Yay! A *good* Sakura Wars/Taisen fanfic! Being a lazy bastard,
I mostly just read fanfic without doing much C&C, but I figure
good Sakura Wars fanfic is a trend that needs to be encouraged...
Elsa Bibat wrote:
I know a bit tooooo long between posts but several
problems in RL really can't be avoided....
Disclaimer:
Sakura Taisen is owned by Sega, Red company and Ohji
Hiroi. All licenses belong to the proper people. This is used
without permission.
Arthur Machen's "Dreamer's Ode" from "The Satyr" is
used without permission, but it's in public domain in Canada,
so hopefully the boys in black helicopters won't land on the
lawn. ^_-
This disclaimer also applies to several intellectual properties
referred to in the text. Please be guided accordingly.
This file can be freely distributed so long as it appears in
its complete form and proper credit given. No part may be
reproduced for monetary gain without permission from the
author.
*************************************
Beautiful Dreamers
by
Elsa Bibat
A Tale in the Dances of The Music of Time Sequence
*************************************
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams.
*************************************
June 4, 1927
Dear Sumire-chan,
It is such a good thing to hear from you. I can never say
how much all these stories you send in your letters please me.
They give me such happy moments when I read them. You
have such a fertile imagination! That last story you sent actually
made me cry! What made you want to retire your namesake,
for heaven's sake? I want more, Sumire-chan! These stories
are a joy for me to read and I would not want them to end.
However, I must ask you that you be careful in sending
such large letters. The Kempeitai probably think I am part of
some sort of conspiracy, with all these military-themed stories
you keep sending me.
Says something about how Japan's war crimes have gone unremembered
that everybody remembers the SS, but I'd never heard of the Kempeitai
before this fic--and military history is a bit of a hobby of mine.
They are quite an achievement, Sumire-chan. I would
suggest you have them published but I know your sentiments.
I can read between the lines, cousin, and I think there are
quite a few in the Kempeitai who can, too.
I also have a story to tell you. The next time we meet I will
tell you the whole story, but for now, let us say that something
happened to me that is almost as strange and wonderful as the
stories you tell of the Imperial Capital Defense Force. I even
have a small memento of the encounter, a red teardrop amulet
that is like nothing you could see sold in the jewelry shops.
Uh-*huh*. Something I should recognize, or another fic of yours,
or just for the heck of it? :-)
I have to cut this letter short. This will undoubtedly reach you
before we arrive at your home, Sumire-chan, so we will continue
this talk in person. By the way, Auntie says that you have a
marriage meeting coming up.I wish you good luck and I hope
he is handsome.
Your cousin,
Kanzaki Kikyou
*************************************
June 8, 1927 Yokohama, Japan
Smiling, Kanzaki Sumire adjusted her large horn-rimmed
glasses as she read her cousin's letter. Kikyou-chan was
coming to visit!
Then she frowned.
Kikyou-chan liked her stories. How was she going to tell
her that she wouldn't be writing anymore of them.
She had hesitated at first in sending them to her cousin, but
the fact that they were both avid readers of Hinawajuh, Bokken
Sekai and half a dozen of the other story magazines like
Shin-seinen and Gurotesuku had prompted her decision of
sending the stories. Added to the fact that it was Kikyou-chan
herself who had shown her Edogawa-sensei's Kasei no Unga,
Just so you know, I had considerable fun Googling your throwaway
references. My kudos to your knowledge.
she had ample reason to think that her cousin would enjoy the
stories that she had written.
She sighed.
She would have to tell her cousin everything when she came.
She couldn't write them anymore.
The Dream had ended.
She couldn't figure out the how or why, but the Dream had
ended and she would never see it again.
Five years of closing her eyes every night and waking up to
the wonderful life that she had always dreamed of.
Being beautiful and talented. Being confident and in control.
Sumire put down her cousin's letter and looked at the mirror.
Sleek black hair against her dreamself's brown. At least her
hair was as smooth and silky as in her dream. Of all her
attributes, it was her hair that was most true.
A flat freckled visage, framed by ugly glasses bought from a
street optometrist, instead of the angular beautiful face of her
dreams.
Short and flat-chested, she could only hope for the svelte,
sensuous figure of her dreamself.
Maybe "wish" instead of "hope". Other than that, the whole passage
is perfect.
Dressed in a hand-me-down kimono rather than the latest
and daring styles.
Sometimes, when the Dream was most beautiful, she thought
to herself that she was the dreamself and that she was really
Kanzaki Sumire, scion of the Kanzaki zaibatsu, actress and
member of the Teikokukagekidan.
She much preferred the dream to the reality.
But the truth was unchangeable.
She was Kanzaki Sumire, daughter of a minor government
official in Yokohama, one of a brood of five. She could not act,
she could not fight, she could not sing. Friendless except for a
few female cousins here and there. Addicted to the story
magazines and the kamishibai and the theater.
Just a dreamer, for awhile, a Dreamer.
And the Dream had finally ended and she was nothing
more than herself.
A poor, lonely girl lost in her dreams.
"Sumire-chan!!!"
A poor, lonely girl who was about to get engaged.
"Coming, Okaasan!"
Sumire and her parents waited patiently for the other party
to arrive. The marriage meeting had been arranged by a friend
of her father and she didn't know anything of her prospective
iinazuke, a fact that irritated her to no end.
Pestering her parents with questions had gotten her nowhere.
No name, no description. Just "you'll like him, Sumire-chan"
and "he's got a bright future ahead of him" and all such blind
assurances.
As if she hadn't known better. This was another one of her
father's ploys for social advancement. Connections were
important in this day and age, add the fact that her father was
a very ambitious man, she had suspicions about her fiancee-to-be.
The door silently and slowly slid open. The other family
entered on their knees, a sign of good traditional training.
The parents did not merit her attention. It was the young man
she had come to meet that she looked at. A thin, wolfish face,
topped a rather weaselish frame dressed in the uniform of the
Kempeitai.
They engaged me to one of the secret police! The thought
echoed inside her mind as she looked at the young man before
her. Promising career, indeed!
Chips of black charcoal regarded her with a steely gaze as her
prospective fiancee gave her a once-over. Even her distaste for the
man was overcome by her shyness. If I'm lucky I'm too ugly
enough for him. Her hopeful thought echoed in her mind as the two
families bowed to each other.
"Kanzaki-san"
"Ogami-san"
Eep! Why would Ohgami become one of the secret police?!
Sumire almost fell over in her bow. Recovering herself, she
regained her composure. Ogami wasn't exactly a unique name.
"Ichiro, my eldest. He has recently been promoted to second
lieutenant of his section. He was a constant high achiever in school
and is on excellent terms with many superior officers in the Army.
He has shown himself as a source of pride for our family and we
hope that he would meet with your approval."
Sumire was trying to control herself. Ichiro! Ohgami Ichiro!
Ohgami or Ogami? I actually rather prefer Ohgami, but either way,
you need to stick to one spelling.
He doesn't look like-
"Sumire, my only daughter. She may not look like much but she
is accomplished in her own right. She is skilled in the domestic arts.
She has shown herself adept in calligraphy and ikebana. She is
obedient and knows what is required of her. She would make an
excellent wife for your son."
A flash of quickly surpressed surprise appeared on the young
man's face as he heard her name being mentioned. Her curiosity
was even more aroused as the young man whispered into his
father's ear. The elder man nodded, features in agreement to what
had been suggested by his son.
"It seems that my son wishes to be alone with your daughter for
awhile."
Her father smiled at that, though one could see the surprise in his
eyes as he looked to his daughter. The fact that she and this
young man would spend some time alone was part of the meeting,
but for the young man to request it himself and this early?
Sumire could only imagine what thoughts were running through
that mind of his.
The two pairs of parents bowed and silently went out in the
traditional manner, an almost-slide of knees on tatami.
The two were left alone looking at each other, Sumire in
confusion while Ichiro's eyes looked her over. He stopped his
inspection and looked into her eyes. Sumire didn't know what to say.
It was him who broke the silence.
"Where's the off-shoulder purple kimono?"
*Nice* opening gambit. Sure to get a response if it's really her,
but easy to brush away if it's a miss.
Sumire glared at him for a moment before, eyes starting to
become wet, she crossed the space between them and engulfed
him in a hug.
"You should be the one to talk. I thought you were a Navy
man... and much more handsome at that."
"I am as handsome as you are pretty, Sumire-chan. I assume
this means that you _are_ Kanzaki Sumire, the Hanagumi
Teikokukagekidan's top star?" The smile on his face made his
sharp features friendlier, softer.
"And you, Ogami Ichiro, the Imperial Theater's ticket boy?"
Her glasses were starting to fog but she didn't care.
He took off her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I thought I'd never see you again. Well, technically, I'm not
seeing you again. You are definitely different here, in the real
world."
Sumire smiled shyly as she realized her close proximity with
him. Loosening her embrace, she took her glasses from his
hands and set them over her face once again.
"You are different, too. Look at the pair of us, people who
dream themselves a better life."
They disengaged and they sat, looking each other over.
"I would think you would be pleased with your life as it is,
Second lieutenant Ogami." Sumire said, gesturing with her
hand at the uniform. Ogami frowned.
"The uniform and the pips on my collar are not exactly
indicative of my feeling about working in the Kempeitai."
An eyebrow peeked out from under the frame of her
large unwieldy glasses as Sumire arched an eyebrow. Ogami
smirked and continued.
"When I joined the Kempeitai, I was expecting to work
against those who would threaten my Emperor, not those
who threaten his toadying cronies. Not against those who
are nothing more than honest men and women who seek
my country's betterment and the cause of peace."
And given his family's attitude towards his position, not easy
to get out of either, I bet.
"That is a strange sentiment to hear from one of the
secret police."
Ogami barked out an ugly laugh. "I would be shot or
at the very least 'disappear' from sight if I was ever heard
to say that. But I trust you, Sumire-chan."
Sumire blushed. "Already calling me that after a few
minutes of talk, how shameless."
A gentle smile was on Ogami's lips as he looked at
the slight young woman kneeling before him. "A few minutes
and a few years worth of dreams, Sumire-chan."
Sumire looked up into those hard eyes twinkling with
amusement. The spark of joy in them could not mask the
toughness in those two orbs. What horrible sights they must
have seen in their time.
She smiled.
Diamonds were hard, too. In her own way, she had
managed to find a bit of the Dream in the real world.
A slight thought nagged her at the back of her mind
as she hugged this man who was to be her husband.
If he was here, then that would mean the others
should be here also, wouldn't it?
*************************************
February 19, 1938 Manchuria,China
Ogami Ichiro looked up from the report on his table.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, Captain." Standing at attention, his subordinate
looked like a stick. Ogami looked down again at the
report on his desk.
"She has been confined?"
"Yes, sir."
"Has she been interrogated?"
"Yes, sir."
Ogami looked down at the report again. "Properly?"
"Er..."
"Lieutenant, if you just beat the answer out of her then you
may have the wrong person. Again, did you interrogate her
properly and had her investigated thoroughly?"
"Captain-"
"Lieutenant, they may be teaching you differently now in
Kyoto, but the last time I was there we did things in a
civilized and logical manner. Now is there any other proof
corroborating your report?"
Hesitation blanketed the room with silence.
"Damnit, lieutenant, I will handle this investigation! If she
is not the person we're looking for then the individual that
we're supposed to have captured is still out there doing
mischief! Personally, I think you made a mistake, so I'm
sending you out to look! Again! GO!"
The lieutenant walked out of the room so quickly that it
was almost a run.
Ogami looked down at the report again. Looked at the
name written there. He leaned back into his chair and looked
up into the wooden ceiling. It was a bit blurry.
He covered his eyes with his hands and wiped the
sweat from his face.
Ogami Ichiro took a deep breath as he stood before
the door of the interrogation room. The guards by the door
studiously ignored him.
Looking one of them in the eye, he glared. "No one
is to disturb me."
The guard nodded in response.
Ogami put his hand on the doorknob and took another
deep breath. He opened the door and stepped inside.
The woman before him had the look of the prematurely
aged.
She should have looked younger. He knew why. He saw
the effect of the world's harshness, of the burdensome pain
of reality, on him every time he looked into the mirror. Even
Sumire had the slight mark of it on her features.
The world was hard on Dreamers.
But this was worse. Purple bruises knotted her face.
Swollen and split lips barely covered imperfect and incomplete
teeth. Ratty hair streaked with grey framed a stone face that
had been battered by hammer blows of fist and wood. The
sight of the pounded face angered him and he realized what
methods his subordinate had used. Ogami knew all the
techniques, after all. Had used them on many men and
women in his time.
Not easy to stay pure in his situation, is it?
He never cursed himself more in his life for his knowledge
of the arts of blood and pain than that moment when he
looked into the face of Li Kohran.
Kohran tried to glare at her captor. That was rather
difficult since her left eye was covered by a bruised and
bloody eyelid and her right eye only gave her back a blur of
light and shadow. She tried not to wince as she felt a
twinge of pain tug at her back. Her interrogators were
rather thorough.
She had awakened from her light sleep when the sound
of the turning doorknob had woken her up. Muscles aching,
she resigned herself to another session, though she wondered
what her captors wanted from her.
She had confessed, after all. Saboteur, arsonist, bomber.
Li Kohran turned the thoughts around her head. Not bad for
a half-Japanese partisan with nothing but a bit of knowhow
and a penchant for explosives.
She tried not to smile. Smiling hurt.
Silence. Then the sound of the chair across her being
dragged back and paper landing on the table. A good sign.
They'd have pushed the table away to the side if it were
going to be a 'rigorous interrogation'.
The sound of someone sitting down.
"Your name is Li Kohran?"
Her mother had taught her the language. A mail-order
bride bought by a rich merchant has to have a few joys. Her
mother was the only good Japanese she could think of. She
used to dream of going to Japan when she was little, meeting
friends, singing...dreams made to ashes when the Imperial
Army marched in.
"Yes."
She had to stay focused. There must be a way to get
out of this. She looked at her captor and could see a flesh
coloured blotch of a face and a green blotch that was a
uniform.
Once again, silence. Then he, her interrogator,
started to hum.
After the first few bars, the memory came back and
she knew the song.
Ichiro's good at that, isn't he? Not only as deniable an
opening gambit as with Sumire, but also something that won't
tip off anything to Kempeitai who might be watching.
She had heard it in her dreams. She had sang it with
others on a stage, a dream she had thought she had
forgotten. It all came back to her as the song continued.
She ached to sing, but her throat hurt and her mouth felt as
if they were filled with cotton. Her eyes hurt. The salt in
her tears, tears she had thought were long exhausted, tasted
like the sea.
How does he know? The question ran through her mind
mixed with hate, fear and loss. Was there nothing safe from
the grubby hands of these marauders? Her country pillaged,
her life shattered, now they took away her dreams.
She was sobbing. She hadn't noticed it until she
felt a hand running through her hair and patting her back. A
voice was telling her he was sorry. So sorry.
She lashed out. Her hands could not hurt him but her
words still could.
"Sorry! You kill my mother, rape me, leave me for
dead, torture me, and you Japanese are sorry! Sorry does not
bring back my life! Sorry does not bring back my mother!
Sorry does not bring back my dreams!"
The hands stopped. The voice stopped. When it
returned, Kohran could almost swear that there was slight
hitch in that voice.
"I... Li-san, you are to be released. You are
obviously not the one we were looking for."
She could not believe her ears. The man continued.
For some strange reason, Kohran thought she knew him.
"However, because of your harsh treatment, you will
be unable to be released just yet. You will be treated for
your injuries and, as means of reparation, you will be given
employment."
"My wife will be visiting me in a while. She will
need a maidservant. I know this is not enough to repay your
suffering, but it is just a first step. Me and my wife will
try to help you as much as we can. Please accept my
apologies."
The man walked stiffly away, his feet clicking on
the floor giving him away. In the few seconds that it took
him to reach the door, Kohran finally remembered where she
had heard that voice.
The long tunnel of her life had finally revealed a
light. A bit dim and distant, but a light nonetheless.
She raised her head and saw nothing but shadows and
heard the slight turning of the doorknob. She summoned her
voice.
"Captain!"
Silence.
"I'll see you around, Kohran."
The doorknob completed its turn and Kohran was
blinded by the light.
Ow. Ouch. The contrast between the Teikokukagekidan and
what Japan did in reality in the 1920s and the 1930s is
painful...
*************************************
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story,
We fashion an empire's glory;
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown.
*************************************
December 24, 1938 Paris, France
Iris Chateaubriand sighed and brushed away a lock of
honey-blonde hair from her face. She slipped the jeweled
necklace down her dress in a specially prepared pocket and
drew in a great big breath.
Then she screamed.
It was a scream that echoed all through the large
manor of the Vicomte d'Alembert, as it was supposed to.
One minute before the other guests arrived and found
the open safe and, of course, Lupin's little calling card.
She had managed to palm one of them after her little run-in
with the arrogant popinjay. Another jewelry theft blamed on
the Son of the Wolf would be both be investigated thoroughly
while the Surete would be blind to the fact that someone
else could have possibly done it. After all, Lupin placed
his card there didn't he? Who else could have stolen it?
I've heard people wonder what Lupin II did. Guess now we
know. :-)
Iris thanked the Lord in Heaven for idiotic policemen while
she surveyed the scene one last time before she went into her
little "faint".
The safe's cast-iron door was thrown wide in the shadowed
room, bereft of its main occupant and several other trifles which
Iris had secured in a secret compartment in the newly delivered
mahogany table of the room. The window was open and a rope
tied to the casement showed an easy avenue for escape.
She nodded in satisfaction and proceeded to "faint",
slumping down to the floor with an audible plomp.
As she lay on the plush carpeting, Iris Chateaubriand thought
of another place and another time, when her acting drew applause
and her strident voice moved men and women to tears.
All gone now, the Dream had ended the day her father
blew his brains out and she and her mother got thrown to the
poor house.
She had not thought of it for years now. The letter
must have caused her errant thoughts to stray in that
direction.
A letter from Japan. From a woman named Sumire
Kanzaki.
When she was little she dreamed of going to Japan.
That was the time of the Nouvelle d'Orient and China, Japan
and the Far East had held Paris in thrall. The fad had come
and gone, but in her heart of hearts the dream had stayed
alive for years.
Japan. The name and address on the envelope was
written in French but the letter inside was in the chicken
scratches of the Japanese. She could not understand...no,
that was not true. She had felt the spirit of it.
Come. Come here. I want to meet you.
Japan. Her lips twitched into an unnoticeable smile
as the room was discovered. One place was good as any to lie
low for awhile.
And she would like to meet this woman who had a name
from her dreams.
*************************************
November 5, 1942 Stalingrad, Russia
It was snowing in the City of Steel.
In the ruins of buildings, in the realms of
shattered steel and broken concrete, a huntress waited for
her prey.
Maria Tachibana looked through her binoculars and
spied her targets.
Grey Wehrmacht uniforms and helmets. Five. Three
were around a small fire and a cookpot. One was answering
the call of nature. One was separate from the others,
ostensibly on watch.
She set up her rifle and looked down the scope, down
the crosshairs.
Comrade Zaitsev had praised her riflework, telling
her she was a natural.
She should be. She had been doing this since the
Revolution.
First, the most distant.
Take a deep breath. Like Papa taught you. Like Aniki
taught you. See the head. See the middle of his eyes.
Bang!
Pull the trigger and another Nazi devil went to
hell.
Shift.
Bang!
He was zipping up his pants as the bullet went
through his chest like pencil through paper.
The three had noticed and were scrambling for cover.
Bang! Bang!
One through the heart and another through the back.
The last one had managed to reach cover and was
crawling through debris.
Feel. Make a guess, Maria-chan. Left or right?
Are you feeling lucky?
She let go of the breath she was holding and drew in
a quick one as she shifted the rifle a couple of centimeters
to the right and pumped a bullet through flimsy wood.
The soldier fell down dead.
She sighed as she closed her eyes and relaxed.
Her sensitivity heightened by adrenaline, she could
hear the snow fall and her heart beating in that familiar
one-two rhythm. She eased her rifle from its perch and lay
there in the quickly-gathering snow.
Father. He had come to Russia from Japan as a member
of the Communist Party, seeking a new life after the
oppression and censorship of the Meiji. Up the Siberian
railway to Moscow.
He had met her mother in the ghettoes of the capital
of Tsarist Russia.
Brother was born shortly afterwards. Then her.
She rolled over and looked up into the grey skies
distributing white flakes of ice. She smiled a cold little
smile.
Maudlin at your old age, Maria-chan? Maybe it is the
snow.
It's snowing like the day Aniki died.
For awhile, after the Revolution, she had dreamed
comforting little dreams. Maybe it was the headiness of the
success of the Communist dream. Lenin and the Party were in
power and everything was going to change.
Si nging, dancing, a small little family of sisters.
Extraneous space.
Then Djugashvili- no, he called himself Stalin,
nowhad come.
You want a dash between "now" and "had".
She felt a drop of wetness on her cheek. She raised
a hand up and wiped it away with her gloved fingers.
Maudlin at your old age, Maria-chan?
Her father had gone to the gulag and she and her
mother barely escaped, mostly because her father had asked
Rakhmetov for protection for the two of them.
Her thoughts wandered to the man they called the
Iron Colossus and sighed.
For all his popularity, it was a close thing for him
and his associates. He was still under suspicion and that
had meant his assignment here, to the City of Steel. A
rather easy way for that madman Stalin to get rid of him
without raising the ire of the Russian people. She had
followed him in the hopes of repaying her debt to him, but
she had ended up being assigned to another sector.
She was getting tired of all of it. And for some
strange insane yet sane reason she wanted to sing.
You are getting old, Maria-chan.
She shook her head and prepared to move.
That was when she made her first mistake.
When she had rolled over, her binoculars had come
out of their sheath and the glass glinted in the weak light.
That was when she made her second mistake.
She forgot to check her surroundings immediately.
Maybe her melancholic thoughts distracted her. But, she
delayed surveying her surroundings for a few seconds.
That was when she made her third mistake.
She stood up.
There is an old soldier's saying that was oft-repeated
by veterans of the Stalingrad siege.
You were only allowed three mistakes in the City of
Steel.
After that, you die.
It was as if an enormous hand had slammed into her
chest with the force of a locomotive. It threw her several
feet backwards and knocked her into the ground.
Surprisingly, it was all so strangely painless.
All over the world, seven people felt as if a part
of their soul had been ripped away. For them it was a moment
of indescribable sadness.
And a woman sleeping in a shrine in Sendai wept in
her sleep.
And for Maria Tachibana, moments before her vision
left her, she thought she heard women singing.
Snow fell gently on her body, a white shroud for her
funeral. An unmarked grave in the city of broken concrete and
shattered steel.
In the City of Steel, an angel had found her peace.
Oh yes, I can definitely see Maria as a Stalingrad sniper. Looks
like they won't manage to get the whole gang back together...
and 1942 already? They aren't all that young any more, either,
as Maria rightly notes. She'd be, lessee, 39, assuming her birth
date is the same. (Geez, she earned a battlefield nickname of
Kazuar in the Russian Revolution when she was all of 14. Reminds
me a little of Kenshin)
*************************************
August 6, 1945 Hiroshima, Japan
Sister Leni Milchenstrasse sighed and stifled a
yawn.
She had been awakened earlier by Captain Hino, a
strange little man who didn't exactly fit anywhere in
military hierarchy of the local government, and was
questioned on the disappearance of Doctor Mizuno from the
military stockade.
The officer obviously thought she had something to
do with the woman's escape. She was quite glad that Megumi
had escaped, of course, and she was planning to do exactly
what the Captain had accused her of, but it seemed that
someone beat her to the punch. She had the impression that
Captain Hino would have beaten her to find the truth out of
her had she not been a nun and a German citizen. He was that
kind of man.
Hopefully, Megumi Mizuno would be safely hidden away
by her rescuers, whoever they may be.
Leni sighed. It was things like these that made her leave
Germany and her old career. Not that she was going anywhere
acting. Her childhood dreams made it seem so easy to be a
success, but the real world was a lot more demanding.
Plus, the Gestapo did not like her for being outspoken against the Reich. Better to be a nun and halfway around the world, even if
it were in Japan. Well, being in Japan wasn't as onerous as it seemed. She
had dreamed of it too when she was young, but then it was
more friendly... Pfah. Enough wool-gathering.
Turning her thoughts to other things, Leni checked
off her mental to-do list for the day.
Visiting Himeko Kino in the infirmary would be the
first order of business. Having a child out of wedlock was
something Leni frowned upon, but one cannot force people
into things they didn't want to do. The poor girl must expect
the father to come back for both of them. Who can say?
Maybe, maybe not. But still the woman needed emotional
support and Leni could offer that to her.
Kimiko Aino was going to visit again and help with
the children. Her family was in the United States when the
war started and the worry about them had almost driven her
insane had not Leni suggested that she work off her nervous
energy with the younger children. Nearly twenty years of
age, the young woman had boundless energy and her
rollercoaster of emotions would hopefully be on the upside
today.
The Tsukino family had moved out of the loft and
And that completes the five-of-a-kind, for those of you keeping
score at home :-). What, she didn't get to settle the grand-
parents of the outers while she was at it? ;-)
into the countryside. They were thankful for her help and
offered to pay the Sisters for their kindness with what
little money they had left. She had refused and just asked
Ichiro to carve an icon of Jesus Christ as payment,
deliverable anytime he felt like it. Ichiro Tsukino was such
a superb artist that it would be more than enough.
The loft was free now and she thought of offering it
to Himeko, knowing that the young woman had lost her housing
during a recent bombing raid. And it would have the mother
and child within easy reach of the orphanage and convent.
The children were playing in the courtyard as she
entered the orphanage grounds. Leni smiled as they
recognized her and waved at her, bright grins appearing on
their faces.
Some of the layworkers bowed in acknowledgement of
her presence.
Leni looked at her watch on her left hand while she
waved her hello to the children with her right.
8:15 a.m.
She heard shouts of warning from some of the
layworkers at the orphanage and she looked up.
Then, there was a flash of light as bright as the
sun.
Sneaky, *sneaky* to never tell us the name of the city...
*************************************
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
*************************************
End of Part 1
The Hanagumi Teikokukagedan will return in...
Beautiful Dreamers Part 2
Author's Note:
I know, I know, a bit too scanty for a return post. I'll finish
off part 2 and sent it out ASAP. A complete annotation
will be supplied in Part 2.
BTW, if Ed Becerra is reading can I borrow your sig for the
epitath in part 2? (Yes, totally spoils the ending, but you know
by now everyon's going to kick the bucket)
Well, everyone does, eventually. Let's see, we have Soletta, Kanna
and Sakura left to go, unless you decide to bring in somebody other
than the pilots or the girls of the Paris unit (wonder how Kasumi,
Yuri and Tsubaki are making out? Yoneda'd be, geez, 84 by this
point). Actually, it would probably lose focus if you tried to
bring in too many characters. You're saving Sakura (the "woman in
a shrine in Sendai") for last, aren't you? :-)
Well, not much C&C, but there's not much I would change. Very, *very*
nice. The contrast between the Teikokukagekidan and the real world
was excellently done.
Chris Mattern
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