Time for part 3 of the 'intermission'.
Thanks to all those who have picked up the fic again after such a long time, it's great to know this hasn't been forgotten. And also welcome to new readers who have only now encountered this fic; I really do hope it is something you are enjoying.
Nothing more need be said, on with the show.
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Parallel Lives – Chapter 12c
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Motoko watched the world slowing gradually through the window, and bit back a shudder as the electronic voice echoing through the carriage announced the imminent arrival of the train into Kyoto station. Steeling herself she sat, her gaze unwavering, viewing the hauntingly familiar scenery as it decelerated beyond the carriage window. Inwardly she almost sneered at her pose – sat as she was with blade on lap despite being one who had long ago decided that the weapon was now present in name only, a paradigm of the art which she would once use at the merest provocation.
The girl knew now that any further acts of violence which culminated in the drawing of her blade would do little but strike another nail into her coffin, a coffin which already bore enough shame to carry her deep beneath the topsoil and down into a grave she no doubt deserved.
Yes, Motoko knew she deserved the punishment her family would doubtless heap upon her raven-tressed head. Yet, in the same moment, the young lady could not and would not deny the accusations which would be flung her way, be it by words or bow and arrow or rifle.
It would be no more, or less, than she deserved.
She was supposed to be a swordsmistress, a lady of honour, a woman beyond reproach and far above the everyday judgement with which the common people may consider their daily dealings. Yet somehow, the blinding presence of a simple man, a human with one Y-chromosome too many, had left a change in both her philosophy and life which was nothing less than crippling. To not only owe a man, a male, a filthy perverse example of that which was base within humanity...But to actually wish to submit to the aforementioned man's will and become a woman, a wife! One whose perceived role in life was simply to submit.
No, she could not. She would not...
Yet why was the very idea one she did not abhor, nay actively desire?
Motoko had the semblance of an idea that now, possibly, husband and wife were no longer tied to the master and subservient role they once were. But the very idea, to in any way shape or form to give herself to a man, to any man...
To allow a man to actually become a part of her, both emotionally and physically...
To allow a man entrance into herself, to give herself in a way which could never be repealed...and know forever that another had knowledge of such intimacy.
No. She could not do it. Not now.
And not merely because the idea made something indescribable awaken in her stomach, something which provoked fear and desire in equal measure. There was also the small fact that the one with whom she could possibly take such a step with belonged to another.
The heir to the Aoyama school had considered herself to be a person of honour, although this was an idea which had taken almost terminal damage in recent days. However, despite her wounded honour, Motoko could not see herself trying to take Keitaro for her own. Not now.
The night her world had changed beyond recognition Motoko had said little beyond her admission of guilt to Naru and Kitsune. And then she had simply sat and watched, as if naught but an ornament, at what had followed.
What had followed was some of the most wanton greed that she had ever witnessed, and much to her shock, it came from the mouths of fellow women whom she had previously considered above reproach. It was not the tactical planning which sparked such emotions – in fact, some of it was really quite well considered at times. Naru was not a Tokyo University student for nothing, and Mitsune had not earned her 'Fox' tag through having sharp teeth and a russet tail.
The truly surprising, and possibly astonishing thing to Motoko was the way the pair spoke about their house-mates. Their friends. At more than one point the word 'thief' slipped almost unbidden into words spoken about Shinobu – the one girl who was quite possibly beyond criticism. In much the same manner the term 'traitor' was dropped into the conversation involving Su as if the scheming pair were discussing a stranger...and while Naru in particular was bound to be angry, it saddened the silent onlooker deeply that such words would be said even in the midst of fury.
But what saddened Motoko the greatest was the way the pair talked of Keitaro. To Mitsune it merely seemed to be about the hunt, plots and schemes of varying morality yet all common in that the end was worth almost any means, even if the means could mean the end of the end.
By that point in the evening (well, night) Motoko's sense of logic had taken a thorough beating, before being shredded, run through a food processor, mixed with oatmeal and turned into sausages. But the worst was yet to come – and it inevitably came from the waspish tongue of a honey-ette who had almost certainly drunk more sake than her friend – a friend who had already been well tempered in the furnace of alcohol over many years. The dwindling ashes of Naru's temper stoked by the aforementioned sake (and a hearty slice of guilt, something Naru was never good at coping with) had led to the inevitable.
A rant.
No, in fact it was a Rant – one deserving of the capitalisation, and nearing block capitals.
Now this in itself was not unusual, the girl in question being one not to suffer in silence - some of the terms she had used to refer to her elusive Kanrinin were at best derogatory and at times downright insulting. Yet to Motoko the most chilling aspect of all was that every reference inferred not only disdain, but possession. Naru spoke as if she ownedKeitaro, and that he should be damn well honoured that she would stoop to do so.
After an hour or so Motoko could take no more and hurried back to her room without so much as a goodbye, slamming the door behind her and dropping boneless to the bed without the slightest intention to sleep. The girl had never meditated face-down on a bed before – grace being paramount in her world – but at that moment she simply did not care. In any case, what was taking place was far from meditation. It was meltdown.
Over the previous days she had seen her principles and ideals first shaken, then actively dismantled, piece by piece. However, from the moment she had reached the Hinata-sou, there was one other house-mate she respected as a kindred spirit with the same mind, the same view on the world and those living within it. To suddenly hear that same young lady speak as she had always imagined a man would, words of possession and superiority, words of...perversion.
At that very moment, Motoko knew she could stay at the Hinata-sou no longer – not until she had somehow found her balance once more, until she could really see the world as it was. Such an irony, that living outside the shelters of of her ancestral home had merely skewed her perception of the world beyond yet further.
Which was precisely why she was returning home. To admit her sins and accept her punishment, as she could now see what it was possible for her to become should she choose the course of denial and follow it to its inevitable end.
Which was a precipice far higher and more deadly than any the truth could bring.
Motoko was jolted from her thoughts by, ironically enough, a jolt. Olive eyes blinking, the girl brought into focus a sign proclaiming the platform beyond the carriage to be one of the many which made up Kyoto station. With a soft sigh overwhelmed by the pneumatic hiss of doors opening Motoko stood and squared her shoulders, setting her jaw in defiance while cursing the betrayal of her sweating palms, the white knuckles of the hand clutching Shisui as if it were her only lifeline.
Time to face the music. And somehow she doubted the tune would be to her liking.
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Well, it'll be on with the 'regular' chapters from here on in.
Hope to see you soon!
Nodoka Miyazawa