Yuri Worlds

[42] Truths

“I think I know that style! And you say it matches up well with the interesting matters we discussed last night? That’s so wild! So, we may not directly have it, but there exists something comparable!“

No strange visual anomalies or other weirdnesses propped up on the way back home. The trio met up with Yuka at the same general store. It wasn’t too far of a walk to the shopping arcade from there. Some aspects of the layout compared to old or new shopping strips back home, mostly ones downtown. Misaki thought it reminded her of some places along the beach where her family used to vacation. Clothing was largely taken care of by the bags that came with them, but having their own, chosen kimonos for the mini-festival sure felt like a vital bonus.

They had been sifting through women’s clothing all day, especially intimate selections for Namiko. But it was an entirely different matter for Misaki to be fully immersed in that, along with it being a different cultural aesthetic and having Yuka around. Not that Misaki could clearly articulate what that meant, just that her heart doubled its pace, and everything ached like she needed her own special bras everywhere for psychological support.

More people clustered around the shops than they typically saw walking around. A few girls from the school recognized them, especially Namiko as a big, soft protector. The traditional clothing store offered a myriad of options. Too many options, especially for Misaki and her choice issues. The clerk applied something like a science to the patterns and materials.

Chika was relatively small and especially slim, apart from her wide hips. Their advice was to either go for a bright kimono with light colors and small patterns that didn’t try to overwhelm her or focus on a continuous flowery design that would play up all her qualities in a subtle manner. For Namiko, because of her prominent curves, the clerk advised a deeper color palette from navy to purple or black with longitudinal shapes but not stark vertical stripes. And finally, she expressed it cheerfully, but it really didn’t help Misaki to know that any style would probably suit her well.

During a moment when the clerk took Chika and Namiko back to get them sized and looking at some possibilities, Misaki seized that opportunity to bring up to Yuka the peculiar art style evocative of masculine forms that she ran into. Neither of them could express it completely clearly with the wristbands monitoring, but they communicated the gist.

Yuka gave several twirls around the clothing racks as she postulated over whether maybe something other than girls existed in the distant past, and this was like an artifact memory of that existence. It drifted into Bianka territory, with ancient groups seeding other realities like an alien life origin theory. A mix of lush light greens, fair purples, and radiant pinks saturated Misaki‘s senses but were the front-runners for what she should try on.

At least it wasn’t putting on Yuka’s clothes again, but the stress of being in such a lovely little shop for anime girls, along with the clear aesthetic choices that emphasized femininity, made Misaki's stomach gurgle and her body vaguely feel like she had to use the bathroom almost as bad as her compatriots earlier. Fortunately, some deep breaths and focus allowed her to quell that false alarm.

She agreed to pretty much everything Yuka put in front of her, seeing the lovely clothes but still struggling with the realization that this was meant to be something she would wear. Qualifying that the other component of their society often wore soft kimonos similar to this offered a way for Misaki to relax her racing mind, keep Yuka placated, and psych herself up for the inevitable. The options that settled to the top were relatively plain and matched her eyes with a deep pinkish red orbiting but not quite touching the tones of red, lavender, or peach. Considering the way her thoughts swung around, that ambiguity suited her uncertain feelings. A subdued gray layer underneath with a band of gold highlighted the girly, cute colors and made them pop. A reddish sash with subtle white sakura designs played well with the primary color and didn’t clash.

Despite agreeing to this strikingly feminine but also subtle garment, Yuka wanted to see her in a plethora of others, especially a multitude of delicate floral accents. And it only made sense to take pictures with her phone of every single outfit and variation. Misaki vaguely wondered if the clothes horse curse had passed… to her girl… to her girlfriend. Girlfriend.

Girl who is a friend… and they each confessed love for one another. Girlfriend. Saying the word inside her head almost felt like invoking or tempting some ancient mystic spell. And it created a hot coal of feelings and uncertainty in her soft, cloth-wrapped gut. She struggled to tell her body to relax. Don’t be so high-strung. It’s going to be fine. This wasn’t the hard part. They were trying these clothes on in the comfort and safety of a small shop. Worry should come when they’re out in public. And something inside her immediately put down a scheduled appointment to worry when that came about and threw in a little more indigestion.

The clothes her friends chose hewed close to their special recommendations. Chika absolutely seemed to inherit the fervor for fashion Misaki wielded earlier or, more appropriately, she reclaimed her well-earned Gal crown. Chika looked strikingly mature with her purple locks sprawled across a snowy, soft color with minimal sections of small pink, purple, and red flowers. The sharp blush that played across her cheeks didn’t blunt her elegant expression. Lines of lavender kept the garment from looking too blank, along with a dark blue sash. That was only the first of so many variants both close and distant to her "little sister’s" color picks. Gold bits, white trim, puffy pale white little flowers, then ones with more of a golden touch, followed by slipping an orchid in her hair. Nothing quite satisfied her need to search further.

Namiko was a simple one. She went with black with bits of gray and little accents of red that played well with her hair. What they picked up from Fuyuki allowed just a gentle curve to underplay the mountain range beneath. Nami also chose a cute orange ribbon to help with her hair.

Chika swung between paler pink colors and ones deeper than the tone Misaki settled on while ping-ponging with uncertainty. Golden hair sticks and several light flowers went into her hair as she tried putting it up. One outfit with dense floral print sleeves seemed like the one she would settle on until fresh flower feasts emerged from the back. As adamantly as she was a manly man who happened to dress up pretty, she wasn’t going to half ass being a girly girl in a pretty kimono, as Misaki could deduce. "Cute as fuck or nothing", was a Gal Hotner motto.

Eventually, she snapped up a half dozen different outfits with the intent to eventually get them back home and otherwise wear each at every opportunity. The rush of different purple-blend branch blossoms made her twirl to show off every aspect of the design. Gold and blue adorned her sash while she gave a gleeful spinning dance. Not as mature tilting as the other options, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Misaki decided to haul the big bag with all the clothes over her shoulder. It provided the opportunity to introduce Yuka to the concept of Santa Claus. The concept of a secret gift giver already existed for them with Befana. Yuka expressed her somewhat like a fairy spirit in other cultures. The character also had witch-like underpinnings, but since twisted, grotesque, and wrinkly features just didn’t exist in this culture, they were absent, and she had ghostly pale skin instead.

The idea of a full beard like a curl of human body hair collected into a mossy, dense underpinning was fascinating for Yuka. She knew of girls who liked to take wigs or hair extensions and place them over different parts of their bodies, including their faces. More proof to her that something persisted innately in human nature.

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None of the other clothing stores provided quite the same allure, but there were several shrine maiden-style and similar stage costumes. Misaki wondered and vaguely hoped they might see Maharu again. She would nudge her girlfriend towards clarifying or apologizing for what she said. And the same cheerful energy would renew itself as it did when they first arrived. Aside from the nightmarish vision and so many other nasty little things.

A store like a toy shop clung to a tiny corner. Unsurprisingly, this was where Misaki finally saw Maharu. She was crouched, but her brilliant blue hair was unmistakable. Yuka had eyes for the nearby tea shop and didn’t notice her classmate for a long stretch. When she did, she took several steps back, spun around, and actually tried to disguise herself behind Misaki‘s swollen gift sack. Chika and Namiko swiftly volunteered to pop inside, check on the girl, and perhaps cheer her up. Yuka retreated far back and pulled at her collar with nerves, like she was auditioning to be a replacement for Franklin.

"I tried to talk to her earlier. I tried; I really did. I don’t know. She’s not mad, but she still needs space and… Come on, let’s not do this. I just wanna have a fun afternoon with you and…and your friends. I don’t want to deal with having to patch this up when I have no idea what to say to her. She does need to grow up. And I’m not her mom. I don’t know what I can do about things I shouldn’t be responsible for."

With the window and the space, at least it was impossible for Yuka to say anything else that might mess things up further. The others reached Maharu and started to chat without any words audible. From this very limited angle, Misaki didn’t see any red flags with the girl shutting down and turning everyone away. She greeted them cordially and perched a little higher as she read through something from the far shelf. Yuka gave meek squeaks from her position, cloaked by Misaki. It wasn’t long before Maharu completely turned around and addressed Chika and Namiko. She continued to cling close to a little brochure she was attentively reading and showed off certain parts through the chat.

And it wasn’t long after that before she noticed Misaki through the window. The hulking sack of clothes prompted a little rounding of her mouth and dipping of her head in curiosity before she exuberantly waved over her head wildly enough that the model planes strapped to the ceiling began to spin and twist. How long could they possibly preserve a smile on the poor girl’s face? Misaki waved back but also endeavored to communicate through body language that she was going to keep her distance because of the load she was saddled with. All that either wasn’t conveyed clearly or Maharu just didn’t notice because she got rapidly and exuberantly closer.

The jig would soon be up. Yuka could run off, and Misaki didn’t discount the possibility in the next few seconds. But Maharu would know. Her smile and her cheer would soon be ruined. Misaki had to brace herself for that.

It was just past the door that Maharu slowed and paused between drawing in and releasing a bold breath to ever so subtly deflate. She looked into Misaki‘s eyes, not with judgment or any sense of hurt betrayal, but with bracing resignation. This was happening. It would have happened eventually. But this was the moment. And, as Misaki feared and anticipated, Yuka ran off.

She sprinted hard, becoming nearly the sort of blur that a Maharu launch represented. Quiet disappointment swelled through the young girl’s eyes as they dipped towards the floor. “Hello, I've missed talking to you lately. And your friends. Is everyone alright?”

Instead of dwelling on the lost opportunity or trying to chase after Yuka, Misaki instead swung around her massive bag of clothes and focused on their anticipation of the mini-festival. Maharu had plenty of bright enthusiasm to share about little details and stories of how exhausting the new dances were. She could barely get through her explanation without yawns wafting through her voice. A wiggle and a shift brought her back to some semblance of awareness as she showed off and fanned what she was reading.

It was the directions to the game the other night. Misaki made some quick assumptions that she was refreshing herself to get better. That wasn’t quite the case. Maharu clarified that she’d never actually read the rules for the game. The reason that she knew and understood as much as she did was through gleaning what other players knew and the experience of playing and surmising.

But why? Surely, there were certain technical rules that most girls might accidentally overlook or that would be difficult to piece together just from context clues? Maharu acknowledged this fact. She even just discovered several things she never realized which would be beneficial in her next playthrough.

Particularly, she was surprised to discover that the numbers on the left of the cards did not signify gem generation amounts but actually game victory points. The others were visibly flummoxed; she never realized this. That was one of the key methods for scoring and winning the game. Didn’t that approach make the entire thing confusing? Maharu firmly bopped herself on the head.

“I’m a silly dumb dumb. I just never quite figured it out. Whoopsie do. But I’ll hopefully be better now! Hehe...”

Chika and Namiko flashed looks of concern but didn’t press her about this issue. The two of them broke off from the group to go looking for Yuka. A small bench and a cozy nook not too far from the stairs provided a place for Maharu and Misaki to rest for a bit. Maharu waited a conspicuous span of time after Misaki sat down to join her. The sack went off to the side. Aching tiredness saturated Misaki, and she once again fumbled with how to present the kind of energetic, upbeat countenance that Maharu managed so often. Looking over, Misaki saw dense sparkles of tears in her eyes.

She immediately panicked with an urgent swath of concern ranging from something she said to clearly something else she said or did or some other way this could be her fault. And threw in some worries that the girl simply stubbed her toe by the bench, was worried about Yuka, or…

“Grandma told you…”

Misaki took several nervous moments to act as dumb as possible about what on earth she could possibly mean by that. Miss Okura? They had a chat, and it could’ve been about several topics. Nothing too specific, nothing too wild. Just typical grandma stuff about looking out for folks.

"She told you my moms were murdered. I can tell. When you came out of visiting with her, you had the same look as Yuka on the day she learned too. Your spirit lost a little bit of its color, but you tried not to let it show."

Rubbing the aching spots on her body, especially her forehead, didn’t help Misaki much, but it was about all she could think to do. Maharu leaned over and asked, "Since you know that much, do you want to know the rest?"

Maharu’s eyes hardened like muddy crystals in a vice, their reflection carrying a single, focused facet, as though gathering all the light in them into a single, sharpened spot of concentration. Misaki looked up and glanced around to see if anyone was in danger of snooping on their conversation. The suddenly serious, blue-haired girl amended, "In private, later. If you’re a keeper of the secret, then you might as well have the whole thing. Well, not the whole thing, but as much as I can give. Up to you. Just say the word, and it’ll be like we never spoke."

Misaki could absolutely see how Miss Okura and this girl were related, despite the disparity in their energy levels. Everything in her brain told her to take that out, but she still responded, "All right. The whole thing. When, where?"

“Tonight, at the old hotel. There’s a little spot, a secret place, another little clubhouse of mine apart from the shacks. I’ll tell you everything.”