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sabraeal · 5 months

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If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, who long ago won the top prize of my 500 Followers raffle way back in 2018. These were all supposed to be done in the few months I had before I gave birth to my second son...who is now less than two months away from his fifth birthday. And in a few weeks, I will be posting the beginning of my 1000 Followers celebration. So you know. Better late than never

His fingers flex before they settle on the keyboard, a cacophony of cracks that would set his mother’s teeth on edge if she heard them. Not that she’d scold him; oh no, Yamazaki would just find a new bottle on his desk after school, some brown glass container— not plastic, never plastic; things like that were made from oil and oil has chemicals, and no matter how often he explain that all things are made of chemicals, even her all-natural essential oils, it would never take— that would say ‘Susu’s Supplements’ complete with a smiling face. Nearly four years out of the house and his shoulders twitch just thinking about it, ready to hike up around his ears at the first whisper of homeopathy.

Instead, Yamazaki rotates them, points angling from inward to outward, forcing his shoulders square and spine straight. Head over heart, heart over pelvis. A straight line from crown to coccyx. Already the muscles ache, longing to hunch— too many hours at a screen, his mother would say, we’re meant to hunt and gather, not hunt and peck. Lips pressed tight, he tilts his head, popping his neck for good measure. One side, then the other. There’s an order to these things, a ritual, and he’s in no mood to rush himself.

But he’s fast running out of joins to crack, excuses wearing thin as he twists his spine, then flexes his feet. A few satisfying pops press them flat to the floor, and he bites the bullet: inbox open, his outstanding draft unfurls across the screen.

Re: Re: Re: Final Grades Deadline, the subject line reads, and with delicate precision, Yamazaki types: Dr. Matsumoto, I hope you are enjoying your time back in Japan with your family, however—

Orange flashes at the corner of his eye. It’s the messenger, wedged tight between tabs on his task bar. Out of the way. Easy enough to ignore.

—however, it’s come to my attention that—

It’s silent, that’s the problem. Just a block of color that won’t go away until he clicks it. And a small 1 in the corner of it, letting him know it’s a direct message. That someone is looking specifically for him. And it won’t go away, not until he pays it some sort of attention.

—that there are still students for whom grades have not yet been—

Not that he has to. If it was urgent, if he was needed, anyone with that information could simply call him. This email, however, is time sensitive. Time oversensitive, if he really thinks about it. Which he’s trying to not, if only so he can finish it.

—not yet been finalized with administration. If there are any changes you would like to make, tomorrow is the last time to—

He could swear it’s flashing now, the number flicking up to 2, then 3. Like message after message is careening into his DMs, a pileup of personal correspondence he’ll only be able to sort through the wreckage of if this takes any longer.

—tomorrow is the last time to submit electronically. Anything after that will have to be manually changed by—

It’s a trick of the eye, an illusion of increased frequency. It blinks at the same rate for one message as it does for one hundred. His palms break out into a sweat. It would be so easy for 3 to flip to 4, for 4 to suddenly become 9+, and he’ll never know just how many messages are waiting for him, how many people are waiting for him until he finishes this damned email.

—stopping by the administration office in-person. Please let me know if you need any assistance with the electronic submissions.

Relief bows him over the keyboard, and with a quick flourish, he tacks on, Best, Yamazaki.

One last click sends the message on its way, that particular problem no longer his responsibility— until Dr Matsumoto inevitably makes it his— and he turns his attention down to the current object of his ire. The application flicks open, and—

[Saito.Hajime] Souji has sent me a number of Direct Messages regarding the creation of his character for our upcoming roleplaying event I thought you should be made aware

“Oh,” Yamazaki mutters, tension already flooding his shoulders. “Come on.”

[Susumu Yamazaki] Oh? Is that so? Color me surprised. Just what did he want to inquire about? Perhaps whatever character concept would be personally inconvenient for me to have to deal with on short notice? Maybe he’d like to be the emperor? Or a lizard person? A lizard-person emperor?

[Saito.Hajime] I do not believe his is taking into account your level of discomfort Though he did inquire about the non-human options open to him

[Susumu Yamazaki] Of course he did.

[Saito.Hajime] Also, I do not think the Zokujin are available as a player race Not in the current edition of the rules

[Susumu Yamazaki] No. They’re not.

[Saito.Hajime] However I did take the liberty of discouraging him from looking further into the Kitsune Impersonator school

Yamazaki grinds the heels of his palms over his eyes, fireworks splaying across the dark. The last thing he needs is letting Okita loose in a room full of roleplayers extremely sensitive to ridicule with a skill called ‘Fanning the Flames’.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Good. I would like to be invited back to the next event. So what does he want? There has to be some catch. There’s no way he’d be happy creating a character using just the core rules.

[Saito.Hajime] He asked if it was possible to acquire some information on his clan of choice There was not much present in the books we made available during character creation

[Susumu Yamazaki] 1) How would he know? He wasn’t even there? 2) The Player’s Guide has a sufficient overview of all the available Great Clans. Which one could he possibly have trouble finding information on?

[Saito.Hajime] Souji was interested in learning more about specific aspects of the Cat Clan

His teeth grit so hard he can feel the fault lines forming. Tell him, he types, pecking each key with relish, to go fuck himself. Each stroke feels good, feels perfect, up until he hits the backspace.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Leave it to Okita to pull something like this. Cat Clan isn’t even one of the listed options for play in 5th edition! Guy doesn’t even bother to show up to our planned group session, but now he wants to ask us to jump through additional hoops to help him create a character from a niche clan for the *meme*or whatever he’s on about now.

[Saito.Hajime] To know it is even an option means that he at least read the material we provided That conveys a certain level of personal investment on his part More than I would have expected Souji to show

[Susumu Yamazaki] Really? You don’t think that he just went, ‘I like cats. I think I’ll say I want to be a cat and see whether or not Yamazaki personally loses his shit about it?’

[Saito.Hajime] I think you are ascribing malicious intent where there is only indifference

[Susumu Yamazaki] Thanks. Definitely makes me feel good about all this.

[Saito.Hajime] Souji often masks his interest by attempting to be mocking or feigning disinterest

[Susumu Yamazaki] He’s also the kind of asshole who likes to take advantage of everyone’s better nature and pretend that he’s interested in something they care about, only to turn around and make a fucking joke out of it, like a total sociopath

[Saito.Hajime] If it bothers you to put in a sustained amount of effort to assist him in the event that he is ‘simply fucking around’ then I would be happy to help him on my own I would hate for him to be truly interested and refuse to engage with him over simple skepticism about his motives

[Susumu Yamazaki] Fine. It’s your time. I can’t stop you from wasting it.

[Saito.Hajime] Your concern is appreciated if not entirely warranted

“It’s just…” A hiss whistles through his teeth as his chair swivels, bringing him level with Saito’s level stare. “I don’t know why he’s even bothering to do this when he doesn’t even want to go. The other guys might be forcing him to go for” —to be honest, he’s not really clear on the reason, and at this point, he’s certain the answer will only aggravate him— “bonding purposes, or punishment, or whatever, but I don’t care if he puts in effort. He can feel free to have a bad time, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Saito tilts his head, thoughtful. “Is it really so hard to believe that Souji might enjoy the idea of pretending to be someone else, so long as it was in a structured, positive, and judgment-free environment?”

Yamazaki swivels back to his keyboard, mouth pulled thin as he types, Stop trying to make me feel bad for Okita. It’s not going to happen.

Saito glances over at his screen and lets out the smallest, nearly imperceptible sigh.

[Saito.Hajime] I do not expect you to

[Susumu Yamazaki] Am I just supposed to forget that he broke Ibuki’s arm? It wasn’t even a year ago! It’s not like he’s changed!

[Saito.Hajime] You are not often so intractable, but on this subject you do insist on itAnd I respect that you feel that way

He scowls at the screen, pulse throbbing just beneath his collar. I’m not being intractable. If it were anyone but Okita, none of you would even—

Knock. It’s a soft little noise at first, but enough to jar him from his thoughts and set his hands hovering over his keyboard. Knock-knock. Knock?

Okita. That’s who it has to be. Clearly using Saito as his proxy isn’t yielding the results he wants. No, now he’s got to come down and twist the screws himself. Got to saunter on over and drink the annoyance straight from the spigot. Because of course that’s who his evening would choose to shape itself around: the single person in this house he can’t stand. That’s what would make narrative sense, at least.

But as he swivels over to scowl at the door, it occurs to him that Okita might knock, but he wouldn’t bother to wait. He’d try the knob at least, rattling it so hard Yamazaki would hear it even through the noise-canceling on his headphones. But this is tentative, almost a question, and that, that seems more like—

“E-excuse me?” A voice filters through the wood, almost as soft as the knocks. “Y-yamazaki? Are you h—ah, in?”

“Ah…” Saito’s mouth curls at a corner, as close as he comes to a smile, and Yamazaki’s tongue trips over, “Y-yukimura? Is that you?”

“Um, yes! It is!” Her feet shuffle on the carpet, boards groaning with every shift. “Is it…? I mean, would it be okay if I came in?”

“Oh, ah…” He scrambles to his feet, scanning their floor in a desperate scan for contraband. They both keep their sides tidy, clothes in hampers and beds neatly tucked, but it would be just his sort of luck for her to come in and stumble over a pair of yesterday’s boxers. “Yes. Of course. Please.”

Saito’s brows raise as he takes his seat again, less surprised than amused, and Yamazaki has just enough presence of mind to hiss, “Don’t,” before the door slips open, Yukimura hesitantly insinuating herself through the gap. Her eyes fix on the toes of her slippers as if she could will them to stillness.

“Thank you for letting me—oh!” Her gaze flicks up, fluttering when it lands on the other occupant of this room. “Hajime, you’re here too!”

“I can leave,” Saito offers, far too quick. “If you would prefer to be alone.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Yukimura’s cheeks had already been a pale pink when she shuffled in, but now they veer to a vibrant rose. “Actually, this might be better. Ah, I mean…I think. Not that I had planned to, um…”

It’s…sweet, the way she shuffles; one fluffy slipper scratching fruitlessly at the back of her ankle as she tries to wrangle her intentions into words. Yamazaki could watch her do it for hours, one bashful scratch after the other, but he takes mercy on her instead. “Did you need something, Yukimura?”

“Oh, um, yes!” That gets both feet back on the floor, spine so straight even his aches in sympathy. “It’s…the LARP. I thought we might talk about it, maybe?”

She’s changed her mind, that’s what this is about. After two hours of listening to all of them talk about clans and rings and whether a lion was really Toudou’s fursona, she’s finally realized that it’s just some silly kid’s game. It’s Yukimura, so she’ll dress the reason up, nice enough that even gilt might shine like gold, but that will be the long and short of it: it’s a childish little pretend game, and Yamazaki is a loser for liking it.

“Oh.” Might as well yank this bandaid off before it can bond to the skin. “Sure. Of course. Why don’t you, er…take a seat?”

His hand sweeps out before he completes the crucial mental math needed to know: there’s only two chairs in this room, and him and Saito are sitting in both of them. He jumps to his feet, offer already on his lips, but—

But Yukimura simply smooths her skirt over her thighs, settling down on top of his comforter in a way that is…distracting. To say the least. And it’s not made any better with Saito’s eyes boring into his back.

“Oh, um, is this okay?” Her eyelashes flutter uncertainly, gaze darting from him to the door to his seat and then back again. Enough time to realize he’s staring like some sort of idiot. “If you’d prefer that I move, I don’t mind st—?”

“No! It’s—it’s fine. I wouldn’t even mind if you…” Slept on it. His teeth snap shut around the words. That’s not exactly the sort of suggestion a teaching assistant should be giving a student, even if the class had run its course. “Make yourself at home.”

“Ah…” Her smile stretches thin. “…Thank you.”

Despite the invitation, she’s rigid, a wary little statue perched at the edge of his mattress. Her heels hook on the frame, hands pressed tight over her kneecaps, bent like she’s ready to spring, to hop off at the slightest hint of his displeasure. Gargoyle, Okita might call her, savoring the nasty flavor of the insult— or at least he would until Saito hummed, without a spout for water flow, she’d really only be a grotesque.

But Yukimura isn’t here to emulate architectural features. No, she’s here to let him down gently, even if it seems she could use some assistance doing so.

“Ah, Yukimura…” Yamazaki clears his throat, forcing the bile back down to his stomach, where it belongs. “You know, if you aren’t interested in participating in the event, it’s all right. You won’t be hurting anyone’s feelings.”

The amount of personal disappointment Saito can pack into a single cluck of his tongue would give his mom a run for her money. But if guilt is the target he’s aiming for, Saito misses it by a mile; instead, Yamazaki’s annoyed. Here he is trying to smother the sickening free fall of rejection, not letting a single twitch of it show on his face or the slightest tinge color his tone, and somehow it’s not enough. That somehow by refusing to push her, he’s letting everyone down, and—

“No, that’s not— I don’t mean that at all!” Yukimura waves her hands, as if that alone might clear his misunderstanding. “It’s the opposite. I mean, if there is an…um…opposite for something like this. It’s just…I know what I want to do! But I wanted to talk to you about it first. Oh, ah” —her gaze darts behind him, to where Saito sits— “the two of you, I mean. Since both of you will, um…”

She shrugs, helpless, but Yamazaki can hardly help her. It’s taking all he has to just gape, to parse that not only does she want to come with them, but she has a…a concept. A character she wants to play, one that’s complicated enough she wants his input, and he’ll look stupid if he pinches himself, but that’s the only way he could possibly prove he’s awake.

So it’s Saito that chimes in with, “Of course, Yukimura. We would be happy to provide whatever assistance you need.”

“Oh, really?” She perks where she’s perched, mouth as round as her eyes. “That’s…good! Great, even.”

“So, what are you thinking?” It’s a struggle to keep his excitement from tugging on his words, dragging them out of his register like an overeager puppy. “I know you hadn’t made up your mind when we were all working on characters, so—”

“Ah, actually…” Her shoulders round, barely obscuring the shy pink spread over her cheeks. “I, er, sort of knew what I wanted to do then, but I just…I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be okay? So I tried to come up with something else, but…”

But this is what she wants to do. What she really wants, because she has an opinion about it. She cares what she plays. It’s terrible how much he likes that about her.

“Anything you want would be fine,” he rushes to assure her, too breathless. “There’s very few things that aren’t allowed.”

At least, things Yukimura might think to do. When Saito finally strong-arms him into give the same talk to Okita, there would need to be more than a few caveats. Strictures, even.

Saito nods.“The event organizers are quite open to most concepts their players create. If you have conceived of something outside the usual bounds of play, I’m sure they would be happy to work with you to—”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing— nothing like that.” The look that filters up through her lashes is shy, hopeful even as her head ducks against her shoulder, as if she’s bracing for a blow. “I just…I thought…I mean, it was really Kimigiku who said it first, but I think I agree that it would be, ah, best if I made a character that would give me an excuse to stay near more experienced players, since I’m, you know, new, and, um, not really good at acting yet, and, ah…?”

“Ah! Excellent idea, Yukimura. There are plenty of well-established players that enjoy teaching newer ones.” Shimada would be an obvious choice— he’d been the one to take him under his wing, shinobi-to-shinobi, back when Yamazaki first joined— though his steely Hiruma scout was a difficult sell for companionship. Enomoto too, though as an organizer, it would be hard to say if he’d be playing his Kitsuki investigator or a more plot-bearing role. “Do you think if I were to email Ootori now, he might be able to get us a list of—?”

Saito clears his throat, pointed. “I think Yukimura might already have some idea of what mentors she would prefer.”

“Oh…?” Yamazaki glances at her, catching the quick bob of her head. “Ah, sorry! I didn’t think you knew anyone but Saito and myself. But if there’s someone else…?”

He hardly thinks he’s earned the weary glare Saito slings his way. At least until Yukimura stutters out, “It’s just…I thought…?” Her eyes dart between the two of them, brow pinched tight over her nose. “I thought maybe…I might play the, um…daimyo’s daughter? If that’s okay, that is.”

For as acute as his hearing is, Yamazaki cannot have possibly heard that right. “…Excuse me? Which…?”

“The, uh…Crane Clan princess.” Her lips purse, thoughtful. Too thoughtful, really, when he can’t even knock two brain cells together to get a spark. “Or I guess she’s not really a princess, but…um…?”

“The Doji daimyo’s daughter,” Saito says, devastatingly even. “The one that Yamazaki and I are sworn to protect.”

“Yes!” She smiles so bright she can’t possibly understand what she’s asking. “That way I’ll have a reason for sticking close to you two!”

He can only stare, mouth working useless at a muffled, “W-what?”

“Oh, I just…I didn’t want to impose on you two by making some new character and forcing you both to shoehorn her in to accommodate me. But I…” Her hands flutter, flustered under his gaping gaze. “I could do that, if…if that’s better? Or I mean, you don’t have to do anything for me at all, I could just, um…?”

“What?” Yamazaki asks again, slightly louder. “Do you really want to…? I mean, the daimyo’s daughter…?”

“Yes! Unless it would be a problem?” Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, and— and he can see it now, the pucker of red that would be painted over it, bright against the white of her teeth. Heat flares up his neck, head ringing with sudden rush of blood flooding over his ear drums. “Ah, I didn’t even ask if there was someone already playing her character! There probably is. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—!”

“There isn’t,” he blurts out, more exorcism than information. God, what he wouldn’t give for a good slap, just to rattle his brain back into working order. He’s never been one to believe in percussive maintenance, but he’ll make an exception, just this once “She’s just…just lore.”

“In my opinion, it’s the perfect solution.” Saito’s mouth lifts at a corner, practically a smile. “As expected from you, Yukimura.”

“O-oh.” Hands clap to her cheeks, but it does nothing to cover how pink floods her from collar to hairline. “It’s nothing, really. I wouldn’t have even asked if Sen and Kimigiku hadn’t told me I should.”

“It is a good idea.” He means the words as he says them, and yet somehow he can’t help but add, “It’s just…I don’t see why a daimyo’s daughter would be following around a shinobi. Her father pressed him into another service nearly three years ago, so why would she…?”

Care. That’s the crux of it. For all that hime-sama had meant to him, a shinobi is eta, less than a person, worth no more than the dirt at the bottom of her slipper. That she had even deigned to notice him was proof of her generous nature, but to care for him beyond what a girl does for her most loyal hound, enough that she would risk herself and the reputation of her family to come to his side? That could be no more than a fantasy, a story he might tell himself in the last moments before death claimed him, and she—

“Kimigiku had a good idea for that too, actually.” Yukimura’s tremulous smile finds its footing, growing more eager with each word. “What if there was someone who was after her? An assassin, or maybe…some other clan who would like to hold her ransom? That way she’d have a good reason to be in disguise.”

“Disguised?” Saito settles back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “As a kunoichi? Or as someone else?”

“Kuno…?” Yukimura blinks, turning those guileless eyes onto him.

“A female shinobi. Er, ninja, I guess.” He raises his hand, but there’s no bag to tug, no strap to hold onto while he flounders. Instead he has to settle for his collar, the echo of his mother’s voice clucking, keep that up and you’ll stretch the darn thing out. It only makes him tug harder. “Mechanically, there’s no difference. It’s just, uh…flavor, I guess.”

“Oh.” Her mouth rounds into a perfect circle. “Then I guess…no? I thought that— well, Kimigiku thought that it might make more sense if I…ah, I mean, since she has been traveling by herself, that she might be trying to pass herself off as a boy?”

It’s the perfect idea, slotting right into the extensive backstory they’d hashed out three years ago— adventurous hime-sama, separated from her two most stalwart protectors just as the pillars of the Doji clan shook beneath the weight of an ailing emperor. A daimyo’s daughter gone missing in the chaos of the capital, right when her marriage would legitimize either of his son’s claims.

Silence stretches between them, long enough it starts to buzz, to ring. Like static, only interrupted by the ragged pull of his breath, and the relentless pounding of his heart.

“You…?” His tongue tangles, mouth too dry to right itself properly in his mouth. “That’s…?”

“Very clever, Yukimura.” A corner of Saito’s mouth lifts, spreading into the faintest smile, and— ah, of course he’d enjoy this, the sadist. It’s not like it’s his heart trying to escape through his rib cage. “Quite impressive.”

A blush flares across the highest arches of her cheeks. “Oh, it’s not me that…I mean, it was really Kimigiku who thought of everything. She even had a costume I could borrow, if I wanted. Do you want me to show you?”

Against all reason, Saito’s brows lift, and it’s all the encouragement Yukimura needs to fish through her pockets, pulling out a slender screen covered in cherry blossoms. She scrolls, excitement practically palpable, and yet all Yamazaki can stumble out is a “But…?”

“It’s a good hook.” Saito gaze darts toward him, pointed. “A very good one.”

Meaning: Ootori’s going to love it. With the emperor barely clinging to his mortal coil, a conflict between his sons would be imminent. The reappearance of Doji Hogyoku’s prodigal daughter at a secret meeting in support of the youngest imperial son would cause the exact sort of political upheaval that man salivates over, and all he has to do is sign off on a player’s participation. The fact that it would create a good amount of personal drama for Yamazaki in particular— well, that would just be the cherry on his sadist sundae.

“I know it is,” he snaps, shoulders hiking up to his ears. God, the smile that’s sure to spread over that cherubic face— it gives him shivers just thinking about it. “It’s just…”

He’ll never live it down. For hime-sama to show up— no, for her to arrive in his care, a personal friend he’s allowed to take her roll—

“O-oh.” Yukimura’s hands fall to her lap, grip limp where they wrap around her phone. “I’m sorry. I’m overstepping, aren’t I?”

That’s exactly what she’s not doing, but his head’s too scrambled to say so, not before her shoulders round, framing a rueful smile. “It’s really okay if you don’t want me to play her, Yamazaki. I know she’s really important to you. I can just come up with—“

“No! No.” His hand flies, like he could somehow physically stop her from running off with the wrong idea. “That’s really not it at all. Saito’s right, it’s a great idea. I’ve already, uh…”

He’s not sure what’s worse: the hopeful look Yukimura gives him as he stammers to a stop, curiosity shining out of every eyelash— or the casual way Saito kicks his chair, dislodging what he’d hoped he could keep to himself. “I’ve already played around with a potential build for her. I’ll, ah…email it to you.”

Saito’s glare burns where it bores into his neck, but he can stare all he wants; Yukimura doesn’t need to know how long this character sheet has sat on his hard drive, unused. Never meant to be used, not unless Ootori asked for it, the metatextual third member of the Crane Clan trio, the one both of their characters had been built around. The one whose absence left them less than whole.

And now here is Yukimura, squinting at her screen, about to fill it.

“Oh.” Her eyes pulse wide, scrolling through the overview. “You’ve filled out the whole thing!”

“I don’t expect you to use it! I mean, not as-is, if you don’t want to.” He shifts his squirming into a shrug, not casual enough to be normal. “You can do whatever you like, it’s just, ah…someplace to start. If you want it.”

“I do!” Yukimura’s smile peeks out from behind her screen, the sun emerging from behind the clouds, and an inconvenient warmth rolls through him from head to toe. “I mean, I have a couple of ideas that I thought I might want to use, but this…this is super helpful. It must have been so much work.”

“Less than you’d think,” he manages, faintly. “I’m glad it helps.”

She nods, emphatic. “It really does. Do you think I could take a couple minutes to look through this on my own, and then maybe…?”

There’s uncertainty in the way she lifts her gaze, a hesitation in the way her voice rises, as if she’s waiting for someone to finish the thought— and it’s not until his chair jolts under him, aided by the firm application of Saito’s foot, that Yamazaki realizes that it’s supposed to be him.

“Ah!” The sound slips through his teeth long before he’s composed an acceptable interjection, but now she’s looking at him, expectant, and the pressure alone squeezes out, “Did you want me to help you, Yukimura?”

It’s worth it for the way her whole face lights, for the way her whole body pitches forward, eagerness leaking from every pore. “Yes! I mean, if that’s okay.” Her eyes dart over his shoulder, curious. “Do you mind?”

Saito shakes his head. “It would be our pleasure.”

“Great!” The sun itself couldn’t put out the wattage Yukimura does now, so bright Yamazaki nearly squints. Oh, he’s never going to live this one down. “Is after dinner okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages faintly as she springs to her feet. “Perfect.”

The door’s barely closed behind her before the pressure of Saito’s stare bores into him, the pregnant silence only honing his unspoken words to a point.

“I know,” he grunts, head falling back against his chair. “I know.”

“It’s a good idea,” Saito says after the world’s most judgmental pause. “I’m sure Ootori will feel the same.”

A groan filters through his fingers. “I know that too.”

“It will solve more than a few logistical issues this session’s agenda has presented.” Yamazaki hardly knows what’s worse: the ribbing he’s about to take from every player in their party, or the fact that Saito has done his own math on the matter, and whatever amount he’s derived has made his tone downright sympathetic. Gentle, even. “Her part would have to be filled sooner rather than later, and I would rather have it be someone of our own choosing, rather than having it assigned to one of the admin—”

“I know. I’m going to DM Ootori about it in a minute. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” For more reasons than logistics, but that’s the last thing he’s ready to hash out right now. Especially with someone whose personal philosophy is that all is fair in LARP and roleplay— as long as it’s interesting. “It’s just…”

There’s too much ‘just’ to make a tidy little list; so many it’s impossible to separate them from their Gordian snarl into discrete, presentable bullet points. So instead the silence stretches as he struggles, trying to cut it down to its most salient points, the ones that Saito might not only understand, but appreciate, and—

“Complicated?” Saito offers simply.

Yamazaki sighs. “Yeah. Really fucking complicated.”

[Susumu Yamazaki] If you have a moment.

[The1andOotori] for my favorite shinobi? any time

[Susumu Yamazaki] I wanted to update you on our progress with character building. Or rather, if one player wants to progress with one of their current concepts, I think it may require Story Master permission.

[The1andOotori] oh? intriguing if they’re your friends, Susumu, i’m sure that i’ll be happy to accommodate them the others have been just fine right? we were a little thin on lion clan people anyway good to have some more

[Susumu Yamazaki] Please reserve your praise until after I’ve explained their idea.

[The1andOotori] ominous! i like that in a concept anyway lay it on me. promise to react with suitable horror maybe even clutch my pearls

[Susumu Yamazaki] She is an inexperienced player and concerned with her ability to roleplay well with people she is unfamiliar with. So she wanted to pick a character that would allow her to stick close to more familiar and experienced players.

[The1andOotori] that’s pretty clever

[Susumu Yamazaki] She is.

[The1andOotori] so she wants to stick close to you and hajime? i think we can manage that did she have some idea of what she wanted to do?

[Susumu Yamazaki] She wants to be Doji Hogyoku’s daughter.

[The1andOotori] HIME-SAMA??? sorry, just surprised that’s…good with you?

[Susumu Yamazaki] Saito and I have agreed she would be an adequate player to embody her role.

[The1andOotori] wow okay yeah that’s fine wow it actually takes a load off my plate. we were going to have to cast her for this session marie already volunteered but i can tell her we got it covered wow

[Susumu Yamazaki] My friend can pick another role if you it would be too difficult for you to change plans now. I know this is short notice.

[The1andOotori] no no this is good i’d rather have hime-sama be someone you like

[Susumu Yamazaki] I’m sure Marie could also do an admirable job with hime-sama. If that would make things easier for you.

[The1andOotori] uh huh okay if you had your pick of hime-samas do you want marie or your friend?

[Susumu Yamazaki] …

[The1andOotori] no judgment. your choice

[Susumu Yamazaki] I think hime-sama’s personality would come more naturally to Chizuru.

[The1andOotori] there it is then i’ll want to talk to all of you after check-in Saito too i think you guys will be interested in what we’ve cooked up

Yamazaki doesn’t so much sit back in his chair as wither into it, hands clapping over his eyes. “There. I did it.”

A chair squeaks— Saito must be turning to him. “You’re going to have to tell her.”

His shoulders stiffen so fast they ache. “I can’t do that. It would be— be metagaming. She should only know what hime-sama knows.”

He’d also rather die than explain that particular bit of backstory to Yukimura, but he doubts Saito will find that as compelling an excuse.

When his hands tumble to his lap, like dying leaves from a tree, Saito is staring at him. “Who is to say she doesn’t?”

“Excuse me?” He straightens, righteousness flaring beneath his chest. “The Daodoji are circumspect. He would never let her think— no, not even let her suspect—”

“I understand,” Saito assured him. “But what if she hopes…?”

Yamazaki licks his lips, his mouth impossibly dry. “No. That’s not possible. She doesn’t…hime-sama thinks of him as her loyal retainer. And it will stay that way.”

“Unless Ootori changes that.” Saito gives him a pointed glance. “Or Yukimura.”

His heart flutters uselessly in his chest. “She won’t.”

Saito hums, unconvinced. “I could tell her if you want.”

Yamazaki glares. “I certainly don’t!”

“Hm.” Oume settles back in her chair, a slender finger pressed against her pursed lips. “Cutting the deadline a little close this year, aren’t we, Mr Yamazaki?”

“Ah…” Yamazaki’s hand spasms around the strap of his bag, guilt pulling his polite smile thin. “Professor Matsumoto had a few contestations in progress before he left for Japan. I’m given to understand the thirteen hour difference made the process go…slower than either party liked.”

Oume gives him a look over her half-moon spectacles so eloquent the lit department could write a dozen papers about its themes and allusions without even scraping the surface of her meaning. She might be in Administration now, but fifteen years as the former provost’s personal assistant had left her fluent in the sort of subtlety that would make government agencies green with envy. "And that is why you are here, handing me a handful of grades on a…post-it?…at three forty-five?”

“Uh…” He swallows, neck so tight he’s half afraid he’ll gag on his own Adam’s apple. “Yes. But to be fair, I at least put it on a Large Note?”

Her finger twitches; the note’s struck across it, wide enough the stickum spans the whole length, delicate blue lines running in parallel. The movement angles it just enough to read his neatest print, each name and grade change logged with precision, and her mouth wobbles at a corner. “Whatever Ryojun pays you, it isn’t enough. You can tell him that, from me.”

He won’t— even an undergrad knows better than to get between an academic and their funding— but he appreciates the thought. “Sorry again for the late changes. I tried to get them over as early as I could.”

“I’m sure you did, Mr Yamazaki.” There’s a hardness to the set of Oume’s face, a sharpness Yamazaki’s not used to seeing. With a keystroke, she brings up her university inbox, mouth pursed as she clicks Compose. “Don’t worry, I know exactly who to blame.”

It’s a sign— not one of those simple ones, like Caution: High Voltage or Slippery When Wet, but the kind that had skulls and thunderbolts and reads, This Will Kill You and Hurt the Entire Time. His sign really, telling him it’s time to clear out before he can get caught in the splash radius of whatever cursed energy she’s about to lob across the pacific.

He clears his throat, just soft enough to catch the edge of her attention. “Have a happy New Year, ma’am.”

Pale eyes flick up toward him, her mouth sparing him the smallest of smiles. “You too, Mr Yamazaki.”

Yamazaki steps out into the hallway, making it nearly three strides before he lets go of the breath he’s holding, deflating like Toudou’s most recent attempts to make something edible. Next semester, he’s going to sit on Dr Matsumoto’s luggage until the final grades are filed.

“Ah, Yamazaki!”

His whole body starts, jerking to attention, but when he looks up it’s straight into the second button of a maroon parka, left open over its zipper. He has to take a step back— and crane his neck— to even catch a glimpse of the friendly smile hanging above it. “Haah, Shimada. I didn’t see you.”

How a man as big as that can move so silently, he will never know. He appreciates it in the LARP, but here on campus— well, there’s a reason big dog owners at least put collars on them. People usually like a little warning before a Great Dane bounds up into their business.

Shimada’s mouth twitches. “I take it Oume is perhaps not in her best mood?”

“If that folder you are holding contains final grades in it, then I would not expect a warm reception,” he confirms, sternly. “I didn’t think you’d be the sort that would sit on them this late.”

“Oh, no.” A manila envelope has never looked so reasonably sized as it does in his hands. “These are the class descriptions for next semester.”

His brows raise. “Weren’t those supposed to be in a month ago?”

“Yes.” There’s another twitch of that wide mouth, this time in the other direction. “I have a feeling she’ll be just as happy to see these as she would be if this was full of grades.”

Yamazaki has no answer but a grimace.

“Oh, I talked to Ootori last night.” Shimada’s tone is curious, but only politely so. “I heard you’re bringing your friends this weekend.”

“Ah…” He can only hope Ootori didn’t get specific about just who was coming. The last thing he needed was everyone pressed to the glass when they showed up, trying to get a glance at the girl he let play hime-sama. “Yes. My housemates, actually.”

“Oh, that will be nice.” Shimada’s smile widens. “Itou probably hasn’t seen them in a while. No doubt he’ll be excited for them to see him in his biggest role—”

Yamazaki stiffens. “Ah…what was that?”

Shimada blinks. “Oh, didn’t you hear? He’s getting to play Hantei’s younger son. Daisetsu.”

[Yamazaki Susumu] I think we may have made a grave miscalculation.

[Saito.Hajime] How so?

[Yamazaki Susumu] Itou is going to be there.

[Saito.Hajime] Yes?

[Yamazaki Susumu] And we’re bringing Okita.

[Saito.Hajime] Oh Well Shit

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #modern au #college au #If the Mind Is Willing #LARP au #i'm having the realization that i do indeed need to build like 12 character for the next few chapter to flow properly and like #freestyle screaming over it. i have bought the 5th ed sourcebook and i have a feeling I will be picking at this #for a few months whenever I wanna stop thinking about my bigger projects 🤣#next chapter is also going to involve OCs and BOY is that gonna be SOMETHING #maybe i can finally find a place to squeeze in souma and nomura 😅

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traditional-with-a-twist · 1 year

Text

xlvi. Beauty and Her Beast

@bubblesthemonsterartist *crying* *with laughter* *but also just crying* you know them wayyy better than they do

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || AO3 || Next>>

Shirayuki rents a room above the apothecary in town.

It reminds her of her old room - the first place she stayed in Clarines before she thought of applying to become a royal apprentice.

The apothecary’s wife brings her breakfast in the morning, just like the kind lady had in Wistal.

The deep southern holdings are not so different from the capital city, even in this little town situated nowhere in particular.

...

It is not near the ports, yet some miles distant from the Haruka estate residence.

She is glad to have found work there, relieved to make herself useful with small tasks. She had offered herself only as an extra pair of hands, happy to exercise a broom or a dustrag, but the man has begun to assign her more technical work, as he observes her care and skill.

It began after she dusted the storage shelves for him, unconsciously rearranging items left out of place. Next he had asked her to boil nettles for him, then to peel roots.

Now she chops herbs and mixes poultices alongside him, according to his recipes.

If he suspects that this young woman with the bright eyes and hair bound up in a scarf has had prior training, he does not ask.

People are quieter here in the south.

...

Shirayuki rises with the sun and retires long after it has set.

She’s glad for the hard work, glad for a chance to help someone, glad that she can keep her hands busy and her mind full.

At night she is too tired to think, and she sleeps without dreaming.

...

One morning the apothecary’s wife knocks at the door of the dispensary.

Shirayuki is inside alone, refreshing the stock. Her master has left for the day, gone to make purchases at the market. He handed her the keys without hesitating, leaving the work to her own discretion.

She has been bent over the workbench for hours already, sifting, weighing, trimming, and sorting.

At the knock, she looks up with a smile.

...

The woman’s face is drawn, tense with nerves.

Shirayuki starts up from her chair, wondering what is amiss.

“A messenger for you, little miss,” her hostess says. “A…a royal messenger.”

...

Shirayuki stops thinking. She does not think of the letters, folded in a neat bundle upstairs with her few belongings.

She does not think of the replies she never wrote, the new address she never forwarded.

She only nods. “Thank you, I’ll come right away.”

...

Lifting her work-stained apron over her head, Shirayuki folds it neatly on the bench. She slips off her gloves and walks out, not thinking to worry about the smock she wears or the kerchief on her head.

In the foyer of the shop, a stranger waits.

White cloth drops down from a snug blue cap; the folds of his cape cross over the shoulders. A star-flower etched in gold seals his livery.

The royal messenger of Clarines snaps a salute.

“Lady Shirayuki!” he hails her.

The apothecary’s wife gasps, her eyes widening as their shop assistant curtseys in reply.

...

In Shirayuki’s mind’s eye, she sees the pages of her life turning.

She had flipped all the way back to the beginning, trying to start a new story, but here she is repeating the old one.

She looks into the messenger’s face and hopes she can say yes to whatever this one wants to ask her.

...

“A missive, my lady,” he says, extending a packet, “from Lord Haruka.”

Confusion sweeps her thoughts.

Of all the people who might have tracked her here, of everyone who might wish to know her whereabouts and re-establish communication, Lord Haruka is the last she would have expected.

After the many ways she has disappointed and frustrated him, including the greatest disappointment and frustration of all in her choice to marry his son, what could he want with her?

“Lord Haruka has sent a message to me?” she repeats, brow furrowed.

...

“Ah,” the messenger sees her mistake. “No, my lady, it is addressed to—to—”

He falters, searching for the appropriate address, and ends uncertainly: “--to Lord Haruka’s heir.”

“Oh.”

...

If Shirayuki had known more of the intricacies of the court’s delicate workings, she might have noted that Lord Haruka’s mission must have proved unsuccessful thus far — he had yet to establish Obi’s legal claim to the inheritance he had named him for.

Otherwise the conferral of all the associated rights and authorities, even while much of it remained in potentia, must surely have included some form of respectful address.

Obi’s father may have recognized his son, but Clarines still had yet to embrace him.

...

Shirayuki knew nothing of this, however. She only knew that she could not say yes to the messenger after all.

She looks at the outstretched paper, awaiting her reception, and then she folds her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Shirayuki says quietly, “but Obi isn’t here.”

...

The messenger bowed. “Indeed, my lady, his lordship is aware that, ah, the—Obi, that he has left Clarines.”

Shirayuki’s head jerked up. “Left Clarines? But where has he gone?”

The messenger coughs, further discomfited. “His whereabouts are not, ah, known, my lady, that is to his lordship, though—”

She gazes at him, unaware of the embarrassment she has brought on herself in giving evidence of their separation.

“My orders are to inform his next of kin,” the messenger hastened to conclude. He was anxious now only to take his leave.

...

His discomfort registers with Shirayuki at last. She colors and offers him an apologetic smile. “Oh! That’s all right, then.”

She accepts the envelope with both hands and dips another curtsey.

“Sorry for the trouble — I’ll keep it safe,” she promises.

...

The paper weighs in her hands. She doesn’t know what will become of it, or how it will ever find its way to its intended recipient, but now is not the time to decide.

Her eyes move from the window, where frost decorates the sill, to the messenger’s hands. She wonders if his fingers are red and chapped inside his gloves.

“Won’t you drink something hot before you go?” she asks him.

...

When he has gone, Shirayuki returns to her work.

The apothecary’s wife makes a noise of protest as Shirayuki slips the apron over her head, perhaps feeling that her guest has revealed herself as deserving of less workmanlike attire, but Shirayuki only smiles abstractedly.

After wringing her hands in indecision for a moment, the woman gives it up and retires. She’ll put it to her husband’s judgment when he gets back in the morning.

It isn’t in her nature to ask questions.

...

Alone again, Shirayuki sits at the workbench. She begins pinching and clipping, folding and stacking, a distant look in her eye.

...

That night in her room, Shirayuki takes the letter from her apron pocket and holds it under the lamp to examine it.

There is no address, only the Haruka seal.

“Left Clarines,” she repeats softly to herself.

...

She could not bring herself to leave, any more than she could return to Wistal, but she can understand why Obi wouldn’t stay.

Where will he go now — south to Tanbarun? North past Laxdo? East to lands she has never seen, cannot even imagine in their variety?

He drifts from her, a distant figure in a shadowy landscape.

...

Bowing her head over the letter, Shirayuki whispers, “I hope you will be happier there.”

......

A/N: the letters in her room are from this chapter. I realize it's been, erm, a while since then.

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #Beauty and Her Beast #PurePassion #so it begins

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