Archive of Our Own

Captain Minamitsu Murasa of the Myouren Temple did not often go along with the rest on the occasional shopping trip to the human village.

Part of it was that she had very little to shop for. Part of it was how any time she saw a human anywhere near an uncovered water source, she started feeling urges. Nothing she couldn’t deal with, nothing she hadn’t learned to control, but it was just generally a good idea to avoid the temptation.

She would just have to power through it and not drown anyone today, because for the first time in several hundred years she needed to go shopping. There may or may not have been something of an incident, and Murasa and some other member of the temple who shall remain unidentified might have gone a little overboard arguing, and normally she would go complain to Byakuren but this incident may or may not have involved some illicit alcohol they very much Were Not supposed to have, so she’d decided to be the bigger person and just fix this on her own.

Problem is, now her ladle had a rather small crack and a rather large dent in the shape of Nue’s skull, and as such she needed it repaired.

Which Ichirin still would not get.

“Don’t you have like four ladles? Why is it so important to get this specific one fixed? And couldn’t you just take another from the kitchen?”

Murasa leveled an unimpressed glare at her companion. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but there was a method to these things! This was her heavy-duty ladle, for underwater work. Different work called for different tools! Besides that, the ghost had been around a long time, and gone through quite a few ladles in her day. This wasn’t the first time one had been damaged, but if it could be fixed she wanted it fixed. The only times she got rid of perfectly salvageable ladles were when they got old enough to risk becoming tsukumogami. Not that there was anything necessarily wrong with that, but something about the idea of her old stuff crawling around on its own sent a shiver down her spine. She had a whole little ritual to send aged ladles off peacefully, which over the centuries had become rather emotional affairs. Honestly speaking, Murasa just wasn’t ready for that right now, not that she could tell the nun that. Her ladle ceremonies were very private.

“Ichirin, do you even hear yourself? My ladles aren’t a one-size-fits-all type of deal, and this still has a solid couple of decades left. I’m not just gonna grab another one! If Unzan broke his arm, would you just go, oh well, time to get a new Unzan?”

Ichrin looked at her somewhat oddly. “Unzan doesn’t have bones.”

“So it was a bad analogy, sorry!” She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Bah, whatever. It may not be the ‘sensible’ option, but I want this one fixed.”

Ichirin nodded slowly. “I hadn’t realized it mattered that much to you. Still don’t quite get it, but whatever floats your b– oh, sorry.”

She did well to cut that expression short, because Murasa loathed it. Even the thought of it boiled her nonexistent blood, enough so that she was caught rather flatfooted by Ichirin’s next question.

“So then, where exactly are we going?”

“...To a blacksmith. Obviously.”

It was only at this moment that Murasa realized, being a relative stranger to the human village, she did not actually know where any smiths were, and had been wandering aimlessly for the last several minutes while arguing with Ichirin. Claiming that her friend had distracted her would not go over well, she needed an answer fast.

There. A solution, or slightly more time to think about one. On the other side of the dusty street walked a young man that she could ask. He was rather unremarkable, and not someone Murasa would normally have paid much attention to. But today, something about him caught her eye. Perhaps it was the wind-tousled hair, or his warm brown eyes, or the sleeveless shirt that showed off well-muscled arms. Said well-muscled arms were especially captivating, and inexorably drew the captain’s eye down to what was far and away his most attractive feature: the open bucket of water he was holding.

Oh yeah. Murasa likey.

As he moved, she was just barely able to catch a glimpse of the bucket’s contents sloshing about, narrowly managing not to spill. The image was hypnotic. Tiny waves, back and forth, back and forth. She could almost see it, the way it would splash and surge out as she shoved his head in, frantic screams muffled by the fluid pouring down his throat… She shivered.

Nope. Nope, no Murasa, drowning is Bad. Calm down. Back to the plan.

Which was… what, exactly?

Ah, right.

“Oi! You! D’ya know where the nearest blacksmith is?” she shouted across the street.

She could practically feel Ichirin’s incredulous look burning a hole in her head, but resolutely ignored it.

The young man set down the bucket (noooo) to bring a hand to his chin in contemplation. “Nearest one… How soon do you need it done? Because I was there the other day and the guy mentioned he’d be wrapped up in a big order for a while. Dunno when he’ll be taking more work.”

“As soon as possible,” Murasa responded. Ichirin was Still Looking at her. The disappointment in the air was so thick she could nearly taste it: like too-shallow puddles.

He considered this for a moment. “Hmm. You know, there’s always…” he trailed off, then gave the two of them an appraising look. “You’re from that yokai temple, right? You’ll probably be fine.”

At this, he crossed closer, and in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, murmured, “Keep going down this street until you reach the village wall, then take a left and walk for another two or three minutes and you’ll find it. Small building, one floor, mostly open air. Like it looks like it’s missing walls. It’s the one with the umbrellas, you can’t miss it.”

And with that, the man nodded, crossed back over to take his bucket in hand, and went on his way.

That had been… strange.

And Ichirin was now free to lambast her lack of planning.

Quick, excuses!

“Murasa… you didn’t know where you were going, did you?”

“Of course I did, I was just checking to see if there were any faster options. Look at the sky, I wanna beat the rain.”

“But it isn’t rainin–oh…,” Ichirin turned her eyes up to the darkening sky. Murasa’s claim wasn’t entirely nonsense, it had gotten quite cloudy compared to earlier in the afternoon. Predicting rain was a safe bet, barring some weather yokai or a gaggle of particularly strong fairies getting bored.

“Huh. Guess you’re right. It does look like rain.” Murasa would be more satisfied if she really believed Ichirin really believed her excuse, but she’d take what she could get.

Then, the nyuudou-handler snapped her fingers. “Oh! You know, that reminds me, I don’t think I’ve seen that umbrella tsukumogami around in a while. Have you?”

Murasa considered it for a moment. “Kogasa, right? Don’t think so. Last time I can remember was heading down to Former Hell in that incident with the black water a few weeks ago.”

“You saw her then? What was she doing in Old Hell? It’s dangerous down there.”

“Yeah, she wasn’t deep down, just playing around in the cave on the way. And yeah, it was too dangerous for her, so I beat her up to stop her from following me.”

Ichirin was frowning at her again, which Murasa felt wasn’t entirely justified. Gods knew that the nun was usually down for a good scrap. Murasa had the bruises to prove it.

“Do you think you went too hard on her and scared her off? Kogasa’s…” she hesitated a moment, searching for a kinder word than she was initially thinking, “... fragile.”

Murasa shrugged. “Eh, the kid bounces back pretty good. And if she couldn’t handle me, no way was she gonna cut it in Old Hell. ” And with a growing smirk, she continued, “Besides, not like I was going to turn down a chance to pummel her into the floor.”

“Murasa!”

Crap, that sounded bad. She’d been testing Ichirin’s patience all afternoon, and Murasa had the sinking feeling she’d just reached the end of it. Again: Ichirin enjoyed a fight, but nobody liked a bully. Fighting Kogasa was fine, having fun with the fight was fine, but taking pleasure from inflicting pain was a step too far.

“I can’t believe you! If it was Futo or something I might understand, but Kogasa? What did she ever do to you?”

Murasa held her hands up defensively. “That didn’t come out right. It’s not that I hate the kid, she just… intensely annoys me. On a spiritual level.”

Ichirin did not look impressed with this. Which was a problem, because Murasa herself wasn’t quite sure how to explain the next part.

She sighed.

“Okay, this might not make that much sense to you, Ichirin, because you don’t have all that much of a thing. Like, I’m a ship phantom, Kogasa’s a tsukumogami, but you’re just a yokai.” She could see Ichirin drawing breath to argue. “And don’t try and say you’re a ‘nyuudo-handler’ or whatever, we both know Lady Hijiri just made that up to call you something. Point is, you don’t have the context for this kind of problem.

“See, at the core, I’m a ship phantom. I drown things. And at the core, Kogasa is a tsukumogami, and even deeper, she’s a karakasa. She’s an umbrella.”

Ichirin stared at her in silence for a long, awkward moment.

“…Murasa, that didn’t explain anything.”

“Whaddaya mean, it explains everything! At the very base, the center of our beings, we’re a ship phantom and an umbrella! I kill people with water, and she protects people from water. Complete opposites! Philosophical nemeses!”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Told you you wouldn’t get it!”

“Because it makes no sense! For one, you don’t drown people anymore, two, even so, she’s rain and you’re the ocean. They’re completely different scales. And three, aren’t tsukumogami usually manifested grudges? Kogasa would actually…” Ichirin paused. “Actually, never mind that part. Forgot who I was talking about for a second.”

The captain nodded. After an afternoon full of arguments, she finally felt she had a decent chance at winning this one. Might even nab another point in on their sparring record. Verbal sparring. Physical sparring was much more even. Having to talk for two had made Ichirin surprisingly eloquent.

“Yeah, the kid couldn’t hurt a fly. But your reasoning has holes. I don’t drown people anymore because I’m trying not to upset Lady Hijiri, and because it’s the right thing to do. Still feel the need to, because that’s what a ship phantom is. We drown people. And the ocean and rain are really closely connected! It’s called the water cycle, Ichirin. Read about it sometime. Anyway, you’re thinking about it too logically. It isn’t about making perfect sense at every level, it’s about the concept.”

Ichirin still didn’t look convinced. How to put this in a way she would understand?

“It’s like… if you met someone that was some kind of nyuudo destroyer, or enslaver, or a Taoist. They could be the nicest person you’ve ever met (‘cept Byakuren, obviously,) but it would still tick you off, right?”

The nun considered this for a moment, hand to her chin. “Hmm. I guess I sort of see it? But don’t you think ‘philosophical nemeses’ is a bit overdramatic?”

Murasa shook her head slightly. “It’s not. Trust me, ask Kogasa and she’ll tell you the exact same thi–wait, s’this the place?”

The two had come to a building like the man described. Small, single floored, and a chimney with an odd conical cap pouring out smoke into the sky. While there was a section completely enclosed, the bulk of the smithy was just two walls and a roof. Upon the far wall were numerous hanging tools, mostly farming or construction implements with the occasional blade that looked more suited to be a weapon. Set along the back wall was the actual forge, glowing with heat. Even outside, Murasa could feel the fire from the street. There were a few tables within the smithy itself, strewn with various implements, but the duo’s eyes were drawn out front to a rather curious feature just under the overhang of the roof.

“Huh. Looks like it. There really is an umbrella stand,” Ichirin mused quietly, stepping closer to investigate.

The stand was larger than any they’d seen before, stretching out horizontally between the far wall and a supporting pillar, acting as something of a partition from the outside in itself. It must have been custom made. It wasn’t empty either, there were nearly a dozen paper umbrellas lined up in a row. In contrast to the neatness of the stand, the umbrellas stuck out like sore thumbs. As a group, they were some of the ugliest Murasa had ever seen. The colors were odd, the patterns tacky, and it was apparent that most of them had been damaged and patched up at some point. Which, admittedly, had been done with obvious care. They gave off the impression that they’d been fished out of a garbage dump, and then painstakingly, pristinely restored. What kind of person would spend so much effort on such a pointless task? Nobody was ever going to pay for these eyesores.

Although, upon closer inspection, it looked like that was the idea. Hanging above the stand, attached to a roofbeam, was a thin metal plate, the only signage anywhere on the storefront. Carefully engraved onto it were the words, “FREE, TO A GOOD HOME.”

Murasa and Ichirin stared in silence at the display for a moment. Maybe the engraving was some sort of showcase? This was a blacksmith’s place, after all, and it could have been put up as a display of skill. But what was with the umbrellas? Some kind of strange personal project?

…Eh, this was Gensokyo. They’d seen weirder advertisements (often from the Hakurei shrine). Without another word, Ichirin and Murasa stepped past the umbrellas and under the roof.

With a closer look, the smithy was clearly a busy place despite the unassuming appearance. There was the wall of hanging tools she had seen earlier, and next to it was a table covered in what she could only assume were smithing instruments, polished and clearly well-kept. A barrel full of water stood near the forge, half hiding a door leading into the enclosed portion. Several more tables, mostly clear, were scattered about the space, one serving as a makeshift counter.

Hunched over one of those tables was the smith themselves, polishing a shining silver knife. Dozens more were arranged in careful lines across black cloths below. Frankly, it was a rather ludicrous amount of knives, briefly distracting the captain before she returned her attention to the one she was there to see. With their back turned, little could be seen of the smith besides the thick gloves and apron strap around them. Further inspection of the figure revealed them to be a woman, one with an oddly familiar mop of blue hair and some strange rod in a holster around her waist. It was long, and purple, and looked faintly like…

“Just a sec, I’m almost finished with these!” squeaked a voice Murasa recognized.

She glanced at Ichirin to find Ichirin glancing at her. The same question started forming on both of their lips, when Kogasa Tatara gently set down the knife and cleaning rag she held and spun around to face her customers.

“Hello, welcome to my shop, how can I help yyyyyyooouuuaaAAAH!” The karakasa’s rehearsed greeting cut off in a shriek as she jumped about a foot in the air. At her hip, the rod Murasa had noticed sprang open into an eggplant purple umbrella in shock.

“Kogasa?!”

“AH! M-Murasa and Ichirin!” she stammered. “I wasn’t expecting…” Beads of sweat ran down her forehead. Probably from the heat. She was standing next to a fire, after all.

Ichirin stepped forward, deeper into the shop. “We were just talking about you, it’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Yeah, didn’t know you were a blacksmith,” Murasa chimed in.

Kogasa fidgeted in place, drawing her other half up from its holster to hold it halfway between her and the Buddhists, almost like a shield. The cycloptic eye on the umbrella scanned over them nervously, darting from the captain to the nun and back again.

“Um, I, uh… work’s been fine? Otherwise, uh, not… great?.” The karakasa’s eyes were fixed firmly on Murasa’s ladle.

Now that the phantom had a second to look, Kogasa wasn’t wrong. Despite the well muscled arms (and wow, Murasa had no idea she was so built. Guess her usual long sleeves hid the blacksmithing gains pretty well), there was a distinctly unhealthy air to her. She was noticeably paler than usual, a bit thinner in the face. Murasa got the strange sense that something about her was missing, like Kogasa felt slightly less… real, perhaps, than the last time they met.

“B-but!” Kogasa stood up straighter, a note of steel in her tone, “I-I’ve been staying out of your cemetery! Haven’t scared anyone there in weeks!”

For the death of her, Murasa hadn’t the foggiest idea of how that was relevant. It went a ways to explaining Kogasa’s poor state, but the way she’d said it was odd. Not like disclosing the cause of an illness, it was almost… defensive?

“Yeah, we know. Like Ichi said, we were just talking about that,” Murasa shrugged.

And at that, Kogasa wilted.

“Oh.”

Whatever bravery she had managed to summon left her, whatever tension was in her form drained out. Her umbrella winced, folding slightly back up. Her overall posture and demeanor was more akin to that of a girl who had just lost everything, not someone that had just seen two acquaintances for the first time in a while.

And, as seemed almost inevitable when interacting with the poor tsukumogami, she started to cry.

The umbrella did too, which admittedly Murasa still wasn’t used to. She knew on a logical level that it and the girl were two halves of the same being, but actually witnessing it remained one of the weirder things she’d seen in Gensokyo.

“Can I… can I have a moment? Just to… wrap things up, leave a note maybe?” she sniffed. “I-I-I promise I won’t say it was you!”

“Um. Sure? We’ll wait, just… do whatever you need to, I guess,” Ichirin said uncertainly. Murasa was sort of thankful she had, because the phantom had no idea what was happening right now.

Kogasa muttered a teary thanks, shuffled to the door on the back wall clutching tightly to her umbrella, and went through. Seconds later, the faint sound of crying could be heard from the room, even through the wall.

The two stood in the empty smithy, uncomfortably hot from the forge and listening to muffled sobs.

“Okay,” Murasa started, turning to Ichirin. “Something’s off. She’s not normally this weird, right?”

“No, this is definitely unusual for her. Any idea of what’s going on?”

“Why would I know?”

“You said you’re her ‘philosophical nemesis’ or whatever,” Ichirin shrugged. “Thought you might have a guess.”

Murasa was drawing breath to explain that totally wasn’t how that worked when Kogasa slid the door open and came back through. She gave a quick glance at the two, and quietly mumbled, “Finished the note. Didn’t say anything about you guys, you can check if you want when you’re… done.”

With that, she moved over towards the forge and set a nearby cover over the flame, smothering it. She then turned to walk past the table full of knives and over to the one lined with rows of carefully maintained tools. From the loops on her apron, she carefully lifted even more onto it: two hammers of varying sizes, a handful of chisels, some tongs. She placed them neatly with their brethren, leaned down, and started… whispering to them?

An ordinary human wouldn’t have been able to hear her, but Murasa and Ichirin hadn’t been either of those for a long time.

“... big sis is… big sis is gonna have to go away for a little while. Don’t worry, Banki’ll be by sooner or later, a-a-and she, and she-” whatever shred of composure the karakasa had managed to regain shattered again, and she started crying even harder, “she knows how important you are, and she’ll make sure you get to good homes, so b-b-be good, okay? Be good for Banki. I’ll, I’ll always lo-lo-lov… bwaaaah!” She fell to her knees bawling.

The atmosphere had taken an even more uncomfortable turn, and not just because Murasa was painfully aware of the increasing amount of saltwater in the room. Kogasa was something of a crybaby, true, but her normal episodes were trivial in comparison to this. Watching her fall apart…Murasa didn’t exactly like the girl, philosophical nemeses and all, but that didn’t mean she lacked a heart.

She sort of wished Byakuren were here. Murasa and Ichirin weren’t the best at comforting people.

The captain took a step closer. “Uh. Okay, was about to ask if everything’s alright, stupid question ‘cause you’re clearly not, but… like, do you need any help? What exactly is wrong?”

Kogasa didn’t react in the slightest, just continuing to sob against the table. Though finally, her cries softened, she wiped her eyes, and stood up. Quiet enough that even the two yokai couldn’t hear it, she whispered some final words to her tools, tenderly running her hand down each of their clearly well-loved forms.

Wordlessly, she left her tools to cross over to the two Buddhists, placing herself between them and her front counter. She stared at them with empty, teary eyes… and dropped to her knees, head bowed and umbrella closed across her lap.

“...please, just… get it over with…” she said softly, gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

And again, just at the border of their hearing, Kogasa was muttering to herself under her breath.

“... it won’t be so bad, being a normal umbrella again, maybe it’s better this way…”

No one moved for a long, long moment.

That was… that didn’t mean what Murasa thought it meant, right? Kogasa wasn’t doing that badly… right?

Murasa didn’t do comforting. She was far more suited to taking life than supporting it, no matter how hard she tried. She shot a desperate look at her partner, wordlessly begging her to say something.

Ichirin caught her glance, and laughed nervously. “Kogasa, really, what’s wrong? You’re acting like we’re about to murder you or something.”

The yokai on the floor beneath them turned her head up at the awkward icebreaker, eyes shining wetly. And nodded.

And nodded?

“What?!”

Curiously, the slightest bit of color returned to the karakasa’s cheeks, despite how she flinched back at their simultaneous exclamation.

“Kogasa, that’s insane! Of course we’re not here to kill you, why would you ever think that?!” Ichirin almost shouted. So they were on the same page, Murasa hadn’t been sure she was interpreting that correctly. Still wasn’t, to be honest.

Kogasa made a valiant attempt to not burst into tears (again), managing to stutter out, “I-I-I just thought that, that a-after the assassin Lady Hijiri sent–”

“WHAT!?”

The umbrella shrieked and scuttled backwards, slamming into the counter.

“How dare you insinuate–

“–the mere idea that Lady Hijiri would ever–”

“–such vicious and cowardly means–”

“–can’t believe how insulting–”

“–she’s a pacifist, you piece of–”

“–what’d I’d expect from a Taoist, but you?”

Murasa and Ichirin saw red, shouting over each other as Kogasa broke down for the third (fourth? fifth? Murasa wasn’t exactly in a mood to keep track) time, wailing and hiding herself beneath her umbrella. Not like it would save her, Murasa had half a mind to drown the punk in her own damn barrel–

And stopped, as the reflexive no, Murasa, drowning is Bad rang through her head, in the voice of Lady Hijiri as always. The drowning thing was getting a lot better, but Murasa still struggled with her impulses from time to time. She and Byakuren had gone through so many mantras about it that she heard the head monk’s voice in her head almost every time she even thought about doing it to someone.

It was enough to derail her train of thought long enough to take a step back and consider what exactly was going on.

Kogasa wasn’t and would never be the phantom’s favorite person, but she was still a person that deserved respect. She had gravely insulted Byakuren, true, but thinking logically Murasa could not conceive of a world in which she genuinely meant to. The umbrella was harmless, and they were unjustly bullying her…

The cold reason hit like icewater.

“Wait, Ichi! Hold up,” she said, throwing an arm out in front of her partner.

Ichirin, to her credit, snapped out of it quickly. She started turning towards Murasa still burning with rage, but it was only a second before the phantom saw the exact moment the gears clicked in her friend’s head. Her face went pale, and she clapped both hands to her mouth as if to cut off the poison she’d just spat.

“Oh gods. Kogasa, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have snapped at you!”

Murasa quietly replied, “Don’t know if she heard you there. I think we broke her.”

Indeed, Kogasa did not appear to react to the apology at all. She remained curled under her umbrella against the counter, with only the sound of her gasps and sobs leaking out. Her umbrella, for its part, couldn’t exactly hide itself, but it showed her sorry state as well. Its eye went wide, but its pupil narrowed. The flat mouth opened and closed rapidly in an absurd pantomime of breath. It folded slightly and opened back up in time with Kogasa’s hyperventilating, forming a bizarre harmony of rustling paper and panic. For all intents and purposes, Kogasa was no longer there.

Ichirin let out a hiss of displeasure, looking from her friend to the terrified yokai and back. “Oh, no. She has to know we won’t hurt her, right?”

She hated to say it, but Murasa wasn’t so sure. When she’d been shocked out of her own anger, a lightning quick and frozen cold chain of thought following the question of why started rolling, and it was painting an ugly picture.

“Forget making sense for a sec, look at it from her perspective. Might sound crazy, but let’s say Lady Hijiri really did try to kill her. Kogasa knows we’d do anything Byakuren said to.”

Ichirin stared for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she groaned. “We show up and say we were just talking about her…”

“I mention we didn’t know she was a blacksmith…”

“Which implies we were here for her.”

“Yep. Probably didn’t help that I was wavin’ this thing around,” Murasa added, shaking her ladle.

“And when she told us about staying away from the cemetery, we just brushed it off. We didn’t know it was important, but to her it must have looked like we didn’t care that she was trying to stay on our good side. Like we were already set on killing her.” Ichirin pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Take an already jumpy karakasa, add in a crazy fear of murder, then she mistakes our visit for a hit job and we look like we confirm it. Us blowing up at her was just the icing on the cake,” the captain finished.

“Ugh. I see it now. But why would she think Lady Hijiri tried to assassinate her? It only makes sense if she really believes that, but that’s crazy. She would never!”

Murasa shrugged. “No idea. We’d have to ask her,” she said, jerking a thumb to the quivering Kogasa.

Ichirin hummed nervously as she considered the situation. “We need to help her, but I don’t want to get too close and make it worse. Any ideas?”

Not really. As she’d thought before, Murasa wasn’t exactly equipped to comfort. She hadn’t the faintest clue of how to calm Kogasa down, especially given the phantom herself was the apparent trigger. Think, think, think. Not even just for information anymore; it wasn’t exactly on purpose but the two had still scared the poor girl to tears. They had a duty to try and make things right, both as the cause and as decent people. No matter how much something deep inside twisted at the prospect of aiding her spiritual enemy.

Wait.

Oh gods.

Murasa groaned. “I just had the dumbest idea and I hate myself a little for even considering it.”

She walked slowly, as non threateningly as she could while still raising her dented ladle. She steadfastly ignored Ichirin’s horrified look, crouched down next to Kogasa who flinched even further inward, and turned the ladle over.

A weak drizzle fell out, a far cry from its usual torrent. In fact, it looked more like rain.

The darn thing being busted probably helped, to be honest. The deformity messed with Murasa’s connection to it, forcing her to work much more carefully and deliberately than she was used to. It might not have worked if the ladle was in perfect shape.

But it wasn’t, and droplets of seawater fell down onto the eggplant purple surface of Kogasa’s other half in the best approximation of rainfall Murasa could manage. The karakasa had something of a hangup about being useful, and what was an umbrella’s primary use but to block rain? Hopefully it might do something to calm her down.

Honestly, half of her was hoping it wouldn’t, because this was also very much killing her inside.

The umbrella’s terrified gaze locked onto Murasa sitting next to it, but after a few seconds of not being gruesomely murdered, it seemed to relax slightly. Its contractions slowed, and Kogasa’s sobs quietened down the slightest fraction.

Damn it. She couldn’t believe this was working. This was the most humiliating thing to happen to her since getting her ass kicked by the frilly lunatic at the reactor a few weeks ago, and she Did Not want to see the look on her partner’s face. She knew, just knew it would be this overly sappy, patronizingly proud expression at Murasa getting over her ‘prejudices’. She could feel it melting through the side of her skull.

Pulling her hat down over her eyes didn’t really accomplish anything, but it made Murasa feel a bit better.

After a handful of minutes’ worth of makeshift rainfall, Kogasa’s breathing had finally slowed somewhat. It wasn’t perfect, the girl was still sucking in huge gasps of air like she was suffocating, but it sounded quite a bit less awful. The frantic stare of the umbrella had stabilized, and now gazed at the embarrassed ship phantom contemplatively.

A quiet, sniffling voice crept out from under the purple canopy, and Kogasa adjusted her umbrella slightly to peek at her with her human body’s teary red eye.

“… I don’t… I don’t think you can drown an umbrella, Murasa.”

“Don’t know until we try, do we,” the captain sighed, “But, nah, not today. Just tryin’ to help.”

Kogasa’s eyes somehow got even shinier with tears, but Murasa hoped it was a good sign this time. Putting aside the fact that the girl was apparently offering advice on how to more effectively murder her, which was a hell of a thing to try and ignore.

“So, is it working? D’you feel any better?”

The karakasa blinked, dislodging a few droplets down her salt stained cheeks. “B-b-but we’re,” she hiccuped, “we’re philosophical nemeses!”

The rush of vindication and urge to turn to Ichirin for a glorious I-told-you-so weren’t quite enough to overcome the blush Murasa found burning on her face. She coughed awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it. Bein’ an okay person’s more important than any stupid rivalry right now. Sorry we spooked you.”

Ichirin finally stepped forwards, hand extended to help Kogasa to her feet. “Right. We’re so, so sorry. We shouldn’t have lost our temper. I promise we’re not here to hurt you.”

Kogasa shakily accepted, taking the nun’s hand and standing against the counter. Her thick boots splashed in the thin puddle of seawater now coating her floor.

“R-really?”

Murasa nodded gravely, the solemnity of the gesture somewhat undercut by the bright red flush of her cheeks.

“Captain’s honor. We come in peace.”

The blacksmith visibly relaxed, leaning her umbrella against her shoulder in a much more casual manner than before.

“Oh, that’s great! I really thought I was about to…” she trailed off somewhat awkwardly and wiped her eyes. “Um, so, if you’re not here for me, then what brings you to my shop?”

The captain shrugged. “The crew’s on a shopping trip, and I needed to find a blacksmith. Total coincidence we ran into you, honest.”

Kogasa tensed. “The crew? She’s here?!”

“Nonono, me and Ichi’ve been running around on our own for a bit. I swear, Byakuren doesn’t even know we’re—”

Ichirin cut her off with a horrified gasp.

“Knock, knock! We finished our shopping, so Shou and I figured we’d come find you two, and a nice young man pointed us in this direction,” said Byakuren Hijiri, strolling into the smithy with Bishamonten’s avatar in tow. “Oh, hello there Kogasa! We haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you— have you been crying?”

Kogasa did not break out in tears again, like Murasa had halfway expected. She turned with laser focus to Lady Hijiri, going very, very still and very, very pale.

Son of a submariner.

Murasa slapped a hand to her forehead. “Lady Hijiri, glad to see you, but you have the worst timing.”

Ichirin reached for Kogasa, placating. “Please, stay calm, don’t freak out. I’m sure this is all just a big misunderstanding–”

Kogasa didn’t give her the chance to finish, throwing herself to the floor in front of Byakuren (as well as to the side, caught by a bemused Ichirin) in the lowest bow Murasa had ever seen. She squeaked softly as she hit the deck, and promptly burst into a lightning fast, nigh unintelligible babble. Murasa was pretty sure it was supposed to be some sort of apology, but the karakasa was talking so fast there was no way to tell for certain.

Byakuren, oblivious to the catastrophe she was inviting, simply bent down and hoisted the poor girl by the arms, setting her on her feet in front of the nun. She laid her hands on Kogasa’s shoulders in what she probably thought was a comforting gesture, and would have been any other time.

“Kogasa, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

The umbrella froze stock-still. Her expression was not of a girl destroyed, like she had been with Murasa and Ichirin. Now, she looked more like a mouse, some small prey animal caught in the gaze of the predator and trying in vain to avoid its notice. But it couldn’t last– aaaaaand, there she went. There were the waterworks Murasa was expecting.

Through a renewed round of tears, Kogasa managed to stammer out, “I-I-I don’t know wh-what I did to make you mad at, at me, but I’m so-sorry! P-p-please don’t send any more assassins after me!”

“What?” Shou asked in a confused but calm tone, which was frankly kind of irritating. The avatar of a war god kept her cool and didn’t blow up at an insult to Byakuren, but the two of them had lost it? Damn Shou, being reasonable and everything in the face of what was really obviously not meant to offend. It was making them look bad.

Byakuren Hijiri, picture of understanding and mercy… silently stepped back, eyes wide. In contrast to Kogasa, who curiously enough seemed to have greatly recovered within the last four seconds, Byakuren looked positively poleaxed. Her face had gone pale, her mouth dropped open, and her hands twitched uselessly in the air like she was looking for something to hold on to.

Then, all at once like a switch was being flipped, her demeanor reset. Her face broke out into a smile that could charm an oni, and she started to laugh loudly. A bit too loudly, to be honest. Sounded kinda forced to Murasa.

“Ha. Ha. Hahaha, what a silly idea! What would I need assassins for?” Byakuren said jovially.

Kogasa was not reassured, which was expected. Murasa couldn’t blame Lady Hijiri for it, her having not been present two minutes prior, but it was a bad idea to phrase anything in a way that suggested Byakuren could just snap the umbrella in half herself if she wanted Kogasa dead. Which she was absolutely capable of doing, regardless of if it was the object or the girl you were talking about.

Said yokai flinched backwards in what looked to be a reflexive escape from danger, only to be caught by the head nun’s renewed iron grip on her shoulder. Some slight hiss of breath left her lips that might have been an attempt at communication, but ended up sounding something like a dying cat.

Noticing her rhetorical question didn’t quite land as expected, Byakuren continued, “I’m sorry, Kogasa, I don’t believe I got my point across very well. The Myouren Temple does not have any assassins in its service, so I am sure there must be some misunderstanding here.” The Myouren disciples nodded along, though Ichirin was somewhat obscured by the purple umbrella she still held. “Please, could you tell us what’s wrong?”

Kogasa, still shivering silently in Byakuren’s grasp, did not seem in much of a mood to answer, so Murasa stepped forwards. “Dunno the specifics, but apparently she thinks you’re pissed enough to bump her off. She said you’d sent an assassin after her and figured Ichi and I were here to finish the job. We just managed to convince her we weren’t when you showed up.”

“Oh?” The nun turned back to the umbrella in her arms. “Kogasa, dear, I promise I never sent any assassins after you. I don’t have any assassins. What made you think so?”

After another long moment of silence from Kogasa, Shou cleared her throat awkwardly. “Lady Hijiri, perhaps you might release the girl? It might serve to calm her down enough to respond.”

Byakuren gasped softly and retracted her hands from Kogasa, who immediately stumbled backwards away from her. She very nearly fell over, only to be held up by Ichirin’s extended arm. The blue-haired nun smiled kindly, holding out the umbrella in her other hand to the smith. “It’s alright, Kogasa, no one is going to hurt you. We just want to know what happened. Take your time, and just start at the beginning, okay?”

Kogasa uncertainly took it back, but clutching tightly to her other half did seem to relax her somewhat. She glanced nervously at the surrounding Buddhists, with the single eye of the umbrella remained focused on Byakuren. She swallowed.

“O-okay. It was a few weeks ago, a-and I was playing around in the tunnels to Old Hell…”

“Back when that oil was spouting up everywhere?” interrupted Murasa.

“Yeah, the black water!” Kogasa nodded quickly. “I wasn’t doing anything bad, just playing! Thought it might be a good place to try and surprise people, but nobody really was down there all that much. The black water was still there though, so I was having some fun with that when this red-white–”

Byakuren cut her off with a good-natured laugh. “Kogasa, I know we have similar jobs, but I don’t think dear Reimu likes me well enough to exterminate yokai for me, and I wouldn’t ask her to. I respect her, but I don’t always approve of the way she does things.” Her angelic smile was back in full force, with enough charisma to charm even an amanojaku.

Kogasa straightened up, a rare showing of steel in her spine and a frown on her face. “It wasn’t the shrine maiden! I know she doesn’t work for you!” Then she shrunk back again, seeming almost embarrassed by her outburst. “A-and besides, that was before the assassin!”

“You ran into Reimu down there too, huh,” Murasa groused. She’d gotten into quite a few scuffles investigating the source of the oil, and had a pretty solid showing if she did say so herself. Not against the shrine maiden though, not that the captain was terribly beat up about it. It was just a hazard of living here as a yokai: you could pretty well count on ticking off Reimu Hakurei at some point and getting your fantasy rear-end handed to you. No shame in losing to the number one duelist in Gensokyo.

Greedy, bloodsucking taoties were another story. Murasa was still kind of upset about that.

“I’m sorry, Kogasa, please forgive me for interrupting. Go on,” Byakuren smiled, though it had taken on a distinctly nervous tinge.

The umbrella blinked. “...alright? Anyway, she just sort of showed up out of nowhere, I have no idea where she came from, and she was talking about stopping the black water too, like Murasa did, so I–”

“Oh, that must be the problem!” Byakuren said quickly, glancing back at the captain. “You did mention you encountered Kogasa down there, didn’t you Murasa? I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding something, Kogasa. Murasa is my disciple, yes, and was investigating the oil for me, but she’s not an assassin. She’s a ship captain.”

“I know Murasa’s not an assassin? It’s just, both of them said they were trying to stop the black water, and Murasa went down but it didn’t stop so I guessed she and that spooky one following her–”

Wait, someone had been following her down to Old Hell?

Byakuren interrupted again, taking a large step forward into Kogasa’s personal space. Her smile, the absolute sunniest Murasa had ever witnessed, was enough to melt even the stone heart of a Taoist. Nevertheless, it didn’t quite hide the way her eyes darted from Ichirin to Murasa to Shou and back again with frantic energy.

“Ahahaha, what are you saying? Murasa was the only one I sent down to Old Hell! Nobody was following her!” Well, if Byakuren said it, it must be true. Murasa probably would have noticed someone shadowing her down there.

Byakuren loomed over Kogasa, staring unblinking into her multicolored eyes. “Kogasa, I do not have any assassins. I do not need any assassins, because I would not ever have any use for them. I would not send assassins after anyone, because I don’t believe in using violence as a first resort to solve problems.” Of course! Lady Hijiri was a pacifist, she would never! “But, if I did, which again, I do not, I would have no reason to send them after innocent yokai like you, Kogasa. If I had to, if I absolutely had to, I would only consider assassinating some truly cruel and malevolent creature that posed a serious threat to Gensokyo’s peace.”

“Oh, like that taotie!” Murasa piped up. She wouldn’t blame Byakuren for sending someone to off that glutton, the goat was a greedy nightmare that would’ve consumed all of the Hell of Blood Pools if something hadn’t stopped her. Which, now that she thought about it, must have happened, right? Considering she wasn’t making war on the surface and devouring everything in sight right now. What the phantom wouldn’t give to have been there to watch somebody give Totetsu the what for…

“Exactly, Murasa, just like that! Someone like Yuuma Totetsu, someone who had to be stopped before she hurt a lot of people.”

“Like a Taoist.”

“Yes, like a Taoist—Murasa!” Byakuren turned from the karakasa to glare at her captain, then sighed and looked back at Kogasa. “Anyhow, do you understand? Someone like you has nothing to fear, because I don’t have any assassins, and I have no reason to kill you. Do you understand, Kogasa?”

Kogasa froze up, staring in terror at the Buddhist in front of her.

“Do you understand, Kogasa?”

Tears were gathering again in the corners of the umbrella’s eyes. “I-I-I-I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry–” and she abruptly cut off, letting out a horrified gasp as a thought finally occurred to her. “She didn’t get in trouble, did she?!”

Byakuren stopped. “Huh?” she asked blankly.

“The assassin! She did a great job, she was really strong and beat me up really quickly! She didn’t get in trouble for not finishing me off, did she? I-it wasn’t her fault! N-not to say you don’t know what you’re doing but you should probably have sent someone that isn’t afraid of water?”

Byakuren stepped back, bringing a hand to her forehead and muttering flatly under her breath, “Unbelievable. She’s not even listening to me, is she?”

Again, with the advice on how to murder her more effectively! This had somehow gotten even weirder, and Ichirin and Shou were feeling it too. She could see the two of them shifting in place awkwardly. It was looking like one of them might have to intervene, between Byakuren and Kogasa. What was even happening?

Hold on. Afraid of water?

“I promise, she was a really good fighter! Wiped the floor with me!”

“Kogasa, I DIDN'T SEND ANY–”

“Wait! Everyone shut up for a sec!” Murasa shouted.

Both Kogasa and Byakuren turned to her in confusion, though Murasa only had eyes for the former.

“Afraid of water, red-white, appeared from nowhere? Was she blonde, ‘bout yea high, with pointy teeth and weird crystal wing things?” Murasa asked, holding a hand to about the height of her shoulder.

Kogasa gasped. “Yes! That’s her!”

Ichirin too started in surprise. “Wait, Murasa, you know what she’s talking about?” At the same time, Shou asked, “Wait, the assassin is real?”

“Yeah, I fought her too! She just showed up, kicked my ass, and vanished. Freaked out somethin’ fierce when I sank my boat in the flooded reactor, but it barely slowed her down,” Murasa said.

“Really? Who was she?” Byakuren asked, confused.

Murasa shrugged. “Hell if I know. She appeared, beat me up, and left. That was about it.”

The head nun sighed, but quickly perked up. “Oh… wait, Kogasa, that proves I didn’t send an assassin after you! Even if you don’t believe I wouldn’t try to kill you, surely you realize I wouldn’t try to assassinate one of my own disciples and closest friends?”

Kogasa blinked, and considered this for a moment. Some amount of color had returned to her face, despite no apparent opportunity to relax. “I… I guess that makes sense… ohmygods i’m so sorry–”

And with that, she threw herself at Byakuren once more, where she was caught in the nun’s soft embrace. With relief evident in her tone, Lady Hijiri sighed and said, “All is forgiven, I’m just happy we were able to clear this silly little misunderstanding up. You’re welcome at the Myouren Temple any time, though please have a little faith in us next time, okay? Also…”

Byakuren leaned down until her lips were right beside Kogasa’s ear, and whispered gravely, “I. Do Not. Have. Assassins. Understood?”

Kogasa paled slightly, then nodded so fast it looked like her head might fall off. “G-got it, ma’am!”

Lady Hijiri smiled serenely and patted the girl on the head. “Good. I’m glad everything is straightened out now.”

Shou, having mostly stayed out of the engagement thus far, cleared her throat. “Pardon me, but I was under the initial misconception that this assassin was some delusion of hers. But Miss Tatara as well as the captain here were indeed targeted by some scoundrel that appropriated our temple’s good name?”

Ichirin started hesitantly, “Uh, yes, they were attacked, but I don’t think–”

Shou cut her off with the harsh slap of fist meeting palm. The normally levelheaded tiger had a dangerous spark in her eye. Shou was perhaps the member of the Myouren Temple least predisposed to Shenanigans (barring Lady Hijiri of course), but her occasional flights of fancy often wound up all the more destructive for their rarity.

Byakuren for once foresaw the approaching chaos, and valiantly tried to head her disciple off. “Shou, wait–”

“This insult CANNOT be allowed to stand! How dare they stain Lady Hijiri’s good name with their scurrilous behavior! This must be avenged!” the avatar of Bishamonten roared. And without another word, she turned on her heel and sprinted out of the smithy.

Byakuren, not missing a beat, started after her in pursuit. “Shou, wait! Calm down!”

A dozen paces out, she spun back and said quickly, “Kogasa: wonderful to see you, come by soon! Murasa, Ichirin, I’ll see you back at the temple, I have to stop Shou from… whatever she’s about to do. Bye!”

And with that, she was gone.

(Several hours later, Shou Toramaru, poor Byakuren following all the while, would indeed make her way to the Scarlet Devil Mansion in search of its mistress’s little sister, despite knowing nothing of the identity of her quarry. Once again, the tried and true Gensokyo tactic of picking a direction and fighting everyone in the way until you found whatever it was you were looking for (known in some yokai circles as ‘doing a Reimu,’ though never within the shrine maiden’s earshot) bore fruit.

Deep within the bowels of the manor, the avatar of Bishamonten engaged in battle to avenge her lady’s honor. Just over two minutes later, an unwilling Byakuren was then compelled to fight to avenge Shou’s honor, which ended much the same way and left the pair to walk home in inglorious defeat.

Final scorecard: Flandre Scarlet three, Myouren Temple zero.)

The two remaining disciples left in the smithy stared in silence after their departed comrades for a long, awkward moment.

Kogasa coughed from behind them. “Um. Okay? Is… is that it?”

Murasa snapped out of her daze at the quiet voice. “Right! I guess.. I guess we’ll be going then, Ichi? Nice seeing you, Kogasa.”

Ichirin responded with a soft tap to the shoulder. “Nope. Did you forget the whole reason you came, Murasa?”

“Ah, right! Remember how I said I was looking for a blacksmith earlier? I was sort of hoping I could get this fixed,” she said, holding her ladle out to Kogasa.

The umbrella approached, still somewhat cautious. “It’s busted, huh. Not too bad, though. What happened?”

“...accident.”

“Hmm, that tracks. I can tell you usually take really good care of it, your ladle respects you a whole lot!” She gingerly took the spoon from Murasa’s hand, turning it around to inspect it. “Is this bronze? I don’t usually see this type of thing in that material.”

The ship phantom stopped for a moment at how Kogasa had so casually personified an item so deeply connected to Murasa, and one that she herself had never given that level of thought to. It made a sort of sense, she supposed, that a tsukumogami would consider that type of thing. Regardless, it gave her a sort of fuzzy feeling inside. Murasa might have to reevaluate that philosophical nemesis thing.

“Yeah. I've gone through a lot of these over the years, and bronze ain’t perfect but it takes saltwater better than some other stuff I’ve tried.”

Kogasa hummed thoughtfully. “Makes sense. All you need is this crack repaired and the dent hammered out, right?

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t take too long for that. I’ve got another project for somebody I’m just finishing up, but if you don’t mind leaving this with me today I can have it all fixed up by tomorrow afternoon… i-is that okay?” What had started off as a collected, professional tone decayed into nervous whispers as Kogasa considered the possibility of offending her audience. Still primed for paranoia, evidently, though her natural disposition probably didn’t help.

It hurt a bit on a spiritual level to part from her ladle for so long, but it was a small price to pay. “That works fine. Guess I should just bring some cash with me and we can handle payment tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Don’t worry, it won’t cost all that much. It’s a pretty simple fix.”

And that was that. It felt almost anticlimactic, after such a tense situation earlier. All that panic and confusion, resolved in a perfectly normal transaction.

“I guess that’s all we need then. Anything else, Ichi?”

Ichirin turned to the umbrella, still contemplating the ladle. “Actually, I did have one more thing I wanted to say…” Unusual for the typically confident nun, she trailed off, considering her words carefully. “During that whole misunderstanding, you, uh, sort of said something about being a normal umbrella again? As in, not a yokai? I get that the situation was stressful, but that sounded like it came from the heart. Is… everything okay?”

Kogasa flinched, curling in on herself slightly to hide her face. “I. Um. Everything’s… it’s fine. Fine. All good here…” she mumbled weakly. Neither of the two Buddhists were convinced, but after the mess they’d put the poor girl through already, Murasa didn’t think it was a great idea to push further.

Neither did Ichirin, evidently. In a soft, gentle tone that the captain had heard from Lady Hijiri a thousand times, she said, “That’s alright. It’s been a trying day, we won’t bother you any further. But if you really aren’t feeling well, try coming to the Temple proper and not just our cemetery. Helping yokai like you find peace is Byakuren’s whole mission. Drop in sometime and we’ll do our best to help you, okay?”

Kogasa quietly mumbled something that sounded close enough to an affirmation, and without turning around, muttered, “Um, I think a friend of mine might be coming by pretty soon, and I told her about the whole assassin thing and I’m pretty sure she believed me, so it might not be a great idea for you two…”

She was too polite to finish the sentence, but they could recognize the dismissal for what it was. Ichirin and Murasa gave their goodbyes, and turned to leave.

And Murasa stopped, just under the eave of the smithy, just before stepping out under the dark sky. It was a matter of minutes at best before rain started pouring down, by her estimate. Not that it would bother Murasa all that much. Ghosts didn’t really have issues with physical sensations, and it was sort of hard to top drowning in terms of aquatic aggravation as far as things go.

And yet, Murasa stopped.

She looked back at the karakasa behind her, who had turned halfway around to watch them go, one red eye poking out from behind her hair and another from the slick purple shade hanging over her.

She looked to her left, at the rack of umbrellas that had been abandoned and lovingly restored. At the sign, hanging above them.

FREE, TO A GOOD HOME.

Murasa didn’t own an umbrella, what with the aforementioned lack of reaction to rain. But she liked to think the Myouren Temple was a pretty damn good home. It used to be her ship, after all.

And hey, helping yokai was sort of their whole thing.

One of them in the middle was a sort of seafoam green, which wasn’t quite as ugly as she’d thought on first look and came with the added bonus of turning her spiritual stomach the least (ship phantoms are ship phantoms, only so much you can do).

She slowly, carefully drew it from the stand, and shot a glance at Kogasa. The girl started slightly in surprise, a faint bit of color returning to her face. She looked, oddly enough, much healthier than she had when they’d first arrived at her shop. Before the karakasa turned back to her tools again, Murasa caught the faintest glimmer at the corner of her eye. Crying again, huh. Though, coupled with the hint of a smile she’d seen (and the significantly larger-than-a-hint grin spreading across an eggplant colored canopy), the captain had the feeling it was a good sign this time.

The umbrella in her own hands unfolded, quite a bit larger than she was expecting. Easily enough to cover both her and Ichi on the way back.

And so the nun and the drowned girl walked home to their temple, kept dry by a well loved umbrella.

“Hey, I just realized. We cleared up that Lady Hijiri never sent any assassins after Kogasa, but it’s weird that she was so sure they existed, right?”

“Huh. That is strange. Kogasa’s a bit odd, but I don’t think she’s ever really been delusional like that.”

“Nope. Think we should ask when we get home?”

“Eh, Lady Hijiri already said she doesn’t have any assassins. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

And they never did.