Yuri Worlds
[43] Pain
Some strong measure of the swirling uncertainty that gripped Misaki at the end of yesterday gripped her again, like she was a frail planetoid knocked out of a tenuous orbit by looming, unseen forces.
Maharu shrugged off the serious matters, like slipping off a winter coat that she no longer needed. Their discussion returned to excitement and curiosity about the advanced mechanics at play in the game. How much did being the first player really matter? Did reserving certain tiles actually lead to beneficial results? In addition, she rubbed at her wrists and hands and gently grumbled about the new dances while being quietly grateful that she didn’t need to do the singing too. The vast possibilities for unintended flourishes and improvisation excited her. Not that the ladies of the shrine wanted her to do anything too wild. But the possibilities made her giggle.
A spinning dance around the stage. Twirling on the columns. Using a torii gate like a balance beam. Spinning until she was so dizzy she couldn’t stand. Dancing with any girl from the crowd. All quite silly possibilities that would never happen. But they fluttered through her mind like hopeful sparks. More than simply quiet tradition and reciting the motions of the past. Making waves with the spirits, waking them up, and inviting the nice ones to rock out. She bounced gleefully on the seat. Eventually, all that energy settled down, and she leaned back.
“You know, I’m not actually that upset at mommy for venting her thoughts. Grandma often gets more frustrated. Mommy meant everything she said, and she’s right. I need to grow up. I need to be able to take care of myself without being desperate for her. But I ran away because I was scared of losing her. You make her so much happier than me. I wish I could see her smile like she does for you… for me too. I just want mommy to be happy. Please, make sure she’s happy.”
Maharu didn’t stay to let her respond to that or add anything else. She just ran off too, in the opposite direction than the others went. Not that Misaki felt she could’ve assembled the appropriate words in response anyway. The emotions that twisted through her felt worse than any sort of headache, grinding through her skull like a vice made of sandpaper. She was responsible. No way around it, even though she knew if she expressed it in those words, many would try to denounce it.
She was sure that Maharu didn’t intend to lay guilt on her for any of this. At least, she suspected there was no ill intent. The girl wanted to meet her alone in an abandoned, crumbling old building, in the night, in the dark. Not that she was scared of Maharu. She was just a young girl. Though she could perform some surprisingly brutal grabs, throttles, and holds. What could she possibly intend to tell her though? Misaki already knew that the girl’s moms were murdered. And the grandmother seemed to imply Maharu was the sole surviving witness.
If this were some typical horror anime, then her mind could easily imagine that maybe Maharu had split personalities from this tragic event, and it turned her to the dark side. The bouts of violent affection were some translation of dealing with all sorts of psychological stuff that Misaki could pull out of her ass. She had to remind herself that this was a world not too far removed from her own. Maybe violence wasn’t quite at the level that she knew back home, but she just read about a girl going on a bloody rampage to conquer lands ages ago. It was a human condition, not just one of men.
Furthermore, they were currently no longer guys in any muscular or size level. Granted, there were plenty of ways to level an advantage. What popped into her mind was how skillful Maharu was with a carving knife when preparing a meal. So deft that Yasha seemed impressed and wanting to learn from her. All of that probably should’ve said weirder things about Yasha than Maharu.
It was too much. She didn’t need the complication of having to worry about who she upset because of friendship and love. Why couldn’t they just all come together, happy and free of drama, in a big old snuggle fest? Under normal conditions, she would’ve anticipated Maharu to be one of the first to suggest something like that as a resolution. Not that she knew her intimately or knew any of the girls deeply with all their secrets lurking underneath. Hopefully she knew a couple things about Yuka, not even counting that creepy interlude when her panic was transmitted to her.
Yuka returned first from the group, locking eyes with Misaki before scanning the area for Maharu and where she might have gone. She had plenty of questions. Maharu left. She mentioned Yuka. She claimed not to be upset. And here was where Misaki struggled to come up with words that felt right. It could all just come out. Reveal that the poor girl was jealous and afraid of what would happen to the closest thing she had left to a mom. What did that say about her grandmother? Would it be brave or cowardly for Misaki to just blurt out the truth?
“She’s scared. And stressed out. I don’t think she’s ready to talk yet. But it sounds like she wants to do the growing up you both think she should be doing. You mean everything to her. But sometimes girls need to be apart to realize that."
Huffing her breath through her nostrils, Yuka plopped down on the bench close to Misaki. “Yeah. Girls. Girl drama. Your side of things has got to have it better, right?” Chika and Namiko weren’t back yet, and no one else was in the immediate area. At least Yuka didn’t attempt blurting out the three-letter word. She wondered if the wristband might try putting out an electric shock at this point as the next level of a punitive measure if it caught a hint of that word.
Another question that Misaki needed more time to reasonably answer than the moment offered her. ”As long as there are humans around other humans, there’s gonna be some sort of drama. Sorry.”
Yuka pressed a hand lightly to her forehead and gave a little puff-snort of tiredness. “Just gotta stop being human then. Oh well. Your friends will be back in a few minutes. They said they had to use the bathroom. They’re really sweet. Miss Yamane seems like she would go to the ends of the earth to help anyone. And your little sister makes me wish I had a little sister too. Sorry for wrapping the three of you up in all our nonsense when you should be having a stress-free vacation.”
Misaki adamantly urged that there was no inconvenience at all. They were guests, so they were already causing an imposition, so anything they had to deal with was just a modest price to pay for enjoying such a unique place and such rare girls. She sputtered through that explanation like a small craft trying to take off on a too-short runway. Yuka leaned over and squeezed Misaki on the shoulder. She asked earnestly if Maharu was all right. Misaki nodded without needing to think about it. She accepted that.
The rest of the little shopping excursion was mercifully free of drama or excitement. Yuka did sneak a few peeks at the wedding shop. White was still the dominant color, and fancy dresses abounded, but formal, dressy, draping suits also featured as options, along with variations of traditional clothing. She steered them away from the fruit shop since the prices were exorbitant compared to the general store. Everyone picked up some bubble tea before they started on their way back.
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Despite the pleasant company and nice drinks, Misaki found aches and pains clinging to her. Most of them were better. The remnants of her burned mouth were still sloughing off with raw dimples, but they seemed to be healing faster than she expected. The headache she felt before mostly disappeared, along with the dizziness. She worked to massage around her chest ache without making it seem suggestive. Not that anyone else would’ve thought it looked suggestive, but her brain was still stressed about the possibility.
Namiko noticed her discomfort despite all efforts to disguise it. Yuka immediately jumped in, trying to provide a back and muscle rub. Misaki was too quick to announce that she had been cured of any problems by the light contact. A stop by the clinic seemed like the best idea to Yuka. Before Misaki could put together her effort to say that she felt fine, she bashed her elbow on the nearby wall when turning away. The headache also faintly returned, as though there were a reactivation button in that arm. She acquiesced without further complaint.
The others came along to check out the clinic, with Namiko taking up the load of the big Santa sack. The waiting room was still as empty as before. The teddy bear was still slumped in one of the side seats by the reception area. Instead of a book and a cape, it wore oversized pajamas and a domino mask. To the left, the overhead light was still burned out. From a back room, Misaki could again hear Ayame’s voice leaking through the walls.
“All you have is a fax machine. That’s the only thing. I don’t know or care what management tells you about which device to use; the only thing you have is a fax machine. You can take a turtle, shove a USB cable up their ass, and try to splash them with some useful source color, but all you’ll get is an angry turtle. Don’t make me come over there. That’s just what they’re going to say about it. Yeah, the originals are what I need. Listen, listen, listen. I’m tired. I really don’t want to scream again. To protect? Besides, what options are we looking at? Do you know the last time I slept? No, further back, further back than that, you’re still not even close. I just want to finish the paperwork. Then the billing can be done. That’s really all I'm up for. All right. Rediscover your fax machine and shove it up any orifice of theirs that works. We tight homegirl. Word to your mamas.”
Misaki glanced around during that rant. She expected a visible reaction from Chika and Namiko, with at least their eyebrows raised, ranging from snickers to confusion or concern. But they were just quietly, patiently waiting, and their only signs of attention shifted around the room to places to sit and the stock standard reading material on the walls and magazine racks. Her hearing couldn’t be that much better than anyone else’s.
Yuka didn’t seem focused on Ayame’s voice either. Hadn’t she heard the weird rant during their original walk to the shrine? The details of that other one vaguely lingered in Misaki‘s thoughts. There had also been frustration about paperwork and shoving it where the sun don’t shine and the moon. Tell him the moon. Tell him the moon. Tell HIM… the moon. No way.
She hadn’t said that three-letter word. It wasn’t possible. And there was no proof of it. Just her questionable, flaky memory from a few days ago of some barely coherent vent of frustration about incorrect paperwork muffled by a wall. The girl—the adult mom—was likely just spewing out random things. Why didn’t Misaki bring it up at the time? Something about that question twisted more discomfort into her head with every passing second. She didn’t care about ripping off the wristband in front of everyone, so long as it made the exhaustion and discomfort go away. Despite that feeling, she barely managed to resist the temptation, as it sounded like Ayame was finishing up in the back.
It didn’t take long before she emerged, vaguely disheveled, eyes acquiring rings like it had been years in tree age, and rumpled scrubs. That low energy perked up as she sipped from a tall cup of coffee and noticed that she had visitors. Her first response was to immediately head for Yuka and confirm the recovery of her leg. Yuka gladly showed off the results, even though she still flinched where the sunken, dark mass had been last night in the bath.
Following that, Ayame’s sympathy and attention were directed towards the behemoth projecting from Namiko. She light-heartedly assured Ayame that, despite the load on her front and the haul on her back, she felt perfectly fine. Skepticism lingered in Ayame‘s comments and demeanor, as it appeared she was checking more than her physical features. She eventually agreed with Namiko.
Misaki went back to the exam room alone. Ayame took down several attentive notes while attempting to shake loose her lingering tiredness with plenty of coffee. She asked how long had the discomfort been occurring. Misaki pondered this for an especially long time before admitting to the details but also bringing up, “I felt a weird flash of discomfort right before we met the other day. I don’t know if it’s important.” Looking down, Misaki had few concerns about carefully loosening her wristband and placing it unobtrusively nearby with that arm carefully hidden. She then amended her statement about the “moon” and “him” for specifics about what she heard.
Ayame paused in her notetaking and glanced over with a curious expression. “Him. Do you happen to know how this word you heard would be represented? At least in characters from your world. I know there’s a whole translation voodoo going on with this travel company, but I can’t be sure how accurate all that is.”
On the paper, Misaki rendered the letters in block so that their form was unmistakable. Ayame scrutinized it sharply with her eyes narrowed. Misaki worried that something might happen to this woman. Perhaps bleeding eyes, wild screaming, or worse. But the quiet sense about the two of them lingered, and she eventually looked up from what her patient wrote for her and conceded with a shrug, "I have no idea what this means. I can’t totally bridge our language gap. I don’t recall saying any word reminiscent of what you’ve shared with me. A lot of words come out of my mouth, and the vast majority are not worth remembering. Can you expound upon what this word means to you?"
Hesitantly, Misaki drifted around and attempted to express the notion of an entire other sex to humanity. “It’s a pronoun, for those who are not girls. It’s a word from my world. Which is why I don’t understand how you knew it.” She attempted to blunt any sense of an accusatory tone. Just wanting to understand.
Ayame stood there calmly and reflected on that answer. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but it had the same effect as a fish attempting to take air from the shore to breathe. The reserved and careful calm squeezed tighter and sharper, as though an invisible hand was wrapped around Ayame, and she was struggling to get free. Misaki could tell she wanted to scream, but she was being held back. Straightening and only releasing a calm sigh, Ayame smiled at her and answered, "Never heard of it. Must be similar to one of our words, and the translator screwed up. Sorry for the confusion. Now let’s see what we can do about your pain issues."
Misaki wanted to press her. She wanted to understand what on earth was going on. Even with her wristband off, it was clear that a not-so-subtle hand was guiding and shoving things in whatever direction it wished.