Title: Chrysanthemum Author: Divertimento
E-mail:
ellene_j@...
Source: PMK
Main character(s): Okita, Ryouma, Hijikata, Saitou (bit part)
Archived on the website: Yes
General Rating: PG-13
Warning: Those who read the fic claims to see several insidious sexual conotations. I assure you, it wasn't deliberate.
Disclaimer: First off, I do not own any of the characters except Yoshimura and maybe the plot (What?). This is entirely fictional and historical Okita had probably never set his eyes upon the legendary blade.
Summary: The reasons why 1) Souji was seldom set to work as a spy. 2) He was so antagonistic towards Ryouma.
Set in the days before Tetsus arrival. The parts in italics cover the mysterious gap in the last chapter of book 5. How exactly did Soujirou make his first kill? Words in bold were spoken in English.
CHRYSANTHEMUM
For a while Souji sat playing idly with the dog. He was in a dreamy, suspended state of mind, when all at once he saw a man come hurtling down the lane towards him on some makeshift cart. Souji jumped to one side. There was a squealing of brakes, a flurry of kicked up dust and the man collapsed in a pile of legs and spinning wheels on the other side of the lane. His hat tumbled off and Souji saw the dreadlocks.
Ryouma-san! Souji gaped at him. Where are you off to in such a hurry?
Sakamoto Ryouma got to his feet, brushing off dust and grass. No time for explanations, Oki-Boy. Come on. Quick! They are almost here!
Where are we going?
I dont know. Anywhere. Just away from here. Anywhere but here!
Souji scrambled after him, leaving the resigned dog behind. He laughed. Tell me, Ryouma-san, why am I doing this again?
Ryouma looked over his shoulder with a quick grin; he had moved ahead on the path, walking now through waist-high bracken. Firstly, there is no love lost between the Shinsengumi and the Mimawarigumi. Secondly, only a dull man would turn down an offer made by me.
I will never know what exactly you are trying to say, Ryouma-san, Souji said cheerfully. But it was nice of you to come, considering.
Oh, well, Ryouma shrugged. He seemed about to say something else, but changed his mind, jumping up and running off along the weaving path. Come on!
They careered along in a happy, lunatic chase through the city: over slated roofs, down into dark alleys, in and out of little shops, and quite often, through the busy streets. They had come a long way from the river and were now in a quiet section of the city. Suddenly, Ryouma skidded, tumbling off the roof. Thinking he had fallen, Souji went to help but Ryouma grabbed his arm and hauled him into an empty room.
Well, do you think they have given up? Souji said, his face damp with sweat, yukata clinging stickily to his chest.
Sasaki will not be too happy about that, Ryouma said, his eyes twinkling. I had a packet of laxative in my pocket, you see, and happened to be passing his troop during their meal break. When they were not looking, I sneaked into the kitchen and stuck half a packet into the huge pot of tea and gave it a good stir. And while I was at it I poured some into their food too. You know the way the food is always left unattended in the kitchen? A mistake: they should keep a closer watch on them.
The tension inside Souji snapped like a breaking spring, and he began to laugh. Once he had started, it was hard to stop. Imagine their faces, he gasped, when they go tearing off after you and PFFT!
They collapsed in a wild fit of chortling mirth, roaring, tottering, clutching at one another. Ryouma took off his dark glasses and wiped them. It is going to make everything worse in the long run, though.
Worth it, Souji said. Controlled again, he gave Ryouma a sideways glance. But it all seems rather rehearsed, dont you think?
Its a matter of taking calculated risks, really, Ryouma said, putting the glasses back on and retreating once more into inscrutability. Looking around, he grinned. Prepare to be dazzled.
He removed one mat from the floor of the room and reached into a two-foot opening cut in the boards under it. When he finally straightened, Souji noticed that he held a long object wrapped in layers of red silk.
So that is the katana you have been talking about! Souji exclaimed as he bounced on his heels, barely able to contain his excitement. I am dess-err-e-de
whatever that means. Lemme see it lemmelemmelemme
Hah! Behold the legendary Chrysanthemum blade. Ryouma cried as he unwrapped the last layer with theatrical flourish.
Souji stood and took two swift steps toward him.
He was probably half his size but Sakamoto Ryouma, veteran of the Kyoto streets and bona fide escape artiste, was startled into retreating. Feeling the wall against his back, he covered his embarrassment with a smile and held out the katana with both hands. A handsome blade, isnt it? he offered, trying to defuse whatever emotion was working on the man in front of him. Youve seen it before, I guess?
Souji backed away and looked at Ryouma for a long moment, as though calculating the other mans response. The daylight behind his hair lit it up, and the contrast hid his expression. If the room had been brighter or if Ryouma had known him better, he might have recognized a freakish solemnity that preceded any statement Souji expected to induce hilarity, or outrage. Souji hesitated and then found the precise phrase he wanted.
A much touted blade, he said agreeably, stepping forward again with a careless smile on his lips. He stroked the naked hilt reverently, eyes shut in seeming bliss. It would be a shame if we couldnt test its keenness. But for that we need a body.
A real body? Ryoumas voice betrayed his alarm. He began to look around the hushed, eerie room, searching out the dark corners into which the sunlight did not penetrate, eyes darting to the nearest screen door. The window was out of question.
Havent you seen a corpse? The words had come from Okitas mouth, but the tone and pitch were suddenly different. And then a slow, incomprehensible smile rose straining to his lips. Are you afraid to look at one?
No. But where would you get such a thing? In fact, he was more frightened by the mans feverish, possessed eyes than by looking at dead bodies. He sensed an ominous incompatibility between his grin and those eyes.
No. Sakamoto Ryouma was not a coward who shrank from challenges. He drew a pistol from his haori and cocked it.
His objective was to immobilise the mysterious assassin with a deep wound and to let Hijikata-san take him alive. At first, the dwarfish man regarded Soujirou as a mere stripling of nine, but the katana was upon him like a swarm of locusts, and after just ten parries he had been overpowered and stabbed in the leg. Soujirou then stabbed him in the upper right arm and before his adversary could recover, jumped on his chest and straddled him. He heard a gasp of despair and frustration from below.
Were going to take you alive.
When the man heard the words take you alive, he began to writhe and thrash violently, in spite of his wounds. Soujirou looked around for Hijikata-san, but the man remained where he had been the past minutes, slumped against the rock as if paralysed. Without help, Soujirou could no longer hope to take him prisoner. And anyway the desire to feel the sharp blade cut through soft flesh was overwhelming. Reluctantly, he pressed the point of his blade against the assasins throat.
Well take you alive, Soujirou repeated, his resolve wavering.
But the assassin snapped, Get on with it, boy!
The man had not even had time to cry out: his throat was pierced with a single thrust. Soujirou had seen the hatred-filled eyes and the mouth, open and ready to spit and then, an instant later, the face of death, frozen, the features twisted in agony.
He pulled mindlessly at the protruding blade, but it proved more difficult to remove it neatly from where it had been stuck in the neck bone than it had been to stab a living man. Giving a last heave, he extracted the blade and was mildly surprised by the ensuing fountain of crimson that drenched him.
The rapture turned to horror; his mind flooded with untold anguish. For a time he stood in a daze, pursuing the traces of sanity. Then he lifted his head and howled, shattering the deathly silence.
Okita was light and fast, and he was confident of his ability with a katana. There had been absolutely no warning when he abruptly kicked up a mat and swung around, the blade singing furiously. In the midst of the chaos, a bullet flew past the bridge of his nose, missing it by a hair. Instantly there was a second bullet, but this time, he heard it cut through the air. He averted his face and leaned back reflexively. Even so, he did not come off unscathed the bullet grazed the right side of his face and scraped away some of his right ear.
The katana, a gift from a renegade noble, had been made by the famous Norimune, but the boys skill was even more impressive than the weapon. Ryouma dodged the horizontal swipe and gave a low whistle as he watched the screendoor through which he had intended to make his escape collapse in a decrepit heap. At that moment, Ryouma glimpsed the flash of another blade close behind him. Two of his men who had been waiting in the antechamber had drawn their katana simultaneously and now advanced together with the tips aligned.
Sakamoto-sensei, you have to leave now, one of the men cried, the first and third squads of the Shinsengumi have arrived with the vice-commander.
Yoshimura-san!
I beg you, sensei! There is no time!
Sakamoto was brave, but not suicidal. He understood the situation; more importantly, he understood his men. The moment he set his foot on the sill of the window, Souji dashed forward and struck a blow with his katana. The man named Yoshimura blocked it, startled by the savage attack from a figure that had been standing transfixed in a corner six feet away. Seeing that his first blow had cut deeply into the mans shoulder, Souji attacked again, this time angling the blade just so. Having struck home with one thrust to the neck, he pulled out the katana and backed away so quickly that he was scarcely touched by the spurting blood.
Even before the first man hit the floor, Souji attacked the second. Time was the essence. Ryouma must be faraway by now: he would be damned if all these months of planning had gone to waste. Overawed, the wretched man had no real will to fight, but stood his ground out of determination to keep his master out of danger. Averting his eyes from the flash of Soujis blade, he parried two or three times; but it was a resigned, apologetic, tearful sort of resistance. Souji struck the katana from his hand, kicked him down, and stabbed him in the chest.
Quick as he had been, he must have consumed precious minutes to accomplish this much. As far as he could tell, his plan had ground to a grinding halt. From his vantage point at the window, he could see Ryouma making his way across the rooftops, waving at him and making rude signs.
It frustrated him no end. He smashed the fragile katana against a stone dais and watched as the blade splintered around his feet. A pity, he said ambiguously.
He heard voices approaching from behind and the footsteps of men running towards the room down the corridor.
The long autumn night had turned, if possible, even darker. Toshi was entranced. It was only later that he understood the emotion that had seized him; at the time, he forgot himself completely. It was an agitation that he had never experienced before, an inexpressible excitement. Juxtaposed with the mutilated body, the boy glowed with the pride and joy of living, the embodiment of flawless beauty. And his expressionless face, precisely because it was so girlish and unaffected, now appeared to be brimming with the most cynical detachment.
He thought he would never tire of gazing at the enigma before him. To Toshi, he was irresistibly beautiful.
It was common, in any case, for a naïve child suddenly to regard an adult as god-like, and so he could imagine what impression he made on Soujroui with his promise. In the interval, then, the feelings between the pair had changed.
The katana with the Chrysanthemum crest was destroyed: a pity, yes, but the boy had insisted on it.
However eager he may have been in his pursuit of a fair and just world, Toshi wondered if he had the courage, when confronted with the childs grief and remorse, to debase him again.
He was alone at the compound that afternoon, making minor changes to the next months roster when he received a note from Yamazaki. The message was short and the writing hurried, and he wondered if Yamazaki had not deliberately, of course left out certain crucial details. Nevertheless, he had found the directions sufficient.
The troops were directed to search every room and take no survivors. He soon found himself running alone in the opposite direction from the men, about ten metres down a long passage, then a turn to the left and then to the right, which led to a matted corridor three or five metres long. This was the darkest spot of all, with rooms on one side and wood sliding doors facing the garden on the other.
Room after room: there was nothing straight that could be made curved, nothing plain that could be decorated nothing white that could be brilliant. The very air was embellished! It was, he thought crazily, the most spectacularly vulgar place he had ever been in. It looked and smelled like a cheap whorehouse, except the riches were real and each piece of furniture probably cost a villages yearly earnings.
The rooms were deserted, and he wondered if he had misinterpreted Yamazakis directions. But he found to his relief that the door (or what was left of it) to the last room was open and Souji was waiting inside, standing alone in the plain and empty room, unscented and unfurnished. It was astonishing. He was so relieved to be out of the visual, olfactory and auditory confusion that he very nearly sank to his knees.
Souji, what happened? he asked as he stumbled into the room, startled by how frightened he was. Then he drew one breath at the sight of the spilt blood and in the next, drew on detachment as deliberately as he stepped over a corpse. You idiot, he commented dryly, taking the other mans chin and inspecting his face from side to side, gentleness belying his tone, losing that ear would upset the symmetry of the face. Dont laugh. Youll start the bleeding again.
He had seen enough of this kind of thing to check the torso for abrasions and broken bones; there were none. Sighing, he reached into his robes and brought out a tiny jar. As Souji stood there, letting Toshi clean his face up and pull the cuts together, he spoke quietly.
I am quite useless after all, Hijikata-san, you would do better to replace the captain of the first troop.
Souji
Toshi frowned down at him, fingers still rubbing the bloodied protrusion of flesh and cartilage. He hoped Souji would not notice how badly his hands were shaking, but Soujis eyes slid away.
He got away. Souji continued, by way of explanation. Sakamoto Ryouma. He was an interesting man. Nice but dangerous. I should have waited longer, but I couldnt hold back.
Toshi helped him with the robes, pulling it back up his arms, careful not to touch him unnecessarily. He was the colour of Cochin pearls, Toshi decided, but said merely, Youre right: you should have practiced more restraint. Even so, he would have been difficult to pin down, we would just have to keep our eyes wide open in the future. And, Toshi straightened the collar of the blood-flecked yukata, dont ever forget, Souji, that you owe Kondou-san all that you have today, and that the Shinsengumi needs you, even if no one else does.
Souji felt as if the sun had burst out. Thank you, he said, his face a picture of befuddled gratification. He looked up with a grin and continued, raising his voice slightly. I know of someone, though, who is perfect for this job. Hajime-san wouldnt mind losing a ear it would have matched his name quite well. Dont you agree, Hajime-san?
Assuming that to be true, I guess you wouldnt mind getting your nose lobbed off and served with sake and soba. Saitou Hajime deadpanned as he stepped down from the alcove.
You are just as stealthy as that Yamazaki. Toshi said, vaguely embarrassed. When did you arrive?
I was behind you all this while.
One of these days, Toshi thought savagely, ignoring the peals of laughter behind him, those two brats are going to pay for their insubordination.
The End
I know there is the tendency to see Souji as this very sweet being, and I am being sacrilegious here by portraying him as this frightful thing. Trust me, it wasnt supposed to be this way. Ryouma and Souji were supposed to be acquaintances in this story and have a laugh or two. Well, the fic was to end with Souji snubbing Ryoumas offer and them parting on somewhat strained terms, but there was not supposed to be bloodshed. Then, when I finally came to the pre-planned ending (the part where Ryouma took out the katana), events took a sudden turn for interesting. A flashback to an incident that wished to be forgotten. Two people died ignominious deaths, and I cant even justify them. Toshi and the respective squadrons came into the picture. Toshi just had to be in every fic. Sweatdrops It just justifies my view that one-shots should not be dragged beyond 2 weeks lest new ideas jump onto the overloaded bandwagon.
Shakes heads. Then again, thats precisely the fun of learning about the character as one writes. All in all, it was an exhilarating experience.
Thanks to my brother for his never-ending patience and interesting insights (symmetry, anyone? Heh
). Thanks to Fignae and XXX for the wonderful inputs.
Shrugs. Please do leave reviews, but I am not going to beg for them.
Notes:
1) As far as I know, the Shinsengumi was not the only peacekeeping group in Kyoto. I forgot the name of the other groups. I think it is the Mimawarigumi. I know the hierarchy changes are rapid and confusing. For the benefit of my overworked mind, we shall stick to the PMK hierarchy, yes?
2) The katana that Ryouma presented was not the Kiku-ichimonji. That one was broken and left somewhere deep in the forest. No. This was another blade forged by the same swordsmith and imprinted with the same Chrsanthemum crest.
3) The Promise. Yes. Ahem. The promise made by Toshi was that he would have need of Soujis strength in time to come. In other words, Souji needed a reason to live and Toshi had given him just that.
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