[WIP] untitled;

mood: ---
music: ---


prompts: secrets, debt;


He arrived short of dawn, when the sky was still dark, the moon sleepy overhead and clouds seemed to linger closest to the mountains in the not too far off distance, as if preparing themselves for the ascent of the sun.

He'd snuck over the wall, it's mechanical guardian still broken and in need of repair and wondered on how long had it been since he'd left this place, with it's streets alive long past the midnight hour and the music filling people's ears with the noise of merry-making. The streets were silent as he walked through them, and the lamps that stood like thin sentries on either side were either dim or broken, casting a host of shadows that made the village seem like a ghost town.

He had traveled from Kanna mostly on foot, stopping only when fellow travelers asked him to join them for a meal. Apparently, in the short time since their defeat of the Nobuseri, people from all over the nation had heard word of seven noble samurai who stood up for the villagers of a tiny village suffering under the bandit's cruelty. All samurai were now viewed in a new light -- not as wayward strays from a previous era, but as men and women deserving of consideration and kindness.

He stood now before his intended destination, the windows dark from lack of life within. The signboard that normally glared a bright fuschia pink with the character for the establishment's name slumbered, it's light shut as an eye might from exhaustion.

He eased his footsteps up the wooden steps, each seemingly in time with the quiet beating of his heart. They had sat here on numerous nights, speaking to each other of fireflies and debts, or staying but never of going. They had sat, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the perfume on her neck whispering his secrets and desires back towards him in the breeze.

"Welcome home," a voice seemed to come from the darkness, and he stopped, his stance shifting briefly to allow him enough room to defend himself if the need would arise. What time he had spent away had roused his warrior's instincts from their slumber, causing him to once again treat the unknown as a guarded man might.

He spotted her figure in the darkness, the solidness of her form darker in contrast to the space around her. The the line of her hand melted into the shadowed form of her koto, unifying two separate pieces into once.

Her face was shrouded, but he didn't need to see to know that she would not stop him from entering. Shichiroji relaxed then, his body straightening as he walked towards this who he had once known, if briefly, as a lost, little girl. "It is far too early for you to be awake, Kotori-chan."

"Yukino-san is sleeping still within," she smiled, her sightless gaze focused onto the space beyond him. She ignored his statement as if it mattered little, and her head tilted the slightest, her long lashes like twin butterflies, folding half-moons right above the apples of her cheeks. "She will be glad that Shichiroji-sama has returned safely."

In the east, the sun rose, peering lazily over the wall of mountains and spilling excess light into a gradually brightening sky. The clouds turned different hues at their tips, like paint seeping onto canvass.

"Thank you," Shichiroji smiled, the first notes of a new piece singing softly into the air, frail and breakable as the thinnest glass. He turned then, the house still dark and still, but no less welcoming than the home that it had become to him.

[WIP] untitled;

mood: ---
music: ---


prompts: disdain, scarecrow


The footfalls moved over the thin floorboards, the steps somewhat muffled by the mats. "Where is the youjo?" Their voices grated her ears as they approach, and the smell of powder made her nose itch. "Still down there, my lord. Do we retain her for aiding wanted criminals?"

There was a pause after the reply, and it seemed as though even the crickets stopped chirping; waiting, perhaps for the next words. The air felt ripe with malice. It disrupted the peace that normally accompanied the flow of the wind.

"Bring her to me. I want to speak with her."

"Ukyo-sama, I do not think--"

"My father decreed that all samurai would be arrested. While I really don't care much for the fuss, these are an exception. They had Kirara." The tone in this man's voice was as spoiled as fish left uncooked for too long. "And if you had not stopped me down at the cave, I'd have her back by now." They walked past the door, and though she could not see their movements, her other senses compensated for that handicap. The faint breeze that drifted in told her that her door was slid roughly four inches apart, and on that same breeze the smell of perfume and make-up that she assumed covered at least one face carried itself over to her.

"Go. Bring her." The command was haughty, as if time was a commodity fast losing it's value. "If she struggles, I trust that you'll handle her."

She shut her eyes, a statement to herself more than anything else, and when she rose from where she sat, her fingers traced an upward line along the wall, using the solidness of the wood for balance and as a guide that would lead her out of the room.

"Are all merchant's sons incapable of seeing to their own dirty work," The words were fluid upon her tongue, and even if she wanted to, the disdain in them was thinly veiled. She tilted her head towards them, as if listening to the wind. Her blank eyes stared ahead at nothing. "Or perhaps it is only those who dress in the way of glorified scarecrows?"

She heard him bristle, and even as her heartbeat quickened at his rushing footsteps, she anticipated his actions. He would push her in the way that spoiled children tend to do, but she would not fall alone into the koi pond.

The water was chilly and she heard his attendants scatter, one in particular calling his name and lacing each syllable with distress. She heard the movement behind her, felt the shift in the water, but she didn't move, not even when her head was shoved under the water, the liquid coming around her like a shroud. She didn't flail or fight, though she heard Yukino's strangled plea to let her go. She was not afraid of drowning mostly because she believed that this one didn't have the courage to really kill her with his bare hands. Those like him elected others to do their dirty work; this boy, if she was correct would be no different.

She clung to that thought, even as she swayed, the lack of oxygen making her light-headed, and told herself that even if he did decide to kill her, then at least she would know inside that she did not stand idly by as he ordered them to hurt Yukino.



Three hours later she awoke to the feeling of warmth of her body swaddled in blankets and the gentle feel of fingers as they threaded through her hair. The Firefly House was hushed as if in a vigil, and the silence was broken only by the soft, sad lullaby sung from Yukino's lips.

Heihachi: Once A Yojimbo;

music: ---
mood: ---


prompts: season, rice balls;


She'd offered him the rice balls with a simple smile, her eyes betraying none of the sadness he'd glimpsed earlier on when the procession stopped for a brief breather. "Thank you," she'd told him, though he wasn't quite sure what she meant. After all, from the way she'd looked in her palanquin, her long silver hair set loose from it's bindings, anyone could forget that it was springtime, the most promising season of all.

He didn't know who she was at first, the curtains were often drawn. But when he'd asked the other samurai, they had simply told him that she was the daughter of the man whose body they bore on their shoulders.

Heihachi watched her go, her posture perfect as she walked gracefully back into the house with all the dignity that she'd been born with. He had never known the General, though many others within the ranks spoke the name Kakita Nobu with pride. The short samurai was new to the Isawa family, having pledged his sword and his service to the Isawa Mori's eldest son, Hiroshi only recently.

Though from two completely different clans, both generals had a long history of friendship together. Mori and Nobu had known each other as young boys, and then later had stood by each other on the battlefield as grown men. It was not simply courtesy for a fellow samurai then that had compelled this particular branch of the Isawa family to attend if not participate at Nobu's funeral procession. It was out of love for a lifelong friend who had died with honor, though too soon by the standards of many.

"Leave it to Kotori-chan to think of seeing to everyone else even at a time like this," the samurai glanced over his shoulder to see his leige-lord approach, the younger Isawa brother, Seiichiro, at his side. Hiroshi smiled at him, the tall Phoenix samurai's normally stern features softening just a little. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Heihachi-san?" He asked, his eyes wandering back to where the girl had gone. "You should hear her play the koto. My mother and father told me that her beauty multiplies a hundred fold when she weaves her music. Though I am not that surprised." Heihachi noted the way his leige-lord slid a meaningful glance at his brother. The shugenja, Heihachi noted, had his hands hidden in his sleeves, and his head was turned to where the young maiden had gone. "She is her mother's daughter."

The Phoenix samurai shifted his footing and looked kindly upon him, a simple newcomer to his retinue. "I have been invited to stay awhile longer. My brother and myself are to sit close to the front when Kotone-san and Kotori-chan play a duet in honor of General Nobu."

"It is too high a privilege, Hiroshi-sama."

"Nonesense." The Phoenix let out a soft snort. "You are my yojimbo, and I will be offended, Heihachi, if you did not join us." His features sobered once more, and Heihachi followed the path of his gaze.

The crowd was gathering and mother and daughter stepped from behind the sliding doors and onto the clean cut grass, still moist with the day's early dew. He noted how the guests seemed almost handpicked: family, with few others from the various clans. "Where is Hideaki, brother?" He heard his leige-lord ask. "He will be here, aniue. I suspect he is retrieving Nobu-san's sword. I heard Kotori could not bring herself to look upon it herself." The shugenja replied.

So sad, Heihachi thought then, as he watched her smile, his steps following those of his leige, wondering inwardly why the girl felt the need to hide her grief in a smile.

[WIP] untitled;

music: ---
mood: thoughtful


prompts: silence, stagger;


When they arrived, silence greeted them as though all those under Kakita Nobu's watch held their breaths in expectation.

Isawa Seiichiro said nothing as he and Hideaki approached the main house on foot, their sandals dusty from the journey. The messenger who had accompanied them had made himself scarce, and only Nobu's son and the boy's trusted friend led their footprints all the way past the half-opened door.

At ten years old both boys carried themselves with the grace and dignity of little men. It was something to warm the heart of any parent, but the scowl etched on the young Crane's face made it clear that he was not all that eager to finally be home.

"You should be happy, Hideaki," Seiichiro broached the topic gently. "Having a sibling is a wonderful thing," The Phoenix cautioned, keeping careful watch on the changes on his friend's face. "You'll always have soemone to share the blame with when you get in truoble."

"Save me the anecdotes, Seiichiro," the latter responded grimly, his young face furrowed at the brow. "I just want to see if my mother is safe and well." His irirs blue eyes slid sideways and the sound of soft footfalls alerted them to an approaching figure.

Hideaki pivoted on one foot, his gaze meeting the familiar gaze of his father. Both Kakita regarded one another and Seiichiro allowed the scene to unfold as he stepped one foot back, removing himself from their immediate concern.

"Father,"

"She will be glad that you came," the elder samurai smiled, stepping forward to embrace his son. "They will... both be glad." At Nobu's words, Hideaki's eyes widened briefly before shutting tight, his own arms -- short as they were -- flinging themselves around his father's broad torso in relief.

"Come," Nobu smiled, "let me introduce you to your sister."



They named her Kotori after Hideaki remarked that she was small and slightly mottled like a newborn baby bird. The midwives had laughed and explained that she wouldn't look so mottled after they finished giving her her first, brief bath. They were right.

And though her hair barely had any hair and her cheeks to him seemed like two puffy loaves of bread, Hideaki, who had been opposed to having siblings, miscarriage after miscarriage weakening his mother, thought her the most beautiful thing in the world.

In fact, when the young Crane staggered out as though dealt a powerful blow, Seiichiro, who had been passing his time in meditation, could only hold back a smile at the ferocity of his friend's love for the newborn Kakita.

"Not a day old," Hideaki breathed, slightly pale, "and already I would wage a war for her."

[WIP] untitled;

music: sara's death // nanase hikaru (angel sanctuary soundtrack)

mood: looking for inspiration

prompts: shadows and light, run;

They are not coming.

Run away, little girl. They had told her. We'll give you a meal's head start. Savor your life a bit longer.

But there are no sounds of engines rumbling. No whir signaling the approach of disgraced samurai made of metal and electricity.

They are not coming. She knows that now.

The snow slips between her toes. They don't melt like they should. Her instep feels numb and her heels sting. She imagines that the slickness there could just easily be blood as it could be melted ice.

She doesn't know how long it's been, if hours or days have passed. Sometimes, she can't seem to tell night from day. Shadows and light are all the same in wintertime. She is tired, and not even the sounds of birds calling to each other comfort her.

They are not coming.

She is all alone.

[WIP] untitled;

music: her most beautiful smile // iwashiro taro (rurouni kenshin)
mood: inspired


prompts: wrong room, the price to pay;


Kotori had stopped playing eight breaths before Yukino slid open the door. The piece was unfinished, but she had filed it away in her mind. The footsteps had told her someone was coming, and it was only polite for her to cease her music-making in order to greet whoever it was properly.

"Ah, Kotori-chan, gomen, gomen," the woman apologized, and Kotori recognized her for who she was. It seemed the mistress of The Firefly House was breathless from the quickness of her pace. "It seems I have the wrong room again." Kotori listened as Yukino seemed to swallow her words, the manner reminiscent of that of a swimmer gulping in air right before plunging back into the water. "That's the third time tonight. Where is that damned Asano."

The blind koto player allowed herself a small smile as she drew one hand away from the strings beneath her fingers. To Yukino's statement she answered as if to a question: "Asano-san said he would return within the hour, Yukino-san," she informed her mistress, "The sake ran short so he took it upon himself to retrieve new kegs."

"Please," Kotori continued, gesturing slightly off the mark to the pillows set opposite her. "Sit awhile, Yukino-san. I will play for you until he returns. I doubt that he will be gone for very long."

She didn't see Yukino nod, though the woman did. Instead, Kotori heard the shifting of fabric as the youjo folded her legs under her to sit upon one of the pillows. Kotori did not see her turn her gaze to the open window and the world that lay beyond that, but the words that followed informed her as much.

"It's a beautiful night, Kotori-chan," Yukino seemed to breathe in awe, "the moon is especially full, and the sky is incredibly bright."

She wove the music about them, and Kotori tilted her head to one side, giving the brief impression that she would lose herself in the notes that her fingers seemed to braid. She did not see Yukino smile, but instead heard the sigh that accompanied it, wistful as the fog that snuck under the doors in the winter months. "I've lost count now, how long he's been gone."

"I have no doubt that Shichiroji-sama thinks often too of Yukino-san."

Kotori did not need to see the curious look that woman saw her, her handicap had taught her other senses to pay attention well to other things in order to compensate for her lack of sight. The momentary pause in Yukino's breath told her that she had touched upon the topic of her thoughts, and the soft hiss of fingers brushing away something from the cloth of her kimino told Kotori confirmed that it indeed was the former samurai that Yukino was thinking on.

Habits betray people. Kotori could not see them, but she had learned to listen.

"Shichiroji-sama will return." She spoke with absolute certainty. "Sometimes promises can be enough."

When Yukino's soft laugh reached her, Kotori could almost touch the twinge of sadness that laced her words. "How did you know my thoughts, Kotori-chan?"

"Doubt has a certain sound to it, as does every other emotion." Her fingers plucked daintily at the strings, a small, new song coming to life at their tips. "Each breath has a weight all it's own, and Yukino-san's has been heavy with worry, regret and loneliness."

"You sound like you know what it's like to be inlove, Kotori-chan." The simple statement halted her song, and Kotori felt her lower lip quiver just a little. Old memories flashed in her mind in time to the metronome of her heart; another lifetime, another place -- one where the world and it's colors were still hers to behold.

"Even I have a price to pay for my music, Yukino-san." She answered simply, and they both understood that their conversation had come to it's proper coda. Kotori's fingers resumed their little dance, and the blind girl inhaled deeply, pouring all her old wishes and all Yukino's new worries unto the fledgling piece. "Tell me again about the sky, Yukino-san," Kotori asked simply, the music taking seed and blooming forth into the flowers of a home she could only conjure up in memory. "Tell me about the first time Shichiroji-sama taught you about the stars."

[WIP] untitled;

music: sadame for piano // sato naoki (xtv soundtrack)
mood: cold


prompts: samurai, heartbeat;


The lights never dim in this place, he thought to himself, leaning idly against the frame of an open window. Even in the ungodly hours of morning the sounds of merry-making were still loud and lively as though the sun had set only minutes before. It was a world unto itself, this town where love was a prize bestowed to the highest bidder and smiles often carried the undercurrent of profit. It was a city of desire and satisfaction, of need and imagined necessity, where streets led weary or anxious feet to the open and waiting arms of women, and the drinks never stopped flowing.

He had been living here for the last five months, a shadow of his former self. The sounds of the battlefield were a memory now, fading fast with the nights that sometimes seemed both too long and too short. He sighed and drew his right hand across his torso, curling his fingers around the cloth that covered the curve of his left shoulder. His heart felt heavy and somewhat incomplete; it was nothing unusual.

"Samurai-sama," a soft voice murmured by the doorway and though he had felt her presence minutes before, Shichiroji turned his head only now that she had called his attention.

"I told you not to call me that anymore," he offered a faint smile, allowing his hand to fall away as he stood upright, his fingers finding a comfortable perch on his hip. Even shrouded in shadow, he knew every feature on her face; every line, every dip and hollow of her body. A familiar and uneasy feeling crawled over his stomach and his jaw tensed just a little before he spoke again. "I returned with the sake, but the young ones informed me that you were busy with someone," his hand lifted -- the only one he had left -- and he brushed his fingertips gently along the column of her neck, seeking the pulse that sometimes throbbed to the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

"I know you will tell me I have no right to ask..." His voice was slightly hoarse, and he cleared his throat halfway through his sentence, "but who was it tonight?" Her hair threaded through his fingers like thin stalks of wheat not yet ready for harvest. It was all he could do to check his temper and pull away; he had never known jealousy, but the last few months had taught him enough. "Give me a name so that I may conjure the face in my mind."

She smiled at him then, a slow and serene gesture upon the beauty of her face, and she caught his lone hand between both of her own, lifting it, palm face up, to her lips. "I am a wanted woman, samurai-sama," her kisses were soft against his callused palm and he gave into the urge to cup her chin. When he lifted her face, their eyes meeting in the night, he noted the warmth in them that signaled an invitation into her bed... or his. "As mistress of The Firefly House, I have my duties." Her fingers stroked his own, as if a distraction, but his eyes never left hers. "Surely you understand."

He watched her turn and go, her skirt caressing the wooden floor beneath their feet the way a lover hovers his hands over his beloved, and he fell a step forward, allowing only that much before he held her fast, their fingers entwined like ivy upon a crumbling stone wall.

"I do and I don't," he whispered, pulling her back and against him, allowing his one arm to come around her. He inhaled her scent: a mix of incense and smoke, of alcohol and powder, and felt the warmth of his breath linger over her skin. He tightened his embrace, allowing a smile as she welcomed it. "Are we at peace now, Yukino?"


"Only if you promise to keep your temper in check," she replied, as quick and as sure as a blade arcing through tall grass. He heard her sigh, heavy and sweet and swallowed, missing the taste of her lips. "I have clients to see to, Shichiroji," she murmured, her weight comfortable against the solidness of his body. "Promises to keep."

He nuzzled her neck, her pulse enticing beneath her pale flesh. "Every promise in this place is a lie wrapped in pretty trappings." He breathed her in again, unable to resist the action. "You've bewitched me, woman."

"That is your fault, not mine."

His grip tightened then, though not enough to bruise. He felt her tremble against him and took some satisfaction in that. It was forbidden to want more than what she could give; no happiness could come from it. But still... "Where were you?" He dared the question again, leaning his head on her deceptively fragile shoulder. "Answer me that at least?" He would never harm those who stepped under the arch of her doorway, they both knew that. He also knew she would never tell, and in the morning he would guess instead, based upon what trinkets were carelessly left behind.

"There is a girl in the far end of the house." She murmured, her head turning so that her eye caught him in its periphery. "I tell you this because I trust you, odd as that may sound." He loosened his embrace, and she turned to face him, her expression betraying the worry hidden behind her eyes. "She sat on the steps, seeking shelter from the rain." He watched her swallow.

"Shichiroji..." she began, forgetting the honorific as her gaze fell to where his hand was cocooned between hers; it was a habit she had taken to when she needed his wisdom. "There is a mon carved beneath the soundboard of her koto. I saw it when I took it out in order to clean and dry it from the rainwater." She breathed in deep and expelled the breath with a heavy sigh. "I do not recognize it, but perhaps you would."

He drew her close momentarily, his lips brushing her forehead. "She is a child, and while I may know how to care for young girls, Shichiroji-sama," her gaze lifted and her eyes searched his, "I know nothing of caring for the blind."