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Once in a blue moon, there’ll be some occasion that calls for the Yorozuya to clean up their goddamn act and wear something nice.
Dressing-up wasn’t always bad. Kagura doesn’t mind the costumes: the silly wigs and fake moustaches and character cosplays are par for the course when it comes to a typical Yorozuya job. But anything too fancy, anything that slides off her skin like a courtesan’s dress, like blood on her hands, slippery and thick, while Shinpachi screams in her ear and Abuto’s bones crack beneath her heels and Yoshiwara goes up, up, up in flames— No. Hard pass.
She’s tried to explain as much to Otae, to spare the older girl the effort of wrangling Kagura into a dress she doesn’t want to wear, and would obviously make a mess of anyway. Today's ensemble is not a kimono, at least— but it’s still far too nice to belong in her wardrobe. One glance at the expensive-looking fabric makes Kagura feel queasy.
“You’re having dinner with Soyo-hime,” Otae admonished, an immovable stone wall for Kagura's protests to uselessly bounce off. “I can’t let you go to the Shogun’s palace in the same clothes you’ve been wearing for a week. You’re lucky we found a backup so last minute—Snack-Smile doesn’t typically have dresses in your size, so we'll have to...hm.” Otae trailed off, stroking her chin in thought, “... Maybe if we pin it a bit here, cinch the waist and shoulders..." She snapped her fingers, pleased with her solution to a problem no one really asked for. "Yes, that'll do! No permanent alterations needed.”
Kagura snorted. “You might as well make it permanent, because if you make me wear that thing, it is not coming back in one piece.”
Otae shot her a sharp frown. “You’re going to a palace, not the jungle. Behave yourself, and it’ll be just fine.” Then, more to herself, she muttered, “Honestly, with the rate at which your clothes get dirty, it’s a miracle you’ve put off laundry this long.”
“S’not my fault. Shinpachi’s refusing to do chores,” Kagura replied, attempting to affect Gin-chan’s lazy, perpetually unbothered tone. “Said he’s ‘unionizing.’ Whatever that means.”
Otae’s eyebrow twitched, a telltale sign of irritation. “How you and that lazy lout managed to convince my brother to do your laundry at all— in a place he doesn’t even live in— will always be a mystery to me. It’s about time he grew a backbone.”
“I don’t even think it was his idea though,” Kagura huffed a breath of frustration, “Our guess is Zura got to him somehow; he’s probably turning Shinpachi against Gin-chan as revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“Leaving him with the bill last time we all went out to eat.”
Otae massaged her forehead. With the combined amount of food Kagura and Gintoki can eat in one sitting, the bill must have been steep indeed. And Katsura was a wanted man— hardly the type to be carrying that sort of money around.
“But like, he was for sure gonna dine-and-dash too, you know,” Kagura clarified after a beat. “He’s just mad we beat him to the punch, uh-huh. We were out the door before he'd even caught on to our scheme— and like, I was so fast, Anego, you should have seen me! Even with Shinpachi and Gin-chan slowing me down, I made it all the way back to Otose’s in time for dessert!" Then, unsubtly, she mumbled, "I definitely wouldn’t have been able to do that if I’d been wearin’ some stupid fancy dress.”
Otae takes a deep breath, then plasters on her most menacing smile.
“Kagura,” her voice was deceptively gentle, “Get. In. The dress.”
“What am I, Shinji? Hey– ow, ow, ow, Anego, you’re poking me— wait, no, no not the safety pins, please Ane— Argh! Ow! Somebody help me! Gin-chan! Ow!”
❀❀❀❀❀
An hour later, Kagura was all trussed up and being ushered through the looming halls of the Shogun’s palace. The queasy feeling remained.
She was led to a moderately-sized parlor room. The decor could have been nice, in an understated sort of way, but it was all ruined by the horribly garish carpet covering the floor. Who puts a carpet on top of a tatami mat in an old-school, Japanese-style room? She’d never understand rich people.
“Kagura-chan!” Soyo’s voice rang out like a bell, laughter always on the tip of her tongue. “I’m so happy you could make it!”
“I’m no flake,” Kagura said, perhaps a little harsher than necessary. “I’m Yorozuya: and the Yorozuya always get the job done.”
It probably made very little sense to Soyo and the surrounding retainers, but this mantra was what had kept Kagura going this far. She wasn’t a flake. She wasn’t a wimp. It was just a dress.
I mean, how dumb would it be to get scared of a dress?
That punk-Chihuahua would never let her live it down if he found out her weakness.
She was stronger than that. She was a Yato. A warrior—
—A demon, a monster, a rabbit of the night. A blood-soaked specter, a mindless machine made for violence and victory and nothing else, nothing else; like calls to like, says her father, says her mother, and her blood is screaming through her veins, calling out, calling out, and something that looks like her brother answers—
A shudder rips through Kagura’s body.
“—gura? Kagura! Kagura-chan!!” Soyo is gripping her by the shoulders, face uncharacteristically serious. A glance around the room shows that they’ve been left alone. Had she been lost so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice the guards and retainers leave? Her head spins.
“Sorry, Soyo-chan,” Kagura said a little faintly. “I think I’m going to throw up now.”
And she immediately made good on that promise.
Kagura came back to herself a few minutes later, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Soyo was patting her forehead with a cool towel, and softly asking her to take small sips of water.
God, was this what she’d been reduced to? The humiliation was almost enough to make her sick all over again.
“You’re okay, Kagura-chan. You’re okay.”
“Soyo…”
“Yes?”
“I puked on your fancy carpet.”
“I know.”
“....Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I hate that freaking carpet.” Soyo was returning to her usual, lighthearted tone. “It’s ugly, and it makes my feet itch even through my socks. My brother refuses to throw it out because it was a gift or something, and a really expensive one too. I asked him, why would a coarse, itchy carpet cost more money? And he said—”
“Soyo-chan,” Kagura cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a spot at the hem of her dress. “I just realized I got vomit on my dress. Can I pleeease borrow a servant's uniform or something? I wanna change clothes.” She was rather proud that her voice remained steady the whole time.
“Oh, of course! But you don’t have to borrow one of the servants' uniforms, silly! You can just borrow something from my closet!”
Dread closed in on Kagura.
“I couldn’t… I mean, I don’t… I shouldn’t… To impose…”
“It’s no imposition, seriously! You’re my best friend— what’s mine is yours. Oh my god, can I do your makeup too? Just this once? And we can paint each other’s nails, like in the movies? I’ve always wanted to do that with…” Soyo trailed off. “Kagura, are you alright? You’re looking pale again.”
“I… just… don’t know…” Kagura forced out, feeling like each breath was escaping her before she could even take it. “...If… I’m… up for that sort of thing… Right now.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, you’re completely right. You should be taking it easy right now. Here, let me help you up and we can go to my room.”
Kagura let herself be hauled up by Soyo’s surprisingly firm grip, and slowly dragged to the princess’s room. Once inside, she waved over an attendant and whispered a few words Kagura couldn’t make out.
“Sit down, Kagura-chan. I’ll take care of everything.”
A couple minutes later, the servant came back with a fresh pitcher of water, some cut fruit, a clean washtowel, and what looked like a bundle of cloth. The pitcher and fruit were set down on the table, and the washtowel and bundle were presented to Kagura.
“Here,” Soyo said, smiling. “Now you can clean yourself up and get changed.”
The bundle turned out to be a simple servants uniform– clean linen, freshly washed, and completely unremarkable in every way. Kagura could have cried.
“Thank you.”
Soyo’s hand gripped hers. “I… noticed the way you were moving on our way over here. Like you didn't want your own dress touching your skin.”
Kagura swallowed. Had her weakness really been so evident?
Soyo ran a thumb over Kagura’s knuckle soothingly. “I won’t pretend I understand it, exactly... but you don’t need to explain yourself to me, or come up with excuses. All I needed to know is that my friend was uncomfortable, and that I could do something to fix that. Just... I just want you to know that I’m here for you— no matter what.”
Kagura’s eyes were getting watery— probably like, allergies or something— and her throat felt a little clogged up, so she nodded in lieu of speaking.
“Good!” Soyo clapped her hands together. “Once you’ve changed outta those clothes and rested up, you can come back downstairs and help me make an even bigger mess of that ugly carpet. I’m gonna force my brother to get rid of it, once and for all!
The smile that grew across Kagura’s face was full of pure, untempered glee.
“You had me at ‘make a mess.’”
❀❀❀❀❀
When Kagura got back home, Gintoki pinned her with a stare of absolute confusion and mild horror.
“Is that— of all the things to get absolutely drenched in, you chose honey?”
Kagura picked the dried, crusted syrup from beneath her fingernails.
“Gin-chan.”
“...What.”
“We gotta do the laundry.”
❀❀❀❀❀
They did end up doing laundry— or rather, Gintoki did laundry. Kagura ‘helped’ by fooling around with the clothespins and splashing Gintoki in the face every now and then. According to her, it was good for ‘morale.’ A very necessary part of the equation.
So, the next morning, when Shinpachi arrived like clockwork with ingredients for breakfast, he ended up just standing stock still in the doorway for a solid minute, gaping at the sight of drying garments draped haphazardly across multiple clotheslines.
“Did… you guys actually…”
“Sure did!” Kagura boasted. “A double load of laundry, finished in one afternoon! And we did it all without your help. What do you say to that, Patsuan?” Her eyebrows waggled in a way that was probably meant to be provocative, but in practice just looked rather goofy.
“That ‘we’ is doing some heavy lifting, kid,” Gintoki groused from his place on the couch. “You didn’t do shit.” He waved lazily at Shinpachi as the boy made his way further inside the apartment. “It was aaallll up to poor Gin-san in the end. But hey, looks like this old man is still good for something after all.”
“I…” Shinpachi trailed off, speechless.
“Now, now, Shinpachi,” Kagura wagged her finger at him, going straight into their rehearsed theatrics. “Don’t be jealous. We’ll find another way to make use of you, yes? Maybe you can be Sadaharu’s live-in dogwalker or something.”
“I’m…” Shinpachi started again. “I mean, I…” His face broke into a smile so wide it momentarily took Kagura aback.
“I’m so proud of you two!”
Then he was grabbing her hands and bouncing on his heels in excitement. “I figured it would take a couple more weeks until you guys gave in! This is such great progress— at this rate, you two are on track to becoming semi-functioning human beings in a few years! Let’s go out for dinner tonight, I need to implement some positive reinforcement. ”
“Wha—” Gintoki said, blindsided by this turn of events, "’Positive reinforcement?’ We’re not dogs.”
Sadaharu yawned from the corner.
“Most of us,” he amended. “But regardless, I am insulted that you would think I ever—”
“Dinner! Hell yeah!” Kagura pumped her fist in the air. “Can we do yakiniku barbeque? Oooh, or conveyor belt sushi?”
Gintoki’s ire was immediately forgotten. “Absolutely not. Did you forget what happened the last time we did conveyor belt sushi?”
“That was totally that lame-o's fault! MADAO is like, a total magnet for disasters."
“Well obviously his curse is rubbing off on us! We screwed with the conveyor belt, and now it’s jinxed us forever; no matter how varied the menu purports to be, it’ll be cucumber rolls rolling out every time, no matter what.”
“But—”
“Every. Time. No matter what. Forever."
Kagura and Gintoki continued to bicker as Shinpachi examined the nearest article of clothing: an unfamiliar shirt hanging from one of the clotheslines encircling the room. He squinted at it, then ran his thumb over the hem.
It was stiff as cardboard, with a layer of crust (is that actual honey?) still lingering stubbornly on the masticated fabric.
Did they seriously not even bother to use soap?
Shinpachi suppressed a groan. At least the garment didn’t look too expensive— he’d really have to chew them out if they bought a nice new shirt just to immediately ruin it. No, it was simple linen plainclothes, the kind of thing a servant might wear. It was far too small for Gintoki, so probably a Kagura-acquisition.
His mind flitted back to a conversation he’d had with his sister yesterday. She’d said something about wrangling Kagura into a dress, and how the younger girl had seemed a bit more resistant than normal.
I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have forced her, Otae murmured. She looked so pale walking out the door, I thought she was going to pass out.
Shinpachi had a feeling he knew what the problem was— but it was Kagura’s story to tell, not his. So all he said was, Next time you see her, you can apologize.
Otae worried her lower lip between her teeth. Clearly this was bothering her a lot, perhaps even more than she let on.
Treat her to barbeque, Shinpachi continued, with some levity. You know her stomach is always the fastest way to her heart. Then, more softly, You know she’ll forgive you. It’s Kagura.
Kagura, whose heart was filled to the brim with love for her chosen family, who chose mercy, who stayed strong to her principles. Even on that day— that terrible, terrible day in Yoshiwara— when she succumbed to her instincts and soaked her hands in blood, she found a way to come back. Shinpachi couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of strength it took to snap out of the mindless fugue state that was a Yato’s bloodlust; and, more importantly, he was honored that he could be one of the people she loved enough to use as an anchor. Him and Gin-san, Otose and Catherine, Tama, Otae and Kyuubei, Katsura, Sacchan, Tsukuyo, Soyo-hime— even the menace that was Okita Sougo (though Shinpachi knew Kagura would never, ever admit it) had been chosen to be part of her life on earth. And that mattered a thousand times more than any predetermined destiny.
He allowed the honey-encrusted shirt to slip through his fingers. He could hold off on scolding those two for one more day.
After all, there would always be a next time.
❀❀❀❀❀
Otae braided Kagura’s hair in front of her small mirror. Her fingers were careful and gentle as they ran through the strands, paying mind to not tug too hard.
The Yorozuya had been tasked to go undercover at Snack Smile for an evening— lately there had been a string of robberies in the area, and they’d gotten wind that their favorite cabaret club would be next. All they had to do was catch the burglar in the act, and put a stop to his dastardly crime spree, once and for all!
It was the sort of job that Kagura usually loved: the ones that feel like they are definitely bound to go wrong, and some crazy off-the-cuff shit would be happening before the night was over. With any luck, she’d get to kick some ass. She had a good feeling about this one— she really did.
Sweat was beginning to collect on her neck. Her hands fidgeted for lack of something to do. Her cheeks felt a little hot.
So, you know. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. She was doing good— she was doing great! She was excited for tonight, she was certain they’d have fun, she was going to make the most of it, she was, she really—
“All done,” Otae said, tilting the mirror so Kagura could see.
She actually liked the hairstyle: the crown braid made her look like some kind of warrior princess.
“Thanks, Anego,” Kagura said, genuinely pleased. “It looks badass.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Then— “I’ll go get your costume.”
Kagura sat there for a few minutes, stewing. She was fine. She was totally, completely fine. She’d worn a skirt for the first time in a while the other day, and it didn’t make her nervous at all! And a dress is kind of like a skirt, right? Like a skirt with extra fabric. So it was basically the same, and logically she should be fine—
“Here you go,” Otae reappeared behind her shoulder. In her hands was a small waiter’s uniform: simple black pants, a white button-up, a vest, and a little black bowtie. It was not at all what Kagura had been expecting. It was—
She burst into tears. Loud and snotty, face blotchy and red, Kagura was undoubtedly an ugly crier. Her mortification made her face burn even hotter, but she couldn’t think straight, and Anego’s hand was on her back rubbing soothing circles, and that felt really good actually, made her feel a little more grounded, and Anego always wore the nicest perfume, it was the same cheap brand that almost every other cabaret hostess at Snack Smile wore, but it was special on Anego, more familiar somehow, like how she used to feel when Mami hugged her, or when she stole Gin-chan’s shirts that smelled like Old-Man but in a good way, or Shinpachi who always smelled a little like cleaning supplies, or Soyo who’s hands always smelled like oranges because they were her favorite fruit, and she liked to peel them herself you see, even though she had servants who could do it for her, and— Breathe, Otae said, voice a puff of air against her ear. Just breathe. Her arm was fully wrapped around Kagura now, and her face was tucked into the older girl’s shoulder. Breathe.
After a few more hiccups, some discarded tissues, and a glass of water, Kagura felt like enough of a human being to form words.
“Thank you, Anego.”
Otae smiled, a little sad, a little relieved.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you the first time, Kagura-chan. I didn’t understand— well, I still don’t, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re safe and happy and comfortable.”
Her words were an echo of Soyo’s, and it loosened the knot in Kagura’s chest.
“Will you forgive me?” Otae said, unusually tentative.
Kagura’s first instinct was to point out the absurdity of the situation; because wasn’t it her who should be asking for forgiveness, and not the other way around? Anego didn’t know what she’d done. Shinpachi had promised not to tell anyone, and he wouldn’t break a promise like that. If she knew, if only she knew what Kagura had done…
How does one ask for forgiveness for being born bad? For being a bit more monster than person? For lying to everyone around her, making them think she was good when there was something so fundamentally wrong with her?
Her mind was suddenly pulled back to an old memory. Her mother sat up in bed, stroking Kagura’s hair as she cried. Kamui was asleep in the other room, still recovering from his injuries— injuries that his own father had inflicted on him. Their father, now missing an arm, had gone off-planet the moment his son stabilized. He and Kouka could barely look at each other.
“Mami,” Kagura hiccuped, “Why are we like this? What did we do to be— bad like this? Are we being punished?”
“No, my love,” Kouka said gently. “We’re not being punished.”
“Then why? Why does our blood feel like… like some sort of curse?”
“It’s not a curse, Kagura,” Her mother said, tone more firm. “And it’s only a burden to those that don’t know how to carry it.”
“I don’t get it.”
Fingers running through her daughter’s hair, Kouka looked out the window to bask in the tiny ray of sunlight peaking through the clouds.
“Our strength comes from within. Something deep inside that is tied to our very being. We can use it to hurt… but we can also use it to help. To protect the ones we love.” She pinched Kagura’s cheek and was rewarded with a small giggle. “It can be hard— very hard— to make the right choices with our power. Sometimes we might mess up. But we have to continue to try, to put one foot in front of the other and do the next right thing.”
“So, we’re just supposed to fight this thing inside us… forever?”
“It’s not about fighting it. Rejecting that side of ourselves is not the answer; we can’t find peace unless we’re capable of loving every part of who we are,” She trailed her hand back up into Kagura’s hair, “From the top of our heads,” Then her fingers scurried down mischievously, “To the tippy-tips of our toes!”
Kagura squealed and broke out in giggles once more.
“Mami, that tickles!”
“Does it? Hm, I’m not sure I believe you. Let me try again—”
“Mami, no!” Kagura wriggled around, laughter loud and bright. “You’re gonna give me the hiccups again!”
Kouka took mercy on her daughter and brought her hands back to her daughter’s head.
“The most important thing, Kagura, is to choose who you are. And whoever you choose to be, make sure it’s someone you can love.”
Will you forgive me?
“Yes,” Kagura said, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Yes, I forgive you. I love— I love, love, love you: no matter what!”
The expression in Otae’s eyes mirrored her own.
“I love you too, Kagura.”
“No matter what.”