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A circular tray carefully balanced in her hands, Tamayo makes her way up the stairs. Each time her tabi make contact with the staircase, a slight creak is released, and she can vaguely sense the contents of the teapot sloshing and swirling. Thankfully, however, there is no overall disturbance in her equilibrium.
Most people would find what she’s carrying quite burdensome. Her more-than-human constitution, however, results in the task providing no challenge. Silently gliding across the topmost corridor, almost like a snake slithering effortlessly within the reeds, she wonders for a moment what it would be like to trip over. Her beautiful purple kimono with the red flower patterns would no doubt be stained, though that is not necessarily an issue, considering her latent ability to regenerate her own clothes. Having scalding hot tea over her body wouldn’t even hurt that much. A bit, sure, but the pain would subside in due time.
Shoving aside such silly and intrusive imaginings, she finds herself lingering outside a door at the very end of the hall. She notes the exposed window perpendicular to her approximate position, curtains drawn apart to reveal an ink-dark sky, black with a slight hue of navy. The moon hangs high, glowing with ethereal radiance, shining down on the world with such dignity and formality.
The moon is pretty. That is one thing Tamayo never gets tired of, admiring the beauty of the night. Maybe it’s because that’s the only time of day she feels safe (after all, the curtains tend to be pulled together between the hours of dawn and dusk), but she likes to think that she is capable of appreciating the inherent pleasure of such a spectacle.
Realizing she’s let herself be led mentally astray, again, she turns to face the door and clears her throat.
“Yushiro, I’m here now. Please, open the door for me.”
She had told him to wait for her in that room some twenty or thirty minutes ago (Tamayo is not one for keeping track of time very well. despite the house containing at least five clocks). However, she had not revealed to him her intentions or plans. She’s pleased at the idea that he’ll be in for something of a surprise. There’s that little part of her which enjoys springing upon him the unexpected. It’s probably unprofessional, though.
The handle turns and the door opens. Yushiro greets her with a cloth on his face, covering him from just below his eyes to beneath his chin. Had he been cleaning? Even when waiting, he finds ways of keeping himself busy.
His violet, catlike eyes take a gander at the contents of the tray she’s holding, and he huffs out air in what she assumes to be shock.
“Lady Tamayo,” he says as he backpedals from the doorway to give her space, “what is this?”
“I’ll explain in a minute.”
He nods, and turns around so his back faces her. White-yukata clad, with a grey collar-and-button shirt underneath and deep-blue hakama, she can’t help but appreciate the figure he strikes in such an outfit. His... behavioral concerns put aside for a moment, he carries himself with a certain aesthetic maturity. A young man of the modern era.
He all but escorts her to the waist-high table in the middle of the room, one which houses an assortment of personal items. It’s something of a lounge, or drawing room, she’s not sure how to define it. There’s a bookcase adjacent to the doorway, containing her personal library of favorite texts; next to that, a big, purple leather armchair, a tall lamp and a miniature knee-high table. On this small table is a cleaning dragonfly, the one Yushiro had assumedly just been using. There’s also a larger, higher table in the center, which she’s carefully lowering the tray down onto, and there’s a desk next to the window at the very end of the room, with a globe of the world standing on top of it, alongside a small pile of books. She knows that Yushiro likes to spend some of his free time reading, as well. Though it’s night time, the curtains of that room are still shut. Perhaps he was cleaning them. If so, he’s done a wonderful job.
Standing opposite her, behind one of the brown chairs with red cushions, Yushiro reaches to the back of his head, his arms fidget and fumble as the cloth around his face loosens. As it falls from his left cheek and dangles on the opposite side, she presents an amused smile at the peachy-redness of his cheeks. He slots the covering into the folds of his yukata, his eyes still betraying a sense of very faint agitation.
He stares at the circular tray, and it’s fair to say (and as she predicted) that the sight is something which he didn’t expect. A ceramic teapot, alongside two cups with saucers – all of which are cloud-white with a suitably contrasting, deep-blue floral and leaf pattern. Small amounts of steam escape the snout at the end of the teapot, releasing vapor into the air and slightly increasing the heat in the immediate vicinity. In front of the tea set (from her perspective), are two small-sized plates with the same pattern, that have some sort of confectionary on them. Tamayo knows what it is, but will reveal it in due time. Next to one of these plates, at the very edge of the tray, are two syringes containing what seems to be a clear liquid.
“Take a seat, Yushiro.” Tamayo commands. He nods, puts his hand on the top of the chair and promptly sits himself down. He watches as she lowers herself onto the chair on her side of the table. Not wanting to waste any time, she takes the teapot and starts pouring into one of the two teacups, steaming brown-black liquid flowing out of the snout smoothly like a summer stream.
“Lady Tamayo,” he comes back to his previous inquiry, “what is all this?”
The teacup is filled to the top. She moves to fill the other. “Yushiro. I’ve been working on something in my spare time. I haven’t told you about it yet, and I’m sorry for keeping it hidden from you.”
“It’s not a problem! But… what is it?”
She puts the teapot back down on the tray. It clinks on contact, the hot vaporous liquid in the teacups rolling at the action.
“Recently, I’ve been conducting research into… our condition. Do you remember when I asked you for a sample of your blood?”
“Yes?”
“Well,” she hands him one of the cup-and-saucers, which he accepts and puts down directly in front of him, “I tested my own blood, too. I was hoping to establish some sort of treatment for us. Not a cure, my resources are far too inadequate for such a thing at the moment. But considering our special conditions, I was hoping to discover a way in which we don’t need to rely on human blood for sustenance.”
“Is that what the syringes are?” Yushiro asks, promptly pointing at them, on the edge of the tray.
She nods. “Yes. It’s my attempt at synthesizing a drug which would allow us to… well, to digest human food, to put it simply. It’s very experimental and I don’t even know if it will work at all, I’m expecting some sort of failure. It’s difficult to overcome our nature, after all. You’ve never consumed human food as a demon, but-”
“Yes, I have,” he interrupts, “I’ve had tea.”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t work in the same way. I’m not sure why, maybe our bodies don’t recognize it as food, so it’s not rejected. Either way, eating human food would usually be pointless. Not only would it taste horrible, but eating too much of it means you regurgitate it. Believe me, I know. Hold out your arm, Yushiro.”
And she does know. In the time where she persevered to overcome her malignant nature, when nothing but the thought of consuming living human flesh dominated her mind like the world’s most infernal intrusive thought, she had tried to satiate her appetite with an assortment of typical food and drink. Nothing worked. Rice, vegetables, fruit, meat, nuts, fish, wine, everything. She could only ever subsist on the corpses of humans and wild animals, but it was tantamount to torture. Expired flesh does not impart the same nutrition, for some reason. Though she did not personally kill or harm a single soul during that time, she can’t help but feel ashamed. It even started tasting awful at some point, like pungent iron and sulfur. Truly, she was relieved when she had successfully altered her body to the point where only blood became necessary.
Compliant, Yushiro extends outwardly his left arm towards her, being sure to roll back the sleeve of his yukata and unbutton the cuff of his shirt, before pulling that back as well. His slightly pale flesh exposed, Tamayo takes one of the syringes and injects it into his arm. He flinches at the sudden insertion of the sharp needle into his skin, but his startlement is quickly dissipated as the clear fluid enters his system. Once done, she takes the syringe out and he re-buttons the cuff of his shirt, before rolling his yukata sleeve back down. He puts both hands on his lap and observes carefully, as Tamayo places the empty syringe back, takes the other one and pulls up the sleeve of her left arm.
“Do you think we could completely get by on normal, human food?” He asks.
The needle enters her forearm, her senses overcome with a fleeting, slight yet sharp pain.
“I don’t think so.” She admits as she puts the now-empty syringe back with the other, “Firstly, this drug won’t be permanent. It won’t induce a lasting change in our bodily composition. Maybe I could synthesize such a drug in the future, but it would take much more research. Secondly, as I said before, I don’t know how successful this drug will be. It’s possible that it doesn’t work at all and this all would have been a waste of time – although, we can still enjoy the tea. Thirdly, the drug itself takes a lot of materials to synthesize just to give it a stable composition. At the moment, it’s not a very efficient yield. Again, I could improve this, with time.”
“I understand. But... Lady Tamayo… why castella?”
Ah. So he knows what it is.
“Have you had castella before, Yushiro?” Tamayo asks, rolling her kimono and yukata sleeve back down.
“Yes, Lady Tamayo. I used to like it. But wouldn’t it be better if we tested the drug on something a bit plainer, like soup or rice? Where did you even get the castella from?”
She hands him one of the plates of castella, which he accepts. “The other day… do you remember the little boy? The one who came with his mother?”
“Oh, the one with the fever? He was annoying, he was so loud…”
“Please, don’t talk about one of our patients like that…” Tamayo sighs and frowns.
Yushiro bows his head slightly. “Apologies, Lady Tamayo.”
“I forgive you. Well, the mother came back a few hours ago, while you were busy upstairs. She was so grateful about what we did, that she gave me some of her homemade castella. I always felt guilty having to discard the food given to us by grateful patients or their relatives, that’s why I always tried to share it amongst other people in our care. But with the timing of my experiments, I thought that, well…”
She stops.
“Well, what?” Yushiro asks, taking a sip of tea. He smacks his lips together, maybe surprised at how hot it still is.
“Well, I thought that we might be able to enjoy this together... if that is okay with you?”
Yushiro, cup-and-saucer still in hand, looks down at the table and blushes. Tamayo covers her mouth to hide her involuntary smile. She’s always taken a small amount of amusement in how easily flustered he gets.
“I… I’m honored! I’d love to!” Yushiro exclaims.
“You don’t need to shout, Yushiro.”
“Apologies!”
Tamayo has never had castella before. Its origins date back to the introduction of the confectionary of the Portuguese in the sixteenth century, alongside implements of war that enveloped Japan in even more bloodshed than what was possible with the humble sword, spear and bow. By that point, she had long since become a demon, thus her appetite for human food had characteristically waned. She does not, also, ever recall eating much in the way of sweets as a human. So for all intents and purposes, Yushiro has experience over her.
She takes her cup-and-saucer and brings it to her lips. Yushiro, wanting to replicate her movements, does the same thing. They take a sip in tandem as she is washed over by the feeling of warm tea in her mouth. It really is an oddity that they can enjoy such a beverage as demons. Tea itself has little to no macro-nutritional value, it imparts practically zero energy by itself, yet shouldn’t their instinctual biological inkling be to reject it? It is a similar story with alcohol, for though demons could not digest its scant nutritional offerings, it is still able to intoxicate them.
Either way, the tea is refreshing. Yushiro seems to agree, as he closes his eyes and his mouth turns upwards in delight. Tamayo puts her tea down in front of her.
“Lady Tamayo?” He asks.
“Yes, Yushiro?”
“When can we start eating the castella?”
“Well,” her eyes wander to the plate of confectionary still on the tray, “theoretically, the drug I made should have started working instantly. You could try now, if you like.”
“I… I think I will. How long will its effects last?”
“I’m not sure. I think we’ll have enough time to finish the castella, though.”
“Okay. I’m going to try it.”
Yushiro’s left hand grips the edge of the plate, before he raises it to be situated in front of the top of his chest. The castella on each plate is already cut into two equally-sized 'fingers', so a knife or any sort of sharp implement is not required to consume it. He looks at Tamayo for a moment, as if seeking permission, to which she gives him the briefest smile and nods. This gives him the confidence to take one of the spongy fingers in between his right index finger and thumb. Moving slowly, no doubt out of nerve, he brings the slice of castella to his mouth and then opens it, exposing his four cattish canines. She tilts her head to the side curiously at the formation of one or two sweat beads on his forehead. He looks afraid – should she have refrained from mentioning the problems of consuming human food as a demon?
Nevertheless, he presses on. He bites down on the castella, about a third of the finger going into his mouth. His jaws shift, move, twist as he chews on the confectionary, his eyes squinting and widening as if he’s trying to process something unusual.
“Well? How does it taste?” Tamayo asks the question, but then qualifies it. “It’s okay, you’re permitted to speak as you eat.”
“Um,” Yushiro says with a mouthful of spongy cake, “I… I don’t know? It tastes sweet, but it’s also like I have mud… or sand in my mouth?”
Tamayo’s brow furrows, she sighs as her eyes narrow. “I see. So the drug is a failure. Well, it was worth a try. Thank you for agreeing to this, Yushiro. If you need to expel it from your system, I can get-”
“No… no, wait…” Yushiro interrupts, the pace of his chewing increasing quite considerably.
“Yushiro?”
He doesn’t reply immediately, focusing on the task at hand. He’s quick to finish chewing the castella before swallowing it. His previously uncertain image is displaced by one augmented with a specific kind of joy, one which you get by indulging in creature comforts.
“Your drug works, Lady Tamayo! That tastes really good! It’s sweet, moist and tender, and it… it melts in your mouth! That woman must have made it with love and effort! Try some!”
More than willing, he takes another bite from the piece of castella in his hand. His eyes flicker with visible pleasure, resisting but ultimately succumbing to the urge to grin. As he swallows again, he puts the remaining piece of castella back on his plate, puts it down and reaches for his cup.
The raw appreciation on display shocks her, to a degree. Recollections of a time most hated come back to her. He had made her pose as his wife, citing her perfectly human appearance as the ultimate disguise. “I won’t need to try so hard in hiding my nature with you.” That was his rationale, though there was a complete absence of anything resembling what you would call customary intimacy (in fact, he spent most of the time either subtly insulting her or outright forgetting her existence). They had spent that time posing as a merchant couple, selling silk and cotton across the lands. Whenever customers presented him with gifts both permanent and perishable, he almost took delight in discarding them so callously, deriding them as meaningless and pathetic gestures. She had almost forgotten the sight of someone genuinely appreciating a gift.
As Yushiro takes a drink, understandably wanting to wash down the cake with tea, the index finger and thumb of Tamayo’s left hand take the plate of castella still on the tray. She brings it up to her, takes a piece with the other hand, and stares at it for a moment. Her hand trembles – she’s hesitant, just like Yushiro, but even more so. Why?
Fighting her agitation, she brings the cake to her lips, opens her mouth and bites down. Taking a considerably larger bite than Yushiro did with his, half of the spongy finger is gone.
She chews.
It’s soft. Even considering her unnatural jaw strength, it’s very soft. No wonder these foods are enjoyed as light delicacies. It doesn’t take very long for the walls of her mouth and her tongue to be taken hostage by the arrival of the taste.
At first, what Yushiro said: Mud. Sand. A sensation she’s experienced before, the familiar twang of disgust from her consuming a food not tailored to her biology. But then? It’s sweet, but not obnoxiously so. He was right – it’s melting in her mouth. He watches her with anticipation, smiling as she continues to chew on the piece of castella.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Lady Tamayo?”
It’s odd. She’s never really tasted anything like it, can’t remember tasting anything like it. Hundreds of years of consuming flesh, scant few memories of even eating human food, it’s unlike anything she remembers experiencing.
As she swallows, she covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers. Yushiro watches her giddily, refraining from eating or drinking until she says her piece.
“It’s… it’s very delicious, Yushiro. Yes.”
“It really is amazing!” Yushiro clasps his hands together, resembling something of a prayer. “We have to thank the generous lady for giving us such a wonderful treat. And thank you, Lady Tamayo, for providing us with the means to be able to enjoy it! You’re so amazingly talented!”
She smiles, nods her approval. But as she glares at the other half of the castella finger, the smile disappears. An unwanted nostalgia envelops her.
Bless Yushiro. It’s not his fault, not in the slightest, but his reaction just now was so jovial, filled with innocence and an appreciation not marked by bitter experiences. He spoke, seemingly, from most cherished memories of enjoying such confectionary.
Memories. Pesky things, aren’t they? To Tamayo at least, someone with her own path in life, they are. They either have no direct prominence in your daily life, or they come knocking down the proverbial door like a great big battering ram, leaving you unprepared and undefended for the ensuing onslaught. Yushiro’s childlike reactions, overflowing with purity, are enough to unlock the pain in her heart all over again.
Would her own children have liked castella? She can remember their faces. Now she envisions them delighting in sweets of all kinds, telling their mother how much they love them. Their father would be alongside them all, smiling and laughing at their dear children’s discovery. Memories of a different life, perhaps. A life that never was, one denied to her after the greatest treachery of her long, long life.
She puts the castella on the plate and places it back on the table. Yushiro watches on as she feels her eyes becoming wet. Tamayo slumps back on the chair and covers her face with her hands, desperately fighting the need to sob.
It’s not fair. She never meant to…
“Lady Tamayo!” Yushiro calls out, though she can't see him. “Are you okay? Please, don’t cry!”
She hears a scratching of the chair against the floor, before a functional deluge of footsteps head her way. She huffs, heaves, her vision completely obscured by her hands, as a horde of upsetting recollections hold her by the neck. She gasps for air, feels sick to her stomach.
Of course, she couldn’t just let herself enjoy this moment. How foolish of her. Every time she feels entitled to the tiniest bit of happiness, that slightest morsel of contentedness, the past comes back to haunt her. Oh, all she ever wanted was just a short moment where she could enjoy something nice with someone else, an attempt at being human again in some small yet significant way. But her mind can’t even let her have that, apparently. Truly, this burden she bears, this unpayable debt she feels, can only truly be expelled when she perishes alongside him.
“Lady Tamayo! Look at me!”
Abiding his request, Tamayo takes her hands away from her face, before her mist-consumed eyes look up to see what it is he’s doing. Standing there nervously, he puts both of his index fingers at the polar extremes of his lips, pulling them apart as he crosses his eyes. He sticks his tongue out and makes a low-pitch, ridiculous noise. He then brings the flats of his hands to his cheeks, squashing them together to force his lips into a scrunched-up ‘o’ shape. His face looks like a duck trapped in a tube.
Tamayo’s current angst is immediately forgotten by the outrageous display. Her neck and head snap backwards and she blinks, the tears trailing down her face beginning to stop and dry. Yushiro continues to make a seemingly infinite number of silly faces.
Bless his heart. She knows that he knows what she’s upset about. It’s long since stopped being a mystery between them, for she had divulged to him the full details of her past. In every aspect. She didn’t want to hide anything from him, and she felt it necessary for him to learn about it. After all, how could they build a functioning relationship if she were to withhold information? So no, he most certainly does not exhibit ignorance here.
And yet there he is, reducing himself in bizarre ways. Tamayo has many things to feel bad about, Yushiro’s own sense of impotence during such episodes as this is one of them. She always makes an effort to reassure him that it’s not his fault, that it’s just a problem with her, that she appreciates it regardless. But even still, he always broods over his inability to make her feel better.
What is he doing, then? He hasn’t done anything like this before. As she observes his wildly distorted face alternating between equally comedic states, she reckons that… perhaps, this is what he sees as the best thing he can do. If he’s not able to emotionally support her with carefully considered words, with carefully considered intimacy, then maybe his best bet is to… play the fool? Such an out-of-field non-sequitur, hardly a fitting follow up to such deep meditations on her behalf.
But this, alongside his genuine attempt to improve her mood, combine in a beautiful way, for Tamayo’s sorrows give way to a wavering smile, just before she bursts into unrestrained laughter. She chuckles affably, heartily, resting her face in her hands once more. But she’s not trying to hide her grief this time, far from it, she’s just taken aback by the situation.
She soon takes her hands away and looks up at Yushiro, who seems angsty and even somewhat startled. Eyes wide open, no silly faces being made, he stands attentively, waiting for her to speak. And that’s when she notices something, and it threatens to send her into even more hysterics. She aims to resolve it before such a thing can happen.
“Yushiro,” she says, with some struggle, as she wipes her eyes with her kimono sleeve, “come closer.”
“O-okay?” He takes two steps forward, standing directly to the side of her chair.
The smile on her lips never leaving, she reaches up to wipe his lips and cheeks with her hand. Appearing as if his skin has just been sunburnt, he grunts in astonishment.
He shouts, squeals in a high-pitched voice, almost like her whenever she spots a mouse. “W-w-w-wh-wh-wha-wha-what’s w-wrong?!”
“You had some crumbs on your face. Sorry, I forgot to bring napkins.”
She takes her hand away. He hangs his head down, apparently out of shame, as the color of the blush on his face deepens.
“I am truly sorry, Lady Tamayo!”
What’s he apologizing for? Can’t he see that he’s done exactly what he’s set out to do? Or maybe, he’s just too modest.
She stands from her chair and faces him. She brings both of her arms around his shoulders and the top of his back, pulling him closely into a warm embrace. He soon learns to reciprocate the gesture, as his own arms wrap around her upper torso. Her right hand traverses up his neck before stroking the back of his head tenderly, ruffling her nails through his mint-green hair.
“Yushiro?”
“Y-yes?”
“Thank you.”
They finish the tea and castella together. It’s delicious.