Oh he does? [Charlie only vaguely recognizes the name 'Buddha:' a religious figure. His own relationship with religion is a distant memory. Standing on the steps of the neighborhood church, he threw tiny stones at other kids while the rest of his family sat for the sermon.
He wouldn't shut up, so he had to wait outside.] Not much of a businessman, is he? I'm gonna take advantage of that- [A promise, purred as well as his sharp voice can manage. A seduction.
He looks up, then tilts his head towards his bed. As if she'd be somehow in it.]
[If she were not decidedly in the canid family, the sound she makes could be described as a purr.]
To think, I devote part of myself so freely to a man who would swindle the Buddha himself…
[She doesn’t sound too upset about it. The sigh is almost a far lewder sound.]
Are you settled in for your story, dear sir?
Because we begin some five hundred years past, at the end of the Onin War, when blood fought blood and burned much of the great capital of Kyoto in crude flames that know only how to consume and not how to differentiate the property of friend or foe.
In this decade of struggle over the succession of the Ashikaga shogunate, a samurai warrior named Umezu no Kamon Kageharu loses his life. Fearing for theirs without their only protector, his wife and two young daughters flee into the flame-lit night…
But what do you think found them, all alone in the dark of the rocky pass through Mt. Nyoigatake?
[If swindling a religious figure is criminal, so too is the way Kiritsubo coos when she speaks of him - as if she'd seduce him herself. Charlie doesn't need to know any of the intricacies of this faith to understand that they're both being playfully sacrilegious.
He looks from the bed to his shoes, smile resting contentedly across his lips. One, then two, he kicks them off. Settled in, indeed.
Although each story beat itself is simple, the words Kiritsubo weaves flow smoothly. An art Charlie can't properly appreciate, the kind that disappears behind the intrigue it creates. He has a narrow scope of interest, foreign names should be nothing but wisps in his ear.
But he answers her question immediately.] Nothin' good. They're gonna freeze. Unless the Buddha comes to save them, eh? [Seems he remembers the very basic framework of Christianity from his rock slinging days, at least.]
[It would be entirely fair to wonder… why is she bothering to put that much detail into this story? They know they aren’t from the same world or time… it’s not like she could expect him to be familiar with her lands or customs or language. And yet…
Was this simply how the tale was told, or was she far more intimately familiar with a five hundred year old “legend” than one might guess?]
No, no, let’s not be hasty.
[She laughs just a little, as if this was a laughing matter.]
What awaited them in the rocks was not the welcome warmth of the temple they were fleeing towards, nor the cold embrace of freezing winds…
It was ruffians, bandits on the trail who had once been men of honor on the battlefield. Perhaps they even served with the widow’s late husband, once…
But honor was no longer a pillar in their hearts, and the paltry gold on her person was not enough to pay their self-imposed crossing tax… or convince them not to help themselves to what else she possessed instead.
She ran… But she did not get far.
[It’s obfuscated, because this sort of tale often dressed such things up… But Kiritsubo doesn’t think Charlie needs clarification on what happens to women set upon by “wolves” in the night.]
Which leaves us, of course, with her two little girls. Beauties, it is said… enough so that even brutes covered in their mother’s blood could be convinced not to lay hands so that they might be filled with more coin instead.
[The man she spoke to had made a point to tell her he did not usually peddle in flesh…
[As Kiritsubo's voice continues to purr in his ear, Charlie lets his head lull back. The tacky disco ball he's hung in his room spins slowly, how little it does to liven up the space always an amusing little joke to him. His smile shifts, toying on his lips before he shuts his eyes.
This is a terrible bedtime story.
Charlie does not peddle flesh, but he has partaken. Once. It wasn't a particularly terrible exchange; he'd simply been more interested in kissing and talking than the woman getting on her knees to show a much younger man a 'good first time.'
A gift for him offered by older men in his syndicate.
Charlie is well aware of what happens when men have a monopoly on violence. He considers this part of the story silently, not for any remorse but acceptance. This is how the world has always worked. Five hundred years ago or now.]
So they grew up and got sold around. One of 'em get tired of it make a bloody scene? [This is the story of The Hell Courtesan,' after all...]
[Thank goodness she isn’t trying to send him to slumber. A good bedtime story this is not.]
As fun as that would make the tale in an entirely different way… No, our darling courtesan took the name of her own volition.
The childhood name her mother gave her was Otoboshi. “The witty little star”.
[Thankfully, she had introduced him to the concept already of characters in names meaning something, with her paulownia.]
And perhaps that wit saved her. The bandits passed the girls to a woman who specialized in selling young flesh to the nation’s brothels, and though the elder sister was lost to the trade and eventually met a fate most unremarkable for a prostitute, Otoboshi was sold to a fine institution of high repute in the pleasure district of Sakai, a flourishing port town. From a young age she was taught the ways of service and temptation, and, having proven herself a good study and a potential beauty, she was taught fine arts and literature, fashion and poetry, and all manner of skills that might delight a discerning man. After her maidenhood was auctioned she climbed the ranks of the district in popularity, and soon enough she became a top-class courtesan who sailors, merchants, and samurai all competed to buy for the night.
And yet… What a pitiable fate! What joy or satisfaction could be gleaned from clawing to the top if what you climb is a pile of rubbish and greed and clumsy lust? Otoboshi cursed the turn in fortune that had turned her from the proud daughter of an honorable warrior to a glittering jewel that could be bought each night, and she abandoned her name to instead be called Hell, so that each man who asked for her time or cried out her name would be reminded of what awaited him for his sins, and she devoted herself in her own time to praying that the sins of her past life that must have earned her rebirth into her current misfortune would somehow be cleansed. That she might die and earn safe passage to the Pure Land.
[There’s a pause, finally, a thoughtful hum, and then-]
Now, around this time… there was a very curious monk named Ikkyu who happened to frequent Sakai.
[Names with meanings are a charming concept. Whether they describe a person or define them in contrast, Charlie is growing to appreciate the added dimension of a first impression. A witty little star... that's a cute name, and he supposes a prostitute would need wits in spades to inspire the legend now being crooned into his ear.
There's a particular focus on good company that the courtesan Kiritsubo describes has. A more overt desire for companionship - there's nothing to love about this story, but Charlie's smile softens with the realization. In his city, men will pay women for their time without fucking them, but such an act is kept secret in shame.
And shame, too, is more overt in this tale. Charlie rolls his head against the back of his seat from side to side slowly, chuckling at the clever twist of the woman's name. There's little real power to be had in her position, but she wrested control where she could with the grimmest of humor.]
Aah...? Monks? Like priests? [To answer: he knows almost nothing about monks. Charlie's eyebrows raise, eyes still lidded, as he strains to remember if he's ever met a monk.]
Mmm, yes, close enough. In many ways, they are much like priests.
[At least, some of them. She's met so many over the centuries. Tempted several into breaking their vows, too.]
The preach the word of... well, not "God", but their Buddhas and bodhisattvas. They immerse themselves in study of their sacred texts. They ought strive ever to serve as shining examples to their community. They seek to humble themselves and live in devotion to pursuit of Enlightenment.
Which, naturally [she says it like "somehow"] means no meat, no garlic, no liquor, and no fucking.
[Her rich, earthy chuckle fills the line.]
And yet this particular fellow, Ikkyu... He spat in the face of monastic tradition. When his master passed him the certification of his Enlightenment, he ripped it up and left his temple. When other holy men sat in their esteemed studies, he mocked them with the poem:
Stilted koans and convoluted answers are all monks have, Pandering endlessly to officials and rich patrons. Good friends of the dharma, so proud, let me tell you: A brothel girl in gold brocade is worth more than any of you.
And my, did he know his brothel girls. From the Shimabara pleasure district in the capital to Sakai by the ports, Ikkyu indulged himself whenever his passions took him. He even put his lecherous activities into his poetry... and I admit, I was quite fond of some of them. Which was my favorite... If I must pick one--
A woman is Enlightenment. When you are with her, And the red thread of your combined passions Flares inside... then, you shall see!
You can imagine he was somewhat infamous. So when a man claiming to be Ikkyu showed up at the Hell Courtesan's brothel asking for an evening with her, the attendants were shocked to see a shabby excuse for a man looking as if he did not have two coins to rub together, let alone the amount to pay for a prostitute of her rank. They called him a liar and were going to beat him if he did not remove himself from the doorstep, but our dear courtesan was intrigued.
She invited him in to her parlor, and sent for the sort of food a monk ought to prefer... the sort which required no killing of anything living to create it. But he asked instead for fish soup and alcohol. Surely, she thought, this man truly is a charlatan and not a true monk! To put in front of him another test of virtue, she summoned her young and beautiful attendants to dance and entertain him, and watched as he grew increasingly drunk and joined the girls prancing about the room. Disappointed, the Hell Courtesan excused herself, but after she closed the paper screens and went to depart...
She saw something uncanny casting shadows upon screens. Confused, she opened them once more, just the smallest bit to peer inside... and can you imagine what it is she saw within... ?
[She is terribly good at it- the pause, heavy and thrumming with excitement before Charlie will feel almost as if she has leaned in to whisper directly in his ear, her breath tickling over the shell.]
Skeletons.
... And Ikkyu, drunk off his ass and dancing amongst the skeletons of the young woman as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
[Charlie's silence is a testament to Kiritsubo's story-telling prowess. He thinks garlic is an odd thing to consider a vice, but the question stays silent. He supposes his whole entire city-block growing up was damned to a life of ignorance, with how much garlic featured in their cuisine. Perhaps his mind would have wandered more, but... once again, she weaves her tale expertly.
Of course she likes that poem. It's just about coming inside a woman and feeling some kind of clarity in the afterglow, right? A complete taboo to write prose about, in Charlie's experience; he'd say he enjoys it too. As always, they align in deviancy.
He follows the brothel scene with eyes still shut. There's no framework for a Japanese establishment, so he imagines the rich, dark wood and dim lighting of his own experience.
Anticipation builds, and his mind supplies all kinds of thrilling possibilities. A threesome with an audience. Her sister making a surprise appearance. The man a charlatan but not in the way she thought - a woman in disguise!
Skeletons are a let down.
His eyes open, narrowing in a glare at his dull ceiling. The story still grips him, his personal displeasure with necromancy a fleeting annoyance.] So, what, did he kill them or...?
[Without「seeing」him it could be said that Kiritsubo might not know Truth… but though she possessed those eyes, she also possessed keen ears and centuries of experience. Even if she cannot know the cause, she can sense the faint hints… and they make her laugh, husky and soft.]
Now, now, do not be so disappointed, my friend…
[That would be too much all at once. Not nearly as good of a twist.]
When the Hell Courtesan reopened the doors properly and swept back in to the room… all was as it should be. Had it been a trick of the light? Had she gone mad? She tormented herself through the rest of the banquet trying to discover the truth of what she had seen until it became so late in the night she dismissed the dancing girls and was prepared to dismiss Ikkyu as well…
Until he suddenly, drunkenly, threw up a living fish into her garden water basin. The exact species of fish his soup had been made of.
Realizing that the monk truly was possessed of some sort of divine power or knowledge, she begged him to teach her what she must do to free her soul from her unfortunate fate. In turn, he taught her of the 136 hells, of their causes and costs, and of the fickle, ephemeral nature of human existence.
After all… even the most gorgeous of women is nothing, in the end, but a skeleton wrapped in a bag of flesh. And once you truly「see」that… you can no longer be deceived.
[She pauses there, as if it was supposed to, and yet could not, answer the question of what Jigoku had seen through the screens. Had Ikkyu magicked the girls to appear that way to shock her? Had she truly had a revelation about a truth of the world?
Who knew… ?]
Moved by his preaching, the Hell Courtesan announced that she would abandon her womanhood and take the tonsure, that she would become a nun and devote herself to striving for Enlightenment… but Ikkyu bid her not to. “There is far more worth”, he said, “in the job that you do in this brothel than in the hypocritical halls of the self-righteous and religious. There is another path to Enlightenment for you, if you only seek it.”
And that is what the Hell Courtesan did. Every day she meditated between time spent with her clients beneath the sheets, until Ikkyu acknowledged her perfected wisdom. From that point on, without shame and without regret, all too aware the lot of us were but bones and flesh seeking comforting warmth before inevitable death, the Hell Courtesan worked her years contentedly in the pleasure district. She counseled other young women, she satisfied her customers, she gave generous alms from her earnings…
And… she embroidered dancing skeletons upon the heavy hell robe she wore every night to welcome her lovers.
So she's a... [Whore. His experience supplies, but Charlie likes to maintain the integrity of a scene.] courtesan and a monk now? [His tongue toys with the cool flesh of his cheek - the story is both fantastical and not.
Partially because he lives in a world where any of the folkloric scenes could well be possible, but more saliently-
A human seeking out something more. Whether or not she actually transformed, the innate fascination with power dangled so capriciously near is a feeling Charlie understands. He'd done the same, though in a far less poetic way.
Her ascent interests him more than the shame she casts onto her lovers or the relationship between body and bone and soul she wears on her garb. Surely, because a woman's reality is foreign to him. All Charlie thinks of are people and what they'll do for power.
He'd died, and she'd... meditated!
His lips part audibly before he supplies another thought.] That guy's right, though. Better to spend time with people living in the world, not of above it. [The higher in the rungs of society - political, religious, criminal - the more ass kissing and scarcity Charlie performs. Nothing good comes from being the first guy on a kingpin's mind.]
[A courtesan and a nun, technically... But she doesn't feel like being pedantic on that front.]
Oh, he was very right.
[She agrees immediately, her tone light and accompanied by a chuckle that rolls... because she is rolling in her sheets, luxuriating in her amusement and getting more comfortable in her "borrowed" suite.]
There is a bit more to the story, of course... a bit of an epilogue about how Ikkyu is summoned to her deathbed years later when she is wasting away of illness. A strange little afternote of how Ikkyu's disciple turns out to the Hell Courtesan's long-lost elder brother, how after she dies they expose her body to the elements until only bones are left and each piece of her skeleton remains intact as proof of her piety and pure faith... But those aren't nearly as interesting.
[Kicking her feet slowly as she murmurs her words into the phone, Kiritsubo nestles into the sheets with a rumble.]
Now, my curious little friend... You are probably the only one at that party who will truly know what the Hell Courtesan is ♡
[Which is not the same as knowing what she is... But it's a morsel.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He wouldn't shut up, so he had to wait outside.] Not much of a businessman, is he? I'm gonna take advantage of that- [A promise, purred as well as his sharp voice can manage. A seduction.
He looks up, then tilts his head towards his bed. As if she'd be somehow in it.]
no subject
[If she were not decidedly in the canid family, the sound she makes could be described as a purr.]
To think, I devote part of myself so freely to a man who would swindle the Buddha himself…
[She doesn’t sound too upset about it. The sigh is almost a far lewder sound.]
Are you settled in for your story, dear sir?
Because we begin some five hundred years past, at the end of the Onin War, when blood fought blood and burned much of the great capital of Kyoto in crude flames that know only how to consume and not how to differentiate the property of friend or foe.
In this decade of struggle over the succession of the Ashikaga shogunate, a samurai warrior named Umezu no Kamon Kageharu loses his life. Fearing for theirs without their only protector, his wife and two young daughters flee into the flame-lit night…
But what do you think found them, all alone in the dark of the rocky pass through Mt. Nyoigatake?
no subject
He looks from the bed to his shoes, smile resting contentedly across his lips. One, then two, he kicks them off. Settled in, indeed.
Although each story beat itself is simple, the words Kiritsubo weaves flow smoothly. An art Charlie can't properly appreciate, the kind that disappears behind the intrigue it creates. He has a narrow scope of interest, foreign names should be nothing but wisps in his ear.
But he answers her question immediately.] Nothin' good. They're gonna freeze. Unless the Buddha comes to save them, eh? [Seems he remembers the very basic framework of Christianity from his rock slinging days, at least.]
no subject
Was this simply how the tale was told, or was she far more intimately familiar with a five hundred year old “legend” than one might guess?]
No, no, let’s not be hasty.
[She laughs just a little, as if this was a laughing matter.]
What awaited them in the rocks was not the welcome warmth of the temple they were fleeing towards, nor the cold embrace of freezing winds…
It was ruffians, bandits on the trail who had once been men of honor on the battlefield. Perhaps they even served with the widow’s late husband, once…
But honor was no longer a pillar in their hearts, and the paltry gold on her person was not enough to pay their self-imposed crossing tax… or convince them not to help themselves to what else she possessed instead.
She ran… But she did not get far.
[It’s obfuscated, because this sort of tale often dressed such things up… But Kiritsubo doesn’t think Charlie needs clarification on what happens to women set upon by “wolves” in the night.]
Which leaves us, of course, with her two little girls. Beauties, it is said… enough so that even brutes covered in their mother’s blood could be convinced not to lay hands so that they might be filled with more coin instead.
[The man she spoke to had made a point to tell her he did not usually peddle in flesh…
But others were not so scrupulous.]
no subject
This is a terrible bedtime story.
Charlie does not peddle flesh, but he has partaken. Once. It wasn't a particularly terrible exchange; he'd simply been more interested in kissing and talking than the woman getting on her knees to show a much younger man a 'good first time.'
A gift for him offered by older men in his syndicate.
Charlie is well aware of what happens when men have a monopoly on violence. He considers this part of the story silently, not for any remorse but acceptance. This is how the world has always worked. Five hundred years ago or now.]
So they grew up and got sold around. One of 'em get tired of it make a bloody scene? [This is the story of The Hell Courtesan,' after all...]
no subject
[Thank goodness she isn’t trying to send him to slumber. A good bedtime story this is not.]
As fun as that would make the tale in an entirely different way… No, our darling courtesan took the name of her own volition.
The childhood name her mother gave her was Otoboshi. “The witty little star”.
[Thankfully, she had introduced him to the concept already of characters in names meaning something, with her paulownia.]
And perhaps that wit saved her. The bandits passed the girls to a woman who specialized in selling young flesh to the nation’s brothels, and though the elder sister was lost to the trade and eventually met a fate most unremarkable for a prostitute, Otoboshi was sold to a fine institution of high repute in the pleasure district of Sakai, a flourishing port town. From a young age she was taught the ways of service and temptation, and, having proven herself a good study and a potential beauty, she was taught fine arts and literature, fashion and poetry, and all manner of skills that might delight a discerning man. After her maidenhood was auctioned she climbed the ranks of the district in popularity, and soon enough she became a top-class courtesan who sailors, merchants, and samurai all competed to buy for the night.
And yet… What a pitiable fate! What joy or satisfaction could be gleaned from clawing to the top if what you climb is a pile of rubbish and greed and clumsy lust? Otoboshi cursed the turn in fortune that had turned her from the proud daughter of an honorable warrior to a glittering jewel that could be bought each night, and she abandoned her name to instead be called Hell, so that each man who asked for her time or cried out her name would be reminded of what awaited him for his sins, and she devoted herself in her own time to praying that the sins of her past life that must have earned her rebirth into her current misfortune would somehow be cleansed. That she might die and earn safe passage to the Pure Land.
[There’s a pause, finally, a thoughtful hum, and then-]
Now, around this time… there was a very curious monk named Ikkyu who happened to frequent Sakai.
What do you know about monks… ?
no subject
There's a particular focus on good company that the courtesan Kiritsubo describes has. A more overt desire for companionship - there's nothing to love about this story, but Charlie's smile softens with the realization. In his city, men will pay women for their time without fucking them, but such an act is kept secret in shame.
And shame, too, is more overt in this tale. Charlie rolls his head against the back of his seat from side to side slowly, chuckling at the clever twist of the woman's name. There's little real power to be had in her position, but she wrested control where she could with the grimmest of humor.]
Aah...? Monks? Like priests? [To answer: he knows almost nothing about monks. Charlie's eyebrows raise, eyes still lidded, as he strains to remember if he's ever met a monk.]
no subject
[At least, some of them. She's met so many over the centuries. Tempted several into breaking their vows, too.]
The preach the word of... well, not "God", but their Buddhas and bodhisattvas. They immerse themselves in study of their sacred texts. They ought strive ever to serve as shining examples to their community. They seek to humble themselves and live in devotion to pursuit of Enlightenment.
Which, naturally [she says it like "somehow"] means no meat, no garlic, no liquor, and no fucking.
[Her rich, earthy chuckle fills the line.]
And yet this particular fellow, Ikkyu... He spat in the face of monastic tradition. When his master passed him the certification of his Enlightenment, he ripped it up and left his temple. When other holy men sat in their esteemed studies, he mocked them with the poem:
Stilted koans and convoluted answers are all monks have,
Pandering endlessly to officials and rich patrons.
Good friends of the dharma, so proud, let me tell you:
A brothel girl in gold brocade is worth more than any of you.
And my, did he know his brothel girls. From the Shimabara pleasure district in the capital to Sakai by the ports, Ikkyu indulged himself whenever his passions took him. He even put his lecherous activities into his poetry... and I admit, I was quite fond of some of them. Which was my favorite... If I must pick one--
A woman is Enlightenment.
When you are with her,
And the red thread of your combined passions
Flares inside... then, you shall see!
You can imagine he was somewhat infamous. So when a man claiming to be Ikkyu showed up at the Hell Courtesan's brothel asking for an evening with her, the attendants were shocked to see a shabby excuse for a man looking as if he did not have two coins to rub together, let alone the amount to pay for a prostitute of her rank. They called him a liar and were going to beat him if he did not remove himself from the doorstep, but our dear courtesan was intrigued.
She invited him in to her parlor, and sent for the sort of food a monk ought to prefer... the sort which required no killing of anything living to create it. But he asked instead for fish soup and alcohol. Surely, she thought, this man truly is a charlatan and not a true monk! To put in front of him another test of virtue, she summoned her young and beautiful attendants to dance and entertain him, and watched as he grew increasingly drunk and joined the girls prancing about the room. Disappointed, the Hell Courtesan excused herself, but after she closed the paper screens and went to depart...
She saw something uncanny casting shadows upon screens. Confused, she opened them once more, just the smallest bit to peer inside... and can you imagine what it is she saw within... ?
[She is terribly good at it- the pause, heavy and thrumming with excitement before Charlie will feel almost as if she has leaned in to whisper directly in his ear, her breath tickling over the shell.]
Skeletons.
... And Ikkyu, drunk off his ass and dancing amongst the skeletons of the young woman as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
no subject
Of course she likes that poem. It's just about coming inside a woman and feeling some kind of clarity in the afterglow, right? A complete taboo to write prose about, in Charlie's experience; he'd say he enjoys it too. As always, they align in deviancy.
He follows the brothel scene with eyes still shut. There's no framework for a Japanese establishment, so he imagines the rich, dark wood and dim lighting of his own experience.
Anticipation builds, and his mind supplies all kinds of thrilling possibilities. A threesome with an audience. Her sister making a surprise appearance. The man a charlatan but not in the way she thought - a woman in disguise!
Skeletons are a let down.
His eyes open, narrowing in a glare at his dull ceiling. The story still grips him, his personal displeasure with necromancy a fleeting annoyance.] So, what, did he kill them or...?
no subject
Now, now, do not be so disappointed, my friend…
[That would be too much all at once. Not nearly as good of a twist.]
When the Hell Courtesan reopened the doors properly and swept back in to the room… all was as it should be. Had it been a trick of the light? Had she gone mad? She tormented herself through the rest of the banquet trying to discover the truth of what she had seen until it became so late in the night she dismissed the dancing girls and was prepared to dismiss Ikkyu as well…
Until he suddenly, drunkenly, threw up a living fish into her garden water basin. The exact species of fish his soup had been made of.
Realizing that the monk truly was possessed of some sort of divine power or knowledge, she begged him to teach her what she must do to free her soul from her unfortunate fate. In turn, he taught her of the 136 hells, of their causes and costs, and of the fickle, ephemeral nature of human existence.
After all… even the most gorgeous of women is nothing, in the end, but a skeleton wrapped in a bag of flesh. And once you truly「see」that… you can no longer be deceived.
[She pauses there, as if it was supposed to, and yet could not, answer the question of what Jigoku had seen through the screens. Had Ikkyu magicked the girls to appear that way to shock her? Had she truly had a revelation about a truth of the world?
Who knew… ?]
Moved by his preaching, the Hell Courtesan announced that she would abandon her womanhood and take the tonsure, that she would become a nun and devote herself to striving for Enlightenment… but Ikkyu bid her not to. “There is far more worth”, he said, “in the job that you do in this brothel than in the hypocritical halls of the self-righteous and religious. There is another path to Enlightenment for you, if you only seek it.”
And that is what the Hell Courtesan did. Every day she meditated between time spent with her clients beneath the sheets, until Ikkyu acknowledged her perfected wisdom. From that point on, without shame and without regret, all too aware the lot of us were but bones and flesh seeking comforting warmth before inevitable death, the Hell Courtesan worked her years contentedly in the pleasure district. She counseled other young women, she satisfied her customers, she gave generous alms from her earnings…
And… she embroidered dancing skeletons upon the heavy hell robe she wore every night to welcome her lovers.
no subject
Partially because he lives in a world where any of the folkloric scenes could well be possible, but more saliently-
A human seeking out something more. Whether or not she actually transformed, the innate fascination with power dangled so capriciously near is a feeling Charlie understands. He'd done the same, though in a far less poetic way.
Her ascent interests him more than the shame she casts onto her lovers or the relationship between body and bone and soul she wears on her garb. Surely, because a woman's reality is foreign to him. All Charlie thinks of are people and what they'll do for power.
He'd died, and she'd... meditated!
His lips part audibly before he supplies another thought.] That guy's right, though. Better to spend time with people living in the world, not of above it. [The higher in the rungs of society - political, religious, criminal - the more ass kissing and scarcity Charlie performs. Nothing good comes from being the first guy on a kingpin's mind.]
no subject
Oh, he was very right.
[She agrees immediately, her tone light and accompanied by a chuckle that rolls... because she is rolling in her sheets, luxuriating in her amusement and getting more comfortable in her "borrowed" suite.]
There is a bit more to the story, of course... a bit of an epilogue about how Ikkyu is summoned to her deathbed years later when she is wasting away of illness. A strange little afternote of how Ikkyu's disciple turns out to the Hell Courtesan's long-lost elder brother, how after she dies they expose her body to the elements until only bones are left and each piece of her skeleton remains intact as proof of her piety and pure faith... But those aren't nearly as interesting.
[Kicking her feet slowly as she murmurs her words into the phone, Kiritsubo nestles into the sheets with a rumble.]
Now, my curious little friend... You are probably the only one at that party who will truly know what the Hell Courtesan is ♡
[Which is not the same as knowing what she is... But it's a morsel.]