The war was over in Wutai. Shinra had won — and it was just Shinra now, with no pretense of a war between nations. This had been a hostile corporate takeover that just happened to take place with armies instead of board members. Wutai was now a subsidiary of Shinra, Inc.
Godo Kisaragi was sitting in the dark of a palace still nominally his, though it had been stripped of anything the military men thought would impress their company’s president. Tapestries that had seen dozens of coup attempts in hundreds of years had been rolled up and sent along to far-off Midgar. All that was left was the furniture that wasn’t worth taking: worn cushions, wobbly tables and screens with holes in their paper sides.
Godo too had been written off as not worth removing. It saddened him that his people had lost to Shinra, but it galled him that the company showed no interest in maintaining their victory, no fear that Wutai would continue to fight. Did they think they had so totally destroyed the souls of the Wutai? That no one would rebel?
And the final insult, Godo thought as he slipped through silent halls and out the doors into the city, was that Shinra seemed to be right. The formerly upstanding citizens of Wutai were bent in shame, while the insects that had kept to the shadows emerged to feed on the rotting Shinra army. The remainder of their fighting force had set themselves up in the Wutaian capital, comandeering houses and carousing at all hours, and the dishonorable souls who found hollow power in flattery and servile pandering had quickly stepped up. Godo walked through the entertainment district, noting how the professional tea women and courtesans had begun to wear their kimonos loose and forego the more complicated hair styles.
They no longer lowered their eyes respectfully when Godo walked by, though they did turn away. He could not tell if they were embarassed for themselves or for him.
Some of the houses on the street had been abandoned by owners who couldn’t stand the manners of the soldiers; Godo had heard that they were rough on women and even worse with men. Those buildings were now completely occupied by Shinra’s men. He could hear drunken shouted already, and the sun had not yet finished setting.
Only one doorway on the street was not draped in drunk men and loose women. Two lights were visible in the windows of the large, well-maintained home. Godo pulled the cord for the doorbell, and the door was opened by a young woman. Her kimono was worn in the traditional style and she lowered her eyes deferentially.
He sighed, thankful for the reminder that not all was lost. “Good evening, Seiko.”
“Good evening, my lord. Mistress thought you might come tonight. She bid me wait for you. Please allow me to guide you upstairs.”
Itamiko’s room was dimly lit by candles; she said artificial light did nothing for her art. She was seated on a low stool before a dressing table, combing her long hair. This startled him; he hadn’t seen an upper-class woman with her hair down since his wife died.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen your hair down, Miss Kyouji,” he said, stepping inside the room. He had first come to her on the recommendation of a friend not long after his marriage, and she preferred to skip the roleplay with those regular visitors who seemed content with her company.
“I would not have allowed you to,” she answered without turning from her looking-glass. As familiar as they were, he would not have accepted such carelessness a month ago. He didn’t know how to respond.
He thought it best to change the subject instead, beginning “I’ve heard you are leaving the city.”
Itamiko stood, then, and faced him. He studied her face, noticing thin lines that had never been there before. It occurred to him slowly that she wasn’t wearing the traditional make-up, either. Godo started to say something more, but she shook her head slowly.
“We have no need for small talk, Lord Godo,” she laid her hand on the knot of his belt. “Do you have a gift for me this evening?”
Godo sighed, having known this moment would come and dreading it just the same. “No, Miss Kyouji. I came not for your services this evening, but to wish you well, if the tales I heard were true.”
She looked at him with something strange in her eyes. Pity, perhaps? Godo wasn’t sure.
“It would seem the tales I have heard are true as well,” Itamiko answered sadly. “Yes, Lord Godo, I am travelling south tomorrow. You are my last remaining customer, and I cannot expect you alone to support me.” He heard clearly what she was leaving unsaid: he could not afford to keep a courtesan and she knew it. Likely all of the city knew it by now; Shinra had no interest in keeping it secret.
“I should take my leave,” Godo began, but Itamiko’s hand was unknotting his belt with practiced precision and she pressed her body against his.
“Allow me to give my lord a farewell gift of my own,” she whispered, guiding him to her futon. As he knelt, she untied her own belt and slipped out of her robes, the delicate silk crumpling to the floor.
Though Godo had known Itamiko for many years and had been the subject of many aspects of her art, her touch on this night carried a new passion. There was urgency in her fingers and yet she moved slowly over his skin, teasing every nerve to exquisite pleasure. She used many techniques Godo remembered and some he had not seen in over a decade, her hands as sure on his flesh as those of a sacred drummer.
He was nearly, nearly able to forget himself in that pleasure, but every movement also reminded him that he had not paid her. He did not want to be a charity case.
When she finally carried him too far to think, when he let himself go, there was a blissful moment free of thought. When he returned to himself, flat on the futon next to Itamiko’s warm body, he thought idly of the monks who claimed such things were on the path to nirvana. Then the weight of his situation came back to him and his skin burned in shame.
Surely there was something, anything, he could offer.
“If,” he began, breaking the window of silence to find the air even harder to breathe on the outside. “Miss Kyouji, if you were to stay, I could take you to the palace.” There was a sharp inake of breath and he knew he had said the wrong thing.
Itamiko sat up and turned away, looking out the window. “You don’t mean that, Lord Godo. Surely you would not be so insulting as to say that I am only fit to marry you now what you are powerless and deserted by the ancestors.” Godo was quiet for several minutes, considering his words. The stars moved slowly across the sky outside, and in the streets, the shouting of drunken foreigners had begun in earnest.
Finally, he forced himself to smile. “Of course I would not mean such an insult, my dearly esteemed Miss Kyouji. I merely wished to express my fondness for you and my thanks for your company. I wish you well in your journey south, and I apologize if I expressed my regret at your future absence in a manner that troubled you.” The courtly phrases spilled easily from his tongue, thoughtless and empty, while he smouldered with embarassment.
The courtesan’s face softened, but Godo was no longer sure if it was genuine or just another pleasantry for a customer. He’d not wondered that about her for years, and it saddened him that her friendship was gone before she was — or perhaps that he had overestimated loyalty all along.
“Seiko will see you out, my esteemed Lord Godo. May the ancestors keep you.” The traditional farewell bit into Godo’s pride harder than it should. He doubted that Itamiko would be implying anything by the words; most likely, they were simply an empty formality.
Godo hesitated in front of the door, breathing deeply, but moved on without saying anything.
The handmaiden bowed her head to him as he shut the door behind him and was about to speak when a soft sob echoed through the empty house. The older man and the young woman both looked reflexively at the door, and Godo started to push the panel aside.
A hand came down on top of his, surprisingly firm and forceful. Godo stopped in surprise and looked up at Seiko.
“No, my lord,” she said quietly. “Please allow me the honor of seeing you out.” It was impudent. A month ago, Godo would not have stood for it.
He followed her quietly down the stairs and into the street. The door slid shut behind him without another word from the handmaiden.
Alone, Godo began to walk back toward the palace.
