Yuri Worlds

[10] Names

Misaki appreciated the sentiment from that blue blur. However, her actions seemed more like she was trying to pull off a wild professional wrestling move than spread love. She also really preferred being able to breathe.

Fortunately, it didn’t take much for her to communicate distress to everyone around and the crazed girl who blasted into her. Yuka dropped her face and pressed a palm to her forehead before saying, “Please be nice to our guests.”

“Okay, mommy!” The strange girl released her and twirled over towards the table.

A lot of things were tangled up in Misaki‘s brain and sat there awaiting an explanation. She had the general expectation by this point that the great multitude would never truly get resolved. But she couldn’t let that slide.

“Mom…my?”

Yuka wore a kindred expression to their poor server at the Sunroom Cafe the other day as she managed to respond, gesturing, “This…is Okura Maharu. Granddaughter of Miss Okura.”

The girl in question had vibrant blue hair reminiscent of deep glacier ice or brilliant cartoon sea waves that dangled and stretched for her shoulder. Her eyes were a shade of brown that seemed more like translucent gemstone coffee. She wore a strange drape of silver, pleated denim, like a fluttery fusion of a skirt and parachute pants. It didn’t look the least bit traditional or Japanese. Up top, she had on a thin green cloak with fuzzy sleeves. Despite looking relatively young and several inches shorter than Yuka, she had a softly evident and flowing figure.

“And Lady Yuka is my mom!” Maharu proclaimed. Misaki got the impression that something the company had given them was parsing the meaning in its own way. For her, it felt and seemed like it should’ve either been the honorific Sempai or San. She had no idea why it was doing that but found it immensely frustrating, especially considering they encouraged them to do vaguely defined “cultural research” in the time before pre-registration. It was beside the point. No way was Yuka her mom. Unless procreation was monumentally different here.

Yuka swiftly and adamantly clarified, “It’s just something she likes to say. To tease me. But maybe now she’s marked you as her preferred plaything…” Yuka raised her eyebrows hopefully. The way she phrased that sounded more like an ominous threat than something appealing. The girls chuckled, and Misaki lightly joined in.

The Sasaki mothers shared their warmth with the group through calm eyes and measured poses, as carefully considered as the ingredients they transferred from one spot to another. Misaki soon learned that what they were preparing wasn’t actually their lunch but rather a soothing soup for an elderly neighbor.

The nearest mother appraised an assortment of small tomatoes, which glistened with artful radiance. She had a flutter of fair brown hair that twisted and dangled around her head like soft wood shavings. Yuka’s elder sister clearly got her eyes from her, as it was challenging for Misaki to look away from their mystical, piercing presence. She wore a dark blue blouse with stenciled designs of so many different flowers, especially hints of roses as line sketches. Her rolled-up sleeve had an inverse of blue on white.

A reddish apron with a subtler shade than Namiko’s hair wrapped around her waist and shoulders and trailed after her. Something like a colorful back brace covered her midsection and accentuated her look. Her body had especially striking curves. Not like Nami. More of a lean but motherly figure.

Misaki found she was running out of words when it came to elucidating breasts. This led to a humorous little thought. She opted to file it away till she and her friends had some more time alone together. The crux was musing about whether a world of only anime girls gravitated towards Inuit qualities for immensely complicated and detailed snow terminology but for their “common sights”. How many words and descriptive modifiers for breasts could there possibly be?

She could compare the other mother to her friend and fellow traveler, Namiko. It wouldn’t be a fair comparison, as Namiko would still “win”. She still had a sizable presence, suggested by a few layers of informal kimono-style robes.

The modified, vaguely halfway garments may have been something that also existed in their world, but she had no confidence. Her hair was dark and vibrant, with a rich brown color throughout. She was taller than her partner, with shoulders that reminded Franklin of a vice principal back in elementary school, a woman who loomed over everyone at more than six feet.

While nowhere close to that tall, she carried the same presence. Her name was Sasaki Fuyuki, and her wife was Kei. Fortunately, Chika had already taken down their names and added them to the names of everyone they’d met. Misaki reminded herself to ask for a copy of that later. Granted, it was practically impossible that they would remain in contact with any of them beyond these two weeks. But they were here now.

Kei paused her cooking, tidied up around her space, and diligently cleaned her hands. She tilted her head towards Maharu about using Misaki‘s body as a spinning pole vault and calmly appraised her guest. Smiling, she squeezed her hands and took her in an embrace that was both welcoming and precise. Kei gently apologized for any shortcomings in the accommodations and used her brilliant gaze to scrutinize Misaki. Not with malice or suspicion but rather with the piercing intent of a mother.

“You should have something to drink to lend you some color. I prepared something for your friend, and I can prepare one for you as well. Would you prefer alcoholic or non? Are you old enough to take it?”

Their adjusted identification was back in their bags upstairs, but Kei said she trusted that Misaki would be truthful. She could drink, and he had occasions, as Franklin, where he imbibed significantly. Amidst the loneliness of college, some friends took him to a sit-down restaurant with watered-down, largely unpleasant alcohol options that cost a mint and left him loudly feeling every noise in the bar within a wiggly world without the warmth he was hoping for.

Misaki gladly accepted the non-alcoholic option, a reddish tea that clinked, softly chilled her fair fingers, and met her nostrils with a sweet fragrance. It was quite good, and invited her to sip thoughtfully rather than drain the whole thing at once.

Kei assessed Chika with her hands on her hips, like a questioning tailor wondering about a stitch out of place or a dropped thread. In turn, she raised her grape-toned eyebrows questioningly but didn’t say anything to Kei. That motherly presence clutched her on both sides and declared, “You are a marvelous entertainer.” Chika’s eyes widened after her raised eyebrows as she inquired how Kei could’ve known.

Following a sizable pause, she simply explained, “They sent us a letter.” With a sheepish bow of her head, she elaborated that many in the local community regarded her as an inadvertent prognosticator. And she was playing off that notion. It also doubled as a blessing.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

She recounted a fragment of a story when their family was first hosting guests seriously, and she welcomed an entourage by celebrating how the girl at the center was a beautiful singer. However, she soon clarified that it was only her aspiration. Mere weeks later, they learned that she had had her big break in the industry. That contributed to their prestige. Rumors of her foretelling talent blew up from there.

Concluding, she remarked, “Now I lean into it for the amusement and hopeful blessing of our guests. May the joy you bring and your star carry you far.” Despite how Guy typically responded and his normal emotional control, Misaki was surprised to see her actually start tearing up with that sentiment. Kei placed a hand near her chest and warmly wrapped her arms around Chika. The tears didn’t last long enough for Namiko or Misaki to step in, but they each swiftly made it clear to their friend that they were here for them. Yasha, from a space towards the back of the kitchen, rolled her eyes.

After Chika, Kei diligently turned her attention to her third guest. Namiko‘s… most powerful attribute… was impossible to ignore. Kei delicately skirted around direct references and tenderly sympathized with her. She provided clothing tips and confirmed the assumption that a kimono or robe, much like her wife’s, would surely provide the highest degree of rest and relaxation. In addition, she detailed regional hot springs, massage parlors, and bathhouses with therapeutic waters.

The mommy question felt glossed over, and Misaki had trouble grasping an appropriate moment to articulate her lingering questions. She continued to sip her drink while watching Maharu for signs of a second strike. The younger girl showcased traditional and recent music on her phone, which somehow survived her energetic activities. A few videos of her in shrine maiden attire even popped up. She really enjoyed her bells and wooden wands with zigzagging paper streamers. Maharu enthusiastically hyped up her success, celebrating how good she was at the wild, swinging portions of traditional dance and that she was working really hard on the quieter, more focused portions.

“I do it with love! Let no one ever feel alone and upset! Come on, Goddess! Come out of your cave! You don’t need to cry in darkness! We’re all friends, and we’re here for you no matter what!… That’s how I think about it.” She swayed, twirled, and launched herself around the open space. Despite an overall sense of cynicism from Yasha, she watched Maharu attentively and permitted herself a half smile. Fuyuki caught the infectious dance bug but had to let it go when she nearly spilled what she was cooking.

It didn’t take Misaki long to deduce she was the older mom who nevertheless behaved differently for her age. Contemporary youth music was in her bones and on her tongue. An overhead speaker system piped in several of her favorites as she pouted and fumbled with how to launch the appropriate app from her phone to play them in order without advertisements. Yuka went over to remedy the tech problems for her mom.

Once that was fixed, Fuyuki endeavored to recover her coolness. She demonstrated the programmable tap and pointed out a lovely outdoor, enclosed space with a cluster of tall bamboo and a path of flowing water. It looked cozy but big enough for a party. Misaki noticed a small family shrine around a corner while Fuyuki sunk her head and lamented her failures to acquire the karaoke unit she truly desired to round out the entertainment options.

A side conversation that Chika started with Maharu, initially holding up her hands protectively and considering whether she might need hockey gear while dealing with the girl, dove straight into names. The young girl softly grumbled about her name. It meant lovely things, but she didn’t like the sound of it.

“Call me, Okaharu instead!”

Yuka immediately told the trio, “Please don’t.” Maharu launched in the direction of her “mommy” to tussle on this point. But the conversation shifted over to the hinted notion that there were names in society by birth, given by their mothers, and then there were chosen names.

At a certain age, as a sign of true independence, a girl striking out on her own in life may divine and define her chosen name for the rest of her life. Kei actually kept her birth name but changed the way it was written. Fuyuki had a radical shift in her name and only vaguely alluded to what it used to be. She considered the more traditional Fuyumi, but ultimately enjoyed the sound and structure of the one she picked. Neither of their daughters had yet approached the age of deciding on a name, even though Haruka was approaching that time.

On this topic, the trio glanced at one another and resolved that they could speak openly. Yasha rolled her eyes and left herself out. Their names were known by this point, but the expression of choosing names animated the conversation.

Chika got to play up being Misaki‘s little sister, and Kei chuckled that her phony intuition completely missed that mark. Namiko wished she had done more research into her chosen name and the surname of Yamane in particular. She knew about its connection to ‘wave’ and ‘child’ but mostly gravitated toward the sound of it too. Chika‘s audience came up with her given name for “lulz”. She phrased it as, “A lot of people were involved and found joy in it.”

Their cordial chat went far off the rails past that point, not far enough to direct back to the maternal issue, but Maharu randomly decried, stating, “Tis surely a fate worse than death to lose skirts and dresses and be condemned to long pants!” That earned some giggles, and even Yasha gave a wide smile.

As the soup the mothers made simmered through the last stage of its creation, Misaki shifted seats to avoid proximity to the wild, young shrine maiden. This brought her back to Yuka, who actually leaned closer when they were beside one another.

Fuyuki declared she had something cool to show everyone. On the far end of the kitchen, almost towards the window, there was a double wood panel with latches. Pulling, she revealed a space under the floor comparable to a microcellar. It mostly contained pickles, which she encouraged everyone to sample. The flavor was much more pronounced and longer lasting than Misaki expected from typical pickling. She wondered if that was again due to the taste and olfactory differences of being an anime girl. Maharu also had a noteworthy reaction with copious amounts of twirling, although she suspected the girl would’ve done that anyway.

Keeping her eyes on the little storage space as Fuyuki prepared to close it back up, Misaki‘s eyes flicked over to the left, to where Yuka was standing. She did a quick double take, puzzling over what she was seeing before attempting to rationalize it as a trick of this world’s sense of shadows. The incongruity remained though, attached to the girl’s skin. Her left foot and ankle had a dark, hazy mark rising like a monumental bruise. The shape, with jagged, shadowy strands traced across her otherwise pristine flesh, looked exactly like that dark creature she just couldn’t seem to escape.