12-31-2022, 08:36 PM
The rustle of dishes drew Kiyohito’s side-long gaze. A familiar aroma followed, and the service was presented. Kiyo watched, unabashed, while she tucked herself into a diminutive position. Her manner was small as well, decreasing her physical presence to near obscurity. Theirs was a highly traditional family then, one unlikely to be descended from immigrants or Koreans. Despite the mismatched pieces, she laid them appropriately for chadō, as though the art of serving flowed through her veins. This told him they were not of peasant-status, and Kiyo briefly considered his own origins. Likely to be lesser than Eido by blood. Perhaps from the country, but an air of old nobility followed her aura. Kiyo's new family transcended blood of birth, though, and he held himself with the presence of superiority as a result.
He joined her table-side given the untold amount of time it would take for the brother to arrive. It would be rude for him to abstain, and she would wait for the guest to partake first before sampling her own tea. The heat of the water stung like nettles on his lips, but one sip was enough to fulfill the honor of receiving the offering. Kiyo’s observations settled upon his hostess for the meantime, perhaps trying to discern what story plucked her from Japan into this harsh western city. Though she was careful to cover her skin, he’d glimpsed the edge of ink on her arm, and he did not think it was from propriety that she hid her art. Tattoos were more common in women than they used to be, but for a traditional family like he surmised they were, hers must have been controversial at best. He did not comment on it.
Eventually, he came to watch the creature in its cage. It slept in a ball, whose slow breathing was the only sign of its life. He was about to inquire when the door opened. Kiyohito immediately rose in witness to the return of the apartment’s patron. He bowed his head in respect, but the corners of his eyes narrowed upon observation of the obvious.
Kota was wider in the shoulder than Kiyohito by a hand and almost twice that in height. He moved like the winds of old Ronin pushed upon his back. It was only instinct that sized up the other man, but Kiyo would have none of this show in his demeanor of course. He knew exactly what he himself was capable of, and he was a guest in another home.
“Konbanwa. Good evening,” he said in return. His head nodded more than a dip between passers on the street, but less than one issuing deference. Kiyo believed himself to be the superior among them, but Kota’s westernized enthusiasm was unremarked upon.
“I insist that you please tend to yourself. My favors may wait,” he gestured at the arm and retreated across the tiny room to open as much space for brother and sister as possible.
He would refuse any other insistence to the contrary, and only when Kota had returned to share his sister’s tea would Kiyo continue.
He joined her table-side given the untold amount of time it would take for the brother to arrive. It would be rude for him to abstain, and she would wait for the guest to partake first before sampling her own tea. The heat of the water stung like nettles on his lips, but one sip was enough to fulfill the honor of receiving the offering. Kiyo’s observations settled upon his hostess for the meantime, perhaps trying to discern what story plucked her from Japan into this harsh western city. Though she was careful to cover her skin, he’d glimpsed the edge of ink on her arm, and he did not think it was from propriety that she hid her art. Tattoos were more common in women than they used to be, but for a traditional family like he surmised they were, hers must have been controversial at best. He did not comment on it.
Eventually, he came to watch the creature in its cage. It slept in a ball, whose slow breathing was the only sign of its life. He was about to inquire when the door opened. Kiyohito immediately rose in witness to the return of the apartment’s patron. He bowed his head in respect, but the corners of his eyes narrowed upon observation of the obvious.
Kota was wider in the shoulder than Kiyohito by a hand and almost twice that in height. He moved like the winds of old Ronin pushed upon his back. It was only instinct that sized up the other man, but Kiyo would have none of this show in his demeanor of course. He knew exactly what he himself was capable of, and he was a guest in another home.
“Konbanwa. Good evening,” he said in return. His head nodded more than a dip between passers on the street, but less than one issuing deference. Kiyo believed himself to be the superior among them, but Kota’s westernized enthusiasm was unremarked upon.
“I insist that you please tend to yourself. My favors may wait,” he gestured at the arm and retreated across the tiny room to open as much space for brother and sister as possible.
He would refuse any other insistence to the contrary, and only when Kota had returned to share his sister’s tea would Kiyo continue.