RECORDING
Chapter Eighteen
Chibi!
It was 19:30, and Kobucha Street was not just alive, but roaring with Yoko Uni's students kicking off a great weekend. Bar crawling, party hopping, movies, concerts, dates. One would never long for excitement on Kobucha Street. For some three countrymice, it was too much excitement.
Nodoka coughed into her sleeve, overwhelmed by the smudgy smoke that tarred across the darkening sky. Ui cried out in alarm as two rowdy frat guys, both with long greasy hair, both with smudged glasses, shoved past screaming, "Alpha Segma Segma!" Jun quietly raised an eyebrow at the sketchy bookstore with its sundry erotic novels displayed in the window.
"Let's hope the fine people at Hair don't smoke as much," Nodoka gagged. "Where is Hair, anyway?"
"Oneechan said it was on Kobucha…"
"She did a not-so-great job giving directions. But I guess that's just like her."
Jun sighed, not really minding the situation. True, the smoke stung her throat (and it didn't smell like the sort that came out of tobacco cigarettes). Yes, the frat guys were creeps and the sorority girls were bitches. But wandering about the immense street didn't bother the pigtailed girl in the least. It reminded her of when she and Ui roamed the avenues of Harajuku, looking for a place to shop, but it turned out to be a heart-to-heart. The streets of Harajuku were just as crowded as the streets of Yokohama, but it seemed like it was just the two of them. So the aimlessness was fine, just as long as they could stay on the streets together.
Jun looked up from the windows, right at the neon sign of Hair. Man, talk about luck. Smiling, she stopped Ui by hooking her hand about the crook of her arm.
"Thank heaven," Nodoka sighed.
"You found it, Jun-chan! Way to go!" Ui cheered.
Jun giggled, modestly waving off the praise. Just seeing the exuberant, relieved look on Ui's face was thanks enough. She seemed happier these days. Jun never heard her once complain about Yui and Azusa today. She may have moved on.
The backstage area in Hair was large, though not glamorous. It was lit by unflattering fluorescent ceiling lights and consisted of two old couches, a coffee table, and a stained rug. Some potted plants, surprisingly vibrant, accented the corners. There was a full-length mirror propped up against the undecorated walls, plus a bathroom.
"Make yourselves at home," Asumi said brightly. Then she added with a wink, "Just don't make yourselves too at home. Would you like something to drink?"
"NO!" The reply was loud, instantaneous, and simultaneous from the four band members. Sawako requested a White Russian. Asumi departed to relay the order to Setsuna, leaving her cousin to silently pray that the samurai didn't put too much Kahlua in it.
Azusa wrinkled her nose as she lightly, daintily seated herself on a couch armrest. "Who would want to make themselves 'too at home' here?"
"Hey." Sawako wagged a finger at the kouhai. "I spent many a night here right after I graduated college."
Ritsu snickered. "Would it have to do with your lack of a boyfriend?"
Sawako glowered at the drummer, wishing she had Mugi here to back her up, never mind that what Ritsu said was true. It more had to do with a very recent lack of a boyfriend. Right after a breakup she would go to Hair, drink away the pain, and get really loud. She would scream, cry, curse, and beg some higher power, and pound the coffee table. Eventually Asumi would drag herself down from her apartment above the bar to yell at Sawako to shut up. She was twice as crabby if she was having a girl over.
A frightened shriek sounding from behind the couch yanked Sawako from her reflective state. The scream startled Azusa so badly she visibly jumped on the armrest. Ritsu, full of concern, dashed to the back of the couch, where she found the horribly shaken Mio. Despite the blood screeching through her veins at light speed, the bassist was as white as a ghost. Her right hand gingerly grasped a steely dan.
"I think…" Waterfall tears flooded from her saucer eyes, and her voice was an octave higher from terror. "I think I found out…how people make themselves too at home here…"
"Oh, for goodness's sake." Tutting, Sawako took it from Mio and threw it away. "If you're scared of a harmless little dildo, you are not ready to be a lesbian."
Ritsu crouched behind Mio and brought her arms around her girlfriend. The bassist was shaking so violently her teeth clicked. The drummer nuzzled her cheek and murmured, "It's okay, Mio. I'm here. It's all over now." Ritsu was relieved to feel Mio's shoulders relaxing, see the color ebbing back into her face.
Yui blinked her eyes wide in fascination. She knelt before the coffee table, her arms rested upon its top. Right in front of her was a tall glass jar full of red- and blue-colored candy drops. They reminded her of when she was little, when she and Ui got bagfuls of Warhead candies in their Christmas stockings. When exactly did they stop making those? Or do they still make them? she wondered dimly. Then she thought, I bet these are delicious! She unscrewed the lid and selected a blue drop.
"Say 'ah,' Azu-nyan," Yui sang, hovering the drop a mere inch from the kouhai's mouth.
Azusa pursed her lips as she considered the candy. Then, parting them tentatively and sliding out her tongue, she said, "Ahh," and let her girlfriend place the azure drop upon it.
The drop sent a jolt of flavor through Azusa's mouth, making her jaw tingle. It was a sweet sapor which she couldn't otherwise describe — not at all unlike the common 'mystery flavor' found in various candies. It was the briefest sensation before the drop melted away. Then…it happened.
Yui heard a soft POM! and when she looked at Azusa she saw a little girl of maybe five years standing there with the Sakura uniform draped upon her tiny body. This five-year-old had a pair of furry cat ears jutting from under her black hair, which was tied into medium-length pigtails. She blinked her slanted mahogany eyes in confusion and flicked her tail — black-furred with a white tip — thoughtfully.
"Where's Azu-nyan?" Yui asked.
"Right here." The little girl flinched in surprise at her voice. It was high-pitched, nasally: a five-year-old's voice. She lifted her hand, finding out she had to hitch up the super-long blazer sleeve to see it. It was pudgy. Then it dawned on her. Azusa squeaked, "What the…? I'm little!"
Yui gasped. It was Azusa. The pigtails, the eyes, most of all the outraged expression. Just eleven years younger. The senpai's eyes swam and she smiled hugely. Wondering how anybody could resist hugging Azusa, Yui scooped her up.
"Azu-nyan! Just when I thought you couldn't get any cuter!"
Chibi Azusa squeezed her eyes shut as the (now much) older girl pressed her face against the kouhai's. Azusa flattened her cat-ears against her head and her tail whipped about furiously. Flailing her hands, she protested, "Arahh! Put me down!"
"Ohh!" Yui cooed. "You're too cute, Azu-nyan! I wish you could look like this all the time!"
Ritsu sweat-dropped. "You realize that means you would be dating a little kid…"
Mio narrowed her eyes. "That face was so not made for cuddling a five-year-old…" But she eyed li'l Azusa curiously, wondering out loud, "How did Azusa spontaneously turn into a child anyway?"
"I'm not sure," the drummer muttered, rubbing her chin. The two of them watched, lost in thought, as Azusa struggled to break free of Yui's grasp. She tried thrashing and kicking, though to no avail. Eventually the kouhai had to resort to a maneuver she used as a little kid — particularly at the dentist. She bit Yui. Crying out in shock, the senpai released her. "I don't like this place," Ritsu murmured. "It's got way too much of the supernatural going on." She and Mio nearly jumped out of their skins when they heard another POM! They turned slowly to find…
Sawako's clothes in a sunken pile on the wood floor. From under them emerged who they quickly realized was the seven-year-old version of their teacher. Sawako blinked and squinted her round, brown eyes — for at the age of seven her glasses prescription was vastly different. She piped up in a surprising pipsqueak voice, "What the hell? I ate one of those drops, and now everything suddenly looks bigger!"
Ritsu giggled at the sound of a little kid using profanity and at Sawako herself. "Were your ears really that big when you were little?"
"They're not big!" Sawako squawked, bringing her hair about her ears. "My head was just smaller back then!"
"Your hair totally screams 80s! What year were you born?"
Mio considered the open candy jar, murmuring, "So these drops make you younger…"
The door scraped open then to admit Sakurazaki Setsuna bearing Sawako's drink. Behind the samurai trailed Yamanaka Asumi pulling a rack of clothes specially made by the bartender for the concert. Asumi bumped into Setsuna when she stopped dead in her tracks. Her dark, slanted eyes took in everything at the tiniest glance — the open jar and the child versions of Azusa and Sawako — and she immediately knew what happened.
"Ohh, this is all my fault!" Setsuna exclaimed.
"Chill out. It's not your fault." Asumi placed a hand on the samurai's shuddering shoulder. The gesture seemed reassuring, but it was actually more restraining: Asumi didn't want Setsuna dropping the White Russian. "I was the one who left the jar out."
"But I was the one who should've thought to put it away!" Setsuna fussed. How could she explain this one without revealing the existence of magic?
"Hey." Setsuna suddenly found herself confronted by chibi Sawako, circa 1990. The little teacher pointed at the White Russian. "Hand it over."
The samurai blanched.
Sawako made beckoning motions and snapped her fingers. "C'mon, c'mon. I've been seven years old for three minutes now, and it's killing me. I need a big ol' drink."
Setsuna hesitated. It just seemed wrong to give a little kid a drink. It went against the samurai's fiber. Her jet eyes flicked at the open jar which Mio and Ritsu were deliberating. Having figured out that blue drops made a person younger, the bassist was deducing that red drops made one older. Setsuna smiled. There's the solution, though it's a little touch-and-go… "Take a red drop," she ordered Sawako.
The teacher snorted. "Riiight. I'm just dying to take another one of those."
"It'll make you older."
"Je refuse."
Asumi groaned in annoyance and turned her hazel eyes to the ceiling. Before confronting her cousin, she pushed her clothing collection to a corner near the bathroom. Mio winced at the risqué bikini on one hanger, hoping to every Kami that it wasn't for her.
"Sawa-neesan." The bartender pulled out a fighting move her cousin made on her when they were little: she grasped Sawako's little head with her hand, holding her in place. Asumi's eyes were suddenly frightening. "Take the red drop, or I'll clean your clock!"
The sensei vainly kicked and flailed. She was used to being older than everybody, getting power and respect for her age. Now the reverse in roles left her terror-stricken. If Setsuna was right, if the red candy would make her older and get back that respect, then she would do it.
In the background Setsuna watched the spat with saucer eyes, clutching the glass with both hands. "Asumi-san, isn't that a bit rough for a child…?"
Mugi was having some backstage stress of her own. No sooner had she set foot in the lobby of Katsuhiko Theatre than she was met with chaos in the form of her father.
"Tsumugi! Where were you?" he demanded the instant she walked in. "You had me worried!"
The blonde girl didn't even have time to check her watch to see how late she had run. Holt was already pushing her toward the sign-in desk. She could assume by previous experiences that she had run a mere minute late. Well, time was money, and she knew how Holt felt about money.
Her father jumped about anxiously whilst Mugi signed her name. It surprised her how much energy he could have at the age of sixty-two.
"Please hurry up," he wheedled with a pitiful whine in his tenor voice. The look on his face was akin to hers when she yelled at the butler over the phone — was it Mikhel? or maybe Stuart? — for setting the yacht out at the villa after she had specifically told him not to. She grimaced. Golly, did that butler find me as annoying as I'm finding Father right now?
As soon as she completed the 'buki' character in her last name, Holt seized her by her sleeve and towed her over a great distance to the backstage area. It was nowhere near as homely and casual as Hair's backstage, but Tsumugi couldn't know this of course. The second competitor in the foursome, a girl named Kitazawa Kimiko, was on stage, playing a ragtime piano tune Mugi recognized as The Entertainer. Presently everybody was fussing over the third competitor, a small, kittenish boy named Miyao Katsuichi. Between hearing Kimiko's amateur rendition of The Entertainer and seeing Katuichi's vacillating, anemic face, Mugi couldn't help but feel overconfident. Still, it was polite to greet her competition and wish him luck.
"Hello," she said brightly. "I'm Kotobuki Tsumugi."
His full lips thinned as he smiled. "I know. You're pretty famous. Everybody's looking forward to your performance." There were innumerable amounts of solo contests across Japan, but only those from the most well-established families could come to Tokyo. Performers and competitors bore names such as Kotobuki, Tokudaiji, Katayanagi, Yamoto, Yukihiro, Hanazono, Rokujou, Himemiya, to name but a few. "I'm Katsuichi. Miyao Katsuichi."
"Nice to meet you," Mugi smiled.
Katsuichi pushed back some brune licks of hair that had fallen into his teal eyes. "So, what piece are you doing?"
"Badinerie."
"Mm. Nice choice."
Right. Nice choice for Father. "What are you doing, Katsu-kun?"
"L'Arlesienne Suite."
"The entire thing?" Mugi yelped. Katsuichi seemed to find the ojou's exuberance a bit off-putting, and she backed off with an apology. Then he responded, "Just the prelude."
Which is level one beginner's music. Mugi opened her mouth to wish Katsuichi luck when she was seized from behind by the collar. Holt dragged her away, whispering urgently, "You've no time to flirt and gossip! You have to get ready!"
The blonde girl giggled. That was hardly flirtation. It reminded her of the time she visited Veronique last year and her mother had said, "Your father doesn't know what love is." While Mugi didn't disagree with her mother, she wanted to point out that if Holt didn't know what love was , then Veronique certainly didn't either. Maybe nobody knew what love was.
Holt stopped before the longest rack of clothes Mugi had ever seen. The old man madly scrolled through the outfits, explaining in a rushed mutter, "I sent Wilhem-san out to buy two hundred outfits for this occasion. One of them has to be right for you!"
Turning her head back and forth, the ojou took in the largest wardrobe ever with saucer eyes. Two hundred! Isn't that a bit much…?
"Try this on!" Holt thrust something at her and pushed her toward the dressing room. Once she was locked away in the privacy of the room, Mugi got a chance to see what her father had chosen: a periwinkle blouse and a knee-length black skirt. It wasn't the sort of thing the keyboardist would ever wear, but that wasn't of importance. It was all ultimately Holt's decision. He had entered her into the solo contest. He had chosen the music. And he would choose her attire. Mugi felt a depressing sense of subservience. Regardless, she shed her uniform and put on the outfit. In the full-length mirror Tsumugi didn't see herself but a matronly-looking blonde girl who stared uncertainly at her. Bending down, she retrieved it from her blazer pocket. The hairtie.
Mugi smiled at her reflection, with her ponytail held up by the sparkling hairtie. The one the ojou removed from her hair just before Sawako kissed her. That kiss and every kiss they shared after that night brought Mugi more happiness than she ever thought possible. She placed her hands upon her blushing face and sighed, "Sawa-chan…" Just saying her name brought the keyboardist happiness. So Holt could pick the contest, the music, and the outfit. But Mugi had to wear the hairtie. She wouldn't budge on that.
Holt wrinkled his delicate nose upon seeing his daughter, and Mugi immediately knew this outfit hadn't made the cut. Her father grimaced, "Ugh, no…Bible seller, much? Especially the ponytail. Hair down, I think."
Struggling to keep her face resolute, Mugi firmly uttered one word: "No."
Holt blinked, and his blue eyes unhooded. There was a word he was unused to hearing. "No?" he echoed, as though it was a new, foreign word he was trying out. "No?"
"No," Mugi repeated.
For a moment Holt appeared ready to reprimand her, and the blonde girl braced herself. Then he sighed, shook his head, and returned to rummaging through the wardrobe, muttering something about girls and their hair.
The next piece he chose was a knee-length silky turquoise dress. That one made too much noise when Mugi walked. Next was a sapphiric dress with an open back and a loose fit around the legs. Too blue! Then came an out-of-season yellow sun dress that draped over Mugi's frame. That one "looked better on the hanger." Then there was a white dress that wrapped around the neck, came in layers to the knees, and had a loud triangle-and-square pattern. That one…
"You have to admit, ojousama, that Holt-dono was right this time," said Wilhem. "You do look like Judy Jetson."
The piece that earned Mr. Kotobuki's hard-won approval was a little black dress. It fit Tsumugi's form snugly, though not in a gross, revealing way. It was open back and came down to her knees. And Mugi liked it, too. It was simple but magnificent.
"Now about your hair," Holt murmured, and the blonde girl sighed heavily. "I know you're insistent on leaving it up, but I think this…" He played a bit with her ponytail, combing his long fingers through her aurum rivulets. "…should be a bun."
Without saying anything, Tsumugi looked at her father over her shoulder. She looked drained. Frown lines had formed from her nose to the corners of her mouth. Her azure eyes were pleading.
"A bun would be much more elegant," he added.
"Will I get to wear this elastic?" she implored.
"Of course," he granted, confused.
With some help from Denis, a butler, Mugi transformed her ponytail into a classy bun. She had to agree, this looked significantly better. How uncanny it was that she and Holt had the same taste in fashion. All she thought she had gotten from him was a pair of hirsute eyebrows.
"Excellent timing!" Holt appraised once she reemerged with her hair in a bun. "Miyao-san's nearly done, so that means you're next! Here, put these on!" He threw a pair of black patent leather heels at her, which she barely caught. Her heart thundered out of nervousness as she struggled to put them on. Goaded by her father, she stumbled on stage as fast as the heels would allow.
Her footsteps exploded in her ears as she made her way to the microphone, the score clutched in both hands. It was hot on stage, swelteringly so, and the smell of her competitors' sweat pervaded up to the smooth, arched ceiling. Already Mugi could feel herself contributing some of her own sudor. The only light in the theatre was projected toward the stage, making the audience invisible in the blackness. That was relaxing, sort of. Imagining that the indifferent silence was actually one of hushed anticipation, Mugi stepped up to the mic.
"Good evening." Someone once told her that her voice was well-suited to mics. "My name is Kotobuki Tsumugi, and I will be performing Badinerie by Johann Sebastian Bach."
The silence stretched out. Maybe they were eagerly awaiting the ojou's performance.
Walking from the mic to the grand piano felt like a long journey. Mugi swept her gaze along the ivory and ebony keys. Badinerie may have been challenging to learn, but she didn't love the piano any less. And she practiced long and hard for this night. That was what Sawako said.
So it was decided. Mugi would win gold with the power of love: her love for the piano and for Sawako. She set her fingers to the necessary keys, opened her heart, and played.