Getting the ball rolling again
Well, here's something pretty random. It's the first part of a longer story I've been noodling with for a year or more now. I don't have a title for it yet.
It's kind of an experiment so I'm interested in what you all think of it, if it works or not. I was going for a kind of Regency romance novel tone.
It takes place before the events of the RK series, while the exiles from Aizu are living in Aomori. Hajime Saitou was one of these exiles, though he was living under the name Denpachi Ichinohe at that time.
If you're interested in the poems mentioned, look here.
Title: (no title yet)
Author: Negotiatrix
Rating: G
Characters: Saitou and Tokio
Summary/Link:
~~~
A young person was in the courtyard garden, kneeling and dead-heading the flowers that grew in artful abandon around the tiny pond. A teahouse stood at the far end of the garden, while the porch of the house she lived in was on the other side of the pond before her. Her hair was bound up in a scarf, and her hands on the shears were rough and chapped. Yet she was no servant or peasant girl. Lady Tokio, former personal secretary to Princess Teru of Aizu, was enjoying the unusually sunny autumn day in Aomori.
The Kurasawa household was one of the most well-to-do establishments in the area, but that did not mean that it’s members were at leisure. All of the exiles from Aizu teetered near poverty, though some more than others. The Kurasawas worked just as hard as their few servants did to maintain the household. It was one of the things which had pleased Tokio about her new home.
Physical labor, she found, was an excellent remedy for remembering too much about her old life. Her mind may cry out at the lack of intellectual pursuits, but by the end of a day’s work, she could calm it with much needed sleep. On this day, her intellect was focused entirely on locating and eliminating the next withered flower when a man’s voice drifted to her from across the water.
“The color of the flowers has already faded away, yet one bloom still recalls the scent of home.”
Startled, Tokio dropped her shears. She looked up to find a stranger standing on the opposite bank of the pond, lazily smoking a cigarette. Tall and lanky, he leaned against the post of the house with a lazy smirk, yet exuded a confident air that unnerved her. His dark eyes, fixed intently upon her, were breathtaking. After a moment the man chuckled a little, and she realized she had been staring. She covered her embarrassment by standing and straightening her work apron.
Whoever this man was, there was only one reason that he could be quoting poetry to her. While unused to being pursued herself, she had witnessed and even assisted enough assignations in the Aizu court to know what his intent was. She wasn’t sure yet how she wished to respond to his invitation, but there was one thing she simply could not let pass.
“I believe you are mixing your metaphors, or at least your poets,” Tokio blurted out. The man merely raised one eyebrow impossibly high. Immoderately annoyed now at this stranger’s intrusion, she continued, “Those lines are from two different poems, sir.”
He stared at her, blowing out of stream of smoke. “I merely felt moved by a lovely sight. I certainly did not expect to have my literature references critiqued by you,” he finally replied. His slight emphasis on the word ‘you’ told Tokio that he assumed her to be a servant. His next words confirmed it.
“Have you been reading your mistress’s love letters?” he asked, amused. Tokio lifted her chin a notch and refused to reply to such nonsense. He smiled predatorily.
“Why don’t you walk with me behind the teahouse there and you may instruct me in the art of quoting poetry to ladies?” He was already striding around the small pond toward her as he spoke.
Tokio could almost feel her blood boil at the arrogance of the man. She stamped her foot in anger and opened her mouth to set this intruder in his place. Before she could get a single word out, she fell over the basket she had left in the path. She automatically put her arm out behind to catch herself, but never contacted the ground. Instead, she was caught and drawn against the man’s chest. She looked up to find those curiously intent eyes fixed upon her as his head bent lower.
His face was lean and weathered, yet she could see that he was not old. He must be about her own age, she thought. His lips, which earlier had been drawn together in the thin line of his smirk, were now soft and slightly parted as they descended upon hers. Almost.
“Mr. Ichinohe!” a sharp, female voice cut across the garden. Tokio opened her eyes and blushed when she realized she had closed them in expectation of a kiss. The strange man’s face was still a breath away. He had rolled his eyes heavenward upon hearing the other woman’s voice. His aggrieved expression softened momentarily when he released Tokio. Then he was gone.
The owner of the sharp voice came around the corner of the porch just then and Tokio saw the man was already there to assist her down the steps.
“I’m ready to leave now, Mr. Ichinohe,” she said tarttly as she took his arm.
Tokio recognized her from when Mrs. Kurasawa had pointed her out in town, though she didn’t recall the woman’s name. She was a relative newcomer to Aomori. Mrs. Kurasawa had said the woman’s betrothed, a Hajime Saito, was an old friend of Mr. Kurasawa’s.
So who is this Mr. Ichinohe that she is with today? she wondered to herself. From the tone of her voice, the woman was complaining about something as the couple disappeared around the side of the house toward the front gate.
“I must apologize. I had intended to introduce you more formally to our guests,” a voice startled Tokio out of her reverie. She turned to find Yaeko Kurasawa spoiling a very formal bow by laughing through it.
“I’m not sure that I’m missing out on anything! That man is terribly rude!” Tokio laughed nervously. She wondered just how much her hostess, or the other woman, had witnessed. Yaeko studied her with a small smile as they walked back to the house, but said nothing.
~~~
It's kind of an experiment so I'm interested in what you all think of it, if it works or not. I was going for a kind of Regency romance novel tone.
It takes place before the events of the RK series, while the exiles from Aizu are living in Aomori. Hajime Saitou was one of these exiles, though he was living under the name Denpachi Ichinohe at that time.
If you're interested in the poems mentioned, look here.
Title: (no title yet)
Author: Negotiatrix
Rating: G
Characters: Saitou and Tokio
Summary/Link:
~~~
A young person was in the courtyard garden, kneeling and dead-heading the flowers that grew in artful abandon around the tiny pond. A teahouse stood at the far end of the garden, while the porch of the house she lived in was on the other side of the pond before her. Her hair was bound up in a scarf, and her hands on the shears were rough and chapped. Yet she was no servant or peasant girl. Lady Tokio, former personal secretary to Princess Teru of Aizu, was enjoying the unusually sunny autumn day in Aomori.
The Kurasawa household was one of the most well-to-do establishments in the area, but that did not mean that it’s members were at leisure. All of the exiles from Aizu teetered near poverty, though some more than others. The Kurasawas worked just as hard as their few servants did to maintain the household. It was one of the things which had pleased Tokio about her new home.
Physical labor, she found, was an excellent remedy for remembering too much about her old life. Her mind may cry out at the lack of intellectual pursuits, but by the end of a day’s work, she could calm it with much needed sleep. On this day, her intellect was focused entirely on locating and eliminating the next withered flower when a man’s voice drifted to her from across the water.
“The color of the flowers has already faded away, yet one bloom still recalls the scent of home.”
Startled, Tokio dropped her shears. She looked up to find a stranger standing on the opposite bank of the pond, lazily smoking a cigarette. Tall and lanky, he leaned against the post of the house with a lazy smirk, yet exuded a confident air that unnerved her. His dark eyes, fixed intently upon her, were breathtaking. After a moment the man chuckled a little, and she realized she had been staring. She covered her embarrassment by standing and straightening her work apron.
Whoever this man was, there was only one reason that he could be quoting poetry to her. While unused to being pursued herself, she had witnessed and even assisted enough assignations in the Aizu court to know what his intent was. She wasn’t sure yet how she wished to respond to his invitation, but there was one thing she simply could not let pass.
“I believe you are mixing your metaphors, or at least your poets,” Tokio blurted out. The man merely raised one eyebrow impossibly high. Immoderately annoyed now at this stranger’s intrusion, she continued, “Those lines are from two different poems, sir.”
He stared at her, blowing out of stream of smoke. “I merely felt moved by a lovely sight. I certainly did not expect to have my literature references critiqued by you,” he finally replied. His slight emphasis on the word ‘you’ told Tokio that he assumed her to be a servant. His next words confirmed it.
“Have you been reading your mistress’s love letters?” he asked, amused. Tokio lifted her chin a notch and refused to reply to such nonsense. He smiled predatorily.
“Why don’t you walk with me behind the teahouse there and you may instruct me in the art of quoting poetry to ladies?” He was already striding around the small pond toward her as he spoke.
Tokio could almost feel her blood boil at the arrogance of the man. She stamped her foot in anger and opened her mouth to set this intruder in his place. Before she could get a single word out, she fell over the basket she had left in the path. She automatically put her arm out behind to catch herself, but never contacted the ground. Instead, she was caught and drawn against the man’s chest. She looked up to find those curiously intent eyes fixed upon her as his head bent lower.
His face was lean and weathered, yet she could see that he was not old. He must be about her own age, she thought. His lips, which earlier had been drawn together in the thin line of his smirk, were now soft and slightly parted as they descended upon hers. Almost.
“Mr. Ichinohe!” a sharp, female voice cut across the garden. Tokio opened her eyes and blushed when she realized she had closed them in expectation of a kiss. The strange man’s face was still a breath away. He had rolled his eyes heavenward upon hearing the other woman’s voice. His aggrieved expression softened momentarily when he released Tokio. Then he was gone.
The owner of the sharp voice came around the corner of the porch just then and Tokio saw the man was already there to assist her down the steps.
“I’m ready to leave now, Mr. Ichinohe,” she said tarttly as she took his arm.
Tokio recognized her from when Mrs. Kurasawa had pointed her out in town, though she didn’t recall the woman’s name. She was a relative newcomer to Aomori. Mrs. Kurasawa had said the woman’s betrothed, a Hajime Saito, was an old friend of Mr. Kurasawa’s.
So who is this Mr. Ichinohe that she is with today? she wondered to herself. From the tone of her voice, the woman was complaining about something as the couple disappeared around the side of the house toward the front gate.
“I must apologize. I had intended to introduce you more formally to our guests,” a voice startled Tokio out of her reverie. She turned to find Yaeko Kurasawa spoiling a very formal bow by laughing through it.
“I’m not sure that I’m missing out on anything! That man is terribly rude!” Tokio laughed nervously. She wondered just how much her hostess, or the other woman, had witnessed. Yaeko studied her with a small smile as they walked back to the house, but said nothing.
~~~