ⒸⒽⓇⓎⓈⒶⓃⓉⒽⒺⓂⓊⓂ

[hoenest]

- ONE - X - ONE -

[ X ]Location: Japan

[ X ]Time Period: Warring States Era [ Approx. mid 1400's - early 1700's ]

[ X ]Setting: The Floating World, where hedonism and pleasure ran amok.

[ X ]Players: tanqela x yummybiscuits

[ X ]Written by: YummyBiscuits

[ X ]Idea and Editting by: tanqela

[ X ]Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance, Tragedy

 

[hoenest]

[ X ]Plot:

There once was a little boy and girl, who were best of friends. Their families were both of noble descent, and as such, they, and other children of near the same age, would normally be set together while their esteemed parents discussed mundane things such a business, profits, merchant dealings, and things of that ilk. The boy and girl met during these times, and they found fast friends in one another. They grew up together, and both secretly wished their ever vigilant parents to bind them together in marriage. Hoped and wished, it was.

The idea was all struck down, when a lack of money, and debts surfaced, which forced the parents of the girl to sell both her younger sister and she to a prostitution ring. The boy was not even be able to say goodbye, as she was taken away by large, hungry looking men.

They boy was dumbstruck. He had fully intended upon asking the father for the girl's hand. They were nearing the age of marriage, and they would need to be given off to another sooner rather than later. The girl was taken away and sold to a place where the pleasure of men ran rampant and their unbridled lusts were catered to. These series of unfortunate events occurred only mere days before he was ready to ask. Damn it all. She was hardly beyond the age where she could begin having children...

The boy was nothing more than a teenager when he left home. He had a solemn mission. Learn the ways of the samurai and of the vagabond to find his childhood friend, and bring her back.

It has been ten years hence, and both, the boy and girl have grown. The girl, sold to a yukaku, became a tayuu woefully; against her volition, the girl became a high class prostitute who served men with money. She entertains many guests, costumers, as well as a few regulars who seek her services. But one can only endure so much in so little time; The girl wanted to make haste and leave the yukaku, leave the life she most certainly despises. When a long time patron of hers expressed the wish to purchase her, and to make her his own forever, to be his lawfully wedded wife, she was ecstatic; however, marriage when her heart ached to be with another... can it be fulfilled?

The boy on the other hand, has not given up hope. He learned the ways of the warrior, and became a simple traveler. He searched, and searched. . For ten years the boy searched, traversing many cities in the country as he grew into a man. He found women trying to court him, men who wanted to join him. He couldn't, as he had to find his love. But when he does, what then? Why they would elope of course!

 

[hoenest]

[ X ]Keyterms:

Ageya: entertainment establishment.

Yukaku: These are the pleasure quarters which offered all manners of entertainment. It is where the Oiran reside.

Oiran:: Oiran were the courtesans in Japan. They are considered to be yujo, woman of pleasure, or in more colloquial terms, a prostitute. Oiran girls are divided into many levels; of the levels, the more notable ones are the tayuu and koshi, and from them, the ranks' glory dwindles to the more undesirable prostitutes. Please note that a courtesan’s birth rank holds no distinctions to the rank of the women. Many of the courtesans originated as the daughters of impoverished families who were sold into the lifestyle as indentured servants. However, they are ranked based on their beauty, character, education, and artistic ability. Anyone could be a tayuu if they tried. Oiran women hold themselves to high regard and act as proper ladies should. They do not lurk at the street side to get men into buying their services, so do not even ask.

Geisha: These women are not prostitutes. They sell their art, not their bodies like the Oiran. The reign of these women replaced the oiran.

Samurai: A japanese military warrior. They have a higher status than most people in the japanese hierarchy, and usually serve a superior known as a Daiymo.

Tayuu: The women of tayuu rank are considered to be the highest rank for a courtesan, and even considered to be suitable for daimyo. They were courtesans as opposed to prostitutes as they provided traditional entertainment (dance, music, conversation) much as the geisha did. Courtesan is the preferred term as prostitutes do not provide these services. Tayū were supposed to be as an ideal wife, for a single night at least.

Daimyo: These men are the powerful territorial lords in pre-Modern Day Japan. They ruled most of the country from their vast, hereditary land holdings, but were only second to the shogun.

Edo: Early Tokyo. There were rules that banned the oiran's services to brothels in walled districts far from the city center, like the Red Light District in Japan today.

Shogun: Military leader of Japan. Daiymo report to the shogun, and samurai in turn report to Daiymo. With this reasoning, the Shogun controls all of japan's military forces, and japan itself.

Danna: Patrons to the Geisha and Oiran.

 

[hoenest]

Ｈｉｓｕｉ ｔｈｅ Ｊａｄｅ Ｃｏｕｒｔｅｓａｎ

"Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silouhette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes are damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

Rouse from slumber and blink away the remnants of sleep from one's eyes. Thus starts the day and night of entertaining guests of all shapes and sizes, age and constitution. It is a day like any other. The sun has barely peeked its bright form from behind its bed beyond the vast mountains of the East. Only the first rays of light penetrated the sky, revealing hues of orange and blue where the beams hit. The temperature in the rooms were quite cold, as it was nearing the Winter Season. The chill nipped relentlessly at any exposed skin. The smell of breakfast already permeated the air of the yukaku. One could already taste the sweetness of the morning's breakfast, consisting of sweet cakes made, accompanied by the taste of fish, the bitterness of tea and the blandness of rice. The noise of the women of the yukaku hustling and bustling their way out of their rooms; yelling and screaming they start; up and down the hallway they go. Nothing special. This happens everyday.

A melodious tone escaped through closed lips from a woman who stood in front of the window, staring intently at the gates only a few kilometers away. Her long, ebony hair descended past her waist and down her buttocks in soft, gentle waves. Her fair complexion became lighter in comparison to her dark locks. The face which many oiran, like she, prided themselves on was what many believed as perfection: small, thin lips painted as red as blood; eyes, which glimmered and sparkled even in dim lighting; cheeks, colored like the purest cherry blossom petal. The oiran resembled the ningyo dolls: fragile and delicate; for some, only attainable with wealth. The humming woman was a creature of the like. She was one of the highest regarded oiran in the walled city of pleasure, and even earned the right to call herself a tayuu.

A tayuu must be beautiful. A tayuu must be learned in in the arts. A tayuu must be educated. A tayuu must have a calm, feminine disposition. There was no room for imperfection in the highest ranking courtesan's life. There was no room for mistakes; for a measly mistake could cause them their well being, their source of income, their life. Tayuu were revered as women of etiquette, as suitable mates for high ranking men. They were the courtesans to be and it was an honor to become one. Tayuu are lavished with gifts from their many costumers. The presents range from kimonos to simple hair ornaments, and for the lucky ones? A chance at leaving the yukaku in the arms of a man who would become their husbands. A marriage proposal from a danna would be the most important thing any courtesan could receive. It was a chance of freedom.

"Freedom," whispered she exasperatedly. The woman was no ordinary tayuu. A danna of hers expressed his interest in her countless of times, even blabbering on about marriage to her. Yet, why did the singing woman take so much pleasure staring blankly at the scenery before her? What was the gate? What was its purpose? He didn't want to elope, like many of the other women's suitors did... No. He wanted to actually make her his, as his wife. To her, that was not freedom, but another contract needing to be fulfilled. Quite uncertain if the request was true, the woman was reluctant to respond. Actually, she never responded. Then again, it was an idea that popped in his mind in the middle of coitus, and men to say things they really do not mean when wrapped in the folds of passion. "Maybe I could leave by myself." The murmur almost inaudible to anyone, but the wind. A giggle left her as the thought was blown away. She could not do that. The rules would not even allow such a thing. She could die. Elopement would lead to that too, right? It was inexcusable. It was a sin within the walls of their city.

"Hisui-oneechan," A voice piped from behind her. The woman didn't bother to look back at the owner of the voice to know that she was being summoned. Hisui, as she was called, continued to stare at the gates. She hated these people. They were all whores. No matter what the hell kind of euphemism they used to mollify the pain of the truth, they were still whores. It's funny because so is she. The process of selling her body for the profit of another, did not please her. Hisui was tainted, broken, but they still wanted her to call herself beautiful? How many men had she slept with? How many? Did it even matter? Just as long as the yukaku was gaining money, it didn't matter. That's why they were shunned by society, why they lived in their own closed world.

"Sister, they want you to join them down--" The voice started, but was interrupted by the woman raising hand in acknowledgement.

"I will be down in a moment," She lied. The young messenger knew the drill. This was the time that she left her big sister alone, fetch the food, and bring it to her room. Hisui did not dine with others. She didn't want to stare at their whore faces, and have them stare back at her with the same lurid glance. Oh the contumely women face. The facade she had to create publicly, and the hate she felt in private must be separated. The two may never touch, if so, chaos will ensue.

Hisui was not always an unsociable woman, nor was she called Hisui. When she was younger, she went by the name of Ushio Amemiya, a simple name for a simple girl. As Ushio, her family prided itself as part of nobility, and spent more than they could earn, thus ending them in debt, which in turn places her in her current position to try and pay off the money owed. As Ushio, she could do what Hisui could not: be free. As Ushio, she could run around outside their manor, dangerous as it may be, she could. As Ushio, she would never have to face a life such as her current one. She would remain innocent, and pure all of her life. As Ushio, she could fall in love, and fall hard for her childhood friend. They could marry. They could have children... As many as he wanted. The could be happy. But, she was not Ushio. She was not the girl she once was. She was Hisui the Jade Courtesan. Hisui which meant the radiant Jade, not Ushio which meant the quiet tide. No, she was not her.

--------------------------------------

Hours have passed since her silent contemplation of her current life in juxtaposition of her old one. Not a soul, but herself knows of her predicament, nor will they ever find out from a prideful Oiran girl like she. Today, she played the shimasen for the danna who is quite keen of her. Today, she will take a stroll with him through the city with the danna who is quite keen of her. The danna interested in her hand. Her dirty, impure hands. The hands of a prostitute.

"You play the shimasen so beautifully. It's as if you became the instrument. I could feel the emotions coursing through me. Well done, my dear Hisui," the man commented. He placed the woman's arms on the crook of his elbow. It was time for their stroll. She was dressed warmly for the afternoon as it was chilly outside. The man was dressed warmly too, but he was much warmer than Hisui. "Won't you play for me again?" The man requested, walking in pace with the woman.

"As you wish, Ichiro-san." Hisui raised her head to observe the man with her. His tall, lanky, but muscular frame. His raven-black hair. His kind brown eyes. His handsome face. His caring touch, his kind smile. He is too wonderful to even yearn for the likes of her. He is always gentle, always careful not to break his companion. He is a gentleman of the best kind. He is a gentleman with money. He is a daimyo, exactly what oiran women want as their danna, but only so little get. Ichiro is definitely one of a kind. Any woman would be lucky to have him. Hisui is lucky to have him.

"Once we marry, I want you to play for me all of the time," the man said with a sincere tone of voice. Her eyes never left his face. Hisui could see the color of his cheeks redden. The woman heard him right. He was going to marry her! How lucky she was! Yet, only half of her heart rejoiced for the man who would soon to be her husband, soon to purchase her. Why?

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I'm forever missing him."

 

[hoenest]

Ｍ Ｉ Ｙ Ａ Ｍ Ｏ Ｔ Ｏ Ｔ Ｈ Ｅ Ｖ Ａ Ｇ ＡＢ Ｏ Ｎ Ｄ

" Wielding his blood sword,
A hero who fights with pride
and`slays with honor. "

A man woke for a fitful sleep, finding the early rays of the sun trying to peek their way through closed eyelids. A half-blissful sleep was interrupted by the great sun, and the man who awoke grumbled lightly with his wake. Many others awoke within their own beds, feeling a silky sheen caress hardly-covered skin. It woke them up gently. For a samurai, such luxury was impossible on most days. For a Ronin, the Vagabond of Japan, those luxuries were almost entirely omitted from day to day life.

No, this samurai awoke with the feeling of rough cotton against his open chest, for he had slept without a shirt on. The ronin felt small welts where the rough stitching had rubbed unmercifully during the night, yet paid them no mind as he lifted his upper half from the floor mat. The pain in his belly was much more pressing. Having disdained from eating for three days, on account of being so poor, had pushed him to this extreme. Such was the poor life of a Vagrant, a Vagabond, a Ronin.

He concluded that he would have to find a temple in this city, and see if they gave meals to the wandering workers, or the poor. If not, he would have to spend his meager money on the most minimal amount and quality of food. No matter what, he concluded, I will have food in my rumbling belly. To show some sort of satisfaction, the man patted his belly, swollen with hunger, and already rumbling again.

As he rose, and began pulling on the upper half of his robes, and discarding the bottoms with which he slept, the man thought about what had pushed him here. He had given up a life of luxury, in order to find something. To find someone. He had learned the ways of the warrior, and watching without remorse as his fastidious and aristocratic persona was dropped away, like the last sip of tea, thick with the leaves of the strong plant. He grumbled again, as he pushed his thought's elsewhere. He grasped a pin, and tied his hair back. He did it quickly, and with little attention. This did little for looks, and made him look like a poor wanderer.

This man was none other than Miyamoto Musashi. He shared the name of a great samurai, but did anything but bring honor to it. His thought's weren't on that matter, as he exited the run-down inn he had stayed at during the night. He looked back at the shabby enclosure with light disdain. This is what he was forced to do, at this point. He was forced to many extremes, and his attire and appearanc were one of them.

He held the blades of a great samurai, and little else. His robes were unstained and worn. They had been washed in a river, so only a slightly salty-smell hung around him. His face was unshaven, covered with a thick stubble that verged on being a light beard. His hair was dingy, and unkempt. Greasy, and all over the place, no matter how often he washed it, the man couldn't afford the soap required to remove the clingy grime. Worst of all, those who pass Miyamoto Musashi say, are his eyes. They are focused outwardly entirely, ignoring all within. They call him " Miyamoto of the Dead Eye. " for this reason, upon seeing those ghastly orbs.

What was left for a man who had fallen from the grace of lower nobility, to become nothing more than a vagabond at best,and a street rat at worst? The answer was simple, and it was the reason those eyes yearned in such an unearthly way. Hope. Hope that his quest would be over, and he could finally find his dear Ushio...

Miyamoto stalked towards the main city gates. This was one of the larger cities, but he deigned to not remember the names of where he went. All that mattered was the size, and the hopes that the size meant something. That the temple held food offerings from which the patrons offered to the poor, homeless, or sick, side by side with the Kami. He would pray to the Kami, in either case of having food, or not. They offered him a kernel of hope and promise that he refused to go on without. The old gods held something in this Ronin's heart, and he smiled lightly, even through his disguise of filth, at the thought of them.

Subconsciously, Miyamoto had another reason for going to this city. It was a City of Pleasure. Where women of all sorts were brought for the pleasing of the rich Daiymo and Samurai, as well as the rich noble. Men saved for a large portion of their lives in order to visit this city, with it's great houses of pleasure. Geisha were constantly in demand here, an the business never failed to boom. Miyamoto did not seek pleasure here however. He was seeking his darling Ushio, who had been sold off at the cusp of her womanhood to the highest bidder. That highest bidder had been no perverted fool, who wanted a young mistress. No, it was a perverted mastermind, who began a business around her, and forced her womanhood to be blown away for profit.

That thought had occurred to Miyamoto before. Multiple times, the clawing agony of knowing his dearest Ushio was being tormented by a rich man, being forced to take him and his seed alike. Not for her profit, either. She gained nothing great from these encounters. It was all for the man who had bought her all that time ago. He gained money from it. That agony, the burning pain in his chest, and the righteous anger scraping the inside of his head was directed all towards that man. When he found Ushio, if he ever did, that man would pay for each time Ushio had given him money.

Those thought's were away from Miyamoto now, though. He was focused on the prospect of eating after so long. He walked gently to the temple, while the people along the sides of him parted and stared. He was a samurai, but so dingy. What did that mean? Ronin? Let them stare. Miyamoto said to himself, and he never let his gaze falter from ahead of him.

" I have sold my paddy-fields
and always the singing frogs
but keep my wakeful

 

[hoenest]

Ｈｉｓｕｉ ｔｈｅ Ｊａｄｅ Ｃｏｕｒｔｅｓａｎ

"Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silouhette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes are damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

The town was already in a hustle by mid-afternoon. The merchants with their goods, the carriages holding wonderful-looking couples, snack vendors with their confectionery and the loudness of it all. There was not a day when the walled city was not echoing the cries of a well oiled society of middle class men, and noblemen who enjoyed the company of the Oiran. The current day was no different. There were many second rate oiran with their dannas admiring the chilly atmosphere of the coming winter season. They were dressed warmly like Hisui, well as warmly as they could anyway, as they lacked such a danna like hers; a danna who could purchase for her fur adornments, and the most amazing kimonos. A danna such as that.

"Look at that wayward looking man," whisperers and onlookers spoke amongst one another. They huddled together only to point and jeer at a scruffy looking man who entered the city. While everyone looked prim and proper for presentation in their society, the new man had the gall to enter in such crude clothing. How did a man such as he even enter the city? He didn't belong. The Floating World needed no vagabonds in their general populace. These aimless wanderers could not contribute to their economy, so why welcome them?

"My darling, you are paying more attention to that man instead of me" Ichiro pulled his escort closer to him, and wrapped a protective arm around her waist as quickly as he could to show his ownership of the woman. He was quite a jealous man, one could already see. He felt entitled to her, as he has spent a great deal of money to even gain her services for the day and the night. Before him, many men would seek Hisui's entertainment, but now, they could hardly even take a gander at the woman without Ichiro's lurid glares being sent their way. The man wanted to monopolize the woman; the woman whom he cared so deeply for. It was only a matter of time before she truly became his. Against his own family's better judgment, he chose to make a whore such as she into his wife, rather, his concubine for future use. It was not like what they did in the privacy of her room compared to what they would do once she was a female of his.

"Please forgive me, my eyes did stray..." Hisui bowed her head in apology to the man who held her so tightly, as though when he released her she would fly away from his arms forever. Only one time else in her life altogether, as Ushio and Hisui, was she held with this kind of need for restraint, but the other was only a mere boy. Not even her parents sowed this much yearning for her, but the boy did. Although he was young, he knew exactly how to hold a woman. Miyamoto of the Musashi Clan, the young boy who was only a few seasons older than she, but always seemed older for some reason, as if, he already knew what he was going to do his in his life. She was attracted to his nature, attracted to him. Their parents always did notice the spark that shocked the air every time the two got together to merely chat and share the stories buzzing around their neighborhood. Miyamoto and Ushio would have been married, if not for the tragedy that struck her family. Too bad.

---------------

By the time that Ichiro and she arrived back in the yukaku, Hisui was already wanted by another customer said the stare the old lady of the house gave her as soon as the door opened. Another customer, one after the other; this would be a blessing to the other girls, but to Hisui it was nothing more than a hassle. Too many lusty men inhabited the city where she was sold into. This was her life, and has been for over ten years. One man after another in the ageya. The life gets tiresome.

"I miss bid you farewell, my flower," said Ichiro, a hint of sadness in his voice, as he took his hand off of the woman. "I will be back and soon," the man said turning around to walk away from the woman. Ichiro was dogged to buy Hisui from the one who held her contract. He was dogged to attain her in his soon to be collection of beautiful women. Who cared if she was a whore?

Hisui didn't care to look back at her danna who left an atmosphere of desperation trailing behind him, rather, she made her way to her room to entertain her new guest. He was old, but obviously rich as he could afford to buy a tayuu, a tayuu such as she no less. Other than his obvious old age, he was quite fat. His stomach looked like he ate a whole pig to himself. His face was less than satisfactory as it was covered by a dark colored beard, mostly seen on lecherous males. He was disgusting to say the least. But he paid for her attention, therefore, reluctantly, she will have to service him too. Oh, the cruel world she lived in.

"I have been saving to acquire you for one night, Hisui," stated the disgusting man with a beady sparkle in his eyes. How pathetic was this man who sat before her? Admirable in the way he saved his earnings just to even spend one night with her, but pathetic because he was so desperate to spend one frivolous night with a whore like her.

In another moment, the man was on top of her, living away his life's dream, his fantasy, making his savings worth while to him. Making love to a whore.

A whore like her. A ******** whore like her. Why had she even believed in becoming free from this life, when ultimately, she still would be known as a whore outside the walls? With the plethora of men she had serviced years before, and even now, the numbers have increased. From daimyo to men who saved, there were too many to count. They would most obviously recognize her outside of the city. They would know her. They would remember her. Her reputation will not be forgotten ever, nor will she let herself forget the darkness in her heart.

She was impure, too impure to even marry. Hisui can already see the gods striking her down with lightning when she stepped up to the altar. They already knew of her impurity. They wouldn't let her enjoy such a thing like marriage, which is made because of the purity in the couples hearts. Marriage didn't suit whores such as she, but it did suit Ushio; Ushio who could have married her childhood love Miyamoto if she had the chance. They would have been happy together. They would have kids to love, and hold, and cherish, but Hisui could not have any of life's simple pleasures. Yet, deep in her heart, in her wildest fantasy, Miyamoto would come and save her. They would elope and she will be free to live the life she wanted with the man she loves the most, with all of her heart. What were the chances of that happening? Almost null. The boy, who was now a man, probably already married another woman after her departure. He would be happy already, his life and dreams fulfilled. His wife would be beautiful, with long black hair, a beautiful face and sparkling eyes. She would be chaste, and love no one but her husband. She would love him, but not as much as Ushio and even Hisui combined.

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I'm forever missing him."

 

[hoenest]

Ｍ Ｉ Ｙ Ａ Ｍ Ｏ Ｔ Ｏ Ｔ Ｈ Ｅ Ｖ Ａ Ｇ ＡＢ Ｏ Ｎ Ｄ

" Wielding his blood sword,
A hero who fights with pride
and`slays with honor. "

Miyamoto entered the city. Before he could take three steps, eyes were upon him. So quickly, he was singled out. Everyone else wore the noble clothing society deigned to acquire upon leaving their household. He looked up for a moment, only to find piercing eyes upon him, and burning whispers assailing him. Oh, the pain. The remnants of nobility in him cursed this, this existence. What had he become, no more than a dirty traveler. He knew what he appeared to be. He knew what his looks made of him. His feet were crusted with the dust of his walk, and his clothes were dingy, clinging at him where sweat had accumulated. His hair and skin weren't much better. Downtrodden, the man cast his eyes down.

There was something he held over these people. These mere townspeople would never compare to him, for a few lone reasons. HE steeled his mind behind the wall of reason, but couldn't bring himself to smile. Being a Samurai meant a lot in this age. Even a ronin. With slight contempt, his palm sought the solace of his sword's handle. He dripped the rough cloth, trying to squeeze some happiness from the wood and metal beneath. His mission was the only thing that pushed him forwards. That, and hunger.

Miyamoto felt the dust rise beneath his hard steps as he pushed on towards the temple. It was close. Priests would refuse to allocate themselves to closely to the pleasurable, Red-Light district of the town. That was in Miyamoto's favor. To have whores look down upon him, in their houses of pleasure, would have broken him. They were lower than even him, in society. Most people held contempt in their hearts for the sex workers.

A few moments later, Miyamoto would find himself climbing the steps to the temple. There was the usual hub of people collecting around the gates, making Miyamoto hopeful that food awaited him. His stomach growled, reminding him of his purpose here. Sullenly, the Samurai finished his climb, and entered the sterile walls of the temple. The sharp sscent of incense gripped the inside of his nose, pushing him near the edge of a sneeze. He barely pushed it down. It would be disrespectful to sneeze, besides the fact someone might suspect demonic possession in a man who sneezed upon entering a temple.

----

Miyamoto walked down the steps of the temple, his eyes still downcast. He felt horrid, and his knit eyebrows and the tint to his eyes made him appear even lower than before. He felt the hardiness in these stairs, the power the temple held. He let out a sigh, feeling the weight of his mission fully. Dully, his stomach grumbled again.

They had no food. He saw people eating, taking their fill of the priest's kindness. He had been too late today. The vat of rice-gruel was empty. It's contents filled the bellies of men who had gotten to the temple earlier even than Miyamoto had. There wasn't even a single grain for the Samurai; The vat had been licked clean for all intents and purposes. It would be another hungry day.

Miyamoto could do more. Today was not finished. He looked forwards, and found a sign. A simple post, with worn paint. In simple Japanese, something anyone could have read, the words " Red-Light " had been hurriedly scrawled.

One of the worst parts of his mission involved seeking the help of the Geisha, and using their influence to help find the object of his wanderlust. The last remaining bit of his nobility lay in the golden coins he carried in his loincloth, pasted to a piece of paper in the samurai-fashion. These coins were wide and thin. When he had first begun his journey, these coins were numerous. With the amount of Geisha he had asked, these coins began to dwindle slowly. A single sheet of three dozen remained.

These coins were so special. Miyamoto had sold of large portions of his birth-right in order to garner this large amount of money. Besides their worth to Miyamoto, the coins held another meaning. The meaning that this man was noble. Even a thief would be given respect if he held these coins. The idea of nobility was enough. They moved Miyamoto quite far.

---

About an hour later, Miyamoto stood in front of a large inn. Small questions and larger directions had lead him to a single woman. One of the most famous Geisha in all of this land. The famous Jade Geisha, Hisui. Hisui. It meant something along the lines of Jade, in a higher, more formal version of Japanese. Miyamoto would ask of this woman, if she had ever seen the object of his lust.

Miyamoto entered, and pushed aside the hanging curtain that acted as a door. A sharp intake of breath was what answered him. An elder lady stood at what acted as a counter, and her breath had sent the steam from her tea flying into the air. What was this dirty, disgusting excuse of a man doing in a Yikaku such as this one, Her expression said to the samurai. Miyamoto saw this glance, the contempt in her eyes. He let out a light grunt, before sniffing lightly. The air smelled of jasmine.

Miyamoto walked in more, and a hand raised to bush back the scruffy mane of hair he had. This was embarrassing as much as it was sad. A noble, forced to ask the Geisha for help. Curses. Miyamoto made his way to the counter, and reached into his Hakama. A quick movement, and he held three coins. His family crest was splayed upon the side, and he set all three upon the table. He quickly saw the change in the woman's expression as the coins were set, and he noted how her fingers flexed in greed. " I request the services of Hisui for one hour. I believe this should be enough. " The woman looked up to his face for a mere moment. There was something piercing about her aged eyes, the way they tried to peel back the layers of him. Testing to see if he were truly noble or some street filth who happened upon a dropped coin or two, most likely. Miyamoto felt himself withdrawl into himself, with that gaze.

" Yes, yes, Great Samurai. " She said, before extending her hands to grasp the coins. He nails scratched across the wood in her hurried attempt to hold the coins as quickly as possible. Such was the power of gold. " I am sad to say, Great Samurai, that Hisui is busy right now. If you wait a few moments, she will be ready. " Before Miyamoto could reply, the woman escaped behind more curtains, running off to warn Hisui upon her finishing with her current customer.

Miyamoto stood in front of the counter, waiting. He weighed the words of the woman. She had repeated the words " Great Samurai. " Oh, the meaning those words conveyed. The status of the samurai was great, in this age. Few could call themselves a Samurai, and have the skill to back it up. There were legends of Samurai who didn't need to draw their blade in order to defeat their opponent. And still, there were other legends of men who wore their blades bound to their wrists, so as to always be prepared for the next battle. The connotation of the word, the title of Samurai, it held so much in this culture. but why did Miyamoto feel so low, if he could call himself a True Warrior?

" I have sold my paddy-fields
and always the singing frogs
but keep my wakeful

 

[hoenest]

Ｈｉｓｕｉ ｔｈｅ Ｊａｄｅ Ｃｏｕｒｔｅｓａｎ

"Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silouhette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes are damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

After the revolting man had his way with her, who knows how many times, he simply fell back upon the floor, actually, he rolled from the large futon designed for two and onto the ground. How disgusting, Hisui sneered in her mind. This man who was so ugly, so ugh... He had a weird sexual appetite as well, nothing very normal about his style, like he was actually living out some fantasy he has long grasped until now. While mama-san is happy with her money, Hisui cannot feel anything other than violation of her body. The man touched every nook and cranny of her; tasting it, savoring it, while she had to endure it and act like these lewd things pleased her. What does she get from selling her body every night? The glory of being a high class prostitute? god, why the ******** would they even call her a courtesan? Well, obviously to mollify the actual meaning of the word, it was nothing but a mere euphemism to their actual names.

While the man slept, Hisui could not even begin to feel the relief she had. His time was up, his energy, his money, his savings gone, and now he is only left with a memory of his woman being pleased by him, supposedly. It was an unspoken rule that even if the customer turns out to be a horrible lover, the courtesan must act as if they were the best they have ever had. That was that. They were the women who make men's fantasies come to life, animate them, if they could cough up the riches to buy the women for an hour if they were lucky.

There was a shadow that showed through the paper walls of the room, and Hisui let out an exasperated sigh, a sigh of dismay. She was needed by a customer again. AGAIN. Could she not have the time to properly bathe herself? Considering the fact she was filthy, with who knows what on her, all over her, all over the room. Good god, they will need to scrub the place down until the ground shines, the man she just entertained was a pig: looks, smells, and acts like one too.

"Get dressed, Hisui," the old woman's voice commanded, with a chuckle. "You are quite popular today, dear," The Jade Courtesan could already feel the mocking, yet impressed tone the old lady revealed through her voice. Hisui looked back at the paper door again, and only got a glance at the old lady as she left the woman with her customer to themselves once again. The old lady would return to her post in the front of the yukaku.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Obviously, Hisui could not use the room for entertaining the next guest. But, it didn't really matter, all guests were escorted out by the ageya's guards by the end of the night, so they could offer what little time the women had for sleep and preparation for the next day. Of course, now Hisui has to borrow another room from a woman who is currently not in her habitation, and was out and about with her customer.

The tayuu sat herself down in front of a cold bowl of water with a small towel, designed for cleaning herself, and ridding her body of what she didn't want. Hisui gained this luxury because she was so wanted, and because of her insistence that she didn't want the next guest to feel offended she smelled of man and sex. The authority figures gave her the right to do so, but really, it had nothing to do with that, but for Hisui's own cleansing, or whatever cleansing she could afford, being so tainted already. So impure, the blackness showed in her dreams.

Hisui took her time in dressing, carefully picking out a silk kimono given to her by Ichiro sometime ago when he first started becoming her danna. The intricate patterns of cranes flying off into the horizon, the sun setting in a beautiful complementing colors to the jade green color of the kimono itself. It was as if it was made for her, and Ichiro claims it was. It is one of the most expensive kimono in her collection to this day. The soft texture of the finest silk that could possibly be created, spun, and donned for such a beautiful woman such as she, stated her danna. Ichiro who would soon wed her, or whatever it was he planned to do.

Once she was ready, her hair piled atop her head in the most intricate fashion, she was set. Hisui left the room slowly, taking in the fact that this was her third customer in one day, all of the stress of being so wanted. It wasn't supposed to be like this, the many guests in one day, it was limited to one, but they had to bend the rules to satisfy the lust of the men who wanted Hisui, created a schedule just for her. That was how it was, but now that the men were satisfied, the list thinned out. The men were running out of money to spend.

Hisui was at the front already, looking around for the customer, purposely overlooking the vagabond before her until the old woman cleared her throat awkwardly. It was him. The guy from earlier today. The guy from the square! He was her customer? What? How could he even afford her! Was the price for her going down? How? She was at the peak of her womanhood! She was provocative, and not old at all, nor did she look old. She was young, still. The woman panicked in the comfort of her own mind, as she showed only a composed smile to the scruffy man in front of her.

"I believe it is best if we take to the sake room," Hisui suggested, taking the man's arm reluctantly and gently pulled him to the room which smelled of liquor and smoke. She closed the paper doors quickly, not wanting to expose the man to anymore embarrassment, because while they passed a plethora of rooms on their way, Hisui could hear the opening and closing of the sliding doors, the giggles, the murmurs, the gasps of awe. How could a man such as he get Hisui? They could not believe their eyes, their role model would be ravaged by an angry looking beast like him.

"I am sorry for their behavior," the woman could already feel the blush rise to her cheeks. The younger generation were so unbecoming, so wild, untamed. They were like untrained monkeys at the circus, the way they hollered and the like when they made love, or when they were amongst each other. They were just as disgusting as their patrons. Once again, the opening and sliding of the door to the sake room, as a younger girl brought in the sake. The girl was done with her deed before the tayuu could thank her.

Slowly, she poured the alcoholic beverage into the small cup which held only a small amount of sake, and presented it to the man. They sat across from each other, not too far, not too close, as if afraid to encroach on the other's personal space. "What would you like me to do?" The woman said, looking directly at his eyes, surprised at the familiar twinkle she saw within them. Odd... Whose eyes twinkled like that? Ichiro?

"I could play the shamisen for you," she offered, hoping to ease the tension this man was placing into the atmosphere. He was uncomfortable, Hisui could already tell from the way he stood awkwardly at the entrance, not knowing what to really do in these situations. He wouldn't ask her to do something disgusting, would he? No, he didn't look like that type of man who would. He looked like he would rather be alone than have her as company, then again, she would too. Who wants to be in the presence of a whore? She wouldn't. Not at all.

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I'm forever missing him."

 

[hoenest]

Ｍ Ｉ Ｙ Ａ Ｍ Ｏ Ｔ Ｏ Ｔ Ｈ Ｅ Ｖ Ａ Ｇ ＡＢ Ｏ Ｎ Ｄ

" Wielding his blood sword,
A hero who fights with pride
and`slays with honor. "

Miyamoto stood in the small entrance-room, with his back unerringly straight. His eyes were slightly downcast, but took in the quaint decoration and appearances of the room. He felt out of place, like he didn't belong. The half-pained expression on his face told long stories about how he didn't belong. Most would think him a newbie to this part of the world; the pleasure stables of the Red-Light district. Maybe this was his first time?

What should have been only a quick wait ended up feeling as if multiple lifetimes had passed by. Such a small time felt breathtakingly endless, and Miyamoto thought about just walking out more than once. Before he could settle the thought, a woman walked in.

His eyes shot to her immediately. Her beauty was more than breathtaking; it was almost to much to handle. The soft curve of her cheek was set of by the lushness of her painted lips, which in turn contrasted with her porcelain skin and her raven hair. The finishing touch was a beautifully accented kimono, obviously of extremely great quality. Miyamoto couldn't hide the look of surprise on his face. Such beauty could only be talked about in great tales, never seen in reality.

The worst part of her beauty was that it made the man even more nervous than before. What if he lost himself this time, and fell to his carnal desires? Such beauty was tempting, and he had paid more than enough to partake of the forbidden fruit. Well, in this case not so forbidden. She was a whore, no matter how high class. Miyamoto cleared his throat in order to push down the rising lump in the back of his mouth, and to calm to incessant beating of his heart. Had be been less controlled and more pure than he was, a blush would have surely risen upon his stubble-covered cheeks.

She spoke, and Miyamoto barely registered it before her arm linked with his own. He was a strong man, with strong arms and hands. He could have resisted her, but no such resistance came up. She would wordlessly lead him to what she called the Sake Room. Along the hallways, the doors closed abruptly, and instead of the normal romantic and flirtatious chatter, there was loud giggling. He felt so ashamed. The collection of whores laughed at him. The women who were paid to have sex, ordered to be with men they didn't love, scoffed at his existence, and laughed at him with the men who used their salaries in order to partake. He felt low.

Hisui, as this Whore was called, swiftly opened the door and entered, closing it behind them. She was hurried, and her beautiful face was scrunched momentarily with a desperate exasperation. She didn't want him to feel the pain that was as normal as breathing; instead wanting to offer him pleasure. His nose picked up the smell of smoke, alcohol, and underlying the cloying smell of incense pervading the entire inn, vomit and sweat. She released him, and busied herself with pouring Sake.

Miyamoto stood, his back strill too-straight, and his eyes darting around the room. His embarrassment had stopped him dead in his tracks. The paper door barely held him back from running away. Again, Miyamoto thought of leaving. But he had paid so much...

Her apology had fallen on ears clotted with hot embarrassment, and Miyamoto only grunted in response. The women had reason to make fun of him. While they didn't know who he truly was as a member of the great Muyusashi family, appearances were enough. His hair was unkempt, and stuck to his head where the grease of sweat and toil hadn't been washed away by water alone. His stubbled face could only be shaved so often in order to save money, and his clothes were in need of repair. This made him look like a poor wanderer, who had stepped into the false reality that made up a brothel. This reality was meant and kept up by the rich, not by the less-than-common folk.

Her question almost put him over the edge. He could ask her of anything, and her only reply would be yes. The acts that occured only in his dreams could become reality with this woman. He could make her call herself Ushio. His darling, perfect Ushio...

Miyamoto frowned deeply, and edged himself closer to the small table. As with traditional Sake Room's, this one held a small wooden table with cushions set around it. It was meant for more than two, as the size of the table and the amount of cushions told. Nevertheless, Miyamoto slowly made his way towards the cushion opposite Hisui, and sat down begrudgingly. Before he sat, Miyamoto made sure to remove to swords from his obi sash, and set them beside him. HE gave the blades a passing glance as he laid them artfully side by side. The great Daisho pair of Katana and Wakizashi. Beautiful in their own right, they looked magnificent set beside each other so wonderfully.

Miyamoto held a hand up, and carefully took the small cup of sake. He lifted it to his lips, and took a small sip of the strong drink. High quality, as befitted a brothel of such high class. He cleared his throat again, before setting the ceramic cup upon the wood of the table. This was always the worst part. Askingthe whores for help.

Miyamoto closed his eyes for a moment; a long moment. The only sound besides the giggles and faint conversations held between thin walls were the two people's breathing, the breathing of customer and service provider. He imagined Ushio's face in that long moment, before opening his eyes slowly. There was a slight twinkle as his wet eyes caught the light. " My name is Miyamoto, son of Hiroten Musashi. I have come not for your services, my lady, but to ask you of assistance. " Miyamoto's voice was deep, rumbling like the cavernous boom of a thunder shock. There was something longing in his voice. Miyamoto let his voice fall off after that. Mere mention of his family name surprised most; His father had brought great renown to his family through great business deals, and hosting other sons who became great samurai lords. Coupled with the fact that a noble looked like such a commoner, asking for help was almost a cultural taboo for nobility.

" When I was a young boy, my mother and father had me play with the children of other nobles. All in the hopes of finding good matches for later marriage, as I later found out. " Miyamoto set his eyes hard on Hisui, and set his hands in his lap, while that information sunk in. " I had a wonderful time with one girl. We remained friends as we grew, and near upon the time she was to be wed, her father fell into hideous debt. The only answer was to sell of both her, and her sister. " Miyamoto unconsciously tightened his hands into fists. It had created a large rift between the two families. The Musashi had expected them to be married, and debt would have been no issue. To keep things short, the family stopped dealing with each other.

" I have traveled for over a decade, in search of this girl. I had fallen in love with her, as we grew up together. When I found she was gone, I left home. I learned the way of the samurai from a travelling Ronin, and inherited his swords upon his death. I carry them today. " Miyamoto motioned to his blades, sitting beside him still. They were works of art, Hisui would notice. The handles were well wrapped, and even for Miyamoto's appearance, they were well taken care of. Besides that, the sheath appeared well lacquered, and in top condition. It's beauty was almost as stunning as Hisui's own.

Miyamoto deigned to not speak for a while, yet again. Hisui had remained silent, as befitted her role. In this culture, a woman would normally not speak unless directly asked a question or if she held some sort of authority. To speak now would be disrespectful, and Miyamoto took advantage of the silence in grasping another sip of sake. When he set the cup down, he continued.

" I have searched, almost endlessly for this girl. So I ask you, my lady, have you heard of a woman by the name of Ushio Amemiya? "

" I have sold my paddy-fields
and always the singing frogs
but keep my wakeful

 

[hoenest]

Ｈｉｓｕｉ ｔｈｅ Ｊａｄｅ Ｃｏｕｒｔｅｓａｎ

"Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silouhette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes are damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

The man who sat before the tayuu would not let his guard down at all. His eyes quickly glancing back and forth from the doors as if to assess the time he had to run away from the establishment of pleasure he enlisted himself to enter, with his money and all. He specified for Hisui, which was she, but his reluctance at acknowledging her presence was quite a surprise for the woman. The whole idea of the man not even speaking to her was baffling. Men would become bumbling idiots before her; however, this one seemed to bask in the awkwardness of silence. Was she not to his liking? Did she already offend him? What did she do wrong?

Hisui barely enunciated a full sentence to the man other than a few suggestions on what she could do to mollify the unease in the room. His sitting position and form were too formal, too wayward. It was obvious from the moment she saw the man in their quaint village that he was already uncomfortable. He was a stranger amidst friends and families of people who were denizens for as long as the village hussle and bussle lived. He arrived knowing no one, a vagabond, a wanderer by the looks of him, a poor one. Yet, how did he afford a luxury such as a tayuu? Could he not have just bought himself a bath from the bath house? Fixed his clothes? At least look presentable? But, he was a wanderer. Wanderers do not have the daily luxuries that most people in the village partook in. Why spend what little money he had on an hour with her though? It must have taken quite a large sum of gold to achieve a feat.

The woman could not dare to say anything offensive to her customer, no matter what. It was one of the unspoken rules of the ageya. It didn't matter what the other girls said, or what you think in your head, but keep your thoughts to yourself was the main unspoken rule. The guests need to feel welcome, feel at home. The ageya would become their second home, the women their gold digging wives. And as wives go, they gossip once the husband leaves the house. Then again, she really didn't want to say anything bad about him. He looked to be a promising man. It seemed like he was not in heat like most of the animals that enter the facility are. This was the first time a man even stayed civil in front of her, though, this man also showed how thoroughly uncomfortable he is.

The painted, red lips of Hisui's parted, as if in attempt to say something; something which was drowned by the cloud of tension in the room. What could she say? What could she do? This was the first time she ever faced a predicament like so! This man was not like the former customers, or dannas. He was different. Very different. Too different.

He shifted far away from her. Did she spy a scowl on his face? Oh dear god, she has offended him! What can she do? What did she say? Did her face show her own confusion at the current scenario? Hisui wanted to excuse herself to see what visage she was displaying for this man who held two swords. The two swords could easily mutilate her in a matter of moments, of seconds. She would be dead before she could even blink! Was that why he was here? Was he going to kill her?

The woman felt the panic well up deep inside her. Her heart beats increased; louder and louder they were in her ear. She couldn't hear herself think. Oh god, she would die. Maybe one of the daimyo didn't like her service and wanted her dead as a result, and sent this man here to kill her. It would seem probable. He looked uncomfortable enough, looked desperate enough to do such a thing to an innocent woman like her! Impure as Hisui is, she has done no wrong.

The samurai looked at her with such disdain, as if he hated the fact that he had to be in a room with such a tainted woman. A woman tainted by the unfamiliar touch of many men who sought their pleasure. A woman tainted by ugliness. A woman with no inner beauty, and only possessed the outer.

He didn't want to be here after all what sane person wanted pleasure from a whore. He was sane; one of the only people who thought himself to be on a much higher place than the worthless prostitute he faced. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she would do things to please; however, she was in it for the money, the power, and the prestige. Hisui found him admirable at this point. Didn't care if he'd kill her.

With an inaudible sigh, she waited for him to draw his swords and murder her, but more time passed and he didn't. He just finished the sake in his cup and sat there, waiting for the right moment.

She could feel his eyes on her now.

His mouth opened, and the pained words that flowed out for her ears to hear. His name was so familiar, yet the face belonged to one worn down by age, and a hard life. Hisui could not believe it. The man sitting before her was Ushio's Miyamoto, Ushio's first love, Ushio's only love. The woman could feel the tightening in her chest already. Her mind went blank. With a gasp for air, Hisui didn't even realize that she was holding her breath.

Ask her for assistance? For what? Why was a man like Miyamoto even be in an establishment such as this? The vim and vigor from their youth left him. He had no familiar twinkle in his eyes, no sense of responsibility like what Ushio found most admirable in him. This man was reckless. How did he even get this far? He was supposed to be in the more noble part of the country, not in the doom and gloom of the urban decay. He was supposed to be married, supposed to have children, supposed to have a wife that loved him with all of her heart, but not as much as Ushio's nor Hisui's combined. He was supposed to live a normal life!

He shared his life story. He shared Ushio's past story--no, their story together: how they were introduced, how they were happily in love, how they would have been given to each other. Miyamoto would change her name, enter her in his family register and the two would live happily ever after. Of course, disaster struck... Ushio was sold, and... the boy turned to his studies.

Miyamoto was searching for Ushio all this time. He still loved her. Still. Loved. Her. Her. Ushio Amemiya. He left his life of privilege to seek Ushio out! He disinherited himself from his own family for Ushio! ALL FOR USHIO!

Hisui could feel a wetness roll down her cheeks. Her hand immediately covered the wet spot. Tears? She was crying. It hurts. Her chest tightened more. The woman couldn't take this much feeling.

Hisui has lived almost half of her life without feeling such emotions. It didn't even occur to Hisui how doll-like she had become. Was she hollow inside too? When was the last time she even cried? The last time she showed weakness? It was years ago when she last felt such deep, such strong emotions. The woman couldn't help it, tears seemed appropriate.

She was utterly moved. Miyamoto still loved his childhood friend. Still loved her--no... It wasn't her he loved. It wasn't Hisui the whore, Hisui the woman who made men love her with a bat of her lashes, Hisui the prostitute. He loved Ushio. Ushio. Ushio. He loved her! Someone whom she can never be! Her past self, her past image was no one to Hisui, but Ushio is everything to Miyamoto. Miyamoto even presented himself as vulnerable to her!

What can she do?

"I have heard of such a woman," spoke Hisui. The woman's voice was forced, as if she didn't want to speak another word of Ushio. Beneath all of the filth, was Ushio's Miyamoto. He was Ushio's... He was Ushio's. What can she say?

The tears were falling; the effluence quickly left her body, and exposed the Jade Courtesan as a vulnerable woman herself. She could not lie to him. Hisui could not bear doing such a thing to a man she loved, but she must. She must! The woman took a moment to calm herself, to calm the chaos of feelings within her. Once she did so, her eyes met Miyamoto's, and she wished they didn't. She had to equivocate. She had to. It was for his protection.

"Ushio is dead."

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I'm forever missing him."