toku matsudaira, geezermancer (giri) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-22 02:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, toku matsudaira |
In every room and every hall I’ve seen your face, and it’s time for you to come and stay.
Who: Toku Matsudaira and his wife, Masuyo (NPC)
What: Checking for damage, and the beginning of repairs. (Narrative)
Where: The Matsudaira home, in the Commoners' District.
When: Friday evening, after the fighting.
Rating: F for feels, but otherwise tame.
Status: Complete!
The house was a pale ghost of its former glory when Toku arrived. His heart sunk at the sight of the debris littering the path to the entrance, the charr marks on the wall. He pushed by the deformed, now useless fence and onto the property, ready to search the house if he needed to, to find Masuyo. That his broken arm, placed in a sling by the white mage that had tended to him, would not have allowed him to sift through rubble, had he found the walls inside collapsed, did not cross his mind. She ran out of the house then, and upon seeing him, her face lit up. His relief at seeing her alive was so great he almost ignored the voice that told him he had no right to run to her, to hold her and make sure she was real, that she was all right. Instead of that, he asked, “Are you hurt?” Before he knew what was happening, she was flinging her arms around him, and he could do nothing but surrender to the selfish desire to hold her to him, for the first time in almost a decade, and close his eyes. He could not tell how long they stood that way, in silence. It may have taken moments, or years, before she pulled away and looked at him, took a step back. Suddenly, the two feet of distance between them seemed unsurmountable. “I am all right,” Masuyo said. “Are you all right?” He considered her question for a moment; then, he replied, “My injuries are not severe.” “That,” she said, wry, “is not what I asked.” Anyone else may have let it go. Of course, she was not anyone else, and he could not expect her to let go, when she had held on for so long. “You need not worry,” he told her. “And yet, I do.” She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. “I am afraid it has become habit by now. You cannot stop me from worrying; I do not believe I can stop me, myself.” At her words, Toku looked at her as though he could not figure her out. He understood her meaning, far too well; yet as everything she did, it was a kindness he did not deserve from her. A kindness that, it seemed, she would continue to give, whether he deserved it or not. The small garden they had built together over the decades of their marriage was but a pile of ash and debris; he thought it a fitting anchor for his gaze as he spoke words he had not spoken before. He spoke them because, at different points during the past two days, he had believe he may never get the chance to. “I wish I were able to stop troubling you so. I wish you could be happy, in spite of me.” His voice was low, tired. “I have caused you enough pain.” After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, you have.” She turned to look at the ruins of the garden as well and, in that instant, he thought that may be all she would say. Then, she turned her eyes away from the ruins, to him. “But you have caused me great happiness, as well.” For that, he had only one answer that he could put into words, and he had no right to utter it. Yet perhaps she understood, even so; she had always understood him, even better than he understood himself. When she reached out to take his hand, he looked down at their intertwined fingers, marveling that in the face of his failures and shortcomings he could still be forgiven with such ease. “Let us go inside,” she said, and he followed. Inside, the house was a wreck. Part of the wall dividing the living room and the kitchen had crumbled in, and there was broken china on the tatami, swept into neat little piles at the corners of the room. Toku’s eyes flickered to the shelf where her favorite tea set had once been displayed and found it empty. “A casualty of war, I fear,” she said, not without regret. “I saw little point in picking up the pieces until the tremors stopped.” They had acquired that tea set not long after their marriage, when they had moved into this house. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Could you not put it back together?” he inquired. “I will try.” Her tone of voice, however, told him she had all but given up. “If I cannot, then I will lay it to rest. It had a good life.” On the portion of the wall that remained standing, the framed picture of Kiyoko in her scholar robes, months before her class exam, hung proudly like the lone survivor of a house in shambles. “Fortunately,” Masuyo continued, “my china, the kitchen wall, and the garden outside are the biggest losses to this family.” (She had heard from their daughter, then. Had guessed, as usual, what was going through his mind, even without his saying it.) “I notice the china ranks first on that list,” Toku said, unable to keep a smile from his face. “As it should.” She, too, was smiling now. Even after so many years apart, with only occasional visits, he could not help but wonder at how easy it was to relax around her, to fall back into their old dynamic, the quiet happiness he had convinced himself he did had no claim to. “I will endeavor to find two teacups that have not succumbed to gravity.” She motioned to the low table in the middle of the living room, a lone island of calm in the middle of the chaos of broken china and debris. Two cushions rested on the floor on opposite sides of the table; a third was tucked into a corner “Why don’t you take a seat,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. One of Masuyo’s surviving teapots sat on the table between them. They sipped their tea in silence, any words they may have conjured yielding under the weight of memories. Every night for many years, they had sat drinking tea together long after Kiyoko had gone to sleep, speaking of their day and what they had done and what they hoped to do in the future. Even after two decades of marriage, he had felt as though they may never run out of things to talk about, but that evening he could not find the right words to say to her. Finally, when their cups were empty, he said, “You must have questions. And you have a right to ask them.” She gave him a sad smile. “Many will have questions for you, and your Guild, in the coming weeks. I can keep mine to myself for the time being, rather than add to that load.” She was, of course, right. She usually was. “When you do ask me,” he said, “know that I will answer, to the best of my ability.” “You still have not told me if you are all right.” He was silent after her question; but in light of what the previous day had brought, there was only one possible answer. “No.” Quietly, with all the grace in the world, she picked up the teapot between them and set it aside. She kept her grip on the handle for a few moments, as though steeling herself for something to come. “Is it true the Sage was the cause of this?” He closed his eyes, wished he could change the truth by changing his answer, but there was no erasing the damage done. He opened his eyes again and answered, “She started the attack, yes. The reasons why are still a mystery. The palings have not been breached, so we assume the other monsters that prowled the streets did not come from outside.” Her next words were not a question. “You loved her. For years, long before you married me, and long after.” She was no longer looking at him, perhaps afraid to see confirmation in his face. It made him hate himself, to think that she had been married to him while believing he loved another woman more. That she believed it still. In truth, some years ago, he may have believed it himself. But the years he had spent away from Masuyo had brought one good thing: the gift of clarity. “I was dazzled by her,” he said, slowly, attempting to find the right phrasing. “I was never in love with her, though for a time I believed I was. It would be more accurate to say that I was in awe.” Masuyo’s eyes were on his face now, and the look in them kept him speaking. “She was a powerful mage, a good leader, and a kind woman. I have nothing but respect for her. Vivian.” He pursed his lips. “Not the thing that beast made of her, in the end.” His words hung in the air, and for a moment it was as though they were both listening to the echo, ascertaining the presence of those words even as they faded. Then, Masuyo averted her eyes and smiled. “I fear I have already asked more questions than I intended.” She met his gaze, and her smile widened. “Know that I am grateful for your answers.” Toku knew, looking at her, that if he did not excuse himself and left, he never would. He opened his mouth to make his apologies, but before he could speak, she said, “Stay.” There was nothing he wanted more than to say yes. Instead, he said, “Perhaps, for today, it may be better if I go.” “It may not.” The smile had dimmed, giving way to the look of one who fights knowing there is only defeat to be found. “And where would you go? I can hardly imagine the Tower is still habitable, after that monster was through with it.” “The extent of the damage is still uncertain,” he said. “Some of the rooms on the lower floors may still be fit for use.” “You would suspend yourself from a nail in a window if any remained intact,” she said, wry. “You would cast Float on yourself, and spend the night hanging from the scruff of your robes if you could.” In spite of himself, he smiled. “I am afraid I do not know Float.” “You would teach yourself, or find someone else to cast it on you, because you are too stubborn.” The amusement which had flickered across her features instants before was gone, and a quiet exhaustion took its place. Quietly, almost pleading, she said, “Toku, punish yourself all you like for any failures you believe yourself guilty of. But please,” she paused, looking into his eyes, “stop punishing me.” He had no words to answer that, and so he stayed silent. “Stay,” she repeated, and he did. |