#and fei mentioneddddddd

[tatatatatara]

Me when the tags include Houji and Tatara

On the Easel (Blank Canvas Side Story): Tatara and Houji

Context: The Chì Shé Theater Company is showing its Japanese production of its new play Iron Tongues, which is, in part, written by Tatara, the lighting director of the Japan branch. Takes place during Chapter 9 of Blank Canvas. Under the cut.

The curtains fell on the final act, and people applauded. Tatara, in the darkness of the theater, sighed with relief. It was over, and it was well received. That's all he could ask for.

He tried to look for Sen as people cleared her out. He wanted to ask her what she thought, try to understand the fog around her mind that he still had yet to pierce, but the crowd, much like that fog, kept him away. That head of fern hair he was so fond of was nowhere to be seen, and he gave up. He'd see her afterward anyway, along with that artist she liked to drag around for whatever reason.

He still didn't understand what she saw in him. Sure, his art fit the aesthetic of her work, but it wasn't the best he'd seen. Plenty of the artists she'd brought for him to talk to had done better, more informed work, so what made Haise Sasaki different?

He feared he'd never know, but before he could dwell on that idea, a familiar voice spoke behind him.

"Xin."

Tatara turned around and glared. The face it belonged to had gotten older, with more wrinkles, but he still recognized it since Yan's funeral.

"Houji," he said, not caring to suppress his disgust. "Why are you here?"

"Work has me here in Tokyo for the time being, and I heard your play was tonight." Houji smiled slightly. "I wanted to see how far you've come."

Tatara scowled at that. "Is that so? Well, now you know."

Houji sighed. "Xin, we don't have to do this. I'm tired, and I'm sure you're tired, too. I'm sorry-- I truly am-- but this is getting us nowhere."

But Tatara dug in his heels. "It's easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to live with the fact that his brother is dead every day for the rest of his life. You're not the one who has to look at your sorry mug and remember that his brother chose a stranger over his own life."

"Xin--" Houji began.

“My brother cared about you enough to save your sorry ass, and clearly, you’re grateful, as you should be. But don’t pretend I feel the same way. Yan was irreplaceable to me— to everyone at Chì Shé— and he’s gone forever because he picked you over us.” Tatara leaned forward, making sure to memorize the building anguish and regret, burning like fire, in Houji’s eyes. “Thank you for coming to tonight’s performance. Don’t speak to me again.”

Houji’s mouth was a thin line. “Of course. But, first... might I be allowed a congratulations?”

Tatara squinted. “Fine. Accepted.”

Houji bowed before turning to leave. His continued nonchalance about the whole thing ticked Tatara off. At least pretend to feel more than just a little bad. Houji was the entire reason Tatara was the lighting director and not Yan. But Houji's posture betrayed nothing as he disappeared back into the crowd.

Tatara tried to scoff, but it turned into a sigh. It was good Fei wasn’t here to slap him upside the head; he wouldn’t hear the end of it if she learned Houji had shown up.

She was always asking Tatara to forgive him, as if there was anything to forgive. Houji hadn’t been the one to choose, hadn't been the one to survive of his own will. Yet, every time Tatara saw his face, he just saw Yan being consigned to the flames for a man he barely knew.

He clicked his tongue. It was pointless to think about it; Houji would never show up again if he knew what was good for him. Tatara had more important things to focus on, like the resort and finding Ayato.

He stalked off in the opposite direction.

----

Thanks for reading!