had brought along beside him, he would turn his gaze towards the dark haired man, a small smile painting his features as he would carefully place the oil stained stick down beside the aforementioned book. A faint shade of pink dusted his cheeks as he cleared his through, his gaze cutting away for a moment.
“I wanted you to be the first to see it,” the tone he used was a casual one, but the meaning behind those words was anything but. “With me,” he added as he brought his knees up to his chest, leaning his cheek against his knee cap as he would hug his legs.
Viscera and mud caked up to her hocks, the fine hairs that skirted her hooves matted and slicked down like tangled tendrils crafted from thick, half dried ink, her hooves packed with dirt and the odd bit of bone and splintered wood that she had picked up from storming about the once chaotic battlefield, now she drug along, looking for something, something to eat, something to drink, a task that had been significantly easier when she was human with coin. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed about the bloodstained grass— not fit to eat and so she would move on through the grotesque tangle of corpses.
The mare only clung to the hope that looters would come if anything, at least they could lead her to food, to a village with people, even if she knew that they would only do so to sell her off to the highest bidders, nor could she blame them, underneath the grime and blood, she was a well bred beastie, her coat a lovely piebald pattern, she was strong, sturdy, yet still held the fluid grace of the lady she had once been.
Beneath her back right hoof bone crunch, cool, thick crimson painting the hardened keratin as she trudged on, she didn’t mean to mutilate the dead, but she was growing much too tired to take her time to watch every single step she took, she was hungry, tired, and dirty, the worst possible combination of things. She missed her bed, missed nights curled by the warmth of the hearth, and most of all, she missed a hot bath.
It wasn’t until she heard the footfall of another living creature that she would pause in her silent march that held no clear destination, her delicate ears, like curled petal, perked up, swiveling towards the intrusion as her broad neck turned, angling her gaze towards a large stallion who seemed to look just as ragged and dirty as her, yet he only stared at him for a moment, the silent intelligence that outweighed that of a simple mare glinted in her eyes for a moment before she turned away and began walking one more. She hadn’t ignored him trying to be rude, she simply believed him to be like the other horses she had encountered, smart, but not like her, not human.
His tongue rasped hot against the fresh wound, the metallic bite of iron watching over his canine tastebuds as he nursed the other man’s weeping wounds— this wasn’t the way he typically did wound care, in fact, he believed this to be quite unsanitary, but his newfound instincts guided him instead of his human logic, that and the fact that he no longer possessed hands. The past week had been quite jarring, from being turned into mutts to the fact that some of the people in the very town they served treated them horrifically, it was why he was currently having to nurse Shu’s wounds. A local butcher had seen them perched just a tail too close to where he disposed of scraps and retaliated by whipping the bigger dog quite viciously with a bamboo cane, the smaller of the two had gotten away with just a sore paw where an odd strike caught his toe.
“The cruelty of man never ceases to amaze me,” he murmured bitterly as he drug his tongue along a shallow gash that adorned the black dog’s spine, his teeth chattering as he attempted to extract a splinter from where it had been forcefully buried in his companions flesh. “We got lucky…your wounds are superficial, they won’t require sutures, though even if they did, we have no access to the materials I would require.”
Giving one final nip at the splinter, he finally caught it between his teeth, pulling the shard of bamboo out with one swift jerk of his head, spitting the splinter onto the packed dirt of the alley he gave the wound two final licks. “Done…we just need to keep an eye on it, for infection.” Fuchi would press his cold, wet nose against the other’s jaw, nudging him in a way that teetered between comfort and insistence. “We should find cover, I can smell rain.”
Food could wait, he could find something for them later while Shu rested- even if he had to snag something from a vendor if it came down to it, he could always pay once they were human again…if they became human again…though he knew Shu would be opposed to such a thing.
The warbled cry of a cat cut through the droning hum of cars passing nearby, the shrill clattering of bottle knocked over and the erratic thumping of paws against pavement quickly followed like dominos. It was late, the hour was pushing midnight when the blond had ended his strenuous shift at the medical examiner’s office, he had been working nonstop for days after the recent rise of homicides in the area. The bodies recovered had been mutilated beyond recognition, their body had been stripped of hair, identifying markers such as birthmarks, tattoos, and even teeth, so far the only thing he had been able to discern was that the victims were both male and female, the ages ranging from roughly seventeen to twenty-seven, only one identified, a young women who had recently been kicked from her family home, identified only by a partial fingerprint where it appeared that the killer had gotten sloppy with his work.
A sigh escaped the young man’s lips as he leaned against the grimy wall of the alleyway, his dark gaze cutting upwards, trying to find any semblance of stars through power lines and the pollution of city lights. He would find none so instead he would slip a hand in his jacket pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter he had snagged from a coworker earlier in the day— usually he was not the type to entertain such unhealthy habits, but tonight he needed this little reprieve from the eviscerated youths in his care.
The taste of ashen air washed over his tongue, accentuated by the faint burning tang of menthol, the flickering red and pink neon sign from the lounge across the street painting the pale angle of his jaw as if he were a canvas. Slowly, he exhaled, the acrid cloud of burnt tobacco dancing up towards the starless night sky, his free hand tucked away into the pocket of his jacket, the hood pulled up over the top of his head as allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment.
He was ready to go home, ready to finally rest his weary bones for a few hours before repeating the same cycle of cutting flesh, photographing findings, and sending off samples to be processed. Usually tomorrow would have been one of his days off, but there was simply too much to get done, bodies were piling up and the investigators were no closer to catching this prospective serial killer.
Still, the long nights were beginning to weigh on his shoulders, he was tired, the stress hand been catching up with him, so much so that he couldn’t sleep at night, his appetite was well…lets just say his meals comprised of coffee, cigarettes, and the occasional bit of instant noodles.
Maybe he did need a night off.
Fuchi only let out a sigh as he put the cigarette out on the cool brick he had been leaning against, grinding the butt against the grit of graffitied brick before simply holding it in his hand— not wanting to spread litter, well, more than what already dotted the ground. The man pushed himself from the wall before he turned, walking towards the mouth of the small side street, his hands finished the small metal bits of jewelry from his pocket, securing them back in their proper places, lip, tongue, and ear, apparel deemed inappropriate for the workplace.
On the island of Kazan business was not discussed until after dinner, it was the King’s personal preference, his unshakable rule, one that many had tried to push past only to face immediate rejection.
Most were confused on why such a ridiculous rule had been put in place, some figured the king simply didn’t want his final meal of the day ruined with trade deals or alliances gone sour, though the true reason was so that newcomers could truly enjoy the small island and its people before taking action against them, it gave time to win wavering hearts.
It was why he had been introduced to her highness, the princess of Kazan, Aito Kagutsuchi. Not only was she the princess, but she was to inherit the throne, though this pairing between them was not meant as a subtle seduction to sway his decision, it was to show him the heart of the little island and to allow the budding heiress to begin weaving her own web of connections.
“His majesty will take audience with you this evening, though he implores you to enjoy what this island has to offer, he is sure you will find something to your liking, as do I.” The young woman spoke softly as she offered out her hand towards the man, her dark gaze flickering up towards him, charcoal eyes glimmering with an unspoken curiosity.
It seemed, in this setting at least, that she stood poised, every aspect of her person carefully curated to make a good first impression, from the way her impossibly long mane was carefully curled and pinned back, to her collar which was angled perfectly to accent the elegant arc of her neck, even the scent of her perfume held a powdery sweetness befitting that of a princess. Though it was what was expected of her, to present her best self to those outside, but she was still eager to show off her home, there was something genuine about the enthusiasm that carved itself into the soft curve of her smile.
“I hope you being roped with me for the afternoon doesn’t breed disappointment, I know most are more eager for an audience with my uncle.” She began, her words coiling with a playful lilt. “Do you wish to begin your stay by touring the village or the palace grounds?”
The scent of copper hung heavy in the late night air like a fog, not only the rancid blood of the demon that she had cut down, but her own.
Crimson sputtered past the young woman’s lips as she took a step forward, the movement burdened by the sluggish dizziness that came with blood loss, her left hand clutched tightly at the wound that adorned the delicate curve of her through, like a choker crafted from deep crimson and exposed flesh. Pearls of viscous liquid beaded between her sword calloused fingers before spilling over, painting her arms like cracks in porcelain. The flow of blood was much too fast for her liking, she needed help and she needed it quickly, a feat that felt utterly impossible with how her legs shook, threatening to buckle beneath her weight.
She was usually so careful in battle, she was usually paired with a another who complimented her own skills, but this night he had found herself alone, the slayer she had been teamed up with for this particular mission had never showed, well, not before the demon did. This particular fight had pushed her past her limits, yes, she was quick and strong, but the delicate state of her lungs only allowed her to act in short bursts before she would need a moment to recoup, a luxury that she was not allowed on her own.
It had only taken a moment, one single moment when the agony burning in her lungs slowed her final strike just enough for the creatures razor sharp claws to part the thin skin of her throat like a pairing knife slicing through an over ripe peach. Another wet cough jolted her body as she stumbled sideways, her shoulder knocking against the trunk of an ancient tree as her own ichor spilled thickly past her lips, hitting the ground with a wet slap.
That’s when she heard it, the rhythmic thud of hooves against packed earth, though she found herself unable to turn and look at the owner of said sound, her head was spinning much to fast to ever turn her dull gaze from the blood stained grass at her feet.
