JK Fic: Untitled [Yoko]
This idea ran away from me and now I hate how it turned out. It should have ended some time on page two. Don't be surprised if I delete this tomorrow. Or today. Whatever. Takes place after Yoko secure her throne, so after the anime pretty much. Apologies for any OOCness--it's been a while since I've seen the anime and unfortunately I don't have them onhand to reference now.
Their eyes saw too much, but expressed too little. That was what Yoko thought that first night. What was she doing there? She couldn’t say; she’d only followed the lonely lights shining defiantly in the late night. But no one gave her a second look or objected when she asked for a table in the corner and only a pot of tea. There might have been something though, in those eyes. Disappointment maybe-or even resentment, now that she thought about it-but the smile never wavered. Not that Yoko was really looking; she was too nervous to think.
And they were watching her.
And she was watching them.
And at the end of the night, her tea gone cold and bitter from over strained leaves, she thought about how their eyes saw too much, glancing surreptitiously out of painted faces, through a curtain of bangs as they cleared tables or over their shoulders as they led men through dark doorways. They were looking at her. Wondering. Beckoning. As if they knew some secret. As if they knew all secrets.
To Yoko, it felt like those eyes held an answer to a question she had not yet asked. But she knew she was looking for something in those clear irises, in those dark pupils, in those patient smiles that never quite smiled.
She was looking for a sign. She was looking for their resentment.
To prove her a failure.
*
For weeks afterwards, she thought about that night. About those eyes. In quiet contemplation, in hazy dreams, in the cold surface of Suiguutou, those eyes peered back at her as if across an insurmountable distance. Patient, still, they waited.
“Yoko? Is something wrong?”
The Empress of Kei came to with a start. She raised her eyes to meet the appraising lavender ones in the small vanity mirror until at last she was forced to look away.
“No. It’s nothing.”
Stillness followed her words, barely disturbed by a sharp, hesitant inhalation. Parted lips trembled, forming the beginning of words, and then pressed together. The hairbrush descended again and everything was almost like it was before.
*
The problem was that nothing seemed to change. She came at the same time, sat at the same table, and watched the eyes watch her in the same way. They remembered, she thought, or maybe she just wanted to believe they did. They had become more and less than human to her.
Yoko thought she recognized a few of the faces, though she wasn’t sure. She certainly didn’t recognize the young woman who served her tea. Even with head bowed, eyes always averted, Yoko knew she was being studied through that thin veil of modesty. She knew because neither of them noticed how those slender hands shook as they tipped the teapot; neither steadied the teacup that wobbled, tipped, and spilled.
“I’m sorry!” the girl-for it was a girl who could not have been older than Yoko, maybe even younger, but it was hard to read the lack of lines on her painted face and the pinched expression at the corners of her eyes-exclaimed at once, immediately righting the cup and scrambling to stop the small puddle of steaming tea from spilling over the edges. Her hands retreated into the long purple sleeves and worked in earnest to staunch the mess; they seemed small and lost in those voluminous folds, so that Yoko instinctively reached out and covered them with her own. The girl jumped and raised her head. Her eyes, wide and shocked, were a very light brown. Yoko smiled.
“It’s alright.”
When the hostess drifted over to the table, poorly hiding an expression between a scowl of disapproval and a frown of consternation, Yoko simply looked at her and said, “This one.”
Those brown eyes never wavered but those hands trembled in her grip.
*
The room was dark and the walls were thin. Their fluttering, flickering shadows danced on the walls to the music of dulled moans and gasps and words-of passion, in ecstasy-rendered incomprehensible. The flame of the oil lamp followed these sinuous rhythms and Yoko wondered if it was because of a draft through the window or because of the unsteady hold of its bearer. The girl set it down in the far corner where there would be no danger of it being knocked down and from there it threw its weak light across her face, illuminating those pale cheeks and the glossy, dark hair.
A costume. Like her own borrowed clothing.
Yoko knelt uncertainly by the door. Theoretically she knew what came next. She wasn’t surprised when the girl knelt demurely on the futon-eyes still averted. She wasn’t surprised when the girl loosened her belt and let it fall away. She wasn’t surprised when the girl reached up with one pale hand and began to draw her collar down.
She was surprised when she heard herself say, “Are you happy?”
The girl froze in her position, hand pressed against her collarbone, her robe threatening to plunge over the slope of her delicate shoulder. Yoko could hear her heart beating in her ears. Suddenly it felt like she was holding an audience and she’d said something stupid. Again.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, but the girl remained still. Then, with exaggerated care, she slid the robe over her shoulder. Yoko looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, babbling now, “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have done this.”
The money was heavy in her hand; the metal coins clinked heavily against each other when she set it on the floor. She got up slowly, but her heart was in her throat and beating so fast she thought she was going to choke and she wanted to run but instead she took an unsteady step toward the door and then a hand caught her wrist and she almost fell in her speed to turn around.
The girl looked right into her eyes. Those brown eyes that seemed to spill over with unwritten tomes of unspeakable experiences, of inexpressible emotions. Sad eyes. Angry eyes. Pitying eyes. Indifferent eyes.
This could have been her. Her. Yoko. This could have been her.
The carmine red lips parted and for a dizzying moment Yoko felt like she was dangling on the edge of a revelation. But then the girl looked down in silence and let her go. Yoko stumbled away until her back hit the door. She fumbled for the handle and flung the door open when she found it.
That was when the girl softly said, “Your majesty.”
And Yoko’s heart stopped.
“Your majesty, you can’t make everyone happy.”
And Yoko fled. Away from her. Away from those words. Away from the helplessness.
*
“Do you think,” she asked Rakushun once some time afterwards, “that it’s impossible to make everyone happy?”
He studied her before saying, “The people of Kei aren’t asking you to make them happy, Yoko. They only ask that you rule well and prosper so that they and the land can prosper, too.”
She put her elbows on the table and hid behind her folded hands. “But that’s why it’s so important, Rakushun. They don’t ask but they work so hard for it. It’s why I want to give it to them. Happiness.”
“You can only give them the opportunity for happiness,” he said gently. “The rest is up to them.”
She turned away from him and gazed out the window at the verdant green of the gardens. Then she muttered so softly that he couldn’t hear, “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
*
The third time she visited, the girl spotted her immediately and drew her upstairs to a room that while not the same one was remarkably similar. Yoko didn’t say a word but followed silently. The girl motioned for her to sit and so Yoko did, using a nearby cushion. The girl settled down in front of her.
They stared at each other. She didn’t look so young, Yoko thought. Or maybe she only felt younger in comparison. Years from now, maybe centuries if she did well by Kei, someone would look at her and think the same thing. The thought almost made her shiver.
Finally the girl said, “I am not unhappy.
“I am not cold in the winter. I am not hungry at night. When it rains, I have a roof over my head. Perhaps others find enjoyment in what I do for them. Maybe that is happiness.”
“You knew who I was,” Yoko said softly. “You knew… I was a woman. Would you have still…?” But she couldn’t finish.
“Would it have made you happy?” the girl asked.
“No.” Not with anybody like this.
The girl shrugged. “Who can measure happiness then? Who can define it?”
Yoko looked away uneasily. “Did you choose this?”
The girl smiled but it was neither nice nor cruel. “Some choices seem like choices. I made the decision I thought best.”
“What can I do?” Yoko whispered, almost pleading.
The girl looked puzzled and then she laughed, a raw sound that dwindled into the almost sad tinkling peal of bells. In her dying laughter, Yoko heard something almost natural and her heart filled at its sound until it rested heavily in her chest.
“For me?” She shook her head. “You do nothing. What can you do?”
But at the end of the night, Yoko left her money and took the image of the girl with her in her thoughts, the sound of her sad laughter echoing in her ears.
*
“Keiki, the second time you swore your oath to me, I chose to accept it. I want to give the people of Kei the same opportunity to make their own choices. I want to give them opportunities. Will you help me?”
“Yes,” the kirin said, answering not out of loyalty, but out of pride, proudly choosing to be the first among many that would rise to her summons, that would make the choice she wanted so badly to give.
Their eyes saw too much, but expressed too little. That was what Yoko thought that first night. What was she doing there? She couldn’t say; she’d only followed the lonely lights shining defiantly in the late night. But no one gave her a second look or objected when she asked for a table in the corner and only a pot of tea. There might have been something though, in those eyes. Disappointment maybe-or even resentment, now that she thought about it-but the smile never wavered. Not that Yoko was really looking; she was too nervous to think.
And they were watching her.
And she was watching them.
And at the end of the night, her tea gone cold and bitter from over strained leaves, she thought about how their eyes saw too much, glancing surreptitiously out of painted faces, through a curtain of bangs as they cleared tables or over their shoulders as they led men through dark doorways. They were looking at her. Wondering. Beckoning. As if they knew some secret. As if they knew all secrets.
To Yoko, it felt like those eyes held an answer to a question she had not yet asked. But she knew she was looking for something in those clear irises, in those dark pupils, in those patient smiles that never quite smiled.
She was looking for a sign. She was looking for their resentment.
To prove her a failure.
*
For weeks afterwards, she thought about that night. About those eyes. In quiet contemplation, in hazy dreams, in the cold surface of Suiguutou, those eyes peered back at her as if across an insurmountable distance. Patient, still, they waited.
“Yoko? Is something wrong?”
The Empress of Kei came to with a start. She raised her eyes to meet the appraising lavender ones in the small vanity mirror until at last she was forced to look away.
“No. It’s nothing.”
Stillness followed her words, barely disturbed by a sharp, hesitant inhalation. Parted lips trembled, forming the beginning of words, and then pressed together. The hairbrush descended again and everything was almost like it was before.
*
The problem was that nothing seemed to change. She came at the same time, sat at the same table, and watched the eyes watch her in the same way. They remembered, she thought, or maybe she just wanted to believe they did. They had become more and less than human to her.
Yoko thought she recognized a few of the faces, though she wasn’t sure. She certainly didn’t recognize the young woman who served her tea. Even with head bowed, eyes always averted, Yoko knew she was being studied through that thin veil of modesty. She knew because neither of them noticed how those slender hands shook as they tipped the teapot; neither steadied the teacup that wobbled, tipped, and spilled.
“I’m sorry!” the girl-for it was a girl who could not have been older than Yoko, maybe even younger, but it was hard to read the lack of lines on her painted face and the pinched expression at the corners of her eyes-exclaimed at once, immediately righting the cup and scrambling to stop the small puddle of steaming tea from spilling over the edges. Her hands retreated into the long purple sleeves and worked in earnest to staunch the mess; they seemed small and lost in those voluminous folds, so that Yoko instinctively reached out and covered them with her own. The girl jumped and raised her head. Her eyes, wide and shocked, were a very light brown. Yoko smiled.
“It’s alright.”
When the hostess drifted over to the table, poorly hiding an expression between a scowl of disapproval and a frown of consternation, Yoko simply looked at her and said, “This one.”
Those brown eyes never wavered but those hands trembled in her grip.
*
The room was dark and the walls were thin. Their fluttering, flickering shadows danced on the walls to the music of dulled moans and gasps and words-of passion, in ecstasy-rendered incomprehensible. The flame of the oil lamp followed these sinuous rhythms and Yoko wondered if it was because of a draft through the window or because of the unsteady hold of its bearer. The girl set it down in the far corner where there would be no danger of it being knocked down and from there it threw its weak light across her face, illuminating those pale cheeks and the glossy, dark hair.
A costume. Like her own borrowed clothing.
Yoko knelt uncertainly by the door. Theoretically she knew what came next. She wasn’t surprised when the girl knelt demurely on the futon-eyes still averted. She wasn’t surprised when the girl loosened her belt and let it fall away. She wasn’t surprised when the girl reached up with one pale hand and began to draw her collar down.
She was surprised when she heard herself say, “Are you happy?”
The girl froze in her position, hand pressed against her collarbone, her robe threatening to plunge over the slope of her delicate shoulder. Yoko could hear her heart beating in her ears. Suddenly it felt like she was holding an audience and she’d said something stupid. Again.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, but the girl remained still. Then, with exaggerated care, she slid the robe over her shoulder. Yoko looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, babbling now, “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have done this.”
The money was heavy in her hand; the metal coins clinked heavily against each other when she set it on the floor. She got up slowly, but her heart was in her throat and beating so fast she thought she was going to choke and she wanted to run but instead she took an unsteady step toward the door and then a hand caught her wrist and she almost fell in her speed to turn around.
The girl looked right into her eyes. Those brown eyes that seemed to spill over with unwritten tomes of unspeakable experiences, of inexpressible emotions. Sad eyes. Angry eyes. Pitying eyes. Indifferent eyes.
This could have been her. Her. Yoko. This could have been her.
The carmine red lips parted and for a dizzying moment Yoko felt like she was dangling on the edge of a revelation. But then the girl looked down in silence and let her go. Yoko stumbled away until her back hit the door. She fumbled for the handle and flung the door open when she found it.
That was when the girl softly said, “Your majesty.”
And Yoko’s heart stopped.
“Your majesty, you can’t make everyone happy.”
And Yoko fled. Away from her. Away from those words. Away from the helplessness.
*
“Do you think,” she asked Rakushun once some time afterwards, “that it’s impossible to make everyone happy?”
He studied her before saying, “The people of Kei aren’t asking you to make them happy, Yoko. They only ask that you rule well and prosper so that they and the land can prosper, too.”
She put her elbows on the table and hid behind her folded hands. “But that’s why it’s so important, Rakushun. They don’t ask but they work so hard for it. It’s why I want to give it to them. Happiness.”
“You can only give them the opportunity for happiness,” he said gently. “The rest is up to them.”
She turned away from him and gazed out the window at the verdant green of the gardens. Then she muttered so softly that he couldn’t hear, “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
*
The third time she visited, the girl spotted her immediately and drew her upstairs to a room that while not the same one was remarkably similar. Yoko didn’t say a word but followed silently. The girl motioned for her to sit and so Yoko did, using a nearby cushion. The girl settled down in front of her.
They stared at each other. She didn’t look so young, Yoko thought. Or maybe she only felt younger in comparison. Years from now, maybe centuries if she did well by Kei, someone would look at her and think the same thing. The thought almost made her shiver.
Finally the girl said, “I am not unhappy.
“I am not cold in the winter. I am not hungry at night. When it rains, I have a roof over my head. Perhaps others find enjoyment in what I do for them. Maybe that is happiness.”
“You knew who I was,” Yoko said softly. “You knew… I was a woman. Would you have still…?” But she couldn’t finish.
“Would it have made you happy?” the girl asked.
“No.” Not with anybody like this.
The girl shrugged. “Who can measure happiness then? Who can define it?”
Yoko looked away uneasily. “Did you choose this?”
The girl smiled but it was neither nice nor cruel. “Some choices seem like choices. I made the decision I thought best.”
“What can I do?” Yoko whispered, almost pleading.
The girl looked puzzled and then she laughed, a raw sound that dwindled into the almost sad tinkling peal of bells. In her dying laughter, Yoko heard something almost natural and her heart filled at its sound until it rested heavily in her chest.
“For me?” She shook her head. “You do nothing. What can you do?”
But at the end of the night, Yoko left her money and took the image of the girl with her in her thoughts, the sound of her sad laughter echoing in her ears.
*
“Keiki, the second time you swore your oath to me, I chose to accept it. I want to give the people of Kei the same opportunity to make their own choices. I want to give them opportunities. Will you help me?”
“Yes,” the kirin said, answering not out of loyalty, but out of pride, proudly choosing to be the first among many that would rise to her summons, that would make the choice she wanted so badly to give.