Speak Your Mind [TBtP] [Closed | Tomie]

"Roll up your futon."

These are the very first words Tomie Magahara greets her guest with, as he prepares to leave his room, book in hand. She leans on the side of the door with her shoulder, unfeeling eyes judging the boy from the above. "Since you are to stay here as my guest, I expect your room to remain in immaculate condition when you leave it." A callous drag of the long pipe follows, saccharine smoke circling in her esophagus before she unleashes a mouthful into the space between the two.

She peeks inside, over the white-haired child, to further examine the status of the room. It appears as if the futon is the only item she can complain about. Not that she is going to tell him that; she is not particularly fond of children and will rather keep them on their tip-toes and refrain from handing out superfluous compliments. People do, after all, need to retain a healthy awareness of their own personal defects.

"Did I stutter?"

There is little impatience in her voice as she looks at the dumbfounded kid, eyebrows barely furrowed, retaining her composed demeanor even when emulating impatience. "Most of my girls leave their futons out, but that is primarily for practical purposes, so I have no right to scold them. But you," a hand extends from underneath the flowing sleeves of her kimono, folded fan pointing directly at the boy. "are a different case. I was tasked with taking care of you and I therefore expect you to spend a minimal amount of time in here."

While the prospect of entertaining some random brat doesn't exactly tempt her, she had promised the boy's master that she would take care of him to the best of her ability in his absence, even if it means attaching him to her hip with a leash. The kid does seem like the malleable sort, judging by this very brief first encounter, but Tomie is in no mood for ambiguity. In addition, this is just a kid she is dealing with, not an autonomous adult. He can be commanded around as she sees fit.

Navy blue fabric flows as she turns around, towards a shelf behind here, where she places the pipe. Upon turning around again to face the room, she scans its contents briefly. Doesn't look like this kid has much. Not that I would expect that from a Rukon soul. "Your name is Shigure, correct?" She doesn't wait for much of a reply before she continues. "As your master likely already told you, my name is Magahara Tomie, and I am the owner of this establishment."

Her eyes trail over to the book she had noticed earlier, as it is one of the few possessions she managed to see in his presence. That is a rather raggedy-looking thing. I wonder where that could have come from. A lock of hair falls down in her eyes, while pondering, causing her to exit the brief trance. "I hope you are hungry, as we will be serving sushi for lunch soon. Come to the entrance area when you are ready."

And with these words, the dark-haired madam departs, leaving only a firm first impression in her wake.

Oh!!

In his carelessness, he had somehow not noticed the slender woman towering by the doorway. Shigure managed a gasp in awe of the immediate splendour about her. From the rouged lips to the array of decorations pierced into a chignon of dark hair, any conflicting distinction of modishness against nostalgia was only blurred by thin veils of smoke curling from her kiseru. A trailing kimono of navy silk and brocade swirled around a feminine frame that exuded a mix of haughty sensuality: she was stoic in visage but intimidating in demeanour, and her curt greeting of sorts had startled the sheepishly smiling boy. He glanced at the bed before bowing. Upon his return from this deep bow, he was greeted by a miniature cloud of smoke.

"This one apologises - It won't happen again! Shigure will take care to leave this room as immaculate as freshly fallen snow."

His abashed look dissolved into a cheery beam as he tottered over to his futon and began - with some difficulty - to roll and fold the pressed fabric, but not before gently placing his book on a nearby table.

Speaking with the same curtness as before, the madam made mention of a meal to be had as well as asking for his name.

"Oh, 'Boy' and 'Child' are equally appropriate, Ms Magahara! And you are most kind to offer a boy lunch - but Shigure wishes to keep to his promise and would like to finish rolling his futon fir-"

With kimono momentarily billowing behind her, Moyamoyasumi's august proprietress left Shigure to his own devices - seemingly unimpressed at the eager child.

Huh. She must be so incredibly busy... I am very lucky to have received a welcome at all! I wonder if she will be present at lunch... I need to thank her properly for the hospitality! 

He continued to wrestle with the futon amidst gasps of amounting frustration. Shigure had never even encountered such a thing until now - living first in poverty and then in ascetic frugality with a travelling monk, simple bamboo mats and blankets had been the norm for as long as he could remember. 

At long last, the sheet of padded quilt had been folded evenly. The boy squatted on the cool tatami with a look of accomplishment for a moment to marvel at an otherwise unremarkable endeavour, and scooped up his prized (albeit tattered) book before leaving the room.

It would be rude to keep them waiting...!

Turning out of his room with hurrying strides, Shigure realised he had hardly looked at how the building's interior was organised and decorated. The corridor snaked across the length of the establishment, allowing for a considerable number of rooms dotted along its winding passage. Accidental glances into rooms with their doors left slightly ajar revealed a wealth of wares. The sight of musical instruments, precious ceramics, and lacquered boxes of immaculate construction cemented his assumption that he was in a treasure-trove. Then, the awed smile quickly faded into a frown upon his unblemished face.

But why does everything feel so... contradictory? 

Having been taught the beauty of nature, simplicity, and imperfection, Moyamoyasumi felt lavish yet empty - as though the conspicuous consumption merely acted as a suffocating facade for something else entirely. While Shigure was nothing short of grateful for being granted such comfortable surroundings, he would have been far happier in a run-down shack in the woods with the rain as his music and the moon as his company.

The white-haired child then dismissed his fantastical thoughts and found himself at the aforementioned entrance of the building, peering around in hope of finding Ms Magahara and the lunch he had been offered.



- - - - -




WC: 611 | GP: 12 | TGP: 20

This boy, everything that he does seems to be caught by some sort of innate inertia that slows him down. He is still talking when she promptly asks him to hurry up, idly rolling up his bed with a stupid expression on his bratty, little face. "Shigure it is," she remarks resolutely, sending him a leering side glance as she prepares to depart for the hallway. "Don't refer to yourself with humble replacement pronouns, child. It doesn't suit someone your age."

She takes the same route she is used to traversing, moving through the serpentine hallway on auto-pilot as the flavor of sweet tobacco subsides into bitterness in the crevices of her mouth, paying more attention to the thoughts welling up following this first meeting. What pretentious mannerisms. I can see how the monk has imprinted his language on this white-haired brat. There is a weak rumble emerging from beneath the massive robes she has draped her body in, her stomach protesting to the fast it has been subjected to. Cease the noise. Lunch will be served, as long as the boy hurries up and meets me there without dawdling.

But her empty entrails do not listen to rational explanation offered, instead protesting even louder as the madam approaches the shoji leading to the hallway.

As the doors part her, she is greeted by a familiar sight: women dressed up in neat kimonos, faces painted white, lips red, mouths covered by their hands as they smile and giggle, courting vaguely inebriated men. Behind the counter, where Tomie herself would usually stand, is a woman who, like herself, looks underdressed in comparison to the younger-looking girls surrounding them. While this one does not look as senior as the head honcho herself, there is a distinct sense of maturity on her face; she focuses primarily on talking to some men who look notably less intoxicated than the ones being courted. Her hair is not placed in a shimada or other ornate updos, like the majority of the employees, but a simple bun with a clip keeping it in place, with a notably less severe layer of makeup on.

Once all the men have either been directed towards a vacant girl or room, or left the building to return later, the madam approaches the girl, who is now scribbling in an antique-looking book with a veil of concentration draped across her face. "I hope everything is going well so far, Mariko." Her voice is cautious, as to gently bring the girl out of the trance of writing. She looks up and sends her a stiff smile of uncanny similarity to that of her employer's. "Oh, Mamahara," she exclaims, as if surprised by the giantess' sudden appearance, before putting down the brush. "Everything is going well on my front. There are quite a few customers, but nothing I can't handle."

The girl's russet eyes glitters with inquisitiveness, unveiling the question on her mind before the tongue can utter it. "What is the kid like?" With crossed arms, Mariko tilts her head slightly as if this would help extract answers from her superior. "He's a brat." The words are curt, but not unexpected, as the madam sees on the corners of Mariko's orange lips, slightly curled into a restrained smile. "I'll be seeing to it that he gets some manners. Has Ren brought our lunch to my room?"

The girl just nods before pointing towards the shoji on the opposite end of the room, with them being gradually pushed open as Shigure enters the hallway.

Chocolate eyes flicker from guests to employees, subjecting them to an indiscriminate callous scrutiny. All of them are looking at the child who has entered as if he would be a monkey at a dog convention. He is rather out of place, truth be told, but he is not the one committing faux pas; that would be the other people present staring at him. "Come." The madam's commanding, yet calm voice cuts through the silence as she gesticulates towards him, turning her back as she heads for her room.

Tomie stops near the door, waiting for her grey-haired guest to approach before she opens the door and gesticulates for him to enter. "Please excuse the paperwork."

Compared to the other rooms of the estate, this one is not nearly as dripping in extravagance; there is a table in the back with trinkets and overflowing scrolls, books and loose sheets of paper. There is a relatively simple bamboo shelf with more organized scrolls behind a petite, mostly vacant table, save for the two boards with food and a potted orchid on the center, with one cushion on each end. The only item standing out is a spacious wardrobe filled to the brim with kimonos and sashes.

"Have a seat and sit properly." The woman points at the cushion on the right end before situating herself on the one to the left. It seems Ren has really outdone herself this time. The boards, which have identical content, are decorated by ornate pieces of sushi wrapped in nori and rice of different varieties; she spots salmon, shrimp, tuna, catfish and many other varieties. "Let's eat, then," the madam remarks as she picks up the wooden chopsticks on the side. "I suppose it might be possible that you have never had this particular dish, hmm?" With indoctrinated elegance, she picks up a wasabi piece with her chopsticks before dropping it into a tiny container of sauce.

Judgmental eyes peered back at him from the rows of faces, causing the boy to shyly look down to the floor and fidget slightly.

"Um..." A hesitant mumbling could be heard as he struggled to find the words to speak in his tiny voice.

I should not be here… Everything I do and say seems to be at a fault with the people present. I want to feel welcome and express my gratitude and cause no trouble and yet-

A clear decree cut through the inquisitive stillness of the room and Shigure had no choice but to obey, shuffling towards the madam with thoughtful worry. The hunger had been replaced - leaving him sated on his own apprehension.

Upon entering the room, lilac-grey eyes fluttered briefly over the interior so as not to appear overly prying. It was modestly decorated, though hardly short of comfort and beauty. Paper records and documents were in abundance, while the furniture had a more minimalist air. This sophistication, despite being significantly more subdued in comparison to the grandeur of the other rooms, still placed the child in a cage of unease. In fact, the change in surroundings only amplified the madam's almost regal presence, causing the anxious boy to become increasingly withdrawn. The smiles once on his face were long gone - as the moments passed, he only felt more and more out of place in this organised haven of culture and strict decorum.

Recalling her disapproval of his less conventional mannerisms, he made a mental note to correct this before opening his mouth to speak. Bloated expression had not been well-received, so it would be best to speak simply and concisely to avoid further offence.

“U-Understood. I thank you for your hospitality.”

At Ms Magahara’s command, he sat himself down in a strained seiza on the embroidered cushion with a pained expression. He preferred to sit cross-legged as was customary in the monasteries - or at least as his master had informed him was the case: Shigure had never been to one. Suffice to say, he was not in a monastery now either, and he would be a fool to even mention his inner mutterings to the madam. After all, her already evident impatience for his antiquated behaviour and outward musings would only be exacerbated. Chopsticks grasped by slender fingers then placed a green lump in a shallow dish of dark liquid with a gracious poise that pointed to her life experiences, but was an action that left the child utterly clueless. Forcing a smile, he responded meekly to the woman he was sat across to, but not before looking at the immaculately positioned display of food before him and nodding. 

“Yes…I have not tried dishes of this sort before... ma'am. Are there any particular rules and correct practices that I should bear in mind and adhere to?”

In steadying his thoughts, he realised this was the only appropriate approach open to him - he was in a domain wholly disparate to what he was accustomed to, and was a place complete with its own set of rules and expectations. Accepting and acting on these terms would mean less trouble and more cordiality, but only if he could do it convincingly.



- - - - -




WC: 532 | GP: 10 | TGP: 30

She almost feels sorry for the child who seems tense and so uncomfortable in these surroundings he's currently finding himself in. Perhaps he's too accustomed to groveling in his own shit to even know how to appreciate luxury. A deep-seated memory is triggered within her by this sight: her very first encounter with the frivolous lives of the oiran, trinkets and details seemingly superfluous, with an abundance of smells assaulting her nostrils. Unwashed and unkempt, the Tomie Magahara back then could hardly be mistaken for the woman sitting in front of Shigure now. No, back then, the woman, whose poor posture and raggedy clothing betrayed her true nature as a peasant, couldn't even dream of attaining this fleeting luxury she currently sits on in her wildest fever fantasies.

But here she is, atop comfortable pillows with troves of employees at her command and a gilded plate with only the best food the district has to offer in front of her, chewing down on the delectable pieces of sushi with her red lips and pearly teeth, covering her mouth while doing so, as most ladies should.

The kid just sits there, blankly staring at his food as if he doesn't even know how he is supposed to sit. And lo and behold, he confirms her suspicion while he is at it, not even touching any of the utensils placed next to the board with the various pieces of raw fish pasted onto vinegar-drained rice.

Even with a smile plastered across his face, he looks exceedingly sheepish and dumbfounded by his new environment, he fails to charm her. If he simply isn't accustomed to this sort of atmosphere, why didn't his master simply leave him with some peasant family and let him sleep in their outhouse? She is not exactly hellbent on grooming this puppy for a better environment. With her chopsticks, the madam gesticulates towards a bowl of black sauce. "Drop the wasabi, that's the green paste, into the soy sauce first. It's pretty strong, so regulate the amount to your liking." Trapping the helpless filet between the two sticks with the grace only a trained professional could, she gently guides it towards her mouth without losing eye contact with Shigure, as to subtly demonstrate the proper handling of those tools.

"Eat the lighter colored pieces first, as the flavor of the darker meat overpowers the one of those. Rinse your palate with ginger," she heeds these words herself by grabbing a piece of the pickled vegetable and slipping it between her teeth and onto her tongue, cautiously grinding it to a mush as it removed the flavors of the lighter fish. "Do not dip the rice part of the sushi in the sauce, as doing so tarnishes it." Absentmindedly, she takes a sip from a cup of sake nearby, a force of habit, nearly downing the entire vessel in a single voracious gulp.

"The larger rolls can be eaten by hand, as it is difficult to get a proper grip around them with chopsticks," she continues to explain, plucking away at the food at her plate without paying the boy any further mind. She has always preferred to eat in peace and quiet, without the disturbances from the outside world with a nice, toasty cup of tea to down the meal with after. Instead, here she sits, trying to eat while guiding this brat through the basics of using chopsticks. Truly pathetic.

"I hope you understand the very fundamental basics now," the madam grumbles under her breath, looking down at her plate as she chews on a particularly juicy piece of tuna, left hand resting in her lap.

In response to the woman's evident impatience, Shigure suppressed his smiles for a more deadpan neutrality and nodded at the instructions he was being given. Marvelling both at the almost ritualised sequence of conduct and at Ms Magahara's familiarity with the whole ordeal, the boy could not help but sit in awe.

"Understood. I-I will try my best."

He tentatively picked up the chopsticks and looked at them in his fingers blankly. Modishly slim and of a luxuriantly high polish, these otherwise simple eating utensils now held the craftsmanship of an accomplished artisan. To Shigure, this was yet another reminder that in the higher echelons of society, even the simplest and most basic things could be reinterpreted as objects of unimaginable splendour.

Then, with all the prudence of a feline, he pinched the tiny green lump with the chopsticks and placed it into the dish of brown-black liquid, causing ripples in the mirror-like surface. For a moment, Shigure thought he had dropped the wasabi too violently, or taken too long to carry out the action and, after looking up into the unamused eyes of a certain madam, fixated his gaze back onto the task at hand.

The lighter-coloured ones... Hmm...

Streaks of fat glistened on the fresh salmon, while similarly-shaped chunks of varying hues of deep reds and silvery-white rested alongside in immaculate rows. The flesh of such an extensive and varied range of fish was almost unrecognisable as having been part of any aquatic creature. The boy struggled to see how the fish he usually enjoyed skewered and roasted over an open fire could yield such succulent pieces of meat that looked more like miniature pillows but kept the thought to himself.

White. Orange. Red.

Even the most oblivious would have noticed the trembling in the child's hands and chopsticks as Shigure reached out for one of the lighter pieces of fish and held it with a careful pressure. Then, with considerably more trembling, he every-so-slightly submerged a corner into the sauce and promptly placed it into his mouth.

He was greeted by a minimalist yet intricate layering of textures and flavours; the fish was both delicate and supple, while the rice had an intriguing depth - the faint taste of vinegar provided just enough sharpness without being overwhelmingly astringent. The soy sauce then tied these flavours together with a unifying savouriness that left the boy eager for more.

Ack!

Shigure's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the abrupt piquancy of the wasabi assaulting a place somewhere behind his nose. It was a feeling almost akin to drowning for the boy whose palette had yet to fully develop and mature, prompting him to mask a spluttering cough by covering his mouth and feigning a yawn. Suppressing any further reaction to this nasal assault by clamping his teeth over the flesh on the inside of his cheek, he then took a few rapid breaths through his nose in a bid to expel the bizarre sensation. This was mostly successful, though did nothing to stop his eyes from watering.

"I... I am in no position to give judgment or praise but this food is really incredible! I thank you for having patiently taught-"

Shigure looked into the same unamused visage of the woman sitting with him before looking down again.

"If you would prefer, Ms Magahara, I can simply shut up and not bother you any longer. I had wanted to express gratitude - that is all."

The exchange was then cut short by a startlingly sudden hubbub. Even in this isolated corner of the tea-house, the noise was still surprisingly loud; a testament to how great a commotion was occurring outside. This definitely was no remote district of Rukongai where crime ran rampant, so any sort of disturbance came as even more of a surprise for the presently bewildered boy - especially seeing as his sensei had left him here for the sake of safety in the first place. 

In the moments that transpired after the sudden noise, Shigure remained mostly still and sat staring at the dish of swirling liquid. Being left with a modest family in the wilderness may have been a more familiar environment but the relative safety of a well-established enterprise in a more central district trumped the merits of familiarity. Besides, he now realised another of his sensei's aims of having sent him here; the old monk was no fool - he would have been fully aware of the prejudices the boy would be subject to in such a place. But, with any instance of unfamiliarity and discord prompted growth through an improved understanding of both the self and of others. Adaptability was crucial in such a dog-eat-dog world and what better way to hone such a trait than to dive directly into alien territory?

Though content in his own musing, a single, high-pitched scream then severed any possibility of continuing. This terrible sound was then followed by a similarly loud uproar of synchronous gasps.

Wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, Shigure could suppress his concern no longer.

"W-What is happening out there...? Is there anything we could do to help?"


- - - - -


WC: 850 | GP: 17 | TGP: 47

The boy is utterly clueless. Even as she has given him clear instructions on how to utilize chopsticks, his hands shake and quiver like an old woman's as he attempts to grip the individual pieces of sushi. He proclaims that he is trying his best, but even his best seems to be a very measly attempt. Even with her condescending neck craned high above, gazing down at this peasant fiddling with tools of high culture, she finds little amusement in his ineptitude, only mashing the bits of seafood beneath her teeth with mostly contentedness draped across her face.

She has given him pretty clear instructions in regards of how to eat sushi and if his talentlessness rears its head again, she'll just give harsher instructions. She is not going to baby this boy on the brink of adulthood and shove the pieces of fish down his trachea with her own chopsticks. Besides, that would be most improper, since she has already shoved her metal ones in her mouth more than once, so she wouldn't exactly want this Shigure's mouth contents over them; who knows what he used to eat before she took him in?

Maybe he is one of those people who consistently mushes bugs into a paste and boils them into porridge and eats the noxious mix to feel full. She has heard of people like this from the villagers in the towns around, but who knows if these rumors even hold a hint of truth. But if he comes from the lower districts, things like these seem to be fairly plausible. After all, she has heard stories from Fuuyuko regarding what these peasants living among trash and vile criminals are like, with filthy hair and disheveled clothes.

Tomie looks over at her guest, who seems to be prodding the sushi and trying to pick one of the lighter ones at first. It looks like his grasp of the chopsticks is improving at least. He has managed to pick one up and dip it in the sauce. She feels a brief stint of anticipation, ready to scold him in case he drops it into the dark liquid, but the boy manages to avoid a texture disaster, even though it seems like he had dropped the entire wasabi rose into the mix, judging by the lack of green on his board.

He is in for quite the treat, then.

She picks up the fattiest piece of sushi, a near scarlet purple piece of tuna, the only one remaining on her side of the table aside from a array of ginger, without taking her eyes off of the white-haired guest.

And there it strikes, the deceptive spices of the wasabi. Her face scrunches up, nostrils flare as he still chews on the piece of fish with great determination. It looks like the tears could be welling up anytime soon.

Her face still carries the same stone-cold facade with features painted by the myriad of gods, but inside, beneath the frigid husk, the underworld gods are laughing and sighing in unison: she had told him to be cautious with the wasabi and he hadn't listened, like the dunce he is. There's definitely no use being outright snarky towards him to chastise him for his, mildly put, mediocre decision making.

Upon swallowing the piece of food, words filled with the stench of sycophantic intent leaves his mouth, but he never gives her the option to even interrupt him, as he does that on his own.

He insults himself, and by proxy her as well, through this. Without lying to herself, the madam can admit to herself that she is fine with people showing excessive humility in her presence, but not tactlessness like this. If he thinks his tongue is truly worthless, then he must also think that she wishes to entertain a puppet with no will of its own, no volition to take initiatives in conversations. If she wants an indoctrinated slave, she could just as well fetch any boy from the streets and gag him.

"Why would I invite you to my chambers to share a meal with me if I wanted absolute silence? If I desired a quiet atmosphere, you would be joining the girls," the biting tone shatters the air with a strange concoction of discontentedness and whispering contralto, maintaining eye contact with him before turning her attention towards a cup of sake. The thought of the squirming kid being doted by the girl does amuse her, but draws forth no smiles as she takes a hearty sip of the stinging liquid. "Don't dishonor yourself needlessly and more importantly: don't make me feel as if I have wasted my time."

Serpentine eyes burrow into the boy's face before their attention is diverted elsewhere.

A choir of loud crashing noises, accompanied by hurried footsteps and a shrill scream, all emerge from the foyer next door. Her head darts towards the direction of the door, completely disregarding the exchange she has just had with the boy. More pressing matters are at hand now.

She has made all the appropriate deals with the local gangs, generous deals as a matter of fact, so they should all know that coming to her establishment and causing ruckus is a direct violation of the treaty. And she had been crystal clear back then: in these parts, she is on the very bottom of the list of people they want to cross.

Drunks, she is used to those. But they seldom make this much of a scene when requested to abscond from the estate area.

The boy is concerned. She hears his confused question, but outright ignores it as she rises from the seat, sleeves billowing as she heads towards the door with resolution clacking with each step. Only when she suspects that the child might do something drastic does she turn towards him, the same eyes with cold fire burning within burrowing into his bones. "Stay. You'll get in the way otherwise."

Pushing the door out of the way, she prepares to enter the scene and wreck havoc if necessary, with both fire and ice.

The scene that plays before her is one far worse than what she could have anticipated. An unconscious body, beaten and bloody, smashed against the counter. On the other side, a sprawled girl, tears running down her cheek, sleeves covering her mouth. And towering above both of them, a figure in black, white bandana tied around his blonde hair, scars covering his cheeks, glinting blade in hand in tandem with his pearly teeth. A hearty laugh follows as he swings his sword, staining the floor with splatters of blood, before sheathing his sword.

This sort of activity is not something she can condone in her esteemed establishment.

She approaches the man, calm as ever, yet her eyes hold a certain gloom.

The exchange that follows can't be described as particularly pleasant. As par for the course, Tomie expresses her gratitude for him ridding her business of this vermin, one she could just as easily take care of on her own, before pushing on to the unpleasant matters: the demand of immediate removal and the billing for the damaged counter, all guided by the politest of sing-song. As expected, the man is frustrated, he is a hero to them all, heroes shouldn't have to pay for the casualties in their wake. She has to courteously disagree, and at that, also insist.

Soon he departs, criminal in tow and bill in hand, clearly dissatisfied with the outcome of the situation.

People like him have to be reminded that a good deed is its own reward.

After instructing some of the girls to clean up, she turns her nose back towards the chamber. Upon catching the visage of her guest, she has but one thing to say before plopping back on her cushion. "Resume eating. There's nothing to see."

The woman’s chilling caveat fell upon alert ears but before he could respond, his host already had sprung up and left the room to tend to the commotion outside.

When she returned, the madam was, as expected, completely unflustered but through the slight gap in the sliding door, Shigure managed to catch a glimpse of the foyer area. A mangled body adorned the counter as a visibly shaken girl looked on in abject terror at the excess of blood. There was blood on the floor, the furnishings, the walls - even the ceiling - and while such a scene should have been horrifying for the young boy to behold, it did little to disturb him and prompted little to no reaction: not even a flinch.

This ensanguined mise-en-scène was already emitting the distinct and all-too-familiar scent of blood in the wake of the incident that had occurred. Sickly sweet and perfumed by metallic notes, the pungent aroma drifted aggressively through the translucent paper walls like an olfactory inkblot.

Flitting an unusually cold gaze from the broken body to a figure hastily departing the premises, Shigure noted the flowing black garb and sheathed katana still dripping with evidence of the kill - wine-red liquid tickling down a lacquered scabbard and onto the floor with almost embodied malice.

While the shōji door had already slid shut, Shigure could recognise a certain degree of palpable resentment in the man’s gait and briefly closed his eyes, exhaling deeply before opening them again. Ms Magahara had already picked up her chopsticks with the same poise as before and while her aloof expression was mostly unchanged, there was still definitely an air of dissatisfaction that pervaded the room - likely due to the violence that had transpired, but also in light of Shigure’s misbehaviour beforehand.

“Ma’am?” Shigure’s voice emerged as an awkward croak, and his abashed expression only cemented his outward appearance of helpless guilt. Excessive, perhaps, but then again, the idea of sincerity was a mostly subjective one anyway.

“I apologise for my earlier insolence, ma’am. My master often scolds me for speaking my mind and running my tongue.”

The madam had been entirely justified in admonishing him but her caustic hostility had taken the boy by surprise. Intending to not make the same mistake again, Shigure cast a tentative look at his host in hope that she would be the one to guide the conversation; he would be a guest here for several more days, and any chance to improve his standing with the daunting lady would naturally make his time here far more palatable.


- - - - -


WC: 429 | GP: 8 | TGP: 55

This boy evidently is not exactly the obedient type, as she had initially suspected, but not commented upon. Goodness, he might be trying, but like most kids, trying simply isn't good enough to fit the golden standards of a decent Japanese adult. She plucks another piece of fish wrapped in nori and tentatively grinds the gelatinous flesh to mush with her molars while gazing at the boy. She had caught his gaze when he tried to look through the door with a turned head and peaked curiosity, a trait which she should scold him for exhibiting, but makes no further comments on his insolence.

Her command to make him resume eating appears to be futile, for he sits in the lap a forlorn pup, as dumbfounded as before she had given him some very basic instructions when it comes to the utilization of chopsticks. Has he lost his appetite by witnessing the bloodshed in the hallway? This is why she had told him not to look. Why do children never learn though obedience alone? They deserve to be beat up when they disobey more often than not.

She dips a piece of red snapper sashimi into the bowl of brown sauce before guiding it towards her mouth, eyes focused on her plate now. She sincerely hopes the monk physically disciplines boy when he is acting like this, for she is not going to sully her hands with the dust of a commoner's skin.

Her eyes dart back to the boy as he attempts to catch her attention. "Miss," she rectifies with electrical pacing, putting Shigure back in his place from wherever he attempts to stride with his presumptuous attitude. "I have not been nor am I married." Then, she puts the piece of food in her mouth and chews while waiting.

Another apology. This is ridiculous. Once she swallows and lets out a meager sigh, she patronizingly offers the boy look from the above, craning her neck even more to gain condescending height. "I can certainly see why. You're rather sycophantic for a child. Sometimes, children should be seen, not heard. Otherwise," she gesticulates with her hands towards the now closed door. "You might as well turn out like him." She knows he saw both of the men, both perpetrator and instigator, but leaves which he might turn into to ambiguity; both are equally able to scare the boy straight.

"It is sometimes best to leave someone's business to them instead of brazenly invading their personal space and taking liberties. As I imagine your master has already told you: 'read the atmosphere'." She gently pats her lips with a napkin of linen, smearing a bit of her lipstick on it in the process. The same chopsticks that had been directed at the door earlier now find their accusing path towards the white-haired boy, aiming directly at his forehead. "As a man, you should learn that machismo only serves you so far. Don't insult someone who ranks higher than you in this transient ladder of society by offering to do their job."

So it seems like she's going to be holding a lecture now. Perhaps the boy could regurgitate some of his master's philosophy for her amusement as well, if they're going to go at it like that. It's something she does enjoy after all, and perhaps one of the reasons she agreed to allow him to take up residence among a more risque crowd of high culture.

Through the use of dainty fingers, she puts the napkin down next to the tray of food, most of which has been consumed at this point, and places the utensils on the other side. "Shinigami are like you children. They should mostly be seen, not heard. Their jobs do not include interference in our everyday lives." A heavy, exasperated huff fills the space between them as her lips twist into a placid smile, puffing up her cheeks. "Yet they do. Such a waste."

Her eyes are still firmly planted on the boy, who seems ever hesitant. "If there is ever a time, it is now, Shigure. You may speak your mind."

With the faint glimmer of guilt still lingering on his face, Shigure nodded carefully at the woman’s words. Her dim view of machismo and bravado seemingly coincided with his master’s teachings but her delivery was different - every utterance offered a barbed, judgemental edge to her sentences; every minute component: be it syllable, word, or sigh, served to bolster her derisive remarks in a verbal assault against all that she found unsavoury.

But, nestled in her evident bitterness was an equally bitter truth that resonated with the boy - or, at least, the faint echo of another boy in a not-so-distant past. Perhaps he really was trying too hard.

Dwelling on the wisdom that had been imparted, Shigure chewed in uneasy silence. Still unsure of whether he should be maintaining or averting eye contact, he decided to briefly close his eyes to avoid making this decision - given the sensitive social territory that Moyamoyasumi proved to be, either choice would likely have resulted in a negative outcome. Shutting his eyes also offered a certain stillness and opportunity to reflect before taking the woman’s invitation to speak.

“Shig- I understand the wrongs of a contrived masculine influence but…” He took a tentative pause and found himself, perhaps dangerously, looking into a pair of russet eyes that continued to peer down at him with an air of unmistakable disgust.

“But surely, a modest helping hand is no risk to the hierarchy of society… Is it not true that ‘the penalty good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men’? My master has often told me that indifference is no lesser offence in the face of the wider society and the greater good.”

The idea of the innocent bystander was one that the elderly man vehemently rejected. An omission to act was, in his words, a crime in itself - yet the woman seemed to champion this notion of letting things be. Her view of the Shinigami was also peculiar.

Admittedly, Shigure had encountered very few Shinigami on his travels and prior to that during his time living in Kusajishi. They were not known to venture too far out into the furthest reaches of Rukongai and even when they did, their patrols were few and far between. The passage of time was a vague measure for a spirit whose childhood alone could last a century but from memory, Shigure felt as though these Shinigami patrols may well have taken place decades apart from each other. Even then, these mysterious figures had been a varied bunch: ranging from the scholarly to the burly, he had little idea of what their organisation really was or what it represented. Some had been kind, some had been rude, and some had demanded to know where the nearest brothel was. All Shigure knew was that they were strong.

He had probably already crossed the line multiple times in his previous outbursts and while vocabulary unusual for a peasant boy had been uttered - that was exactly what he was: a boy, and a young, frail-looking one at that. He expected further scolding but in an attempt to salvage the situation, the child returned his gaze back to his saucer of shimmering, dark liquid and coughed gently - traces of the wasabi still clinging to his throat flaring at every nervous swallow. But then, curiosity killed the cat.

“But what is it that the Shinigami do that you find so offensive, Miss Magahara? Do they not keep the surrounding areas safer?” After looking back at the presently shut door and realising that his own impulsions had taken the reins once again, he continued in a slightly quieter tone.

“…Or do they cause a lot of trouble?”

Shigure decided against mentioning the Shinigami that he had met - lest his host admonish him further for overgeneralising what she was seemingly painting as a farcical group of thugs. While mostly absent in Kusajishi and beyond, he had assumed that the Shingami would be in abundance in the more central districts. In the boy’s head, the presence of the Shinigami, regardless of their morality, surely was a helpful element in tackling poverty and crime: a benefit that the outer districts had not been so fortunate to enjoy.

- - - - -

WC: 704 | GP: 14 | TGP: 69

"But what?" A tart-tongued, if somewhat sluggish with the barbed tone, reply is uttered in between the boy's sentences about the masculine interference, followed by the cautious sipping of alcohol, eyes still plastered on the meek child staring mostly at the table. She is awaiting a foolhardy reply, one befitting of a mere being with the mental capacity of inferiors. Only when he dares to lift his gaze to meet hers does he finish his reply, a question of sorts of a more philosophical nature.

The dainty hand pampered by the same rice wine she had previously been drinking puts the cup down, letting it hug tightly against the empty board, covered only by specs of white rice, debris from the lunch. The same hand then tugs onto a napkin, a novelty of the silk variety, patting it against her lips, slightly smearing lipstick onto it before putting it down next on top of the tray.

And then, she smiles, a crooked smile. Taut cheek stretches to compensate for the rise of the right side of her lip, eyes glinting.

The boy has gone ahead and done it. He has laid the golden egg for her to dismantle and dissect.

But she waits, patiently observing while maintaining the smile, sorting out the dishes, pondering whether the boy is finished with his share of sushi. Maybe he has more to add to the mire of a verbal soup, with plenty ingredients foul.

Oh boy, is she right.

Not only the golden egg, but here's the can of worms too. This is bound to be a lecture he won't forget anytime soon, regardless of whether he agrees on what is being said or not.

"A modest helping hand may have good intentions," she initiates, stroking away her bangs, eyes closed, before leaning slightly forward across the table, closer to the boy. "But terrible things have happened with the best of intentions. As society tells us, some people are inherently better than others." She wraps her hand around a stick of incense resting in a pot on the table, lighting it aflame with a spark of trickery from her magic, then lets her palm unfurl, causing the smoke to start wafting. All while maintaining eye contact with the boy.

"No beings illustrate that better than the Shinigami. For they are inherently better than all the rest of us. They wield mysterious swords, are said to be faster than the wind, stronger than any ox, some even say they can defy the laws of the world with magic," a pause to allow her to inhale the aroma of the dried agarwood, briefly followed by her closing her eyes, savoring the sensation, before continuing. "They are free to reign as tyrants if they please, as such. Because even a brave, good man who charges at them, clamoring and demanding justice, will suffer lest he not learn the art of coping."

Her long robes flow, smoothing out the crinkles as she rises from her seat, turning her back on Shigure even as she continues to speak. "We are ruled by tyrants whether we like to or not. Of course, we can't really tell where we currently are, but it was very clear in the upper districts." Tamping her foot against the tatami, Tomie tilts her head, peering over the shoulder, she eyes her guest with the same callous eyes she had greeted him with. "We exist at the mercy of Central 46, the uppermost legislative organ of Seireitei and by extension, Soul Society as a whole. If we don't heed their commands, they can send their lapdogs on us any moment and crush any notion of rebellion or demands for increased welfare."

Feeling a sudden craving for tobacco again, she picks up her pipe and starts filling it with dried leaves and fruits, all while continuing her monologue. "Shinigami aren't inherently bad themselves, not to my understanding. I am certain some do wish for our best instead of just viewing us as numbers, but given good men die fighting the system, most learn to accept this way of life." The last few words become unclear as she jams the kiseru into her mouth, picking up the incense stick to light the herbs.

"The strong rule. The weak cower." A puff of smoke follows, filling the room with a haze befitting the name of the building. "Such is the Shinigami way of life. It is why I want as little as possible to do with them."

She reassumes the seated position, still suckling the mouthpiece of her pipe, alternating between letting out smoke and inhaling it, feeling the surge of chemicals in the back of her throat. "I do what I can to stay out of that world, to provide a safe location for people who might otherwise have meager lives. I am strong financially as well as socially, so I can afford to let the weak cower in my shadow and offer respite from an otherwise cruel world. The Shinigami are strong, too. We have nothing to offer each other. I therefore think it would be best if we kept to ourselves." The last part, a lie, seems logical to her; it makes perfect sense for her to not involve herself with a party that represents oppression.

Yet, she still neglects to mention that the grudge is personal. But he doesn't need to know that. Not when she explains how the world objectively works. Her story is hers and hers alone.

"Any further questions, Shigure?"