alcala0001
10-09-2010, 10:23 PM
At the risk of 'flooding' the forum, I'm submitting another story. Apologies.
Inhaling the crisp spring afternoon, Kentaro smells sweet grass, cherry blossoms and rich earth as he walks. Red maple and cherry trees line the way to the town, the sunlight through their leaves splashes droplets of sunlight onto his wide straw hat. A hint of a smile comes to his face as he thinks of Hiroko. They had shared their first kiss under a cherry tree in full bloom. He remembers the feel of her skin and the scent of her hair. He turns his head at the sound of clopping hooves and the gritty sound of wheels on dirt. A cart approaches. An old man eases a tired swaybacked mare around him, giving a wide berth and bowing his head in deference as he passes. Kentaro returns the bow with a nod, a barely perceptible dip of his chin. It was the katana. If he was not respected, then he would be forced to draw it. Such was the etiquette he enforced. Kentaro could not count how many men he had slain. Many times he would arrive in some backwoods town to find that his reputation had arrived first. Samurai wishing to make a name for themselves would often challenge him. Any who were foolish enough to cross blades with him were sent straight to hell. But he was not here to fight. The buildings on the edge of town grew larger and he felt like he had stepped back in time. Nothing had changed.
No duelists greet him as he arrives, much to his relief. He had been too long without a bath and clean clothes and he could really use a drink. Kentaro heads straight for the nearest ryokan. The matronly hostess leads him to a private bathing room and bows deeply as he enters, then she retreats back down the hall. A young woman bows before him, a bamboo ladle in her hand. A copper kettle with steaming hot water is next to her. Kentaro steps onto a bamboo mat, disrobing and letting down his grey-streaked topknot, keeping his katana within easy reach. The attendant rinses him as he scrubs himself with his hands, then she leads him to the large wooden tub in the corner of the room. Kentaro picks up his katana and follows her, stepping into the hot water and propping his sheathed sword against the outer edge of the tub as he sits. She brushes his hair and her strong, slender fingers rub the knots out of his neck and shoulders as he steams, the hot water loosening the miles of his journey from his tired muscles. Another attendant appears with fresh silk robes.
In the dining area Kentaro sits at a corner table behind a bowl of steaming vegetables and rice, a warm thimble of sake between his thumb and finger as he eyes the crowd under the shadow of his straw hat. The tables nearest him are empty. None dare sit next to him. They may not remember or know him, but they see the katana. Kentaro finishes his meal and drink, flipping the host a coin as he exits, the host bows low at his departure. Bodies scramble to get out of his way. Kentaro returns to the ryokan and slides the screen door of his room closed. As he dresses into his sleeping robes the room lightens. Soft footfalls scuffle on the wood floor outside as a silhouette of a woman holding a lamp stops at his door. He bids her enter with a soft, harsh word. The paper screen door slides open and the bath attendant enters his room, bowing her head and avoiding his eyes as she slides the door closed. She sets the lamp down and kneels before him, undoing her robe. The colorful thin fabric slips from her shoulders, revealing flawless milky skin. She lets down her hair and it cascades down her shoulders and neck in silky black waves, dark red highlights shimmer in the yellow lamp light. Her descending robes catch for a brief moment at her breasts, snagging on her pink erect nipples, then fall around her in a heap. Kentaro lays down on the sleeping mat and pulls her to him.
Kentaro wakes with the sun and puts on his silk kimono, then retrieves his sword from the stand behind his pillow. He closes the screen behind him and makes his way out of the ryokan and into the busy street. Kentaro Thinks about Hiroko as he steps into the daylight, the straw hat giving him shade as he walks. She was the reason for him being here. He traveled so far to see her. None of the years between their last kiss had diminished her beauty in his mind. He knew she would be old and perhaps a little grey like him, but she would always be the young girl he fell in love with so many years ago. Kentaro's feet took him to his destination. The silk weaver's building. Hiroko's father owned the silk shop and was the reason he departed all those years ago. Kentaro hoped the old bastard was dead. He shrugs off the moment of anxiety and makes his way to the door, scolding himself for his moment of weakness. The room inside is dimly lit, the sound of clacking wood greets him as weavers work on looms against the walls. A faint smell of wood and mulberry leaves - the favorite food of the silkworms - fills his nose. The rear of the shop has bolts of pure silk in all lengths and sizes. "Beg your pardon, may I please be of assistance to you?" Kentaro turns and sees a young man behind him, several paces away, his bowed head waits for his reply. "Hiroko" He queries. A woman's voice comes to him from the back of the shop. "Hiroko died five years ago." A young woman comes from the back doorway and her eyes go wide and she stiffens and bows at the sight of his katana. Her eyes. Kentaro strides over to her and grabs her chin, holding her head up to inspect her eyes. They were flecked with green. His mother's eyes. Dragon's eyes. "Who are you." Demands Kentaro. The young woman, terrified, lets out a small cry, then frantically answers. "Yuki! My mother left me the shop after she died!". A firm hand grabs the sleeve of Kentaro's sword arm and he turns his head to see his assailant. The young man. "Please don-!" He does not have time to finish as Kentaro jabs the sheathed sword into his ribs. The young man falls on his back and his attempt to get up is stopped by a razor's edge at his throat. Kentaro glares at him. Yuki runs to the young man and throws herself at him, pulling him back and away from Kentaro's blade. The young man's disrespect was an affront to his honor and Kentaro would be well within his rights to kill him. She gives Kentaro a defiant look with those eyes. Those eyes. The weaving looms have gone silent. Nobody dares move. "Meet me tomorrow at noon under the first cherry tree outside of town. Bring a sword." Kentaro whispers. His calm, quiet words more powerful than if they were as loud as thunder. He sheaths his katana and walks out.
Kentaro orders another bottle of sake and uncorks it with his teeth, not bothering to use a thimble as he gulps at it, the warm alcohol sliding down his throat and dribbling off of his chin. His daughter. Kentaro had a daughter. Hiroko's daughter. Yuki had his mother's beautiful eyes. He curses his luck. He should have never come here. Hiroko would still be alive in his mind. Chaos fills his head, clouded over by drink. Kentaro stands up and steadies himself on his feet, knocking over several empty bottles at his table. His eyes dare anybody to look at him as he steps out into the cool spring night. Kentaro stumbles his way into the ryokan and almost falls through the screen door of his room. Clumsily, he fights with his robes as a soft knock reaches his ears. He grunts for her to enter and the bath assistant comes in and presents herself to him. He is not gentle with her.
The morning sun stings his eyes and his head is hammered by last night's excess. His tongue flicks around in the dry pit of bitter foulness that is his mouth. Kentaro sits up for a moment before committing to getting up. He gets dressed and eats a light breakfast. He calls an attendant and asks for writing tools. The attendant waits for Kentaro's finished note and receives it with a bow before disappearing. Kentaro sits in the dining area and enjoys a cup of sweet clear water as he watches the shadows outside, marking the approach of noon. He puts on his hat, adjusting the strap as he exits the ryokan. As Kentaro approaches the edge of town he sees a sizable crowd forming. The crowd parts as he steps through. His reputation has finally arrived. Across from the crowd, sitting on a patch of soft grass is the young man. His eyes are red as he sits cross-legged under a blooming cherry tree, Yuki crying on his shoulder. A sword lay across his knees. Seeing his approach, the young man gets to his feet. Clenching his katana and tearing his robes from Yuki's frantic clutches, he strides toward Kentaro, a look of determination on his face. Kentaro circles around him like a vulture would circle a wounded rabbit, keeping the young man in the center. Kentaro comes to where his daughter and the young man were, under the shade of the cherry tree. The sweet smell of the blossoms fill his lungs as he draws his sword. The young man casts his scabbard to the ground and raises the naked blade, then charges straight at him. It is evident that he has not had much sword training. Kentaro raises his blade in defense but lowers it at the last possible moment, leaving himself open and vulnerable. Pink flowers fall around him as his back strikes the cherry tree. The attendant from the ryokan hands Yuki a letter. Kentaro closes his eyes and thinks of Hiroko as cherry blossoms caress his cheeks.
Inhaling the crisp spring afternoon, Kentaro smells sweet grass, cherry blossoms and rich earth as he walks. Red maple and cherry trees line the way to the town, the sunlight through their leaves splashes droplets of sunlight onto his wide straw hat. A hint of a smile comes to his face as he thinks of Hiroko. They had shared their first kiss under a cherry tree in full bloom. He remembers the feel of her skin and the scent of her hair. He turns his head at the sound of clopping hooves and the gritty sound of wheels on dirt. A cart approaches. An old man eases a tired swaybacked mare around him, giving a wide berth and bowing his head in deference as he passes. Kentaro returns the bow with a nod, a barely perceptible dip of his chin. It was the katana. If he was not respected, then he would be forced to draw it. Such was the etiquette he enforced. Kentaro could not count how many men he had slain. Many times he would arrive in some backwoods town to find that his reputation had arrived first. Samurai wishing to make a name for themselves would often challenge him. Any who were foolish enough to cross blades with him were sent straight to hell. But he was not here to fight. The buildings on the edge of town grew larger and he felt like he had stepped back in time. Nothing had changed.
No duelists greet him as he arrives, much to his relief. He had been too long without a bath and clean clothes and he could really use a drink. Kentaro heads straight for the nearest ryokan. The matronly hostess leads him to a private bathing room and bows deeply as he enters, then she retreats back down the hall. A young woman bows before him, a bamboo ladle in her hand. A copper kettle with steaming hot water is next to her. Kentaro steps onto a bamboo mat, disrobing and letting down his grey-streaked topknot, keeping his katana within easy reach. The attendant rinses him as he scrubs himself with his hands, then she leads him to the large wooden tub in the corner of the room. Kentaro picks up his katana and follows her, stepping into the hot water and propping his sheathed sword against the outer edge of the tub as he sits. She brushes his hair and her strong, slender fingers rub the knots out of his neck and shoulders as he steams, the hot water loosening the miles of his journey from his tired muscles. Another attendant appears with fresh silk robes.
In the dining area Kentaro sits at a corner table behind a bowl of steaming vegetables and rice, a warm thimble of sake between his thumb and finger as he eyes the crowd under the shadow of his straw hat. The tables nearest him are empty. None dare sit next to him. They may not remember or know him, but they see the katana. Kentaro finishes his meal and drink, flipping the host a coin as he exits, the host bows low at his departure. Bodies scramble to get out of his way. Kentaro returns to the ryokan and slides the screen door of his room closed. As he dresses into his sleeping robes the room lightens. Soft footfalls scuffle on the wood floor outside as a silhouette of a woman holding a lamp stops at his door. He bids her enter with a soft, harsh word. The paper screen door slides open and the bath attendant enters his room, bowing her head and avoiding his eyes as she slides the door closed. She sets the lamp down and kneels before him, undoing her robe. The colorful thin fabric slips from her shoulders, revealing flawless milky skin. She lets down her hair and it cascades down her shoulders and neck in silky black waves, dark red highlights shimmer in the yellow lamp light. Her descending robes catch for a brief moment at her breasts, snagging on her pink erect nipples, then fall around her in a heap. Kentaro lays down on the sleeping mat and pulls her to him.
Kentaro wakes with the sun and puts on his silk kimono, then retrieves his sword from the stand behind his pillow. He closes the screen behind him and makes his way out of the ryokan and into the busy street. Kentaro Thinks about Hiroko as he steps into the daylight, the straw hat giving him shade as he walks. She was the reason for him being here. He traveled so far to see her. None of the years between their last kiss had diminished her beauty in his mind. He knew she would be old and perhaps a little grey like him, but she would always be the young girl he fell in love with so many years ago. Kentaro's feet took him to his destination. The silk weaver's building. Hiroko's father owned the silk shop and was the reason he departed all those years ago. Kentaro hoped the old bastard was dead. He shrugs off the moment of anxiety and makes his way to the door, scolding himself for his moment of weakness. The room inside is dimly lit, the sound of clacking wood greets him as weavers work on looms against the walls. A faint smell of wood and mulberry leaves - the favorite food of the silkworms - fills his nose. The rear of the shop has bolts of pure silk in all lengths and sizes. "Beg your pardon, may I please be of assistance to you?" Kentaro turns and sees a young man behind him, several paces away, his bowed head waits for his reply. "Hiroko" He queries. A woman's voice comes to him from the back of the shop. "Hiroko died five years ago." A young woman comes from the back doorway and her eyes go wide and she stiffens and bows at the sight of his katana. Her eyes. Kentaro strides over to her and grabs her chin, holding her head up to inspect her eyes. They were flecked with green. His mother's eyes. Dragon's eyes. "Who are you." Demands Kentaro. The young woman, terrified, lets out a small cry, then frantically answers. "Yuki! My mother left me the shop after she died!". A firm hand grabs the sleeve of Kentaro's sword arm and he turns his head to see his assailant. The young man. "Please don-!" He does not have time to finish as Kentaro jabs the sheathed sword into his ribs. The young man falls on his back and his attempt to get up is stopped by a razor's edge at his throat. Kentaro glares at him. Yuki runs to the young man and throws herself at him, pulling him back and away from Kentaro's blade. The young man's disrespect was an affront to his honor and Kentaro would be well within his rights to kill him. She gives Kentaro a defiant look with those eyes. Those eyes. The weaving looms have gone silent. Nobody dares move. "Meet me tomorrow at noon under the first cherry tree outside of town. Bring a sword." Kentaro whispers. His calm, quiet words more powerful than if they were as loud as thunder. He sheaths his katana and walks out.
Kentaro orders another bottle of sake and uncorks it with his teeth, not bothering to use a thimble as he gulps at it, the warm alcohol sliding down his throat and dribbling off of his chin. His daughter. Kentaro had a daughter. Hiroko's daughter. Yuki had his mother's beautiful eyes. He curses his luck. He should have never come here. Hiroko would still be alive in his mind. Chaos fills his head, clouded over by drink. Kentaro stands up and steadies himself on his feet, knocking over several empty bottles at his table. His eyes dare anybody to look at him as he steps out into the cool spring night. Kentaro stumbles his way into the ryokan and almost falls through the screen door of his room. Clumsily, he fights with his robes as a soft knock reaches his ears. He grunts for her to enter and the bath assistant comes in and presents herself to him. He is not gentle with her.
The morning sun stings his eyes and his head is hammered by last night's excess. His tongue flicks around in the dry pit of bitter foulness that is his mouth. Kentaro sits up for a moment before committing to getting up. He gets dressed and eats a light breakfast. He calls an attendant and asks for writing tools. The attendant waits for Kentaro's finished note and receives it with a bow before disappearing. Kentaro sits in the dining area and enjoys a cup of sweet clear water as he watches the shadows outside, marking the approach of noon. He puts on his hat, adjusting the strap as he exits the ryokan. As Kentaro approaches the edge of town he sees a sizable crowd forming. The crowd parts as he steps through. His reputation has finally arrived. Across from the crowd, sitting on a patch of soft grass is the young man. His eyes are red as he sits cross-legged under a blooming cherry tree, Yuki crying on his shoulder. A sword lay across his knees. Seeing his approach, the young man gets to his feet. Clenching his katana and tearing his robes from Yuki's frantic clutches, he strides toward Kentaro, a look of determination on his face. Kentaro circles around him like a vulture would circle a wounded rabbit, keeping the young man in the center. Kentaro comes to where his daughter and the young man were, under the shade of the cherry tree. The sweet smell of the blossoms fill his lungs as he draws his sword. The young man casts his scabbard to the ground and raises the naked blade, then charges straight at him. It is evident that he has not had much sword training. Kentaro raises his blade in defense but lowers it at the last possible moment, leaving himself open and vulnerable. Pink flowers fall around him as his back strikes the cherry tree. The attendant from the ryokan hands Yuki a letter. Kentaro closes his eyes and thinks of Hiroko as cherry blossoms caress his cheeks.