#i HATE getting interrupted and I often find myself having to rein in anger about it when it happens

[ash-rigby]

if there is a heaven there's a special place in it for people who say "sorry what were you saying before?" when you get interrupted in a group conversation

[myaekingheart]

137. Dishonor

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Storm clouds rolled in overhead as Rei made her way cautiously to the dango shop. Toshio peered up at the sky, tongue lopping out of his mouth as if he was anxiously awaiting the first raindrops. Truthfully, Rei didn’t want to do this. Not today. Not ever, actually. But Sekkachi had not given her much of a choice. She said what she had said, left her consolation gift, and Rei was required to confront her now. To interrogate her on this rapid change of heart. Had Rei’s scathing words really gotten through to her? Or was Sekkachi just attempting to stroke her own ego? Expecting forgiveness on the grounds of having given a thoughtful gift? Either way, Rei didn’t think she cared enough to find out and yet here she was, meeting her anyway. The unavoidable tug in her chest dragged her onward.

               Sekakchi was seated in their usual spot when Rei arrived, a cigarette pinched between taut lips. She gazed out at the passerby, absentminded and forlorn. Rei idled in the doorway, clenching and unclenching her fist at her side. From behind the counter, Amai gently invited Rei to sit with a gentle nod toward the table. The look in her rosy eyes hinted that she was somehow emotionally invested in the situation, even though this had nothing to do with her whatsoever. Gritting her teeth, Rei made her way to the table, crossed her arms authoritatively, and cleared her throat.

               “I was wondering how much longer you were going to keep me waiting” Sekkachi said. She frowned as she smashed the tip of her cigarette into the ash tray.

               “Is that really all you have to say?” Rei snapped back. “Not even a ‘hello’? No ‘how are you’?” Rolling her eyes, she flopped down into the booth with great frustration, already regretting ever doing this.

               Sekkachi reached for her glass of water, rolling it back and forth between her hands and letting the condensation drip down her fingers. “So is there a reason you called me here?” she asked. Her voice was far less abrasive than usual; her trademark sting had completely dissolved. Instead, she sounded strained, bitter, sad. Rei refused to let this fact snuff out her anger.

               “Don’t you start with me” she snapped, pointing a harsh index finger in Sekkach’is face. “Listen, the only reason I asked you here was to formally thank you for the gift. Nothing else.” She gritted her teeth, forced herself to concentrate. “Honestly, if my own morals weren’t so damn loud, I wouldn’t even give you this much, but it didn’t feel right to not at least acknowledge it, so there. Thank you. Now fuck you.”

               Long, calloused fingers traced the grooves of the wooden table as Sekkachi pursed her lips and absorbed the sharp, heartless gratitude. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?” she asked softly.

               “Why the fuck should I?” Rei snapped. “I’ve forgiven you way too many times, Sekkachi. This is the last straw. I’m through.”

               “I know” Sekkachi whispered. For a moment, Rei even thought she saw sincere regret in her face. But no, that was impossible. A trick of the light, even. Sekkachi regretted nothing. Or at least nothing they spoke of aloud.

               Rei leaned back in her seat, mildly satisfied with Sekkachi’s dejection. “I’m glad we’re on the same page then” she muttered. “Honestly, I hope you get to sit with this for the rest of your life. And I hope it eats you away inside every miserable morning you wake up.”

               “It will” Sekkachi pursed her lips.

               “Good” Rei spat. She eyed the door, began scooting her way out of the booth. “Well then, I’ve said everything I needed to say.”

               “Wait!” Sekkachi called, suddenly desperate. She reached out to take hold of Rei’s wrist. Her eyes were wide with longing. A clap of thunder rattled the sky. “You only just got here” she said. “And the weather’s bad. At least stay and…and get something to eat.”

               “Why should I?” Rei scoffed. “It’s not like you are.”

               Sighing, Sekkachi reined in her mounting frustrated and muttered, “Fine. I’ll get food, too. Just…don’t go. Not yet.”

               In all their years of friendship, Rei didn’t think she had ever seen Sekkachi so pathetic and needy. As much as she wanted to abandon her, to revel in the sight of her groveling in the mud, deep down Rei wanted to keep twisting the knife. It wasn’t often that she was given an opportunity like this.

               The pair sat in silence for a long, torturous moment, speaking only to place their orders with Amai. She cocked a brow in suspicion when Sekkachi ordered something other than ice water for once in her life, but did not question it. The tension was almost palpable. Her emotional investment had since waned in contrast.

               “So…” Rei finally said, attempting to sound as apathetic as possible, “What made you get that blanket, anyway?”

               “Chikara suggested it” Sekkachi replied, eyes downcast. Rei froze. So she had spoken with Chikara after all. It made sense. Rei didn’t really consider Sekkachi capable of coming to terms with this on her own. Sekkachi took a meager sip of her water and continued. “I was so pissed about what happened, I called her up to see if she thought I was being irrational or not.”

               “And?”

               “What do you think?” Sekkachi snarked. A little of her usual flame lingered in her tone.

               “I’m not surprised” Rei replied, suppressing a chuckle. “She always did know how to whip your ass back in line.”

               Shaking her head, Sekkachi swirled her water in her glass and replied softly, “She made it very clear to me just how out of line I was. I just—I don’t know, there’s been a lot of shit going through my mind lately.”

               “Oh yeah?” Rei scoffed. “Like what?” She doubted anything Sekkachi was facing was any worse than her own inner turmoil.

               Sekkachi swatted at the air dismissively. “It’s not that important, shit’s just hit the fan on the home front” she said sourly. “Tenjikubotan recently broke up with one of her gentleman callers, and has been hysterical ever since. As if she doesn’t have dozens of men lining up for her on the daily, the dumb bitch. And Roru had to drop out of the chunin exams at the last minute. Turns out one of her teammates is anorexic or something. Passed out during training and had to get rushed to the hospital. So of course I’m stuck dealing with all of their bullshit.”

               Rei cocked a brow, unamused but deep down involuntarily sympathetic. “As if that gives you a free pass to talk shit” she muttered.

               “I said I was sorry!” Sekkachi shouted, gripping at her sapphire hair in frustration. “What more do you want from me? Listen, I’m still not totally happy about this but I know it’s not my place to say anything. I heard that loud and clear when Chikara ripped me a new one. But also, I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

               Pursing her lips, Rei turned her attention to the street as she considered Sekkachi’s words. The rain was pouring heavily now, soaking the ground and fogging shop windows. Something uncomfortable took root in the pit of her chest. An uncertainty. “So what?” Rei finally muttered, bitter. “Still doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

               “And I wouldn’t expect you to” Sekkachi replied. “I just want you to know that I admit I made a big fucking mistake. I fucked shit up. I never should have said what I did. I know you’re happy about this, and that this is what you’ve always wanted. I had no right to shit on your parade. I was just…” Here, her voice trailed off and her brown eyes dropped to the floor. Toshio tilted his head up at her from underneath the table.

               “Just what?” Rei asked. She was nowhere near in the mood for suspense.

               Sekkachi chewed her lower lip, shook her head. She hated to admit this. She hated feeling weak and pathetic and—“Scared” she finally answered. Heaving a sigh, she asked, “Remember that mission where you got captured, and the enemy was convinced you were knocked up? And you got so freaked out about it that you dragged me to the hospital to get a formal test done?” Rei nodded. “I told you that no matter what the result would be, I’d be there for you. I wasn’t lying when I said that. But I also knew deep down that you were fine. I didn’t think you were pregnant, and you weren’t. Listen, Rei, I want to be there for you. I don’t want to abandon you. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to you when I had my back turned. But I’m just…I’m fucking terrified for you. I don’t want you to end up getting hurt, or worse—”

               “I won’t” Rei interrupted. Slightly taken aback, Sekkachi recoiled. Her eyes glistened, her mouth slack. This was perhaps the most vulnerable Rei had ever seen her and that alone scared her. Where was the sharp sting of her words? The abrasive apathy? Rei had underestimated just how badly Naru’s death had broken her, it seemed. Amai slipped their orders across the table, acting quickly so as to not interrupt their conversation. Rei gave a minute smile and nod as thank you, waited for privacy before saying more. “I know you’re scared, and I know you have every reason to be, but don’t you think I’m fucking terrified, too? This wasn’t exactly part of the plan, I-I didn’t mean for things to happen this way” she admitted.

               “Do you regret it?” Sekkachi asked. She knew the question was likely out of line, but she needed to know regardless.

               Sucking in a sharp breath, Rei shook her head. “No. I don’t regret it at all.”

               Sekkachi nodded slowly, deliberating. “That’s…that’s good” she whispered. “That’s really good.”

               “Do you regret it?” Rei asked, and it was not her own pregnancy that she was referring to but rather Sekkachi’s less than stellar reaction.

               Sekkachi poked at her food, unable to look Rei in the eyes. She had ordered a big brick of honey toast, one of Naru’s favorites, that she knew she would never realistically be able to eat. Sitting before it at a time like this just felt right. Comforting. As if Naru was somehow here with them. She would’ve known exactly what to say and do at a time like this. Naru would’ve kept Sekkachi in check, clapped a hand over her mouth before she said something dumb and encouraged her to be more enthusiastic and involved.

               Truthfully, Sekkachi regretted a lot of things. This—the circumstance at hand—just so happened to be one of them. “Haven’t I proven myself guilty enough?” she said sourly. “Rei, I accept it now. If this is what you want, I accept it. I’ll do my best to be there for you, and to help as much as I can. I just…I need you to promise me one thing.”

               “What?” Rei asked. She was almost even too scared to know.

               Sekkachi glanced around the shop once, twice, three times over as if she questioned the validity of their privacy. They were like actors on a stage, spotlights glaring, with an entire audience privy to their own personal melodrama. That was all well and good but this, this one fragile moment, they could not have. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Sekkachi’s hand skated slowly across the table to take hold of Rei’s. Her grip was tight, clammy, desperate. Rei wondered if her illness had already begun to flare. And then she opened her eyes, locking tight on Rei. A hoarse whisper hung on her tense, quivering lips. “Just…don’t you dare die on me. You promise?”

               Rei gulped back her own anxiety, squeezed Sekkachi’s hand in terrified solidarity. “I promise.”

[une-pomm3]

Celestial: Chapter Three

Find it on Ao3 here! Find it on FFnet here!

AN: In which @jindaokol and I (okay, Heather does) make Marta and Sindre human. Here is a portion of the originally planned Chapter 3… the rest will hopefully follow shortly. 

—

“It is believed in these lands that the Sun and Moon bring prosperity and balance all aspects of Life, their Legacy. When burgeoning bud and breath find Light under the heavens, so Life will grow.”

Sindre turned as the last words echoed across the garden. Marta’s hand on his arm curled around his bicep with enough strength to start to hurt. Was it desperate? He could not tell, but when he glanced at her, her jaw was clenched, her grip white knuckled. He could feel her anxiousness and disappointment that the quiet morning had been disturbed, harsh words spoken by her family and overheard by ears she would likely wish had been deaf to it. Should he respond to the argument or act as it had not happened?

Marta thumbed his sleeve gently, “let us away,” she said before he could decide. He searched her face; her eyebrows were drawn and her lips pursed. She finally met his gaze and her expression immediately softened into a small smile. She said, “shall we go breakfast then?” A warm feeling in his chest stirred him to place his hand upon hers. Her grip on him loosened at his touch, thumb running along his sleeve once more. He wondered at the gesture, but did not comment.

Sindre nodded, “yes,” he said, a frown curling his lips down. He turned them to one of the adjoining gardens where his mother had suggested (schemed) to have them break fast without too many prying eyes or courtly gathering. He took his time rolling over the question he burned to have an answer to before he parted his lips to speak it, “I hate to ask,” he cautioned, “do Magnus and Lord Andersen quarrel like that often?” Though, once it was spoken, he wished he could have called back the question. It was far too forward; it wasn’t any of his business. Why on earth did he ask!? A small voice answered, barely a whisper in his thoughts, ‘Because you care… and you’re curious.’

“Not often,” Marta said slowly, and Sindre blew a small sigh of relief that she did not seem affronted by his rudeness. She led them to the gap in the hedges and he could see her search for words. She shook her head, “No, not often. Magnus rarely loses his temper.” She grimaced, the pleasant repartee they had been enjoying spiraling into awkward pauses. “I… that is, I am far more likely to show temper than he is. He’s not without one, but he is a gentle spirit. Perhaps it is only that he is bored. It did grate on him, at home, being without purpose. I imagine it is much the same for him here and he does not know where to find it.”

He made an affirmative noise. “Bored? To be honest, I don’t know if I empathize with him. I have never had the struggle to find something to do at court, it has always been decided for me.”  He shrugged, trying to sympathize. “I did rile against the fact that it was decided for me, however. I have found myself often at odds with my mother for something or another to do with my governance,” he caught Marta’s thoughtful expression. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, or if it was was even in regards to him.

Sindre’s heart went out to her, to Magnus - courtly life was beyond their ken. He quickened his step, for her sake, and when they rounded into another garden he still found his gaze drawn back to the terrace, wondering.

Marta latched on to the topic, a little more at ease now that the garden terrace was beyond their hearing. “Such as?” she asked, brows rising curiously.

Sindre pulled his eyes away and focused,“oh, uhm…” he stuttered. His boot caught on a loose stone and he missed his step, lurching forward suddenly. “Well, uh,” he managed to stay upright with Marta’s firm grasp helping him balance.

“Well, I suppose… my mother and I… well, I used to hate how pushy she got - gets - about things.” He stifled a small chuckle, “I did have a fiercely independent streak.” He fought to control the embarrassment of his clumsiness while Marta clearly tried to hide a small smile. She would be amused by his unpreparedness, he thought.

“Did?” she quirked a skeptical brow. “I find it hard to believe that streak simply vanished. Gentleman though you seem to be, I imagine there is more to the ‘Sindre the Taciturn’ than meets the eye.” She glanced him up and down imperiously, her nervousness was fading and her humor was returning. Somehow, he felt his heart lighten at that and he found himself smiling, ignoring the pink he felt rising in his cheeks.

They stepped into a gazebo, shapely curleques of polished wood, painted white and gilded in gold shone in the midst of the new shoots budding green about their shoes. White liveried servants moved efficiently to lay breakfast of sugared citrus fruit and delicate morsels in a colourful arrangement. He sniffed and found that he was hungrier than he had thought, and hoped there would more forthcoming. He politely held Marta’s chair, waving away the servants.

Sindre gestured wryly as he sat, “You think so? But what if I am so dour and a cold-eyed Prince, hmm?” he teased. There was warmth in his gaze, belying his words. He continued their previous conversation, “I suppose more than anything, I hated being forced into things. Whenever my Mother or the councillors or whomever would make an ultimatum I would usually be the first to question the decision, or outright refuse to be removed from the decision making process.”

“Do you often find yourself so at odds with your family, then?” she repeated his earlier question. “Is it an oddity to acquiesce to your family’s wishes?” Her question seemed innocent enough, but he wished he had studied her face rather than the plate so deliciously decorated. He wondered if she was trying to steer the conversation to her own ends, as so many of the ladies of the court seemed to do.

Sindre paused briefly to choose his words, politely pouring tea for them both. “Yes and no. I love my family, I enjoying doting on them, especially my little brother I suppose, but I prefer to make my own decisions. Especially when it comes to my life when so much else is decided for me. You must take back the little things like what jackets to wear, or in the buying of gifts, or polishing my own boots- ” he stopped abruptly. Sindre suddenly felt a strange sense of fear come over him that he was saying too much about his quiet, personal thoughts, that he was revealing too much about himself too quickly.

“What of your counselors, do you seek and abide by their counsel? I should think that their opinions on what is best for you would be fairly sound, considering the prosperity of the Kingdom. It seems rather childish to deny them, when the proof is in the pudding, as it were. Family is incredibly important, is it not?” Marta commented casually, and Sindre wondered if she had noted his reticence, or if she had truly heard him.

“Of course it is,” he was taken aback by her words, straightening his posture, the pleasure of a quiet breakfast lost to the conversation. He frowned. Was she trying to provoke his temper? What had happened to that feeling of ‘rightness’ from the night of the ball? True, he had been playing the socialite prince, even down to the gaiety, but when he had danced with Marta… his heart had soared. Surely, he shouldn’t feel this upset if she was the Sun - right?  He did not have time to recover his thoughts as Marta continued.

“Then shouldn’t one be willing to do anything to see it prosper?” She spoke with nonchalance, spearing a small pastry onto her fork and looking carefully down at her plate, refusing to look at him. She therefore did not see his mouth drop open before he reined his composure back in and steel himself for a verbal tussle.

“Is this you or your Lord Andersen speaking? If I recall, he was saying something similar earlier,” he shifted in his seat, eyes sparking with pointed anger at the thinly veiled accusation.

“Do you think me incapable of making my own decisions? Do not believe me to be as easily led as all that,” she stabbed at her meal with enough vigor that her fork scraped against the plate. She glared at Sindre across the table, her expression one of chilled politeness, offended. He did not want to acknowledge the hurt lying behind the cold stare.

“It seems that so far you have not. What am I to think when the Sun Spirit seems tamed by a vainglorious man vying for power - even if that man is her own father?” he did not try to hide his disdain, or rein his sharp tongue.

“How dare you!” Marta placed her fork down on the table with enough force to rattle the serving platters, “I do what I must! I do not give myself to selfish whims based in a naivete that does not reach beyond the walls of a stifled court. Who are you to say that I am weak willed when it is my will that brought us here? It is my passion!” her temper provoked. “Regardless of the insult you imply of my father,” her voice was ice.

“How am I to believe that that when all I can see are the strings you are tugged by?” Sindre placed his own cutlery down, making a point to be much more gentle about it, even though he felt like he was beginning to quake with frustration, his appetite now completely vanished.

“Do not think I can’t see yours! You claim you are free of them, but they haven’t girded you with iron, Prince,” she sneered, “they have bound in chains of lace finer than that which I wear and you’re too blind to see it!” she needled, intent on finding a target that might make the steel clad prince bleed. “You speak of claiming jackets and boots, and yet those things are still only fetters-”

“I see plenty!” he interrupted Marta. “I see a little girl who doesn’t think beyond the moment of a bloody engagement! I will one day have to keep this Kingdom prosperous and need a Sun Spirit, my Sun spirit, who will help me, who will be my equal! I will not have anything less! That is why I refuse to agree blindly. My Kingdom comes first, not tradition of absent gods nor the whims of a stifled court and meddlesome mother, and especially not by a romantic woman who does not even have the background to begin to understand the nuances of my life!” He seethed.

Her eyes flashed, “You spoilt little upstart! How dare you say that! You think I do not know what happens to my life should I agree to marry you? All I have ever known disappears! My brother! My home in the hills where I could be free! Free from petty politics on which rest the fate of all who live in this realm. Do not think me ignorant of that fact, Prince! She spat the name like an epithet.

“I have seen first hand the results of your government! Who collects the tax monies to see to your coffers? My folk. Who see the results of bandits or thieves when your soldiers are too late? Who deals with the families who aren’t prosperous because of that? My family. We are the ones to pick up the pieces and rebuild, or donate time and sweat and blood, while you sit here on a pretty chair looking at numbers on a page! Do not tell me I am ignorant of the realm; at least I live in it!” she was relentlessly ruthless in her reproach.

They stood nose to nose over the table, silverware clattering off the table. It seemed as if they might be about to share a kiss had their expressions had been more ardent.

Sindre didn’t know what to say. He looked away, as did Marta, both poised to depart in their tempers. Sindre hesitated and heard quietly the breath of laughter. He whirled round to absorb the taunt, to find her still turned, temper fled and tired shoulders slumped under the weight of expectation. It was as if he stared into a mirror. He bit back the insult on his tongue.

“Well, at least I know my Prince has a will of iron,” she said, somehow bitter, he thought. Was it an apology? No. It was an observation, but he felt it was significant to her in some way.

He shook his head, anger trickling away, “and I know my Lady has a spine of steel.” He adjusted his cuffs and fingered the silver buttons, trying to compose himself.

“Flatterer,” she tried weakly. She smoothed her skirts and Sindre watched the careful motions of a woman rebuilding her shattered composure, much like himself. Immediately he felt a twinge of guilt, or was it fear that she might pull away because of his coldness? He spoke quickly, hoping to bridge the growing chasm between them.

“Sometimes. You are far more than what I said. I know there is more to you than your family, you are… I wish I knew. For all the time we have spent together I wish I knew you. You are unafraid of me, no one dares speak to me thusly, even my family. Please, forgive my harsh words. I would see them replaced more by truth than the doubts of a troubled heart.”

“And I you. You hide in in the polish of expectation, I would see you smile for heart’s joy rather than pretense for sake of propriety,” she said, turning to face him. “I apologize, Sindre.” Her voice caressed his name as if not to break it, or the thread of trust was once again building between them. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she held back tears.

Sindre paused and looked away once more unsure of what to say. The courtly circles and social norms failed him in that, and she knew it. He struggled for words and the rustle of her skirts was barely registered as she broached his personal space.

A gentle touch brought him to his senses, Marta’s amber eyes looking at him. He blinked, ‘No, looking into me…’ he thought. It was as if an endless sea of harvest fields was alight in her eyes. Golden summer heat burned behind her focus, beckoning with the promise of warmth, freedom… Her hand was warm on his cheek, and somehow he had never felt so vulnerable. He closed his eyes, and made a choice. “You are incredible,” he whispered.

Sindre let out the breath he was holding and Marta seemed to take strength from that. How odd. He continued, “I know you think I live separated from my people. I understand why when so much of the court is stifled and stagnant. Let me show the city, the beating heart of Caeleste. It’s…” Her hands moved to clasp his and he felt her earnestness, “…important to you,” Marta finished, and Sindre’s lips twitched.

“Yes, I’d like that dearly,” Marta said with the utmost sincerity. “Will you meet me at the gate at quarter to the hour?” she asked, “I daresay these skirts aren’t meant for riding.” With her temper abated, Sindre saw her own vulnerability exposed. The bravado was gone.

Sindre nodded, eager to move on from this egregious social misstep, for both their sakes. “I’ll meet you there.” He watched burgundy skirts whirl as Marta turned towards the castle, her trying not to show the tentatively hopeful smile.

He felt it mirrored on his  own lips. He thought that he might have shared too much, indeed.