Yet another evening in the Red Dragon Inn, and the tavern's regulars and newcomers mingled in a crowd around the bar, some talking, some arguing, and others simply watching the exchanges as they kept their own council. Oja Huy wiggled his fingers-carved palms, lined heavily. The splinter like scars on his arms seemed a gray fleck of arrowhead, little ones, all the way, all the way, pointing, pointing, only at himself. He hastily pulled at his sleeve, covering his atrocities, as he looked to the room and once more the light caught his scarred high cheeks. Furrowing his brows, as he shook his head, letting chin length curtains of brown hair cover him, hide him away where he sat.
In the clatter and clank of glasses and the cacophonous song of the crowd's chatter the quiet footfalls and rustle of silk was lost for silence, though the sight of the geisha more then made up for her quietness. Resplendent this evening in silks the shade of a deep purple, starting out the jewel tone of amethyst at her shoulders and fading to black as they reached her feet, the cinching obi one of the blackest silk. The night orchid descended the stairs with mincing, elegant steps, a radiant smile curving blossom lips as gentle, jet-dark eyes swept the room in a slow, slow arc.
The Native man, narrow of face and sullen, timid, shy, quiet, alone, forlorn, content, he lifted his eyes, peering, from beneath dark, dark brows, as purple shaded lips curled back, a soft grimace. He knew the smoke was still in his eyes, coloring them. Jerking them, hiding him from his black, he dropped his gaze and slunk into the seat some more. It creaked, his feet jutting forward-immaculately polished boots. Scruffy little buster keaton, he sighed softly; slump.
Across the room and more then a million miles away from the shadowed creature lost within himself, Sakura slipped her way through the thick crowd as easy as water sliding between rocks and charted her course toward the bar, eager this evening for sake and conversation to relieve the stressful burdens of late.
Oja was nothing less then scruffy. The wind still whistled for him, it still hummed like a faint tuba. He looked up, a waft of something sweet, sweet like a brush in the wild after months...or days of knowing but dirty sandy air. He looked around slowly, scenting the air. His latest companion of the night, Jewell Ravenlock bid him a good evening as she moved off.
?Goodnight Mr. Oja.?
She blew him a kiss as she moved off towards the stairs. Oja nodded with a polite smile, timid and friendly. He lifted a hand, waving its long slim towards her.
"Sweet dreams, faerie"
Lost within the crowd, Sakura shone as bright among the regulars of the inn in her jewel tones and golden skin as a fish among the kelp, flashing colors of silken sheen as she moved, coming at last to a rest beside the bar. In passing she greeted friends, and had offered Sid a sweet, sweet smile tinged with a pale blush that the ancient always managed to somehow elicit in her, before she climbed gracefully into a chair.
Waft waft? That slumber inducing sweet, it brought with it a something Oja could not articulate. This peculiar inn was to the brim with oddities, curiosities. He looked to the bar, gracing one of its many perches as a bird free of its cage-slender, gold, demure, a queen of the quiet. It made his heart smile; his features relaxed, as from below his brows, he studied her.
Sakura?s dark head turned this way and that, perfectly coiffed raven hair revealing the long, sensuous line of her neck as she searched vainly for a bartender, pouting as the back of the bar came up void.
Oja?s eyes followed the curve of her neck, the roll of her shoulders, the curvature of her delicate back. He saw it all. Too polite to approach, he was intrigued but not enough to fumble his way through word and conversation, sight and sound. He was too uneasy with most. So he stayed, and missed the night sky, his launch pad, his friend, the only place that he felt....within...Charna had been familiar, but only that. He had made bad moves before, and would not risk his feverish anxiety should the bird of gold and quiet, make her eyes his own. His gaze fell, to admire the gleam off his polished black boot, as he self consciously tucked chin length strands behind his ears. The long shadow of him stayed sprawled, her scent coursing through his veins. It was a contentment. His heart still smiled at that. Despite the oddities, there was some semblance of.....normality....
Frustrated once again at the lack of service, Sakura sighed, softly and slipped from her seat to try to make her way around the bar but the press of people was thick there, and difficult to get around despite her nimble steps. She stalled, belayed near a booth where the impossibly tall gentleman clad in all shades of grey sat. Too polite to push through, she hovered, hands folded, lips pursing gently as she strained atop tip-toe, to see over the crowd - and failed coming only to just a touch over five foot on her tip-toes
And then the man was in sudden motion, as if all his contemplating was simply fuel for the subsequent jolt of activity. Oja immediately adjusted himself, a long arm extending to collect her hand from the throng of madly shoving patrons. Sakura could not see it but a vicious fight had just broken out before her, and threatened to sweep her into it?s midst. Oja stood then, stooped over, as though his own shadows might crease her dainty elegance, as he coaxed her forward, a gentle urging as his hand took hers-collected it rather than took, hands calloused. He stopped as he neared his chair, dropping his gaze to his two rough collectors, and her golden, quiet hands. She was golden. She was quiet. The long shadow was stiff then, eyes quickly meeting hers from beyond dark brows, thin and raised, as though to question her Light. He smiled then-timidly, sweet, somewhat sly. He had not seen this kind of creature before. And right here, the scent swarmed him-locusts of fragrance adorning themselves to his grey and his black, as he became a subservient statue, gesturing to the chair-stiffly.
"Sit."
Sakura had gasped as an unfamiliar hand quite suddenly closed around her own, and stiffened for a second with the frightful thought of Lucy first and foremost in her mind. Looking up....and up some more, however she found herself confronted by the tall creature, a study in grays and blacks and purples as if he would fade into the shadows with perfect camouflage. Entranced and oddly curious of what possessed this man to touch her she docilely allowed herself to be led by him. Long years of service and obedience were difficult habits to break, and she meekly followed upon his request, gazing up at him in gentle puzzlement as he in turn gazed down at her delicate, manicured hands held within his own. She swallowed and spoke softly.
?Sir??
Smokey eyes assumed her face, her beauty reflected in the fire's mist therein. They stunted then, blinking furiously, as the gentle catch of her hand within his fell in dreadful quiet as he moved back, one arm lingering then by the chair's back as the graceful sweep of his shoulder led him back behind it, pushing it towards her, proffering some rest.
"Sit?"
He smiled, those strong willed strands of chin length moving again from his ears to hide his narrow face and grey scarred cheeks.
A graceful sweep of one hand and Sakura?s kimono folded under her as she sank into the chair in obeisance, finely molded chin tilted upwards so that dark, luminescent gaze could take in her strange suitor. She returned his smile with a tender timidness, unsure of what had possessed him to sequester her like this. Oja responded as though reading her thoughts.
"I thought...perhaps....you might get stuck."
He said simply as he grinned, a small silly smile, while he shrugged and sunk into his seat some, shoulders pressed back behind himself as he tilted his head.
"Crazy here tonight."
It was a barfly?s idle chatter, an uncomfortable ice-breaker, but his mind was elsewhere, and everywhere all at once. The long shadow ignored the calls of the Brothers outside, whistling like a low humming tuba. They could yell all they wanted, he was enjoying her perfumed radiance. She was not akin to anything else, or anyone else? he drew himself back in to interject once more.
"You were not, then?"
He smiled, looking her over briefly, not like a man that wanted flesh unto his hands but like a boy who sought to understand a greater good that his black little rib cage could not muster for the life of him, when all around paint peeled and murderers called him "the invisible repugnable."
?Oh!?
The syllable was half-laughed, half-breathed, with a soft smile that reflected itself good-naturedly in the jet twinkle of the geisha?s almondine eyes. She raised soft fingertips to her lips in a feminine gesture, trying to charmingly to hide her smile.
?No, no....not stuck...just... well yes, I suppose, a little stuck.?
She admitted with another flash of a smile, eyes lowering bashfully? so deep did her training run that even with a stranger she could be nothing less then accommodating?but then again it was her nature as well.
?I was just waiting for a path through to get behind the bar.?
She murmured dismissively before raising her gaze to meet his curious one once more. Unrepulsed by his darkness, indeed unphased by his otherworldly appearance the young woman's manners were impeccible. She bowed deeply to him from her seat.
?My name is Sakura, may I ask yours, sir??
"Oh?"
His eyes widened, purple lips rapt in a smile with her coy luminous offerings, peppering her speech with smiles only made his own smile broaden.
"I...I'm Bernie..."
He lied, scared of his own name, like a horse of the branding on its flank. He lowered his eyes to his calloused hands, whose knuckles dove at the table, like two crouched monks of flesh. He looked to her again.
"I would chest in on them, but one blow at me, and I'm out the door. Not much of a fighter I'm afraid, though...Do you like stars?"
He leant forward, his face stained in a gray light darkening even more, if that was possible, as the depths of his eyes bored into her own unthreateningly; merely to hypnotize, keep the attention. The scruffy buster keaton extended his hands into the silk of his coat tail pockets.
Sakura blinked in total and utter confusion as to the strange stream-of-consciousness that poured out of him like a waterfall, impossible to halt or catch. She offered him an embarrassed smile, her own hands folded perfectly in her lap, waiting service to their elegant mistress. She lent forward slightly as well, conspiratorially.
?I'm afraid I don't really understand you,...ah, Bernie.?
In all honesty she did not believe him when he spoke his name, and she made it plain. The geisha could see his lie in his stammer, the way his eyes slipped away. Details were her life and she trusted her intuitiveness absolutely. Grasping, she grabbed hold of the one cohesive question he uttered.
? But...I do love the stars.?
Oja? s trigger fingers flittered like tinsel streams into a breeze, suddenly chain-link paper stars hung from between the invisible bridge between his limp, long hands. The rather unexpected rise of his shoulders giving him a rather sinister, stately cosmetic. Despite the creases in his white silk shirt the soft linen was clean cut against his thistle body and long silken hair, his chin narrow and kind, the smoke eyes regarded her with a smile of a jester-sly, sly little fox. He closed the stream of the paper accordion, and as he opened again there, there was a chain of hearts. He winked.
The geisha gasped in delight at the trick, beguiled by his nimble fingers and their subtle magic. What was it about him that made her ignore the riotous crowd around them as if their shouts of laughter, alarm and idle chatter were little more then the drone of bees in clover? She applauded softly in envious joy.
?Oh, how beautiful!?
Rustling in paper grind, soft, soft, he widened the gate of his arms and lowered it near her, not at her, not on her. It hovered in a draught, there, a chain of white.
"Please," he uttered.
Enchanted, she lifted both hands, palms up, delicate fingers opened to receive the gift, and raising both arms slowly, allowed the chain to settle into her grasp, plucking it from the very air that it hovered in. She brought her hands down slowly, ever so gently, careful with the delicate gift. Settling it in her lap she gazed down at it for a long moment before those dark orbs flashed back up at her strange entertainer. She dipped her chin in a shallow bow.
?Thank you...?
Oja gave her a nod, a smile, a polite smile at that. His hands retracted into the comfort of his pockets, their gold buttoned lininings chiming as he did so. After such a brilliant and unexpected display he was suddenly afraid to fumble. Awkwardness subdued him, as he collapsed into the chair again, a meek grey and black humble shouldered scruff.
"Hang it by your window. It catches night mares and eats them." He mumbled with a grin.
?Ah! Then I will do so.?
Her smile turned coy under the coal-black shelter of her lashes as she kept her chin tucked. He was kind, obviously, his gift was something heartfelt and no mere trifle ? the geisha could see that plainly. She took her chances and rolled the dice once.
?May I know your name?...Your real name??
Oja?s response was a cryptic and jumbled as his previous ones.
"A Mare Catcher. I like the obverse. Or is it..subvert? Am I bernie?"
He lowered his gaze. he should know better.
"No. But, you can call me that. It works well. Foxes don't lie. They just lay low"
The blossom shook her head gently and reached a hand across the table, resting it softly atop the rough wood. She would have placed it upon his hand if it had been there, but they were safe in their pockets, and the simple proximity had to suffice.
?No, you are not Bernie... but you are very kid to give me gifts when you don't know me.
Tell me, what gift might I give you in exchange, so that all is even??
Give and take? What was it with that? In the fields, if the mortar kept you down for a crime you didn't commit - what karma was in that? You didn't win. There was no even keel. He looked at her, silence, a horrid quiet haunting his face and his purple lips, but a slit across his long face as he watched her. He flinched from his settle, and cocked his chin towards her twice.
"Take it. I prefer Odd"
He regarded her then, a deep gut throttle reckoning with his thoughts. Mortar stung, perhaps that was the lesson - lay low for too long, and either the flames will catch up, if not them, then the sun's rays. He fell into a quiet abyss, sinking lower than just moments ago, his face hidden partly by the chin length curtains of brown, that swept his Long dark in further concealment.
Sakura inhaled slowly in that long, hard silence, feeling her lungs pull the breath in with a strain against the infinite pressure of that haunting stare. It did not frighten her, through it was heartily unsettling. She knew in her heart of hearts he was not something human, and to her mind and her traditions it meant he was to be honored and respected else she face wrath. She rose from her seat and two steps brought her beside his chair. Even seated he was nearly taller then her, and she did not have to stoop to reach out and touch a strand of dark brown hair, catching it between thumb and forefinger to twirl it softly. She felt drawn to touch him, and whether it was foolishness or wisdom would out soon
enough. Delicate artists fingers slipped within that veil of brown locks and cupped a sallow cheek with infinite tenderness
?Odd will not do, Sir.?
Oja?s pause of black whispered away, like a veil drawn back in gossamer flushes of nothingness-a cool breeze on a hot night. His features relaxed in the quiet, as his eyes bore into hers still, watching, puzzled. Men of all manner, and both sexes never reached out to him to touch, not even towards, because they did not see. This profoundly disconcerting cartography of emotions left him aghast there. He spoke nigh a word and only sat there, still, slumped and still, puzzled. What would do, then?
The smile that graced the geisha?s lips as her fingers curved to tenderly cup his cheek was tinged with a kind of wistful sadness. He seemed so shocked, so puzzled by her touch... he reminded her in an instant of Jerea, the abused kitten-child she had taken under her wing, in the first moments of trust when he realized she would not harm him, and it rent her heart with the keenest of knives. She bent her head then, and touched soft lips to his forehead in the merest brush of a comforting kiss. She drew away slowly, both hand and lip, to smile down at him again and dip a graceful bow, the jewel tones of her silk shimmering as she light passed in a sheen across them.
Not to close his eyes, but not to open them, they fell in heavy lidded pause. Oja?s hair scuffed his face as her kimono-touch shifted his hairs against his nose and lips, as he breathed her in-overwhelming-a rhapsody, a kaleidoscope of perfumed delirium. He shuddered then, his thistle self riddled in a profane, obscene echo that mimicked the thud of the tuba whispers on the wind at the door. She moved back, retracting her delight from his pained face. His eyes fluttered open at her escape from his shadows. He felt his hand lift towards her, only to drift back
"Who are you?"
He whispered, hoping to define this presence, as fleeting, he imagined, as his own energies. Though hers would linger as all Bright sheeny sparkle faeries and goddesses do...No longer dim, he would shimmer on the edges. She gave him a silver lining.
He smiled, sudden and handsome, his scarred cheeks lifting with his mouths tilt. He felt a well of wonder gurgle below his chest.
?My name is Sakura...? She said softly, softly enough that it could only be shared between him and her, ?In my language it means Cherry Blossom.?
Her smile was soft as the petals of which she spoke, and she stroked a dark lock of his again tenderly.
?Happiness is a gift that we do not deserve... it is brief and bright and we must
enjoy it while we can; it is said to be the lesson of the cherry blossom... and that is what my name means.?
His smile was a gift, and she returned kindly.
Oja was hastened there, arms gripped the chair, as he felt the tickle at his scalp at the gentle, faint tug as her fingers toiled with his hair. Sidelong he looked at her, feeling sure of himself as his hand lifted to take hers, grasping it gingerly from his hair, he held it downwards, so that the golden buttons at his wrist chimed and the hands that enfolded her own came close enough to lather hers in calloused palm. He looked at her hard, as though showing her his blistered nature. A ghost man in grey, but a man none the less. He let her hand go after a moment, still his hand panged from the shock of her softness against his own gravely lined hand. He rested both hands before him, long and slender. Intimacy was as foreign to him as an iron and an ironing board. The Ghost-walk took precedence over vanity, though her impeccable menagerie of gold?of quiet?of cherry blossom delight, he could appreciate. He sat still.
Long lashes swept Sakura?s cheeks softly as she glanced down at her hand caught in his grasp, a golden lotus pressed between weathered and worn palms that had seen much of life's cruelty and hardships. She said nothing, and did not move, save to shift towards him comfortably...and when at last he let her fingers slip away she drew them back to herself without selfishness, and gifted him one last sweet smile.
?Good night, Sir...?
"Do not forget to hang the Mare Catcher"
Breaking his silence, he sent her a wink, as sudden as his handsome smile had mocked his darkness. He left it at that, leaning back into the chair, cocking a knee across the other, sidewards. He regarded her then like a woman you don't let get away, before cocooning such flavorful thoughts with a cool smile, as he withdrew a clot of cigarettes from an inner pocket, and nodded to her as he lit it at his lips.
?I will not forget.? She assured him with a soft breath of a laugh as she turned to go, slipping back toward the stairs as easily as she had come, the night orchid's colorful petals as lovely as they were when she had emerged, rich colors disappearing into the shadows of the stairwell as she climbed with graceful haste toward the calling of
her bed.
Oja?s eyes heaved from their dismayed gloom at the table's smooth wood-it was not marred, peeling or broken like him. He needed a someone, a something to relate to. Or was that the suggestion of a pretty face with a guiding light that had burnished his stalking nomad heart?
Either way the two strangers had met, paused with one another on the dark road for the evening, and shared something strange and intangible in their meeting with one another before each passed on?and that evening, with the paper streamer hung across her window, its soft rustle flapping against the evening breezes, the geisha?s dreams were full of tall grey shadows flashing handsome, skittish smiles in the moonlight.
In the clatter and clank of glasses and the cacophonous song of the crowd's chatter the quiet footfalls and rustle of silk was lost for silence, though the sight of the geisha more then made up for her quietness. Resplendent this evening in silks the shade of a deep purple, starting out the jewel tone of amethyst at her shoulders and fading to black as they reached her feet, the cinching obi one of the blackest silk. The night orchid descended the stairs with mincing, elegant steps, a radiant smile curving blossom lips as gentle, jet-dark eyes swept the room in a slow, slow arc.
The Native man, narrow of face and sullen, timid, shy, quiet, alone, forlorn, content, he lifted his eyes, peering, from beneath dark, dark brows, as purple shaded lips curled back, a soft grimace. He knew the smoke was still in his eyes, coloring them. Jerking them, hiding him from his black, he dropped his gaze and slunk into the seat some more. It creaked, his feet jutting forward-immaculately polished boots. Scruffy little buster keaton, he sighed softly; slump.
Across the room and more then a million miles away from the shadowed creature lost within himself, Sakura slipped her way through the thick crowd as easy as water sliding between rocks and charted her course toward the bar, eager this evening for sake and conversation to relieve the stressful burdens of late.
Oja was nothing less then scruffy. The wind still whistled for him, it still hummed like a faint tuba. He looked up, a waft of something sweet, sweet like a brush in the wild after months...or days of knowing but dirty sandy air. He looked around slowly, scenting the air. His latest companion of the night, Jewell Ravenlock bid him a good evening as she moved off.
?Goodnight Mr. Oja.?
She blew him a kiss as she moved off towards the stairs. Oja nodded with a polite smile, timid and friendly. He lifted a hand, waving its long slim towards her.
"Sweet dreams, faerie"
Lost within the crowd, Sakura shone as bright among the regulars of the inn in her jewel tones and golden skin as a fish among the kelp, flashing colors of silken sheen as she moved, coming at last to a rest beside the bar. In passing she greeted friends, and had offered Sid a sweet, sweet smile tinged with a pale blush that the ancient always managed to somehow elicit in her, before she climbed gracefully into a chair.
Waft waft? That slumber inducing sweet, it brought with it a something Oja could not articulate. This peculiar inn was to the brim with oddities, curiosities. He looked to the bar, gracing one of its many perches as a bird free of its cage-slender, gold, demure, a queen of the quiet. It made his heart smile; his features relaxed, as from below his brows, he studied her.
Sakura?s dark head turned this way and that, perfectly coiffed raven hair revealing the long, sensuous line of her neck as she searched vainly for a bartender, pouting as the back of the bar came up void.
Oja?s eyes followed the curve of her neck, the roll of her shoulders, the curvature of her delicate back. He saw it all. Too polite to approach, he was intrigued but not enough to fumble his way through word and conversation, sight and sound. He was too uneasy with most. So he stayed, and missed the night sky, his launch pad, his friend, the only place that he felt....within...Charna had been familiar, but only that. He had made bad moves before, and would not risk his feverish anxiety should the bird of gold and quiet, make her eyes his own. His gaze fell, to admire the gleam off his polished black boot, as he self consciously tucked chin length strands behind his ears. The long shadow of him stayed sprawled, her scent coursing through his veins. It was a contentment. His heart still smiled at that. Despite the oddities, there was some semblance of.....normality....
Frustrated once again at the lack of service, Sakura sighed, softly and slipped from her seat to try to make her way around the bar but the press of people was thick there, and difficult to get around despite her nimble steps. She stalled, belayed near a booth where the impossibly tall gentleman clad in all shades of grey sat. Too polite to push through, she hovered, hands folded, lips pursing gently as she strained atop tip-toe, to see over the crowd - and failed coming only to just a touch over five foot on her tip-toes
And then the man was in sudden motion, as if all his contemplating was simply fuel for the subsequent jolt of activity. Oja immediately adjusted himself, a long arm extending to collect her hand from the throng of madly shoving patrons. Sakura could not see it but a vicious fight had just broken out before her, and threatened to sweep her into it?s midst. Oja stood then, stooped over, as though his own shadows might crease her dainty elegance, as he coaxed her forward, a gentle urging as his hand took hers-collected it rather than took, hands calloused. He stopped as he neared his chair, dropping his gaze to his two rough collectors, and her golden, quiet hands. She was golden. She was quiet. The long shadow was stiff then, eyes quickly meeting hers from beyond dark brows, thin and raised, as though to question her Light. He smiled then-timidly, sweet, somewhat sly. He had not seen this kind of creature before. And right here, the scent swarmed him-locusts of fragrance adorning themselves to his grey and his black, as he became a subservient statue, gesturing to the chair-stiffly.
"Sit."
Sakura had gasped as an unfamiliar hand quite suddenly closed around her own, and stiffened for a second with the frightful thought of Lucy first and foremost in her mind. Looking up....and up some more, however she found herself confronted by the tall creature, a study in grays and blacks and purples as if he would fade into the shadows with perfect camouflage. Entranced and oddly curious of what possessed this man to touch her she docilely allowed herself to be led by him. Long years of service and obedience were difficult habits to break, and she meekly followed upon his request, gazing up at him in gentle puzzlement as he in turn gazed down at her delicate, manicured hands held within his own. She swallowed and spoke softly.
?Sir??
Smokey eyes assumed her face, her beauty reflected in the fire's mist therein. They stunted then, blinking furiously, as the gentle catch of her hand within his fell in dreadful quiet as he moved back, one arm lingering then by the chair's back as the graceful sweep of his shoulder led him back behind it, pushing it towards her, proffering some rest.
"Sit?"
He smiled, those strong willed strands of chin length moving again from his ears to hide his narrow face and grey scarred cheeks.
A graceful sweep of one hand and Sakura?s kimono folded under her as she sank into the chair in obeisance, finely molded chin tilted upwards so that dark, luminescent gaze could take in her strange suitor. She returned his smile with a tender timidness, unsure of what had possessed him to sequester her like this. Oja responded as though reading her thoughts.
"I thought...perhaps....you might get stuck."
He said simply as he grinned, a small silly smile, while he shrugged and sunk into his seat some, shoulders pressed back behind himself as he tilted his head.
"Crazy here tonight."
It was a barfly?s idle chatter, an uncomfortable ice-breaker, but his mind was elsewhere, and everywhere all at once. The long shadow ignored the calls of the Brothers outside, whistling like a low humming tuba. They could yell all they wanted, he was enjoying her perfumed radiance. She was not akin to anything else, or anyone else? he drew himself back in to interject once more.
"You were not, then?"
He smiled, looking her over briefly, not like a man that wanted flesh unto his hands but like a boy who sought to understand a greater good that his black little rib cage could not muster for the life of him, when all around paint peeled and murderers called him "the invisible repugnable."
?Oh!?
The syllable was half-laughed, half-breathed, with a soft smile that reflected itself good-naturedly in the jet twinkle of the geisha?s almondine eyes. She raised soft fingertips to her lips in a feminine gesture, trying to charmingly to hide her smile.
?No, no....not stuck...just... well yes, I suppose, a little stuck.?
She admitted with another flash of a smile, eyes lowering bashfully? so deep did her training run that even with a stranger she could be nothing less then accommodating?but then again it was her nature as well.
?I was just waiting for a path through to get behind the bar.?
She murmured dismissively before raising her gaze to meet his curious one once more. Unrepulsed by his darkness, indeed unphased by his otherworldly appearance the young woman's manners were impeccible. She bowed deeply to him from her seat.
?My name is Sakura, may I ask yours, sir??
"Oh?"
His eyes widened, purple lips rapt in a smile with her coy luminous offerings, peppering her speech with smiles only made his own smile broaden.
"I...I'm Bernie..."
He lied, scared of his own name, like a horse of the branding on its flank. He lowered his eyes to his calloused hands, whose knuckles dove at the table, like two crouched monks of flesh. He looked to her again.
"I would chest in on them, but one blow at me, and I'm out the door. Not much of a fighter I'm afraid, though...Do you like stars?"
He leant forward, his face stained in a gray light darkening even more, if that was possible, as the depths of his eyes bored into her own unthreateningly; merely to hypnotize, keep the attention. The scruffy buster keaton extended his hands into the silk of his coat tail pockets.
Sakura blinked in total and utter confusion as to the strange stream-of-consciousness that poured out of him like a waterfall, impossible to halt or catch. She offered him an embarrassed smile, her own hands folded perfectly in her lap, waiting service to their elegant mistress. She lent forward slightly as well, conspiratorially.
?I'm afraid I don't really understand you,...ah, Bernie.?
In all honesty she did not believe him when he spoke his name, and she made it plain. The geisha could see his lie in his stammer, the way his eyes slipped away. Details were her life and she trusted her intuitiveness absolutely. Grasping, she grabbed hold of the one cohesive question he uttered.
? But...I do love the stars.?
Oja? s trigger fingers flittered like tinsel streams into a breeze, suddenly chain-link paper stars hung from between the invisible bridge between his limp, long hands. The rather unexpected rise of his shoulders giving him a rather sinister, stately cosmetic. Despite the creases in his white silk shirt the soft linen was clean cut against his thistle body and long silken hair, his chin narrow and kind, the smoke eyes regarded her with a smile of a jester-sly, sly little fox. He closed the stream of the paper accordion, and as he opened again there, there was a chain of hearts. He winked.
The geisha gasped in delight at the trick, beguiled by his nimble fingers and their subtle magic. What was it about him that made her ignore the riotous crowd around them as if their shouts of laughter, alarm and idle chatter were little more then the drone of bees in clover? She applauded softly in envious joy.
?Oh, how beautiful!?
Rustling in paper grind, soft, soft, he widened the gate of his arms and lowered it near her, not at her, not on her. It hovered in a draught, there, a chain of white.
"Please," he uttered.
Enchanted, she lifted both hands, palms up, delicate fingers opened to receive the gift, and raising both arms slowly, allowed the chain to settle into her grasp, plucking it from the very air that it hovered in. She brought her hands down slowly, ever so gently, careful with the delicate gift. Settling it in her lap she gazed down at it for a long moment before those dark orbs flashed back up at her strange entertainer. She dipped her chin in a shallow bow.
?Thank you...?
Oja gave her a nod, a smile, a polite smile at that. His hands retracted into the comfort of his pockets, their gold buttoned lininings chiming as he did so. After such a brilliant and unexpected display he was suddenly afraid to fumble. Awkwardness subdued him, as he collapsed into the chair again, a meek grey and black humble shouldered scruff.
"Hang it by your window. It catches night mares and eats them." He mumbled with a grin.
?Ah! Then I will do so.?
Her smile turned coy under the coal-black shelter of her lashes as she kept her chin tucked. He was kind, obviously, his gift was something heartfelt and no mere trifle ? the geisha could see that plainly. She took her chances and rolled the dice once.
?May I know your name?...Your real name??
Oja?s response was a cryptic and jumbled as his previous ones.
"A Mare Catcher. I like the obverse. Or is it..subvert? Am I bernie?"
He lowered his gaze. he should know better.
"No. But, you can call me that. It works well. Foxes don't lie. They just lay low"
The blossom shook her head gently and reached a hand across the table, resting it softly atop the rough wood. She would have placed it upon his hand if it had been there, but they were safe in their pockets, and the simple proximity had to suffice.
?No, you are not Bernie... but you are very kid to give me gifts when you don't know me.
Tell me, what gift might I give you in exchange, so that all is even??
Give and take? What was it with that? In the fields, if the mortar kept you down for a crime you didn't commit - what karma was in that? You didn't win. There was no even keel. He looked at her, silence, a horrid quiet haunting his face and his purple lips, but a slit across his long face as he watched her. He flinched from his settle, and cocked his chin towards her twice.
"Take it. I prefer Odd"
He regarded her then, a deep gut throttle reckoning with his thoughts. Mortar stung, perhaps that was the lesson - lay low for too long, and either the flames will catch up, if not them, then the sun's rays. He fell into a quiet abyss, sinking lower than just moments ago, his face hidden partly by the chin length curtains of brown, that swept his Long dark in further concealment.
Sakura inhaled slowly in that long, hard silence, feeling her lungs pull the breath in with a strain against the infinite pressure of that haunting stare. It did not frighten her, through it was heartily unsettling. She knew in her heart of hearts he was not something human, and to her mind and her traditions it meant he was to be honored and respected else she face wrath. She rose from her seat and two steps brought her beside his chair. Even seated he was nearly taller then her, and she did not have to stoop to reach out and touch a strand of dark brown hair, catching it between thumb and forefinger to twirl it softly. She felt drawn to touch him, and whether it was foolishness or wisdom would out soon
enough. Delicate artists fingers slipped within that veil of brown locks and cupped a sallow cheek with infinite tenderness
?Odd will not do, Sir.?
Oja?s pause of black whispered away, like a veil drawn back in gossamer flushes of nothingness-a cool breeze on a hot night. His features relaxed in the quiet, as his eyes bore into hers still, watching, puzzled. Men of all manner, and both sexes never reached out to him to touch, not even towards, because they did not see. This profoundly disconcerting cartography of emotions left him aghast there. He spoke nigh a word and only sat there, still, slumped and still, puzzled. What would do, then?
The smile that graced the geisha?s lips as her fingers curved to tenderly cup his cheek was tinged with a kind of wistful sadness. He seemed so shocked, so puzzled by her touch... he reminded her in an instant of Jerea, the abused kitten-child she had taken under her wing, in the first moments of trust when he realized she would not harm him, and it rent her heart with the keenest of knives. She bent her head then, and touched soft lips to his forehead in the merest brush of a comforting kiss. She drew away slowly, both hand and lip, to smile down at him again and dip a graceful bow, the jewel tones of her silk shimmering as she light passed in a sheen across them.
Not to close his eyes, but not to open them, they fell in heavy lidded pause. Oja?s hair scuffed his face as her kimono-touch shifted his hairs against his nose and lips, as he breathed her in-overwhelming-a rhapsody, a kaleidoscope of perfumed delirium. He shuddered then, his thistle self riddled in a profane, obscene echo that mimicked the thud of the tuba whispers on the wind at the door. She moved back, retracting her delight from his pained face. His eyes fluttered open at her escape from his shadows. He felt his hand lift towards her, only to drift back
"Who are you?"
He whispered, hoping to define this presence, as fleeting, he imagined, as his own energies. Though hers would linger as all Bright sheeny sparkle faeries and goddesses do...No longer dim, he would shimmer on the edges. She gave him a silver lining.
He smiled, sudden and handsome, his scarred cheeks lifting with his mouths tilt. He felt a well of wonder gurgle below his chest.
?My name is Sakura...? She said softly, softly enough that it could only be shared between him and her, ?In my language it means Cherry Blossom.?
Her smile was soft as the petals of which she spoke, and she stroked a dark lock of his again tenderly.
?Happiness is a gift that we do not deserve... it is brief and bright and we must
enjoy it while we can; it is said to be the lesson of the cherry blossom... and that is what my name means.?
His smile was a gift, and she returned kindly.
Oja was hastened there, arms gripped the chair, as he felt the tickle at his scalp at the gentle, faint tug as her fingers toiled with his hair. Sidelong he looked at her, feeling sure of himself as his hand lifted to take hers, grasping it gingerly from his hair, he held it downwards, so that the golden buttons at his wrist chimed and the hands that enfolded her own came close enough to lather hers in calloused palm. He looked at her hard, as though showing her his blistered nature. A ghost man in grey, but a man none the less. He let her hand go after a moment, still his hand panged from the shock of her softness against his own gravely lined hand. He rested both hands before him, long and slender. Intimacy was as foreign to him as an iron and an ironing board. The Ghost-walk took precedence over vanity, though her impeccable menagerie of gold?of quiet?of cherry blossom delight, he could appreciate. He sat still.
Long lashes swept Sakura?s cheeks softly as she glanced down at her hand caught in his grasp, a golden lotus pressed between weathered and worn palms that had seen much of life's cruelty and hardships. She said nothing, and did not move, save to shift towards him comfortably...and when at last he let her fingers slip away she drew them back to herself without selfishness, and gifted him one last sweet smile.
?Good night, Sir...?
"Do not forget to hang the Mare Catcher"
Breaking his silence, he sent her a wink, as sudden as his handsome smile had mocked his darkness. He left it at that, leaning back into the chair, cocking a knee across the other, sidewards. He regarded her then like a woman you don't let get away, before cocooning such flavorful thoughts with a cool smile, as he withdrew a clot of cigarettes from an inner pocket, and nodded to her as he lit it at his lips.
?I will not forget.? She assured him with a soft breath of a laugh as she turned to go, slipping back toward the stairs as easily as she had come, the night orchid's colorful petals as lovely as they were when she had emerged, rich colors disappearing into the shadows of the stairwell as she climbed with graceful haste toward the calling of
her bed.
Oja?s eyes heaved from their dismayed gloom at the table's smooth wood-it was not marred, peeling or broken like him. He needed a someone, a something to relate to. Or was that the suggestion of a pretty face with a guiding light that had burnished his stalking nomad heart?
Either way the two strangers had met, paused with one another on the dark road for the evening, and shared something strange and intangible in their meeting with one another before each passed on?and that evening, with the paper streamer hung across her window, its soft rustle flapping against the evening breezes, the geisha?s dreams were full of tall grey shadows flashing handsome, skittish smiles in the moonlight.