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She’s supposedly on her way to Edo, but something puts her on halt.
There’s a rumour surrounding a rural area where there’s a shop heads up on north the mountain that sells delicious noodles; which caught mouthfuls of renowned group of travellers – less more coming from those who stems of the rich in this wide region of Japan. It is said the journey takes thousand steps by foot, and was quicker using any shape of convertibles; save for those who skilled in negotiation.
The chef who works there is heard with his specialty crafting noodle that brought customer’s appetite to the next level of satisfactory. Over exaggeration was to be the source at fault, but many travellers whom sets their foot tells the never-changing stories – that eating his dishes blew off the smokes of their past and present combined, consists of all the worries like a can of barrels – presumably the chef’s hand were blessed by the Gods’ above; or so they’ve told.
Hearing the tales perks at her curiosity, and her actions speaks louder than her words. She’s already on her footing, setting her next stop first to said destination. She has thought through on putting her skill in food tasting into good use and the journey might help to improves her evaluation for a better job. Afterall, it could be worthwhile for someone who’s still of learning something new.
Her fingers playfully twirl at the wooden spoon, leaning it closer to the tip of her rose lips as light substance tipping her tongue and enters her throat with a slow flow. The rest of its scent stays on her palate, even after she gulps it down whole. Her aligned teeth then take a bite down the soba noodles from the chopstick gripped in her right hand – and she gulps it down whole with a slurp. Its stains were hanging by her lips and she wastes no time using her tongue to gently licks at its edge.
She puts down the empty spoon and putting her hand to her flushed cheeks, all while chopstick on her other hand makes its way onto the next bite. She restrains herself from becoming giddy while letting out silent squeal through all of the taste she recognizes: sweet, savoury, sour, salty: all of it bursts inside of her mouth.
She could almost visualize it: the feeling of rough, gentle hands rubbing at the scalp of her head, tracing her hair strands one by one like someone’s – or hers’ – husband’s hand causing her brain to become squirmy from just a simple bite of noodle at this shop. Every of scrubbing pricks at her problems and threw it out, leaving nothing short of grainy remains.
She forgotten the last time she’s been worrying about something. Or if she even been worried of anything in particular.
It was a good call to stop by here, she admits.
The noodle’s thick texture, accompanied with the good composition of sesame fish soup when eating under humid weather makes this experience truly enjoyable.
Almost enjoyable.
She opens her eyes and becomes disappointed as all of the feelings goes stale, just as she sees the eyes of the stranger who sat in her opposite direction.
His smile glued to his face ever since he’s here, and his slender hands always been resting under his chin with a gaze as piercing as that of the sun.
***
“Here you go,” The voice of a middle-aged woman brought her attention to the present as her hands laid down her order: a bowl of Sesame Soba. Her grey hand holds a large tray of noodle bowls bought of other customers that’s much fancier than hers – The woman’s wrinkle striking out more as she keeps glaring at her, waiting for her respond.
She thanked the waitress as they put down the food and leaves. Its steam hovers below her face and tickles the bridge of her nose.
She couldn’t afford other expensive items on the menu, so she resorted to the most basic ones she could afford – which also costs an equal amount she had spent on her time travelling.
Even so, for a cheapest dish on the menu, it already causes her mouth to water a waterfall amount of saliva down her throat.
As she pries her chopstick in two, a ringing sound was heard, but it wasn’t coming from the bell chime hanging indoors, no. It was loud enough that she caught it coming outside.
Her mouth slightly opens as she spots a strange man at the front of the restaurant. Rain trickles above his red umbrella – droplets of tuning sounds that hits the awning creates a mess of tune akin to biwa strings plucked at irregular intervals.
She’s unable to glimpse at the man’s eyes hidden beneath the wisteria curls of his hair. Some of the end strands all marked with red, and he carries along a tall, seemingly heavier wooden box packed behind his back, all the while he continues to stand idly outside the stall.
While other people eating up their fill, unaware to or ignoring the man completely; she was the one who answers to his presence.
A small smile briefly appeared on him before it disappears.
“Would you mind,” He asks with a small hushed voice towards no one in particular, “If I, sit here?”
The sound of a rattle, of muffling caught in her ear, but she’s unable to identify its source. He continues to stay inches by the silts. She assumed he’s waiting for someone.
“Would you mind,” He repeats, voice gradually higher, “If I, sit here...” – and has turned into a simple statement.
He raises his one finger and points forward, and it takes her a moment to realize it was directed towards her. Notably, more to the unoccupied front row seats.
“…Sure,” She hesitated.
Lifting his head up revealing a pair of yellow eyes, his smile didn’t falter, or maybe it has; she couldn’t tell much so from the lip tattoo he adorned on his upper lip.
He closes the umbrella before walks in to the premise. Like a peacock showing off its feathers just as it enters the fray – proudly announced himself – every of the step he takes are slow and steady, yet all eyes are into somewhere else. Hers were the ones that stayed on him, even after he took over the front seat.
***
She should’ve said something, she should’ve rejected his question. But she doesn’t.
His appearance was more of an announcer standing forefront at the theatre. Kumadori markings assist him in bringing more life to the canvas that of his pale face. Eyes narrowly sharp with lashes covering half of the lids. He had a red line that curves and trails down his neck before ending on his chest. A black cloth was tied on his head similar to the colour of his Haori with circular patterns; she couldn’t deny that one might had such a weird taste of wearing inner clothes of one’s opposing gender, she reckons.
All of those above lead her to conclude that he might just be a strange man seeking for a shelter under the current weather.
She had met stranger people before on her travels – but she could speculate that this man might be, if not, the one above the others; nothing which could compare to his ethereal, out-of-place appearance he’d called as a man; he might not be a man, and she’s meeting a God.
Even so, with all of that, her face slowly turns red as she looks at him not in awe; but in irritation. Cold strand of noodle hanging loosely at the edge of her chopstick.
"What's with this guy's problem?!" She mindfully whined while squinting her eyes. Hazel-coloured pricked onto the gold, yellow eyes.
The man doesn’t blink or have done anything to her, but the way his eyes keeping a trail as she’s back on inserting more noodles into her mouth gradually pisses her off.
Furthermore, she finds that the man’s way of sitting with legs crossed on the seat cushion – it doesn’t even seem he had any table manners and was more to that of a person who hadn’t learn to sit on any form of grounds well – with red getas strapping to his feet, still equipped.
She could throw all of those assumptions out of the window – and there comes another thought that he might more of a weird man with those ethereal features, no less.
She puts down her utensils gently and lets out a cough or two, small pound to her chest just as she swallowed the last bite, emptying her throat. She finally raises her question, "May I help you?"
He tilts his head while remains stoic – the smile washes away, making its way for a thin line forming under the tattooed lip. Silent hovers above them, although the eyes stay – more so it was fixated to the current unoccupied chopstick – she’s unsure of herself.
Her fingers tapping on the table with every second her question unanswered. Quite rude.
But the response she got wasn’t what she was expecting. As if on cue, he leans forward just as she backs away from him, keeping a traverse distance. His eyes weren’t slightly sharp like before, more so slightly widens a little.
"Uh... what’s the matter?" Her body was noticeably shaken, and suddenly, she felt dizzy.
Crap.
Her mind, still numb from the soft sensation starting to sound like a group of bells that repeats on her head; with strange different thoughts that weren’t hers, keep repeating a word,
Danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger danger— It continues to ring with a certainty she believed it was belonged to hers.
“I – is there something on my face?” She guessed, sweat appear and a stream of her sweat trails from her temple.
Her mind silently reciting protection mantra, overlapping along with the still-ringing voice in her brain.
The cold sweat reaches to her chin. Her knuckles from fingers pressing the wrinkled palm; clenching and unclenches itself and she couldn’t help but to let out a small whimper escapes her lips.
She cranes her neck to look around and call for help, before immediately back down. Her heartbeat thumps loudly in her ears, replacing the eeriness that of silence.
There’s nobody in the restaurant except for both of them.
They’re gone all of a sudden.
That’s not right.
They continue to remain like that for a while. It was also when the ringing stops, and she felt the urge to eat the food on the table again – which she’s unable to when the man’s face was almost close to hers, with just a few more inches away.
Her nose caught off a whiff from the markings – its scents reminded her of herbs found on remote mountains – fuses in with the food aroma steaming upwards.
The bouquet of paint and aroma, adding more so with unfamiliar fragrant to her from his robe; causes her to slightly gags and almost spew out her fill from those overwhelming smells, all at once, and she manages to swallow it back before it could reach to her inner mouth.
Rain continues to pour down, filling out the silence between the two, drops from the sky pours intermittently in-between of quick and slow pacing.
She shut her eyes tight, catching his warm breath near enough it felt like he exhales directly to her face.
"The broth..."
"Eh?" She abruptly opens her eyes, and blinks.
" – It's aromatic." The line on the mouth curved slight upwards, and his eyes now focusing more towards the bowl, dusting the lining edge with his finger before bringing it carefully to his side of the table.
He leans back to his seat while gripping chopsticks that once belonged to her – she hadn’t notice since when he took it – with strands of soba noodle as he puts it in his mouth and chews it – the grinding of his teeth produces the sound of biting sticky substance – adding more to the already tight atmosphere. His other palm opens and was put under the utensil to prevent the food from spilling.
He begins to speak in a slow pace and with a manner to that of writing on thin paper; pausing in-between his sentences.
“The ingredients required to make it were commonly soy and wine rice essence. However, this one’s sour taste was much stronger than the ones other restaurants so far had created.” His mouth opens a way for the spoon to enter, clear saliva caught on the lining edge of the spoon.
The chopstick twirls inside the soup as he continues, "The chef was clever, and puts his own twist in it."
"It was brilliant that he would use the spice such as star anise; I could also discern that he puts shrimp paste to enhance the flavouring further," He’s somehow able to separate the already mixed ingredients and discerns it; her mind takes note on how have had an impressive tastebud to be able to do that. "The spice gives off that small tint of good kick in the mouth. More so, the paste strengthens the already bland soup and adds more sour taste to it, undermining its sweetness to that of the star anise.”
He stirs the spoon on the bowl’s content and carefully puts it to his mouth, sipping the soup once more.
“It is a simple addition, but it brings out a huge impact to the taste."
He clicks his tongue in an audible and resounding click as he continues to compliment the chef’s creation. “I must say – I’m impressed that I could feel its aftertaste stayed for quite long duration,” The chopstick he was holding was back into the bowl to dip the noodle in again with the soup. He swirls the surface of it clockwise as he takes it out and bites it, adding more thoughts, “All enough to mix in with the noodles to create this outstanding main course, even if not adding up the toppings that goes along with the it whole.”
He purposefully nods, somewhat having a conversation by, and only himself.
“And its main ingredient,” His mouth is wide enough to reveal the hidden incisors just as he bites down another string of noodles, continuing to speak even when the food was stuffed in, “Delicate and thick, a good quantity of hand-made ingredients to complete it whole, although, it might have been better if the noodles were thicker,"
Clearing his throat with a large gulp-like sound, he shakes his head, “…Or perhaps, that is my preference.”
Her ears were too numb to keep up with his long banter of food – mostly of her noodle: HER food, his yellow eyes focusing on an open porch as he continues to chow down the rest of it. She was left stunned in silence and a small, drop of tear escape from her right eye unnoticed. She’s totally having a bad luck striking her today.
Almost, her ear caught of him whispering on to bring someone along.
Clattering of chopsticks refocuses her mind from the nagging thoughts. Those eyes gleamed beneath the ceiling light, lips parted as the man asks, “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Getting a sudden question, she quickly nods, feeling nausea from the forced shaking. She couldn’t recount what he had said, but if anything, she wanted the man to stand up from his seat.
“But still, …” He mumbles. His head turned downwards to the bowl.
She repeats, “But still...?” Her lips slip, still red from the stress as well as the already tight atmosphere.
Blue magatama symbols with inner red dots seen above his temple – less noticeable behind his hair – furrowing like eyebrows. Though, his pupils are seemingly bouncing, relaxed to another direction even though its shape stays the same; narrowing sharply akin to that of a hunting prey.
Rain continues to pour down all the while buckets and pails outside filled to the fullest long ago; the droplets, never known yet to stop constantly plopping right when it touches the surface of the small pool.
There are still small leftovers, but she had already lost her appetite long ago. She counted minutes with the short amount of time he finishes her food. It wouldn’t even manage to reach half an hour by now.
He drops his previous sentence and vaguely stated, “-- You shouldn’t be here.”
Unsure on how to response, she lets out small words. “Ah….hm…” It seems to at least satisfy the man as he lets out a small chuckle, focuses himself again at her.
“May I ask,” Index finger stroking at his chin as he purrs, “– Where are you heading to, miss?”
She straightens her back as a chill runs down her spine. Her mind boggles, unlocking the reminder she had discard before. She consciously replied, the fog in her mind becomes clearer on a slow recollection.
“Edo.”
How could she forget such a simple matter? She didn’t even realize she had been forgetting it.
“And judging by your clothes, you must be a newly hired servant, wouldn’t you?”
The kitchen stove risen and simmering the soup pots, its cries of clattering were loud enough to dampen his words, but it wasn’t of a problem that much of his voice already directed to her ears.
“There are a lot amounts of servants wanting for hire, mostly for the lords or noble families. Still, I think that you would be qualify given of your food tasting skills in your application.”
She focuses on his sentence and was shocked. Her mouth swallowed an air which she had forgotten to breathe. “You… guesses that, right?”
He puts his hand to the front of his lip, almost in a cupping motion, yet he looks to be pretending to, if did, been caught red-handed as he lets out an exhilarating snort. His hair curled in the airy wind as he playfully turning his head.
“Ooh, I spoke too much. My apologies --”
“Have we met somewhere?!” She raised her voice, pointing at him.
His hand freely moves, calmly reply to her claims, “No, no, I didn’t.” Quick to his feet, he adds more obscurity to his gestures.
“It’s not that hard to figure it out – why, of all places I met with you over here? Again, a person who’s seeking a job like you shouldn’t be here, in an expensive noodle shop, no less.”
As she tries to oblige, he lifts his finger in mid-air, not letting her spoke any word.
“Now please stay quiet. We don’t want to cause a scene with people around us,” His voice hushed, and its tone remains unchanged. His eyes moved from left, right and gazing back at hers.
She raised one brow before scanning her surroundings once more.
No words came out of her mouth to describe finding several small crowds – the one she thought was already gone – still on their respective seat, eating as if nothing happened. Nobody paid attention to both of them.
That’s strange! She shouted in her head. How there could be people when they weren’t just then? I could’ve sworn there’s only both of us…!
He remains fixed to another direction before subtly nod of something, and the woman felt her goosebumps bristle.
Everything was in pause as both are back in silence, unmoving under the humid weather. Although, it doesn’t take long for her to get back on her feet, just as the man speaks again.
“It looks like the rain has died down a little,” He commented. Just in time as the food gets cold.
He carefully stands and wiggles himself out of the seat, his hand moving his haori from getting caught on the table’s sharp edge while the other lifting up the box – tied to one knot of the rope so easily it almost seems very light from her assumption. He weights rope on both of his shoulder blades as he pushes himself fully out from the seat.
A question still bugs at her.
It was possible he was an ordinary person in the first place, but the flashy clothes he’s wearing already gave it away. Another assumption she had that he could be a wandering magician of sorts, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask it directly. She couldn’t remember the former, ...what was it again?
“What,” Her trembling mouth speaks volumes, questioning him, “– Who are you?”
His head tilts down, eyes hiding back behind his hair. “Just a humble Medicine Seller, that is all.” He answered before taking a step to the front of the table.
His lifts back to the sky before his direction to the woman, "Ah, yes. Before I leave," The pale hand rummaging on his sleeve.
With a quick pace, he reaches out her hand, holding it firmly without force from another as he presses something underneath the palm. “Here you go,”
“Eh?”
Before she realizes, he released the grip, putting his hands inside his kimono sleeve before showing it outside again.
Unclenching her palm reveals a folded paper, the one she’s quite familiar with: usually found sold or handed over by shrine maidens and priests.
“An ofuda paper?” She asks.
“A parting gift.” He told while adjusting the rope length on his back, “It helps you while on your journey.”
Unfolding it reveals strange scribbles of letters and markings – A symbol of an open eye placed right at its center. Unlike the ones she usually seen, this one was scribbled with somewhat of a bright red ink that strains her eye if she looks at it hard enough – strange buzzing sound coming from somewhere, but she doesn’t think it comes from the paper itself; that would be ridiculous, she denies it.
Her head swirls a little after seeing it – and that smiling eyes he keeps making– causing her to shudder and gaze away from the man as well.
From the corner of her vision, he bows politely, as if it was an appropriate response to his strange tricks.
"May we meet again.” He said as he readjusted the fold of his haori once again, its ends flapped. “Thank you for sharing your food."
“Wait -!”
The sound of his geta paving the stone floor and continues on with the dirt path outside until the it dies down -- minutes after he disappears from the view.
She didn’t even manage to say any further, and lets out a small huff, finally regains her ground as she commented, “What a weird guy.” She berates on not being able to say anything back, if not for the space she needs to squeeze out before getting able to back out of her seat.
That warmth feeling stays on her palm, and she was sure it comes from that paper charm. Its ink washed up in gradual bright red with its scribbling becoming even pronounced --Just a lazy glare at it temporarily blinded her point-view.
The dizziness she felt was back up to her head once again.
She scolds herself of looking at it once more just when she feels slightly better and tucks it into her kimono sleeve.
It was her time to leave the shop just after she have paid her food – which pre-emptively eaten by someone else. Maybe she could at least get a good karma out of it.
However, the cashier – the same waitress she saw given out her food – gave her an odd smile, a restraining one – along with a judging look; as if she’d done something wrong.
Still, she has done her errands, she had eaten – although it wasn’t too much – and was getting ready to leave; she might not be able to get any job if shows up late from her supposed meeting.
It is when she’s far down from the shop she felt the warming temperature cools down in her sleeve. Remembering the ofuda paper previously handed to her, she pulls it back out in the open and unfolds it while her hands shaking tremendously.
She blinks.
.
.
.
.
.
Huh.
It has stopped glowing red just now. How strange.
…click-clack…
…click-clack..
…click-clack
…click-clack
…click-clack
He rests his finger to his chin while his mind wandering, the clack of his Getas continues to sing the clicking songs he regularly heard across the mountain path. Pale eyes reflect under the light that slowly shines from the curtains of raging clouds. He hums in confirmation.
His intuitions are correct; pair of Ayakashis – the spirits of siblings or a couple, perhaps – resides here. In fact, so many people unknowingly trapped into their trance, although it wasn’t even a lure in the first place. Speculation sets high that it was a strong desire of an untold past: to open up a simple noodle shop, which was the very least malevolent intention any Ayakashi could do; it would be a different story if it was the intention of Mononokes’ instead. That, well, could be reconsidered.
However, like flowers losing its beauty, so as the spirit. Their time in this world will eventually come to an end; but not before they lost their fragments of morality and acts out on their usual accord. It even had long traces itself before he had a chance to come up here.
As long as the shimmering pots from the above were loud enough and its wonderful aroma continues to engulf the mountain whole, and so will it continue to overpowers that of old, decaying carcasses of those slaughtered people left behind in its wake.
He has to give them where their credits due. So far, they’ve only caught those who stems from that of rots. Although, some of them still had families, lovers, friends, people waiting for them. Yearning, wandering of their return – but it would likely be gone in the sweep of time itself.
If the bodies continue to pile up, chances of it becoming another Mononoke out of those who still radiates some conscience was all-time high, and would block the path completely – there’s also the bigger risk of it putting villagers and travellers in danger, given that they walked into the area they’ve now bound to and never return; Adding more so to those who’ve been hearing the word of the place.
Given the situation at hand, what’s more concerning is the slight imbalance they’ve made the longer they linger.
He’s unable to slay them – not at this moment the least, that would be going against the rules of Taima no Ken – and it was not until they’re bound to negative thoughts, which are very much close to none as of now.
Even if he, or others after him, slain the growing, adolescent Mononoke of the piled bodies, there would be another who followed suit. It was a vicious cycle; one that he was quite familiar with, and of that which will continue if nothing intervenes.
It is such a headache that he needs to put it to stop, and had already ingrains itself to the nerves of his temple, creating a form of migraine – one he needs to get rid of. He was ready for these revelations, but it was all too early to make any actions – one that he doesn’t like to be patient to.
He even questions why would his Shingi brought him up here, even if it was only to introduce the booming business of those who’ll eventually passes on to other side. He stops in his tracks.
Patterned, dry leaves of shaking trees fluttering above his head, and black clouds hovers once more for another round of a rain shower.
Well. He’s starting to become pessimistic overtime due to such easy matter. Even the ground and the sky heeding above his call.
He lets out a sigh.
Oh well,
He could negotiate with the chef for an attempt to offer on becoming spice supplier of a specific star anise – one with the benefits of less people dying in the woods. Maybe he could even be an advisor for the chef with the intention to dampen off the effects even, if he successfully persuades them enough to fully trust him. Afterall, what a simple Ayakashi who wouldn't abide to a simple medicine seller's – well, a now-regular customer’s – request?
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End.