Yuri Worlds
[19] Water
Since there was a little ways to go until they got there, Yuka went over the procedure for the shrine. This was something that Franklin actually studied at length and made a handful of reference cards for before realizing that things might be massively different in this reality compared to the real Japan. But she recited the procedure at the water pavilion as Yuka diligently nodded. Rinse each hand, rinse your mouth, and rinse the ladle. Then she went over where to walk so as not to insult the goddesses. And prayers at the donation box. The one part that Misaki got wrong was the placement of the hands, as she realized that her reference had been the way a man did it. Here, that method was fine for visitors but considered old-fashioned.
Yuki showed off a couple of the coins she had stashed in her skirt. A bunch of the yen pieces that Naoko referenced. Among them, she included a couple smooth stones just for extra weight. She noted that a little bit of double-sided sticky tape would’ve also worked, but she didn’t want to cause more trouble for her skin. All these little lessons were immensely helpful, but Misaki had so much on her mind, and she didn’t want to be poking out notes on her phone right then. She wanted to be with Yuka.
The recent, youthful comment towards Ayame hadn’t been forgotten by Yuka. It wasn’t jealousy or any variety of irritation she showed. More playful curiosity. She was compelled to ask what old women were like where Misaki came from.
Such a curious question she struggled to articulate a response to. What did Yuka think of old things? What were their key traits? Around several concepts, Misaki latched on to a quick mention by Yuka about old fruit drying out. It got wrinkled and leathery. Misaki relayed that the same happened to girls in her world over many, many years.
Did she have any photos to showcase this process? Of course, any kind of proof Misaki might pull up on her phone would likely be inaccessible with the changes the company had done to it. What about the old woman that she and her mothers visited with the food? Did she look different than any of them? Yes, but the way that Yuki described it made the physical differences sound incredibly subtle. So, aging existed, but in a reduced fashion, was what Misaki gathered. It was strange, fascinating, and exceptionally confusing for her that it had never come up. Yuka made it clear that girls definitely died. All the time. For all sorts of reasons.
She refused to elaborate much on the details related to Maharu‘s mothers but at least made it clear that it hadn’t been an old age issue. They died unexpectedly. And despite any of this unsettling wrinkling that Misaki alluded to, Yuka expressed that often invisible problems cropped up that girls like Ayame needed to learn about and care for.
Her career, as Yuka explained, was initially predicated on studying as much as she could to care for her mothers. She claimed that the government was generous when it came to making sure that older girls were not left behind. The problem was the promised hours and level of assistance shortfall. Something that Yuka intended to fix with take over the world lawyer jiu-jitsu. A gap needed to be bridged because her family couldn’t provide the missing time required for their care.
Consequently, the responsibility fell on her shoulders. Without complaint, Ayame trained herself in the required medical techniques. It burned through her but also heightened the other forms of healing in her hands. So many years went into the care of two. It burdened Ayame’s soul, Yuki explained during a respite they took beneath a large tree.
Everyone lent her what assistance they could. Yuka said that a huge part of her personal maturity came from “following the example that Ayame set forth”. Quiet sacrifice, diligent learning, and when her responsibility was complete, she did take time for herself but also adapted her abilities to serve the entire community. She was a shining example of the very best that their piece of the world could provide for those who needed it. That’s what everyone said. Yuka left the matter there, but Misaki could tell she restrained so many other words she wanted to say.
The main entrance to the Akechi Chiyo-ni Shrine branched off from the main circle of town. Its presence and magnitude were subdued, as though it were little more than a reimagined path through the trees. It was impossible to miss the bright, gorgeous torii gate at the front. Misaki wished that she had taken more photos along the way, amidst their conversations. She was hesitant to film much now, but Yuka quietly encouraged her.
Together, they walked beneath the gate, making sure to keep to the side. Based on examples she knew from anime, Misaki expected a decent number of steps to get up to the main area. But the task before her, beneath the shelter of the trees, swaddled in the advancing darkness of the day, was a heck of a lot of steps. More than climbing from one section of Universal Studios in Hollywood to the other. Which she had done once back in high school, with an issue in Franklin’s leg worse than what Yuka had. She made sure that her companion was all right, but Yuki took the steps with aplomb and without a moment of hesitation. It didn’t take long for Misaki's modestly-used thighs to feel like they had been set on fire.
The three of them sometimes went on shopping walks no longer than three miles round-trip and nowhere near this many steps. She had no idea if her body still had the same muscles within it as then, but it was clear something about her physical shape retained that memory. Mostly for the sake of internal comparison and complaining, pointing out how this was not the way things were typically done. She listened to this argument but still continued to climb.
The space around the steps carried a sharp, fresh, natural fragrance bordering on petrichor, amongst a myriad of others for which she had no name to give. She hoped Namiko would take it well when she came to visit the shrine.
Finally, after an aching eternity, they were at the top. Misaki stopped and threw in a careful bow, not so much because this was exactly where it was supposed to be done but more because it provided her with the opportunity to let her blood correct its flow.
The purification water was an easy thing to take care of after she popped most of her joints. Though she probably appeared to be a teenager in this world, she felt as decrepit as her busiest day. If Misaki noticed that her companion was about to snap in half like the dusty, gnarled bones of a skeletal, ancient mummy, she at least didn’t call attention to it. Washing and purifying provided a noticeable placebo effect, which slightly reinvigorated her. Calm waftings of incense smoke also provided a surprisingly fresh addition of purification.
Ahead, she quietly marveled at the stone lanterns flanking the path. They gave off the presence of something ancient while looking as though a painter’s skill had just added them five minutes earlier. Everything around was well tended to, despite the area being so quiet and empty. The presence of the wind pushed, clawed, and tangled between them sharper than below, with the addition of colder air suffused with moisture.
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Yuka pointed out gorgeous landmarks. She noted the ritual area for dancing, a small historical museum, the administrative buildings, and the central shrine ahead. Now came the time for a bow in the feminine way.
Approaching, Yuka gave far more attention and adoration to the guardian dogs standing watch before the shrine than to the main area itself. Misaki did her best to show them respect, but thought they looked more like leftovers from a Ghostbuster movie in person. She hoped that the spirits of this place couldn’t hear those thoughts and take offense.
Misaki watched carefully and followed exactly what Yuka did before the right spot. Two-two-one bow and clap with plenty of little holey coins. Yuka also rang the bell. A prayer. A fervent hope. She had no idea what to say to entities she honestly didn’t believe in. Just give a little lip service, she figured, throwing several of her coins into the donation box and following exactly as her companion did. A couple had to stay with her for the sake of ballast.
The presence of everything and the feeling of being in that place hit her hard. It was so far away from anything she had ever experienced before. The natural space. The symbols. She could feel a unique aura and energy throughout, with the looming presence of it all. The shrine clung to her.
She lifted her head from prayer, and her eyes were as blurry as in the dream. Not because she had returned to that strange trap, but because an absolute flood of tears was falling from her eyes. Misaki wept openly without any idea of how to stem the tide flowing out of her. It wasn’t long before whimpers and cries followed.
Terrible, something terrible, something horrible. What was it? She put a name to it, but she couldn’t quite place it. This sense and presence and warning, even more overt than what Haruka may have told her before sleeping, passed through her body and clung to her soul like an ethereal fist, like a specter walking on her heart.
An instant later, thunder shattered the silence, and the entire world around them broke down in tears too.
Water. There was rainwater absolutely everywhere, and what they had with them was meager protection against the sudden storm. Misaki snuck forward to try and find some protection in the overhang, but Yuka warned that it was bad luck to hang out at the house of the goddesses, especially in a storm. She’d once seen it on a show in which several misfortunes followed. Misaki considered that she had seen that one too, but there was little time to reflect as the sheets of rain slammed even harder.
The most they could do was make sure anything vulnerable to the storm was kept under a layer. Phones and papers especially. The poor blanket was already drenched but at least acted as an impromptu tarp. Misaki looked for a place they might shelter nearby, but Yuka urged her along a side path through the trees. The blast of water washed out everything she could see, but she tightly squeezed Yuka’s hand as they hurried along. Some of the trees were vast and loomed like billowing umbrellas dancing in the storm; others were narrow and tall, shying away from them with their private little dances as though they were traditional elves hopping in place, their heads bopping delightfully with the chaos.
Misaki felt certain that Yuka was dragging her toward the promise of safety and somewhere hopefully dry. The natural curtain drawn by every note of the static-traced droplets gradually parted to reveal a series of small buildings as old as the hotel around back of the house. They appeared quite decrepit and worn down, with minor repairs attempted but not finished. Swiftly, Yuka passed the first couple and stopped at one in particular. It didn’t appear any better than the ones they passed up, but Misaki was grateful to be out of the downpour.
She looked down, and the windbreaker had been splattered with water like a raincoat without getting too saturated. It hadn’t completely stopped the waves of rain from dampening her dress. Whatever efforts Chika made at organizing her hair were a matted and disheveled lost cause. Same for the mass of tangled, dripping, sodden, nearly black locks around Yuka’s head. With just the cardigan and most of the blanket, it was the duty of her tan blouse to absorb most of the water. The saturated cloth clung tightly to the shape of her body with the shading of light, glossy creases, and the sharply exaggerated presence of her chest. Misaki felt deeply embarrassed at what she was staring at, but Yuka whooped with giggles and not a lick of concern.
After fiddling with the latch on the side of the small building, Yuka opened it and beckoned her inside. It was practically as shiveringly cold inside as out. Packed within were a colorful assortment of festival decorations, supplies, scattered clothes, and dusty books. While the space was barely the size of a small bedroom, Misaki was immensely glad to be out of the rain. A few spots in the ceiling slowly dripped around her against the ravenous roar of the storm. Searching towards the back wall, Yuki reached down and extracted a small space heater from underneath a heap.
With Misaki‘s help holding the main unit, Yuka was soon able to find a wall socket and plug it in. She turned it away as it shed a large, rattling groan of dust before settling down. “These are some of the original relaxation and meditation places for the girls who maintained the shrine a long time ago. There are about twenty, and they’re individually numbered. I believe this is eight. Its number isn’t too easy to see anymore, but it’s the best spot for camping out. They want to fix them up and turn them into places where girls without any other place to go can stay.”
Misaki nodded and looked out the window. It didn’t seem like the rain was going to let up anytime soon. Rainfall in this animated world both looked exactly like she expected and like nothing she had ever seen. Rhythmic puddles flowed and echoed with the assault of countless drops. Everything was alive with a relentless cacophony, but it was also frozen beneath an enormous curtain.
She always thought that scenes of rain and nature in animated movies and shows were some of the most beautiful, contemplative moments in art. And the world that lived and breathed the best version of that art was no different. It was a meditation; it was truly Zen. Perfect therapy for the moment of panic she felt in prayer.
Something terrible. Something unspeakable. Something coming. She knew that in her soul minutes ago, but it had drifted far from her, like the presence of incense and petrichor in her nostrils. What had it been? She had no clue now.