[La Corda D'oro] Tangled Metaphors
Apr. 30th, 2010 03:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreTitle: Tangled Metaphors
Author: Amber Michelle //![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myaru
Rating: G
Theme: April / flowers
Pairing/Character: Kahoko/Azuma
Words: 1487
Summary: Azuma prepares Kahoko to meet his mother.
Notes: alas, his mother doesn't actually show up. Also, partly inspired by Gauntlet theme #8: blush like a cherry blossom - for its double-meaning, of course. >_>
............................................................................
"How does it feel to be graduating?"
"I don't know." Kahoko shifted on her knees. Though Azuma had given her a cushion to sit on, she'd miscalculated with the weight of the kimono dragging behind her and sat too far forward, so her knees felt the press of the tatami floor through the fabric and she had the illusion she was leaning forward farther than she actually was. His comb snicked and pulled through her hair; he stood at her side and slightly behind her, between the long dangling sweep of her sleeves and the trail of fabric behind, picking, arranging. A pin bit into her scalp. "Sad, I guess. Fuyuumi and Shimizu..."
Azuma let her trail off, said nothing. The comb scraped her scalp; he twisted her hair up and pushed another pin into her hair - two, three, four, until one poked her. She tried not to flinch. A big round mirror, wide enough she'd have to hold it with both hands, sat on a low table two arm-lengths away, completely out of reach. His flute case was there, and a folder she guessed was music, and two papers sticking out whose edges flicked and fluttered when a breeze came in through the open sliding door, bringing with it the scent of damp grass, pine, and other green things.
Kahoko almost turned her head to look out. Irises climbed her sleeves and the hem of her kimono, big purple streaks in her peripheral vision; a bed of the same flower spread out along the veranda outside his room, invisible to her from where she was sitting, though she could imagine the purple and fuchsia flowers waving on their stalks. "Tsuchiura and Amou will be moving so far away," she said, lowering her eyes to the tatami. His room was so empty - aside from the table she guessed was his desk, and the cupboards with their sliding doors, there was almost nothing - a watercolor scroll, a flower arrangement he said was his, and-- no pictures, no bed or personal items. Nothing. "Tsukimori-- ow." Her hand flew up to her stinging scalp.
"They'll be fine - and not that far away, either." Azuma brushed her hand away, but his fingers combed into her upswept hair to rub her head, ease the sting away. "Well, I suppose Tsukimori is inaccessible, but that's not quite a tragedy."
She sighed sharply, and he chuckled. "I'll tell him you said that when we see him at the ceremony," she said-- and they both knew she would keep her mouth shut, so there was no sudden yank on her hair, or sharp reply. Only silence, and sweat dampening her skin around the collar, under her sleeves at the inside of her elbows, and behind her knees. The inner layers of her costume were cotton, but the heavy outer layer felt like silk when she rubbed her fingers on the hem of her sleeve. Not glossy and gaudy like brocade, but the kind of smoothness that slithered and hissed when she moved and sent shivers over her skin the first time she tried it on.
Azuma said it was from the family collection in Kyoto, but it didn't feel flexible and worn like an old dress; it didn't smell like it had been in storage. The iris pattern looked new.
"Mother will tell you to drop formalities once tea is served," he said. She jumped at the sound of his voice, and Azuma pet her hair, tugged a strand, then came around to kneel between her and the desk, where he left his comb. Her own red hair glinted, caught between the tines. "Don't forget and try beforehand."
"I know that." Kahoko curled her fingers into knots on her lap.
"You have the same sickly look on your face that I remember from the concours."
She stuck her tongue out. Azuma's hand darted for it, rested on her lips when he was too slow. The ululating call of a seagull broke the stillness of the garden and the light shimmered for a second as if it vibrated with the sound.
Hot. April shouldn't be so hot. The cherry blossoms were only just now falling. They would litter the sidewalks at her graduation. Petals would stick to her gown, blown by the wind.
"I promise," he said, rubbing her bottom lip, "she is nothing like my grandmother."
Kahoko lifted her gaze. His brown eyes met hers. "Nobody could possibly be worse," she said, and wished her voice hadn't sounded so small. "Unless your mother is a blizzard."
Azuma's lips twitched up at the corners - a real smile, the kind that came trembly and quick, and disappeared just when she realized it was there. Formal wear hung from his shoulders, black and dark blue. His ponytail swished over his back when he turned his head and looked outside. "Why don't we walk down to the tea pavilion? I'll show you where the herons nest."
He took her hand, helped her up. Kahoko leaned on his arm because she liked how solid he felt - it reminded her she really was standing beside him in his room, his fingers curled around her hand and twisting the ring he gave her, over and over and over. If his grandmother was frost, she'd learned Azuma was fire-- a carefully banked, controlled fire, but one that could flash and blaze at the slightest provocation, or wrap around her and offer warmth. She could have come up with a dozen stupid metaphors for it: he'd like to be the sun, wouldn't he, though Kahoko thought a candle flame was more like it, while she was the moth about to be burned. He said she looked like a wilted flower after conversations with his grandmother. Even chance meetings, instants in which Kahoko passed her in the hallway, became occasions for criticism - snapped commands to straighten her posture, adjust her sleeves, walk more quietly, redo her hair.
The April sun beat on her head when they left the house and stepped out of the shade of the veranda. Hot grass brushed her ankles and toes. Sunlight glared off of the surface of the lake, and flower beds nestled in precise places on the grid of their garden, the flowers coordinated and restrained. Domes of hydrangea waved and bobbed in her path, purple and pink and yellow.
Kahoko tried to take deep, even breaths and ignore the heat. It was her clothing, not the sun, that made her feel overheated - or maybe Azuma, but he wasn't doing anything except stroking the back of her hand and playing with her ring. The Yunoki estate still reminded her of a park, all stretched and sprawling across hills, with lakes and creeks and enough trees that it looked like they owned a forest too. Her own backyard was only slightly bigger than his room, but it had hydrangea, and roses, and azalea - it had wisteria climbing the wall and attracting bees. She knew her garden - her mother's garden - like the back of her hand.
She swallowed. "I don't want to leave."
The path Azuma led her to took them into the dappled shade of a willow, and then beneath the pines. Farther on, the tea pavilion rested in cool gray shadow. Its simple wooden screens and the dark interior looked inviting. "You'll get used to it," he said, leading her to the rocks. They kicked off their sandals. "I didn't want to leave either-- Seiso, I mean." And his smile said he knew that wasn't what she meant.
Kahoko looked down at their hands and the glitter of her diamond ring. She'd never asked for a diamond, but it was expected, and she'd gotten used to it - the glint at the corner of her eye, the weight around her finger. She sure as hell wasn't going to tell him he was right, though. "And you're so happy at Gakushuin, right? It's all better than you could have hoped for?"
Azuma's smile went crooked, his mask cracked. "Don't be annoying, dear."
She covered her mouth, though her smile wasn't big or wide. The silk still smelled like lavender and incense - a new smell, the kind of thing she only noticed in stores too expensive for her. "You were going to show me something?"
He rolled his eyes. "On the other side," he said, and started to lead her across the mossy rocks, around the pavilion, toward the glimmer of water through the trees.
Kahoko squeezed his hand, her footing uncertain, but she knew he would never let go.
*
Author: Amber Michelle //
myaruRating: G
Theme: April / flowers
Pairing/Character: Kahoko/Azuma
Words: 1487
Summary: Azuma prepares Kahoko to meet his mother.
Notes: alas, his mother doesn't actually show up. Also, partly inspired by Gauntlet theme #8: blush like a cherry blossom - for its double-meaning, of course. >_>
............................................................................
"How does it feel to be graduating?"
"I don't know." Kahoko shifted on her knees. Though Azuma had given her a cushion to sit on, she'd miscalculated with the weight of the kimono dragging behind her and sat too far forward, so her knees felt the press of the tatami floor through the fabric and she had the illusion she was leaning forward farther than she actually was. His comb snicked and pulled through her hair; he stood at her side and slightly behind her, between the long dangling sweep of her sleeves and the trail of fabric behind, picking, arranging. A pin bit into her scalp. "Sad, I guess. Fuyuumi and Shimizu..."
Azuma let her trail off, said nothing. The comb scraped her scalp; he twisted her hair up and pushed another pin into her hair - two, three, four, until one poked her. She tried not to flinch. A big round mirror, wide enough she'd have to hold it with both hands, sat on a low table two arm-lengths away, completely out of reach. His flute case was there, and a folder she guessed was music, and two papers sticking out whose edges flicked and fluttered when a breeze came in through the open sliding door, bringing with it the scent of damp grass, pine, and other green things.
Kahoko almost turned her head to look out. Irises climbed her sleeves and the hem of her kimono, big purple streaks in her peripheral vision; a bed of the same flower spread out along the veranda outside his room, invisible to her from where she was sitting, though she could imagine the purple and fuchsia flowers waving on their stalks. "Tsuchiura and Amou will be moving so far away," she said, lowering her eyes to the tatami. His room was so empty - aside from the table she guessed was his desk, and the cupboards with their sliding doors, there was almost nothing - a watercolor scroll, a flower arrangement he said was his, and-- no pictures, no bed or personal items. Nothing. "Tsukimori-- ow." Her hand flew up to her stinging scalp.
"They'll be fine - and not that far away, either." Azuma brushed her hand away, but his fingers combed into her upswept hair to rub her head, ease the sting away. "Well, I suppose Tsukimori is inaccessible, but that's not quite a tragedy."
She sighed sharply, and he chuckled. "I'll tell him you said that when we see him at the ceremony," she said-- and they both knew she would keep her mouth shut, so there was no sudden yank on her hair, or sharp reply. Only silence, and sweat dampening her skin around the collar, under her sleeves at the inside of her elbows, and behind her knees. The inner layers of her costume were cotton, but the heavy outer layer felt like silk when she rubbed her fingers on the hem of her sleeve. Not glossy and gaudy like brocade, but the kind of smoothness that slithered and hissed when she moved and sent shivers over her skin the first time she tried it on.
Azuma said it was from the family collection in Kyoto, but it didn't feel flexible and worn like an old dress; it didn't smell like it had been in storage. The iris pattern looked new.
"Mother will tell you to drop formalities once tea is served," he said. She jumped at the sound of his voice, and Azuma pet her hair, tugged a strand, then came around to kneel between her and the desk, where he left his comb. Her own red hair glinted, caught between the tines. "Don't forget and try beforehand."
"I know that." Kahoko curled her fingers into knots on her lap.
"You have the same sickly look on your face that I remember from the concours."
She stuck her tongue out. Azuma's hand darted for it, rested on her lips when he was too slow. The ululating call of a seagull broke the stillness of the garden and the light shimmered for a second as if it vibrated with the sound.
Hot. April shouldn't be so hot. The cherry blossoms were only just now falling. They would litter the sidewalks at her graduation. Petals would stick to her gown, blown by the wind.
"I promise," he said, rubbing her bottom lip, "she is nothing like my grandmother."
Kahoko lifted her gaze. His brown eyes met hers. "Nobody could possibly be worse," she said, and wished her voice hadn't sounded so small. "Unless your mother is a blizzard."
Azuma's lips twitched up at the corners - a real smile, the kind that came trembly and quick, and disappeared just when she realized it was there. Formal wear hung from his shoulders, black and dark blue. His ponytail swished over his back when he turned his head and looked outside. "Why don't we walk down to the tea pavilion? I'll show you where the herons nest."
He took her hand, helped her up. Kahoko leaned on his arm because she liked how solid he felt - it reminded her she really was standing beside him in his room, his fingers curled around her hand and twisting the ring he gave her, over and over and over. If his grandmother was frost, she'd learned Azuma was fire-- a carefully banked, controlled fire, but one that could flash and blaze at the slightest provocation, or wrap around her and offer warmth. She could have come up with a dozen stupid metaphors for it: he'd like to be the sun, wouldn't he, though Kahoko thought a candle flame was more like it, while she was the moth about to be burned. He said she looked like a wilted flower after conversations with his grandmother. Even chance meetings, instants in which Kahoko passed her in the hallway, became occasions for criticism - snapped commands to straighten her posture, adjust her sleeves, walk more quietly, redo her hair.
The April sun beat on her head when they left the house and stepped out of the shade of the veranda. Hot grass brushed her ankles and toes. Sunlight glared off of the surface of the lake, and flower beds nestled in precise places on the grid of their garden, the flowers coordinated and restrained. Domes of hydrangea waved and bobbed in her path, purple and pink and yellow.
Kahoko tried to take deep, even breaths and ignore the heat. It was her clothing, not the sun, that made her feel overheated - or maybe Azuma, but he wasn't doing anything except stroking the back of her hand and playing with her ring. The Yunoki estate still reminded her of a park, all stretched and sprawling across hills, with lakes and creeks and enough trees that it looked like they owned a forest too. Her own backyard was only slightly bigger than his room, but it had hydrangea, and roses, and azalea - it had wisteria climbing the wall and attracting bees. She knew her garden - her mother's garden - like the back of her hand.
She swallowed. "I don't want to leave."
The path Azuma led her to took them into the dappled shade of a willow, and then beneath the pines. Farther on, the tea pavilion rested in cool gray shadow. Its simple wooden screens and the dark interior looked inviting. "You'll get used to it," he said, leading her to the rocks. They kicked off their sandals. "I didn't want to leave either-- Seiso, I mean." And his smile said he knew that wasn't what she meant.
Kahoko looked down at their hands and the glitter of her diamond ring. She'd never asked for a diamond, but it was expected, and she'd gotten used to it - the glint at the corner of her eye, the weight around her finger. She sure as hell wasn't going to tell him he was right, though. "And you're so happy at Gakushuin, right? It's all better than you could have hoped for?"
Azuma's smile went crooked, his mask cracked. "Don't be annoying, dear."
She covered her mouth, though her smile wasn't big or wide. The silk still smelled like lavender and incense - a new smell, the kind of thing she only noticed in stores too expensive for her. "You were going to show me something?"
He rolled his eyes. "On the other side," he said, and started to lead her across the mossy rocks, around the pavilion, toward the glimmer of water through the trees.
Kahoko squeezed his hand, her footing uncertain, but she knew he would never let go.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-05-01 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-01 09:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-05 09:43 am (UTC)i could see it all so clearly, as though I was there in the room too!
no subject
Date: 2010-05-13 06:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-19 09:58 pm (UTC)ps hope not
no subject
Date: 2010-05-19 11:19 pm (UTC)Here's a more in-depth explanation (http://runiclore.livejournal.com/113103.html).
no subject
Date: 2010-05-20 07:54 pm (UTC)sorry if i upseted you very sorry
chelle