Samurai Flamenco - Inevitably [Gotoyoshi]

[scriveyner]

Title: inevitably
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi, Mari, Ishihara
Rating: M
Length: 508
Summary:

The sun cracked the horizon, the sky red as blood. The same red as his costume, Mari thought with no small trace of disgust. It would rain later on in the day, as the press conferences were held the world over; dignitaries draped in black, their well-meaning speeches read from teleprompters and translated into hundreds of languages. Victory, but at what cost?

She stepped out into the plaza. It was still too early for the sunlight to have reached here; the air and light was still grey. It didn’t matter, she was alone in the chill morning air. The steady stream of babbling water from the fountain was the only soundtrack as Mari stood by the bench that wrapped around its circumference. There was the scent of tobacco lingering in the air, and a pile of cigarette butts on the cobblestones.

Litterer, Masayoshi’s voice, indignant as if he was right there. Gotou-san, clean up after yourself!

With a strangled yell, Mari kicked her shoe through the cigarette butts, scattering them violently.

#

It rained for three days straight. Not storms, there was nothing violent about the weather … just a steady, dreary grey drizzle that kept the roads wet and the umbrellas out. It trickled off after a few days, although the chilly weather hung about; unseasonable in every sense. Everything seems to be in mourning,newscasters said with somber faces as stockers could not keep red clothing on the shelves. Totsuka stood outside the police box, under the awning and watched the grey clouds thin toward the later afternoon. A group of schoolgirls ran by, carrying their umbrellas and racing the rain. They were all wearing black armbands over the sleeves of their uniform, with a red stitched rosette.

The desk by the window behind Totsuka sat empty.

#

It was strange how the weather always seemed to improve on the days that Ishihara visited. She looked up at the clear blue sky and frowned, holding the bucket carefully in one hand as she shielded her eyes. Bright and sunny and warm, the trees were full of cherry blossoms; and when the wind blew white-pink petals filled the air, a flurry of color that danced through the stone monuments.

Ishihara smiled sadly when she saw the bucket already sitting before the grave marker. There were petals floating in the thin layer of water that remained, and Ishihara set her own bucket down beside it, squatting to remove the burnt-out incense and half-crumbled foil bag that had blown back against the monument. “Honestly,” she fretted to herself, as she began to clean the grave. “You should really teach your friend some manners, Hazama-kun.”

A bird sang out from a nearby tree. Ishihara smiled, and lit fresh incense.

#

Sometime in the early autumn when the sea ran choppy and dredged its secrets from the depths, a tattered piece of blue material washed up on the beach. No one thought very much of the discovery, and it was disposed of in the proper manner.