Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Celestia]

---

Anger


Yoshi Shimakaze sat up. Her sleep had been fitful since the news of her mother’s death. More details were emerging about the carnage and the battle. Her mother had died with honor and without regret but this did not comfort the young woman as she moved through her days and nights without purpose…she needed purpose. Somehow none of this seemed fair. The Gods were supposed to protect her family and her ancestors had been given every respect she could manage. Daily prayers and offerings both at home and in the temple at Zento. She had been robbed of her mother’s voice. Her mothers touch. Her mother’s presence. Someone had to pay.

Rising, she padded from her sleeping room to the bath. She dismissed the servants with a terse wave of her hand. The bath was short. Returning to her room she dressed quickly in a simple robe. Himeko was not there. She frowned and went downstairs. As she descended the stairs to the second floor family area, she stopped half-way down. Something was wrong. Everything seemed out of place. Even the air felt strange. Something had to be done.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs she looked about the room. Several servants were cleaning. Another worked the loom. Himeko was assisting with the thread; she was wearing boy’s clothes again.

One of the house guards was eating at the table, which was permitted, but for some reason Yoshi found it disrespectful. Someone was in the cooking room preparing tea. Her mother? The urn still sat near the stairs leading to the ground floor. Yoshi blinked hard. She balled her hands into fists.

“WHAT IS THIS?” she screamed.

In that instant the world froze in place. The guard had his chopsticks half way to his mouth and froze…rice fell back into the bowl and his eyes grew wide. The servant at the loom sat up stiff as a board. From the kitchen came the sound of breaking porcelain as a tea bowl hit the floor. Even Himeko sat up. Yoshi was looking at statues.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” The rage in her voice echoed through the house.

The startled household fell to their knees facing Yoshi and pressed their foreheads to the floor; one of them was whimpering. Himeko sat on her stool and looked at Yoshi in shock. She was about to speak but Yoshi cut her off.

“As the Empress still lives and thus you have not yet been made divine; you are therefore still subject to the rules of this house. You will return to your room and dress yourself properly. After you bathe.”

Himeko made a sour face and started to rise but Yoshi motioned for her to remain where she was. Himeko sat down in a huff.

Then she turned her attention to the servants on the floor. Everything that crossed her gaze offended the nineteen year old. Every sound. Every bird call or buzz of an insect rankled her nerves. How dare life go on as if nothing happened? How DARE it. Something had to be done.

Tradition demanded that those in mourning for a lost relative dress in white. But Yoshi found that to be offensive as well…the color of snow, of purity did not seem right. Her heart and her mood felt black. The loss felt like a black pit into which she had been thrown.

She did not know how long she stood there lost in such musings but when she looked up Ikrua was standing at the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor watching silently as the servants remained face down on the floor. Himeko was looking from Ikrua to Yoshi with a confused look in her eyes.

“Daughter? What….?” Ikrua began.

“Black.” Yoshi said looking at the floor.

“Black!” She repeated and looked up. Ikrua closed his mouth and nodded. He understood his daughter’s anger. He too felt the same anger day’s earlier but was now resigned to fate. His daughter was not.

Her voice rose in its determination to set things right.

“Black. Do you hear? Black! Everyone in this household shall wear black for the next forty-nine days. Do you understand?”

Her father nodded as the servants shouted in one voice.

“HAI!”

Yoshi started across the room toward the stairs. She clapped her hands and instructed a servant to attend to Himeko and see she was properly bathed and dressed. She did not look her father in the eye as she passed him. She did not even glance at the urn. She paused at the top of the stairs and looking down them added.

“Anyone caught not wearing black during this time…” The servants paused. “Anyone caught not wearing black during this time,” she continued, “shall be put to the blade.”

It was not the words that sent a chill through everyone in the room, including her father. It was the tone of her voice. A calm statement of certainty. A simple pronouncement of fate that should one fail to follow such an order; one’s life would be forfeit.

Yoshi’s face was stoic and reserved as she descended the stairs to the gardens below.

Something was being done.


To be continued…