Fable A XXXholic/X/1999 vignette Sephy 1965 Tell me a story. Ichihara-san’s eyes narrow, her mouth not quite frowning so much as straightening, jade cigarette holder lowering in thought and Setsuka thinks it gives her a pinched look, nose too long and pointed. Her gaze sweeps downward to Setsuka’s burgeoning stomach, her white on gold kimono stretched tighter than she’d like, wishing she could reach around and loosen the obi but it wouldn’t be very ladylike to do so. Never mind the fact that Ichihara-san herself was sprawled across a divan, one arched foot on the floor, toes as green as her cigarette holder, the other leg lying straight across, her own kimono spread, low and parted across her generous breasts, no propriety at all. “A story, eh?” White, ringed fingers pluck the thin stalk of the cigarette holder from her lips, sleepy eyes made sharp for once as Ichihara-san tilts her head, a wealth of black hair spilling off the back of the chair, thin and fine. “Aren’t you a little old for that, Sakurazuka-san?” “It’s not for me,” Setsuka chides her, gathering her arms around herself, taking a cookie from the plate that suddenly appeared, Maru grinning at her. “It’s for the baby.” “Ah.” Setsuka sips her tea, holding the cup aloft to examine it as she liked to do, Ichihara-san never content to use the same set twice. Or arrange her shop the same way twice, new items constantly shifted into rooms, sometimes old rooms disappearing entirely as if they’d never been. She quite liked that, enjoyed the mystery and unceasing entertainment of it all. She wished her own home could do something similar but no, it remained as it always did, stolid, protected and perfectly laid out. All the better to keep her caged in, Setsuka supposes, replacing her cup, her hand creeping to her stomach. She had at least another month to go and as far as she was concerned, it couldn’t go fast enough, mildly intrigued by the way her body had changed on her, the gain in girth and the sharp kicks that sometimes told her there was a baby there at all interesting at least but she was really ready for it all to be done. She wanted to be in her gardens again without the retainers trailing after her or the constant attention from the main house. The tree was restless too, taking what joy it could in the fact that she was bearing it an heir but sometimes – sometimes Setsuka awoke with the taste of blood in the back of her throat, fingers trembling as nails dug into her palms. “Wouldn’t you rather I tell you your fortune?” Ichihara-san interrupts her train of thought, sitting up now with both feet on the floor, her arms across her knees in such a way that makes her kimono ever lower than before. “You already did that. It’s not likely to have changed inside of five minutes, is it?” “It might have.” They stare at each other and Setsuka never knows if the woman is being flippant or serious. Then again, it probably doesn’t matter where the Seer is concerned. “I could tell you his story, you know,” Ichihara-san offers, fingers flicking towards her stomach, “All of it. I could tell you what he does, what he doesn’t do, who he loves, how he lives, how he’ll die.” Setsuka smiles, “Why would I want to know any of that?” “It’s a damn sight more useful than some fairy story, don’t you think?” Ichihara-san sounds cross, pushing some of her hair over her shoulder. Ignoring Moro who suddenly appears as she attempts to rise, Setsuka pushes herself to her feet, padding over as best she can under the circumstances, one hand at her back which has started aching more of late. “But faeries are interesting,” Setsuka seats herself beside the disgruntled woman, taking her cigarette holder and holding it up for examination. “Faeries are different.” Ichihara-san laughs, bemused as Setsuka rests her head against her shoulder, one long arm wrapping around her. She has spider arms, Ichihara-san does and Setsuka feels a delicious shiver at that image, resting a hand on her knee. “More interesting than people-eating trees or assassins?” “Yes,” Setsuka agrees. “All right, I’ll bite. Why?” “Because I’ve never seen one.” “Ah,” Ichihara-san sounds more amused now than bemused, shaking her head, “You wouldn’t like them, Sakurazuka-san. They’re rude and they steal things. Children mostly.” “I thought they were cute and little with flower dresses,” Setsuka says suspiciously, as if she suspects she’s being made fun of now. Which is entirely possible where Ichihara-san is concerned. “They’re beyond mortal ken,” Ichihara-san picks up her cigarette again, taking a puff and shrugging, careful not to jostle Setsuka too much. “Even for someone like you. So unless you’d like your throat slit and that little bundle of murderous joy cut from your belly, I’d suggest you find something else to ask about.” “I just want a story,” Setsuka pouts, stroking her stomach then giving Ichihara-san a more considering look, she leans in conspiratorially, “I’ll tell you about my last kill if you do?” “As tempting as that is … ,” Ichihara-san pauses, “What were you wearing?” “I’m not telling if you won’t.” “In any case, I’d rather not have my shoppe over run by hobgoblins and elves. Maru and Moro have a hard enough time cleaning as it is.” Setsuka huffs lightly, annoyed and curious at the same time, “I think you’re making all this up just so you won’t have to do anything. You are dreadfully lazy sometimes. How do I know anything you just said is true?” “How do you know it isn’t?” “You really are dreadful,” Setsuka complains, struck with the sudden urge to break something but Ichihara-san would probably object to a hole in her chest. “I can find out on my own, you know.” “Then why haven’t you?” “Because I wanted to hear it from you.” “My dear, if you asked I would give you the secrets of the universe in a jar, a ring that will make you immortal, and the bird that sang to the last Emperor of China before he died but I will not summon up those horrid creatures for your amusement.” “Why not?” “Because I hate family reunions.” *** End return to splash page