Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
74: Sake
~*~
Sake was an acquired taste.
Kenshin could remember the first time he sat down and had a drink of it, coaxed
- somehow - into a group gathering by Iizuka and a few of his friends. They had
welcomed the young hitokiri with grins and mild teasing, not knowing who he was,
but always happy to share their amusements with those who were willing. Kenshin
was only half-willing, but by Iizuka's wanton smile, and the way his arm
snaked over the uneasy teenager's shoulders in the manner of a good companion,
he was drawn into the group, all too eager to escape his own dark company.
He recalled the hesitation he initially
experienced as a man offered him a cup, pouring the warm liquid for him and
encouraging him to sip. He had killed his first man only a few days before, and
the fear - the loathing - was still close to his heart.
"If sake tastes bad..."
He held the cup against his lips, pursing them
in silent distress.
"That's proof that there's something
sick inside of you."
"Go on, kid," Iizuka
smirked, patting his back encouragingly. "Haven't you ever had it before?"
Unwilling to answer truthfully, to avoid being
the subject of yet another joke, Kenshin closed his eyes and drank.
It burned, a little, and he was unused to the
sensation he felt as the strange taste coursed through his mouth and down his
throat, but it wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
It seemed to wash away the taste of blood he
had felt on his tongue since that man died at his hands.
"Oi, Himura, you all right?"
"I'm fine," he murmured in
response, feeling a smile spread across his face for the first time in days.
"I'll be fine."
"More?"
"Aa."
He drank a lot in those
days, before he left for his assignments. At first it was a secret pleasure,
carefully guarded to avoid becoming too unstable to accomplish his duty - not
that he was an easy drunk, he realized quickly - but as time passed, and
Hitokiri Battousai's kills grew in number, it became something more.
"If sake tastes bad..."
At first it was a balm against the pain, a
soothing herb to fight the grating blood that covered his throat every time a
black envelope was delivered into his hands, but soon, it became a desperate
attempt at escaping who he feared he was becoming.
The sake no longer cleared the blood from his
tongue. It became, instead, a thick, cruel paint to further coat the taste on
his lips, like a sticky tar that could not be removed.
And Iizuka wondered why he refused to go
drinking.
He could not bear the looks any longer, the
stares and whispered of the men around him, not quite knowing who he was but
fearing him for the dark glimmering in his eyes, the amber ice which flared into
a golden fire if his mission or his master were threatened.
He drank alone, gazing into the pale liquid
that seemed so pure, so clean, but tasted only of blood and death.
The first time Sanosuke
asked him to go out drinking, Kenshin almost said no. He did, at first, thinking
that Kaoru would worry as she always did, and that neither of them had enough
money to go bar-hopping anyway. But Sano could not be deterred - never had been,
really - and so Kenshin relented, stating they would not be gone long,
and he would not order any more than he could pay for, and if Sano
expected him to pay for any extra drinks when he was drunk and
incoherent, he had another thing coming.
Sano laughed. Sano said he could deal with
that.
And so they left the dojo, Sano in good
spirits, and Kenshin trying to be, trying as best as he could to smile
and laugh and shrug aside the thoughts of silent dread stirring within him.
After Tomoe's death, he had not been able to
taste sake without feeling the sharp dagger of guilt and memory, recalling the
times when the two of them had shared a bottle together, each of them surprised
by the delightful taste it suddenly carried.
After the revolution, he had avoided the drink
entirely, for reasons other than his new and unfortunate lack of funds.
Sometimes Kenshin felt
guilty about the drinking sorties he attended with his comrades, recalling his
master's words to him so long ago.
"When you understand how to taste it,
we will enjoy it together."
He would have liked to share a drink with the
man who taught him everything, to revel in the strange, silent companionship
they formed, together with the moon. He wondered what kind of sake Hiko liked -
cold, hot, dry, strong. He wished he could someday go back and apologize, maybe
even thank him for all he'd done, and then the two of them could sit down and
relax, enveloped in the glow of the stars and the warmth of the drink in their
bodies.
His master had always made a strong impression
on him, in whatever he did.
"If sake tastes bad..."
He dreaded the cup that rested between his
fingers, the clear liquid glaring back at him, awaiting its consumption. He
could almost see the blood slowly tainting the purity of the alcohol, obscuring
its cleansing factor, transforming it into the familiar crimson paint.
Beside him, Sanosuke muttered something to the
bartender, and they both fell into easy, comfortable laughter. Sano's palm
slammed into Kenshin's back, and he pitched forward, instinctively drawing the
cup to his lips before he could wear it.
The cold, familiar taste coursed down his
throat like ice-fire, leaving a trail of dry embers on his tongue.
Sake. Only sake. He could taste no blood
in the drink.
"Hey, sorry 'bout that,
Ken," Sano grinned, ignoring - or not noticing, in his already inebriated state
- his friend's twitch at the shortened name. "Want another?"
Kenshin looked down at the empty cup in his
hand, tracing fingers briefly across his neck, still feeling the warm, sweet
sensation.
"Yes," he replied, offering
the clay cup with a smile. "Yes, I would."
~*~
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