Kaminoyama {Zella and Alan23}

[Alan23]

A VERY brief history of Kaminoyama

In 1522, towards the end of the Feudal Period in Imperial Japan, a Warlord known as Mazuma Kioto, victor of many wars of expansion, fell foul of the Emperor. As far as is known, he seems to have been too successful, to the extent that the Emperor felt he might be a threat. Upon certain pretexts he was exiled, with the entire population of his state (a population of some 6000 men, women and children, including close to 700 warriors) being supplied with supplies, and essentially told to vanish and never return.

The small entourage embarked upon a heroic trek, through the lands of what are now the Southern Russian states such as Kyrozsstan, Uzbekestan and various areas of wilderness, arriving eventually (after being harassed by bandits and local tribesmen al lthe way) to the Eastern shore sof what we call the Caspian Sea, though they called it Kioto Sea after their leader , who had died of a fever en route. There were something like 200 of them left, mostly women and invalids, and they set out to cross the sea in a series of boats they had jerry built from locally available materials.

For many generations they lived a primitive, pioneering life, earning their living by the domestication of local wild goats and sheep. However, they had brought books and scrolls with them, and still had the knowledge of the culture they had left behind. As time went on they discovered various precious metals in the mountains to the South of their new land, domesticated the local ponies and developed the lumbar industry. As time passed, various discoveries were made, noticeably that of solar power.

By the late eighteenth century, they had already established a thriving industry, with pony-drawn vehicles, which they used in agriculture and industry. By the late Victorian era their isolated culture was one of the most advanced in the world, comparable to that of Britain and Western Europe. In some things they lagged behind, in others they were extremely advanced, such as the development of force fields which prevented them being discovered by explorers.

These force fields were to ensure their survival. The Third (1963-66) and Fourth (1980) world wars, the former of which was fought with primitive nuclear weapons, the latter almost entirely a nuclear conflict, wiped out most of Europe. What lies beyond their own boundaries is now uncertain, most of the less intelligent people credit the whole world is full of ghosts and mutants, those few who have been travelling report that it is mostly wasteland. The Nuclear Winter of 1980-2000 is a time they hate to talk about, though their technology enabled them to survive it.

Modern Culture:

Modern Kaminoyama has only one city, called Kioto, a high-tech wonderland fuelled entirely by solar power, with all menial work carried on by androids and gynoids. It is a mark of being an aristocrat that you can hire real humans to do what the poor have to use robots for, such as house-servants, geishas, prostitutes. The social classes are:

Aristocrats: Usually those who can trace their ancestry back to those who held high position before the group left Japan. This includes the Imperial Family, and many who married into them in the early days.

The Priesthood: When the group first arrived in their new land, the only surviving person with any religious knowledge was a scholar known as Kazo Mazanuka. As a scholar he had made a detailed study of Egyptian beliefs, and during his life he founded a school teaching the religion of the new land - a mix of Shintoism and Ancient Egyptian beliefs - eventually founding the religion known as Mazanism. This is now the official state religion, and the priesthood have as much power as the aristicrats.

The middle classes: "Prestigious" trades include poets, scribes, artists, Geisha (both genders,) high-class chefs, high-ranking soldiers such as Samurai, and designers of technology, clothing or architecture.

The working class: Just about anyone else, the bulk of the population.

Attitude towards women: Essentially, three classes of women are recognised.

Yamato Nadeshiko: Essentially the quintessentially "helpless" perfect lady. Known by her long nails, extremely tight kimonos and general air of shyness and modesty, such women are the children of aristocrats or priests, though the middle classes also try to encourage their daughters to behave this way. They are taught many "accomplishments" such as silk painting, writing simple poetry or how to perform tea ceremonies, but nothing of any use. They are essentially beautiful but useless, and expected to make a good match. Such women are hyper-modest (many of them do not even know where babies come from) and defer to men in every way.

Ninjai: (Note - the term "Ninja" is never applied to a male) - more or less the opposite of the above, these are women who refuse to behave in the submissive "Yamato" way, which often means they are cast out by their families or (in some cases) accepted, and encouraged to learn "masculine" trades. Some even serve as warriors. Such women even wear (shock) clothing that shows their arms and legs, or even swimsuits!

Shika: Essentially a working class woman. Usually prematurely aged by child bearing, hard work and poverty. The only way out is to either marry a peasant and at least get a farm of their own, or affect the manners and looks of a Yamato Nadeshiko, and work as a prostitute or Geisha, eventually attracting a rich aristocratic, priestly or high-artistic patron/husband.

Men:

Aristocratic men are a strange mix of the effete and badass. Many of them form the officer class of the army, which is used to defend the lands beyond the force field from the mutant tribesmen (if they exist. The army claim they do and the priesthood support them!) Others become artists, writers, etc. but do not ever sell their work, instead forming schools from which they teach art, poetry, philosophy etc.

Working class boys: Many of them live their whole lives as agricultural workers (though this is not as bad as it sounds since this is mostly done by machines) or mechanics, builders, low-ranking soldiers etc. A poor boy can work his way up by being a[apprenticed to the army, the priesthood or to an artistic school. Most do not make it.

The middle class males are essentially poor boys who have thus succeeded, and eventually been able to form their own schools.

Technology: The nation relies entirely upon solar power for their electricity, including heating, motive power and just about everything. In The city or towns, much domestic work is carried on by robots, either humanoid or otherwise though on farms, which are truly poor their is still some manual labour. The poor can get many of the luxuries available to the rich, but from androids or gynoids instead of real people. Thus a poor man can visit a robot prostitute, be attended by a robot geisha, have a robot body servant, etc, but not a human one. It is a mark of high status and prestige to have a human servant of any kind.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

The morning ritual was always the same. It began when one of Momoko's three handmaidens woke up her up. With a gentle voice and a gentle shake. Her other two handmaidens would soon join them both and together the three woman would begin preparing Momoko for the day. She was first washed, then dressed. After that one girl would work on Momoko's hair, the other her make up and the third would leave once more to fetch Momoko her breakfast. The whole ordeal took upwards of an hour and a half, on the worst of days it took two. By the time breakfast came each morning and she was dressed, her stomach rumbled with an angry hunger. As usual her breakfast was a small bowl of rice, salmon, Tamagoyaki with a serving of Tamagoyaki and grated radish on the side. It was a meager meal, its purpose being to keep Momoko small, delicate and appealing to the eye. It was not her favorite meal... not by far. But being in the public eye as Empress, goddess, had forced Momoko to give up many things that she liked or enjoyed, in the face of duty. Once breakfast was eaten she was escorted out and into one of the many sitting rooms in the palace. This was part of her morning that was subject to change. During this time she could take meetings, of a more casual manner which sometimes required one sitting room over another. Today though it was the one located closest to her bedroom that was most usually used as 'hers' and while it was not private, it was a haven of sorts. After all nothing was private in Momoko's life anymore. It was a simple and tasteful room with brilliant paintings and designs on the Shōji that surrounded it. Here in the sitting room she had to watch an hour of news, it was essential after all that she be aware of events around Kioto. This bored her terribly and more often then not Momoko left, having not truely remembered anything she had watched.

From there her day was often ever changing, but always felt the same, as if she was reliving the same events, just in a different way. She was carted from meeting to meeting, event to event and appearance to appearance. Tasked always to remember to be as beautiful and poised as possible. It was not always the hardest of tasks. Momoko was a well taken care of woman, wearing the finest clothes and make up and of course coming from the finest breeding. She was often radiating the beauty that was expected of her, at least physically. It was the other things that she struggled with, the constant, charming conversation. The eyes that were always on her life and the many, many people who hung off of every one of her words, when she felt like she had so very little to say.

Her day was consumed by these things and by the time she was 'free' once more it was already early evening. She was in the sitting room once more, too tired to do much else with herself. Before bed each night she was expected to watch another hour of news and she was doing this now, to get it out of the way. On either side of her sat two of her handmaidens, each working on filing, cleaning and painting the well maintained nails at the ends of Momoko's delicate fingers. Behind her was her third handmaiden who had slowly picked the jewels and clips out of Momoko's hair and was now brushing it straight. This was perhaps Momoko's favorite part of her days. Her handmaidens had grown up alongside Momoko, assisting her and so it was no surprise that the four girls were close. While the mornings were agonizing. Momoko adored these moments when she could sit with the three girls, listening to them talk about their days, their fantasies and dreams and of course the giggled mention of men. Her handmaidens lived a life that Momoko had deemed much more exciting then her own, albeit much less lavish and healthy. She could not help but listen to them and live vicariously through them, laughing at their stories and giving them her opinions when they looked to her so adoringly, wishing to hear them.

What she was not listening to however was the news...

 

[Alan23]

27 Leagues N/NW of the capital. The region known as Yakushima. Midwinter.

Those who had little to do with hovercraft might have said either that the machines were silent, or that each and every one of them made the same sound. If pressed, they would have made a gentle, humming noise, their face bearing a self-conscious expression as they did so. "A sort of, well, like, whirrr whirrrr whirrrr" they'd say. Cavalrymen Toshiga and Zumozo knew better.

Eight years, beginning as Mechanical Assistants, the lowest rank in the entire army, in their childhood, and having a fight every day until they had both reached the age of thirteen had given the two-man team a bond that could not be bought. Now, risen to the elite rank of Cavalrymen First Class, the pair would never deign to do anything so crass as actually mention what they had achieved, even to each other. It was, by unwritten rule, a thing not mentioned. Each took the other's bravery, loyalty (both to the Empress and to each other) for granted, and neither felt it worth articulating that they were the crack scouts, the go-to pairing when vital information concerning the movements of the "Kiah" - the savage, mutant tribesmen that dwelt outside the Empire's boundaries on the scrubland to the North, and which no forcefield could have kept out had the entire tribe made a determined rush -was needed. Toshiga and Zumozo would come back alive, and with every piece of information the Commander needed. It was a given.

Yet, all the bravery in the empire, even that attributed to the legends of old, was at naught against the tricks and jokes of fate. Against, more specifically, a clogged filter that damaged the hovercraft's engine so badly that it ground to a halt. The long trek back that this meant might not, in itself, have been a disaster, save that on the second day of their exodus they had chanced against a group of Kiah warriors, mounted on the ugly, mutant camels that provided their transport. Warriors, furthermore, that had been armed with the latest Zumo Lasers taken from dead comrades of Toshiga and Zumozo, and thus representing the very best the savages could put into the field.

It had been a breakneck run, on foot, followed a shootout in which they had feared for their lives. The Imperial Scouts' greater discipline and superior training had finally prevailed, and nothing had seemed more natural at the time than that the victorious Scouts had appropriated the mutant camels, deciding this means of transport a (relatively) superior means of making it back to civilisation. It had not turned out a wise decision. Within two hours of setting off, the recalcitrant beasts had stampeded in one of the short dust storms that periodically blew up in the region, and while Zumozo had managed (just) to bring his own beast under control, Toshiga had been thrown, and was reduced to hobbling, his limp causing pain to shoot through his body with every step.

Thus it had been that what had been intended as a three day reconnaissance had turned into one lasting more than a week. And such had been the panic at their failure to return on schedule, and the inability of the patrols sent out to discover any trace of them, by the time they did finally return the entire camp had been in an uproar. As far as their personal reputation went, this had achieved more than success might have, for the army at that time was desperate for prestige, for some favourable publicity, and it had been decided that strings would be pulled and that at the Cavalry Scouts were to be awarded the Imperial Service Medal, to be presented by the Empress herself.

Both had protested - they already had received plenty of awards, citations and other gee-gaws - but the political need was expedient. Finally, the Commander had given the pair an ultimatum. They were to toss a coin, and the loser was to accept the medal, presenting himself in full dress uniform at the Imperial Palace at ten the following day to receive the award from the hand of the Empress herself. And to prevent them finding a way of wriggling out of it (a skill in which both took pride) the award was to be announced on that very night's news bulletin, which everyone knew was watched even by the Empress herself. It would then be a fait accompli.

Having lost the toss, Cavalryman Zumozo spent a resentful night during which he became roaringly drunk on sake, and at first light suffered himself to be collected by a guard of honour as, in full dress uniform, he was driven through the streets to the Imperial Palace.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁​

She wasn't paying attention, so much so in fact that it took one of her handmaidens to point towards the announcement on the large screen. Halting their conversation, Momoko paid attention once more. Her hands, which had been moisturized and seen to now sat in her lap. It was likely that Momoko had been informed of this, earlier in the day. However she was told such a great many things each day that her poor memory often failed to retain all of it. One handmaiden asked Momoko if she was aware of the ceremony, another followed suit to comment that Momoko was keeping a rather late hour for such an event. Lying, Momoko assured them all that she was well aware of what was happening that next day. It put a quick end to her night, the 'snacks' she was enjoying were quickly cleaned up and Momoko was escorted to her room, where the girls helped her to undress and get read for slumber.

The next morning she awoke even before the light did. It took longer to prepare this time, her Kimono was much more elegant and much more intricate then usual. It was a brilliant blue, which was regarded to be the Empress's favorite color, rightfully so as Momoko adored the blue of water and the blue of the sky. Decorated with golden stitching in the design of a great many flowers in shimmering golden bunches. Her hair was held up by a series of clips and sticks and a great many ribbons, weaved in and out of her shimmering ink colored hair. Her make up was traditional, not the same she wore to her usual daily events however it was expertly done and very beautiful. Her face paled and her lips painted a deep red.

After getting ready she was rushed past breakfast and off to assure that the ceremony was in a fine state and ready to go. It left Momoko wondering if anyone else had even noticed that she had not eaten, at one point she spoke up about it, though it was quickly pointed out to her that she did not have time for such a thing. Another pointing out that she could do without the meal (In much more diplomatic words.) and that she did not want to 'get fat now, did she?' to which she agreed she did not and let the forgotten meal pass. She was walked around the front of the palace, looking over the ceremony. It was decorated, though not ridiculously so, mostly it held the gentle nod to the great soldiers of their country that had always been offered. Rarely boastful, but appreciative and understanding that sometimes a celebration need happen. Approving of it all and spending some time to wave to the gathering masses. Momoko was eventually lead up to where she would be Accepting Cavalryman Zumozo.

The wait was not long. Kioto was small enough and brilliant enough to run somewhat smoothly and on time. Still Momoko stood in front of the gathering crowed and waited for what felt to her, hours. Finally though an escorted car began its approach towards the palace and those in the audience who had straggled away and in the way where herded back and away to allow for them to come through. In front of the palace the car pulled up and once Zumozo stepped out tasteful music, not too cheerful but not too somber, began to play.

Momoko accepted him with a sweet smile and a well executed bow from her dainty waist. She stood close to him, though touching was of course very minimal. Making a speech that both congratulated him and spoke of his good deeds. It was likely unknown to the crowed watching, however Zumozo himself might notice, she occasionally said a name wrong, of other men he had served with, mispronouncing or mixing names up. She had only caught up on this all this morning and during her being herded from place to place had made up a speech, naturally, the holes showed. Once her peace was said though, she presented Zumozo with a medal and the crowed roared with approval. While this was happening, Momoko leaned in a little and said above the noise, her own private congratulations to Zumozo, though it was only a small and quick. "Thank you very much for your services."

 

[Alan23]

Cavalryman Zumozo's secret was one that sometimes caused him delight, yet this delight was never entirely unalloyed.

It was, some may have said, a dangerous secret, one that caused him to be deserving of punishment, perhaps (said some fanatics) even permanent imprisonment, or even execution, though (such would be forced to admit) it was not his fault. If anyone might be blamed for it, it was his father... his father and the Empress', for they were one and the same. It was this that was the thing he held close to his chest, so that even many of his comrades knew little of it, Toshiga, and one or two of the very high ranking officers being exceptions.

Yet, in secret circles, among court genealogists, those responsible for the security of the Imperial Family and the nation, the military hierarchy and others, it could be no secret. The deceased former emperor had fathered a bastard son, and one furthermore that had shown at least some of the traits that fitted him for leadership. He had bravery, charisma, intelligence. Had he been an in-bred wastrel his lineage might not have mattered. Yet, as he was, simply by existing he was a dangerous man.

There were those, among the high-ranking citizens of Kaminoyama who were far from happy at the fact that, after an unbroken series of Emperors as far back as historical memory could state, they were now led by a women. And, to be frank, a young, inexperienced and...well, far from poised and confident woman at that. A mere girl, many said. The empire needed a man of firmness and strength, they whispered at levees, parties and gatherings, in sake houses and java-haunts. A confident, brave man, not some frightened girl who was often observed trembling at official functions, who was at times so shy she seemed even younger than her years, who stammered and averted her eyes whenever faced with a more confident, worldly official. She was, such people said, a mere puppet, pretty but useless, and what use was a society of tigers if they were led by a rabbit? The empire needed, they felt, a man like the old emperor, or his son who, if his career so far were any guide, had inherited the very characteristics needed.

That Zumozo did not share this opinion was from a plurality of reasons. To begin with, he was genuinely loyal. As far as he was concerned, the rules for succession were perfectly clear, and Empress Momoko was the undisputed claimant. The fat that he himself was one of the few citizens who might have proved otherwise was immaterial. No matter who it was, they had no claim.

But it was not merely selfless devotion that caused this feeling in him. Indeed, the very idea of being emperor filled him with revulsion. To be at everyone's beck and call, ordered about by courtiers, ministers, the priesthood, never having a moment to call his own. How could he do his job as a cavalryman if he had to be forever being given leave to attend this or that official function? How could he stand wearing the restricting, itchy, binding clothing that he would have been forced into as emperor? What would happen to his friends, whom he would no longer be allowed to associate with? No, to him his self interest and his loyalty marched hand in hand and in perfect step. Momoko was the rightful ruler of the empire, and he'd fight to kill if anyone suggested differently.

These thoughts, of course, ran through his mind as she pinned on the (pointless) award, and shyly thanked him for his service. Almost mechanically, and desperately trying not to reveal his contempt for the ceremony he saluted and withdrew. At last the thing was over, and he was free.

And as he did so he caught the Empress' eyes.

That they were pretty - extraordinarily so - was significant, but not overwhelmingly so. He had seen pretty eyes before. He already knew the empress, his half-sister (though she did not know it, and few did) was attractive. He knew too she had a slim, lithe figure, plump in all the right places. Yet, as a soldier and a hero he could take his pick of courtesans and others, usually full-fleshed humans (though he was not above sampling the gynoids in the cheaper quarters of the city for variety) and pretty women did not move him overmuch.

No, it was not that she was pretty. Rather that in those eyes was another thing, a thing he saw but rarely. A look of fear. A look that made his protective heart cry out to save her.

And his instincts whisper, in response to her thanks "It is a pleasure to serve a woman so beautiful, truly a descendant from the gods."

If she made no reaction, he felt, at least she could pull the compliment out from her memory and dwell upon it in her loneliness. Or perhaps...

But no. She could not react in any more positive way. She would not be allowed to.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

The ceremony was quick. She need only say a few honorable words, recount his deeds and publicly thank him and she was done, she was free. She stood in silence then among all the noise of the cheering people. She had not meant to lock eyes with him but alas she did. They looked at one another for a few moments before he quietly spoke. His words were words loaded with a great deal of potential reactions. Of course the natural one was to blush and bow her head and thank him. However there were many people around, many who question her ability to hold herself in a strong godly fashion and many who expected her to do so. So it was all she could do, to bow at the waist and politely say. "Thank you." really she wanted to tell him more.

She wanted to thank him for believing in her, when very little seemed to. She was not completely unaware of the whispers behind her back and so she greatly appreciated anyones vote of confidence. She wanted to tell him that even she sometimes doubted herself... actually most of the time. To tell him that secretly she had no idea what she was doing or why she had been given this task. Of course though she could say none of that.

Eventually the ceremony come to an end and Momoko was directed back inside. Inside she ate and braved all the lectures and comments on what she had done wrong and how she could better herself. At least she was eating, that was all that mattered. Afterwards when she was left somewhat alone she found and cornered 'Sakuma Atshushi' and elderly man and Momoko's 'Steward' who had been close friends with her father, before he had passed on. Sakuma managed most of the Empresses affairs and appearances and was possibly one of the only people Momoko felt she could be any kind of 'open' with. "Mister Atshushi." she asked and she wore a look in her eyes that he surely must of known because he quickly bowed and said. "What can I help you with Your imperial highness?"

During her eating and moments composing herself. Momoko had gotten an idea. The parting words of Cavalryman Zumozo had stuck in her head and so had the idea of thanking him on a more personal level. Perhaps she was merely struck by his belief in her, perhaps she was guilty of pride and wished to hear him say it once more. "I would like for you to organize a personal meeting between me and Cavalryman Zumozo." she said, trying not to let the waver in her voice stand out. He raised his brows at her, answering. "Of course Your imperial highness..." pausing then before adding. "But you need not go to such great lengths, the... ceremony was more then enough." he did not say it to question her, but more to gently guide her. "I'm aware..." she replied. "However the crowed was so very excited... It seems almost rude of me to not offer a more personal thanks. Perhaps you can tell him it is a celebratory tea... he no doubt still remains in the area." she moved then to leave, before he could question her anymore and so he bowed his head and said. "Of course, I will have him messaged right away." before backing out of the room.

Zumozo would receive a call not long after and perhaps a few hours after the ceremony. The call would detail that the Empress wished to have tea with him and personally thank him for his services. It was a strange thing to have happen yes. However with the change of ruler often came a new set of social rules and practices. Perhaps the Empress just enjoyed socializing.

The tea would take place in the late afternoon, just before sunset. Zumozo would be taken back to the palace and then inside, lead to a room that sat, loaded with teas and small food and open to the afternoon air, giving a pleasant view of one side of the city. Waiting inside would be the Empress Momoko and she bowed at the waist in greeting and said. "Thank you for coming." she probably didn't need to say that... but she was thankful.

 

[Alan23]

Arriving back at base, Zumozo had expected simply to resume his duties. He would be allocated a new machine from stores, be given a few hours to learn its idiosyncrasies and quirks - which all hovers had - and be sent back on patrol. He was not due for "out of line leave" for at least a week, and had certainly not expected his recent decoration (which he did not really regard himself as having deserved anyway) to make any difference to this.

He had, however, given a certain amount of thought to his meeting with the empress. She could not possibly have known, of course, that she was his half sister, which meant that as a brother it was his duty to protect her if he could. He had paid her the compliment on a sudden impulse, partly for devilment (never a quality far from the mind of a cavalryman) and partly too because he had really wished to give her some comfort. He had seen the fear in her eyes, read the language of her carriage and her body. She had looked, to him, like a trapped animal. He would sooner have faced an entire clan of charging tribesmen alone on a daily basis than taken on the duties of a ruler. His heart had tuly gone out to her. But, she had reacted simply with the formality the situation had demanded, and that was that. There seemed little more he could do for her.

Therefore, when he was summoned by his commanding officer a half hour later, and told to get back into his dress uniform, and prepare himself for another trip to the imperial palace, he at first suspected there had been some kind of mix-up. He had protested that it was surely a duplicated request, that it referred to his previous summons to receive the decoration. The commanding office, however, had soon disabused him of that idea. The letter had been timed and dated, referred to a meeting at a totally different time than the award ceremony, and besides had included, after his name and rank, the award he had just been awarded, showing that there could not possibly be any doubt that it was a new, and different meeting he was required to attend.

For even a high ranking member of the military to be summoned to the imperial presence twice in so short a time was rare indeed. For so low ranking a soldier to be so was completely unprecedented. At first, Zumozo thought (with a shock) that someone might have let slip he was in fact the old emperor's bastard son, but if he knew, the commanding officer made no mention of it. He seemed as bemused as Zomozo himself.

Well, there was nothing for it. At the appointed time, he presented himself in full dress uniform, his boots shined and at full attention, wearing all of his decorations.

He was as nervous as he had ever been in his life as two palace officials escorted him along the endless miles of corridors, with guards from the imperial regiment snapping to attention and lifting their lasers to the high port as he passed. Was it some kind of trap, he wondered? A discreet way to eliminate him, get rid of the emperor's bastard son and prevent him being a rallying point for dissidents? Yet if this were the case, he reasoned, there were much simpler and quicker ways to do so. Anyway, it was too late now, he realised, as he was ushered into the empress' receiving room. His glance took in the low table, set with the kind of delicacies that only the very rich could afford, the finest china, and the subtle aroma of the very finest teas simmering in the samovar.

The empress bowed. Her beauty, just for a second, took his breath away. He had spent time with the most expensive courtesans, and yet, somehow, her beauty was of a different order entirely. Innocent where theirs was knowing, shy where theirs was controlling. The fine silks she wore had not been designed to emphasise her bodily form, yet somehow their very cut and material made her more attractive than an outfit deliberately intended to present her as sexually desirable. The elaborate combs of her hairstyle, the subtle yet enhancing make up, even the way her eyes dropped to the floor at his approach rather than greet him arrogantly and confidently as an empress should her servant, al lthis caused him to have to force himself to draw breath.

It is indeed an honour, and a pleasure, Your Imperial Highness," he replied, standing to attention, for no-one dared sit in the presence of any member of the imperial family without an express invitation. Especially since, he saw with a shock, the only free mat had bene placed not opposite her at the table as might have been expected by imperial protocol but, by some terrible mistake, next to the one before which she stood!

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁


This room was red and regal in design on the walls were murals depicting ancient battles with samurai in a glorious desert setting with a blazing sun baring down. To one side of the room, where the doors opened up to the balcony that looked over the city was the empress and the table. The table had a beautiful table cloth draped over it that was decorated with flowers. The other side however had two red couches, set up around an ornate, dark wood table. Music played very gently over unseen speakers. They were not alone of course, that would be highly unorthodox. At either entrance to the room guards were posted. Trained, silent and diligent in their guarding of the Empress. One of her handmaidens stood close to the Empress ready and preparing their tea.

Zumozo was standing, just as attentive as the guards and for a few moments Momoko watched him, somewhat unsure as to why he wasn't coming and making himself comfortable. Of course it dawned on her and she moved to sit herself saying. "Please, please, come sit." smiling at him then. "There is no need to be too formal. I do hope it was told to you that this was more of a casual meeting." though it probably was not, they never communicated that kind of thing well and it was always hard to be diplomatic with people when they were dreading meeting you. She waited for him to sit and yes the seat would not be across from her but instead on the side of the small table, closest to her.

Once he had sat down she offered him another smile before looking over her shoulder and out over the view. "It was a nice day today, all things considered. I hear that our weather will in fact be quite pleasant for the next few weeks, no storms..." As she made small talk, the handmaiden poured them both some tea and bowed her head respectively to either of them as she did. When the tea was poured, Momoko turned back and brought the cup up between two hands, gently blowing into it. When she placed the cup back down she spoke once more. "Celebrations were so fevered today that I felt I did not fully get to communicate my thankfulness to you." she said, leaning a little closer and lowering her voice some. "Not only for your services but also for your kind words... A particularly taxing morning it had been and I will say to you now your words lifted the spirit of your empress and thus also your people."

With that she leaned back and offered a placid smile once more. His fears seemed unnecessary, she showed no sign of actively knowing who he 'really' was but then again why would she? She barely even knew who he was as a soldier, too sheltered to have learned and to gentle to have interest and yet she seemed to have interest in him. "So what better way to thank you then this." she suddenly added, gesturing to the table, really there were.... much better ways, though maybe her company was rare and worth enough to him.

There was another silence and in this time Momoko looked away from him and pursed her lips together, anxious and awkward. "How long have you served?" she asked him, if only for something to say, obviously meaning how long had he been a soldier.

 

[Alan23]

Taking tea with the empress was always difficult, even for those trained to it. There were so many rules and protocols. One should not, for instance, take a sip of tea, no matter how thirsty one was, until the empress had taken at least one sip. One must not speak without being spoken to, nor introduce a new subject. One must not help oneself to delicacies without being offered, make jokes (or fail to laugh at any the empress might make) or criticise the realm in any way, no matter how discreetly or subtly.
All these things were obvious, of course, even to one as lowly a soldier as Zumozo. yet, for him, there was a whole set of further rules that he had to be careful to bear in mind. To make no reference to her (also his) father, for example. To not reference the beauty of her surroundings, less it might be taken (at a later date, in retrospect, for envy, or a suggestion that he too was entitled to them.)

And, even more, the very things he was having to fight not to do now. For example, the neckline of the empress' kimono had shifted slightly, not enough that even the most observant of court flunkeys might have noticed, and in fact almost invisibly to anyone sitting opposite her - yet, from his seated position alongside, since he was so much taller, enabling him an uninterrupted view of the fine silk under-kimono, a garment that should never be revealed by any aristocrat, and certainly not the empress. Even, he could not help noticing, the swell of her milky-white breasts. It was against all good manners for him to have such an intimite view of another woman of rank, never mind the supreme ruler. And the fact that she was, he was forced to remind himself, his sister, did not (as it might have done, he felt, if he were a more decent person) disgust or embarrass him so much as excite him. Excite him to a degree, indeed, that he felt (and could even see) a massive erection forming under the black uniform dress pants.

Just what could he do, that would not only contradict protocol but also incur a charge of severe lese-majeste? One could hardly blurt out "Excuse me, Your Imperial Highness, but you seem to be inadvertently flashing your breasts." Good grief, he'd be strung up. And yet, he could hardly look away, for that would mean facing away from her, which would be regarded as an insult indeed. Nor could he shift his gaze to her neck (an even more erotic zone than the breasts in this society) nor her eyes (a definite breach of manners when dealing with one's empress) nor even her lower body, for the tight kimono was outlining her form in a way that failed to hide her shape and beauty.

"How long have I served?" he repeated, glad to have something sensible to say. "Six years, Your Imperial Highness. And I consider every day of it an honour indeed." The situation seemed to call for more, and as he had on the previous occasion he found himself speaking without really making plans as to what he was going to say. "To serve the supreme ruler of our empire is enough in itself. But that our empress is so beautiful doubles the honour and the joy."

The plucked brows of empress' handmaiden, Ling-We, shifted slightly upwards at this breach of protocol. It did, however, bring he rout of her fixed gaze, and, more or less by default, back to the body of the empress, where she noted her mistress' dishabille. She hastily covered her shock and, feeling slightly embarrassed on the empress' behalf, hastily and discreetly moved across the floor and corrected the fold of the kimono, tucking the troublesome undergarment downwards to prevent it showing, then indulged in some (needless) fussing with her mistress' hair combs, to pretend that this had been her main activity and thus sparing everyone embarrassment.

"I do not need any further thanks," Zumozo continued. "Simply to serve my empress is a far greater boon than I would ever have sought." He hoped this did not sound ungrateful. "Not that... I do not appreciate such an honour as being invited into your presence, a day I shall remember for the rest of my life."

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁


The Empress would be able to relate to him, had she known how he felt. There were just so many subtle, social practices that it was hard to keep up, hard to execute it all perfectly, as she was expected to do.

For example it was HIGHLY unorthodox for an Empress to show the swell of her breasts, the milky rise of a hill with such soft and and warm promise. However as the Empress waited for him to reply, she focused on being engaging and openly showing her interest in the polite and diplomatic way she was expected to. Complete unaware that she was ever so slightly falling out of her tight and fashionable kimono. There was a freckle upon that plush looking swell. One might imagine that to lick the skin there would taste like vanilla or some other kind of wonderful sweet treat.

Zumozo held himself well and the table, as well as himself hid the hardness he had formed, studying that swell albeit with a ninja's subtly. Of course he must 'do well' to hide it. For surely if the Empress Momoko saw such a thing, threatening the crotch of his pants she would surely squeal and have him taken away and his reputation would be destroyed... forever. So it was no surprise that he had hid this all so well that Momoko had never noticed, not even his distraction.

She did however notice how long it took him to answer and still she worried that calling him to meet with her had given him such a fright that he was too concerned to enjoy their tea. She was relieved when he answered, telling her how he had served for the past six years and that it was an honor to do so. He also made note of her beauty once more which made her bow her head in a silent acceptance and appreciation. Deep inside though she was tickled by the comment, she heard claims of her beauty so often... yet hearing it from Zumozo felt so very different. It felt not only true and honest but also comforting... like she was... meant to hear them. Such thoughts though she could barely entertain as they filled her with dread and Anxiety, like any woman she developed the odd infatuation with men she had encounters, an attraction... however not since Becoming Empress had she. And the days where she could afford to do so seemed like a far away dream now.

"Do you enjoy it?" she asked, though that was a somewhat loaded question, really Zumozo couldn't say anything other then that 'he did' She had not realized though, desperately just wanting to be engaging. Ling-We was the next to notice the Empress's Wardrobe malfunction and quickly hurried over. She moved to fix Momoko's hair to hide the quick adjustment of Momoko's Kimono. It was not quick enough however for Momoko not to notice and when she did she realized what she must of had on show. Less good at hiding her emotions her eyes widened in shock and as if she was being 'dyed' like some silk her face began to grow bright red until the blush crept down onto her newly covered chest.

Everything became a little awkward then, or at least an awkward tension radiated from the Empress. She brought her tea to her lips and took a sip, in turn allowing him to and said. "I am glad to hear that." in return to his comment about remembering this day forever. She felt compelled to thank him again but he had pointed out that he did not need thanks and so instead she moved to take a small piece from a platter of assorted slices of sweet cakes, breads and tarts and daintily beginning to eat it. When she was done she dabbed at her mouth and asked, jolting with realization and delight that she had thought of a good question. "What do you enjoy, other then your service?" She quickly tried to answer for him in her head, making up what his answers could be because she enjoyed day dreaming.

She did however pay most of her attention to awaiting his answer, her blush finally beginning to fade.

 

[Alan23]

"Enjoy? Ah... I..." of all the questions he might have rehearsed an answer to, this was not on the list. Rarely did a ruler ask such intimate questions of her subjects. He might have lied, and attempted to portray himself as someone so dedicated to her service (or that of his empire) that he had no outside interests or pleasures whatsoever. Yet this lie would not serve, he guessed. She was obviously far too intelligent to be fooled, despite her lack of experience at life. Against this, however, the truth could hardly serve either. An interest in drinking, opium, whores and geisha was hardly a thing one might discuss with the most important person in the whole empire, a descendent of the gods themselves according to some philosophies.

He temporised.

"Your Imperial Highness, I enjoy... erm... scrolls. Beautifully drawn pictures. Be they composed in the old, traditional methods in which some artists still work, or the more modern electronic method. Good poetry, too, such as that by Hiroshika or Ranika. As soon as he had mentioned the latter, he regretted it. This poet, while not exactly a pornographer - he enjoyed too much respectability among scholars for that - was nonetheless known for his obsession with the breasts of adolescent girls. Zumozo was not unaware that the empress was aware she had inadvertently revealed far more than she should thanks to her misbehaving kimono, for her blush had been obvious. If she - or one of her lurking flunkies - suspected he was mocking her small "accident"...

"Ranika Ziano, I mean," he hastily corrected, referencing the lesser known brother of the poet he had invoked. "He has far greater understanding of natural imagery than the elder." (And never dealt with female breasts, either.) His task was made more difficult by the fact that despite Ling-We's hasty correction of the kimono, it seemed determined not to stay in place. The small freckle that so drew the eye (much as he tried to look away) had not been in view immediately after the maid had fixed her mistress' neckline, yet now it was again, proof that the neckline of the garment was again creeping down.

Zumozo cursed Ling-We. Her job was to keep her mistress looking perfect, yet she was sitting there like a stunned fish, looking away. He realised, suddenly that perhaps he was being unfair, for she could hardly keep bobbing up every five seconds to adjust her mistress. To do so would only call attention to what was happening, and embarrass her even more. Even the fact that he was looking away, pretending interest in a silk scroll that, fortunately, he recognised as by Tamo, one of the greatest of the empire's living artists (and was able to discourse intelligently on it) could not prevent his hostess' embarrassment indefinitely, for he had to look at her at some point.

"And I love hoverball, too," he continued, which was a safe enough bet. The hoverball leagues were followed by everyone, from the high officials of the court down to the meanest peasant. "And swimming, and... erm, running and wrestling in the gymnasium."

He risked a quick look back at the empress, making sure not to look downwards. His heart sank, as he saw that her slipping neckline was not the only disaster. Once locked in place, the elaborate hair combs of her hairstyle should not have been touched, for the slightest displacement could loosen them. Ling-We, in order to hide what she had really been doing had been forced to fuss with them, with the result that two of them had slipped, enabling the elaborate hairstyle to become disarranged, and at least one of the combs was now right on the verge of coming loose entirely. The mortification that she would suffer if one of her combs fell into the food would be indescribable.

He tried to signal with his eyes to Ling-We, but she shrugged, subtly and helplessly. "I can't keep jumping up to fix her clothes," her futile glance seemed to say. Yet the empress could hardly fix the comb herself, even if she knew of it, for to do so would cause the sleeves of the kimono to disarrange the neckline even further when she raised her arms. And the situation there was immodest enough already.

And as he watched, the comb did indeed slip, come loose and slide along her shoulder, and down onto the table. A faux pas that would have made even a girl of the trading classes appear ridiculous, never mind the empress. Ling-We gasped in shock.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

Momoko watched him, waiting for his answer, he seemed to struggle some with what to say but she continued to assume that, that was due to some kind of nervousness. She could not help but wonder how a soldier, someone who could go out onto the battlefield, someone who could fight to keep out all and anything that threatened the city, could possibly by nervous by some tea with her. Finally he answered and Momoko smiled, delighted by his answer. She too enjoyed beautiful pictures, both old and new. Poetry as well. He offered two artists then and the First she knew of, of course. However the second was somewhat unknown to her. She could not help but wonder why.

Perhaps it was because she had only ever read the poems of Ranika that the priests and priestesses agreed were respectable enough for the eyes of the Empress. The overall 'love for young breasts' was unknown by the Empress, but known by the church and so not much of his work made it into the Empress's hands at all. He quickly added though that he was talking about Ranika Ziano and together those names conjured memory in her. She jolted and as such her Kimono shuddered a little and parted until he would see just the beginning of the crease that was her underbreast. It also made one of her combs wriggle free, just a little. "Oh yes, yes!" she said. "I know Ranika Ziano, He wrote 'Ode to the fan!'" It was nice to have something in common with him. She did not know why it felt so nice but it did.

weather it be happily or sadly, weather it be a gift to Zumozo from the gods, this sweet little bit of perversion of a woman whos true relation to him only he knew. Or a curse, a lure for him, a trap. Whatever it was as the Empress sat there, cheeks still a little red her Kimono betrayed her all the more and her comb was a deserter, threatening more with every moment to abandon her hair all together.

So Zumozo mentioned hoverball and was a fool for it because once more the Empress gasped with excitement, letting her rapt attention on him be displayed, something woman were often only meant to do with suitors, or husbands or men they desired but of course it was not always that easy to control. Momoko was an excitable woman behind closed doors, she enjoyed to talk and share things. However her excitement only caused that little flash of under breast he could see to jiggle alluringly. "Oh so do I." she said. "Hirose Ieshige Is my most appreciated player. Even though he is retired now. When I was younger, The late Emperor was awarding Hirose Ieshige for his long time in the sport... I think it was thirty years. I was so excited I begged my father to let me meet him after he was done and he allowed me to do so." she smiled at the memory. Her father had been a good man, at least for the most part. However his gentleness and willingness and love for Momoko had likely made her the weak and sheltered little thing she was.

He listed more sports and Momoko nodded along, commenting on them but letting him talk for the most part, which was likely a great stress on him, carrying the conversation whilst she looked at him with a look that seemed... close to adoration... though why? She did not know... he was just a gleaming gem of... 'coolness' too much for a young woman like her not to be drawn to. But was it more then that? Only he would know that, Momoko certainly did not.

In her story telling, Momoko had not noticed the very silent and very subtle exchange between Zumozo and Ling-We Momoko did however notice that Zumozo had become quiet once more and suddenly unwilling to let their conversation fall to waste, Momoko shifted, clearing her throat and parting her lips to say something. However she never got that far, shifting had made the comb topple from her hair and hit the table with a clack.

Instead of talking, Momoko just remained, still, mouth agape like a shocked fish. She blinked at Zumozo, a look of horror on her face. To have her comb fall out like that... right here... after having to be fixed up by Ling-We, was humiliating. For a moment the bottom rims of the Empress Momoko's eyes appeared wet, as if she might cry. Suddenly she stood up which would of given Zumozo one last grand peak at the curvature of her own young breasts. "E...Excuse me..." she breathed, bowing her head to him before she rushed off, out through the open doors and onto the balcony. Ling-We followed her and quickly moved to fix her hair as best she could. Momoko allowed it but brushed her handmaiden away then, flustered ashamed. She gripped the rails of the balcony.

Everyone in the room, Guards, Zumozo and Ling-We alike were all shocked and completely unsure what to do. In fact, if Zumozo ventured out after her, he would not even be stopped, or chaperoned, of course though if he did he and the Empress would still be very much visible to everyone in the room.

 

[Alan23]

Ling-We was hardly able to breathe, such was her panic. The empress was expected to be always, utterly perfect. It was embarrassing enough for any girl or woman to lose a comb, which served to make her look utterly ridiculous and, even, made other women laugh somewhat cruelly. For it to happen to the empress in public was unprecedented indeed. It was no wonder, she thought, that her mistress had fled from the scene of her embarrassment, and was even (for she knew her well) obviously fighting back tears. She, Ling-We, would have liked to have done something to fix the damage to the complex hairstyle, but even this was impossible, for Momoko had pushed her away, and she dared not defy her. In any case, she had left the fallen comb behind in her panic. And her mistress' humiliation was her own, for was it not her job to ensure that everything was absolutely perfect.

As for Zumozo, his heart went out to his sister. She had suffered one of the most severe mortifications that could happen to any woman, and for it to have happened in front of her retainers made it doubly worse. Though they were all keeping strict poker-faces, he knew that once in the privacy of their quarters they would laugh about it, endlessly repeating and re-enacting what had happened, that word might even get out to the public, making the empress look utterly ridiculous.

Normally, no-one of Zumozo's lowly status would have dared to do what he did next, but as he saw it, he was damned either way. A mere soldier was most definitely not allowed to touch the empress' person... yet to do nothing would be equally unpatriotic, and would make him hate himself for ever after.

Swiftly, he scrambled to his feet and snatched up the fallen comb, then walked out onto the balcony in the wake of the two women. Ling-we was flapping her arms helplessly, moaning and pleading with Momoko to allow her to help, and getting nowhere for her trouble. He heard the sharp intake of breath of various of the court officials at the unprecedented break with protocol, yet he no longer cared. If they were going to stand around like stunned carp and ignore her plight, it was his job to do something about the situation. After all, was it not his job to protect her, in any way he could. And surely that applied to threats to her emotional well-being as much as her physical person.

He walked up behind her, holding the comb, and cleared his throat.

"Your most serene and beautiful highness, I do apologise," he said, forcing himself to sound contrite, though everyone had seen it had not been his fault the comb had fallen. "That, in my ignorant clumsiness, my waving arm dislodged your comb." before anyone could react, he swiftly replaced the item, rearranging her hair as best he could. Though he did not, of course, have Ling-We's expertise, he was able to get her complicated tresses back into some kind of order, and even secure another comb that had also been about to fall out. The court officials would all know that it had not been him that knocked the comb free at all - it had fallen loose of its own accord - but it was one of those situations where if you tell a lie firmly an confidently enough, it might be believed. or, at least, everyone would present would sieze upon it as true simply because they wished to believe it.

With his body between her and the watching people, he worked quickly. Straightening the rear collar of the empress' kimono, which had shifted in her agitation, and was revealing far more of her neck than was decent. He reached around her and hoisted the front of the garment, tucking her breasts and under-kimono downwards to hide any sigh of either. This meant he could not help touching her breasts, but he reasoned that whatever happened he was in so much trouble it was too late to worry about it. The scent of her perfume, the slenderness of her body, her helplessness, these things combined to make him feel more protective... more in lust with her... than ever. By the time he stepped back, her appearance was again perfect.

He swiftly flung himself down onto both knees, unclipped the scabbard of his dress-uniform sword and laid it before her, the position of a surrendering criminal. "I await whatever punishment you deem appropriate for my extreme clumsiness, beloved and beautiful empress," he said, in a firm clear voice.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

Momoko continued to refuse Ling-We until she ceased leaving Momoko in peace but still disheveled. She did not want Ling-We's help at all, nor did she aant to be touched by her. Everything had been fine until she had come over fussing and now Momoko had been humiliated. She imagined Zumozo thought her messy and uncooth, hardly traits of an Empress or Goddess worth serving. Oh and how she wished to have impressed him, from the moment they met and until now but it was hopeless. Momoko had always been taught that first impressions must always be smooth and perfect, or else a relationship was simply doomed.

She was not openly crying but her eyes were rimmed with water that threatened her make up, forcing her to take her fan and gently fan her face, thankfully that also helped to ease the blush some. She tried to pull herself together, tried to think of something witty that she could say that would allow her to walk back into the room and play this off, as if it was nothing. Surely he would admire her cool demeanor, after all he was a soldier. Alas though she was far too neurotic to do anything like that and instead wallowed in her embarrassment.

She had not expected him to come out and when he spoke she looked over her shoulder to look at him a slightly confused look on her dacenand herr eyes widening some. This was... highly unorthodox and everyone present knew this. He appologized and... everyone was confused. Because the story he offered for everyone to hear was not at all what had happened. Everyone was aware of this, however Zumozo's story offered something for everyone to cling to and so everyone did... Even Momoko, but she knew the truth.

Then he reached for her and everyone stiffened, he put the comb back in her hair, trying to arange the inky black hair as close to how it had been. He was not as skilled as Ling-We but he did manage to make it all hold. Everyone was shocked by his boldness, even Momoko. "T...thank you..." she stammered, her voice so quiet that it was only meant for her and him. But oh no it was not over...

Zumozo moved his hands, quickly fixing her kimono. The act of doing so brought their bodies closer together. Momoko was soft and petite and sweet smelling, even in shame, being so close to hwr would be a common mans dream. He reached around her, his arms encased her like armour and instantly she felt safe and lulled. Even whilst all in the room gasped and mumbled, Momoko allowed his hands to pull up the front of her Kimono, covering her modesty one more. Of course neither Momoko or Zumozo could ignore the fact that his fingers had now brushed against more of her breast then any mans ever had. In fact as his fingers touched the milky skin, Momoko had not been able to help herself from making a small, mewling sound that... like this right here was dangerously erotic.

Once done he fell to hia knees, taking his blade and laying it before her. He told her that he awited whatever punishment that she saw fit. Momoko was quiet, seemingly in thought for a few moments before she told everyone to leave, even the guards. There was a hardness to her tone that only served to shock them all more and because of it they all quickly obeyed and left, despite how unorthodox that also was. Her tone also might of made Zumozo dread what was coming next.

It was all an act though. Once everyone had left, Momoko squatted next to him in a stiff but shapely manner forced by the Kimono design. She grabbed at his arm with both her soft, perfect hands, her voice soft once more as she said. "Get up, rise please." To him, standing up as he did. "I do not wish to punish you..." she paused then, pursing her lips together befoee adding. I am fully aware of what happened... it is so gracious of you to... take the blame. I cannot punish you for something you did not do."

With that said it quickly reoccurred to her thagt she had sent everyone out and now she and he stood alone on the balcony, the sky a dark orange in color and the breeze gently gnawing at them both. Words suddenly left her, causing her to stammer a couple of times before looking away to hide her coyness.

 

[Alan23]

"But beautiful empress," Zumozo said, quickly, and so softly that only she could hear it. "You HAVE to."

He looked into her face. She did not return his gaze, of course. Her look was downwards, submissive, as if he were the man of power, and she the helpless slave. His extensive experience with women left him in no doubt as to the reason for her frantic work with her fan. She was on the verge of crying, and embarrassed about what had happened, and a blush had flared up to betray the latter emotion. AN empress could not cry, could not blush, in public. It was just not done.

"If you don't," he continued, still in a whisper. "It's as good as an admission that your hair falling to bits... erm, the unfortunate accident... wasn't my fault. And my little lie won't carry any weight."

He tried to look as humble as possible, looking down at the ground. It didn't come easy to him, especially when the person he was with was even less confident. At once, he had come to realise something about this girl. That despite her high position, despite being (at least in theory) the most powerful person in the empire, she was, underneath it all, a young, helpless girl. Someone who needed protecting, nurturing, looking after. And, he realised too (though he tried to suppress this thought, for it was disloyal in the extreme) a girl who did not really possess the poise or experience to carry off the role. She was a physically frail, shy girl, who would have been happier in oblivion and had been forced into a role that terrified her. One day, a husband would be found and forced onto her, and then she'd spend her life as a de-facto consort, the destiny of the empire controlled by a strong man - or perhaps, even one chosen for his weakness, so that the current mix of the army, the priesthood and palace officials could continue wielding the real power. Seeing her standing there, fighting back tears, her kimono crumpled and again beginning to sag at the neckline, the look of defeat on her face made every part of him cry out to stand and embrace her, hold her in his arms, kiss away her fears and tell her everything was going to be all right.

"Or perhaps," he heard himself saying, "give me a public pardon, so that you needn't punish me, yet it still looks like my fault." After all, to do such a thing would still leave him assumed to be the guilty party, yet would make her look in control and magnanimous, an empress who could make firm decisions and retain control of a situation.

But, alas, this idea came too late. For, though he had managed to fix the part of her hair that had become disarranged, the elaborate setting that Ling-We had contrived had not really been intended to stand up to anything but her sitting demurely and moving slowly, with her head held upright. Her fast retreat out onto the balcony had wrought havoc with it, and her standing for so long with her head bowed had allowed gravity to make the situation even worse. As he watched in horrified fascination another of the combs began to slip, and then another. Suddenly, one of them crashed to the ground, making a small tinkle as if to mock her. This was followed quickly by another, and then another. A large lock of her inky black hair fell forward, over her eyes, and then another comb came away. The smallest of stifled giggles came from one of the palace flunkies, which was quickly cut off when Zomozo's hand went to his sword hilt and lingered there just for a second.

And there stood the empress, his sister, her hair now cascading down, all pretence of neatness vanished, a small pile of combs scattered at her feet.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

He insisted that she had to punish him and her expression was that of a cringe. How could she punish him when he had just called her beautiful. Not to mention how selfless he was, how selfless this whole thing was. His words were just a whisper and Momoko had to lean even closer to him. She could smell him, clean and manly and it made her suddenly feel a little dizzy... there was something so strangely familiar about it and yet something so alien and thus exotic. She watched his mouth as he whispered and told her that if she did not, he might as well of not offered any story to make up for her wardrobe malfunction. He had a point and she let out a soft little mewl of frustration. She could not bare to punish him... how would she even do that!?

Oh how weak she was. Without her entourage around her, kneeling here next to him and wearing a look of both humiliation and horror. His assumptions were likely right. Already men were being brought to her for 'consideration' and many spoke to her about what she should 'consider.' Yet she had never really felt anything she could assume was attraction, at least not until earlier today when Zumozo leaned forward and called her beautiful for the first time... what a strange and hectic day it had been.

Suddenly he went on and offered instead that maybe she publicly pardon him. That way she would need to hand down no punishment but his story and her reputation would stay in tact. It was a good idea primarily... though Momoko shuddered at the thought of having to do something like that. Leaning in to him again she wrapped both hands around his arm and quickly whispered back. "B...but that is not what I invited you here for Zumozo!" her 'Empress' facade had basically gone, she spoke to him like a desperate little girl, clutching at his arm, oh how inappropriate that was. "I did not mean any of this, I could not humiliate you like that..." she looked as if she was about to burst into tears, even her soft, plush looking lips were wobbling.

It could not possibly get worse. She had brought him here to impress him, to steal moments with someone she had felt a little flicker for. If she could not do such a thing as an empress... what was the use of it! However it appeared that she was wrong in this assumption. The moving of her rush to the balcony, her fussing with her handmaiden and her clutching at him, teamed with rapid breathing and panic made suddenly every comb in her hair begin to topple.

Every... single... one.

It was as if they were domino's and someone had began a chain. It happened so quickly she could do nothing to stop or save it. The laughs were justified because it indeed was perhaps the most funniest thing to ever happen in Kioto. One moment her hair was up and mostly in tact and then the next moment it showered down around her like a veil and she gasped so loud he might of feared her chest would burst.

She heard the laughter, saw the way he began to draw his blade to cease the noise. But it did not matter, he saw her now and she looked like a mess and he would surely go back and laugh with all the other men about what a pathetic excuse for an Empress she was. It was too much for her and she moved from her knees, plonking onto her backside and clamped her hands to her face beginning to cry. It was very unprofessional and something and Empress should not be doing at all, not around someone she had basically 'only just met' She could not help it though, the tears just came and would not stop.

Regardless of her hair though, in an utter mess now and the fact that her body shook and shivered with her sobs. She perhaps had never looked more beautiful... after all what men got to see Godesses, so low and close to themselves, tearful and disheveled, there was something almost deliciously sacrilegious about it.

 

[Alan23]

Swiftly, Ling-We allowed her glance to shoot around the assembly. Zumozo's subtle touching of his sword-hilt had prevented any outright laughter - few would dare to offend an experienced cavalryman - yet she could see that most of them were barely managing to cover their amusement. Their mistress had suffered the ultimate humiliation, looking ridiculous in front of a mere commoner. If she, Ling-We did not do something soon, her mistress' reputation would be damaged irrevocably - not to mention that she might get the blame.

Her glance went to Momoko's tearful face, back to Zumozo's. And, suddenly, she saw the problem he faced. And what she might do about it.

Swiftly she approached the empress, whispered in her ear.

"He is not allowed," she said, quickly, "to touch you without your express permission. Yet, somehow, I see a look in his eyes that longs to comfort you. If YOU approach HIM, and seek his arms, protocol would be more than satisfied."

What she was saying was not altogether true. The cavalryman was a mere commoner, however brave and loyal. Yet the sight of her mistress in tears surely called for desperate measures. It was better for the empress to spend a few minutes in the arms of a soldier than to be witnessed crying and stammering, all trace of the regal persona she needed gone.

"Order everyone here to remain silent about what has just happened," she whispered, frantically. "And make them leave the chamber, save me, for I am necessary as a chaperone. But quickly, mistress, while you still hold some small authority."

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

Everything seemed lost. Momoko had no idea what to do. She had not expected Ling-We to come over and swiftly offer her advice. Lowering her hands some Momoko looked to her handmaiden, following her hush explaination. Was it true what she said. Did Cavalryman Zumozo wish to comfort her, long for it? She supposed it might be, after all he had offered her so many kind words.

...It would be nice to embrace him.

Very nice... In fact it quickly became Momoko's every thought. She wondered how warm it would be in his arms, wondered if they would hold her tight and strong or almost cradle her like she was made of glass. Still so close to Zumozo she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. It was a moment of bad judgement, idiocy, ignorance and fool heartiness. Zumozo could do little but embrace her back, for who would openly refuse the Empress.

However this was all wrong.

That had not been what Ling-We had meant at all. She meant for Momoko to send everyone out and then embrace the soldier. This however... This would surely get tongues wagging, for she had just thrown herself at a man she had brought over for a private dinner, her small petite body mashed against his and her sweet smelling perfume wafting up into his face. Empresses could not just throw themselves at men, not like this... she might be assumed a 'whore' this was a complete disaster.

Then it got worse. Breaking the embrace, Momoko stood once more and demanded that everyone leave, guards and all, everyone but Ling-We, she had thought she had done that earlier but supposed everyone had thought the moment too 'juicy' and had decided to conveniently 'not hear' Not this time however, she made sure everyone left. But that was worse. Now Momoko had thrown herself at a man and then demanded they be alone. If she did not look like she was courting the common man already, she surely did now and rumor would spread at a sickening pace.

Perhaps the Army might be thrilled about it. After all to have a long serving soldier as high ranking as Zumozo serve as Emperor would surely give them a huge political influence.

After a show like what just happened. Momoko might of left herself and Zumozo with no real choice.

 

[Alan23]

Seeing her panic, Zumozo reacted swiftly.

"Yes, my empress," he said, in a voice so loud the various courtiers and hangers-on could not fail to hear it. "What you have just whispered is correct. It is highly necessary that you must hear what is happening to your armies in the field from one who has been present, not filtered through the well-meaning reports and propaganda that comes from the higher echelons of command. Is it any wonder your subjects are so proud of you, for grasping such a concept and acting upon it."

Again, it would not necessarily fool everyone. It would serve, however, to save face for her (and in this realm, face was everything) and at least give the various flunkeys some doubt that what they had first assumed to be happening was truth. And, amused as they had been by her looking ridiculous, they were, at base, loyal and devoted, and would seize upon any chance to stop her looking a fool.

He was not entirely unaware that her asking o be alone with him carried certain connotations... in fact, had it been left to him he would have warned Ling-We about this, and tried to dissuade her against her plan. But now, he saw, it was too late, and he could not blame the maid. She had been desperate to save face for her mistress, and had resorted to an unorthodox solution. And, anyway, he was fast becoming so attracted to his sister - possibly because of, rather than in spite of her helplessness, as might have been the case with other men - that he had no objection to her embrace.

What he should have done, he knew, was to simply stand as stiffly as possible, return her caresses with the minimum of passion, and make it obvious he was taking part simply because he had no choice. Yet the feel of her slender, trembling body pressed against him, the wetness of her tears on the chest of his uniform made this impossible. Her loose hair was draping over his shoulders, he could feel the scent of her expensive, exclusive perfume, and the clothing she wore was so thin that he could feel her body through it. Her kimono had shifted again, and now her under-kimono was also riding down, pulled down by the outer garment, giving him a view of her breasts that made his head swim. The elaborate eye make up had run, causing runnels of dark kohl down her cheeks. She was helpless, wonderful, beautiful...

He should not kiss her. To do so was both treasonous and blasphemous. yet, as soon as the three of them were alone (and Ling-we had turned away, feigning enraptured interest in a tall vase at the far end of the chamber) he did exactly that. The smallest, and slightest of kisses, the merest brush of lips, so that she could jerk her head away if she wished, and make her wishes plain, and they need not speak of it again. yet, kiss her he had...

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

She must of been a mess. She was there, crumpled against him like paper. Her Kimono had shifted and she knew it was so but with everything that had happened what was there to do. Not to mention his embrace was so intoxicating that it lulled her until she almost didn't care. His arms were strong and hard compared to her and he was warm. His clothes smelt of work and every day wear and tear and to her it was so unique and strange to be close to. Her make up had ran and smeared on her face and she feared she looked like a ghoul, but really she looked like a delicate doll in need of a clean and care.

He should not of kissed her. To the gods she swore she had not expected such a thing. However once everyone had left the room it was only he, her and Ling'We he quickly caught his lips to hers to brush her the most briefest of kisses... and her very first. As subtle as it was it was not subtle to her... for a girl always remembers her first kiss. She did not pull away, not at all. Instead her hands lifted to clutch at the slightly wet chest of his uniform. Clinging to him, a silent plea for him to remain and to kiss her more, a silent plea to teach her the things a woman longed to learn from a man... right here on the balcony. Such thoughts were a shock to her though and when she finally drew away from him her make up smudged face had turned red. She looked dumbfounded, utterly lost for word and thought. Her eyes were wide and looked up at him with all the innocence in their little world and yet her lips were plump and slightly parted like a wanton woman who had no place in the Empresses near perfect skin.

It took Ling-We to clear her throat quite loudly to stop Momoko's wide, doe eyed staring up at Cavalryman Zumozo. Catching the Empresses's attention finally she ventured closer and insisted the Empress let her fix up her hair and make up. Momoko reluctantly agreed and finally let Zumozo go. "Don't... leave." she told him before being ushered off and away.

It would take make half an hour before the Empress was returned and when she was she looked much different from before. After much fighting with Ling-We about the manner. Now the empress was mostly fresh faced, a few little, natural touches here and there to rid her of most imperfections. Her hair was once more done up however the design was much more simple and much more practical. Her Kimono was now replaced by one that was much better fitting but much less elaborate and high fashion. It was white, devoid of design and very pure and beautiful. While it did not slip and bare her like the last one. The clarity of the fabric clung to and outlined every curve she had, every time she moved and sometimes when the light hit it just right, just for a moment one would sware the silhouette of her form was given but then again maybe it was just the trick of the eye.

She walked over to Zumozo and bowed her head politely. "I cannot apologize enough for this... whole ordeal." she said. "It is growing late and you have been made to wait and..." she trailed off and shook her head. Unsure what else to say. She known... she had rehearsed whilst coming back to the room. However now standing with him once more, she simply wanted to indulge in his arms once more.

 

[Alan23]

The wait was a long one, yet not unexpected.

The moment he had broken off the kiss, it came to him to wonder what he had done. This was the empress, no mere whore in a back-alley house, or simple girl looking for a husband or lover, and who might be kissed with impunity. Simply the political ramifications of what he had done were enough to make anyone's head swim, never mind the fact that he had not merely laid hands upon the empress - an offense worthy of execution under normal circumstances - but kissed her! He loosed his sword in its sheathe, seriously expecting that the empress and Ling-We had absented themselves so that they need not witness the arrival of the palace guards who planned either to kill him where he stood or drag him off to some private place to do the deed. In which case the honor of his squadron demanded he not go down without a fight.

At first, when she returned, he was not given much encouragement to change his mind. The funeral color in Japanese culture is white, and she was wearing that precise shade. Yet, as he saw the expression upon her face, he gained the impression he was to receive a much different message. She (or, rather, Ling-We) had taken far too much care with her make-up, her hair, her appearance in general, to suggest he was in disgrace. It was more - the thought was daring, yet he could not shake it - that she almost looked as if she were prepared to receive a lover. The kimono was tight - as tight as a woman of the streets might wear it, or nearly so - and did not merely cling, but actually stuck to her, clinging as she walked, in a way she could not possibly have worn it in a public appearance. When he sneaked the smallest glance at her breasts, he saw that they were moving, as if she was breathing deeply, from excitement or nervousness, and the flush on her face conformed this.

She began to apologize for making him wait, but that her nervousness and breathlessness prevented her completing her sentence was obvious. Ling-we was forced to step into the breach quickly.

"The empress wishes you to know," she said, formally - yet with a wink - "that her hair is not normally in the habit of collapsing like that. Indeed, it has never happened before, and this was simply an unfortunate incident. And that, normally, the empress is a model of modesty, and if her kimono should have chanced to misbehave itself during your previous meeting, that this too was an unfortunate accident, and rare indeed. As you can see, her imperial highness is capable of looking perfectly well groomed, and dignified.

"And beautiful," Zumozo added - and could not help noticing that the empress blushed up again as he said this. To cover her mistress' embarrassment, Ling-We began to pull and fuss with the folds of the kimono, so that while it was still form-fitting it did not cling quite so provocatively, straightening the sash and patting at her rear to smooth the folds of the under-kimono which had rucked up as she walked, so tight was the outer garment.

"The empress wishes you to sit," Ling-We continued, indicating the low couch where they had seated themselves before.

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

Where Momoko Failed, Ling-We seemed to save grace. Momoko watched her explain it all to Zumozo and couldn't help but think that maybe the handmaiden would honestly be the better Empress. She seemed so much better at speaking then Momoko did. Ling-We spoke of Momoko being a paragon of fine fashion and dignity, despite the happenings of the day. That was not exactly the truth though Momoko was a little clumsy, a little hopeless and had a habit of getting herself in trouble like this... it was hard to avoid it as Empress but she usually did a good job. It just seemed that today was not her day.

When Ling-We finished her words Zumozo quickly continued them and added that Momoko looked beautiful and she could not help the bright smile that grew on her face. Tilting her head some to hide her blush whilst Ling-We moved to fuss about her and in turn hide her blush as well. Ling-We tugged and primped at the kimono, it was tightened considerably so nothing fell out of place. However that also made Momoko's waist a tiny little thing that any man would dream of wrapping his arms around. Ling- We told Zumozo that Momoko wished him to sit and Momoko nodded to assure him of that.

She sat down once he had. She need not treat him with such respect but she did. Some emperors and empresses did though, they respected soldiers, what they did and the honor that they carried with them. After all without a defense force, surely Kaminoyama would of fallen by now. She sat next to him on the couch but turned most of her body towards him, sitting in a sweet and delicate manner and trying not to move too much, less she put Zumozo and herself through all of that again.

Of course though she kind of was still. Her clothing was so tight and fitted that each movement showed and sliced over curves and rounds, pulling attention to her petite frame. Her underbust was so tight that her breast stood proudly, high and pert and were together enough to form an alluring cleavage with the way she sat. "Thank you for being so understanding." she said, moving her hand to rest against his leg. It was not really approved upon that she touch his thigh but she seemed uncaring at the moment. "I know I keep saying that." she added, clearing her throat and removing her hand. "I just don't really know what else to say..."

((terrible post I know, sorry! I'll pick it up next one.))

 

[Alan23]

It was something that Zomozo had suspected ever since he had first met his sister face to face, but which now he could confirm beyond any shade of doubt. That despite her advantage in rank and power, she was far more nervous than he. He knew of course that she was shy, lacked confidence, and was performing in a role beyond her experience. But this was something more. Even a young child should not have been so hesitant, so tongue-tied, as Momoko was at this moment.

And then, what he had known inside struck him, and he could no longer deny it, even if he had wished. It all made sense. Her shyness was not due to her lack of experience at court functions, or even the awe natural for one who has led a sheltered life in the presence of one who has lived life and seen warfare and blood. That she would be embarrassed about the collapse of her hair and the inadvertent revelation of her breasts was natural, but that she was demonstrating this emotion to such a high degree removed the last vestige of doubt. Her main worry was not that it had happened during an official function - but that it had happened in front of a man to whom she was attracted.

Once he had managed to accept this, everything fell into place. Her tight kimono, the care she (or rather Ling-We) had taken over her make up, her shy downwards glance, her blush - all these things were further evidence. That she had now placed her hand upon his leg removed what little ambiguity might have lingered. This might have been both amusing and flattering, save for one fact - that her helplessness and beauty were transfixing him as much as he had, it seemed, transfixed her. What he should have done was gently remove her hand from his leg and preserve the niceties. What he longed to do was take her in his arms, kiss away her fears, tell her she was his and he was hers. Yet he dared not do the latter, and could not bring himself to do the former.

"It doesn't matter what you say," he smiled. "Since your voice is so beautiful, every word you say is poetry." This was, indeed, risky, since it was the kind of compliment one might pay a lover, a social equal. He could not help notice Ling-We give a small gasp at his daring as the words echoed away. "Your highness, it is an honour to demonstrate understanding for you. And..." he felt he should make some attempt to make her feel better, "you need not be upset about your hair. One sees it happen in the street all the time. Women among the higher classes are forever having to retire and make some such adjustment. And your hair is so like silk, is it any wonder that the combs slipped?"

LIng-We bit her lip in excitement and concern. That a mere soldier should say such things to his empress... and, she realised, she still held her mistress' fan, making it impossible for Momoko to cover her face and hide her shyness. The empress was already having trouble with blushing, and things seemed to be getting worse. If her face went any redder it would be so noticeable it could not be hidden at all. The heaving of her breasts was another thing that was making her consternation obvious. She desperately hoped that none of the other officials would return, and catch her mistress in such a compromising situation!

 

[Zella]

❁Empress Momoko Aizawa❁

Momoko was struck by his words. Ling-We gasped but Momoko's reaction was not as severe, she looked at him, eyes raising and cheeks beginning to color once more, sticking out even more against the white of her Kimono. "Thank you..." she replied coyly. It encouraged her... it made her feel better about speaking to him, about speaking in general. He only went on though. He told her how she did not need to be upset about her hair. A great many high class woman had, had her hair fall in even worse occasions then what this was. He added also that it was no wonder that her combs could not contain hair that shone so bright and was so silken, such silk would slip through the combs grasp. Of course Ling-We would bite her lip. It was a bold thing to say but also a beautiful one. The comment about her hair so beautiful it seemed inspired by poets and it gave him an intelligent sheen to match his brave one.

Momoko tilted her head to the side and bit down on her own lip. "Cavalrymen Zumozo... you do me too well..." she said, modestly shaking her head. "Thank you for being understanding." Ling-We realized then that she had her mistresses fan and she had indeed left nothing to cover the color of Momoko's cheeks, scarlet. The hope of no one coming and disturbing them though was felt by both girls. Momoko did not doubt officials would have something to say about this if they discovered it.

However with his words, his constant offer of understanding. His encouragement and kindness drew Momoko in like a moth to the flame. He had already kissed her and her eyes fell to his lips once more as she waited for his reply. She was closer to him and had been getting closer to him for a little while now. The gesture was so small, so very tiny.... Momoko had not even noticed herself.

It was simply an inner desire inside of her.

 

[Alan23]

Watching from the wings, Ling-We found her head swimming as she witnessed what was unfolding. She was prey to two conflicting emotions about her mistress, those of pity and envy. Pity, since she could imagine how humiliated she might have been had she made a fool of herself in front of her lover, if it had been her hair that had misbehaved, her kimono that had disarranged itself, in front of a man she desperately wished to impress. Yet, at the very same time, envious, that such a handsome, confident, experienced man as Cavalryman Zumozo should be paying court to her mistress, however subtly. She could wish it had been her, that she and Momoko might switch positions. She even found herself twitching and smoothing at her own kimono, subtly patting her hair, for should Zumozo chance to look up at her she wished, for some reason she could not articulate even to herself, to look her best. A slight blush lit up her own features as she realised she had been doing this.

On Zumozo's part, he had, in some very real sense, reached past the point of caution. Even if he stood up now, and walked from the chamber, never looking back, he had already gone way past the point where he could emerge unscathed. He had already broken every rule of imperial protocol. There was no point in pretending any more.

He gradually shifted his body, just slightly. To anyone looking on, it was the merest movement, yet it served to bring he and Momoko closer, for he drew her towards him, and managed somehow to drape his arm around her, so that there could be no doubt of his affection. Whether or not she could have resisted this was moot, for he was extremely strong, and she was frail and weak. It came to him that he could, right now, do whatever he liked, and things could not possibly get any worse.

Therefore, he tilted his head, and tilted hers up to him, so that their lips were only an inch apart. At this point, had she turned her head, or protested, he would have broken the embrace, and left. yet, a second later, it was too late, for he had kissed her, his tongue darting into her mouth, in a way that, he was sure, one of his rank had never kissed anyone as exalted as her before.

And then, he awaited her reaction.