[01/07] Shiretoko
Shiretoko
January to March 2012
Summary
At World’s End, the Suzuran Estate sits.
A/N
[09 February 2012] I’ve always wanted to write horror. I’m quite sure I’ll be bad at it though, because I’m too fond of word salad to be an effective shock-inducer. Nevertheless, I’ll do my best! Not sure how long this will be, but I have the end in mind. This is a replacement to the presently discontinued AU Fanfic, Overture.
Shiretoko Peninsula rests on the easternmost tip of Hokkaido, Japan. It means, in the local Ainu dialect, “the end of the Earth”.
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
I’m not so sure I can write horror either.
Word Count 1,332
Shiretoko
For Arashi
Prologue
A Tale of Two Brothers
Friday
15.29
The colors of the fallen leaves gave no indication it was but mid-summer.
Musing this, Ninomiya Kazunari slowly swept the dead foliage of his master’s estate, face dripping with sweat from the scorching August sun. There were masses of dried, flaming leaves to take care of, piles from different trees in the garden that had chosen that week to wilt. Two hours of his morning had been wasted on the yards alone, two hours he might have spent writing, dreaming, writing resumes that would get him somewhere. Two hours gone. And several more to go.
Sighing softly as he picked up his pace, Ninomiya realized he didn’t quite mind.
The distant sound of approaching tires distracted him from his dull, passive musings. Turning round dazedly, a long broom in his hand, he glanced up in time to see a black vehicle coming closer, its aura imposing in its simplicity. He had never seen that car before. Surely he would have remembered having seen such a car before. But then there was the click of the mansion’s double doors, the familiar rush of footsteps Ninomiya had not heard for long. Suddenly, Aiba Masaki was running forth to greet the arrival, straightening his collar with an almost contagious anxiety.
And at that moment, Ninomiya realized it was not Matsumoto Jun they would be greeting.
Instinctively he bowed as the car drove past. He did not know whether the master’s son would appreciate or even notice the gesture, but he had been too imbibed with the ways of the older generation to adapt quickly. The car came to a stop right in front of the attached house, before an Aiba bent low. Casting his long broom aside, Ninomiya dashed as quickly as propriety allowed him towards one end of the driveway, just in time to bow once more to a pair of Nikes.
Sneakers, Ninomiya wondered. White sneakers?
Daring to lift his gaze an inch or two higher, he caught sight of dark jeans, a sensible jacket, and a plain shirt with an English phrase Ninomiya did not comprehend with one glance. Before he knew it, he had gazed past the thick neck, the sculpted jaw, the thick lips and the rounded nose. Before he knew it, he was watching emotions swirl in the man’s eyes. Worry, anticipation, disappointment - all masked by a thick veil of decorum.
But Ninomiya could read that expression well. He had seen it on the older Sakurai, after all.
“Welcome to Suzuran, obocchama,” Aiba cheerfully greeted, stepping forward with a short bow. “I was your honorable father’s secretary, Aiba Masaki. That man is the caretaker, Ninomiya Kazunari. We have been expecting your arrival.”
“Thank you,” the young master sighed, exasperation blatant to Ninomiya even with his head bent low in respect. “However please don’t call me bocchama. Just my name will do.”
“But the Master never permitted us to-” Aiba ceased speaking at the blank look on Sakurai’s face. “Of course, if you wish it, we shall comply.” He paused momentarily, and even with his face averted, Ninomiya knew Aiba was licking his lips in distress. “If you would follow me inside then, Sho-sama?”
“I’d like to see the grounds first, if possible,” Sakurai replied, handing his keys to an attentive albeit worried Aiba, and turning to survey the rest of the estate with appraising eyes. Fleetingly, Ninomiya wondered what impressions it would give the new master, the domesticated jungle he had dedicated his whole life to. “If I can bother you with handling my luggage? I’d like to get my business here done as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course, Sho-sama. Ninomiya will show you around while I manage your things.”
Ninomiya lowered his eyes for the millionth time that afternoon. “I will be glad to, Sir. If you’ll follow me kindly-”
For a brief moment of eye contact, he saw Sakurai nod heavily, albeit more considerately than his father had ever managed. Ignoring the strange surge that seemed to erupt somewhere in the chambers of his heart, Ninomiya walked away towards the gardens, slowly enough for the younger Sakurai to keep up.
He was an odd one, Ninomiya decided, eyes on the worn path at his feet. He had believed the Son to be a completely insufferable character altogether, but as expected the Sakurai Clan was too full of secrets to be pliant to foretelling.
The faint sound of a different car reached Ninomiya’s ears. Steps freezing, he was only vaguely aware of Sakurai coming to a stop behind him as well, as the sight of a silver car grabbed complete hold of his attention.
Now this was one car he was familiar with.
A faint prickle of worry instantly imprinted itself within Ninomiya. Taking a swift glance at his new master, he saw Sakurai watch the car approach without expression, his guarded eyes tracking the movement of the vehicle the way a tutor would a wayward pupil. Surely the heir had known this would happen? Surely he had expected this meeting?
The silver car parked slightly farther away from the front door. Out of it came a pair of leather shoes, dark jeans, a white dress shirt and a hat. Ninomiya watched silently as Matsumoto Jun nodded distractedly at a respectful Aiba, discarding his overnight bag with elegant indifference. With barely any hesitation, but evident caution in his eyes, he strode towards the watchful two with determined footsteps.
Belatedly, Ninomiya corrected his manners and bowed.
“It is an honor to finally meet you,” Matsumoto replied with utmost formality. Ninomiya could see, from the man’s shadow cast over the ground he was staring at, that Matsumoto had bowed as well. “I am Matsumoto Jun.”
The new master remained unruffled. “You didn’t change your name to Sakurai?”
“No.”
Ninomiya risked a peek at Sakurai’s face. But there was nothing but restraint there. “Ninomiya is taking me on a tour around the estate. I was thinking of checking the grounds. Would you like to join us?”
Matsumoto’s eyebrows twitched. “May I?”
“Of course,” Sakurai allowed, but with barely any hint of hospitality. “As I understand it, you are legally part owner of Suzuran. It would be best for you to be well acquainted with it.”
“Yes, that would be advantageous,” Matsumoto acquiesced, meeting Ninomiya’s eyes briefly. Evidently, Sakurai had not been made aware that Matsumoto was a regular visitor to the estate. “I will be joining you then, if Ninomiya does not mind.”
“Not at all, Jun-bocchama-”
Ninomiya felt rather than saw Sakurai’s eyes targeted on him. Balling his fists, he cursed his well-worn habits to the high heavens, feeling an almost palpable chill emanating from his new master. Across them Matsumoto gravely shook his head, oblivious.
“Please start calling me by just my name from now,” he requested. And then, as if remembering something, he turned to Sakurai and uncharacteristically stuttered, “I-I was also wondering. If you would permit me. May I call you Older Brother?”
And that bitter smile Ninomiya had seen on another Sakurai too many times for comfort. “No.”
From his spot by the front door Aiba watched as the two heirs faced each other, pride and confusion clashing. As he took the luggage into his arms, he saw Sakurai turning on his heel and walking away, Ninomiya and Matsumoto exchanging the awkward look that often followed rejection. Aiba sighed. It was not going to be easy.
The double doors slammed sharply.
Aiba quickly looked forward, up the short flight of front stairs, past the Western-style front porch. One of the doors had been left open, swinging softly against its hinges as though blowing in a faint breeze. Only there was no wind.
Aiba shivered. Summer was ending early.
__
Prologue End
__
A/N
Maybe it’s better to write without a detailed plot? I watched Daniel Radcliffe in The Woman in Black just yesterday, and parts of it inspired me to do well in this story. I truly liked the house there, for example. So now I’m basing the house here on that one. And there’s no pre-determined plot detail to keep me from doing it. Hihihi. [11 February 2012]
NB
Lost original plot of this in an HD crash. Have created new plot, and have edited this Prologue for necessary adjustment. Thank you! ::D [06 June 2012]
Edited. AGAIN [8 November 2012]
January to March 2012
Summary
At World’s End, the Suzuran Estate sits.
A/N
[09 February 2012] I’ve always wanted to write horror. I’m quite sure I’ll be bad at it though, because I’m too fond of word salad to be an effective shock-inducer. Nevertheless, I’ll do my best! Not sure how long this will be, but I have the end in mind. This is a replacement to the presently discontinued AU Fanfic, Overture.
Shiretoko Peninsula rests on the easternmost tip of Hokkaido, Japan. It means, in the local Ainu dialect, “the end of the Earth”.
Disclaimer
The mastermind behind this plot derives no material profit from it. While several people, places, and events exist in reality, everything that follows should be digested with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Warning
I cannot write bromance or erotica to save my life.
I’m not so sure I can write horror either.
Word Count 1,332
Shiretoko
For Arashi
Prologue
A Tale of Two Brothers
Friday
15.29
The colors of the fallen leaves gave no indication it was but mid-summer.
Musing this, Ninomiya Kazunari slowly swept the dead foliage of his master’s estate, face dripping with sweat from the scorching August sun. There were masses of dried, flaming leaves to take care of, piles from different trees in the garden that had chosen that week to wilt. Two hours of his morning had been wasted on the yards alone, two hours he might have spent writing, dreaming, writing resumes that would get him somewhere. Two hours gone. And several more to go.
Sighing softly as he picked up his pace, Ninomiya realized he didn’t quite mind.
The distant sound of approaching tires distracted him from his dull, passive musings. Turning round dazedly, a long broom in his hand, he glanced up in time to see a black vehicle coming closer, its aura imposing in its simplicity. He had never seen that car before. Surely he would have remembered having seen such a car before. But then there was the click of the mansion’s double doors, the familiar rush of footsteps Ninomiya had not heard for long. Suddenly, Aiba Masaki was running forth to greet the arrival, straightening his collar with an almost contagious anxiety.
And at that moment, Ninomiya realized it was not Matsumoto Jun they would be greeting.
Instinctively he bowed as the car drove past. He did not know whether the master’s son would appreciate or even notice the gesture, but he had been too imbibed with the ways of the older generation to adapt quickly. The car came to a stop right in front of the attached house, before an Aiba bent low. Casting his long broom aside, Ninomiya dashed as quickly as propriety allowed him towards one end of the driveway, just in time to bow once more to a pair of Nikes.
Sneakers, Ninomiya wondered. White sneakers?
Daring to lift his gaze an inch or two higher, he caught sight of dark jeans, a sensible jacket, and a plain shirt with an English phrase Ninomiya did not comprehend with one glance. Before he knew it, he had gazed past the thick neck, the sculpted jaw, the thick lips and the rounded nose. Before he knew it, he was watching emotions swirl in the man’s eyes. Worry, anticipation, disappointment - all masked by a thick veil of decorum.
But Ninomiya could read that expression well. He had seen it on the older Sakurai, after all.
“Welcome to Suzuran, obocchama,” Aiba cheerfully greeted, stepping forward with a short bow. “I was your honorable father’s secretary, Aiba Masaki. That man is the caretaker, Ninomiya Kazunari. We have been expecting your arrival.”
“Thank you,” the young master sighed, exasperation blatant to Ninomiya even with his head bent low in respect. “However please don’t call me bocchama. Just my name will do.”
“But the Master never permitted us to-” Aiba ceased speaking at the blank look on Sakurai’s face. “Of course, if you wish it, we shall comply.” He paused momentarily, and even with his face averted, Ninomiya knew Aiba was licking his lips in distress. “If you would follow me inside then, Sho-sama?”
“I’d like to see the grounds first, if possible,” Sakurai replied, handing his keys to an attentive albeit worried Aiba, and turning to survey the rest of the estate with appraising eyes. Fleetingly, Ninomiya wondered what impressions it would give the new master, the domesticated jungle he had dedicated his whole life to. “If I can bother you with handling my luggage? I’d like to get my business here done as soon as possible.”
“Yes, of course, Sho-sama. Ninomiya will show you around while I manage your things.”
Ninomiya lowered his eyes for the millionth time that afternoon. “I will be glad to, Sir. If you’ll follow me kindly-”
For a brief moment of eye contact, he saw Sakurai nod heavily, albeit more considerately than his father had ever managed. Ignoring the strange surge that seemed to erupt somewhere in the chambers of his heart, Ninomiya walked away towards the gardens, slowly enough for the younger Sakurai to keep up.
He was an odd one, Ninomiya decided, eyes on the worn path at his feet. He had believed the Son to be a completely insufferable character altogether, but as expected the Sakurai Clan was too full of secrets to be pliant to foretelling.
The faint sound of a different car reached Ninomiya’s ears. Steps freezing, he was only vaguely aware of Sakurai coming to a stop behind him as well, as the sight of a silver car grabbed complete hold of his attention.
Now this was one car he was familiar with.
A faint prickle of worry instantly imprinted itself within Ninomiya. Taking a swift glance at his new master, he saw Sakurai watch the car approach without expression, his guarded eyes tracking the movement of the vehicle the way a tutor would a wayward pupil. Surely the heir had known this would happen? Surely he had expected this meeting?
The silver car parked slightly farther away from the front door. Out of it came a pair of leather shoes, dark jeans, a white dress shirt and a hat. Ninomiya watched silently as Matsumoto Jun nodded distractedly at a respectful Aiba, discarding his overnight bag with elegant indifference. With barely any hesitation, but evident caution in his eyes, he strode towards the watchful two with determined footsteps.
Belatedly, Ninomiya corrected his manners and bowed.
“It is an honor to finally meet you,” Matsumoto replied with utmost formality. Ninomiya could see, from the man’s shadow cast over the ground he was staring at, that Matsumoto had bowed as well. “I am Matsumoto Jun.”
The new master remained unruffled. “You didn’t change your name to Sakurai?”
“No.”
Ninomiya risked a peek at Sakurai’s face. But there was nothing but restraint there. “Ninomiya is taking me on a tour around the estate. I was thinking of checking the grounds. Would you like to join us?”
Matsumoto’s eyebrows twitched. “May I?”
“Of course,” Sakurai allowed, but with barely any hint of hospitality. “As I understand it, you are legally part owner of Suzuran. It would be best for you to be well acquainted with it.”
“Yes, that would be advantageous,” Matsumoto acquiesced, meeting Ninomiya’s eyes briefly. Evidently, Sakurai had not been made aware that Matsumoto was a regular visitor to the estate. “I will be joining you then, if Ninomiya does not mind.”
“Not at all, Jun-bocchama-”
Ninomiya felt rather than saw Sakurai’s eyes targeted on him. Balling his fists, he cursed his well-worn habits to the high heavens, feeling an almost palpable chill emanating from his new master. Across them Matsumoto gravely shook his head, oblivious.
“Please start calling me by just my name from now,” he requested. And then, as if remembering something, he turned to Sakurai and uncharacteristically stuttered, “I-I was also wondering. If you would permit me. May I call you Older Brother?”
And that bitter smile Ninomiya had seen on another Sakurai too many times for comfort. “No.”
From his spot by the front door Aiba watched as the two heirs faced each other, pride and confusion clashing. As he took the luggage into his arms, he saw Sakurai turning on his heel and walking away, Ninomiya and Matsumoto exchanging the awkward look that often followed rejection. Aiba sighed. It was not going to be easy.
The double doors slammed sharply.
Aiba quickly looked forward, up the short flight of front stairs, past the Western-style front porch. One of the doors had been left open, swinging softly against its hinges as though blowing in a faint breeze. Only there was no wind.
Aiba shivered. Summer was ending early.
__
Prologue End
__
A/N
Maybe it’s better to write without a detailed plot? I watched Daniel Radcliffe in The Woman in Black just yesterday, and parts of it inspired me to do well in this story. I truly liked the house there, for example. So now I’m basing the house here on that one. And there’s no pre-determined plot detail to keep me from doing it. Hihihi. [11 February 2012]
NB
Lost original plot of this in an HD crash. Have created new plot, and have edited this Prologue for necessary adjustment. Thank you! ::D [06 June 2012]
Edited. AGAIN [8 November 2012]