[It'd be a lie to say Bandou hasn't found himself feeling a bout of anxiety creep over him every time a thunderstorm forms over Shizume City. Ever since Youko had nervously explained who she really was, where she came from and how she'd gotten here, all while seated with him under a canopy of bedsheets, Bandou'd been fearful of the day she'd inevitably have to return home.
Rain would be heard pattering against the window of his apartment, or perhaps a customer to the bar would step in to shed their wet coat by the door before ordering a drink, and Bandou would quickly flip to his phone's weather app, sighing in relief when the forecast showed expected rain amounts for the day.
But today is different. It's wrong. The wind sounds fiercer. Sirens from passing emergency vehicles ring in his ears. And when he opens his news feed, countless streams flood in with reporters highlighting this strange, sudden, unprecedented change in weather patterns.
Bandou's up and sprinting out the door before he can think, shouhei shouting after him that it's not safe to go outside. But that doesn't matter to him now. Finding Youko, making certain she's still here with him, that's all he can think of.
By the time he's at her door, he's completely out of breath, soaked and shivering due to the cold rain and biting wind. There's no hat or shades, just whatever he frantically climbed out of bed in. If she's there, she'll hear each bang at her door accompanied by a desperate call of her name.]
[The nausea is overwhelming, the twisting, gnashing sick feeling digging through the marrow of her as she watches the sky in stock-still horror. Every noise — the wind buffeting the city, howling like a creature driven mad; the glass of her windows, rattling in riot, as like to break as hold; the frightened hitch of her own breath — drowns out again with the pound of her own heart, her own blood.
Like a thunderhead descending, the dread follows her from the dream, a pressure front blooming behind her eyes. A foreboding, sinking feeling of destiny. What should be joy overflowing, an impending homecoming, are ashes in her mouth. There are voices. Even if she can't make out the words, she can feel their meaning. The shirei are rejoicing. Their master found his master. They will go home.
Dimly, she knows she needs to find her phone. Her palm searches blindly on her bedsheets for it, eyes turning glassy as she watches the shoku rage. She needs— she has to tell— she promised him she would—
Like a roll of thunder, sound returns, cutting through the storm and her fear. The insistant banging of a fist against her door. The call of a name, her name, in a voice she loves, she loves so, so dearly. There's no stopping the tears.
Saburouta.
Forcing herself to her feet takes effort, her legs feeling weak and ready to give out with the next strike of lightning, but she gets up. Bandou is just beyond the door, just beyond the voice that feels buried beneath her starving lungs. She moves towards the door in mechanical steps, like dragging herself through a mire one measured pace at a time, hand out, searching. Seeking. Her fingers reach the door first, wrapping around the cold metal handle, twisting, unlatching. Close. Closer.
A wind more gentle than the storm outside sweeps over her shoulders, carrying the brine of the sea and the thin scent of incense. She doesn't need to turn to feel who stands at her back, eyes on the set of her shoulders.
The name is bitter on her tongue even as it drips off like honey.]
[Hourai, a world bent on taking from his meager stores. First, it took a brother, swept him away from the mountain of their birth before his first breath. His return had been hard-won, but it just stole him back, just as his kingdom rejoiced their good fortune and new emperor. Stole him back and scarred him in ways a kirin should never have been touched. But she had rescued him, stubbornly refusing the wisdom of those around her in the name of what she believed was right. A girl who stood on shaky legs and stared at him with suspicion and fear when he took her hand. A girl who the world changed like the tides change a shoreline while he was locked in silence. His second empress.
The hakuchi didn't cry out for her a second time, did not announce a death he could not have wished for less, so he did not despair. He held her nascent court together with her trusted retainers, a panicked baby bird in the palm of his hands, and he hunted in the only arena allowed by his nature. To the ends of the earth, he would chase her.
His shirei slipped through the folds of the world again and again, bridging him between Here and There, fanning out, seeking a sign of their master's master. It had been fruitless for so, so long. An empty ache set beneath the ribs, ever-present. An unspoken prayer for news, a single trace of her, the set of her eyes in a temper, the flare of red silk in a crowd.
It was Jakko — the least likely of all his shirei — that had caught her trail. A shard of glass in the sand, yet a face unmistakable in the overwhelming surge of the city. It was enough to slip through himself, not waiting to petition Ren for the regalia they retrieved Taiki with, not waiting a moment longer than he was forced to, his form shifting, liquid through the barrier.
It was impossible not to see her once he raced through the clouds above the city. The aura of his chosen. Hers a golden light in a sea of grey shadows, a beacon to chase down from the heavens. The only treasure worthy the discord he carried on his heels.
Like following the sun, he plunged down, down through the tumult, a tailwind carrying him to her, carrying him through the seams in her chambers, the kirin dissipating as his feet meet the floor. To leave him as she knew him best. To leave his voice thick with an uncountable feeling as she speaks his name.]
Your Majesty.
[The thousand thousands of things he has wanted to say these months abandon him at the jubilation he feels with his empress before his very eyes. The stiffness of his language could not be further from the emotion beneath his restrained exterior, only the dignities of her rank keeping him from going directly to her side.]
I am relieved to find you unstained by blood this time.
[With each pound of his fist against the door, his hope dwindles. She's gone, he missed his chance. He couldn't run fast enough to catch her. The wind scooped her up and carried her to a land he never had knowledge of, much less knew how to get to.]
You...ko...
[The call of her name softens, overcome by the tears that fall. Of course, of course this would happen to him. He finds someone who truly loves him for him, finds actual acceptance and happiness, and it's grabbed away from him before he can even give her an overly emotional goodbye.
But, then there's the rattle of locks, the shimmer of the fluorescent lights reflecting off the door knob as it slowly turns. Bandou's glassy, uncovered eyes widen, until a phase is heard spoken, just beyond the small crack the door had opened.
Your Majesty.
Not spoken the way Youko's sword wielding tiger had, gruff with an underlining malice. But, stoic with an air of relief. Someone was here to retrieve her.
Bandou steadies his breath as much as he can and reaches to slowly push the door open.]
[Leaden. Limbs, tongue, thoughts, they are all leaden. It shouldn't feel like this, she's certain. Like drowning. Like a chain wrapped around her ankle pulling her into airless, suffocating black. Like guilt.]
I haven't... needed to...
[To fight. Not really. Not like before. It isn't a place like the no man's land she crossed between Kou and En. There are no predators at her heels, no one calling for her blood, within or without. A shaky breath.]
Is Kei—
['In shambles,' is what she means to ask. Or maybe it was meant to be, 'suffering because of me?' That is part of the guilt crushing her. The destructive weight of a throne, the desertion she has selfishly enjoyed. The question falls apart as the door swings slowly open, metal pushing back against her fingers, revealing the other part.
Her eyes drag up to find teary ones through the crack, and her heart plummets, a far longer fall than that cliffside overlooking the sea once upon a time.]
[How long has it been since they spoke? How many months, days, hours, minutes? Has he not committed that last conversation to memory, carried it like a reliquary of her? The fact that she has not looked at him — will not look at him — is unsettling.
It is improper to approach without her leave, improper to step to her side, even with his head bent and hands folded in courtier fashion. Yet he does. Does his liege not eschew form for function to all their chagrin? Would she not be glad to see him so corrupted? Would she not look at him then?]
It is good that you were not forced to defend yourself.
[He ventures the faintest of smiles for her, and a truth as unshakeable as the Mandate of Heaven as she stumbles.]
Kei waits tirelessly for her ruler to return.
["Taiho," the restless voice of Hankyo cuts through the atmosphere. "Someone is here." Warning. Readied. Wanting an order. The movement of the door drawing grave attention. It makes Keiki's shoulders straighten, preparing to give instructions to his shirei to intercede when Hyouki, too long quiet in this reunion, lackadaisically adds, "It's just the boy, Taiho." A confusing addition. The boy? What boy? Had his mistress picked up yet another stray?
No.
For all he was made to love, for all the kirin stands as benevolence incarnate, there are none who would accuse him of understanding the many facets of a human heart. That was the grand undoing of Yo-ou and Kei herself, with his careless words and sympathies. Yet he could never be deaf to the pain in his empress' voice.]
[The look on Youko's face should tell him everything he needs to know. The glassy eyes that match has own should answer every question that's been racing through his mind since he heard that first clap of thunder. But, it's seeing the man standing behind her that varifies all his assumptions.
Once he's locked eyes with the man, he can't seem to return his gaze to Youko. Maybe he's hoping his silent sorrow will persuade the man to let her stay just a bit longer. Or maybe he can't bear to see anymore of that same look on her face. When his voice finally returns, it's uncharacteristically quiet.]
...can I at least say goodbye to her, first?
[Spoken weakly, pleadingly to the man, as if he's forgotten she's the one who leads their world.]
[Straightening up, Keiki stands to his full height, his posture returning to form, the Saiho of Kei himself. He studies the interloper, the boy as his shirei supplied, silently, expression like an impassive porcelain mask with amethysts set in the sockets.
In truth, there is something unsettling about him and the kirin cannot quite place what it is. He never lingered in Hourai long enough to grow used to the people dotting its shores; even those of around his empress back then were little more than dark blurs beside her blinding aura. It isn't until he fully takes in the wretched, beggared cast to those dark, pleading eyes that the realization strikes him through. He is similar to Taiki when they fished him through and brought him home again, tainted with blood and sorrow, bearing a pitifully shorn mane. A broken kokki. It is frightful to see the shadow of a brother here, now.
The question makes him stiffen in place, his brow creasing. It is an audacious request to make, and a foolish one. An uncharitable thought — Had there not been time enough in all the months Kei was bereft her? — pollutes his mind. The only thing keeping a rebuke from tumbling full-throated from Keiki's mouth is the rigid set to shoulders before him, tight with fear. Reminiscent of another day, one surrounded in broken glass and lacking in time. One with missteps that shaped too much and damned too many.
Patience. Caution.]
We cannot tarry here. [A sigh hisses through his teeth.] Be swift.
[He should be glad to hear that the man wasn't going to rip her away from him while he struggled to reach out for one last farewell. Perhaps just brushing her fingertips with his outstretched hand while the unrelenting wind rushed through the windows and plucked her up — or however the transition would go. But Keiki's restriction on how long Bandou has to say his goodbyes does little to quell any anxiety swelling in his chest. It's an understandable reply, given Youko's royal standing and the amount of time she's been away from the responsibilities associated with ruling an entire kingdom. But, he'd hoped to hear something more akin to: 'Of course, take your time'. Or, at minimum a: 'As long as we leave before nightfall'.
No. The reality that he'll have no more than a brief moment stabs through his chest like an icy blade, piercing and extinguishing the core of red flame that proudly resides there. Before he can even shift his gaze down to Youko, his eyes have welled with tears, blurring her beautiful features from view.
He's always been the emotional one in his group. The weakest, the most likely to hesitate despite his loyalty, but not one of clanmates could mock him for succumbing to his sorrow in this moment. As he reaches out to take her into his arms and sob against her shoulder. There are words he needs to speak, as well, but right now they're caught in his throat, silenced by whimpers and hitches of breath.]
[We cannot tarry here. Be swift. That pronouncement cuts deeply, clean through her lungs, leaving her feeling swimmy and like she can't get a deep enough breath.
Arms surround her and pull her in and panic takes her, floods her, lances straight to her heart, fingertips turning stiff and cold as Bandou collapses against her shoulder. She takes a few short, harsh breaths as he sobs against her, shaking hands mechanically settling against his back, hot tears rolling freely and silently down her face, catching on the curve of her open, wordless mouth.
All Youko wants is time. She has an abundance of it ahead of her, if she doesn't ruin everything, so why can't she take some now, here? Why hasn't she asked him again, revisited what she had once teased — 'You could come with me?' — with the genuine weight of what she feels behind it. Why hadn't she asked? Her fingernails dig into the clothing on his back, clawing in to try to stop the shaking. How is she even meant to begin this goodbye?]
[Sniffling, Bandou forces himself to pull away. He rubs his eyes with the back of his forearm. Where are his hoodie and shades to hide all this emotion? While Youko wouldn't judge him for getting this way, he can only assume what Keiki is thinking. Surely that he's in no way worthy of the affections of his Empress. She deserves someone strong who can handle this scenario with logic and self control. Right now, he almost feels guilty for the tears he sees running down Youko's cheeks.
Standing up straighter, he attempts to calm himself enough to speak without his voice cracking.]
[There is a cruelty in being a kirin. The joy of one's ruler becomes your own delight, their displeasure your discomfort, their sorrow your dread. The sound of her tears hitting tile is likely inaudible to anyone else, especially over the din of the abnormal storm, but each droplet strikes like a cymbal for Keiki, sharp and shrill, reverberating. His eyes study the shift of her shoulders as she struggles to breathe under the tears, mouth thinning into a crescent, the faintest unease coloring his expression. When was the last time she had let her guard down enough around him to cry?
Had she cried in her frustration, when they had argued and she'd stormed away from Gyouten, determined to learn by herself beyond the palace walls? Or was it far before then, when they were still strangers and he'd put the sword in her hand? She allowed herself less tears than her predecessor did, even at half the reign. Maybe that is why seeing it is so striking even beyond the tension created in the tether between them.
So striking he nearly misses the boy addressing him.
Keiki regards him with a heavy look, this boy from Hourai, the pale shadow of Taiki with teary eyes and a reed thin voice and all together the wrong proportions, brows furrowing at the request made. For privacy. An improper thing to ask in the improper manner, revealing too much of what his shirei haven't relayed, though the emotions wrapped around him warrant Keiki's sympathy and he cannot begrudge him for it. Not in the slightest, even if he cannot grant what he has been asked for.]
If we delay further, the damage to this place will grow. [There is a softness to his words this time, as he attempts to dampen the blow and articulate the details he instinctively feels. How this isn't the same shore she came from. The resistance that was felt as he slipped across. The tearing of fabric that bore the shoku.] We cannot know how much. This is a divergent instance.
[Be swift. Be swift. Be swift. Be swift. Be swift. The words thud in her mind in time to her heartbeat. The feeling of Bandou pulling away, slipping out her fingers even by centimeters makes her startle, hands closing tighter around what little purchase she still has. Desperate to keep that link. She watches him numbly, how he tries to pull himself together, stands taller, and the question he asks her kirin.
The request Keiki denies, as gently as he is like to. A denial she understands as his compassion for this place, for its people, which she cannot bring herself to disagree with. To spare the people too much suffering even if it has to hurt them. That this has to be it. To staunch the bleeding her exit will cause in this divergent world. A world dissimilar enough from the Japan she came from to resist even a kirin slipping through.
A piece of her whispers it, dark and greedy, clever in ways she doesn't think of herself and cowardly in ways she tries so hard to purge, but it's right there. That is enough. Wrapped in the truth of a storm he shouldn't have caused, couldn't have. He came himself. He didn't get help. Listen, listen, listen. It would only take the words and the hard-won breath in her lungs. The authority of her throne, the arrogance of an empress.
A stay of execution, just long enough to build a funeral pyre for this love, but—]
[Another pang in his chest at Keiki's reply. He has to look away from the man who seems incapable of fathoming just how attached Bandou's become. Since the moment she first bothered to sit beside him at a bus stop and give him an informative lecture on how to properly treat a nose bleed, to the rush of confidence and goosebumps he had when she recognized him behind the counter at his job and took on a relieved smile hearing he was feeling better. From pillow forts to sandcastles, each named for their union. From first times to an ever lengthening list of other firsts to share. Should he even bother trying to explain? To get him to understand just why this moment is so difficult for him?
There's no point, he thinks. Until Youko finally speaks a command he wasn't expecting, in the slightest. Tears ceasing, he stares wide-eyed at her before his gaze flicks back up to the man. And before Keiki can respond he finds himself raising his hands in protest.]
Wait, wh-what??
[He'd been pleading with Keiki this whole time, completely forgetting that Youko holds the reigns here. And was Youko implying she'd stay? Leave her empire behind? Right now, he can't think of another interpretation of her order. As is the usual with his emotions, they've spun completely around, flipping him from a sulking mess to confused and panic ridden.]
N-no, Youko, you...you can't do that! Not, not for me!
[He's not worth that. If it was the other way around...would he leave HOMRA? Could he? His thoughts hesitate in bringing him an answer to that sudden, intrusive question. After all, a small found family disguised as a ruthless street gang is nothing in comparison to the masses of an entire kingdom who rely on her for guidance and protection. And even he's not petty enough to claim he deserves her attention more.]
[Those words drive the breath from his lungs and seed alarm in his heart. Return to Kei? Certainly not. He cannot leave her, she cannot refuse to return, she knows this. What under Heaven would possess her to say such a thing? He dimly hears the boy — 'Saburouta'; she called him 'Saburouta' — vacillating between two outbursts at her words, one of confusion and one of protestation, clearly as blindsided as Keiki feels. He cannot see the intention behind her words not yet an order.
It is enough to drive him past propriety, stepping directly to her side and into her sight. Any shred of neutrality he bore is eliminated with the decision, all serenity and grace and composure struck from his countenance, replaced with dismay and hurt. Voice raised in a strange choir harmony with all Saburouta has said.]
Your Majesty! You cannot mean that, you must not—
[Abdicate. That cannot be her intention, she would not surely, she will not—!]
[It isn't hard to guess after all their time together what thoughts might be filling his head, fueling his capricious emotions in this charged moment. At seeing that panic overtake him, Youko releases the death-grip she has on his shirt, letting her hands draw back to catch his palms. An interstice in what she has to do, while the objections from her kirin fall on deaf ears.]
Saburouta, please... don't misunderstand. [Softly and furtively spoken, as if for his ears only, with a squeeze of his hands and as much false strength as she can put behind her brittle smile.] There is no version of this story where I don't go back.
[To betray the Mandate of Heaven is to leave the Way. To stray from the Way is a path to death. To abdicate her throne is welcoming death. Just some of those hundreds of little intricacies she has tried to tell him before about her life, her duty.
The arrogance of an empress. It isn't a natural thing for her to tap into at the best of moments, but she reaches for it now all the same, buffeted by Bandou's shock and Keiki's horror. Bleeds away all the tenderness for that register of command that doesn't fully fit on her tongue, the prideful stature of someone chosen, dominance. Her still weeping eyes, made as sharp as she can manage with tears clinging to her lashes, find Keiki there in the hollow at her side and that low, still foreign-to-her imperious voice slips free. A call for silence, for obedience.]
Return to Kei. [The directive, repeated.] You will petition Ren for assistance in my retrieval. [The objective. A bid for diplomacy.] Across the Void Sea or here, neither place will escape unscathed if I leave with you now. This place and people bear enough scars, which I'm certain you've seen. I do not wish to cause more harm and grief than I must. [The rationale. A demand for a show of the depths of a kirin's compassion.] If Ren cannot spare Ren Taiho and the Gogoukanda, I will accept the responsibility for what must be inflicted both Here and There. [The concession. A fail-safe.] That is my command.
[Lastly, the order. A cruel test of the oath her kirin swore to her, but one Youko administers all the same.]
[Her words to him, he'd find them beautifully poetic if it weren't the last thing he'd hoped to hear. Even protesting a moment earlier, outwardly announcing and inwardly degrading himself to something that couldn't begin to compare to the importance of the people she governs. Well, it's obvious by his eyes flooding once more what he really hoped for. He wants to be petty in this moment. Complain and reference every instance in his past where he was never the one chosen. Never the golden child that was given love and respect. He wants to be the most important and cherished thing by someone. By her. But he simply can't be that selfish.
None of the orders Youko speaks to Keiki make sense to him, names and terms that sound beyond foreign to his ears. But he's too caught up in all the conflicting voices in his head to try to decipher it. He pulls his hands free from Youko's grasp, hoping he can banish the self depreciating thoughts from his mind by wiping away the tears that flow down his reddened cheeks.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Rain would be heard pattering against the window of his apartment, or perhaps a customer to the bar would step in to shed their wet coat by the door before ordering a drink, and Bandou would quickly flip to his phone's weather app, sighing in relief when the forecast showed expected rain amounts for the day.
But today is different. It's wrong. The wind sounds fiercer. Sirens from passing emergency vehicles ring in his ears. And when he opens his news feed, countless streams flood in with reporters highlighting this strange, sudden, unprecedented change in weather patterns.
Bandou's up and sprinting out the door before he can think, shouhei shouting after him that it's not safe to go outside. But that doesn't matter to him now. Finding Youko, making certain she's still here with him, that's all he can think of.
By the time he's at her door, he's completely out of breath, soaked and shivering due to the cold rain and biting wind. There's no hat or shades, just whatever he frantically climbed out of bed in. If she's there, she'll hear each bang at her door accompanied by a desperate call of her name.]
no subject
Like a thunderhead descending, the dread follows her from the dream, a pressure front blooming behind her eyes. A foreboding, sinking feeling of destiny. What should be joy overflowing, an impending homecoming, are ashes in her mouth. There are voices. Even if she can't make out the words, she can feel their meaning. The shirei are rejoicing. Their master found his master. They will go home.
Dimly, she knows she needs to find her phone. Her palm searches blindly on her bedsheets for it, eyes turning glassy as she watches the shoku rage. She needs— she has to tell— she promised him she would—
Like a roll of thunder, sound returns, cutting through the storm and her fear. The insistant banging of a fist against her door. The call of a name, her name, in a voice she loves, she loves so, so dearly. There's no stopping the tears.
Saburouta.
Forcing herself to her feet takes effort, her legs feeling weak and ready to give out with the next strike of lightning, but she gets up. Bandou is just beyond the door, just beyond the voice that feels buried beneath her starving lungs. She moves towards the door in mechanical steps, like dragging herself through a mire one measured pace at a time, hand out, searching. Seeking. Her fingers reach the door first, wrapping around the cold metal handle, twisting, unlatching. Close. Closer.
A wind more gentle than the storm outside sweeps over her shoulders, carrying the brine of the sea and the thin scent of incense. She doesn't need to turn to feel who stands at her back, eyes on the set of her shoulders.
The name is bitter on her tongue even as it drips off like honey.]
Keiki...
no subject
The hakuchi didn't cry out for her a second time, did not announce a death he could not have wished for less, so he did not despair. He held her nascent court together with her trusted retainers, a panicked baby bird in the palm of his hands, and he hunted in the only arena allowed by his nature. To the ends of the earth, he would chase her.
His shirei slipped through the folds of the world again and again, bridging him between Here and There, fanning out, seeking a sign of their master's master. It had been fruitless for so, so long. An empty ache set beneath the ribs, ever-present. An unspoken prayer for news, a single trace of her, the set of her eyes in a temper, the flare of red silk in a crowd.
It was Jakko — the least likely of all his shirei — that had caught her trail. A shard of glass in the sand, yet a face unmistakable in the overwhelming surge of the city. It was enough to slip through himself, not waiting to petition Ren for the regalia they retrieved Taiki with, not waiting a moment longer than he was forced to, his form shifting, liquid through the barrier.
It was impossible not to see her once he raced through the clouds above the city. The aura of his chosen. Hers a golden light in a sea of grey shadows, a beacon to chase down from the heavens. The only treasure worthy the discord he carried on his heels.
Like following the sun, he plunged down, down through the tumult, a tailwind carrying him to her, carrying him through the seams in her chambers, the kirin dissipating as his feet meet the floor. To leave him as she knew him best. To leave his voice thick with an uncountable feeling as she speaks his name.]
Your Majesty.
[The thousand thousands of things he has wanted to say these months abandon him at the jubilation he feels with his empress before his very eyes. The stiffness of his language could not be further from the emotion beneath his restrained exterior, only the dignities of her rank keeping him from going directly to her side.]
I am relieved to find you unstained by blood this time.
no subject
You...ko...
[The call of her name softens, overcome by the tears that fall. Of course, of course this would happen to him. He finds someone who truly loves him for him, finds actual acceptance and happiness, and it's grabbed away from him before he can even give her an overly emotional goodbye.
But, then there's the rattle of locks, the shimmer of the fluorescent lights reflecting off the door knob as it slowly turns. Bandou's glassy, uncovered eyes widen, until a phase is heard spoken, just beyond the small crack the door had opened.
Your Majesty.
Not spoken the way Youko's sword wielding tiger had, gruff with an underlining malice. But, stoic with an air of relief. Someone was here to retrieve her.
Bandou steadies his breath as much as he can and reaches to slowly push the door open.]
no subject
I haven't... needed to...
[To fight. Not really. Not like before. It isn't a place like the no man's land she crossed between Kou and En. There are no predators at her heels, no one calling for her blood, within or without. A shaky breath.]
Is Kei—
['In shambles,' is what she means to ask. Or maybe it was meant to be, 'suffering because of me?' That is part of the guilt crushing her. The destructive weight of a throne, the desertion she has selfishly enjoyed. The question falls apart as the door swings slowly open, metal pushing back against her fingers, revealing the other part.
Her eyes drag up to find teary ones through the crack, and her heart plummets, a far longer fall than that cliffside overlooking the sea once upon a time.]
Saburouta...
no subject
It is improper to approach without her leave, improper to step to her side, even with his head bent and hands folded in courtier fashion. Yet he does. Does his liege not eschew form for function to all their chagrin? Would she not be glad to see him so corrupted? Would she not look at him then?]
It is good that you were not forced to defend yourself.
[He ventures the faintest of smiles for her, and a truth as unshakeable as the Mandate of Heaven as she stumbles.]
Kei waits tirelessly for her ruler to return.
["Taiho," the restless voice of Hankyo cuts through the atmosphere. "Someone is here." Warning. Readied. Wanting an order. The movement of the door drawing grave attention. It makes Keiki's shoulders straighten, preparing to give instructions to his shirei to intercede when Hyouki, too long quiet in this reunion, lackadaisically adds, "It's just the boy, Taiho." A confusing addition. The boy? What boy? Had his mistress picked up yet another stray?
No.
For all he was made to love, for all the kirin stands as benevolence incarnate, there are none who would accuse him of understanding the many facets of a human heart. That was the grand undoing of Yo-ou and Kei herself, with his careless words and sympathies. Yet he could never be deaf to the pain in his empress' voice.]
no subject
Once he's locked eyes with the man, he can't seem to return his gaze to Youko. Maybe he's hoping his silent sorrow will persuade the man to let her stay just a bit longer. Or maybe he can't bear to see anymore of that same look on her face. When his voice finally returns, it's uncharacteristically quiet.]
...can I at least say goodbye to her, first?
[Spoken weakly, pleadingly to the man, as if he's forgotten she's the one who leads their world.]
no subject
In truth, there is something unsettling about him and the kirin cannot quite place what it is. He never lingered in Hourai long enough to grow used to the people dotting its shores; even those of around his empress back then were little more than dark blurs beside her blinding aura. It isn't until he fully takes in the wretched, beggared cast to those dark, pleading eyes that the realization strikes him through. He is similar to Taiki when they fished him through and brought him home again, tainted with blood and sorrow, bearing a pitifully shorn mane. A broken kokki. It is frightful to see the shadow of a brother here, now.
The question makes him stiffen in place, his brow creasing. It is an audacious request to make, and a foolish one. An uncharitable thought — Had there not been time enough in all the months Kei was bereft her? — pollutes his mind. The only thing keeping a rebuke from tumbling full-throated from Keiki's mouth is the rigid set to shoulders before him, tight with fear. Reminiscent of another day, one surrounded in broken glass and lacking in time. One with missteps that shaped too much and damned too many.
Patience. Caution.]
We cannot tarry here. [A sigh hisses through his teeth.] Be swift.
no subject
No. The reality that he'll have no more than a brief moment stabs through his chest like an icy blade, piercing and extinguishing the core of red flame that proudly resides there. Before he can even shift his gaze down to Youko, his eyes have welled with tears, blurring her beautiful features from view.
He's always been the emotional one in his group. The weakest, the most likely to hesitate despite his loyalty, but not one of clanmates could mock him for succumbing to his sorrow in this moment. As he reaches out to take her into his arms and sob against her shoulder. There are words he needs to speak, as well, but right now they're caught in his throat, silenced by whimpers and hitches of breath.]
no subject
Arms surround her and pull her in and panic takes her, floods her, lances straight to her heart, fingertips turning stiff and cold as Bandou collapses against her shoulder. She takes a few short, harsh breaths as he sobs against her, shaking hands mechanically settling against his back, hot tears rolling freely and silently down her face, catching on the curve of her open, wordless mouth.
All Youko wants is time. She has an abundance of it ahead of her, if she doesn't ruin everything, so why can't she take some now, here? Why hasn't she asked him again, revisited what she had once teased — 'You could come with me?' — with the genuine weight of what she feels behind it. Why hadn't she asked? Her fingernails dig into the clothing on his back, clawing in to try to stop the shaking. How is she even meant to begin this goodbye?]
no subject
Standing up straighter, he attempts to calm himself enough to speak without his voice cracking.]
Can we go be alone for a few minutes, at least?
no subject
Had she cried in her frustration, when they had argued and she'd stormed away from Gyouten, determined to learn by herself beyond the palace walls? Or was it far before then, when they were still strangers and he'd put the sword in her hand? She allowed herself less tears than her predecessor did, even at half the reign. Maybe that is why seeing it is so striking even beyond the tension created in the tether between them.
So striking he nearly misses the boy addressing him.
Keiki regards him with a heavy look, this boy from Hourai, the pale shadow of Taiki with teary eyes and a reed thin voice and all together the wrong proportions, brows furrowing at the request made. For privacy. An improper thing to ask in the improper manner, revealing too much of what his shirei haven't relayed, though the emotions wrapped around him warrant Keiki's sympathy and he cannot begrudge him for it. Not in the slightest, even if he cannot grant what he has been asked for.]
If we delay further, the damage to this place will grow. [There is a softness to his words this time, as he attempts to dampen the blow and articulate the details he instinctively feels. How this isn't the same shore she came from. The resistance that was felt as he slipped across. The tearing of fabric that bore the shoku.] We cannot know how much. This is a divergent instance.
no subject
The request Keiki denies, as gently as he is like to. A denial she understands as his compassion for this place, for its people, which she cannot bring herself to disagree with. To spare the people too much suffering even if it has to hurt them. That this has to be it. To staunch the bleeding her exit will cause in this divergent world. A world dissimilar enough from the Japan she came from to resist even a kirin slipping through.
A piece of her whispers it, dark and greedy, clever in ways she doesn't think of herself and cowardly in ways she tries so hard to purge, but it's right there. That is enough. Wrapped in the truth of a storm he shouldn't have caused, couldn't have. He came himself. He didn't get help. Listen, listen, listen. It would only take the words and the hard-won breath in her lungs. The authority of her throne, the arrogance of an empress.
A stay of execution, just long enough to build a funeral pyre for this love, but—]
Keiki. Return... to Kei.
no subject
There's no point, he thinks. Until Youko finally speaks a command he wasn't expecting, in the slightest. Tears ceasing, he stares wide-eyed at her before his gaze flicks back up to the man. And before Keiki can respond he finds himself raising his hands in protest.]
Wait, wh-what??
[He'd been pleading with Keiki this whole time, completely forgetting that Youko holds the reigns here. And was Youko implying she'd stay? Leave her empire behind? Right now, he can't think of another interpretation of her order. As is the usual with his emotions, they've spun completely around, flipping him from a sulking mess to confused and panic ridden.]
N-no, Youko, you...you can't do that! Not, not for me!
[He's not worth that. If it was the other way around...would he leave HOMRA? Could he? His thoughts hesitate in bringing him an answer to that sudden, intrusive question. After all, a small found family disguised as a ruthless street gang is nothing in comparison to the masses of an entire kingdom who rely on her for guidance and protection. And even he's not petty enough to claim he deserves her attention more.]
no subject
It is enough to drive him past propriety, stepping directly to her side and into her sight. Any shred of neutrality he bore is eliminated with the decision, all serenity and grace and composure struck from his countenance, replaced with dismay and hurt. Voice raised in a strange choir harmony with all Saburouta has said.]
Your Majesty! You cannot mean that, you must not—
[Abdicate. That cannot be her intention, she would not surely, she will not—!]
We must return!
no subject
Saburouta, please... don't misunderstand. [Softly and furtively spoken, as if for his ears only, with a squeeze of his hands and as much false strength as she can put behind her brittle smile.] There is no version of this story where I don't go back.
[To betray the Mandate of Heaven is to leave the Way. To stray from the Way is a path to death. To abdicate her throne is welcoming death. Just some of those hundreds of little intricacies she has tried to tell him before about her life, her duty.
The arrogance of an empress. It isn't a natural thing for her to tap into at the best of moments, but she reaches for it now all the same, buffeted by Bandou's shock and Keiki's horror. Bleeds away all the tenderness for that register of command that doesn't fully fit on her tongue, the prideful stature of someone chosen, dominance. Her still weeping eyes, made as sharp as she can manage with tears clinging to her lashes, find Keiki there in the hollow at her side and that low, still foreign-to-her imperious voice slips free. A call for silence, for obedience.]
Return to Kei. [The directive, repeated.] You will petition Ren for assistance in my retrieval. [The objective. A bid for diplomacy.] Across the Void Sea or here, neither place will escape unscathed if I leave with you now. This place and people bear enough scars, which I'm certain you've seen. I do not wish to cause more harm and grief than I must. [The rationale. A demand for a show of the depths of a kirin's compassion.] If Ren cannot spare Ren Taiho and the Gogoukanda, I will accept the responsibility for what must be inflicted both Here and There. [The concession. A fail-safe.] That is my command.
[Lastly, the order. A cruel test of the oath her kirin swore to her, but one Youko administers all the same.]
no subject
None of the orders Youko speaks to Keiki make sense to him, names and terms that sound beyond foreign to his ears. But he's too caught up in all the conflicting voices in his head to try to decipher it. He pulls his hands free from Youko's grasp, hoping he can banish the self depreciating thoughts from his mind by wiping away the tears that flow down his reddened cheeks.]