[3rd] Week 332: A Porcelain Meeting

[Rob]

A Porcelain Meeting
1105 words
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“Ojou-sama,” the elderly voice of a man who wasn’t a stranger to serving others called out to the visage before him. In his hands he held a plate with the tea she had requested, but despite having returned, the young brunette didn’t seem to respond to the man. Perhaps this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. After all, he’d only been appointed as the girl’s personal butler for the better half of a month now.

When Yoshishige Izanagi had come to him, asking him to become Amaterasu’s butler, he was perplexed. Surely there were better, more skillful people out there to take the job for him, but Izanagi had been adamant about it having to be him. He was honoured that Izanagi had thought of him, after all these years, and so, with slight reluctance, he had accepted the position.

As the weight of the tray resting on his palms began to feel exponentially heavier with each passing minute, Arihyoshi Isao remained standing with his feet firmly planted on the floor. What was it that Izanagi had seen in him? They’ve known each other for a very long time now, but did the old man really think he had some kind of power over his rebellious daughter?

If anything, the opposite might’ve held more truth to it.

“Ojou-sama,” Isao called out again, this time he took in the girl’s being in its entirety as his gentle voice carried through the study. Her hair was a beautiful light-brown, carrying itself all the way to the middle of her back. It had been finally groomed, or was it simply straightened out? Either way, such perfection was not something you could have naturally... or could you?

Though he couldn’t see her face, he could tell that it too would bring an involuntary smile on his face. He’d often seen her when she was younger, but that was back then. She’d changed so much, but he could still see what he saw way back when. A confident, no-nonsense kind of girl, set in her own ways, and with her own thoughts on tradition.

“I’ll leave your tea here, ojou-sama,” he finally finished, setting the tray down on a table next to Amaterasu. “Please make sure to finish it before it gets cold.”

In the single, silent instance, Isao could feel the girl’s eyes set upon him. A gaze not unlike her father’s when he was in meditation. He remembered the gaze well, and the feeling of absolute inferiority it carried with it. He wasn’t usually one to feel like he didn’t belong in this world, but it was at moments like these, caught by a stare so sharp that only God himself should’ve been allowed to carry it with him, that Isao wondered if the price was really right after all.

Then, something happened that was perhaps even more unsettling than the young lady’s death stare, she smiled back at him and everything about her cold gaze had melted into a soft, warm glow. “Thank you, Arihyoshi-san,” she said in a voice so fundamentally different from her father’s harsh tone, that for a split second Isao wasn’t sure if he was really speaking to someone from the Yoshishige household.

“You sound like your mother,” he suddenly replied without realizing it himself, and with a melancholic smile on his face. Coming to his senses, he clasped a single hand in front of his mouth and bowed down just about as deep as anyone could bow down without having to get down on their knees.

“I am sorry,” he said with regret in his voice, “I have said too much, please forgive my rudeness, ojou-sama.”

Though he was very careful about not meeting the young lady’s eyes, he did catch a short glimpse of Amaterasu’s darkened expression, once more reinforcing the fact that she was indeed Izanagi’s daughter. As he remained with his face cast downward, he waited on some kind of punishment or reprimand, but found nothing coming his way.

“Come,” the brown-haired, almost porcelain-like skinned girl respond with a slightly softer tone of voice than she previously adapted. “Raise your head, Arihyoshi-san, it’s quite alright.”

Something about the way her eyes seemed frighteningly distant from her words, made Isao wonder if it really was, as she put it, quite alright. Raising his head, then bowing down one final time, he locked eyes with Amaterasu once more and then started to make his retreat. He had already overstayed his welcome, his duties were simple yet of the utmost importance.

“Arihyoshi-san,” Amaterasu called out as she turned away from the man again. “We aren’t leaving yet are we? You have yet to pour me my tea.”

He remained there, nailed to the ground, for a few seconds with eyes widened. A small, almost non-existent chuckle came forth from his mouth as he walked back over to where Amaterasu was seated and did as she had asked of him. He really, really couldn’t fathom this girl. Her actions were so unlike her father’s, but perhaps that was exactly why Izanagi had asked him to do this.

“Here you are,” he said, finishing off the woman’s cup of tea. A warm, soothing aroma spread forth from the cup just about as soon as Isao had finished pouring it. The cup had a surprisingly young, and ornamental look to it. What was more was that it almost felt like it had been hand-crafted recently, by someone with extraordinary skill no less.

“Thank you,” Amaterasu responded, taking the cup from the man’s hands.

Feeling that he’d entered some sort of conversational bubble with the young lady, he pushed his luck slightly further and said, “This set must’ve cost quite the good fortune, ojou-sama.”

“To the ignorant masses, perhaps,” Amaterasu responded in a rather dry, and condescending manner. “But I’m glad that you like my work, Arihyoshi-san.”

“Ojou-sama?” Isao asked, his curiosity piqued. “Surely you don’t presume to say that you made these?”

“And what if I did, Arihyoshi Isao?” For the first time since he had entered the room, and for the first time since his appointment, Amaterasu turned her chair around and faced the man fully. Her stark-blue eyes, her smooth, porcelain-like face all turned towards him. With it, the young brunette carried a somewhat devious and self-absorbed smile with it - as if she were looking down on him, like a Queen looking down on her subjects. Suddenly he felt an incredibly srong urge to kneel down, but he managed to resist the temptation.

“I...” And for the first time in his entire life, Arihyoshi Isao was at a loss for words.