http://mukashi-no-ran.livejournal.com/ (
mukashi-no-ran.livejournal.com) wrote in
justonetruth2010-05-09 04:04 pm
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Here to fight fire with fire.
It's night.
The flickering light of flames is cast along the walls of the corridor, the dancing light making shadows leap and jump unexpectedly. A single figure walks steadily through them, holding aloft the lighted torch that casts them. Although her pace is sedate and she is outwardly calm, she has a hand resting on the hilt of one of the two swords she carries. In the dim light, it's hard to tell that much more about her -- a straw hat, showing signs of having recently weathered a storm, hides her face, and robes she wears -- in the darkness, resembling nothing so much as the hakama and coat donned by advanced practioners of aikido, although of a colour and cloth not usually worn -- make it difficult to determine even her gender at first glance.
Coming to the end of one corridor she hesitates over which way to turn. As she is deliberating, a faint noise catches her attention and lifting the torch to see better, Ran glances back the way she has come.
The flickering light of flames is cast along the walls of the corridor, the dancing light making shadows leap and jump unexpectedly. A single figure walks steadily through them, holding aloft the lighted torch that casts them. Although her pace is sedate and she is outwardly calm, she has a hand resting on the hilt of one of the two swords she carries. In the dim light, it's hard to tell that much more about her -- a straw hat, showing signs of having recently weathered a storm, hides her face, and robes she wears -- in the darkness, resembling nothing so much as the hakama and coat donned by advanced practioners of aikido, although of a colour and cloth not usually worn -- make it difficult to determine even her gender at first glance.
Coming to the end of one corridor she hesitates over which way to turn. As she is deliberating, a faint noise catches her attention and lifting the torch to see better, Ran glances back the way she has come.
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"You said Shinichi was here?" Ran reminded her companion. "It is important I speak to him as quickly as possible."
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Incredulous as he was, Ran-kun caught the look on his alternate's face and abruptly shut up. Depending on how traditional his other was, he could wind up provoking a duel in the middle of the lobby, and while he could deal with swords, he'd rather not have to.
"There's... a bunch of Shinichis here," he explained instead, waving his hands in a pacifying manner. "I don't think any of them are the Shinichi you know. You're the first person I've seen who looks like they stepped out of a history book."
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She listened gravely to Ran's explanation. "History book?" she asked, uncomprehending. "Shinichi is so high. He cuts his hair short, and has no crest on his clothing."
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Ran blinked at the date Ran gave her, the numbers meaning very little. "It is Lord Matsumoto who rules the people. The Emperor concerns himself with the countries spiritual needs," she explained. "I do not know a Prime Minister."
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Matsumoto-keibu as shogun and Yamamura-keibu as Emperor... That was a weird thought, and something that had definitely not happened in his history. So how to explain time if there wasn't anything relevant to describe it with?
Ran raked his hand through his hair and grimaced, then finally decided on the simplest terms possible. "Where I'm from, the kind of clothing that you're wearing is from about 300 years ago."
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300 years ago? Ran frowned. "This is clothing proper to a samurai family," she said with a bit of heat -- they might not be able to afford silks, but they were nonetheless not without pride. "The Mouri crest has been worn proudly for many generations."
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"Yeah, but..." Ran trailed off a moment, then ploughed on. This Ran was going to have to get used to this place sooner or later. "Samurai haven't been around for years. The rank was abolished over a hundred years ago with the Meiji Restoration."
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Casting quickly for a distraction, she asked, "You said you would show me about the rooms?"
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Scrolls and writing implements fill every available surface, a cup of tea left on the low table, half buried in papers. The walls are covered with wood prints -- famous generals, distinguished tacticians, scenic vistas and known criminals (Ran-kun might be interested in one white-clad figure seemingly half-man, half-fox leaping over the roof of a house under the moonlight) and bookshelves, jammed to overflowing with scrolls and books, a good number of them apparently cobbled together by hand from whatever printed matter their owner could get his hands on.
Ran is familiar with the room. Disregarding the mess she kneels to check the cup of tea. "Cold," she says.
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"What is all this?"
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"What does Kudo-san do?" he asked, frowning. If Shinichi's dad wasn't a samurai, then...
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