Brewing Storm

Dinner was a quiet affair. There were no guests to speak of this time. Just the four remaining participants. This being a small affair, did not discount the grandeur of it all, however. They were still seated in the audience hall. Tweaked to specification, yes, but an audience hall all the same.

Jenn looked up.

Kakemono scrolls hung from the vaulted ceilings, painted with hydrangeas, depictions of war, and calligraphy.

The long banquet tables and chairs were gone, too. In their place were small pillows, upon which you sat at a low height, to a low table. The greatest constant, it seemed, was the hall itself, still the same, time-old stone. And the lights, still the same, Kingly blue, even if in paper lanterns now.

They all huddled together, spaced at an arm's length away.

With his metal chopsticks, Mo Xixi lifted a piece of lean, red meat. When he put it in his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed into delight.

“Delicious,” he said, from across the table. “I had not thought your kind possessed such flavour, Filly.”

The horseman exhaled through his great nostrils. He took to the chopsticks with surprising grace, and ate a piece of the horse sashimi. “I’ve eaten some queer things in my lifetime.”

“But not your own, I assume?” Mo Xixi scooped up two pieces at once and began to chew.

“Ain’t nothin’ cannibalistic ‘bout this.”

“You are Filly the Foal, are you not?”

“Sure. But only ‘cause Filly the Horse-man don’t ring as nice.”

He ate the sashimi with relative casualness. If it did not suit his tastes, Filly made no suggestion of it.

“You seem pretty comfortable, Jenn.” Numarei enjoyed herself a cup of peppermint tea.

“I might be trailer park trash, but I can match the aesthetics of what’s around.” Jenn finished the last of her sashimi. “I used to have business trips to your country, you know. Tokyo. Kyoto. Fukuoka. I’ve been around.

Jenn was seated in a traditional seiza position. With her knees on the floor and her back straight. At present, only she and Mo Xixi were seated as such, with Numarei and Filly in their own, more casual positions.

“You travel a lot, huh?” Numarei said. “What’d you do?”

Jenn chuckled. “Sorry, but that’s my little secret. Having an air of mystery around me makes me that much cooler, you know?”

Numarei smiled. “I’m assuming you know what the term ‘chūnibyō’ means, right?”

“‘Course. I’m a weeb, too, you know?” She set down her ceramic cup. “But if you ask me, delusions aren’t all that bad. The only difference between a delusion and a premonition is whether they come true or not.”

“That’s exactly what a chūnibyō would say.”

“Obviously. Only a deranged, chūnibyō like myself could spout such enlightened wisdom. Remember this: The best philosophers come from the worst of places. Diogenes, a barrel. Me, a shitty RV. Next time you see a rundown shit-hole, walk inside and ask for some wisdom.”

“Well, this place is pretty fancy, but since you’re such a great philosopher… Here’s my question. What’s the point of all this, Jenn?”

“Didn’t I already tell you?”

“You wanted to clean the ugly, right?” Numarei raised her hand and mimed spraying disinfectant.

“Are you dumb?” Jenn said, jokingly. “Do you think you’re ugly?”

“No. I think I’m at least above average.”

“Then why do you think I fought you?”

“For the token to get into the tournament?”

Jenn looked half-confused and interested. Did Numarei really not know the answer? Or was she trying to confirm a present suspicion?

Looking at her, Jenn spoke up. “You have an aesthetic soul, Numa. You, Filly, Mo Xixi, everyone. I haven’t been disappointed, and I doubt I will be anytime soon.”

“But if you fight someone that’s already aesthetic, you’re not ridding anything that’s not, right?”

She took in these words with a deep inhale. “Yeah,” Jenn replied. “In that case, we’re just two aesthetic players in their natural habitat. Like those birds, doing their little dances for attention—hoping to see who can court the great mate of victory, you know?”

“That’s a pretty answer.”

“And you, Numa?”

“Oh, me? I just like beating people up.”

Jenn laughed. “Well, don’t we all?”

There was a great deal of joy that came from those two. Being close, and having bonded through their shared violence had made them something next to good friends.

But for all that, it was curious to see that it did not apply to the others present. Filly and Mo Xixi drank in silence. And one had a right to that, of course. Spending so much time with another, going through hardships, really only did one thing.

And that was, strengthening what already was.

The Lord Regent’s two attendants walked in and took the empty trays of those present. They returned a short while later, in their usual politeness, setting, and uncovering lidded, wooden trays.

“Now we have our simmered dish. Also known as takiwase. Here you have Indarian artichoke simmered in a pseudo-dashi stock, alongside purple carrots, parsnips, and fennel. Please enjoy. This dish was designed by the late Mafuhime herself.”

They proceeded swiftly out of the room, offering their usual by the door bows.

Jenn and Numarei were quick to start, digging in with great mouthfuls. They did not comment on the storm that was brewing. The measured looks between the two other Participants, assessing their would-be opponents.

Filly’s hard and measured gaze. Big, black horizontal pupils, scanning a big, tall target.

Mo Xixi’s soft and laid-back stare. Narrowed slits in playful contemplation.

Slowly, Mo Xixi raised a finger, pointing towards his would-be opponent. “Bang,” he said, grin widening with challenge and mirth. “Bang.”

The curtain was set on their decisive battle.