Omine was well aware she'd been staring at the sake jug for too long a time. Kuro, bless his heart, did not question her actions and with the exception of a furtive look or two had left her to her own devices. Misao had asked her what she would do and she'd said she would not be giving up. Beyond that it was difficult to come up with a plan of any sort. She could not, after all, be so shameless as to seek the man out and throw herself in his path. Nor could she screw her courage to the sticking place enough that she might make a clean breast of it and admit her feelings to his face. And if she could do neither, truly what right did she have at the existence she craved?

With a deep sigh she turned her back on the sake. Approaching the freshly washed vegetables, she picked up the large knife and began chopping. The task required little of her. Thoughts drifted, even as she changed the drip upon the knife, slanting it ever so gently. A clattering sound from somewhere behind her followed by a sharp little curse announced Shiro's return.

"What could possibly be amiss now?" the newly arrived man questioned, creating an even greater ruckus as he settled down his burden. "I swear it's quieter than a graveyard here." She shivered at the mention of such a resting place and shook her head, as though to dismiss an unwelcomed thought.

Looking over her shoulder, she pinned her friend with a stare. "Must you bring up graveyards?" Her hand, still halfway in the air, held the knife tightly. Only a fool chopped without looking; and she had cut herself enough times to learn her lesson. "Such morbid things you say."

"Truly, Shiro," Kuro agreed. "Still, it is awfully quiet." Ever the diplomat. Omine sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and looked away from the two, hoping they would not drag her into whatever conversation was to ensue.

As though her prayers had been heard by a merciful god, Shiro deflected the topic with a timely complaint regarding their sensitivity towards such mundane a thing as a graveyard. "It is not as though we are children, to fear it. Death is a natural consequence of life." Omine imagined him shrugging just then, the simple philosophy he'd presented most solid in its truthfulness. "By the by, Okon, Omasu said she could use a hand in the hall."

Stepping back from the cutting board, Omine abandoned her knife. She brushed her hands upon her apron and glanced downwards to make certain she was still presentable. Her hair was yet tightly secured, she could well feel when she brought a hand up to check, and all seemed well.

Picking up one of the trays left out to dry, she departed the kitchens. Her measured pace pressed into the wooden floorboards beneath her feet, beckoning forth creaks and croaks of protest. As it drew towards evening there always were more patrons, even if one might hope for a slow day every now and again. Omine surveyed the hall from where she stood, taking note of those present.

Very few were locals, but she could see half a dozen familiar faces. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped within, approaching one of the unattended tables. She bowed to the customers, two men young in years, finely dressed in if somewhat plain garb. They were clean and courteous. She asked after their choice of food and beverage, which they presented her with in short order.

Before she might make away, however, the one nearest her held one hand up. "Say, miss," he began, voice low and pleasant, in spite of its somewhat gravely quality and the heavy accent he bore, "would you happen to know where a fellow might an honest challenge for a hand of cards?" Tension sapped out of her shoulder as he finished his request.

Smiling down at him, she gave the directions towards the nearest gambling den she knew of. Not one to frequent such places, she hoped it would satisfy the two. The other reached in his coin purse and drew out what was supposed to be her payment, she did not doubt. The small coin was placed in her hand and she once more bowed to them before moving to another table.

This time, the sole patron occupying the space was known to her. "Tomoharu-san," she greeted the man with a smile. "You have not brought Eiko-chan today?" A shake of the head confirmed what she already suspected.

"I had some errands to run and thought it best that she remain with her aunt. Speaking of," he gestured towards the empty spot opposite him, "when you've a moment, I should like to have a word."

They were permitted upon occasion to sit with the patrons, especially if by request. How else was one to learn a thing or two? That said, Omine knew she would not have refused either way, if only for the sake of politeness. With that in mind, she allowed that she would return once she had fulfilled her duty.

Omasu approached her as they made for the kitchens, leaned in and asked, quite without shame, "I see you've caught someone's attention, have you not?" The smile upon her companion's face widened a fraction when she nodded in agreement. "Will you consider him?"

Could she afford not to? For the moment she wavered between choices. "We must all entertain such notions sooner or later." Yet she deliberately kept herself from doing so.

Time contracted as she moved about and before she knew it, late evening had arrived and patrons were standing to their feet, making readiness to leave. All but one. Omasu approached the table and sat herself down on the thin mat beneath her. She placed her tray to the side and offered a second greeting to the man, this one spoken as to something other than a customer.

They'd not been seated for more than a heartbeat's length when Okina came strolling in. He stared between the two of them for a brief moment and came to join their table. Sporting an expression rather more serious than his usual one, he asked after the suitability of their current accommodations. "If you would rather we took this to my office, we shall." It was not, it was understood, a formal occasion as such. Previous generations would have never permitted such a thing, yet the new era had worked towards a relaxation of the customs.

"Okina-san, my gratitude for agreeing to bear witness." Omine regarded the man as he exchanged pleasantries with the old retainer. They were evenly matched in height, though Tomoharu was broader and heavier-set. He would, she suspected, grow even heavier in his old age. But for the moment, there was little to complain of. Intelligent eyes in a somewhat rounded face stood above a straight nose. Lower still was a thin-lipped mouth. Omine's eyes fell to the man's hands as he accepted a cup of tea from Omasu as the woman knelt to serve them all. Long, elegant fingers with neatly trimmed nails and not a speck of dirt to be seen greeted her sight.

The men's conversation ran its course and attention turned upon her. "Omine-chan," Okina addressed her, his smile soft, lacking any connotations for once, "Tomoharu-san will speak to you now. I expect you shan't need me, but if you do, I shall be seated near the window. There are some ledgers needing my attention."

Nodding her consent, Omine patiently awaited Okina's departure before granting all of her attention to her prospective suitor. Wishing to put him at ease even as she saw him shift slightly, Omine softened her expression as much as was in her power. "I am listening."

"Omine-san," he began, voice somewhat faded. The man cleared his throat and made a second attempt, a small chuckle beside. "I fear you shall think very poorly of me indeed, should I persist in such a state. Nonetheless, I will admit to being rather nervous." They waited a beat in silence. When she did not jump in, he went on. "We have known one another for a good number of years now; I suspect you needn't hear of my current position, save for the fact that I have decided it would be wise to wed once more."

That made the rest of it rather obvious. "I am honoured I should be considered, but if I may; why is it that I am your choice?" With regards to marriage, Omine had precious little other than her own person to offer. Her parents had served the old, long-since dead Okashira, and she, as the daughter of faithful retainers, had continued in the same vein. It was understood and expected in those times that if she ever did wed, it would be to a man of the clan. The Meiji era had seen to changing those assumptions.

And Omine had come to understand, none too early, that outside the Oniwabanshu, the world operated with a very different set of rules. Had she a mother to guide her, she suspected she would have wedded into the clan once she came of age, except that her kin had died and she, left in the care of Okina, had along with Omasu, thrown herself into caring for Misao.

Shaking the thought away, she looked to Tomoharu for answers. "To be perfectly honest, it was seeing your young ward that decided the matter for me. You have raised her well, and I expect you would raise my Eiko well too." There was something to be said of a man's honesty. "That aside, I believe we could dwell well enough together, you and I." She blushed, her mind gently touching over what she knew upon such matters.

Omine knew not how he interpreted her expression, but found his steadying stream of words fortifying when Tomoharu did not let up. "Eiko will, of course, need some time to come to terms with such a change; that is, if you do accept." Surmising that a great deal had been beforehand discussed with Okina that she too might need to hear, Omine bowed before the man in gratitude before answering him quite from the heart.

"The matter is not clear yet to me and, if at all possible, I require time to think it over." That seemed to please her guest well enough, for his answer was accompanied with a smile when he allowed that it would be best. They spoke no more afterwards but lapsed into silence, which naturally attracted Okina. No mention was made of a decision when the men began conversing once more. Omine was excused to do as she pleased and she retreated, knowing that whatever came of it she'd hear from Okina when the moment was right.

It was Misao that awaited her in the inner garden, sitting on the porch with a blanket draped across her lap. As soon as the younger saw her, she leapt awkwardly to her feet, all in a rush to reach her. "Did you know anything about this?" Omine laughed at the eagerness of the question and answered her with the truth. "It is a good match, to be sure, but," Misao trailed off, gesturing vaguely with her hand. "Are you going to accept?"

The crux of the matter was that any acceptance she might give at the moment would be half-hearted. Could she do that to an unsuspecting man? "I would make him as good a wife as I could possibly be," she defended herself more to that inner voice whispering doubt into her ear than to her companion. "And in time I might even come to feel affection for him; that is the natural course of marriage." She looked to Misao as though for confirmation.

"The accommodations would certainly be better than anything the old grouch could give you." The words were teasing, spoken lightly, almost as though with conscious effort. "It is one thing to enter a marriage with no affection for the other; it could easily come to a point where love would grow, as you say. But to go to a man when your heart belongs to another, is that not a tad cruel? May I speak freely?"

Snorting, Omine nodded her head. "You always do."

"You ought to see him one more time, at least. Tomoharu-san is not a bad fellow, I grant you, and I should deeply regret his suffering and yours later on if you act rashly." It was a fair point. At times she forgot that Misao saw more than one thought and understood a great number of things most might not think she did. "Aside from which, I've already bought the sake and I will even come with you."

"You will?" She did her best not to allow her surprise to seep into the words. "Is that wise?"

"Two heads are better than one," the younger replied wisely. "Also, I paid good money for that sake. I want to have a taste." They both laughed at the remark. Nevertheless, Misao picked up her blanket, drawing it across her shoulders for added warmth. "Enough of this for now. On the morrow, let us go."

"You have my word." They took leave one of the other, each walking in the direction of their own chamber.

Omasu waited for her was well, albeit she had the patience to meet her in her own quarters, flickering candle well in hand. "Well then? Let us hear it."

Patiently following as Omasu guided, Omine sat down as the other settled behind her. She could feel her hair being gently drawn back as she spoke, "You were correct. He is interested in marriage." A soft tug let her know Omasu had begun working with her comb. "Even Misao says it is a good match."

"Misao said that?" Somewhere in those words a swift note of amusement rang. "She must truly be growing up. I was certain she'd insist you go up the mountain."

"In all fairness, she did say I should. You think not?" The drawn-out motions of the comb paused. Omine held her breath and very nearly jumped out of her skin as a clattering noise tore through the small room. Omasu's breathy chuckle followed.

"You should know, even if it turns out to be a painful truth, you should still know. A lifetime of wondering, of carrying around what might have beens," she trailed off and the comb returned to its previous pattern of movement. "Tomoharu-san is the superior choice in many respects. He has a comfortable home, a steady income and would keep you very well indeed. And he has a child; he will be, perhaps, more patient with you than any husband without a child might be."

"Or he might well be more impatient," Omine grumbled good-naturedly. Not that Omasu took note of that. "Do you think I would be a good mother?"

"We raised Misao, did we not?" Although, it might be more up to put it as they grew up together. The age difference between them had never been great.

"It was mostly your merit though," she offered a moment after. "Were it up to me, I'd have been perfectly content to let Misao run around as she pleased."

"Do you wish to be a mother then?" They rarely spoke of such matters. Not out of any prudish concern and neither out of a sense of superiority. One might assume women such as them, who has trained in more than the mere art of cooking a hearty meal and keeping the home , would not have such common desires, that they, at the very least, might wish for the glory of great deeds.

They never spoke of it because it was a sore spot rather. When they were training with knives and swords, other girls were sewing and embroidering, amassing a dowry by the work of their hands and making themselves the object of much admiration. They had mothers of their own to guide them safely through the rough waters of society and might even expect aid in selecting a proper mate.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" To have someone of her own with whom to share such a bond, Omine smiled absently at the thought. A more sobering notion invaded her mind just then. She might well wish for a babe of her own to hold and nurture, but it did not follow that the one who had her heart had thought of such. "Look at me, dreaming with my eyes open. One would think age'd work to cure that."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of dreaming," Omasu huffed from behind, indicating that she was done with the combing. Omine felt fingers in her hair, tugging and parting sections of it. "You should not have any regrets in this regard. But if the dream cannot be reached, you ought to let go with both hands."

A heavy braid was draped over her shoulder. The ribbon securing its end with its cheerful colour delayed the pain of her companion's words. Just as long as Omine did not think too deeply upon that and concentrated on the ribbon, she needn't acknowledge the very real possibility that her hopes had led her far astray and she would suffer all the more to see them proven wrong should that be the case. She exchanged her kimono for a far simpler yukata.

"For now, however," Omasu's voice came once more, "you must rest. Come, lie down. Before long morning will have come once more." And with that, the candle and its owner abandoned Omine to her thin mattress with its thick blanket and narrow pillow.

Left in the dark, she could do little but obey. The day's efforts finally caught up with her and she yawed in her sleeve. What the morrow might bring, she did not know, but hope had to be enough for the time being. Hope was all she had.