i know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

[thespaceopera]

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Comments

Otono-Tachibana Makie

[therewerefifty]

[Triggers: depression, child abuse, prostitution, dismemberment, death of animals, death of dirtbags, terminal illness, brutal fighting, jfc. You might not want to come in??? There are... some nice memories in here somewhere...]

[There's a distinctly traditional Japanese atmosphere here for those with the knowledge to recognise it. Lanterns bobbing outside, and the sound of festivities somewhere distant, and mournful shamisen music echoing along the corridor you find yourself in. It's an old building, Japanese architecture of the 18th century, wooden floors that have seen better days but are nevertheless polished, and shoji doors that have been repaired multiple times with expert fingers.

There are signs of wear and tear, but the upkeep shows signs of repair over and over again.

The very front room at the end of the corridor leads to a balcony overlooking the street, and there are narrow stairs leading downward at the opposite end. Opening any of the doors reveals them to be mostly empty, though there are futons present and Japanese room dividers present, any number of clothing items draped over the top, the smell of incense and tobacco permeating throughout.

Touching anything in these rooms will likely give you a memory. Going down the stairs takes you, incongruously, to what looks like a wide field full of dead trees, each warped and in odd formations, pictures engraved into the bark. The staircase stays where it is for ease of retreat, but otherwise...?

This wasteland is all there is.

Maybe.]

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor is following the sound of the music, drawn as he always is.

The home is old, but loved, in it's own way, that much is clear, cared for.

He is very careful, as he has never seen a home like this before, wandering and trying not to touch too much. But the field of trees wrings a low noise from him. He is Noldor, one of the Deep Elves, who worked with stone, not wood. But he is an elf, and the dead trees distress him, and he steps out to brush a hand across them sadly ]

TW for animal death

[therewerefifty]

[He may not notice the pictures carved into them at first, so distressed over the nature of these trees. But the moment his fingers cross the grooves cut into the bark, he's pulled into memory-- and one that bears such a resemblance to this wasteland that he may not notice at first. Until he hears the barking of dogs.

The trees all fade one by one from this desolate field, bar one. There's a young (and familiar) girl sprawled out on one of the low branches, kimono askew, and a strange, bladed weapon leaning carefully against the tree trunk by her head. She's been beaten half to death, one arm splayed off the branch to hang, a steady drip of blood following her fingers to fall to the ground below-- and the corpse of an animal by the base of the tree. A dog, carved head to toe, killed in one sweep of a blade.

There are other dogs. Live ones coming from all directions, one by one, wild and starved, attracted by the smell of the corpse and the fresh blood from above, and it's not long before the entire meadow is filled with these feral scavengers, desperate for food. The corpse of their own is long devoured, but scrabble as they might at the bark, they can't reach the girl.

She's half awake, the girl, listening to the howling beneath her for long moments. She barely remembers how she got here-- saved a boy, she thinks-- but the rest is a fog. It will come back in time. But for now, she runs a brief inventory of how hurt she is, whether it's just... easier to fall off the branch and put an end to things here.

But in the end, she takes a breath, lip trembling before she takes the weapon up-- a three section staff, bladed on the ends-- and stares down at the mob before she closes her eyes, expression settling into blankness.

Then she steps off the branch. And the carnage that follows is absolute. Dozens of dogs, one small child. It's no contest.

They don't scratch her, not even once. Her dance with the blade is serene and horrifying, and it's long minutes before every dog lies dead in the field. Only then does she take a ragged breath, staring bleakly into the distance, and begin staggering for home.]

[bythewaves]

[ The desolation cuts him deep, a low keen escaping him involuntarily as he sees the girl in the branches.

Makie. Not quite as young as she was then, not quite as old as she is now, but a child, still. And those injuries...

Rage.

He recognises the feeling and wrestles it down. It won't do her any good right now. He takes a step towards her and then...

Ah

It is like watching rage made flesh, as if the battle songs he once used took form.

It is beautiful, and his heart aches, because she is too young to know how to fight like that, to have to fight like that, and he mourns her ]

[therewerefifty]

[The memory fades subtly only after Makie has stumbled from the field, leaving Maglor in the field of dead trees once more. If he looks now, the tree he touched had several stylised dogs carved into it, and other trees bear different carvings, most of them people--

- a slight young man, age indeterminate, wearing loose Japanese clothing and holding a sword in one hand, blade reversed to point toward him;
- a bridge carved across a stylised river;
- a tall man with a blade, huge and curved at the end, taller than he is;
- a series of cross-hatched cuts with no real picture to them at all;
- a small girl on all fours like an angry cat;

The corpse of the original dog from the memory is here now, too, though it wasn't before. Maglor can... approach it if he wishes. Alternately, he can retreat back upstairs again.

[bythewaves]

Ah. [ He murmurs softly and frowns a little, looking back towards the stairs.

He... is curious. But... Makie...

Almost, he reaches out again but then he shakes his had and turns to head inside. He should probably try and find Makie, if he can. ]

[therewerefifty]

[The environment hasn't changed inside at all, still clothing strewn in most rooms. He can either investigate the scattered clothing and accessories:

- The pale cream yukata;
- The dark blue kimono with red flower patterns;
- The ornate jewelled hair pin;
- The far plainer, practical hair pins;
- The obi, draped all on its own;
- The pale headscarf;

or continue down to the balcony overlooking the street.]

[mrfancyhat]

[This atmosphere. It sounded as if there were festivities taking place, which made him feel he wasn't dressed appropriately. Chuuya didn't get to go to many anymore back home, with how much he worked. He felt the need to walk in the direction of the festivities, but stops at the old building before him, knowing that if he didn't, he may never see anything like this again while in space.

Chuuya goes to take a closer at the clothing items to figure out who they may belong to. He picks it up, turns it over to analyze it before placing it back on the divider it was on. Was someone planning to get ready for the festivities? He wondered if that was the case, however the music from the shamisen didn't give him a very good feeling.]

[therewerefifty]

[The festivities that can be heard are reasonably common in this kind of district, made up more of drunks and merchants and sailors spending their time (and drunken merchants and sailors of course) amidst the odd samurai who just wants to have a little fun, y'know?

The clothing is varied and reasonably vivid in colour, though closer looks will show that these, too, are meticulously cared for and becoming a little more careworn with time. And every item, without doubt, belongs to a woman. There are also some accessories.

Which do you touch first?

- The pale cream yukata;
- The dark blue kimono with red flower patterns;
- The ornate jewelled hair pin;
- The far plainer, practical hair pins;
- The obi, draped all on its own;
- The pale headscarf?

Come to think of it, that last one probably looks familiar. See the icon above.]

[mrfancyhat]

[The first of the clothing items Chuuya inspects is a dark blue kimono with red flower patterns. He amuses himself momentarily with how typical it was for him to be drawn to this sort of pattern, being that he had a preference for red camellia back home.]

TW for sexual harassment

[therewerefifty]

[The room with its discarded clothing fades out to a more common area, a small group of men drinking, being served and chatted to by women. The geisha house is not a luxurious one, but it is respectable, and the women here are at ease with the men, both groups laughing easily together. They quieten down as the woman kneeling at the end of the room, light cast on the small sound board behind her, finally finishes tuning the shamisen and begins to play. It's Makie, wearing the self-same kimono that Chuuya touched, looking much the same age as she does now although her hair is far longer, fastened up decoratively with pins and combs. She sings a melancholy ballad of lovers and thieves and tragedy, and her audience is rapt, only to break into cheers and applause when she is done.

"No false modesty, now! It's the first time you've performed for an audience, you say? Wonderful!

Makie smiles in that self-deprecating way, bowing her head. "I fear I made your poor ears suffer..."

"Oh, no, no." The speaker this time is one of the women, pride in her features. "It's not so rare to hear fine singing, fine playing... but few girls your age can imbue it with such feeling. Or at least, such is my poor opinion. And you, good sir?"

The man she addresses laughs, waving his empty cup around, stilling only when she moves to refill it for him. "Ohatsu, you took the words right out of my mouth!"

"Excuse me," says another with a smile, eyes more calculating than the rest. He is not drunk. Not anywhere near. "O-Maki, was it? What was that song called? I fancy myself a connoisseur of the nagauta, but..."

"Please excuse such amateurish work," Makie says softly, putting her shamisen away. "It was a feeble composition of my own. I thought it perhaps appropriate for such dismal weather..." Her voice drops, and her thoughts are far away. "Heavy and lowering..."

There's a brief moment of silence as the man's smile fades. And it's broken by the first man, laughing raucously again. "You're no match for her, boy! A magnificent singer, and a real poet to boot! A real find eh?"

"Yes," says the watchful one. "A well-turned woman. Quite extraordinary." He drinks from his cup, eyes never leaving Makie. "What verse might dare I spin myself... to extol the virtues of that alluring form?"

"My goodness, the young sir, too, is a master of fair speech." Ohatsu sounds amused, glancing across the room. "O-Maki, fill up the cup of our talented guest."

Makie moves to do so, her form perfect, kneeling in front of him with grace. And he watches her for a long moment-- as she refills his cup and tips the jug back, his hand skulks its way up the voluminous kimono sleeve, and she freezes.

"I seem to remember seeing it before, that pretty face of yours... little O-Maki." His voice is low, unheard by the majority of the room as they continue talking. "Yes, yes... now I remember. Up until just a while ago, there was a girl just like you in a whorehouse... in Monzen-Naka-Cho. As Makie tenses, he grins. "Hey, no reason to get all tight-assed about it. I don't make mistakes, after all. It's the face of the woman I slept with." He snickers lightly, hand moving in that sleeve, and Makie doesn't move-- she honestly doesn't know how to react. What's allowed. Whether this will mean she can't stay. "I just couldn't get you out of my head, darlin'. How about it? Tonight? For old time's sake?"

"Sir!"

They both glance around in shock at Ohatsu's sharp call, who watches them both with a steely expression. And then Ohatsu comes to Makie's rescue. "I must ask you to press no further. The women of this house are geisha, sir. We sell conversation and the arts... and nothing more."

The man apologises, pulling his hands back and leaving Makie be, though much of the conciliatory conversation that follows is lost in the relief she feels that this, at least, is one conflict she doesn't have to deal with. Ohatsu casts her a warm smile and continues on as if nothing happened. And soon after, the group of men leave.



The memory fades, leaving Chuuya back in the same room. The shamisen sound that could be heard before has now stopped.]

[mrfancyhat]

Eh?

[Chuuya glances around, confused about what it is he just saw.]

Eh? Eeehh?!

[He stares at the kimono as it hung on the divider as if it... Nah it was just a coincidence. He's losing his mind -- going crazy, that's all. He's going crazy. A space sickness! Still as confused as he is, he did recognize the familiar face.

He glances around more, then decides that maybe someone is around to mess with him. That's his assumption most of the time anyway.]

Ma-- Makie? Are you here, Makie?

[therewerefifty]

[There's silence for a long moment. And then a soft call from a distance, barely heard--]

I'm on the balcony.

[noprophecies]

[these are things she's never seen before; odd architecture and even stranger walls, paper-thin but to her, seem just as useful as the solid, wood ones she's used to. While she normally doesn't let her curiosity get the better of her, she can't help but let it win her over a little bit - it's lovely in an exotic way, so much so that she doesn't really pay attention to where her feet take her, eyes drawn all over as she takes in every little detail, a bit wide-eyed.

She eventually finds herself going down the stairs, and stops short when she sees the wide field of trees. This . . . doesn't seem to fit the rest, and it draws her in, to look into why. The first tree she comes to, she reaches out to touch the picture engraved into it]

TW for animal death 1/2

[therewerefifty]

[The picture engraved is that of multiple dogs. The moment Tempest's fingers cross the grooves cut into the bark, she's pulled into memory-- and one that bears such a resemblance to this wasteland that she may not notice at first. Until she hears the barking of dogs.

The trees all fade one by one from this desolate field, bar one. There's a young, Japanese girl sprawled out on one of the low branches, kimono askew, and a strange, bladed weapon leaning carefully against the tree trunk by her head. (The weapon will be familiar to Tempest, at least; it's a smaller version of the one Makie used on the waystation.) She's been beaten half to death, one arm splayed off the branch to hang, a steady drip of blood following her fingers to fall to the ground below-- and the corpse of an animal by the base of the tree. A dog, carved head to toe, killed in one sweep of a blade.

There are other dogs. Live ones coming from all directions, one by one, wild and starved, attracted by the smell of the corpse and the fresh blood from above, and it's not long before the entire meadow is filled with these feral scavengers, desperate for food. The corpse of their own is long devoured, but scrabble as they might at the bark, they can't reach the girl.

She's half awake, the girl, listening to the howling beneath her for long moments. She barely remembers how she got here-- saved a boy, she thinks-- but the rest is a fog. It will come back in time. But for now, she runs a brief inventory of how hurt she is, whether it's just... easier to fall off the branch and put an end to things here.

But in the end, she takes a breath, lip trembling before she takes the weapon up, and she stares down at the mob before she closes her eyes, expression settling into blankness.

Then she steps off the branch. And the carnage that follows is absolute. Dozens of dogs, one small child. It's no contest.

They don't scratch her, not even once. Her dance with the blade is serene and horrifying, and it's long minutes before every dog lies dead in the field. Only then does she take a ragged breath, staring bleakly into the distance, and begin staggering for home.]

[therewerefifty]

[The memory ends, leaving Tempest back in the field of dead trees with one new addition: the corpse of the original dog, left on the ground.

Other carvings on trees include:

- a slight young man, age indeterminate, wearing loose Japanese clothing and holding a sword in one hand, blade reversed to point toward him;
- a bridge carved across a stylised river;
- a tall man with a blade, huge and curved at the end, taller than he is;
- a series of cross-hatched cuts with no real picture to them at all;
- a small girl on all fours like an angry cat

Tempest can approach any other tree or the corpse if she wishes-- or she can retreat back up the stairs to a more hospitable area.]

[noprophecies]

[the memory doesn't disturb her, like others she she has seen in the past. Even though her heart twists at seeing a child put in such a situation, she also realizes it's far more common than even she realizes - still, she can't help but be impressed. She knew Makie was impressive, but this young - goodness.

While she feels guilty about viewing the memory, she's still drawn to the other carvings, looking over each one with careful scrutiny, as if looking for one that isn't as significant - one that she won't feel even guiltier for seeing.

Finally, she reaches out to touch the bridge carving]

[therewerefifty]

[Sadly all the memories down here near function as nails in a coffin; it's a field of dead trees for a reason. Though this one starts as bittersweet; touching the tree takes Tempest to a low, wooden bridge over a river-- or canal?-- through streets furnished with the architecture as the house. Makie stands on the bridge with a slender man slightly taller than she is, fine-featured with high cheekbones and the traditional long hair of a Japanese samurai swept back into a ponytail. Put some makeup on him, he could easily pass for a woman, so fine-boned he is. Makie looks much the same age she is, with one major difference-- her hair is long, pinned up in an elaborate hairstyle of the time, though the man with her is making short work of taking it down again.

This is a long memory, so best you go straight to the source and read to the end of the chapter (page 80).

...warnings for passing discussion of prostitution and rape, and the dismemberment of some people who really deserve it. Also Makie feels sorry for herself a lot.]

[noprophecies]

[she jerks her hand back even though she knows it's likely no use - and as she watches the memory play out, again, she isn't disturbed; no, the expression on her face is more sympathetic. She finds herself reaching up to touch her own hair as Makie cuts her own in the memory, and doesn't look away as the men fall. They deserved it, after all. There's no doubt there.

As soon as the memory is over and she finds herself back in front of the tree, she abruptly turns to head out of there as quickly as possible. Yep, two memories are more than enough for her, and she isn't stupid enough to touch another tree]

[therewerefifty]

[Wise choice. The upper floor looks much the same, still with clothing strewn in different places. She can either investigate the scattered clothing and accessories:

- The pale cream yukata;
- The dark blue kimono with red flower patterns;
- The ornate jewelled hair pin;
- The far plainer, practical hair pins;
- The obi, draped all on its own;
- The pale headscarf;

or continue down to the balcony overlooking the street.]

[passingthrough]

[She assumes she's within Makie's mind before she has any logical reason for doing so. After all, she's not the only one from Japan or even old school Japan. But she is the person she's closest to from there. But she doesn't see her yet. She doesn't see anyone, so she explores. Kitty starts by opening some of the doors surprised by how little she finds within. At the second door she enters and explores further reaching out to touch the cloth draped over a divider.]

[therewerefifty]

[The cloth turns out to be a long and wide strip of a deep red colour, and touching it brings the touch of a deep, racking cough. There is now a woman in the room, as beautiful as she is thin, her hair pinned up carelessly and her elaborate dress now all but hanging on her frame, as pale as Makie is. More so, in fact, but her pallor is brought about by her illness, and she dabs the corner of her mouth with a rag before she leans back against the cushions. One of her legs is hooked up to help stop her sliding down, and the kimono has slid away to leave it bare. It's obvious she doesn't care. She's too exhausted.

Kneeling in front of her is a little girl, close in age to the one that inhabited the Twin Roses some weeks ago. Makie isn't really looking at the other woman; rather, she looks through her, as if not looking can deny the inevitable.

The sound of a long, jewelled hair pin being placed on the ground between them diverts her attention, though, and she blinks down at it as the woman pushes it forward. "It's yours now. Maybe you can sell it. It might... help."

Makie's hands fist into the kimono over her thighs, but she doesn't say anything. If it could help, it should have been sold long before they got to this point. She keeps that thought to herself, because it makes no difference now. And glances up again, as the woman sighs.

"I know what you're thinking. Please let it go."

She can't. She won't. And the woman continues as if she'd said as much aloud. "You're matching hate with hate. Won't you listen... to a mother's last request?

"Makie... become a woman of the pleasure quarters. If you wish to walk the path of the sword, then all the more so..."

She breaks into more coughing, her breath bubbling and catching, and Makie dutifully scurries to find her more clean rags and fresh water. There's no knowing how long she can survive in such a place with this illness, but the both of them know it won't be long now.

The memory fades, leaving Kitty back in the room. Other discarded items of cloth include:

- The pale cream yukata;
- The dark blue kimono with red flower patterns;
- The ornate jewelled hair pin (the one from the memory);
- The far plainer, practical hair pins;
- The pale headscarf.

Or she could continue downstairs or head for the balcony.]

[passingthrough]

[She takes a deep breath as the scene changes.

That was no kind of choice for a child and yet in some ways it was more of a choice than Kitty saw for herself. But she was also older by then. Not an adult, but not so young as this either.

It takes a moment to adjust and when she does she can't help picking up the ornate jeweled hair pin she saw in the memory.]

[therewerefifty]

[The craftsmanship is excellent; it's expensive and wrought from gold with a jewel hanging from its end by a fine, ornate chain, designed to move and catch the light in a woman's hair.

And it comes with memory attached, of course; Kitty is dropped into a fight in a narrow alley between Makie and a scarred samurai. While she looks the same age as the Makie that Kitty knows, her hair is much longer, whipping free as she moves. But something is different here-- while her grace is present, her movements are slow, and the same lethal skill she had as when the raiders attacked the Fleet is very much absent.

It ends predictably, with Makie stumbling from the alleyway's end to the street, and the samurai's own weapon pressed to her throat. "Don't move."

But he doesn't seem inclined to kill her. Instead, he huffs, running his free hand through his hair. "You didn't even check out the battlefield. Either you didn't give it your best, or that was your best. Either way..." And he loses his temper, blade dropping away from her. "Idiots who can't fight should keep their swords sheathed, you damn FOOL! I said it before and I'll say it again-- anyone who takes up a sword can't complain when they get cut down. Is that how you want to die? EH!?"

Makie doesn't move from her sprawl, even as he retracts the weapon from her entirely, still lecturing her. "If that's the best you can do with a sword, you'd better stick with being a whore!"

He walks away, still muttering to himself as he glances over his shoulder at her one last time. And Makie finally rights herself, sitting in the dust of the road. What a thing to yell at her-- so similar to her mother's advice. And yet... she's oddly relieved.

There's the sound of footsteps, and she glances up to find a little girl she'd met earlier watching her solemnly. "You okay, lady?"

Oh... so close to their fight and she hadn't noticed. She's stricken. "You saw me fighting."

"Uh huh, and before, too." And Makie glances away, ashamed, as the little girl continues. "So, um... you're s'posed to be a swordswoman, right?"

"...yes."

"Gee," the girl says solemnly. "You're not very good."

Makie smiles at that. Two censures in one day, gosh. But like the first time, all it does is make her feel a little better. She reaches down to her obi and plucks the jewelled hair pin from where it's tucked away, holding it out. "You want this?"

The girl's face lights up. "Wow! Are... are you sure!?"

"Uh huh," Makie says, glancing back to the road, her thoughts already elsewhere. She gave it a try. She can't kill for other people, even if it's Kagehisa. It's... good to know. "Probably... I won't be needing it anymore."

The memory fades.]

[passingthrough]

[Kitty looks confused as she watches and uselessly tries to lunge in and protect Makie at one point. Of course it does no good and changes nothing. She's an observer here. She is trying to take it all in even as the scene changes back.

She glances around, wondering if Makie will appear in this space too. She could go exploring more of course.]