Yukio knelt at the sliding door into Fírinne’s room in the early hours of the dawn. It wasn’t an ideal situation, her being assigned to take care of their guest, but considering she was the only servant that spoke consistent English, she had no excuses not to. Yukio had been serving at the Mimaska household for a year, ever since her father and husband died on a Merchant vessel at sea during a storm.
The Mimasaka family were distant relatives, through her marriage. At least, that was how Briar had traced it, when she had gotten waylaid by the real Yukio in Paris who needed French lessons in order to impress her new in-laws. The girl had fallen in love, and was leaving her husband for a new one. It was all very romantic, and very lucky that her father and her previous(real? current?) husband would be stuck in France for sometime working out that bureaucratic mess she had arranged for them.
It was a wonderful, flawless plan, and as long as she closed this up within the next month, it would be fine.
Julius showing up...Messed with her head a bit. He was the first person she had seen from her old life, but if any trace of his cousin’s magic had followed her then he hadn’t shown any sign of it. Supposedly he was negotiating for Duke’s son to be boarded here, training to be diplomat, something that she had missed after being sent back to the kitchens. But she was sure he was here for the Mask that had been passed down generations in the family, and supposedly was very powerful. It just had to be taken very carefully, according to legend, and according to her buyer.
A gentle tap on the bamboo door, before she spoke in carefully accented Japanese, “Good Morning, Fírinne-san. I have your breakfast.” There was, indeed, a tray balanced in her hands as she waited, an art form that she had gotten much better at in the month she had with Yukio before she boarded a ship to Japan.
This was why Julius had taken to America so well--people, particularly the wealthy, tended to sleep in. Not the farmers or the factory workers, but those weren’t the sort of people he tended to rub elbows with anyway. But not here. Here even the rich and powerful were up at the crack of dawn with no concern for anyone who might like to have a nice, languid lie in every morning. Ever since he’d set foot on Japanese soil it was all waking up before the sun.
At least his wake up call came with breakfast, or he’d be in a much fouler mood every morning than he was already. Of course, he never actually let on that the early starts to the day bothered him. He was far too charming for that. And in the end, it would all be worth it. The Mask’s power he wanted nothing to do with, but the money he’d take. It wasn’t the usual sort of way he liked to earn his fortune, but it was a simple enough mission, and once it was done he’d be well enough set to live a life of leisure for quite some time.
And that was the real goal. Why do anything if you didn’t come out the other side a bit better off? And if he never had to work again a day in his life, all the better.
He groaned as he opened one eye and then the other. “Already?” He asked, pushing himself up in bed to await the tray and its bearer. “There had better be tea.”
They were trying to be accommodating to their guest, which was a sure sign that they already liked him. Yukiohad only been with them for a year but she already knew that like most wealthy folk, they didn’t waste any coin on anyone that didn’t reach their standards. There was also an impressive streak of passive aggression that frankly, she was learning from.
A careful hand slid open the door and she gracefully stood with the tray. It contained a bowl of steamed brown rice, a pot of green tea, a bowl of miso soup, and because they were unsure of his tastes, a small bowl of pineapple. Yukio carried it to his bedside and set it on top of the small bedside table they had brought in for him, keeping her eyes focused on the tray.
She probably didn’t need to stay here as long as she had, but her plan did not require rushing, she avoided that whenever she could. At this point she didn’t know her new lifespan, and learning how to ingratiate herself with as many groups as possible was crucial. Unlike Fírinne, apparently, who was content to stick out wherever he went.
“Good morning.” It was a repeat, and an apology, because he was clearly not prepared to be awake this early, “I have green tea, I hope that is suitable. I know coffee is the preference elsewhere, but we do not have it. I apologize, Fírinne-san.” A practiced hand poured him a small cup of steaming tea, finding herself relaxing at the smell of it out of reflex now.
What wasn’t to like? Julius was usually at his most charming when he wanted something, not that the Mimaska family had any idea that what he said he wanted was not the thing he actually wanted. Of course, that was the point.
He found it very amusing that they fed him like any other picky American, unsure what to feed him that wouldn’t upset his bland, American sensibilities. Honestly there wasn’t much that upset him, food wise, and he wasn’t even American though he’d assimilated to their customs and adopted a sort of transatlantic accent that helped him blend with the more elite circles. Not that it did him much good here, not speaking the language at all, he was forced to rely on translators and this woman bringing his breakfast.
At least she was pleasant enough.
“Green tea is fine.” He’d had almost nothing else to drink since he’d been there, and it was fine. Not nearly as good as coffee, but it had its good points. “I promise,” he added, “Do you hear me complaining?”
They had forks at least, just a few, though they were considered more novelty items than anything else for now. She had a feeling they would catch on eventually, as a fad perhaps. Though she certainly preferred chopsticks, and the guest had been given both, for fear of insulting him with the implication that he couldn’t handle chopsticks.
Yukio, whose mannerisms were so deeply imprinted in Briar now after this time that she feared they may carry over when she became someone else, winced reflexively at his question. At least she saved it for after she set the pot down. Wouldn’t want to make a mess she would have to clean up, “No sir! I’m sorry if I implied anything of that nature with my statement.” It was a little formal, as if she had just learned English out of a textbook instead of from a native speaker. Her eyes left the tray so they could life to his before darting down towards her slipper clad feet, “You have been very gracious during your stay so far.”
Personally, she was rather pleased with it.
Chopsticks he could handle. If a small child could use chopsticks, he could learn to use chopsticks. Languages were hard--he’d been raised on Irish Gaelic only to find, when he’d been expelled from his childhood home, that Ireland was literally an island and the language was not widely spoken (even in some parts of Ireland), which put him at a distinct disadvantage. He’d learned English thoroughly, and after that struggle made no plans to learn any other language. One extra was enough, and most of the places he wanted to go, he could find at least one person to speak English at him, so he hadn’t bothered with anything else.
But utensils he could manage. He’d purchased the knowledge from a small child on the street for the price of a small bouquet of flowers the other day. A small price to pay for something that might further endear him to his hosts. He picked the chopsticks and bowl of rice up from the tray and took a bite.
People were so strange. It had been quite some time since he’d been first been out and about in the real world on a permanent basis, and they never ceased to amuse him. “Calm down, I’m just messing with you,” he said, reaching for the tea cup, “It’s fine, everything is very nice. Thank you.”
Yukio watched him from where she stood, a few feet away from him. She waited as a servant was trained to do, far enough to give at least the illusion of privacy but close enough to be summoned if she was needed. That was something of this role that she had adapted to easily enough, it carried over from watching her mother well, proving that there was always something useful to be found in every situation.
For a foreigner, Yukio thought he wasn’t bad. Either someone had taught him, or he was simply exceptionally good at picking things up from watching others. There had been a few visitors since she had come to this house who were less adaptable, although it probably shouldn’t have surprised her that he did not fall into that particular category.
Her mouth opened in a silent O at his admonition, and she took a moment to decide if he was mocking her even as she blushed, further embarrassed. “Oh. I’m glad, Fírinne-san.” A soft smile graced her features for a moment before her eyes dropped from his face, “Mimasaka-sama wanted to know if you would accompany him and some of the other,” The confusion as she tried to find the correct word from Japanese to English was genuine, “Lords? For a luncheon, and a show this evening.” She was truthfully unsure if the lord of the house wanted to show off his guest, or let his friends pick hm apart for weaknesses. Perhaps a bit of both.
With language as a barrier, he needed to have something to level the playing field a little--aside from obvious looks and charm--which was why he’d made it a practice to learn as many customs as possible before going somewhere that put him out of his element. It was purposeful. He’d gone out of his way to learn it both to endear himself to his hosts, but also to not look like a fool. Who was going to take him seriously if he couldn't manage to eat his food without making a mess? The point here wasn’t to blend in, but to know your audience.
Julius was good at knowing his audience. He prided himself on it.
And speaking of... His ears perked up a bit at the mention of a show, and he paused his careful shoveling of rice to mouth to dig for more information. “A show? Like the theatre?” He had a real fondness for theater in its many forms. This was far more interesting than the possibility that he was being set up to be examined like a bug under a microscope. That was something he was used to and quite adept at turning to his own advantage. Not really worth worrying about.
Patience was a virtue. That was one of the delightful things about working with so many in the ‘magical community’, when you were going to live forever you tended to view time a bit differently. What was ten or fifteen years? Briar using this as a learning and sort-of training exercise, playing the long game with a plan slow and so well thought out there was no way it could collapse, was no big deal to her buyer. She still hadn’t adjusted to how they viewed time herself, thirty years was a long time for a worldview to take root, and all that.
Eventually she would though. There was no doubt about that.
Her head lifted to look at him with his question, a twitch of a smile that she quickly quashed at his sudden focus and enthusiasm. Apparently this is what it took to wake him up, and somehow she wasn’t surprised. It hadn’t come up before but in retrospect, it made sense. Julius was right to be excited too, she had considered sneaking in with a friend she had made from a nearby house. In the entire time she had been here, she had only seen two Noh performances. “Yes. Are you familiar with Noh theater? It’s considered the preferred Theater type for the daimyōs and others of their stature.” Which was why the sneaking was required. On their few days off, her Mariko preferred Kabuki theater when they had the coin for it. It was much more welcoming for their class and frankly a great deal more relaxed.
Those were going to be the nights she would miss most when she left.
Julius shook his head. Honestly, he should have done more research, but the availability of information on the East was sort of lacking in the West. After all, it had only been about fifty years since the US Navy forced Japan to open its borders to outsiders. It wasn’t as if a lot of progress had been made since then as far as educating Westerners on Japanese culture.
But then who needed books when here was such a helpful resource, conveniently located. “What should I expect? What’s it like?” He took another sip of tea before finishing off the last of his rice, moving on to the soup.
It wasn’t that Yukio didn’t know the answers to his questions, but it was how to answer them that was the question. Many of the words and phrases she knew the describe them were in Japanese, and it was difficult to draw the line of what she should know and what she did know. But, then again, she had travelled and been the daughter of a worldly man, if she had a bit more knowledge than the average woman then that was just considered part of her oddities.
“It’s poetic song and dance. It’s light on dialogue but rooted in history, and it has the official Patronage of our great government.” There was an odd amount of pride filling Yukio’s quiet but steady voice, more than Briar ever had for the country that kidnapped her mother. “It is very structured, but the music, the chorus, and the costumes are intricate and finely crafted.” It sounded like she was trying to sell him on it, but she really wasn’t, even if she did get carried away a bit. It seemed every day the line between the mask and whatever was beneath got fuzzier.
Or maybe, as a performer herself, she simply appreciated it more than she could have been prepared for.
Her fingers weaved together tightly before unwinding and winding the other way. It was Yukio’s habit and Briar had picked it up to submerse herself, but it had become her own at some point along the way, “I am not allowed to go, only a limited number of staff are taken, if any.” Yukio wasn’t sad about this, more resigned, as it was a way of life, and it was something she accepted more easily than Briar ever did.
Fascinating.
So, propaganda, sort of. But well done--no, beautifully done--propaganda. Disguised as theatre. Nothing wrong with that, either. Much of Shakespeare was really thinly disguised propaganda. Julius could get behind it if it was worth watching, and judging by her take on it, it would be.
“But you’ve been?” He asked, raising both eyebrows above the bowl of soup as he sipped at it. She sounded as if she had been. Whether she’d snuck in or been invited was a whole other story, but she definitely had too much fondness for the artform to be completely ignorant of it.
When he didn't doubt or mock her description she relaxed a bit, the concern that it would come off as ingenuine or brushed off because of her status had been minor but present all the same. The latter had followed her here, not for her skin tone any longer but still for her sex and status. At least there was a consistency to the injustices of the world.
Yukio’s eyes widenedat being caught, wringing her hands together vigorously as her face turned scarlet. They sought out his, a plea and panic in them all at once to believe the terrible dodge she was about to present, “I prefer the Kabuki theater sir. “ It was the truth even if it was clearly a terrible way to evade his question, but it gave her a bit more confidence, “It is meant for ordinary people, more bizarre and limit pushing.”
Another blush, “But it's in a district the daimyō would not accompany you to.” Yukio found both shows fascinating in different ways, both gave her a needed insight on how the different classes interact, however the Noh had the extra appeal of the fact she wasn't supposed to be there.
His eyes widened along with hers, but with amusement as she attempted to backpedal. It was sort of endearing. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a rule breaker,” Julius said, smirking as he set the bowl of soup down. “Your secret is safe with me, however,” he added. And really, it was. There was no point in throwing her to the wolves or anything. She was immensely helpful as far as navigating the language went, and for that he was grateful. Hiring a translator from the outside would have been a drain on his finances, and would probably complicate his mission unnecessarily.
“But now I’m curious to compare the two styles of theatre. I wonder if your Kabuki is like the vaudeville back home.” Which, honestly, he also prefered. It was nice when your entertainment didn’t take itself too seriously.
The part of her that was Briar, that was shoved down far enough that it didn’t cause trouble, seemed to wake up a bit at his smirk. It was just as much of an invitation and a challenge as it was thirty years ago, and she still wasn’t sure whether she turned it down or took him up on it. It didn’t show though. If she was good before then she was better now, a dozen years spent in The Courts and a year here. So she let her eyes show curiosity before dropping them, “I should be seen as nothing more than a servant, Fírinne-san.” But she felt some relief that he wouldn’t share her secret, and knew somehow that he was sincere about it, for whatever reasons were behind them.
A bit, it was quite different, but he was right in that if he enjoyed one then he would probably enjoy the other. Yukio seemed to consider it before speaking cautiously, “Perhaps, on one of your last nights in Kyoto.” Tentative, in both that it was something that her household would frown upon, and that she was trying not to pressure, or to assume he would want to accompany her group down there.
“Servant or not, I appreciate anyone with good taste,” he said with a shrug. And anyone who snuck into the theatre had to be at least moderately cultured. “Your opinion is valued and appreciated.” He took another sip of his tea considering her offer. In all likelihood he’d probably be hightailing it out of Kyoto on his actual last night before anyone noticed the mask was missing, assuming all went according to plan, but perhaps the night before that? Honestly, he did really want to see the Kabuki theatre, call it curiosity if you want, but it was mostly just genuine interest. Theatre, in all its many forms, was a weakness of his.
“I’d like that,” he said finally, this time with less of a smirk and more of a genuine grin. “I suppose I’ll be the one sneaking out then, but that’s half the fun I suppose?”
That statement clearly caught her off guard, mouth opening again in silent surprise. Yukio blinked a few times before her hands wrung in her Kimono briefly, the habit that Mimasaka-Sama had scolded her for every time she saw noticed the wrinkles in it. “That is kind of you, sir.” Yukio nearly, nearly said thank you. But caught herself before hand.
But she lit up at his acceptance of her offer, a grin matching his without it’s usual formality and timidity crossing her features for a moment before she caught herself. The shared moment felt warm in her chest, and she let out a quiet laugh, raising her hand to cover her face as her eyes held his. It was a move stolen from the far more skilled geishas in town, more banking on her being innocent and cute looking than graceful and mysterious like them. “I look forward to seeing you have fun, sir.” The smile was hidden away again, but amusement danced in her eyes.
It was broken by the sound of the head cook stopping outside of his room with one of the other girls, asking if Yukio had ever returned or if they should be concerned. Oops. “Is there anything else I can get you, Fírinne-san?”
Julius shook his head. “Not kind, just truthful.” It was dangerous to conflate the two. The truth was not often kind or gentle, even though it might have been in this case. He returned his dishes to the tray, fully intending to ignore the pineapple, but the merest glance at it as he set down the empty soup bowl had him tempted. Delicately, he plucked a single piece between his thumb and forefinger and popped it in his mouth. Damn Fae genetics made it so difficult to ignore sweet things.
“Likewise,” he replied to her comment with equal amusement. It would likely be highly educational, but he was determined to enjoy himself, and was vaguely curious to see if she was capable of having fun. It seemed like something she had to achieve in secret. At least, she was all business when she was working, so it was hard to judge.
His ears perked up at the same conversation and he smiled, shaking his head once more. “Nothing, thank you.”
Yukio loved Japan at night. Really though, she mostly just loved being outside at night. It was actually something that Briar and her had in common, they had spent many nights polishing Briar’s Japanese that way. Right now though she was just enjoying the evening from where she was sitting in the garden in the back yard, or the equivalent of one in Japan. The fireflies were out tonight, and she found it surprisingly peaceful to watch them dance among the flowers.
The Fae had given her an appreciation for nature that she hadn’t expected, maybe because of their poetic nature, or the way some of them could shape it in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to even be outside this late, but the couldn’t resist. The gardens on the Mimasaka property were largely ego driven, and part of her wanted to call it a silly waste of money, but the rest of her loved the way it was so eerie and beautiful. Esepcially at night.
Almost otherworldly, really, with the moonlight so bright on such a cloudless night, and it was so quiet.
Which made it all the more easy to hear any sort of unusual noise. It made her peer out from behind the statue she was sitting against, and saw a shadow against the house. Right outside of the room where the mask was held. An outline that had become more familiar in the two weeks he had been staying with the Mimasakas. Yukio had thought he was beginning to look vaguely stir-crazy, and this explained it.
It was nice to know her theory was correct, at least.
“Good evening, Fírinne-san.” Yukio called out so quietly that if it were not for the quiet night— previously only pierced by the occasional sound of a bug clicking in the night — it would be inaudible. She was amused, not just for the fact that they were apparently here for the same thing, but also that she had caught him. Luckily, she was able to keep that out of her voice, left carefully neutral as to leave him wondering how this would go from here.
Stir-crazy was about right. Julius had never been averse to enjoying other people’s hospitality, but his current hosts were far more calculated than he was used to--not that he could blame them, really--even more than the New York elite he’d become accustomed to rubbing elbows with. Mostly those people were just catty. This was a whole other level of cageiness than he’d ever experienced (at least in the human world), and as kind as his hosts were, they certainly held him at arms length at all times, and were beginning to make him feel like he was wearing out his welcome.
So, he knew he’d have to make his move on the mask soon, if he was going to get it at all. Julius didn’t appreciate being rushed. It had the potential outcome of making him sloppy, which he also didn’t like. Sloppiness led to mistakes, after all. This was one of those things where mistakes could be potentially fatal, one way or another. He’d hoped--and honestly, believed--he was alone as he peered into the room where the mask was kept. Perhaps he was more in his head than he thought, but either way he had failed to realize he had company.
He was sharp enough not to let her voice make him jump out of his skin, thankfully. That would have given him away in an instant. Instead, he pivoted gracefully toward the call, hands in his pockets and stepped away from the wall. “Good evening,” he replied, inclining his head, “I see we’ve had the same idea. It’s a beautiful night for a stroll.” Not that he’d been doing much strolling.
He was right, it was a beautiful night for a stroll, and this was a beautiful place for it. It was a highly cultivated space, bent on tradition but with a few foreign flairs. Just enough to be bold and be a little better than their neighbors, but still pushing Japanese tradition as superior.
However, it was also nonsense. One of the oldest bit of nonsense in the book.
“It is, but you'll forgive me for saying you look to be out here with… Intent. Sir.” The words were quiet and tentative, even as she uttered something that was daringly close to an accusation. Yukio even receded back among the flowers, as if physically recalling from her own attempt at boldness. Her knees were pulled into her chest a bit more, letting her sleeves hide her hands as she peered at him.
Was he that obvious?
He mentally shook off the possibility that he was, because that seemed unlikely. She was sharp, he’d noticed, but there was no way she could actually know what he was up to. He was far too careful for that. Julius stepped completely out into the garden now, several paces away from the window and the mask that was still calling to him, as if to make a point.
“Is taking a walk in the moonlight not enough of an intention?” He asked, eyebrows raised.
If she was afraid of him coming closer, standing over her while she was small and vulnerable on the ground, she didn’t show it. Possibly because in her position, and in general as a woman here, she was rather used to that feeling. It wasn’t the most encouraging reasoning, but being at a loss in a power struggle — right up until she wasn’t was standard for her.
(There was a reason the real Yukio had stayed in France, and it wasn’t just love, because that’s only enough of a reason in plays and ballads.)
Her head tilted as she peered up at him, fireflies buzzing between them and the occasional cricket. A waterfall of inky black hair, normally up when there were people around as was proper, draped freely around her, such a contrast to the flowers and bright colors of her kimono. “I do believe that is the age old excuse for mischief and otherwise,” What was the word? Oh, it escaped her, but that fit with English being her second language anyway, “Lewd behavior for young men in both your country and mine, sir.” Quiet, but steady, eyes dropping from his.
Instead they focused on the bright flowers closest to her face, as soft as she was like this. “The Mimasaka’s have been very kind to me since — since I arrived. If you mean them ill intent, sir, I am obligated to say something.” It was a request for forgiveness from him as well as a plea that he prove her wrong, because Yukio had become oddy fond of him, more than Briar even maybe. Maybe because he had wanted to use Briar, and seemed to have no such plans for Yukio.
Her reasoning elicited a soft laugh from Julius as he took another step forward and then--very gingerly, with a glance around to make sure he wasn’t about to drop into something unpleasant--took a seat on the ground. No ill intent here, no ma’am. “You might be right about that. Though I’m not nearly as young as I pretend to be.” She could take that as she liked.
Obviously he wasn’t going to be getting any closer to the mask tonight, especially if she was going to sound the alarm on him if she caught him snooping again. He’d have to be more careful next time. “It’s a fascinating artifact they have in that room. It always catches my eye,” he said, explaining his behavior somewhat, though not really confirming or denying her accusation. “And it’s so different at night than during the day. You can hardly blame me for stopping.”
Yukio echoed his laugh at that statement about his youth, which was funny on so many levels. One still sleeve hidden hand raised to hide her smile even as the corners of her eyes crinkled, one dimple still visible just beyond the edge of her sleeve. “Do you have an old soul, Fírinne-san?” One of her attempts at joking with him so soft and careful that it could easily be missed if one weren’t looking for it. Her legs and arms unfolded a bit as he sat down, showing acceptance and welcome even if she didn’t speak it, smile losing a shade of it’s formality with him at her level rather than over her.
“There are rules for viewing it.” But she paused, glancing around as if faced with indecision, “But I agree that it is very compelling. Things that appear soft but are actually strong have a rather unique appeal to them.” It was easy to sound wistful here, when no one else was around to maintain appearances for, with no one but the bugs and the moon to have an unwanted opinion on them. One of her hands emerged from her sleeve to reach out and touch the petal of an...Orchid? Perhaps, “Like these.”
“Something like that,” he agreed, though he hadn’t the faintest idea whether or not his soul was actually old, or if it was just him. In the grand scheme of things, he was only a little over one hundred. Still quite young for most species of Fair Folk, but in human terms, such an age was almost unheard of. “What about you?” He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her that made him pause. A hint of something that was both familiar and unfamiliar, which normally he ignored--having bigger fish to fry and a one track mind when working helped--but at the moment it was nagging at him.
“They do, don’t they?” He agreed. Initially he’d only been interested in it for the money it would bring him and the comfort the money would provide, but after seeing it in person, he understood what the fuss was about. “Yes,” he said with a nod, “Exactly like that.”
His statement made her pause, staring at him with more focus, less of that purposeful doll like blankness they were supposed to default to. Her face didn't not resemble her true mother's but that expression of knowing, of seeing things that made others uncomfortable fit onto this one as well. “No. I think inside you are rather young still. Some always are.” it wasn't a question or an insult, in fact in nearly sounded like a prophecy. At his inquiry she only gave a shrug and the air, the moment she had seized and held was set free, “I am simply a servant. My parents and husband are dead and so this is what I shall always be.”
Ever so gently she leaned forward to smell one of the flowers, or at least feel it's delicate petals on her nose. For a brief moment she grinned giddily, before stowing it away as quickly as as it had come. “I thought they were a waste of money at first. Truthfully. But not anymore.” Yukio let the flower go, watching it return to its brethren as it swayed, “The scrolls in that room say that mask is cursed, did they tell you that on your tour?”
His lips turned down slightly at that, though her assessment was entirely accurate and he knew it. It was his youthful impetuousness that meant he was here in Japan in a garden discussing souls and masks instead of being married off to whatever upper echelon Faerie might improve his family’s standing. Boring. If he thought about it, that was probably exactly what had happened to his sister, though he didn’t really like to think about it. Poor woman. She probably didn't mind so much, but the conventionality and stagnation of it all would probably have smothered him to death. “I suppose you’re not wrong,” he said finally, “About me, anyway. But I don’t think you should give up so easily. I think there’s always another option. You just need to know where to look.”
“No offense, naturally. I suppose if you really enjoy what you do, there’s really no need to look for a way out,” he added airily, as though he didn’t really believe she was as resigned to her fate as she was pretending to be.
Julius raised an eyebrow at her comment about the flowers. He thought most flowers to be sort of superfluous, the irony of his particular gift, really. But still, he could appreciate that they added something aesthetically pleasing to a place like this. “Does it matter when it’s someone else’s money being wasted?” At her question, he nodded. “It has been my experience that anyone in possession of a cursed object is wont to share the tale in all its glorious, gory details.”
That might have been pushing it, but hopefully it was just enough. Briar didn’t mind being noticed on certain jobs, but it was always just above her current peers, never too much. Yukio was different though, and she had no love of attention. But distracting him and bringing his focus on her instead of the mask could only help. Or at least, that’s how she justified it.
At his suggestion that nearly sounded like an encouraging pep talk, she shook her head with a small, amused grin, “No. I’m too big to be a thief, too honest to be an assassin, too intelligent for a foreigner, too tainted for the Japanese, and I’m too proud to enter the only other profession generally available to women.” Yukio waved a vague hand around them, “So I am here. It is better than a tea house where I would be groped and underpaid.” These aren't things that upset her, these facts of life. That would be exhausting, and she simply did not have the time.
Yukio gave him a chastising look, somehow the first one from her he’d managed to earn throughout his visit, “We all affect one another. None of us exist in a vacuum, sir.”
Her curious eyebrow mirrored his intentionally, “In your career as Familial Broker, do you encounter many cursed objects?”
Hmm.
“Those are interesting career options for someone who is just a servant,” Julius mused. But really though. Thief? Assassin? Those were not things one just pulled off the top of their head. At least, not anyone who had lived a fairly boring, normal life thus far. He pulled a silver cigarette case from his vest pocket and placed one between his lips. “You don’t mind, do you?” He asked, remembering his manners after momentarily forgetting where he was. In America or Britain, he probably wouldn’t ask.
He gave a half shrug at that point. “I suppose. I just don’t think I’ve ever heard a servant,” again with the emphasis, since she so liked to call attention to her status, “worry so much about the extravagant purchases of their employer. No judgement, from me, mind you. It’s a legitimate concern.” One’s paycheck could quickly and mysteriously disappear with too many purchases like that.
“Your family is not the only one who collects strange and unusual things,” he replied vaguely. Truthfully, he’d run into plenty of people who had no idea what they actually had in their possession.
Ah, some things never changed apparently. She remembered his smoking from that first encounter, though it looks like he might have changed brands now. High class probably still, expensive. Better than what some smoked down in the district where she sometimes snuck off to in order to drink and be both seen and not.
So she shook her head, “As long as you don’t blow it in my face, sir.” The last was a delicate reminder that he was, in basically every way shape or form, above her even now, in this informal setting. It was good to keep them underestimating, right up until the last moment. That, and it was a contrast to how she treated him during their first encounter, an she wanted to see how he acted with the power dynamic was so heavily shifted in his favor.
In the last two weeks, how Julius treated her and the other staff had earned her respect, and that was something she would remember.
“Perhaps you should speak with more servants.” Was the only explanation she would give for the things she had listed off, as well as wondering about how her employer spent their money. Her hands extended to hover below a firefly that seemed to be insistently lingering near her, hoping if she was gentle and slow she could coax it into lingering on her hand. “Yes, indeed, for the last two weeks we have collected you.” A glance sideways at him, and the hint of a small, almost, nearly, playful smile.
Well that took care of his follow up question: whether or not she wanted one as well. He removed a lighter from the opposite vest pocket, lit the cigarette and took extra care to blow all smoke in a direction opposite of his companion. He was, after all, if nothing else, a gentleman.
“Perhaps,” he agreed diplomatically. He supposed it was possible that some of the other servants might have such leanings, but honestly it seemed fairly specific.
“Yes,” he agreed with a grin, “But I don’t think you intend to keep me.” Not the Mimasaka family at least. They didn’t have much use for him, but he’d anticipated that. This cover was only going to be useful for so long.
It smelled nice. But the smell was the main reason she only occasionally smoked. The smell clung to her clothes, her skin and hair, which was a liability when she shifted. That is how all of her decisions and preferences were made,now, revolving around the job and the persona. Yukio would go without, her own likes and dislikes set aside so the plan could be executed, sometimes her tunnel vision was useful in that way, even if her life was utterly controlled by the job and the mask.
“Hmm.” Yukio hummed her agreement, watching her the firefly finally gently land on her hand. She brought it closer to her face, with that same slow and steady movement she had used to pour his tea at so many of his meals the last two weeks. The bug was peered at with the same curiosity she had leveled at him more than once since his arrival, and with that same patience that had been seen as she had been forced to try and translate idioms, metaphors, and smooth out possible insults in the house between one language and the next.
The bug meandered about her hand, with wings that fluttered every few beats, her eyes caught by the smoke in her peripheral vision even as the glow held her focus. Her her other hand shook free of the sleeve to cup over the bug, ever so gently and with plenty of room. “It is improper for me to say, but I have enjoyed your presence. Fírinne-san. It is always pleasant to be seen.” Words, like flowers, could have so many meanings, for both parties. Like flowers, too, one could take as much or little meaning in them as they wanted. These words in particular, rested on her lips as light and insignificant as the bug on her hand, unless you were the sort to find bugs interesting.
Her hands separated, and the bug flew away, “But the world’s loveliest things do not thrive inside someone else’s home.” The sleeves consumed her hands again as she brought her hands back to hide her face before leaning her head down to rest on her knees again, peering up at him shyly as if the compliment was the most bold and scandalous thing she had ever said.
It was a compliment meant for him, he knew. And was flattered by it. But it was so easily turned around on her.
He did not have a strong comprehension of his own magic, having had very little time to hone it before he was out in the world of mortals where magic barely existed in stories, let alone in day to day life, but a particular inherited skill passed down through the ages in his family was an innate sense of a being’s favorite things. Usually this was more of a parlor trick, something used to lull someone into a false sense of security or buy someone’s confidence with ease. But at the moment--and maybe it was the garden in the moonlight, or (more likely) it was her comment about being seen--it was borne out of a sincere desire to make sure she felt seen just once more before he and the mask (hopefully) disappeared into the night as soon as possible.
Only… That was a strange choice of flower. Although, somehow… Strangely appropriate. With one hand, he took another drag on his cigarette and with the other, reached behind his back, snapped his fingers, and his hand filled with several stems of the strange sunset colored flowers. “All the more reason for you to find another line of work,” he said, winding his arm back around to present the bouquet.
The flowers were completely unexpected. It stripped away her introverted mask that hid her emotions, kept herself tucked away out of tradition and wariness at once. The surprise showed on her face, eyes widening as they blinked at him, relaxing and unfolding all at once without her usual awareness that had her being so very careful.
Even the flush in her cheeks were genuine. Inevitable, with the warmth suddenly filling up her chest and the burst of almost unfamiliar giddiness that followed.
How did he know? They didn’t even have these in Japan, they weren’t popular here, probably because they didn’t grow well in this climate. But they were so lovely, and she hadn’t seen them since she had left Paris, where she had a friend who had a hot house that grew them. Briar knew that the Fae had these sorts of tricks, but she had never seen Julius do such a thing, and him doing something nice without immediately presenting something he wanted in return just didn’t make sense.
“Oh. Fírinne-san.” For possibly the first time since he had met Yukio, the smile that stretched across her features, while still soft, was warm and unrestrained. Instead of purposefully engineered or pulled back because she was afraid to show her happiness. Yukio nuzzled the petals with her nose and cheeks, relishing the softness before pulling back and gently touching the petals, “These are my favorite colors. They’re so vivacious, aren’t they?”
Her reaction was honestly enough payment for the deed than anything he could have asked for. It was a strange feeling, not being used to doing anything for purely altruistic reasons, and probably not something he would experience very often, but for now it was… nice. For lack of a better word.
The smile he gave her in return was as genuine as her own--which was also unusual, since he’d practically painted a smirk on his face permanently since birth--as he nodded at her assessment. “They are stunning,” Julius agreed, “They certainly stand out in a garden like this.” Just as she did. She was far too clever—more clever, he was sure, than she’d even let on—to be contained in a place, in a job that would never allow her to reach her potential, which she was clearly stifling. “Though they hardly hold a candle to you.”
If his smirk was a challenge, an extended hand for a bet she shouldn’t take but wanted to so badly anyway, his real smile was something else entirely. A warm promise of something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but she felt compelled to none the less. Maybe it was a mischievous laugh from within a pillow fort, comforting but trouble nonetheless.
They were both dangerous, in different ways.
His compliment was too heavy handed to be real, surely, and so it shouldn’t affect her. And usually compliments towards her personas didn’t really touch her, and her issues with her own were — well, not relevant. But it was Julius. Or perhaps it was that she had been Yukio for so long, that she found herself biting her lower lip at him and blushing all over again. “You are enjoying teasing me, I think, Fírinne-san. Not all of us are so used to receiving compliments as you are.” Her head was still tilted towards the flowers, but she watched him from beneath her lashes, an invitation of her own, demure even in her giddiness.
Heavy handed though it might have been, it was not entirely untruthful. And it was honestly easier for him to say it than most people, but probably because he wasn’t so big into flowers anyway. People were far more varied and interesting than a field of wildflowers. This was an opinion he held onto firmly, though he was probably in the minority as far as most fair folk or humans were concerned. Flowers couldn’t be interesting, which was a shame because interesting was usually where he found the most beauty.
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “Only a little, maybe. But I never pay compliments that aren’t deserved.” Also true. Frankly, it would be impossible.
A soft laugh at that, the only sort that Yukio ever made, especially when sober. Modest, but never too much, she was beginning to learn that about him. Even when he was going for modest, it never quite reached his eyes, a too pleased smile lurking in the corners of his mouth and a plan in his eyes.
“And here I thought you couldn’t be more charming.” There was a fondness and warmth in her voice that was out of place for the professional, reserved servant, but fit this intimate stolen moment more than anything else. Yukio took a deep, steadying breath and lowered the flowers so they were safe and leaned forward to place a gentle, fluttering kiss on his cheek, staying close when she pulled away, steady even as she was scarlet, “I will remember you when you disappear into the night, Fírinne-san.” It was a promise, and something that felt solemn and sacred, more tangible somehow than the flowers in her hand, or at least equally so.
Ah, but she was on to him. There was perhaps a flash of sadness in his eyes when she called him out, but it quickly disappeared, replaced once more with his trademark slow, crooked smirk, erasing both the sorrow and the previous genuine smile. He couldn’t quite lie to assuage her of his imminent and sudden departure, but he didn’t want to be quite so truthful to say what he did know for certain, which was that he would certainly remember her as well.
What he said instead was, “Who said I’m going anywhere?” Not a lie, not the truth. Just a question.
It was odd. Yukio found herself relieved at seeing the Julius she had known, but also missing the one she had just met. The one who was softer, more genuine and real or as much as he ever was probably. It didn't matter what she liked or what made her feel most at ease though, her dice weren't destined to land that way this time.
Or maybe anytime.
"This." Her eyes dropped down to the flower again as her fingertips grazed the petals, soft as the wings of the firefly had been on her palm. Then her hand raised to place that same sort of ghost like gentle touch was placed around the corner's of his eyes, "And these. They tell me sad stories, but they are beautiful because they are true."