As I stroll through Juuban Park on a lovely spring day I spot a group of picnickers on the far hill. Both blessed and cursed with the curiosity of a spring robin, I decide to investigate. I depart from the sidewalk and stroll up the long hill, with it’s spring grass new and bright, as if freshly painted. As I near the top of the hill I hear voices.
One is as melodious and sprarkling as a brook, bubbling over each word. I think, for my purposes, that I shall call her Aqua, although I am sure that is not her name.
Another voice is as clear and cool as lake, with the wisdom of the Ages seeming to spout from each syllable she utters. Wisdom, I will call her.
Another is rough and caustic, seemingly out of place among this group, like a magpie among nightingales. "A man," I think, "surely a man, and such a rude one, too." But Wisdom speaks a few gentle, admonishing syllables and the voice, although still strong, becomes rather like steel with a covering of silk. "It’s a woman!" I realize. "Yet I have never heard a voice that strong and yet so feminine when she lets it shine through." I shall call her Orb, for she is as many-sided, and yet had no clear definition, like the Earth.
Finally a single small voice speaks up, young in structure, but this is no young person. Like the whispering of a dagger as it’s slipped from it’s sheath is this girl’s voice. I have now reached the summit of the hill and I hide behind a large willow tree to avoid being spotted. This girl’s voice, young as it is, reminds me of the call of Death itself. Surcease, I shall call her, for it means the end of all things.
So there they sit, Aqua, Wisdom, Orb and Surcease, the four strangers I have decided to adopt until they spot me.
The willow looks climbable so I venture into the first layer of branches, parting them so I can see my four ladies. Suddenly Wisdom speaks, a few musical words whose meaning is completely lost on me as I hear her tone. I look to see which one she is and am met with a contradiction in terms. Her suit is a light ash, with a row of mother of pearl buttons running up the front of her white blouse. Her jacket is tossed aside, not carelessly but folded and laid neatly out of the way. Wisdom seems to be nothing if not precise. On her skirt lies a napkin, spread precisely so that every corner of her skirt is covered. Even as I look she takes it up and folds it, every corner coming together as it should. Her skin is pale olive and her hands are long and slender with tapering fingers. Her hair is a deep shade of green which seems completely natural and complements her skin and suit accordingly. Her hair is long, I imagine if it was all the way down it would be to her knees, but it is not completely down. The sides of her hair are twisted into a topknot while the back hangs unfettered. She looks to be the oldest among the group, although she is no older than an early twenty at most. But then you see her eyes, deep pools of purple that seem to stretch on forever, like tunnels without ends. The wisdom of the all things past and present lie there, and I know I have named her true.
Then Orb speaks up, laughter answering her question. I turn my attention to her and stare in shock. If I had not heard her voice she would be instantly taken for male. Khaki slacks and an Oxford shirt with the first three buttons undone are her raiment, as boyish as you could imagine. Her head is laid in someone’s lap and her hair is as pure a blonde as to look white. Her eyes are flashing green fires and she seems to be quick to speak up on any subject. When she gets excited her eyes crackle and spark and other times they seem to challenge anything they set upon. Her sweater is thrown off in a careless pile to the side, abandoned in the heat of the afternoon. She crunches an apple as she speaks, though it seems to impede her speech not at all . Her hands are strong and slender with real muscle beneath that white shirt. Her hands and bare arms carry the marks of a fencer, the cuts and slices that are one with the sport and she is darkly tanned. She reaches up and takes the person on whom she rest’s hand and that person speaks up. It is Aqua.
Aqua is resting in the shade of the very tree I perch in but she does not notice me. She wraps her hand around Orb’s in a grasp that indicates perhaps something more than friendship, her slender hands showing signs of a musician although I know not what kind until I spot a violin case nearby. "A Stradivarius," I think. "Impressive." She moves with the grace and elegance of the element I named her after. Her one hand is encircled in Orb’s, the other smoothes her sea green hair, again I think it’s natural, caught up in a dark blue headband. Her eyes are the deep blue of the sea and as fathomless as the ocean itself. Her skin is a pale white and I can’t help but feel she would be just as comfortable 20,000 leagues under. Her dress is soft white cotton, with ruffles abounding and small flowers cover her shoulders in a wreath. She laughs, the tinkling of bells in a church or water over rocks in a brook. All laugh, save one and I turn my attention to the last one who, by process of elimination, must be Surcease.
Surcease rests apart from the others, her clever fingers braiding flowers into garlands and rings. At first glance she appears to be eleven or twelve, with ebony hair and skin so pale it seems she should burn at a glance from the sun. She seems to be wearing some kind of uniform, probably from her school. It is a dark blue woolen skirt and heavy crimson overcoat with brass buttons. She should be stifling in the afternoon sun but she seems as cool as the morning wind. Her voice seldom speaks up and when it does it is only from Aqua and Wisdom’s steady coaching. Some would say she was taciturn, but she seemed to have the problems of the galaxy resting on those small, frail shoulders. She starts suddenly and looks up, directly into my eyes. Looking into her eyes is like falling, and falling as though you shall never stop or even want to. As dark a purple as the shadows ever spawned gazes back at me from that child’s face. As far away as I am, when I look in her eyes, I am truly frightened. Slowly the others grow quiet and look where Surcease’s eyes stay. Abruptly, she looks away.
Freed from the spell of those eyes I look to the others. Wisdom’s gaze is frank, obviously demanding an explanation, Aqua’s is as cool and emotionless as the depths and Orb’s flashing fire at this intrusion. The time for subtlety over I leap from the tree. Orb somersaults to her feet with such altracity that I step back in surprise, my hands held in front of me. She halts, considering and I seek to regain my equilibrium. "Ladies," I say with a sign of respect. They remain motionless, all four, as I walk down the hill. "Surcease," I acknowledge as I walk past. She starts in surprise and stares in shock as I leave them to their lunch.
"Who was that?" asked Michiru, smoothing back her hair again.
"Beat’s me," responded Haruka as she plopped back down and placed her head once again in Michuru’s lap.
"It was probably just some passerby." said Setsuna in her knowledgeable fashion.
Hotaru only
smiled to herself and continued to braid her flowers.
"Surcease," she thought. "I like it!" She allowed a
small smile to grace her before slipping into reticence
once more.