Private Tales Flowers are the Stars of the Earth

[Hanae]

She adored the make up. She adored the process of taking the brush and putting red underneath her eyes. She adored heating up a small rod above a flame and using it to curl her short, straight lashes before stroking them with a small, curved comb coated in animal fat, antimony powder, and soot. The process was cathartic, it steadied her heart and cleared her mind. More than anything, she adored how it made her look.

When she was a little girl, she had wanted to be a princess. She liked to make believe that her face was so well loved, her wit so great, her heart so pure, that men went to war for her and only her. It was before she had discovered music, her love for the biwa and the sound of her own voice. It was before she had realized that she wasn’t only clever but creative, and writing her own lyrics felt like breathing. It was the first time that Hinoka had tasted passion and it made her feel like she could fly.

Being poor and hungry and older anchored her to reality. It reminded Hinoka that she wasn’t a princess and that there wasn’t a man out there that wanted her. It reminded her that she wasn’t famous because even if she was a rising talent musician then she’d still be poor. The make up helped. It was art and armor. It was the perfect mask for a performer.

Hinoka adored her reflection. She was ready.

The screen was pulled aside and Hinoka turned to Hiei. She wasn’t smiling, not wanting to smudge anything before the Lady would see her. Really, she shouldn’t talk, either. She would break rules for Hiei. Even if he enjoyed breaking her heart.

“I think it’s romantic.” Hinoka said, more chipper and animated, standing up tall as she circled around Hiei. “Two long lost lovers brought back together by the thing that got them together in the first place.” She went to touch the feather in his hair, wanting it to be playful but it stank of longing. Hiei smelled good, though. So good it calmed her nerves. She wondered if Hiei ever thought of her scent, if it calmed him, too. It must have. They were clearly soulmates.

“Lovers could also be friends.” Hinoka added quickly as if letting those words linger in the air was too much. Right now, she knew it was. “Your injuries…” she whispered, hands to herself as she stood in front of Hiei. “I hope you can dance with them. You know you can’t mess up. Neither of us can.”

---

She finished putting the flowers away. The smallest of the servants, Mafuyu, led her back to the room. Without having to say anything, the two girls had bonded with simple nods or flittering glances to know they were kindred spirits. They smiled for one another without looking at each other. They knew it was raining before even looking outside, both of them had heard it on the way back. It was slow, taking time to grow into the torrent Hanae. Mafuyu turned to her with dismay, seeing Hanae collect her baskets and pulling them up to her shoulders.

“You could stay with us,” Mafuyu offered. “You shouldn’t travel in this. It’s not a summer storm, the rain is cold.” Hanae quietly shook her head.

“No, thank you, but I need to leave.”

“But it’s dark.” Hanae looked back. Mafuyu looked frighten, glancing over her shoulder before settling her dark eyes on the florist. She was quick, dashing to Hanae to drop the lantern into her hands before running off. She was certain she’d get in trouble for it when Suyuna did inventory.

Hanae felt the lantern with one hand, holding it in the other. She dipped a finger into the hot wax that was being collected on the bottom, a reminder that fire hurt. She preferred freezing over burning and so she would handle the chill in the air and rain. With a brisk pace, Hanae left the Morikami’s estate without another glance or word. She hunched over and bowed her head.

Mafuyu was right, the rain was cold, but the tears dripping down Hanae’s cheeks were hot with shame.

Ginrou Hiei

 

[Hiei]

"Hmm," he sounded pleasantly as she strode about him. His head held high and poised. His eyes fixed forward despite the way her steps lingered, with a performer's timing, through the soft shuffle of her gown. He closed his eyes as she grew closer. Close enough that her fragrance, delicate until it hit, full bodied and sure, grabbed his sense of smell, filled his lungs as greedy as a deep drink.

He had always been a light weight.

But tonight he remained poised as a painting as the quiet spread between them. "They could," he added. His voice a tranquil blue. "Be friends," he said softer. A tone like pink, turned to yellow.

He wanted to be her friend. Wanted to let her know he still cared for her. Would still be there for her. That's what this all was, wasn't it? Righting his wrong. Finishing their dance. She stopped before him.

"I know," he assured her. Bowed his head with a sharpness that set his feather to trail and fan. "We will not mess up," the plume bounced gentle as he held his form. Ceremony, and proof all the same.

Hanae Ginrou

 

[Hanae]

That wasn’t the answer she had wanted to hear. Maybe he was only parroting what she had said because it was what she had said and he didn’t want to seem desperate? In her head she had pictured Hiei springing up from his knees, mad with love and desire, reaching for her, pulling her into his familiar warm embrace. He would kiss her, unable to control himself, finally throwing away that icy shell because their loving embrace would melt it all away and—

‘We will not mess up.’

“Of course,” Hinoka said, solemn as her fantasy faded away so she could be faced with their reality. She inhaled and was disappointed to see that their breathing was no longer harmonious. She had hoped the time away would be good for the both of them. Now she wondered if she had been wrong. She moved like a ghost along the room, going to her biwa. Just as soon as she had picked it up, a soft voice informed them that it was time.

Everything was now arranged and it was time to performed. Like the last time, Hinoka went to where she was supposed to be. Her heartbeat could be felt, the beat was off, but Hinoka would be steady. Her fingers didn’t shake. Even if she felt her nerves radiate with anxiety, somehow, the outside of her was calm and sure. No matter what, she would play well. She always did.

Hiei Ginrou

 

[Hiei]

Of course...

Had she said that then? On that cold autumn day? Had they danced together here in this same room, just as they did today. Her smell lingered about him, even as she stepped away.

How familiar. Yet how different. Like the smoke of the candles they used to burn, long into their nights tangled together. Like the ash he would clear away, the day when she had gone.

He took in one more breath. Long. Slow. Cold as it filled him up. His eyes closed as he felt his heart thump, thump, thump behind the bone of his chest. Within the cage that kept his heart.

Steady, careful, he rose. The pain was there. But pain was not new to him.

The screen door came open. Hiei stepped through. Tall, straight, poised as the crane whose' feather he wore. He stepped straight onto the stage.

Quiet fell across the crowd. Like a ripple born from the fall of rain's first drop. Each step the dancer took, brought more calm, more stillness. Speech turned to whispers, laughs, to titters, as long legs shuffled with measured steps beneath the folds of the dancer's robes.

At the center of the stage, the dancer came to stand. Face void of emotion. Though there always clung a somber beauty beneath his dark brow. A glitter of sorrow in the pools of his storm blue eyes.

The dancer fell. Like a feather from a wing, his robes drifted down with his descent, and upon the bamboo matts he lay. The sear of red pain that spread through his side tightened his breath. Not that it showed above the stillness of his cloth.

So, the white crane wait for its lover's song.

Hanae Ginrou

 

[Ginrou]

Rain fell in streaks against the waxed paper walls of the house, thin grey threads of shadows lit by the warm fire within.

Laughter and talk flowed as natural as the rain between guests. Women - sweaty from a day of work and travel, the powder on their faces beginning to cake - lounged on bright cushions. They shared tea, and news, from every corner of Aetochi. A sweet, golden roast from the Nuyen territories, paired with the tragedy of a mine collapse, and the commoner's uprising that followed. Spring's First Flush from Lianzhi bragged of a good harvest, and the smokey, half-fermented Flotilla tea that the sailors of the Yenizu favored still held the savory complexity of stormy seas.

At the center of it all, sat the Intendant Jasu Morikami. Her pale complexion showed no cracks, eyes as sharp in the evening candlelight as they had been in that morning's sun. In the shadows of the room, servants watched the tilt of those eyes and subtle movements of Jasu's hands, to know where to pour more tea, or distract a guest from a sensitive topic. She need not utter a single request to keep the night running smoothly.

The dancer came to stand upon the stage. Even before the musician began playing, his presence alone was enough to draw the attention of the crowd. Not all of it well-intentioned.

"This one's a bit past his prime, isn't he?" One woman near the corner of the room whispered. Her conversation partner tittered in response: "Perhaps a last-minute replacement... have the Morikamis fallen on hard times?"

Jasu raised a hand, and the last whispers in the room faded into the sounds of rain outside.

"Beauty, is not something that the youthful can possess," she announced, her voice taking on the inflection of an actress, as if she herself were on the stage with the two performers. "See how the crane's elegance comes from the bow of his head. And true beauty too, is cultivated from life's sorrows."

Though her eyes were the yellow of a wolf's as she scanned the room full of guests, Jasu's mouth curved up into a warm smile. An invitation, to join her, in the refined entertainment that only the Morikami's hospitality could provide.

"Tonight's theme..." Her eyes settled on the dancer, who bowed as the crane, wings spread across the bamboo mats in waiting. Then she looked to the biwa player, and nodded once. "...is a lover's regret."

The Intendant Jasu lowered her hand, giving the performers permission to begin.

Hiei Hanae

 

[Hanae]

Hinoka

The whispers could be heard, and Hinoka was too sensitive to dissuade a twitch in her brow upon the unjust assessment towards Hiei. She didn’t like the truth in their words. Hiei was getting older, wasn’t he? Would he begin using his money on beauty products to appear young like so many men in their profession? Would he change his diet, refusing to drink and eat meat? Would he make sure to keep himself lean, would he worry about a arm no longer being taut, or wrap a measuring tape around his calf?

Would he trade his natural conversations to shallow ones, constantly discussing how best to stay out of the sun, what powders blurred pores, what brush was best for scalp massages and how best to remove a unwanted pimple as soon as possible?

The strings beneath her fingers grounded her, but Lady Morikami’s words shackled her to the floor. Her regrets felt heavy but she didn’t dare let her shoulders slump from the pressure. Her fingers twitched, she took a breath. Steady and sure, Hinoka let go of the worries, of the doubts, and began to play.

The fresh, sweet aroma from the peonies that had been placed around the room did little to soothe the stale air that suffocated Hinoka. She had never cared for flowers, to watch something beautiful wilt away was a reminder of Hiei’s cruel fate. His beauty was a curse, it would keep him in the vase his mother had put him in, never allowing him to grow roots as the Madame changed the water again and again.

The hum of her biwa would set him free, Hinoka vowed once again. She’d take Hiei away from her, let him see the world, let him be free by her side.

---

Hanae

Cold air and wet rain raged against her face, bringing Hanae back from her thoughts.

Hands shot out to catch her but she had been too late. Her elbows bent, the angle hard and uncomfortable, shoulders hunched, and Hanae was unable to hold herself up more than a second. Walking down the street, the hill wasn’t steep, but without a sense of balance, she could feel herself tumble and slide.

Her only thought was how ridiculous she looked, how foolish she was. The burn on her knees, forearms and palms— and perhaps even on her cheek— did little to keep Hiei off her mind. He invaded her peace like a shadow in the night. He moved along the walls and ceilings like a spider, always unseen but leaving behind cobwebs for her to find, for her to deal with.

She thought back to an hour before and then an hour before thought. To this morning, the day before. She thought back to him dancing, she thought back to her body against his. She thought to when he took her to Kishi’s clinic, when he had been gentle before being cold once more. She thought all the way back to their meeting, when he came up to her cart, asking for a price, and instead of taking it, he just had to ensnare her.

A voice brought her back to the moment she was in, still sprawled along the ground, clothes soaked and clinging to her icy skin. She got up on her hands and knees, glad that she had a good reason to cry now. He wasn’t worth it.

---

Hinoka

Hiei was worth her songs, her misery. He didn’t move to the music but to echoes from her heart. Only Hiei could feel them, only Hiei could dance to the silent song of her soul. He was her other half. Hiei had just forgotten how good they were together. He just liked remembering the bad times because he had always been too sensitive.

I miss you. Her heart said. Hinoka watched his wrist, catching the echo, caressing it with his long, thin fingers. I want you. Her heart cried. Hinoka could picture herself dancing alongside him, like two cranes flying together in the sky. I love you. Her heart whispered.

And once again, Hinoka knew that Hiei heard it. He had to, when he moved as he did, he had to have heard it, through the string of fate that tied them together, forever.

Echoes of their past lives, echoes of their future, resonating with them both, here and now in the present. She felt it, did Hiei? Why question it, clearly he did. She could feel the pain in his heart, too. She would soothe it soon.

---

Hanae

Finally, she felt the pain from her fall. She closed her eyes, seeing Hiei fight against Ryu, only to remember how he shirked away from that woman in the streets. Back to Kishi, when Nobuu came. Back to them, standing in her home, his intense blue gaze and heat. The note she had stolen, thinking it was dangerous only to see the written lashings from a mother.

Hanae thought of her broken nose, her only good feature. She thought of her red and bloodied hands that could only love. Her worse feature.

She swallowed hard, her voice trapped as her throat constricted. She heard an echo ringing between her ears, looked up to the voice she had been ignoring. She opened her mouth to speak.

---

Hinoka

When the words came, Hinoka knew she had enveloped the room. Her presence, stronger than the peonies. Smell, a useless sense. Hiei captivated the eyes, she enthralled the ears. Together, and only together, they were unstoppable. Superior, she looked to lady Jasu Morikami’s face. The gold eyes surrounded by pale skin and silver hair, like the sun during the middle of winter, didn’t provide warmth. It provided a reminder: the sun would set, but it would always rise, regardless of the season or weather or even the night.

Like the many times before, Hinoka was put back in her place.

Hiei Ginrou

 

[Hiei]

Whispers. Laughs. The cut of authority like the snarl and snap of a wolf's jaw.

Noise. When his ears sought music. Where his limbs awaited the tender pluck of string, and soulful twang of chords so carefully set to move. Worked, and choked, to the point of breaking. Raked and picked by the hard beak of his singer's bachi.

Hinoka.

How it hurt to lay and wait. Those moments before the music came. Always in the darkness. Wrapped within suspense. He could not give to those doubts that gnawed at him. Those pains that stabbed and ached. He would have to dance. Across a pond of red. Toes tipped, and pads spread across mulberry rings and violet wakes.

Strings gave their gentle whine. Long and hanging. Their sound beckoned sweet. Pink petals that bud upon red stalks. Across plum boughs, and grey bark. Each pluck painted more the colors of their play. Sharp across the canvas of the stage.

Pulse quickened beneath the silver silks of his robes. Come the right string. A sound that rippled, and wobbled, as might a Crane's first step upon the mirrored surface of a lake. So too, did Hiei's first step stand aplomb. Legs sure beneath him, robes swept up and back like wings spread to land.

Fall did the feathers of the Crane, as long legs strut with measured grace. Guided by the pace of the strings. He moved to the sounds. Solid as porcelain when he bowed and bent, let his long neck stretch, his willow branch limbs show, as the fabrics of his robe shift and fell with the grace of cold movement.

Heat stabbed through him with each shift. Each snap. Each turn of his heel, and bend of his hip. But the music went on. Its rhythms. Its pace. Its call. All demanded him to go on. Grabbed him. Pulled him. Set his limbs alight with the fire of movement.

Familiar to him as the pain that raked him. The joy that mixed between it all. For his was to move. To ride the swells of sounds. To feel where next those fingers would find the feeling. Gave him all they could. Here on the stage they shared. Beset on all sides by the world far greater than them. A world that float across the surface of dreams. Caught between the ripples and wakes.

Haunted by the truth that swelled between them. A truth his wings would catch, and hold and shake.

He would fly.

Frantic with warm and desperate life, as sweet golden currents would carry him on towards the promise of spring.

For the Crane would dance, and dance, for the memory of his love. For her. Gone from his reflection there upon the lake. Set upon the world, far greater than him. How he missed her. How he loved her. How he wanted her. How he had hurt her. Failed her.

As she sang her song. As she danced upon the lake. Across that rippling world of dreams that shimmered and shook to the beat of her wings.

Where had he been?

Breathless. He fell with the fall of the song. The end signaled by the punctuation of her voice. The last and somber hum of her biwa's string. He bowed his head. As breath rose and fell from his lungs. As sweat gathered on his brow, and sharp shards of pain stabbed through him. He shut his eyes.

Awaiting their shared fate.

Folded and bent and small. Still. He smiled beneath it all. For he had flown so high. They had flown so high. Despite it all.

Ginrou Hanae

 

[Ginrou]

How Lady Jashu loathed the guests who sat around her. Some watched in silent rapture, others barely hid their boredom behind a glaze of sophistication. All, all of them assuming they sat outside the light of the stage.

How her guests chittered and cheered, unaware of their own roles in the act. Like paper puppets stored away in a cedar chest, to keep the moths away. Years had gone by, and yet here they all were, in the same room, the same wooden-slatted walls boxing them in. Useless until the right song was played.

How Jasu longed for that unfettered heart again - the weightlessness that came with a perfect performance. Audience and artist breathing the same rhythms, reflections of each other. She could see the dancer upon the stage craning closer to that perfection, legs lifting him high and then low again, in concert with the depths of the singer's voice.

And yet, something clipped his wing. The straining notes of her biwa, demanding to be heard. Pain gleaming in the sweat of his brow, stifled to silence. A dissonance so subtle, few in the audience noticed.

Music faded, and with it Lady Jasu's eyes came closed, setting suns promising a cold night. She let her guests stir in anticipation, waiting on her word. Only when the spell of attention the biwa player had woven threatened to come undone, did the Lady Jasu raise her hand high once more.

"Such is a lover's regret--
What these hands remember,
the heart forgets."

In her upraised hand was fan. She spread the paper folds with a flick, revealing a wolf raakgui painted white upon a wash of gold. "Words that may stir remnants of lost affections in us, but do recall their origin. No poet spoke them - such were the last words of Hesmou Tarahaya, the infamous rogue shaman, moments before the executioner took his head." The fan came closed, and Jasu lowered her hand in the same fluid motion. "My apologies to the players. Tonight's theme was a bit of a trick question, was it not?"

Stiff folds of cloth whispered and porcelain cups tinked, as the guests stirred. Soon enough, conversation would begin to flow naturally again, and the performers on stage would melt into the backdrop, playing through the evening meal. But before that, the quiet of a rapt audience would last just long enough for the performers on stage to respond, if they so desired.

Hanae Hiei

 

[Hanae]

Hinoka:

Sometimes Lady Jashu could be so cruel. It wasn’t her tone of voice or the eyes of a well-seasoned hunter that unnerved Hinoka. She had traveled further than one would think a person could travel on their own with little else but the clothes and biwa on her back. She had come across unfortunate scenes of bandits attacking wagons, poachers stepping over nests and eggs as they hunted golden pheasants and jade pheasants for the highest bidder. Lady Jashu was cruel because she could never do something so blatantly wrong, or stupid.

Lady Jashu was cunning, her wit sharper than any blade being sold in the Red District. It was this sort of cruel cleverness that had Hinoka keep her gaze low to the ground, to be as still as the musicians in paintings. She was not on Lady Jashu’s level, and to look her in the eyes at this moment felt like death. She used to close her eyes when she was a child, whenever she heard a noise that sounded like it shouldn’t belong. She believed if she didn’t see it, it wasn’t real, a cursed raakgui wasn’t there.

She always thought then, just as she did now, if she cooperated by not seeing and keeping silent, any punishment she would receive would be less than if she opened her eyes and mouth.

Sometimes Lady Jashu could be so cruel, Hinoka thought, preparing her fingers and breath for another song. She knew that no matter how famous she got, if she married well, if status was given to her— surely, Lady Jashu knew that Hinoka would never speak against her, even if her words hurt Hiei.

Hiei Ginrou