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31_days2005-10-20 03:54 pm
yesthatnagia.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-10-20 03:54 pm
[Oct 20: a spy of the old school] [RuoKen] "No."
[t]itle: No
[r]ating: PG-13, just because I wrote it.
[w]ordcount: 462
[d]ay: Oct 20/A spy of the old school
[f]andom: RuoKen
[p]airing: Aoshi/Misao, sort of.
[s]ummary: Aoshi confronts Misao, but it's too late. She has already found Okina.
[n]otes: Not fond of this one. I couldn't decide quite how I to make their personalities fit... And it didn't turn out well at all.
Misao stared at the sixteen year old boy before her. He seemed so... familiar...
"Makimachi-sama?" The boy queried.
Tentative.
Idiot boy, don't you know what I've done? I don't deserve that title anymore.
Memories of wishing for the Bakumatsu, of needing to prove herself, that a woman COULD be the Okashira, even a short, delicate-looking woman, rushed back.
And then she recognized him.
She had been eighteen when she'd left. Eighteen when she had run away because of what Okina was doing with her Oniwabanshu. With Aoshi-kun's Oniwabanshu.
It had been the intent, after all, of Shinomori-sama that the Oniwabanshu pass to Aoshi. Not to Misao, but to the blood heir. Of course, the blood heir had been a two year old at the time. So it had passed to her.
A kunoichi. And worse, in the eyes of the jonin council, a traditional kunoichi. One who would just as often be found undressed and sweating in the enemy's futon as found in her onmitsu uniform and creeping about and actually doing stereotypical spy things.
"Aoshi-kun," she breathed.
And then her gaze slipped to the three kunai in her right hand and the war fan in her left. Blood dripped from her weapons, staining her kimono irrevocably.
No matter. Kimono were unimportant. Besides, bloodstains would be no hindrance in her quest to take the title of 'greatest' for the men who had followed her.
The men who had supported her in all that she had done. The men who had not cared that she was a kunoichi, that she did not fight battles the way they did.
"Aoshi-kun... Go," she breathed. "I don't want to see you again."
I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about what I have just done. Don't make me think, Shinomori. Don't make me think.
He tilted his head, stared down at her.
She could see the hurt. She could see it. And then it was gone, erased from his face with frightening ease.
Don't make me come back. Don't make me give this up. It's all I have. It's all I have.
She moved past him, kept on walking.
She resisted the urge to look back.
There was no going back. She had been set on this path when she lost her virginity.
No going back. No coming back. No regrets, no second thoughts. There would be none of that. She would be like Makimachi-sama, like Okina, like the man she should have killed but hadn't. She would be straight and tall, she would be like a line, she would never stop.
So she kept going forward, chanting in her mind, "No going back, no going back, no coming back, no regrets, no second thoughts."
But somehow, it all just turned into
no.
[r]ating: PG-13, just because I wrote it.
[w]ordcount: 462
[d]ay: Oct 20/A spy of the old school
[f]andom: RuoKen
[p]airing: Aoshi/Misao, sort of.
[s]ummary: Aoshi confronts Misao, but it's too late. She has already found Okina.
[n]otes: Not fond of this one. I couldn't decide quite how I to make their personalities fit... And it didn't turn out well at all.
Misao stared at the sixteen year old boy before her. He seemed so... familiar...
"Makimachi-sama?" The boy queried.
Tentative.
Idiot boy, don't you know what I've done? I don't deserve that title anymore.
Memories of wishing for the Bakumatsu, of needing to prove herself, that a woman COULD be the Okashira, even a short, delicate-looking woman, rushed back.
And then she recognized him.
She had been eighteen when she'd left. Eighteen when she had run away because of what Okina was doing with her Oniwabanshu. With Aoshi-kun's Oniwabanshu.
It had been the intent, after all, of Shinomori-sama that the Oniwabanshu pass to Aoshi. Not to Misao, but to the blood heir. Of course, the blood heir had been a two year old at the time. So it had passed to her.
A kunoichi. And worse, in the eyes of the jonin council, a traditional kunoichi. One who would just as often be found undressed and sweating in the enemy's futon as found in her onmitsu uniform and creeping about and actually doing stereotypical spy things.
"Aoshi-kun," she breathed.
And then her gaze slipped to the three kunai in her right hand and the war fan in her left. Blood dripped from her weapons, staining her kimono irrevocably.
No matter. Kimono were unimportant. Besides, bloodstains would be no hindrance in her quest to take the title of 'greatest' for the men who had followed her.
The men who had supported her in all that she had done. The men who had not cared that she was a kunoichi, that she did not fight battles the way they did.
"Aoshi-kun... Go," she breathed. "I don't want to see you again."
I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about what I have just done. Don't make me think, Shinomori. Don't make me think.
He tilted his head, stared down at her.
She could see the hurt. She could see it. And then it was gone, erased from his face with frightening ease.
Don't make me come back. Don't make me give this up. It's all I have. It's all I have.
She moved past him, kept on walking.
She resisted the urge to look back.
There was no going back. She had been set on this path when she lost her virginity.
No going back. No coming back. No regrets, no second thoughts. There would be none of that. She would be like Makimachi-sama, like Okina, like the man she should have killed but hadn't. She would be straight and tall, she would be like a line, she would never stop.
So she kept going forward, chanting in her mind, "No going back, no going back, no coming back, no regrets, no second thoughts."
But somehow, it all just turned into
no.