“Diligence begins in the morning. After you wake and see to your hygiene, put your neighbors in order as well. Deliver the proper greeting to your dormitory mother before taking your breakfast. What’s that about Sundays? Oh, of course. On Sundays, you may feel free to wake an hour early to attend morning Mass.”
-Riesbyfe Stridberg, Mother Superior
Azaka wriggled out of her warm cocoon. The hands of the clock put her at fifteen minutes to six. Other students relished the chance to sleep in for even a second more, but she shrugged off her blankets and marched to the bathroom. She popped her toothbrush out of its case and into her mouth, dousing the morning staleness in sharp mint. Spit, rinse, and done. Dampened by sweat, a wrinkled chemise clung to her sides. It sailed onto a hook on the door alongside her underwear. And then into the shower.
The Reien Academy taps ran two ways: lukewarm and freezing. Austerity demanded that everybody cope. Most did. That is, the stupid ones. Every last student was born to comfort, specifically in the form of the heated bath. The early-risers worked together to heat water in kettles, one boiling while the other bathed. One girl smuggled in a compact boiler and leased it out to her building. That boiler, now quite charred, had taken the blame for the recent dorm fire. A convenient scapegoat, though it deterred nobody from trying again.
Before turning on the tap, Azaka pulled on a leathery brown glove. The water gushed through the pipes and the first icy droplets began their descent. Azaka held up her hand.
“Pianissimo.” A snap of the fingers.
The water around her flashed into steam. A wrinkle in her brow, a slow breath, and she reapplied the Magecraft. The result: a perfect sprinkle of hot water. With a sigh of satisfaction, she began to rinse.
It was a cheap use of magic, but she didn’t have a reason to skimp on comfort.
A quick dab of conditioner on the ends of her hair, and then a rinse. The heavy strands were plastered against her back. She let them sit a moment while the warm water poured down. She sucked in the humid air, and rinsed. scalp, massaging the roots of her hair. A small squirt of shampoo worked into a rich lather with a rich strawberry scent. Then, a rinse.
With her eyes closed, a little imagination could go a long way. The touch of a man’s hands, trailing down her back. The cascade of hot water that enwrapped her just might have been his body, clinging to her in a singular expression of the most illicit passion. Everything was warmer, all of a sudden. She was feeling a familiar heat between her legs; even the steam in the stall was thicker. Water that was comfortable now bordered on scalding.
She caught herself before her fingers could reach. The heat of the moment was smothered by shame for her lack of self-control. Forced back to calm efficiency, she continued the shower. In the long term, her goal was the same, but it would be undignified to carelessly enjoy her dreams. Quietly, unobtrusively, she would continue to play a proper role, until her facade could pass for the real thing. She grabbed a bottle of gel soap and scrubbed it into a lather. Though her fancies were impure, nothing stopped her from enjoying a good wash. Just as she started her final rinse, a knock came from the door.
“Azaka, are you finished in there?”
She paused. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she entered, and what was Fujino doing awake so early anyway? She’d normally have to be pulled out of bed to get up before seven. Unless the was clock wrong?
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Er, it’s five fifty six, but, that’s not it. The dorm mother is asking for you.” So very imperative.
The towel made a few hasty passes until most of her skin was dry. She grabbed her uniform, set out the previous night and tugged it on, one piece after another.
A final check in the mirror, and she was off. Maybe her hair was a little damp, and maybe her underclothes weren’t in perfect order, but it would do. She’d gotten very good at making things happen in a hurry. Image was everything, after all. Sometimes, when things of a delicate nature occupied her interest, things that started with a little touch and a bit of wild imagination, she could speed through the remainder of her morning routine like a flustered and breathless tornado. Some things did end up out of order but it was only the one time, and nobody had noticed that her brassiere was on backward anyway.
Azaka left, exiting the bathroom with a whoosh of humid air. Fujino blinked away the afterimage. She stifled a yawn and trundled into the bathroom. All in all, it was quite convenient for her. The bathwater was still hot.
-
At the dorm mother’s office, Azaka knocked twice and then waited at attention. After a moment, the wizened old lady opened the door. The slow creak might have been the hinges, but it could have just as easily have been the ancient nun’s elbows.
“Yeees?” she asked, barely moving her lips. “Ah, miss Azaka.”
Not a-za-ka, but instead, uh-ZAH-ka. The nun was from Ireland, and had spent her many years in many places. Now she considered herself above pedestrian things like pronunciation. Her tendency to fall asleep with her eyes open had caused some problems, including one mishap with the housing records that had landed no fewer than fifteen freshman students into the same room. But the students had worked around this in a few weeks, and divided the paperwork amongst themselves. The old lady was a decorative object, like the potted plants or the cheap reproductions of religious art.
“Yes, Mother Alcott. I came at once when I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Hmm, yes, I believe the Mother Superior requested I send you over last night. I meant to tell you after dinner, but I must have drifted off...Well, it’s no matter, I’m sure. Just make your way over to her office now. Ah, since you’re here, perhaps you could also deliver these documents? I know she’s wanted them for some time.” Hefting a stack of manilla folders, she pushed them into her hands.
Though her smile was wearing paper thin, Azaka managed to force out some words. “Of course, Mother Alcott. I’d be happy to assist you in any way.”
“Good, good, I’m so sorry that you’ll have to miss Mass this morning, but if circumstances permit, perhaps you can accompany me there in the evening? Run along now.” She finished with a beatific smile.
The door clicked shut, and she bore her cross all the way to the administrative offices.
-
A Gothic mausoleum. Above everything else, a giant violin case, and a small vase of flowers atop a massive desk. Riesbyfe Stridberg, the head honcho, with rumored connections all the way up to the archdiocese, was currently seated with her fingers steepled in front of her face.
“I believe I asked for you last night.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was not informed until this morning.”
“Are those for me?” the woman asked. Her silvery-gray hair bobbed as she gestured to the heap of papers.
Azaka nodded.
“Well, I’m sure that someone worked very hard to prepare them. Just pop them in that little chute, will you?”
She complied immediately, and the papers slid down the stainless steel trough. A blast of heat issued out, accompanying the distant roar of a gas furnace.
Azaka stumbled back and gestured dumbly toward the incinerator.
Riesbyfe shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Didn’t you understand? No matter, I have an urgent request for you, if you would like to hear it.”
“What was that? You just burn all the paperwork or something? Is that why the dorms are such a mess?”
“Not at all, not at all. In fact, those documents were completely useless. We use a digital system to store important records.”
“Then—then why?”
“As I said, someone worked very hard to prepare them, and you worked hard to bring them here. Is it not written that hard work is its own reward?”
“I know you’re very fond of the Proverbs, Mother Riesbyfe, but respectfully, what was the point?”
Now, the nun cracked a smile. “Builds character?” She spoke slowly, serenely, as though her words were anything but flippant. “Shall we get to business then?”
Azaka slumped into a chair. “Please.”
“Yesterday, an extremely important visitor from Europe landed in Narita. This person then took a bus, and was due to arrive here this morning. Ordinarily, a member of the staff would have received her, but she requested a person of her own age. There was a lottery.”
“And I was selected?”
“No. That was Shizune Seo, but her father came to collect her just last evening. I was considering who should be trusted with this role, and it happened that your instructor came to my mind. I hope you are up to it?”
“I’m honored that you would leave this task to me, but I don’t know what to do in a case like this.”
“Just do whatever it is that youngsters do these days. The agenda is set for you, so please try to make the guest feel welcome. Consider it a free vacation. Anyway, since you’ve accepted, go get yourself packed. You’ll be looking for a blonde woman at the bus stop so I don’t imagine it’ll be hard to find her.”
This was inevitable. Before such a high authority. and for such a petty thing, her protests wilted and made way for the ancient Japanese staple crop of submission. A short leave from school hardly consoled her for the sudden disruption in her schedule. “I’ll go get ready, but when should I leave, and when is this person arriving?”
Mother Stridberg took a quick look at the clock. “By my mark, she arrived six hours ago. So you’ll be leaving now.”
-
The limousine had rolled away immediately after she disembarked. Every stage of the journey had been pleasant thus far, and this was sure to be no different. Frigid air swirled through the bus stop. Chased with snow, the bare branches of the trees around the road gleamed brilliantly in the false illumination of the road lamps. The snowfall was gentle enough that she needed no hat. Nobody waited for her, but that was just for the better. Beauty was best enjoyed where it came unexpected, like this chance to sit quietly in a simple shelter and observe, absorb, and appreciate a short view of the most basic elemental forces at work.
She remembered winters in France, ancient winters that had been both harsh and unending. Winters where the harvest had been exhausted, and even draft animals were slaughtered for food. Winters that consumed every scrap of land in sight. Winters that the family spent huddled together around the hearth, listening to their father’s stories as a handful of logs smouldered throughout the day. And what stories they were! More than dragons and kings, she enjoyed the tales of war, spread to their village by word of mouth. Her father, unshaven and exhausted, sometimes spoke softly of the rout of the French cavalry, but made no comment on the misfortunes that spread afterward. Of those, he did not wish to speak before his children. But like the whispering crackle of the fire, his words belied a thousand prayers never given voice. Her father noticed the intensity of her expression, but perhaps he assumed it an illusion, a trick of the firelight that caught her eyes.
She waited warmly in that new and gentle winter.
-
The bus rumbled across the highway, though inside it was as smooth an experience as one could hope for. It was upholstered in felt, and was all around an upscale model designed for long-distance travel. It was a relief that she was travelling on the school’s dime, since her stipend was rather frugal.
Azaka stole a quick glance at the passenger beside her, an astonishingly pretty foreigner who identified herself as Jeanne. Her pack contained the essentials for travel, some clothes, and a map to their destination, not to mention a healthy stipend to cover any costs. While her phone charged, she browsed a magazine left behind in the mesh pocket of the seat. On the opposite side of the aisle sat Jeanne, quietly enjoying the soft warmth of the heated vehicle. Such an ordinary sight, and yet where the oblique rays of the rising sun caught her hair, she exploded into radiance, as though the centerpiece of a grand work of art. Something in her nature felt complete, simply correct in a profound manner.
They had exchanged words briefly, first at the beginning of the trip. Azaka learned that she was a dignitary of the church itself. She could hardly have believed it, given that the girl was hardly older than she was. Young women did not usually draw the respect of the Mother Superior. Truth be told, Azaka had little interest in this tagalong game. The immediate cause of her excitement was a town marked on the map: Mifune.
Perhaps she might drop in for an unexpected visit, and display a little grace. Every detail of her outward aspect had been chosen to match his interests, as she had always intended. What a windfall it would be if she could see him again. Such thoughts happily buzzed through her head. While ordinarily she would give herself over to some idle fantasy, she noticed again the woman in white, and this time their eyes happened to meet.
“Is this your first time in Japan?”
“Ah, yes, it is.”
“You speak very well, miss. It’s as though you were born here.”
“Thank you, but it’s really nothing exceptional.” Not her own achievement.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”
“France. I have some business here, and I thought that it would be a good opportunity to see the rest of the country at the same time.”
“Well, it’s my pleasure to accompany you.”
“Likewise.”
A great deal more came to her mind and was left unvoiced. She felt a presence, like the weight of office, around the strange visitor, but could not place it to anything. She was nothing but a girl, perhaps a little older than her. She was normally more personable, but that feeling seemed so strange, so oppressive, that she could force out nothing more than reserved politeness. And for what? A pretty foreigner, likely some official’s daughter out on tour?
The bus was nearly empty, so they had the advantage of a quiet journey. The landscape rolled by, and fields of snow turned to rice paddies, barren after the harvest. Azaka was drowsy now, lulled by the quiet hum of the engine. She studied the map and noted the distance to their destination, and judged that she’d have a few hours to nap if the mood took her. At the edge of her vision, she noticed her companion sitting quietly. Then, the journey became a blur of motion and forgotten thoughts.
The bus came to a halt, the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. A pair of businessmen disembarked. A family of three left behind them. And somebody got on.
It was black hair of around medium length. Underneath the unkempt bangs there were those familiar glasses, such unfashionable things. A neutral expression, and then recognition.
“Mikiya!?”
-----There's a slick new tradition of multiple chapters that I've come to enjoy.
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Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
