#allbutwrong

The storm had hit them before they had been able to move away from the graveyard, the golden light of the sun rays transforming into penumbra far too quickly. They could try to reach the Inn, of course, but a quick glance to the sky, covered completely in gray and purple, told them that they ought to wait it out. The wind whispered a similar wish when Atsu reached for it, trying o discern where it hailed from: far too unpredictable for her to feel comfortable within the storm.

At the end, the lonesome figure of the home that had hosted them before seemed the most appealing answer to the situation they were in.

"We can go inside. Wait for the storm to stop and travel in a few hours."

Oyuki had moved forward into the home, quickly readying the lights as Atsu moved the horses closer as well; the last thing they needed was losing one -the thought of needing to share one horse with Oyuki pressing against her eyelids as she had grabbed both saddlebags with nothing but a grunt escaping her lips the moment she had entered the now slightly warmer space Oyuki kept on fussing about with eyes moving from shadow to shadow, corner to corner, as if studying how much or how little the place itself had changed.

And it had clearly been used. Atsu was able to see the pieces of wood, the way they were pushed against one of the walls, the way it all was covered in dust but not as much as it would have had the place been abandoned ever they had left the place. She cleared her throat as she put the saddlebags down, arching an eyebrow as Oyuki looked up, face still angled down.

A rush shooting throug her veins, nervousness present in the way Atsu felt the palms of her hands prickle with unspent energy. A mounting need to speak.

Damn it all.

"Have you been staying here?"

A stupid question. It was obvious she had, when she had not been with them. Not like Oyuki needed to explain herself. Not like Atsu was requesting to really know it, was she?

The musician nodded in response as she stood, helping out with the saddlebags and pointing to the outside with one finger.

"It's been a while since I visited though. And it seems like we are about to spend some hours here before we are able to return"

Atsu did not reply to that. A side of her brain, the one focused in the future and version of herself that was not the lone wolf she had nursed herself to be but rather the person she was still learning to be, wondering whether Kiku would grow worried as hours passed. At this rate they would probably not be able to return until proper nighttime and the way the wind was howling, it felt like they would probably stay until morning came.

Which, on itself, would not be a problem.

And yet.

"It will be fine. She is in good hands."

Atsu blinked, noticing the closeness of Oyuki as the woman eyed her, tilted head, narrowed eyes. She did not move away, was not a child, was able to behave herself, but she still felt the rush once more coiling around her heart, making her movements clunky in a way she felt was far too noticeable for the sharp gaze of the former shinobi.

"Just hope we are able to reach the inn before night falls."

-------------

Wind howling, darkness outside the hut. Atsu had already moved to her preferred spot, on the furthest wall, clear sight of the door with Oyuki sitting in the middle of the room, shamisen in hand. They had conversed, of course they had, but it had been some time since they had been alone with each other and Atsu was able to feel the pinprick-like twitch of her tongue as more and more time passed. The kind of energy she felt shifting around both her and Oyuki. A tension the older woman seemed completely impervious to.

Oyuki had wondered and asked if Atsu wanted to play with her. An offer the younger woman would have accepted if she felt her hands would be steady enough for the notes to be as clear as they deserved to be. She had made a noncommittal grunt, one that had pushed a smile on Oyuki's lips as the woman knew what was going on inside her mind.

Which would be impossible, of course. Atsu knew Oyuki's abilities did not come from the supernatural. That much had been obvious,she had been taught by her, after all.

Who said, however, that the former Kitsune had not shared what kept her a spirit, what kept her away from mortal life.

Atsu shook her head as Oyuki kept on carefully looking through every surface of the shamisen, readying it. Silence strung like one of the cords if the instrument, taut and present and the younger woman steeled herself as her eyes kept spying Oyuki's every movement, the way her fingers curled over the neck of the instrument, position it against her collarbone as she studied it. And Atsu's eyes floated towards those hands, the way they moved, fingertips almost floating over the surface of the shamisen's neck, never strangling it. She felt the pull of moving up, towards Oyuki's face, the way her collarbone was just slightly accentuated at the edge of her clothes, still covered but not truly with the way the older woman's body was angled.

And Atsu knew she ought to look away. There was no reason for her to keep staring, no music to still lose herself into. If Kiku had not pointedly mentioned time alone between the two of them she might have been able to play the instrument herself, to maybe even care and tend for her swords, to paint…

Painting. An act that needed as much quietness and tranquility as music did and one she now knew her treacherous hands might botcher if she tried to. Yet her mind was already conjuring the strokes, the way she would prepare the ink-stick, the brush. She didn't need to think on what she would paint. She had been doing the same strokes from memory more times than she was prepared to admit after all; the whole exercise making the whole art moot since memory would never compare the reality of the living object she kept on returning to.

She sucked on her teeth, feeling moments transform into seconds, with a still slowly moving Oyuki, her profile illuminated enough for Atsu to consider the gradient of grays she would use, the way she would halt on each curve of her nose, her lips. Sumi-e were based on the simplicity of the movement, on the capture of the spirit beyond the image shown within the painting. Atsu had long ago accepted that the part of Oyuki she longed to capture was the promise of a future dangling on the corner of those lips. She was still working through how that very same promise would look like as a request from her side. Whether that request would be answered on the affirmative.

And so she painted. Compulsively. Memories transforming into something foggier, dreamier. She would, however, always start with the same loop, the one that allowed her to show the vaguest form of Oyuki's hair, the shape of her neck, the way her shoulders sat just below. Eyes never forward, however, sideway glances that were never finished as the brush would halt when the detail transformed into something far too personal for Atsu to finish it.

She had told herself that it all resided on the question itself, the request and the premise of the future she had found herself wanting. Longing for. She was almost sure that she had seen a similar glint in Oyuki's eyes in the way the woman would come back and back again, would pretend and then stay with just the easiest laughs and just two fingers touching her forearms in the quickest succession as a way of grounding Atsu when her mind turned murky and full. She had told herself that if she asked she would get a response, but it all made her pause the moment she felt the question about to leave her lips.

It would make it real, it would make it far too much and far too honest and far too open to injury was she wrong about her assessment.

And so she painted. Going over the motions like when she learnt new weapons, over and over again sans the last one, the one that would uplift the rest of the movements, the one that would finish the piece.

She felt, rather than heard, the wind howling once again, the snow hitting the outside the hut, now transformed into soft yet loud hail. It felt like someone outside crying for her to move but Atsu pressed the soles of her feet against the floor as she feigned tranquility, as her eyes kept on staring, as her mind was full with the ways she would move the brush, as she would halt on Oyuki's smile, the way she would let the brush get as much ink as possible only so she was able to focus on the shading, in the way the thicker portion of the paint would flow away as she waited for the ink to dry.

Would the real moment allow her time to kiss the point in where the neck met the musician's shoulder? Would that smear the ink?

She was only half-doubtful on whether Oyuki would complain against it but that was enough for her heartbeat to falter for a moment as she wind outside stilled.

"You could simply ask me."

A second, two. Surprise rounding her eyes as Atsu glanced up from where her irises had traveled south through the older woman's figure. Oyuki's eyes were on her, body twisted slightly as the shamisen rested at an angle, narrow side of the neck against shoulder, bottom side on her upper thighs.

It felt quiet. A moment taken out of one of the songs that sometimes came to Atsu's mind, the kind of ones that escaped her fingers, had escaped, bleeding through.

"What would I ask?"

Oyuki let out a sigh through her nose, soft yet short, as patience was beginning to run thin. Atsu knew the question itself lacked the wit she usually sported when it came to the older woman but she felt tongue tied in the way Oyuki kept on tilting her head, the way she let out a soft hum that sounded half musical note, half a response that Atsu was still doubtful enough how to shape before reaching through.

Atsu then watched, feet still firmly planted, arms crossed in front of her chest, own fingers curled over her biceps, as Oyuki put the instrument down, the hollow sound it created quickly swallowed by the walls that surrounded them both. She kept on watching as the older woman stood and walked closer, feet light. Would have they been outside Atsu briefly wondered if she would have been hunted. She found herself not quite bothered by the idea.

"If I can stand still enough for you to paint me, of course."

It was Atsu's time to laugh softly now. Of course Oyuki would not make it simple, would not give her the easy way out. And she felt the nerves, creeping up through her spine. But she also felt at ease, recognized in the way Oyuki kept on eyeing her, waiting for her to speak. And hadn't she done this before?

"What makes you think I would need for you to be still?"

That gave Oyuki pause. Had they been sparring Atsu felt confident enough on imagining she would have won here. One for Oyuki, one for her.

Now, who would break the tie they had positioned themselves in.

Oyuki took another step towards her, this time half one away from Atsu's chest. Close, far too close maybe but they had been closer, hadn't them not? And Atsu could still picture the way Oyuki's hands had felt on hers to prompt any sudden movements.

"It depends on how much of me you have already memorized, of course."

Oyuki won that bout.

Atsu's eyes lowered once more, watching as Oyuki reached for her hands. She allowed her posture to be untangled but moved her hands away at the last possible second so the weight of Oyuki's center was displaced enough for her to be able to pull the older woman closer than what she had planned originally.

"That depends I guess, on how detailed you wish me be."

It was easy, to lose oneself in the flirting, Not that easy when Oyuki moved along the momentum created by Atsu, lips parting as her teeth clicked together. Close, closer.

And it was a question, one simple one to make and Atsu knew the response to it, could feel the words about to jump out of Oyuki's eyes and the wind tied them together in a storm of snow and hail but she still felt just as she had when holding the half-way iced leave; about to watch something delicate to be melted if she pressed for long enough. How much would she allow herself to lose, though, when they had already missed so much time.

Oyuki moved away just as Atsu's hands reached forward.

"Pick your brush," She called, turning back to her shamisen "Let's see how detailed you can be"

--------------

It's later when Atsu asks how Oyuki had known.

"Kiku found some of your drawings, decided to push things so this stalemate stopped."

Oyuki ended up moving first, low, to the ground, chain slipping between her fingers as she allowed the sickle to move first, grazing the frozen ground and Atsu felt her body move in tandem as if responding to a silent command that had  not truly been uttered; as if a permission had been granted in a way that her bite onto the inside of her mouth. She felt open, far too open, as if the movements she had cultivated over the years were rusty and childlike; a wooden katana that would do nothing against the icy grin of the shinobi's poison.

She was able to hear it, she thought, the roaring fire that had circled their ginko tree like a halo: the inferno that had been created around what had been a haven. She wondered, briefly, as she crossed the distance just as Oyuki moved close enough for her breathing to be felt, for her senses to pick on the way the older woman's nerves seeped through the apparent composure, if she was the only one feeling the burning leaves floating around them as bit by bit, every part of her Home had been transformed into a grave. She knew the image to be a mirage. She knew she was standing miles away from the tree. 

Yet, when the katana struck, she saw the shilouette of a mask and the abscence of those eyes that had felt gentle in a way that made her skin blister with something different than the hunger and pain she had allowed herself to simmer in for so long.

She was unsure, she admitted as she roared, Oyuki's voice echoing, reminding her to breathe, to control it. She had been doubtful ever since leaving her brother behind, the pain of a life lived under a different curse marring the way he moved; a different way, a painful reminder of how she would never get to know who Jubei might have turned into if the Six had not visited them. And yet, her brother had claimed for a clear head, for time.  For hope and order and things that Atsu wanted to rebel against.

Rebeling felt good. Appropriate. Anger felt right. Warm.

Trusting felt difficult. Slippery. An open hole onto uncertain ground. 

The earth beneath her gave away as she slipped to her left, katana rising and falling, chain meeting blade, the tree burning, image blinking and transforming the charred red to purest white, dots of yellow the leaves that emitted the scent of rotting nature. The kind of one she had gotten to grow up with. Before. Before everything.

She had trusted. She had wanted to. She had searched for Oyuki time and time again, asking for information but willing to know more, to hover closer to a different source of light. One that would titillate rather than devour her memories whole.

She was slipping. The idea made her breathe harder, clench her jaw. She had requested for the spirit of the Onryō to embrace her, for nothing else to come out of her heart, for blood spilled and wounds suffered to not halt her. Her body had responded, her dreams filled with nightmares and screams of bodies that would dissolve as soon as she reached for them.

And yet. Jubei had not disappeared when they had recognized each other, the way his eyes had looked at her a painful reminder, however, that they had missed each other's change. A lesson that, if anything, would take years to unlearn as Atsu wondered if the look others inflicted on her, fear of what she was capable of doing, disgust at the stench of death that seemed to follow her, need for the way she moved her weapons, would ever not make her pause for the slightlest beat: she had requested for the Onryō's spirit. A mortal, however, would never truly be a concept for too long before the heart longed for something else.

And yet, Oyuki had never stared at her in the same way. If anything, resolution had been reflected back ever since she had asked for her name and whilst she had not asked, had not pried, she could have. Should have. An understanding that had frozen her back when she had, finally, stood in front of the new Kitsune and her had mocked her, requesting for the one single thing Atsu had realized, had filled her with fear.

The blade kept on hitting metal, her muscles screamed as her mind swam and she felt tears beginning to run.

She should have known. The idea kept on echoing inside her head when they both had escaped the lair, when Oyuki had finally allowed herself to move as she truly knew. She herself had pointed it out time and time again: how much the older woman knew. How helpful she was. 

"Do you know how to use the bow"

Had she not enjoyed the company, her mind had whispered with the poison and antidote both paralyizing her, the fire roaring, with Oyuki's back moving away, with rage biting her ankles like a rabid, hungry wold. Had she not allowed her mouth to curve and her lips to smirk, and her eyes to follow when the shamisen had been played. "The songbird of Ezo": the title she had not quite thought twice about the moment she had first heard it but had made her think of fluttering feathers and razor-like notes the moment she had heard the first note, had turned and allowed for her mind to still.

As if, she now thought, a frozen lake.

She heard the whistling sound of the kusarigama, not truly touching her but a warning and the mask's image disappeared only to leave Oyuki's face, lips parted as she jumped sideways, close enough for Atsu's mind to halfway form the idea that if she deposed her katana and extended her hand, her fingers would be able to graze the clothes she wore, the slight opening at her chest where fabric peeked.

She had mumbled about the tight kimono, had not quite expected to revel into the way the other woman had tightened the clothes once more, eyes roaming her body, lingering.  "Any looser, and they'll want more than sake."

Atsu had not replied to that, but the thought of the banter had been present as the wind had howled and the lake groaned under the weight of the ice it contained. 

She ought to have seen how the calluses on Oyuki's fingertips were telling enough, that spoke of something beyond the mere shamisen's use. She ought to have seen the way the older woman looked around them when they traveled through the wildnerness, how she moved and talked, how secrets were as important as silence to her.

Atsu had not wanted to follow the carefully left crumbs and she wondered if Oyuki had even been aware she had been leaving them in the first place. Not like it mattered.

A third time, a fourth. The fire kept on roaring, the tree kept on burning, the image of the Kitsune overlapped Oyuki's.

"I chose to save you"

Had she? Would have Atsu done the same herself?

(Yes, she would have. Still would. Would she?)

Atsu could feel her lungs closing in, sucking onto the air that surrounded her, the scent of the posion filling her up, inyecting itself into her muscles. 

"Resist, Atsu. Fight it."

A plea, one that did little to stop the metallic aftertaste of blood that did its best to rush as she powered her body forward, her need for revenge. 

A blink, a second longer and the cemetery was back, covered in snow and glimmering leaves, a yellow frame of soft light that fluttered as the notes of a faraway song grew stronger, strumming her heart ever forward.

And Atsu wanted to follow what the music and the notes promised her. A lull, a stasis. Despite the anger and the ire as well as the shame that had forced her to spit when she had realized that the woman that had accompanied her was the one she would eventually murder. She had believed to have something beyond the need to kill. A different kind of something she had found in Jubei: perfectly poised Jubei. 

Change. That was what she had seen when staring into Oyuki's eyes.

"Fight it."

"I can't"

She had believed she would be able to change. She had considered the possibility of something different happening, of one of the monsters that had transformed her life to be different. 

Was she wrong? Would she be wrong? What would it mean to consider that Oyuki was more than just the Kitsune. What would her mother think? 

The shamisen's song grew stronger as the fire's crackle echoed just behind. A once again forked path. One that made her nostrils burn with the scent of marred flesh, the scent of metal, of treating oils and warm hands. Of how those tools she revered had been transformed as well within the memory of another. 

"Saito branded you." A simple sentence, perhaps but not as simple on its execution. She wondered how much had Oyuki wanted to scream then. How much had she herself wanted to when she had realized that she needed to decide, as she had done, what to do with the promise she had been so sure about.

Was her resolution changing? What would become of the Onryō if she did?

The shamisen's music called for her, the crescendo of the notes overpowering, the shilouette of her mother, and the assuredness of how her feet had carried her back when she had been a child flashing back beneath her eyelids.

She had wanted to be able to turn back time, to protect. 

A feint, the blade, a yelp.

Oyuki knelt in front of her, her hands extended towards her weapon, mentally calculating if she would be fast enough. Atsu knew that she would. Probably. Maybe.

Would she?

Her breathing was laboured and her chest hurt, the wind had made the gas retreat over the tombs, the yellow and white muddled where their feet had tumbled. She was vaguely aware as well of the slight discomfort of where her armour dig onto her muscles, the way her right forearm had managed to absorb the majority of the strain that came from battling against sickle and chain. 

Oyuki looked like a bird, one about to fly away, to open wings and let the wind carry her. The image did not sit well with Atsu, the epithet, however, ringing ever true.

Blood dusted the underside of Oyuki's clothes, dropplets that might have been caused by either of them; Atsu did not truly feel her body behind her the metal she wore and she suspected it was the same for Oyuki but her eyes did not stop until she saw the small cuts of where the tip of the katana must have sliced and nicked. She had the medicine to treat some of those. Suspected Oyuki had the rest.

The cold was causing the blood to congeal already though, and as Oyuki moved to position her knees and her body weight against them, she allowed for her eyes to move back, to where they were met with a far too deep gentleness, a big enough understanding that made her tremble.

"Atsu" 

She had heard commoners speak the Onryō's title like a prayer. Oyuki said her real name in a way that made it feel even more revered. More powerful. 

A rush of blood and the image of the silent smile she had seen in Oyuki's eyes, the way she had felt her body wish for closeness, the way she had imagined, in a stupid, childish perhaps dream to show the older woman around her Home. To get to see her Home change. To see seasons and a time beyond the Six. 

"I will never forgive the Kitsune." She saw as Oyuki's head fell. Her lips felt like venom and yet a whisper, a wheeze of painful loss. 

She would never be able to forgive the mask. She knew as much. 

"But the innkeeper's daughter?"  Her hand grasped the katana ever so gently as she positioned the flat end of it against the bloodied clothes, the rush she felt as Oyuki's breath halted for a moment, as if forgetting how to draw the air around them void of fire or incense, full of the promise of yet more snow, enough to keep eyes trained onto the blade as she moved it back and up, towards the shash at her waist, towards the name she had not-so-long-ago written with the pure need for a corpse.

How many more corpses would haunt the one beneath the mask though. Monstruous was the adjective she had used when describing the six. Monstruos would be the one used for herself by those that warned of evil spirits to kids trying their best to live in a place about to disappear beneath the sound of soldiers sent by men powerful enough to believe themselves gods as opposed to parasites. She had found comfort on the term, had found solace in the idea of the mask being one and the same.  Yet, she thought as Oyuki looked back at her, waiting; how much did she want to get to see who the other was, truly was, beneath the title? "I might forgive her."