?These clothes are so strange,? she said, frowning doubtfully at the foreign fabric in her hands.

?I know, Tsuru, but it?s what is worn there. You have to be able to fit in.? The voice came from the other side of the paper screen, partially muffled by the rich colors of the painting on its surface. It depicted nine beautiful cranes in flight, their white wings with just a few black markings spread into the wind, and her gaze caught there for a long moment, lost. His voice brought her back into the moment. ?Are you sure you can do this??

She blew out a frustrated sigh, the short, sharp burst of her breath jostling thick jet black strands where they hung in her face. Resolving herself to the situation, Takara pulled the rough, slightly scratchy dark blue fabric over first one leg and then the other. Pulling the jeans up, her fingers fumbled inexpertly over the metal button, the strange toothy zipper that made it feel like these clothes were hungry, had a mouth that needed feeding. She shifted a little once she had them on, swaying on bare feet as she tried to acclimate herself to the restrictive garment. The young woman wrinkled her nose, bending her knees so she could adjust to the way it felt. ?Who else but me, Hitoshi?? Her voice, trained fruitlessly for so many years to be soft, carried with an authority, a defiance that was unusual in any woman, particularly one of her station.

?I speak the language better, I?m the one who taught all of you to read and write.? She went on, reciting the litany of reasons she was the best person for this assignment for maybe the hundredth time. ?I have the most need to be away. I can do this.? She paused, her brows creasing as she turned the shirt over in her hands and then turned it over again, trying to figure out how it worked. ?I will do this,? she amended, sounding firm.

The kimono she?d been wearing was draped over the top of the screen with a soft whisper of fabric and wood. Takara never thought she?d miss the cumbersome thing, but as first the pants and then the accompanying shirt and overshirt clung to her frame, she began to wonder if maybe the traditional garb was more sensible after all. She stepped out from behind the screen at last, and her arms were wrapped self consciously about her chest in a kind of protective self-hug. The figure hugging fabrics made her feel naked, exposed. ?Well,? she said, clearing her throat. ?What do you think??

The man who stood opposite her stared, silent. Unnerved, she crossed her arms more tightly across her body. He was taller than she by about four sun, which made him average among the men she knew. His dark eyes were very like her own, inscrutable wells of brown so deep as to be nearly black in hue, his thick black hair short but longer than was strictly regulation, just long enough that it sometimes fell askew across his forehead. It was, she knew, an act of defiance in its own right, his square jaw unhinging to speak as often as he pleased as though to counteract more than a decade of enforced silence.

The way he was looking at her now, it gave her a jolt of nostalgia so thick that it seemed to steal her breath. Although they looked absolutely nothing alike, in moments like this, standing still as stone and silent as the grave, Hitoshi?s upbringing, the regimented training he fought so hard to overcome, it reminded her of nothing so much as her long lost shadow.

?You? you look perfect, Tsuru.? Said Hitoshi, recovering after a moment. ?It?s only that you look so different, it gave me a start. Here, you must? you must put on the shoes as well.?

The man turned away from her, retrieving the sensible ankle height boots that had been procured for her along with the jeans and the two shirts. There were socks and other confusing undergarments that had to be sorted out as well, had been handed over with flushed cheeks and staunchly diverted eyes. Takara hadn?t understood at first until the lacy little things were in her hands, and then she, too, had blushed. The whole process was humiliating and weirdly intimate.

?Thank you,? she replied, lifting her chin. ?I cannot believe they wear these? boot things? indoors. It sounds positively barbaric.?

The comment was just what one would expect from a girl of her social class, which is precisely why she?d said it. Hitoshi?s lips quivered, hesitating, and then broke into a smile as he handed the boots over, and Takara was smiling too as she took them, laughing quietly to herself. She hugged the shoes to her chest, bent to retrieve the socks she?d left behind and stuffed them into one of the shoes for safekeeping. No matter what the customs were in this foreign place she was headed to, she couldn?t quite bring herself to wear shoes indoors while she was still here.

Gathering a deep breath, the girl stood. Hitoshi was still looking at her, and there was an element of concern in his attention that she could tell he was struggling to conceal. ?If there was anyone else?? He began.

?There is no one else,? she replied, resolute. ?It must be me.?

?But there will be so much danger??

?There is danger here already. We are all of us in danger every day, are we not??

?You?re right,? he sighed. ?I know you?re right. I just don?t like it.?

?I?ll be fine, Hitoshi.? Her words were soothing, her smile as reassuring as she could make it. ?I know what to do. You have prepared me well.?

?Do you have your lists??

?Yes, Hitoshi. I have my lists.?

?You will remember the?? His face scrunched up as he tried out the unfamiliar words, ?electronic mails??

?I will remember everything. I will be back as soon as I can.?

?Do not forget, you must contact this Ja---?

?I know, Hitoshi. Let us move on with this so I can complete my tasks and return.?

The man sighed heavily as he turned away from her. ?Fine,? he gestured a set of sliding doors. ?It?s in there.?

With her shoes hugged to her chest in one arm, the other separated to pluck the bag she?d been given up from the nearby work table. It held all the strange, exotic things she would need -- her identification, money, the lists, something contraption called a cell phone. Drawing herself to her full height, she strung the bag over one shoulder and stepped forward with as much confidence as she could muster, nudging the sliding doors apart before she walked into the next room.

In the glow of the portal, the young woman bent to put on her socks and shoes, frowning in concentration as she worked the laces. The pale blue reflected in the surfaces of her eyes as she studied the rippling energy before her, a knot of dread and wild excitement growing heavy in her belly. It was a daunting thing she was doing, and some part of her couldn?t quite believe that all of this was real, that she wouldn?t wake up with a start back in her bed at the old Manor, frustrated that it was still--always-- raining.

With a deep breath, she hitched the bag higher on her shoulder -- it, like everything else, felt awkward and uncomfortable, and she glanced back over her shoulder. ?Goodbye, Hitoshi,? she called quietly to the man who had turned his back as she left the room, who couldn't watch her leave. She stepped up to the portal?s edge, and its hum seemed to drag at her skin, to pull at her like a friend playing tag, to beckon her forward into the unknown. Her last words before she stepped through were a parting, but also a prayer: ?I will see you again soon.?

?It was supposed to be ten laser guns, not five.? Phoenix stood with his arms open, his black hoodie so baggy that it hid his lanky frame. With blue denim pants and a set of tennis shoes that weren?t laced up at the top, he looked the part of small time business trying to push for something better. He hadn?t shaved the past few days, either, and had the dark hairs of a goatee whisked around his mouth and down the line of his jaw.

?Yeah, well, you don?t have shit that I really want.? The gun trader shrugged, looking at the items on the table that was between them in his warehouse. The only lights on were the ones that shone on the table, which he had begun to realize wasn?t a table at all. It was a pool table with a thick, beige quilt on it. The man must have done deals like this before because there were grease marks from machinery on the cloth. ?Why the Hell would I want a sword??

?You don?t understand!? Phoenix moved to the three katanas, drawing one out of the sheath, ?This is folded a thousand times and was made by an amazing swordsman. The craftsmanship is the sort of thing you find in museums. It?s truly one of a kind.? Even in the limited warehouse light the sword had a shine.

The gun trader looked at the blade and then back to Phoenix, still seeming unimpressed. Maybe it was all a bluff to haggle him down even further. That seemed less likely when the trader spoke, ?So when someone aims a laser at me, or any of the hundreds of spells in Rhy?Din, I am going to suppress them with something that?s? pretty? I don?t have the time or room for pretty. I?m not in the business of fencing artifacts.?

They had been at it for the better part of two days, but that night their negotiations had finally reached the point of being discussed in person. The trade thought Phoenix was legit enough that he could meet him at his warehouse. He had arrived with rolls of cloth and the guns, certain of their value tough he just couldn?t seem to express it to the trader. They may not have had as much practical use in Rhy?Din anymore, but was that the only thing the man was interested in?

The gun trader sighed, ?Kid, you?re better off just taking these to a museum. There?s not enough gold or precious metal for me to get out of it to make it worth my while.?

?Get out of it??

?Yeah. Melt it down and sell the metal.?

All he could do was stare. Stare in disbelief. It was no different than someone saying that they could dissolve the Mona Lisa off the canvas with some turpentine and then at least have some cloth that was useful.

?Look, kid, I don?t run a charity but I can see you?re hurting. That cloth over there isn?t half bad and the swords I guess are kinda? neat. But I?m really only willing to trade the cloth you have for I don?t know? two laser pistols.?

?Two! You said five before.?

?Sure, but the longer we talked the less interested I got in the swords, so those are off the table. Too much of a pain in the ass to melt down and sell off, you know? But cloth? well, you have a good weave there and that is the sort of thing that is always useful.?

Two pistols. When his goal had been to have a hundred or better, the situation was a cement block of disappointment around his feet. Phoenix raked a hand through his dark hair, considering the offer. There wasn?t any money he could use, none that the gun trader respected as having value. The best he had been able to manage so far was the cloth and then, hard pressed, some of the swordsmen had given up their blades for the cause. There was something about that which was heartbreaking, to know that the blades had such an enormous value and meaning to them while the gun trader would have melted it down.

?Look, we could go in circles all day b??

The gun trader?s warehouse doors exploded with heat and violently flung sections of metal. Both Phoenix and the trader had seen explosions like that before. They flinched and hit the ground, practically in unison. Feet drummed along the ground, but he didn?t hear it. His ears were ringing, the whole world quieted by the violence of the explosion. He felt the vibrations of feet and tables being moved. They were making quick work of looting the trader. Phoenix looked to see if the man had survived the initial blast and saw that he was studying him, trying to determine if he was part of the robbery. It must have been that Phoenix?s surprise was palpable because the gun trader grabbed at his belt and drew his gun, firing at some of the robbers instead of him.

One of the men dressed up with a mask turned with annoyance towards the trader, shooting him dead. They were using bullets, the sort that smacked the air with a thunderous clap whenever they were fired. Pheonix looked up at the robber, showing him his empty hands in a plea to not get shot. The man pointed his gun at him, ?You gonna be trouble??

?No? I just--?

?Then shut the fuck up and don?t get any ideas.?

It was at the tail end of their looting that the Rhy?Din Watch showed up, collecting two members of the robbery along with Phoenix. Their wrists were zip tied behind their backs as they were loaded into the back of a police van. Every time one of the members of the watch spoke to him he had to strain to hear them. The other two robbers looked annoyed that the Watch had the gall to arrest them instead of being nervous. That?s what happens when you?re a hardened criminal. You don?t get scared, you get annoyed.

Staring out the van window, surrounded by a world that was ringing around him, he hoped that Tsuru had made it to the rendezvous point. If she kept her head low and didn?t draw to much attention to herself he?d be out in a few days to help her adjust and know her way around town. In the meantime, there were bigger problems. The gun trader was dead and they still didn?t have the right kind of capital to make a deal. The past few weeks of work had blown up with that warehouse door.

Phoenix shut his eyes, leaning his head against the cool surface of the van?s glass. It was going to be okay. It had to be.

Three Days Later

The days in jail with the masked men had come and gone and with a stack of boring paperwork and a fine he couldn't pay, Phoenix was unleashed back in Rhy'Din. What did someone do when they didn't have the money to prevent being incarcerated? Steal or... find some sort of work, he guessed. The contract work around town wasn't impressive and he was left with the distinct impression that his re-imprisonment was looming.
There were other things to worry about.

Redressed and released, he opted to go by foot back into town and to the Red Dragon Inn. There he spent some of the money he had on two shots of vodka and a bottle of water, and he waited. Maybe someone would say something about an out of town weirdo, or maybe she'd be there. He didn't see anyone like her there when he entered, though.

One shot down, a third of the way through his bottle of water. Maybe the local newspaper would help. His English was rough enough that it took him a few minutes to read through the basic headlines, but it was better than sitting there, reading the walls.

As two days stretched into three, the girl called Tsuru was left with the growing conviction that her mission --in its initial formation, anyway--was trashed. The days had given her time enough to check out every location labeled on the rudimentary map she'd been given, and as she wore a footpath in this small section of the city, it became increasingly clear that she was going to have to sort this out on her own. Phoenix wasn't in any of the places she visited, no matter how often she visited them --there were hardly any Japanese people at all, in fact, and the few she'd seen were like no others she'd ever met.

It left her alone in a strange city, navigating mostly blind despite all her careful preparations. Takara was a clever girl, though, and the prestigious class she'd been born into meant that she was well educated. If anyone could find a way to turn this misfortune to her advantage, it would be she. As soon as she figured out where to start.

She'd done one final circuit of the map route before returning to the Inn that had become her temporary 'home'. Tomorrow, she would start on her new plan, but for tonight, all she wanted was something warm to drink and some rest. Trudging up the front porch stairs, Takara let herself inside, moving directly to the hearth fire to warm her freezing hands.

Phoenix usually wasn't in the habit of looking at the door. It could swing open at any minute and hoping to see a familiar face there was a little bit silly. He tilted his head at the noise and, suspecting that it was any of the Inn regulars checking out the fireplace, he didn't look. Not right away.

His hand circled the second shot, She could be dead for all he knew. People who didn't know about all the oddities of this city could meet a strange--and swift-- demise. Then he glanced. It was as if all the music had stopped and the strange sense of recognizing her, while her also being unknown to him, struck.

For her native land--and era-- Takara was average: not tall by any means, but not remarkably small, either. By Rhydin standards, however, she was positively tiny, seeming to disappear among the city's resident giants. Despite how well she'd adjusted, there was still something about her that seemed off, out of time--to look at her gave the impression of looking at a vintage photograph, sepia toned and antiquated, despite her modern clothes.

Turning away from the fire to make her way to the bar, Takara looked up from her newly warmed fingers and almost immediately locked eyes with the man she'd begun to think must be dead. Her mouth fell open in surprise, in the kind of tentative disbelief that dares not hope. "Phoenix...?"

"Yes!" He was joyous and quick to say as much. He moved in, briefly embracing her in an overt show of affection which felt slightly awkward after the fact. He swallowed and then sat back down at the bar, "I'm so sorry, I meant to be here when you first arrived but... I hit a few obstacles. I'm behind schedule." He realized, then, that he had dove straight into work and corrected his statements, quickly.

"You look well. Did you find your way through the city without any trouble?" She wasn't bleeding or hiding from the authorities.

The hug was one of those things Takara had read about and knew to expect, but knowing about it and actually experiencing it weren't the same. She found that it was unexpectedly pleasant, especially considering the relief she felt, and maybe that's what made it just a little bit awkward.
Resettling herself once they'd broken apart, she gave him a faint twist of a smile, nodding. "I am alright, thank you. This place is very strange, but your map is good. Are you well?" He'd mentioned obstacles.

It was something he had learned and gotten fond over over the past few years, dodging around the cities and growing accustomed to how things worked.

"I'm fine but," he swallowed and sighed, not sure how well she had been briefed before coming to Rhydin, "The deal fell through and there was a situation. People were arrested. I was arrested. I haven't any of the pistols or weapons we discussed. I'm sorry, Tsuru, I'm... empty handed."

A subtle frown marred her expression, drawing the corners of her mouth in as her brows furrowed. She nodded slowly. "That is...unfortunate. But you're sure you're alright?" The loss of the weapons was disappointing, but it wasn't the most important part of the deal. Takara looked him over thoughtfully, like she was inspecting him for visible signs of distress - poorly disguised cuts or only partially concealed bruises.

"Nothing is broken," he affirmed, though he was certain that there were bruises and scratches from when the Watch had taken the operation down. He didn't have any major injuries to hide from her and most were concealed beneath his clothes. There were bruises up his forearm, underneath his jacket like green thumb prints from where he had hit the ground.

Takara nodded. The little blonde woman, the one who called her Plum, who had been doling out snacks and drinks the first time she'd come here didn't appear to be around tonight, but there was an actual tender, so she waved to get his attention and requested some hot tea in a soft voice. Her English, though heavily accented, was largely fluent -- certainly more fluent than most of her contemporaries.

After the tender had gone to fulfill their drink orders, she turned her attention back to Phoenix. "What about... the other thing. Any progress there?"

"The other thing?" Phoenix watched her face as clearly as he could and then offered, knowing that his response might seem hollow to her, "This is all I have gotten, so far. We just... it's hard to get along out here. The technology is such that people aren't interested in swords or anything. The best I can find is some people wanting things maybe for... a museum or something?" That meant locating a person who thought that the art and antiques they had to sell were worth it. The story wasn't a new one-- a country rendered poor was auctioning off its greatest commodities in the hopes for some fiscal leverage.

Takara's head bobbed again in another nod. This, too, was disappointing, but also not a surprise. The very word - technology - it felt strange and foreign, both in her ears and on her tongue, but it was another thing she was just going to have to get used to. Her dark eyes were thoughtful, her brows knitting together. There was a particular set to her mouth when she was sorting through a problem, a defiance in the flex of her jaw that had been there from her earliest days.

"So we do not have what they want. But... perhaps we are asking the wrong people, like you said." Turning her gaze back to him, she studied his face for a moment. ?Or maybe we are asking the wrong questions. Maybe what we need is to keep our swords, but to... fill them with this... magic they speak of." Her expression was curious, almost eager. "Have you seen any?"

"I have, and it isn't free, either." Phoenix shook his head and then looked away from her, catching the look of some of the other patrons of the bar before his eyes settled back to her face. Through the slant of his eyes he studied her face, knowing that what she saw around her was still foreign. He cleared his throat, "There are some jobs around town that can be worked but the money you make there is..." He sighed and then nudged the shot of vodka towards her, "We couldn't supply an army in twenty years of labor for what we could make here."

There was a pause before he added, "Not honorably, anyway. There are bounty hunters and prostitutes, and there are men that are willing to trade people for what they want." He didn't want to think that they had gotten that desperate, but he hadn't been home in a few years now. Phoenix had been running the border, and while he had some luck at sending items back home, it just wasn't enough.

"Why don't we go back to the safe house? In the morning I will show you around town and all of the things that you should know."

"Well, no, of course it wouldn't be free," she agreed, her gaze moved off of his face, her fingers curling into the woodgrain of the bar's surface as she studied it, staring through it like she could find the answer in its fibers if she only looked carefully enough. "There has to be something we can work out, though," said the young woman who was not at all accustomed to hearing the word 'no', the girl even the most detached, distant of people had trouble denying.

Takara had ...some money. It wasn't enough by any means, but maybe, somehow, it would make a difference.

Her gaze lifted to his when he mentioned going to the safe house. Her tea had only just arrived, and her things, what few she had, were still upstairs. "Alright." She nodded once. "I just need to gather my belongings."

"Our money doesn't have value here but gems and gold... those do." Gold was not something that was new to them, but it wasn't present in the coins they used to make exchanges. Takara, given her background, might have had some at her disposal. At any rate, not many of those in the rebellion had come from money, and the war had done a lot to damage any foundation of wealth. It wasn't that impossible-- they had lasted this long already.

"I'll wait here." He looked at the untouched shot of vodka and then back to her face, trying to discern if she had any interest in it. He hadn't known her that well, just in passing before he took the assignment out of town. Sometimes he thought that he had been a bit of a hassle for everyone and that the mission was a means of getting rid of him, or celebrating at some newfound ability he had. Being someone that was out of place felt far less impactful than you actually were.

There was an idea forming gradually in the back of her mind. She couldn't see all of it yet, but the pieces were beginning to coalesce together. It kept her expression thoughtful and distant as she ultimately swiped the vodka shot from the table and brought it to her lips.

The liquor burned very differently than the sake she was used to, bringing a watering to her eyes as she swallowed. It was the very thing she needed to break her contemplation, to push her attention back onto Phoenix beside her. She nodded once, and then again. "I'm so glad you're alright," said the girl suddenly, perhaps in acknowledgment of how completely alone she'd been these last couple of days, and perhaps simply because it was true.

Setting the shot glass aside, Takara drank deeply from her tea cup and then stood up from her bar stool. "I'll return in just a moment."

Takara wasn't entirely convinced that glass wasn't also magic, but she didn't say so, only gave Phoenix another smile. She understood what he meant when he trailed off like that--one never asked questions unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Better to pretend you already knew the answer and hope that it would reveal itself in time.

"How true," she agreed with a sad, faraway look in her eyes. People were infinitely more complex than she found she wanted them to be. It was difficult to reconcile the love and respect that seemed only naturally due to one's parents -- the honor that demanded it, regardless-- and...the inequities that had ultimately driven her to choose her lost Shadow over them, into the arms of the rebellion as she fled the arms of his enemy. It was easy to lose herself in these quiet reflections, and Takara was silent a long moment until Phoenix drew attention to the fact that she still held his water bottle.

"Oh, sorry," her cheeks flushed pink as she released her hold on the plastic item, retracting her hand into her lap. She cleared her throat, reaching instead for her tea.

"No one ever explained you to me, not really," he admitted as he reclaimed the water bottle, "you could have stayed with the way things were, you know, the status quo? Did he mean that much to you?" The he, in this case, being the Shadow everyone talked about. If anything, he had swayed her heart and that had supplied the rebellion with a lot of cash that they otherwise wouldn't have. Some said that the symbolism had transferred from the Shadow onto her after his death. If she could believe, couldn't anyone?

Before she responded he spoke again, feeling he had been too invasive, "We should start heading towards the safehouse. It's already late and by the time we get there you'll probably want to sleep."

And there was the question, the one everybody asked eventually. It was almost a relief to have it out in the open at last, because until it was asked she couldn't volunteer, and she waited with the words on the tip of her tongue in the meantime.

A faint smile curved the outermost shell of her mouth, and there was a softness to her eyes whenever she thought of her Shadow, even though the answer she gave had been recited so many times at this point that it was practically memorized. Memorized, too, was the quick, instinctive way she glanced over her shoulder to check the contents of the room, even though there was no one in this realm who knew what they were talking about, as far as she could tell.

Takara was about to speak when he again suggested going to the safe house, and to this she nodded. Yes, it would be safer to tell her story on the road than here where words could travel along walls and rafters, reaching unknown ears no matter how softly they spoke. "Yes," she said instead. "Let's start that way, and I'll tell you as we walk."

"Sounds good." He stood up and flicked some bills onto the bar top. The booze in Rhy'Din was cheap. At least, the way he drank it was cheap. That could also be part of her need to cringe with every partial swallow of the clear burn that ran down her throat. Pulling his wool coat in closer, he picked up her pack and then moved for the door. The front knob was turned and he pushed it open, looking behind him to see that she was still following before he continued further.

It had gotten colder since the sun moved further away from them. His steps sounded cold and dry on the porch when he walked, stopping at the bottom step for her to catch up to his side before he continued. "You hear the same story a hundred times, you know? Some parts of it get bigger or brighter and other parts a little more strange. Hard to know what the story even was, originally."

When Phoenix retrieved her bag, Takara let him. She smoothed her hair back behind her ears as she stood up again; the bar stools were just high enough, made as they were for Rhydin's apparently gigantic inhabitants, that it was more a hop down than it was a stand up, but she made it to her feet once more. Pulling on the coat she'd bought the previous day, she worked quickly to fasten it before she lifted her book from the counter's surface and made to follow him from the Inn.

The door emitted a swirling blast of icy wind that temporarily stole her breath, freezing it in her lungs. She shivered, ducked deeper into her coat, and moved to catch up with him as she descended the stairs. Her steps, at least, had become virtually silent over years of training, despite the awkward clunk of shoes, but even so there was a soft crunch underfoot as she broke through the thin layer of frost on the ground.

At his words, the girl smiled again, that bright humor that was so inappropriate to a woman of her station revealing itself shamelessly in her countenance. "...You tell the same story a hundred times and you begin to wonder if you just dreamed it all," countered Takara lightly, her gaze cutting to his face. "But no. My Shadow was real. Of that I am certain."

Clearing her throat, there was no less affection for the fallen man in her tone as she began her story, though the smile on her face faded. "I was very young when all of this began," she said softly with a little shake of her head. "When you are very young, you don't question the way things are, the way they've always been. You just accept them as normal. I do not remember a time before he was part of my life--he is in my earliest memories."

"We all were young when it began." He countered when she spoke, smiling down at her in a way that was undoubtedly inappropriate. It wasn't that he hadn't been smiling or having a good time, just that it felt different when he saw someone else having that same fresh smile on their face, learning how to smile again but in a way that felt distilled. She spoke of the time when she was young and Phoenix, well, he didn't always like to think about those days.

Phoenix wasn't going to insult her by mentioning how many people fondly thought of the Fire and the Shadow and what they had meant to the rebellion. One had been captured and the other died in the war, but they had still been inspirational. The were the forefathers of free thinking, the hand that opened and allowed for Western ideology to enter. It was hard not to think of them as men who had invented the concepts instead of creating a stage on which they could thrive. Now? They were legends. Dilute, distant, threatening to turn into fairy tales.

Tsuru was the only one he knew who insisted that it was a childhood fact. It wasn't just that she said it, there were others that echoed that it had been her family that housed him.

Conceding his point with a rise and fall of her shoulders, Takara had no immediate reply to his comment. She was a strange mix of training and true spirit; her upbringing a mantle she mostly managed to overthrow but that occasionally made itself known all the same. Like now, when there could and perhaps should have been some witty repartee and yet none was forthcoming.

"At first, I was not aware that there were any differences between us," she resumed her tale instead, her gaze on the path before them. "I remember very clearly asking my father who he was, why this shadow followed me from room to room, and he told me it was because that was his purpose, to protect me and keep me safe. I accepted that exactly as he said it, as children do, that he was somehow mine." Takara shook her head with a wry smile and a wrinkle of her nose, as though to acknowledge the absurdity of simple childish logic.

"I saw him as my friend, my confidant, my partner against everyone else in the house who were constantly trying to impose order and rules on me." Tsuru frowned then, a sigh lifting her chest as her brows furrowed. "It...never occurred to me that he didn't have a choice in the matter. Not at first."

Phoenix smirked as she spoke, looking up at the sky. His shoulders were angled just slightly in her direction to offset the weight of her bag. It wasn't much, or at least it wasn't enough that he felt like he needed to elbow her with a tease about what in the world it was that she packed. In all seriousness, it could have been anything. Metal had a certain but very necessary weight to him.

Her partner against everyone else in the house. That was what everyone thought of them, though. People know about the general because he was outgoing and talkative, and initially he had captured the spirit of the rebellion. It was after their initial losses and regrouping that a silent, strong spirit began to embody what it was they strove towards. A shadow, immutable and certain, was what all of them hoped to embody. It didn't altogether seem likely that it could really be a person.
Yet it was.

"That's how it was with a lot of the guards." Phoenix sighed and switched the bag to his other hand, which caused the weight of his body to lean away from her while they walked, "I was supposed to be a merchant one day once dad showed me the ropes." That might have explained why he was so readily outgoing. Merchants were supposed to deal with people, especially to their advantage. Either he hadn't been very good at it or he just so happened to be idealistic. Both seemed likely.

Takara shrugged again. "I cannot say. Other people have told me as much, and perhaps our relationship was not so special as it is in my mind. I only had the one guard, though, and he often went to great personal risk -- I later learned -- and even personal hardship for me. Well beyond what was strictly required of his station."

Glancing up at him, the young woman gave a fleeting smile, faint but present. "I had guessed as much. Many merchants visited us in those days, and you remind me a little of them."

Shaking her head then as the smile fell away, another sigh lifted her chest. As many times as she'd done it, she still sometimes found it difficult to talk about him. "With time I began to notice things that did not make sense to me. The way my mother seemed to hate him, and yet never let him far from her sight. The way that, when we were caught doing things we weren't supposed to, I was never in trouble for it. The way sometimes he would be gone from me for a day or two, and when he returned he was always more stiff, more quiet, more reserved...at least for a little while." A dim smile touched her mouth then, her one free hand disappearing into her pocket.

A man couldn't compete against a legend, let alone a personal, mythical hero. That didn't mean that he didn't feel the swell of emotion in him to do so. Phoenix always sort of hoped that the trials he went through in Rhy'Din would earn him the same sort of hero status as the Shadow Man. Truth was, though, that he was one of many and only slightly more successful than those who came before him. Tsuru was certain, though, that there had been more. There would have had to have been more for her guard to have broken code. Guards didn't break codes.

Where did the more come from? He wondered about that, sometimes. The fact that he was wandering around RhyDin, doing what he could, was unique among his people but not especially profound for him. He had been outlandish and outspoken for the majority of his life, and that had earned him plenty of disdain and head-shakes of disapproval.

She spoke of her mother seeming to hate the guard, and of their interaction. Phoenix hadn't ever been a guard, but he knew enough to know that all people bowed respectfully to them. They carried a burden of pain and a series of vows that wrapped their life up in the family they served. Phoenix hadn't ever put someone ahead of himself like that, not like the guards did. Those men thought dying for someone was Heaven.

"People are complicated," he shook his head, fixing his dark eyes on the path ahead and away from her fair features, "Sometimes you think you know what someone is, what they meant, up until it dawns on you."

Phoenix had more status than he perhaps realized. Takara was more reserved in her awe of the place the man had willingly chosen to inhabit on their behalf than others might have been, but Takara was both more educated and more trained in the need for reserve than most of the resistance's other members. She was more adept at both accepting new information and at concealing her reaction to it. So perhaps the magnitude of their respect for him was muted or maybe even lost altogether, but it was there, undeniably simmering just beneath the surface.

"On the night of the fires, he had been gone for most of the day. I did not know at the time that he was actually absent, only that one more time he'd been taken from me." A quiet laugh spilled from her lips in a rush of icy vapor, and they turned a corner on their path towards the safe house.

Phoenix always thought that once someone died, they were washed free of all their misgivings. Death cleansed them and left behind a purer person who was easier to love and to know. That didn't mean that he didn't need his heroes, too.

He wasn't really proud of the fact that he had come to daydream of just forgetting about everything that was back home waiting for them. When he came to Rhy'Din, it felt like a cosmic "redo" of life. He could have even made up his background and become anyone he wanted. New name and the very unlikely circumstance of it being contested.

In some ways, he had done just that, but the job was only halfway done. He renamed himself and repeated the mantra that he was rising from the ashes and that everything back home could stay back home. None of that would need to be talked about here.

The thought unsettled him as he jingled the keys and twisted the lock, breaking a partial smile to her over his shoulder, "You get used to it faster than you'd think but... yeah, I still get surprised." The door opened, sounding like an old, neglected porch swing someone finally took a seat in.

"I still have some oil lamps and candles, just in case. Electricity here can go out because of the weather?" He flipped the switch and then moved to set her bag at the entrance to one of the bedrooms. There were three, technically four because of one being an "office" and noticeably smaller than the others. Two of the bedrooms were side by side on the left with the office being beside the kitchen that was straight ahead, sharing space with the living room. The "master bedroom" was on the right with its own separate, modest bathroom. It was the place he tended to stay because usually it was just him.

The thought that she had also changed her name and was restarting began to settle into the back of his mind as he took off his coat, setting it on the shoulders of a chair tucked up to a two seater table.

The primary difference was that Takara had not, in fact, changed her name of her own accord. It had been changed for her, and she'd acquiesced to the change because she accepted both the need for some discretion - the only child of a well known powerful family who had conspicuously abdicated her responsibility when she fled an impending arranged marriage was someone many people might be looking for - and her new role as beacon of hope. She took comfort, what comfort could be had in it, anyway, in the notion that it gave her one more link to the man who had become lost to her so many years before. Takara, like Kusinage before her, had shed her true self and become her symbol.

The Shadow and the Crane.

The difference, of course, was that Takara was still living.

With a nod to Phoenix regarding the candles and the weather, Tsuru stepped inside after him. She lingered in the doorway a long moment, both to let her eyes adjust to the contrast between gloomy shadow and artificial light, and because she was having an internal debate about whether or not to take off her shoes. It was custom - automatic reflex ingrained in her from her earliest memories - but at the same time, these shoes were infinitely more involved than the ones she normally wore at home, and anyway Phoenix hadn't.

Leaving them on for now, she moved into the space, taking inventory of its shape and dimension. He set her bag down in front of one door in particular and so the woman moved that way, putting the little paper crane back into her pocket for safekeeping before she unbuttoned the jacket. She stepped into the bedroom in question and shed the jacket, laying it and her book on the foot of the bed before she doubled back for the bag. Transferring it to the floor in front of the bed, she gave in to her training and knelt to untie her shoes at last.

Slipping them off, Takara rose, padding back into the main room on silent socked feet. She'd only been in Rhydin a couple of days, and already even she could feel the pull of the place, loud and confusing and garish though it could be. It would be so easy to get lost here, to become anonymous, to be no one. To forget the struggles of home and make a new life, a new name, a whole new world for yourself in both the literal and the figurative.

But it had only been three days, and the weight of the information in her mind, the utmost significance of the success of her mission, those things still had strong hooks in her. Though she was quiet, her head was a turmoil of thoughts and ideas, trying to piece together a way around their current problem.

"Yeah, I know, it's a lot to take in," he said it with a shallow smile. It wasn't a friendly smile, but one that commiserated with the overwhelmed feeling in her eyes and posture. Clearing his throat, he moved to the kitchen. "So over here is what they call a refrigerator or a fridge. Keeps food cold so it lasts longer."

The explanation was an important one, but he felt as though he were nervously rambling instead of giving her pointed and purposeful information. His right hand caught the long steel handle of the fridge and tugged it open. He twisted to look at her, the light from inside of it briefly outlining him before he shut it closed. "The top section is colder, too. Cold enough to make ice. It doesn't seem like it now but it gets hot here."

Takara had encountered a refrigerator once before, and her cheeks colored with the sudden memory of how many times she'd opened and closed the door, trying to figure out what it was for and how the little light inside it worked. She started to ask him about the light -- it was a little thing, but it nagged at her, an unanswered riddle -- when he moved on to explain the freezer.

Blinking once, her face was a mask of confusion. "...Why do you want to make ice?"

"People put it in their drinks." That was the best explanation he had, courtesy of the Red Dragon Inn. The diamond-ice glittered in the drinks people ordered. At first it was strange, but he had to admit that a colder drink had a more "crisp" taste to it, though his experiment of sake with ice produced something that wasn?t even remotely desirable.

"Are you tired?" He turned away from the refrigerator to lean up against the kitchen counter, jamming his hands into the front pockets of his pants as he looked at her, "I could spend all day talking about everything that is different and the bits of things I know, or mostly know."

Her brows drew together thoughtfully. Cold drinks? The concept was especially foreign, and seemingly incomprehensible. She couldn't wrap her mind around why somebody might want such a thing, and resolved to investigate it later. Shaking her head, the girl shifted her position so that she was facing him more directly, one hand resting lightly on the counter's surface. As though physically shifting herself away from the puzzling refrigerator would make her quit worrying and wondering about it. "A little. I am mostly hungry, though."

"They have seafood here but it's different?" He offered with a small shrug and then shoved off of the counter. facing the fridge again to reopen it, "I have some dishes that are a bit more traditional if you're wanting something a little," he stopped, fishing for the right word without implying that she was homesick,"a little more familiar." Then he twisted his shoulders in her direction before he continued, "I have something that's local. Everyone around here calls it barbecue. It's from a domesticated pig."

Takara was relieved that there was food readily available. Admitting that she was hungry in the first place had been difficult - it wasn't something one volunteered in either of the worlds she'd moved in so far. His kindness in offering her something more familiar brought a smile to the young woman's face, but she shook her head. Intrigued by his second offering, she in kind turned her body more towards his. "...I will try this... barbecue, then," she replied, sounding the three syllable word out carefully. "Is it good?"

"I like it," there was a short nod that followed before he reached into the fridge, drawing out the white to-go container. It looked pristine and box like, but Phoenix didn't think to comment on that. Instead he drew out a dish and began shoveling out some of the barbecue. The lumps of brownish-red meat didn't have an immediate scent to them and looked like something that had been overcooked at first.

Gripping the handle of the microwave, he popped it open and fed the dish into it. The screen of the microwave beeped with every button he pushed, the final one causing it to light up and hum as the food revolved around the inside.

"If you don't like it, I'll eat it. You don't have to be polite and force it." That was something people like them needed to be reminded of. Being rude was the sort of act that was akin to stealing.

Takara glanced around the kitchen while he prepared the food, thinking she would perhaps find a kettle for some tea. She didn't know a lot about food preparation, but that, at least, was something she felt confident doing. She was distracted from the attempt, however, by the strange shrill noises the microwave was making. "What... what is that?" She asked quietly, feeling only slightly more comfortable about having to ask the question since Phoenix was, in fact, the person she was supposed to ask.
She became entranced by the humming sound it made, the way the food seemed to spin in slow deliberate circles all of its own accord. Her dark eyes widening, she moved almost unconsciously closer to the magic box, watching it intently. "Thank you," the gratitude came belatedly, delayed by her fixation on the machine.

"The microwave," he said before turning to her. While he continued to talk he looked over at his shoulder once, "the electricity makes it beep when I press the buttons, I guess so I know I have." Even if there was a display that showed it. The second part, and probably more practical, came next, " it's faster than using the oven to heat food but... different."

When she came in close and with her intense curiosity, he side stepped so he wasn't between her and the "show." He didn't mean to smile like he was, the corners of his lips tugging back in amusement at how round her eyes had grown. The magic of the microwave had left him three years ago. He was reminded of how strange the device was when people from the old country came to stay.

It beeped loudly and the light shut off. Phoenix nodded towards it, "it's done."

Listening to his explanation, she nodded quietly, moving in front of the marvelous contraption as he moved aside. Watching it intently, Takara peered down each of its sides and even went up on the balls of her feet to see if she could see the back of it, trying to figure out how it worked. She pressed two fingers experimentally to the window cut-out in the front of it and then withdrew her hand immediately, emitting a soft "oh!" of surprised as she retracted that hand against her chest. The curious buzzing vibration the microwave made as it worked felt strange and ticklish, somehow, on the pads of her fingers. The woman examined her own fingers carefully, rubbing her thumb lightly over their tips, trying to work out how it was that she could still feel the sensation.

The beeping noise made her jump back from it like a skittish forest animal. Phoenix's explanation came a second later, and as she reconciled the one with the other, Takara giggled quietly. "Oh," she said in a soft voice, her cheeks flushing a pale pink. "I was ... not expecting that."
"I could tell." He said it with a smile but then looked away, realizing that he might embarrass her with the harmless teasing. Even Phoenix was still engineered to be wary of offending someone with royalty in them even if they were hundreds of miles away and in what felt like entirely different worlds and lives.

That didn't mean, of course, that he hadn't smiled. He'd just behaved well enough to look away so it wouldn't be entirely apparent.

"And, if you weren't juggling enough," he opened the microwave and left it open, thinking she would immediately want to peer into it more deeply. He kept talking. putting the container on the counter and then reaching in a drawer to draw out what looked like a silver pitchfork. It was used to stir up the barbeque which let out little clouds of steam as he disturbed it, "You'll have to learn to eat like the locals. It isn't so bad." He withdrew the fork from the barbeque and turned it in the air, looking from the four prongs at the head to her eyes, "They stab at food instead of grab it, most of the time."

It did embarrass her, and the color in her cheeks blushed steadily deeper as she, too, averted her eyes. Feeling a little relieved, at least, when Phoenix looked away, the young woman swallowed the lump of shame that had caught in her throat and tried to recover. "Do... all of the ... fixtures like that," she gestured the microwave, which she had not approached or investigated further despite her burning curiosity, almost like she was concerned that it would catch her unawares again, "...make such shrill noises?"

She watched from a few steps away while he pulled out the utensil and used it to stir the food. It distracted her from her self consciousness, which helped a good bit, particularly when he held up the fork so she could see it better. "...Stab it? That sounds ... quite violent."

"No, but there are plenty that do." He turned the points of the fork downward and snared a piece of the barbeque with it, making an eating gesture towards himself before he offered the plate towards her, "Like that. It's not so violent. I guess it's more like.. poking and catching food than stabbing it."

Once she took the plate from him he turned, washing his hands in the sink. The food wasn't as hot as it looked and there was only a mild heat radiating from somewhere in the center of the plate. Half a minute longer and it might have given her a more painful surprise.

Perhaps because of where and how she'd grown up, Takara was accustomed to a level of violence. Not directed at herself personally, of course, but she'd spent many an afternoon watching the guards drill in the courtyards, watching them train and practice. It was hard not to envision some of their longer, more dangerous looking weapons when the word 'stab' was spoken. A soft smile began to form in the corners of her mouth-- just the barest hint of an upcurve to her lips -- when he amended his description of the action accordingly.

When she watched him do it, though, the young woman understood immediately why he'd used that word, though, despite how gentle the motion seemed to be in actual practice. Taking the plate when Phoenix offered it out to her, she marveled at its radiant warmth, like it had been heated in a fire where there was no fire to heat it. Must be more magic, she thought to herself, wrapping her fingers clumsily around the fork.
She practiced the motion awkwardly a couple of times before she tried it in earnest, shifting her position so that she could hold the plate comfortably in one hand and the strange cutlery in the other. Her grip was childlike at first, and then more like the way she would hold a calligraphy pen, and that seemed more comfortably fluid than the first.

"I see you catch on fast," Phoenix must have been talking about the way her hand adapted to the fork. He was talking about something, anyway. His eyes averted towards the master bedroom door and then back to her.
"It's a late night." He could still feel the alcohol numb his lips and fingertips like anesthesia, "I'll be going off to bed unless you plan to stay up a bit longer." Old habits for a new dog. You weren't supposed to leave someone like her unattended, even if the custom was more than over practiced in RhyDin. Sometimes Phoenix felt that pull of tradition. Sometimes not. After all, they were two unmarried people sleeping in the same house. That would have been worth gossip in the old country.

Whether it was the vast difference in their (previous) stations or the trial by fire she'd learned with the resistance, it honestly had not occurred to Takara to worry about the fact that they were alone on any level. "You can absolutely go to bed," she said suddenly, feeling bad for keeping him awake like this. She set the plate aside without actually trying the food, despite the fact that she was starving. Her expression was impenetrable, though, when she smiled. "Please. Don't let me keep you if you are tired."

"Sleep well. I'll be up early and we'll go over all... of everything going on around you. In the meantime," a glance to her food before her looked back to her face, "Eat. Sleep. Process all this insanity and start with me again in the morning." He smiled for her, but it was the sort of smile that was meant to be encouraging, if not out right reassuring. It wasn't a smile because he felt it. Stepping away from the kitchen, he twisted the knob to his bedroom door and disappeared inside, allowing her unwatched time until sunrise. Phoenix was fairly quiet, there was only the occasional sound of shuffling and water running to announce he was moving about until silence, or sleep, had followed.

?Yes, I mean? you?re attractive.? He wasn?t exactly letting the cat out of the bag since someone else had told her, but there were many sides to that. No, Takara was not some model from a magazine, and perhaps her beauty was not conventional. Phoenix knew it for what it was, though. It was beautiful, perhaps not immediately sultry, but there was something about her that was intriguing. When he first came to other cities some women said, in a blurt of flirtation, that he was hot because he was exotic.

At least in RhyDin, that was not entirely the case. There were handfuls of others that at least looked Asian, so she would not have immediately stood out. What made her different was her deceptive simplicity and the sort of? endearing way that things could be new again.

?Eh, maybe? I?m kinda? sorta? seeing someone.? He was hoping she wouldn?t press him on the details.

His hope was in vain, though. She turned at an angle, leaning against the counter where its metal lip bit into her soft side some several inches above her hip. The angled bone jutted against the wood paneled surface of the lower cabinet, hooked just inside one of the brass door handles fixed there. Gathering the teacup into both hands, she cradled it between her palms, holding it at chest height just beneath her chin.

?You are?? Takara had wondered about that...for a handful of hours, since Senka had first introduced the concept to her there at the fire. ?I had no idea.? Shaking her head once, the young woman took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she dipped her face into its steam. ?Senka seemed surprised that I had not? that women like me do not spend time with boys, normally. She has told me about these strange things I had never heard of, like ?flirting? and ?dating?. I said that it was not done where I am from but I realize suddenly that? it is not done in my class. Do merchants flirt and date?? She seemed genuinely interested in the answer, perplexed by the very notion that such things were possible.

?It?s done it?s just? different. You?re like?? he was trying to think of a way to say it without being offensive. Without making her out to be an item. The truth was, Takara had been raised to have certain attributes, certain qualities and certain breeding. That was not unlike owning a thoroughbred horse that was trained. ?Men of your class would.. Vy for you, based on what they saw, on what they thought you were. It just isn?t up to you to decide so it?s more like? flirting with your dad to get you.?

That was a strange analogy, one he wasn?t sure would make sense or just leave her feeling flustered and uncomfortable. He took a swallow of his tea and took one step away from the counter as he spoke, ?Yeah, I mean, my dad did. I was a kid when I moved away but I remember him talking with women and having some informal conversations.? That would not have happened, of course, in the presence of anyone like her.

Takara, for not flirting, had managed to do it the same way a flower lures in a bee. She poised herself well, her fingers wrapped around her mug and her appearance unusually appropriately tweaked.

They raised women to be demure flowers, to be still creatures that drove men to action. In that way, she had become what her rearing intended. She was careful, innocent, intelligent and well to do. The Emperor would have used her as a shining example of what women should have been, Phoenix thought.

Her smile broke free of her mouth, bold and utterly unbecoming on a woman of her station. The Emperor would have been disappointed just then as the young woman giggled. ?The word you?re looking for there is treasure, I think. I?m a prize to be negotiated for, a thing to be won. It is, after all, what he named me.? There was no bitterness in her tone, surprisingly, only a mocking kind of acceptance.

?Yeah,? he agreed with her gently, hoping that his tone conveyed that the idea of treating someone that way wasn't in his belief system. Phoenix was used to emboldened women, the ones that needed teeth and claws to discourage men from trying to take advantage of them. That was part of either rough lifestyles or rural areas where policing was too low, thin or indifferent to help. Here in the city? Women could lay waste to men.

Men of Takahashi?s station always wanted sons. Strong young boys to pay tribute to their virility, to continue the family name and expand the dynasty. Daughters were considered less desirable - a liability that would ultimately have to be sold to the right bidder. Takahashi was perhaps unique in his station -- he had welcomed the strategic opportunity of having a highly desirable daughter to claim. Despite her best efforts to the contrary and at the cost of many a tutor?s mental wellbeing, he?d accomplished his aim, raising a young woman for whom there had been considerable contest.

His plan had worked perfectly, too. Right up to the moment he went and tried to give her to the man who?d killed her shadow.

Takara sipped her tea, contemplating Phoenix in the early morning light, what changes the sunbeams and this new information had wrought in her perception of him. ?So what of this woman you are seeing? Is she also attractive??

?Huh?? He was expecting her to be too demure to bring it up. That's how women were in the old country. They didn't ask questions of men and men generally went about the world, doing what they wanted.

To say he was seeing someone was something of an embellishment. Their emotional intimacy ranged from zero to lukewarm up until the moment that they had five drinks. Then she laughed and flirted with him, and he leaned into her and let her know his bed was available, as if she had any doubts. It was best described as sort of friends with sporadic benefits, but he wasn't even going to begin explaining that.

The tea didn't feel as warm. He turned and put his cup in the sink and began to step away, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the curls of metal mounted to the opposite wall in the kitchen, ?Sure. She's a brunette with green eyes, which is very pretty. Big smile and? you know, one of those laughs so loud it kinda hurts to hear it but you like it anyway.?

He didn't have tattoos like in the old country. He had crisp, beautiful modern day ink. HOPE was printed so large on his forearm that it threatened to wrap around it.

Watching him walk away, the girl called Tsuru twisted her body, pivoting on her bare feet to face him. The counter?s edge caught her mid- lower spine, putting a subtle arch into her back as she continued to lean against it. Sipping from her tea once more, she hid a smile along its bland white rim -- it amused her, had perhaps always amused her, to make men uncomfortable in this way. To laugh when she shouldn?t, to ask questions where no questions were appropriate; these were the tiniest liberties she?d been able to take, the little glimpses of a hurricane-force personality hidden behind the perfectly polished veneer.

Relenting, she watched him, unmoving and attentive, as he spoke of this woman. Her smile resurfaced - the softer, more fleeting version she?d been trained to use as her only smile, the one she?d been told would feel like a secret gift, for whatever that was supposed to mean. So Phoenix?s heart was spoken for. That piece of information seemed to give ease to her overall picture of him, to make the other pieces breathe more naturally.

As he pulled his jacket off, she noticed again the strange foreign word written on his arm. She?d seen glimpses of tattoos, here and there, always fleetingly or accidentally displayed, before she?d come here. In Rhydin people were more free with their art, like Senka?s friend Cris who seemed positively covered in drawings, if his hands and throat were any indication. She had none of her own, of course.

?It is the same for me now, you know,? she said softly. ?Whether I am Takara or Tsuru, I am always an object, more valuable for where it came from than what it is.?

His dating life had been a story similar to that of other people. He had various relationships here and there. First kisses. The first time he had sex and the first time a girl really broke his heart. What he had come to learn about himself was that relationships just never worked out. His longest one had been one year. Now he approached them with the expectation that since the end was not far off, he might as well have fun.

The fact that he thought of them as temporary, and how that might affect his behavior or his selection of girlfriend, wasn?t something he really factored into the equation. He liked to think that he knew the outcome already, that he was being proactive. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror, he thought he?d never have his **** together enough for a real relationship and that women sort of knew that when they looked at him.

?Well, women here aren?t objects like that. You get the same rights as men and? yeah, I mean,? his hands were motioning gently in the air when he spoke, ?this place was sort of the goal, you know? Sometimes I just think everyone should move here instead of trying to change what?s over there.?

?Am I not still me because I am here?? Takara wanted to know, her brows rising curiously. She sipped her tea, cradling the tea cup against the apex of her solar plexus once more. One of the spaghetti straps of the oversized dress had slipped from her shoulder, causing the pretty lace to sag at an angle. She hadn?t noticed yet.

It was a question as much for herself as it was for him, practically rhetorical in nature. Was she free of the obligations and expectations of home, just because she was here? Could she go back home eventually, when it was required of her, and expect that everything that may have happened in Rhydin would be forgiven, or erased? The young woman considered that, separating one hand from her half empty tea mug to brush her side swept bangs out of her face, and a moment later she fixed the dangling strap too.

?I do not suppose that it matters, actually.? She said finally, almost wistfully. ?What matters is that the goal is accomplished. I will see if any of my new friends know people in medicine.? A faint smile. ?...After I wash the scent of fire from me.?

?It matters, I mean? the difference is between people running away or going into battle and? dying, horribly.? For him the goal seemed so much easier by just leaving what was there. That was easy for him to say because he wasn?t leaving a place he thought of as home, a place he wanted to keep and an area he wanted to grow old and die in. The memories he had of there were few, but he wasn?t particularly sentimental about them.

His arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her. There was a jump of his eyes to the exposed curve of her shoulder where the lace hung low like a taunt. Did she notice that? Part of him wondered if she was as naive as he thought, or if each little move was her measuring what his response would be. The longer he looked at the shoulder, the more points she would deduct from how committed he was to Kathleen. Could any woman be that calculating? Maybe this was a subtle, amusing game to play because she knew the fire she was playing with would never burn her.

It contrasted with the idea he had of her for the past few weeks. That she was sweet and simple, like some twelve year-old girl who needed to know about the world. No, she wasn?t a child, she was just an adult who had matured in a different type of society. He cleared his throat and then nodded, ?Yeah, you kinda look like you could use a shower. I?ll be in my room if you need anything. I know a few people that? might know someone, but I don?t for sure have anyone that can help with this.? He paused a breath and then, ?Do you want to deliver it with me to the meeting spot??

Takara shook her head, a giggle escaping her tongue. ?No, when I said it did not matter, I meant that it does not matter whether I am still me while I am here. Who I am has never mattered. Only what. Whether it is worth the fight?? She trailed off, lifting that one shoulder in a shrug that only served to dislodge the loose strap again. ?I would like to think so. Why can?t home be more like here??

He turned away somewhat abruptly, and the young woman fixed her dress again. She smiled to herself, though puzzling out the why behind that particular smile would be difficult indeed. She finished the last of her tea in a single swallow and set the cup in the sink, lifting herself away from the counter at last. ?Yes. I will go with you once we have everything.?

(cowritten with Back Alley Phoenix)