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The rain pounded down on him, every drop a heavy blow against his back and shoulders. It dragged him down into the clinging, grasping mud, pulling at his torn clothes. The weight of the water drew at the rent threads, widening the gaps, exposing more and more of him to the cruel elements.
A hundred hands seized him, hands of water and hands of mud, a hundred accusing, tearing, merciless claws. But he knew he was no longer deserving of mercy.
He clutched at the rags of what had once been a fine outfit, trying to cover himself, trying to hide his shame from the person in front of him. His lover, his friend, his protector… until this moment, until the truth of his double life was finally revealed.
“You promise me the moon and yet I find you like this?” Mabushina exclaimed, and the air filled again with the jingling and tinkling of a thousand invisible bells. Her stony face never changed, but her joy radiated outwards, filling the room as though with light.
All around
him,
the rain poured, the mud clung, this sins pressed him down inexorably towards hell, but around her was a bubble of pure, sparkling sunshine.
Shiguru flinched away from her words as though struck. He sprawled on the ground, discarded as an old toy might be, his legs scrambled beneath him, his hands spread - not on the tiled floor of their base, but in the muck of the sodden alleyway - as though he were desperately trying to cling to the stability of the earth. He was in the rain, in the alley, curling his hands into the mud, with his extravagant clothes falling off of him in rags, and his life was over.
“You little harlot,” Mabushina squealed, nearly bouncing on her heels.
“Oooh, and you
are
a little
slut,
aren’t you?” She continued, every filthy word ringing like a bell from her mouth, clear and crisp and without hesitation. “Spreading your legs for anyone who comes by, days old spunk
spattering
your thighs. And all along, I followed obediently behind you as you toyed with me at your leisure.”
“Yamato-san,” Shiguru sobbed, fat tears splashing down onto the back of his hands. He shook, the effort of the words – and his character’s worsening tuberculosis – ripping away at the inside of his lungs and heart as surely as the weight of the rain tore his fine silk shirt.
“No more! You
disgust
me!” She cried, joyously.
Shiguru pulled himself together, shattered, pulled himself together again. He coughed, wretchedly, and raised his eyes. He had to convince this person. He had to convince Yamato-san to stay at his side. He jerked forward, fighting against the gripping mud and the crushing rain with all his meager, waning strength. He tore open his heart and laid it before him, let the words cut at his mouth on their way out, a thousand razors. He felt the pain in every syllable.
“Yamato-san, please, I- I
love
you-”
But all that awaited his efforts was rejection.
“Only words, from
your
whore mouth,” she answered. “Who could
ever
love you?! Certainly not I! Get out of my sight!”
“But where will I go, Yamato-san, without you I have no one to turn to, no one-”
Mabushina’s little hands clutched at her borrowed script, fists tight in her excitement. She continued breathlessly, her voice rising in pitch and volume as the scene rose to its climax.
“I don’t care where a
dog
goes to die!” She said, spooning her ringing giggles over the phrase until it dripped, obscene with her glee.
Shiguru’s body heaved with bloody, terrible sobs, and he threw himself bodily into the mud. He reached out for Yamato-san, but as the light faded from his vision, no kind hand reached back to comfort him. It was over. His
life
was over, undone by both ambition and his wanton nature. He had thrown it all away, taken a pointlessly uncertain gamble and lost. He was burned to ashes by the very fire that was meant to harbor him.
There was a moment of silence as the scene came to a close. Shiguru raised himself up off the floor and out of the character. He ceased crying, his face dropping to his usual aloof neutral with what he knew was practiced, elegant finesse. He pushed his hair back from his face, and dusted off his knees.
“Shiguru-san? Was that all right?” Mabushina asked, still trying to catch her breath. She stared down at him from up on the brightly decorated dais. Her eyes – or really her entire face – sparkled with equal mirth and nervous expectation. The script she was holding was trembling.
Shiguru sighed. Her passion was impressive, but her delivery… ah well. He was an actor, he could persevere through any kind of scene partner, from a dead fish of a PA to, well, this. He considered the scene for a moment, and then said:
“One more time, from the top. I need to get the love confession right.”
Mabushina glittered.