[Fic Fill] Sans -San
Aug. 27th, 2010 04:49 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hetaliasunshineTITLE: Sans -San
AUTHOR/ARTIST:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shizuka_indigo
RECIPIENT:chibi_spork
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: England, Japan
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): At the end of the fic!
SUMMARY: Thanks to Kiku and Arthur's chance interaction at a recent world meeting, the two decide to spend a bit more time together outside of work. As Arthur and Kiku steadily become better friends, Arthur tries to convince Kiku to call him "Arthur" instead of "Kirkland-san."
Sans –San
I’d already drawn Alfred being smothered to death by his own ridiculous speeches and Francis dying after eating a poisoned scone (his version of them, not mine, so it would go unsuspected), when I decided – since Yao was currently ranting to us all about some rubbish, trade or something equally off-topic – to proceed with doodling many of us other Nations forcibly carrying Yao toward a sign that read, “NOT the Center of the Earth.”
This is how I’ve been spending world meetings lately. The diplomats are the ones who actually deal with this nonsense. Locking us Nations in an overcrowded, poorly lit conference room will only result in, shall I say, an “international incident.”
I had just put the finishing touches on “of the Earth” when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I reached up to grab the slip of paper I knew would be resting there. Probably a message passed to the front of the room by someone from the UK Diplomatic Corps. They could simply have texted whatever I needed to know. A bother.
I opened the note, folded as precisely as one can fold a scrap of paper torn from a notebook. Not an official notice, then. The message, written in small, neat handwriting, contained only one sentence:
Kirkland-san’s drawings are impeccable.
I nearly laughed aloud. Instead, I settled for a smirk before turning round in my chair. Sitting at the small table behind me were Heracles (who was sleeping unabashedly, head resting on his arms) and, of course, Kiku. Because no one else calls me “Kirkland-san.” And not many use the word “impeccable.”
Kiku’s face was carefully neutral, the way it always is at these meetings, particularly when it’s a real bore. I held the note casually between two fingers, ensuring that it was within his line of vision.
He raised his eyebrows just slightly, as if to say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arthur, really.” (If he ever said Arthur, which he does not. In all cases, he says Kirkland-san. All cases involving me, that is. A bit uptight, really.)
I turned back around, tore out a piece of paper from my folder, ignored whatever snippet of treaty was written on it, and flipped it over. On the back, I quickly sketched an agenda of the meeting (containing items like “U.S. Delegation Steamrolls Everyone’s Ideas” and “Ridiculous Row Eruption Time”) displayed on an old-fashioned easel. I then drew myself considering various weapons, laid out in a row in front of me, for the purpose of destroying the agenda. I folded it in half and tossed it back without looking.
I heard the quiet sounds of paper tearing behind me a few seconds later. A few minutes after that, an origami box appeared next to my elbow. I opened it. Inside were three minute paper shuriken and another message: For Kirkland-san’s use. お願いします。
I chucked one of the shuriken at the back of Alfred’s head. The shuriken’s trajectory had unexpected accuracy.
“Ow! What the heck?” Alfred exclaimed, interrupting the flow of the meeting as he looked around for whatever had hit his head. I doubt the thing actually hurt. He was just calling attention to himself, as usual, but, I thought, perhaps with a desired result this time around. And sure enough, the entire spectacle quickly descended into chaos as many began to look for whatever it was that had caused Alfred’s momentary distress. Alfred didn’t find the shuriken – and whoever did kept quiet about it.
I did allow myself a soft laugh at that. Success. I got up to leave.
“All in all, a satisfactory end to an unsatisfactory meeting,” I remarked to Kiku as if nothing at all unusual had happened.
“Indeed,” he responded with all seriousness, then smiled briefly. “Until we meet again, Kirkland-san.” Then he turned to rouse Heracles, who had slumbered through the search for the shuriken.
I left, deciding to keep the two remaining shuriken in my briefcase at all times in case of similar circumstances at the next meeting.
--
Later in the week, as I was preparing my briefcase for (I nearly groaned at the thought) another international meeting, Kiku’s notes and shuriken fell onto the table. I reread them quickly and was amused all over again. Japanese humour is not British, but it suffices on more than one occasion. It rarely translates well, but Kiku speaks English well enough to get the point across.
Indeed, Kiku has certainly mastered my language in almost all respects – except when he spells things like Alfred does (that insufferable git, leaving out letters and changing others willy-nilly) and when he insists on unnecessary formality.
Formality wasn’t always so out of fashion. Not even two centuries ago was it the common practice among my people – and of many other peoples – to have such specific rules governing social interaction as to force anyone to the brink of insanity. Then Alfred decided that casual speech was more “honest” or some such thing and is still single-handedly causing the demise of the language today.
All right, I admit to some exaggeration. The fact remains that when Kiku first visited my home, politeness dictated I call him “Mr Honda” and he call me “Mr Kirkland-san,” because, I imagine, he assumed that “Mister” was simply a part of every Englishman’s name. (I wrote off his then-poor skills at distinguishing between “Mr,” “Mrs,” and “Miss” as a Japanese quirk. The girls were too fascinated by the “exotic Oriental” to mind much. At that point I was aiming to modify his English vocabulary to include the word “you” and assure him of its politeness.)
But really, these days, among friends – and we are friends, no matter what our governments have decided this week, and even if we weren’t friends before, which we were, I might add, we would be now since both of us have Alfred bothering us all the time – anyway, these days, among friends, formality is nearly rude. Ironically. In English – and even in Japanese, Kiku can’t lie to me about that one (excuse me, he rarely lies, rather obfuscates), I still remember the language well enough – being too formal and pompous (oh very well, I’ll admit being guilty of the latter on occasion) and whatnot clearly sends the message we’re not friends.
And we are, aren’t we?
We’re not as…close, shall I say, as we once were, but we’re certainly still friends. Well, we’ve been out for coffee. And last time I was over at his flat in Tokyo we did a variety of things – a little sightseeing, going to restaurants, catching a movie, simply walking and talking around his city. I see more of Kiku with each decade since the forties, certainly. I enjoy his company and I do believe he enjoys mine. I am still able to tell when he’s actually enjoying something – something about the way he moves, I suppose, he’s more relaxed.
So yes, we’re friends. We’re certainly friends. And friends aren’t formal, are they.
A thought crept into my mind. By the time I retired I had a half-arsed little plan and decided to put it into practice the following day.
--
“Kiku,” I said casually, walking over to his table during a break in the meeting and leaning on it a little.
“Ah, Kirkland-san, good morning,” Kiku replied, looking up from his papers.
“It’s, erm, it’s too bad they rearranged the seats for this,” I said, gesturing at the changed layout of the room. Somehow Heracles (how is he able to keep sleeping through the din of every single meeting?) still managed to end up next to Kiku – lucky bastard, it would’ve been so much easier to do this if I were sitting in the vicinity like last time – while I had spent the morning on the other side of the room, in between Francis the Frog and Alfred the Gitface.
“Indeed,” said Kiku gravely as his eyes also swept the place. “I noticed that you looked rather weary of your new seat – perhaps because of your close proximity to Bonnefoy-san and Jones-san?”
“They’re not all bad,” I admitted, because it is true, though I will not say it within their hearing, “when you don’t have to sit by them for hours and you’re free to draw caricatures.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Kiku’s face for a moment.
“Anyway,” I pressed, not wanting to lose the advantage, “I was wondering if…well, you might want to go for a coffee or something this evening. After the meeting. If you’re free, of course; if not, pay it no mind.”
Kiku thought for a moment, checked something on his cell phone quickly, and said, “Thank you for the invitation. I shall accept it.”
“Seven o’clock, then? Surely this infernal meeting will be adjourned by then.”
Kiku nodded. “One would think.”
“One would hope, more like.”
At the front of the room, Ludwig began to call for order and I mentally cursed his punctuality.
“Later, then,” I said quickly, heading back to my seat after giving Kiku a quick nod.
--
Neither of us actually ordered coffee. I handed Kiku his tea (green) as I took mine (black) and we sat at a small table in the corner. I sipped mine and he sipped his, and I remembered how easily silence could fall between us when there was nothing to talk about – though the silences between us are rarely uncomfortable.
“Not the same,” I remarked. It is very difficult to get tea that meets with my approval outside of my own borders.
Kiku glanced down at his own tea. “Yes,” he agreed simply.
We both continued to drink our teas in spite of their quality. I began thinking of ways to broach the topic I wished to and quickly became so pensive as to nearly forget where I was.
Kiku, thankfully, provided me with a suitable opening point with a question: “Kirkland-san, did the rest of the meeting proceed as you wished?”
“Well, no, but when do they ever – but that’s beside the point,” I said.
Kiku gave me his “what on earth are you talking about?” face – which is to say he raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head just so. He even put down his tea.
“You don’t always have to be so polite, you know,” I began. “I – no one will be offended if you, erm, decide to cut down on it a bit.”
“Is that so.” Kiku was still giving me that face, now twinged with slight bemusement. All right, the conversation topic change was abrupt. Nonetheless, I would proceed.
“Yes, it is so,” I said, for once answering the phrase I learned long ago was rhetorical.
“Is my current manner of speech insufficient?” Kiku asked. It was the same tone he used during meetings; he was tense.
“It’s fine, completely fine,” I hastened to assure him. “Grammatically, and all that. First-rate. Just a bit…stiff.”
“Stiff,” Kiku repeated. I can hear the “desu ka” echoing silently in the space between our faces.
“Y’know…not…casual.”
“Not…casual?” Kiku only looked more uncertain about where the conversation was going.
This was not going well, was it. Bloody hell.
I started to long for our original silence and so said nothing, choosing instead to drink my tea. Maybe this would give me enough time to come up with something eloquent, I thought.
“Kirkland-san?” Kiku said tentatively. “Perhaps, if it’s not too much trouble, you could provide an example?”
“Yes! Yes, an example,” I seized on this opportunity immediately and Kiku drew back a bit at my sudden enthusiasm. “Brilliant idea. Let us take your question into consideration: Kirkland-san, perhaps if it’s not too much trouble, you could provide an example. Right?”
Kiku nodded.
“I mean, first of all, there’s my name.”
Kiku nodded again.
“You can call me Arthur, you know. I call you Kiku. Everybody calls you Kiku nowadays, don’t they? Kiku, Arthur. Arthur, Kiku,” I said, gesturing between us even as I mentally berated myself: He can still speak your language, you git, what are you doing!
“Ah, I think I would prefer not,” Kiku said slowly.
“Why not? I’d prefer it if you called me ‘Arthur,’” I said, jumping to the crux of the matter. This couldn’t become much more awkward – the only way that could happen would be if Alfred or Francis or some other equally insensitive tosser burst in and demanded to know what we were talking about. I also knew that Kiku, now knowing my own wishes, would want to comply for the sake of keeping the peace in our friendship. (I did pay attention to his habits for a long time. I haven’t forgotten them all.)
“Will you please explain the rest of the sentence?” Kiku said after a pause.
Ah, the Japanese and their insistence on politely changing the topic without addressing the underlying issue. Maybe this is why they’ve had five prime ministers in as many years: change the topic, keep the issues and the illusion of a solution. I resolved not to let the matter rest that easily, but I also knew I had to get there on Kiku’s time, not my own. A bother, certainly, but worth it in the end if I succeeded.
“Well, you can do without the whole ‘perhaps if it’s not too much trouble’ bit. Of course it’s not too much trouble and anyway, who would mind explaining further? If anyone said something like, ‘Yes, I do mind, you’re an idiot, leave,’ it would just be rude.”
“Yes.”
“And then you could say, ‘Could you give me an example?’ or just ‘Give me an example.’ Yes, the second one – it’s not too impolite, I promise.”
“I will take that into consideration.”
Well, at least he said he’d consider. That was promising. (Not that I could tell what exactly he was thinking.) I decided to make a tactical withdrawal for the time being.
“Good. So I’ve heard that your people are developing some plans about all that deflation–”
“–ah, yes,” Kiku said, relaxing slightly despite the less-than-cheery topic change. (It was the first thing I thought of. Everyone could always find something to say about the economy.) Kiku began outlining the various ideas that had been proposed. This line of conversation carried on for quite some time, long after we had both finished our tea. I found that I appreciated a civil, rational discussion about the myriad of options relating to the topic. (Discussing the economy with Alfred ends in migraines for everyone but him. Pity we have to drag him into any debates about the topic. Him and Yao, who is almost worse.)
We realized how late we’d stayed talking when the coffee shop staff began the general cleaning that always precipitates closing. We parted ways just outside the shop.
“Do this again sometime?” I suggested.
Kiku smiled and answered immediately, “Of course, Kirkland-san.”
“Arthur.”
--
It was a while before I saw Kiku again. We exchanged emails and letters quite a few times – we hadn’t really had the chance to finish talking. I sent him scanned images of things I had drawn during meetings he had, for one reason or another, not been able to attend. I knew he had liked them because of two comments in particular: “Kirkland-san’s portrayal is particularly apt” and “These drawings are so cute!” (The latter sentiment caused me to do something rather undignified while reading the letter over breakfast.)
I did not usually doodle during meetings; I simply sat and grew more sullen with each passing minute. The day Kiku had passed me his note was the first time I had drawn anything bigger than a few dots. I was only drawing to try something new. Browsing in the bookstore led to reading a few passages on “anger management” that mentioned doodling. The book suggested it would be a good coping mechanism or some such thing. Instead, it had renewed my acquaintance with Kiku – even better.
So I kept up the drawings. I got better. I even remembered a bit of portraiture and landscaping from a time when the gentry did such things to amuse themselves. Kiku commented, “As the drawings grow more detailed and numerous, so too does my anticipation for pictures from the next meeting.”
This exchange continued for the better part of the year. We met whenever our schedules allowed to discuss the pressing issues of the times and the drawings and anything else we happened to stumble across over the course of conversation. We slowly settled into a rhythm of exchanging letters, attending meetings, and spending a bit of time together outside of all that.
This was all part of my plan, which was now one-quarter arsed and three-quarters serious. I purposefully didn't mention the issue with my name often – just every once in a while, after we’d been talking for a while, when Kiku was already in a good humour. He would then politely rebuff my request or manage to change the subject without jarring the conversation, but he wasn’t tense when we talked about it now.
His latest refusal had simply been a soft smile, a shake of the head, and, “Perhaps we can discuss this another time.”
Definite progress. I can be quite patient when I want to be, and I wanted to be patient. It took many centuries to garner the power of an empire. This – to reach this response from Kiku took significantly less time. I kept practising my drawing, nearly whistling as I scanned in the finished images and attached them to an email.
While drawing a piece entitled “Nations at the Pretense of Civilisation,” I thought of ways to force this “another time” Kiku mentioned to occur sooner. No, no, I couldn’t “force” it – I had to convince. Or give Kiku an opportunity to discuss the matter in a context he could accept comfortably.
When were the Japanese ever like that with foreigners? There had indeed been a time when Kiku was quite comfortable with me – in the early twentieth century – but even then he always held back something. We’d again grown comfortable in each other’s presence now that we had been seeing each other in a non-governmental setting for so long.
Still…
I continued to ponder as I sketched Alfred trying desperately to find America on the half of a map showing the Eastern hemisphere and Yao looking for China on the other half. I outlined Ivan attempting to build a replica of the Kremlin out of vodka bottles.
Vodka. Alcohol. A bar.
Nearly every bar I’ve ever been to in Japan had a bunch of salarymen acting ridiculous in the corner. I saw Kiku with some of them once, looking on, fond and wistful and regretful and amused all at once.
I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that the Japanese could speak their minds when drunk. And, based on what I’ve seen of Kiku when he has had a copious amount of sake, this is largely true. (My grasp of Japanese at the time, however, was too poor to understand much of what he said. A pity.) My Japanese certainly became functional over time, and this time around, Kiku would be fluent in English and maybe, if I played the game correctly, he would agree to “consider” the topic I wished to address.
Now I knew where I would take him when we next met.
--
To my surprise, Kiku agreed quite readily to my suggested venue, a pub in London.
To my dismay, I failed to take into account that he could possibly outdrink me. East Asians are not known for their tolerance of alcohol – the opposite, in fact. Except Japan, the nation that gave birth to sake and shōchū. Or maybe it was just that I kept ordering drinks to keep us there. That could have been it. I’d be hard pressed to remember exactly all that went on.
The day after, I recalled a smattering of speech:
“Kirkland-san, are you all right?”
“O’ course I’m not all right, you won’t call me by my right proper name, how could I be all right when you–”
“If it’s really that troublesome to you–”
“You used to call me ‘Arthur’! Once! Before the twenties!” (I may or may not have been using a whining tone. I may or may not have been tugging on Kiku’s sleeve. I may or may not actually know for certain whether I did those things or if I would ever admit to doing them.)
“That was – different.”
“And what’s so different now?”
“…I finally understand why Jones-san and Bonnefoy-san and others say what they do about you and places that sell alcohol.” (Someday the gitface and the frog will perish, no matter whether or not I remembered that verbatim.)
The next clear bit:
“Kirkland-san, were I to call you by your first name as you request, my position would become…difficult. I do not think I would mind addressing you as you wish. It is simply that–”
“I’ll kill Alfred for you if he–!” (I was in the mood for it. I truly was.)
A sigh. “…please refrain. It is not only Jones-san who would notice, and I do not wish for his death in any case. If I were to call you, and only you, but your first name, it could result in an impression that we may not wish to cultivate–”
“I wouldn’t mind them knowing – oh yes, the look on Francis’s face would be fine–”
“I would prefer my international relations to remain in their current state. It would be awkward, Kirkland, if they heard–”
“No ‘san’! Hah!” (A crow of triumph may or may not have erupted from my throat.)
“–and the last thing I need is to have more strain in the security alliance with Jones-san–”
“–bullocks, I could take care of that–”
“–the treaty–”
“–treaties be damned!”
Kiku ordered another drink.
There was one last part – a part that stuck out in the haze from the wee hours of the morning:
An unfamiliar voice: “You two, go home. There’s laws about serving shit to intoxicated blokes.”
“–shove it, ya tosser–”
“–inshu unten – shite wa ikan – train?”
“There’s a tube station a block down that way.”
“Ah, yes, thank you.” (Except it sounded more like ah iesu san kyuu and I couldn’t see what was going on.)
“–I’m not leavin’ when I can’t see a bloody thing–”
“–we have to go, Kirkla–”
“–and why the bloody hell is the sky that colour!”
“–it’s – it’s red, yes, it’s not the sky, it’s the seat–”
“–‘s nice–”
“–we really should go, nearly everyone else is gone–”
“–don’t want–”
“Arthur-san. We’re going.”
And so I went, a lopsided grin splitting my face in half.
--
I woke up in my own bed in my flat. I got up and splashed cold water on my face and took three Advil. I walked to the next room. Kiku was curled under a blanket in a chair.
I recalled the three scenes I could dig up from my memory. I could feel my face growing red. I went straight to the kitchen sink and threw more water at my face, put the kettle on, and began rummaging around in the fridge, knocking containers over every which way.
“Good morning,” I heard from behind me. I nearly slapped my hand to my forehead. Kiku was a light sleeper and the kitchen was near the chair he’d been in and – oh, yes, he’d said, “Good morning.”
I thought up some words in my head but what came out was unintelligible.
“I wasn’t confident of the Underground route to a hotel,” Kiku said, an apology clear in his tone, “and I had hoped to wake before you so I wouldn’t disturb–”
“’S fine,” I mumbled. I wondered if taking a few more Advil would be a dangerous overdose.
“I did not think it was a wise idea for you to return unaccompanied, so–”
“’S fine,” I repeated, shutting the fridge and turning round to face Kiku. “You – I mean, thanks. And, erm, about last night, we were drunk, and so all that about my name and, well, you don’t have to, it wasn’t really fair of me to keep you there all that time, and–”
“I was not drunk,” Kiku interrupted with an inscrutable expression.
“Pardon?”
“I was not drunk.” An almost imperceptible smile began to form on his face.
I should not have been as taken aback as I was. “You – you weren’t? Really?”
“No, Arthur-san, I was not.”
I fear I wore that silly drunken grin for the rest of the day.
--
Our outside-of-official-duty meetings increased yet again and Kiku continued using his new term of address for me. Now we purposefully planned excursions outside of our borders with each other in mind. We did not interact much at actual conferences – besides passing notes, of course, and this activity was usually hidden behind the sleeping Heracles’s back – and thus no one noticed. Kiku’s fear of social awkwardness is so acute that I did nothing to indicate that I knew of his change in speech. After the conference ended, though, we would head to a coffee shop or a museum or a park – somewhere far enough away from the meeting place that it was unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew – and enjoy each other’s company.
“Arthur-san,” Kiku said one day, “would you like to return to Japan?”
“Certainly,” I answered. “Whenever’s convenient for you is fine with me.”
“You have mostly seen my cities, and I thought I would like to show you other prefectures – though they are not as grand as the English countryside, I’m sure,” Kiku added quickly. “Also…the probability of encountering someone we would rather not would decrease significantly.”
“I’ve never, er, actually seen Mount Fuji without clouds surrounding the whole place,” I admitted. “Not that I’d be able to tell which mountain was Fuji.”
“When there are few clouds, it is very easy to tell which mountain is Fuji-san,” said Kiku, nodding.
I smirked at the mental comparison of my own –san-related dilemma and the name of the mountain even though I knew the san of Fuji-san was, strictly speaking, yama, a mountain, and not an honorific.
“But I will certainly show you Fuji-san. And if it is cloudy on the day you arrive, you may of course stay as long as you like to ensure you see Fuji-san clearly before you leave.” Kiku smiled.
“A splendid idea,” I said.
I bought my aeroplane tickets the next day.
--
I arrived at Narita airport at ten a.m. local time, took a two-hour train ride to Yamanashi-ken (a prefecture that borders on Mt. Fuji, where Kiku told me he had a small house), and promptly collapsed at a hotel. Kiku was not expecting me at his house until early the next day. I’d told him I’d arrive then because I prefer to keep to myself when a jet-lagged zombie.
I woke at five a.m. local time and vaguely wondered what time it was in Greenwich before giving up on more sleep. After making myself presentable and eating a light breakfast from one of the ubiquitous convenience stores (though the name “Family-Mart” does not seem to be a convenience store name to me), I went back to the hotel and inquired about nice places in the area. I was given directions to a public park, something called a “Fruits Park” (I would have to ask Kiku about that one), and shopping in downtown Kofu. Since the public park was within walking distance, I decided to begin there.
It was certainly rural, though not as much as I expected. I passed grape fields and a local school before coming to the park. I thought it would be nearly deserted at six-thirty in the morning, but I thought I could hear music.
I walked a few steps further into the park. Yes, it was definitely music, and – it wasn’t singing, no, but someone intoning, “Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi. Ichi, ni, san, shi….”
I quickened my pace and took a bend in the path that lead toward the sound.
“–roku, shichi, hachi. Shinkokyuu!”
And there was Kiku, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and red shorts, waving his arms around in a ludicrous pattern with no fewer than thirty boys and girls following his lead. The sound was coming from a portable radio near Kiku’s feet.
I stood, watching them all. It was clearly an exercise regimen of some sort. Eventually the broadcast ended and Kiku snapped off the radio, only to be swarmed by all the children, who had each produced a little paper packet and were pushing toward him insistently.
I walked toward the group and the children on the fringe of the group noticed me.
“Gaijin da!”
“Hora, gaijin-san da yo!”
Kiku immediately looked up, saw me, and gave me the most unrestrained look of happiness I’ve ever seen on his face.
“Arthur!” he said. “Good morning.”
“W-W-Wha–,” I began, wanting to ask, What did you say and knowing it would only draw undue attention. I quickly changed course: “What – what were you all doing, waving your arms about like that?” I knew my face was turning red.
Kiku had fetched a stamp and a stamp pad from behind the radio and was stamping each child’s little book in turn. “Rajio taisou,” he answered.
“Radio exercises?” I asked, just for clarification.
“Yes…I lead the neighborhood elementary school group whenever I stay here during the summer.” He turned to the children, who were still peppering him with questions, and spoke to them so quickly I couldn’t make quite make out what he’d said.
The children left one by one, each bowing and thanking Kiku before cheerily scampering off to do whatever Japanese children on summer vacation do. When they had all gone, Kiku collected the radio and a couple of extra stamp pads.
“I must admit, I was not expecting you here,” he said. We began to walk out of the park together. “I thought I would go home and change before you arrived.”
It occurred to me that I’d never seen Kiku in shorts before.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I said not to expect me until later.”
“Did you just arrive, or–”
“No, I arrived yesterday and stayed in a hotel.”
“Please check out and stay at my house instead. It will be less expensive that way,” Kiku said decisively.
“It wouldn’t be a bother?”
“No, of course not,” said Kiku.
“Are you quite sure?” I asked, having an eerie feeling that our roles had been reversed. This encounter was no longer on my terms.
“Arthur,” Kiku said as he gazed intently at me. “You are most definitely not a trouble to me.”
--
I felt as if I was living in some dream the faeries cooked up and planted in my head. I stayed at Kiku’s house. Each day we would pass by Mt. Fuji to check if it had emerged from the clouds yet. He made good on his word and showed me the sights. I discovered the “Fruits Park” was largely what it sounded like – a huge place with fruit fields that offered a stunning view of a small city and (Kiku assured me) Mt. Fuji on a not-cloudy day. We even had watermelon ice cream at the “Fruits Center,” where Kiku introduced me as “my friend Arthur” to the man behind the counter.
We went to museums, a park with koi, even an amusement park called Fujikyuu Highland where Kiku purchased a small, smiling replica of Mt. Fuji and offered it to me, saying, “If you should return without seeing Fuji-san, you may at least have this to imagine it with.” (We did go on the roller coasters. I will not admit to screaming though Kiku laughed softly whenever I mentioned the picture the mid-ride camera had taken. Kiku looked rather calm, like he was enjoying myself. I refuse to this day to describe my own expression.)
In the evenings, we stayed up late talking, watching movies, or in companionable silence. I ignored the numerous messages on my phone and in my inbox. I did not care.
I had stayed nearly a week and a half when Kiku roused me at six one morning. “Arthur, Arthur – Fuji-san is visible now!”
I was not sure whether I wanted to see the damned mountain that badly after only a few hours of sleep. I got up anyway, pulled on respectable clothes, and walked outside where Kiku was waiting for me.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispered to me, gesturing.
I agreed that it was beautiful. “Is this the only time it’s not covered in clouds, though?”
Kiku smiled a bit and said, “It is folly to argue with Fuji-san.”
“Why are you up this early anyway?”
“Rajio taisou.”
“Right.”
We stood, watching as the sun steadily climbed up the mountain.
“Kiku?”
“Yes?”
I hesitated, then said, “You’ve been calling me by my first name the entire time I’ve been here.”
Kiku’s eyes rapidly shifted from the mountain to me.
“And I’d like to say that it’s a welcome change. And I am glad that we’ve closer…friends…recently. And that, well, I really have been enjoying my stay.”
Kiku looked somewhat relieved as he turned his gaze back to Mt. Fuji. “It’s fortunate you were able to see Fuji-san before you left.”
I decided to let the it was a splendid excuse to stay longer than I ought remain unspoken between us. Kiku could, if nothing else, read the atmosphere between him, me, the mountain, and the past several months.
“…about the ‘Arthur’ thing, though.”
“Yes?” Kiku turned back to me instantly, almost nervous.
“All of your people here have heard you use ‘Arthur.’ You are all right with that, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. They are my people. I do not wish to hide from them,” Kiku said. “I do not think I can hide from them in this time.”
“And since all your people are fine with it,” I said, “you can always use it outside of Japan, if you’d like.”
Kiku gave a little sigh and turned back to Mt. Fuji. “I will call you ‘Kirkland-san’ when we are with the others. I–”
“I understand,” I interrupted with a half-truth. “That’s fine. Would you lend me your computer? I probably should get back home sometime this month.”
“Yes, of course,” Kiku said. “If you need my help, please tell me. I will be back from rajio taisou soon.”
“Have a good time. They’re good kids.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” And with that, Kiku left. I was left staring at the mountain and trying not to feel disappointed.
--
A month or so later, it was time for another dreaded world conference. Everyone was packed into a few hotels in New York City while the diplomats scurried to and fro between embassies and consulates and the United Nations building. And we Nations were packed in a poorly lit conference room. As the room began to fill, I participated in the mandatory greeting of everybody else.
“Hey, Arthur!”
“Good afternoon, Arthur.”
“How’s BP doing these days?” (Stupid Francis.)
“Hello, Kirkland-san.”
I looked up at that. “Hello, Kiku,” I said as he proceeded to his seat.
Without further ado, the meeting commenced.
A few hours later, I’d already drawn Alfred drowning in his own ignorance and Francis being transformed into a frog by the faeries when I decided – since Kiku was behind me and surely sneaking glances over my shoulder – to proceed with doodling the two of us standing by Mt. Fuji. At first, just our feet were touching. Then we were holding hands. I smirked as I began to draw our faces getting ever closer–
A paper shuriken pelted the back of my head. I retrieved it from the floor, nearly laughing aloud, and read the message:
Arthur, ダメ.
Thus our note passing began anew.
What should I draw instead? Suggestions?
Your drawings are skilled, as always, but perhaps your skills are not put to the most constructive use.
Most constructive? Whatever do you mean by that?
Something not so blatant, perhaps.
I drew a chrysanthemum and a rose with their stems intertwined and passed it back with the message, My authors have always been overly fond of symbolism.
As the seasons change/powers of symbolism/remain quite
constant/Interpreting their meaning/is not a challenge to some.
Not everyone spent a few centuries composing waka about flowers. I
think you have a harder time being vague with those in English.
I did not want my meaning to be lost in the niceties of your language.
If that had not been in your handwriting, I would not have believed it. I am utterly shocked. I must return the favor to you. And I completed my original Mt. Fuji picture.
“Arthur!” Kiku exclaimed from behind me. From beside him, Heracles opened his eyes, glanced at Kiku, grinned, shrugged, and went back to sleep.
“What?” I asked slyly.
“It is not – that is – I–” Kiku whispered, visibly flustered.
“You’re not amenable to the idea?” I said, holding up the picture.
“That has nothing to do with – with that picture,” said Kiku as he reached for it. “Not here–”
I held it further away. He’d have to stand to get it now. This was the most enjoyable world meeting I’d attended in a very long time, and I was not about to give up my source of fun. The sight of Kiku red in the face – clearly more embarrassed than concerned – while knowing that he had not been opposed to the content of my illustration, just its presence in this situation, was utterly hilarious. I couldn’t help it now: I began to chuckle and then to laugh outright.
“Arthur! Why are you interrupting!” Ludwig barked at me from across the room. I just laughed harder.
“What’re you holding?” Alfred demanded. “If I’m not allowed to have paper airplanes at these gigs, why can you?”
“By all means, share with the class,” suggested Francis, smirking.
“No!” Kiku exclaimed as he stood. “I – that is to say, no, it’s not his fault – I spoke to him first. I am therefore the cause of the interruption and I apologize.”
“Non, non, it is definitely Arthur’s fault,” said Francis, still wearing his insufferable grin.
“It is not Arthur’s fault!” Kiku insisted. “I was the one who began the conversation with Arthur and I shall take this” –he snatched the paper from my hand before I could stop him; I was too taken aback at his uncharacteristic outburst to stop him– “and take care of it, so please, continue with the meeting. I am very sorry for causing this disturbance.” He bowed quickly and sat down, stuffing my drawing in his briefcase.
The room was silent for a few minutes as everyone stared hard at me and even harder at Kiku.
“Well,” said Francis eventually, sniggering in between his words, “congratulations, Kirkland-san.”
I watched Kiku’s face as he went over what he said in his mind. Even he could not hide his dawning comprehension of what he and Francis had said.
“A pox on you and all your frogs,” I retorted (it was the first thing I thought of; I was more concerned about Kiku).
“Order!” Ludwig shouted above Francis’s laughter and the tittering of most of Europe. Yao simply shook his head in the corner. Alfred turned to Matthew and said, “What a second – I don’t get it. What happened?”
That made me begin laughing all over again. I turned back to Kiku.
“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” I said.
“Congratulations,” Heracles, finally awake again, said warmly as he patted Kiku’s shoulder.
“Let’s go out for tea later,” I said, “and I’ll pay.”
Kiku looked up as near-silence descended again, Ludwig having gotten control over most of the room. “Shikata ga nai,” he murmured, then gave me a hint of a smile. “Of course, Arthur.”
--
A few months later, I arrived at the base of Mt. Fuji.
Kiku was waiting for me there. He handed me two pieces of paper. The first was my drawing, the one I’d done at the meeting. The second was his, a piece in Kiku’s style, of the same thing.
The only thing he said as he smiled: “Arthur.”
And I discovered that I can read Kiku’s atmosphere quite well.
The end.
I apologize for the egregious quantity of notes.
Notes on the Japanese language (in order of their appearance in the story):
お願いします(onegaishimasu) – literally “I request,” often used as a form of please, thank you, I leave this to you. In this context, it means “Use them as you will [preferably in the manner that I am imagining at this moment].”
At that point I was aiming to modify his English vocabulary to include the word “you” and assure him of its politeness. – In Japanese, a word meaning “you” (anata, omae, kimi, etc) is rarely used; usually it’s used when you don’t know someone’s name yet, from senior-to-junior/friends (kimi, omae), or if you mean disrespect (omae, temee, etc). Instead, someone’s name is used in place of “you.” (Ex: Shizuka-san wa nihongo ga hanasemasu ka = Can you [Shizuka] speak Japanese?)
Desu ka – “Is?” In this context, a polite question mark.
Inshu unten – shite wa ikan – A colloquial version of “[I] must not…drive while drunk….” Pretty much Kiku being like, “Crap, well, neither of us can drive like this.” Drunk driving penalties are extremely severe in Japan.
富士山（ふじさん） Fuji-san/Mt. Fuji. As Arthur correctly thinks, the last character, read san or yama, means mountain, and is unrelated to the honorific –san.
Rajio taisou – radio exercises (more on that below)
Ichi, ni… - counting
Shinkokyuu! – Deep breaths!
Gaijin da!/Hora, gaijin-san da yo! – It’s a foreigner! Hey, look, it’s a foreigner(-san)! (In my experience, Japanese kids actually say things like this.)
ダメ(dame) – a handy all-purpose phrase meaning “no,” “don’t,” “bad,” “stop,” etc. In this case, Kiku wrote it in katakana for emphasis, making its meaning “DON’T. STOP. THIS WILL END BADLY.”
Shikata ga nai – It can’t be helped. In this context, “There’s nothing I can do about this, so….”
To read the atmosphere (空気を読む kuuki wo yomu) – Hetalia fans probably know this one; “to be socially aware of the situation and take the appropriate action.” It’s opposite is KY (ケイワイ, meaning 空気読めない kuuki yomenai “can’t read the atmosphere”). Prime examples of KY: Italy, America.
…I confess that I chose this prompt partially because I squee about anything related to the Japanese language. Being able to go from Kirkland-san to Kirkland (briefly) to Arthur-san to Arthur made me smile and say, “Oh, Japan.”
General Notes:
I like puns. Hence Sans –San and Yao not being the center of the universe in Arthur’s drawing.
How to fold a shuriken.
This is what Kiku was doing with the elementary school kids.
Adorable video. (You can’t really hear the audio, but you do see the adult supervisor with the kids and some of the kids carrying their little stamp booklets. The caption on the video says, “Radio exercises on a morning during summer vacation,” exactly the situation portrayed here.)
Version with Miku
(Audio is excellent, at 3:02 you can hear the shinkokyuu line that cracks me up.)
I've done rajio taisou for years now, usually during the summer. It's fun.
About Arthur’s trip to Japan:
I lived in Yamanashi-ken for 6 weeks during the summer of 2008. When I thought of Arthur going to Japan, I decided he’d go there since I actually knew what was there.
Mt. Fuji was covered by clouds for all but 10 minutes of my stay. And I got pictures. As in I ran out of the restaurant with my camera and frantically took 2 shots.
The Fruits Park exists. They have the best watermelon ice cream (made with real watermelon) in existance. The view from the top is stunning.
Fujikyuu Highland (the amusement park) is a main attraction of Yamanashi-ken. The roller coasters are great. I went with a girl who knew where all the mid-ride cameras were so we posed with, yes, peace signs. One roller coaster is Fujiyama, the other is Ee Ja Nai Ka. I was too scared to go on the second one.
Pretty picture.
Yamanashi-ken is absolutely gorgeous and somewhat rural. If you are ever in Japan, stop by.
Waka is traditional Japanese poetry with the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count. Nature (including flowers) is a popular composition topic.
The chrysanthemum is, of course, Kiku, but also the Japanese national flower. Take a wild guess about the rose.
…augh I’m sorry this was so long! OTL I had a lot of fun writing this; I got to try a lot of new things (like writing England...and in first person) and I'm happy with the result!
AUTHOR/ARTIST:
shizuka_indigoRECIPIENT:
chibi_sporkCHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: England, Japan
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): At the end of the fic!
SUMMARY: Thanks to Kiku and Arthur's chance interaction at a recent world meeting, the two decide to spend a bit more time together outside of work. As Arthur and Kiku steadily become better friends, Arthur tries to convince Kiku to call him "Arthur" instead of "Kirkland-san."
Sans –San
I’d already drawn Alfred being smothered to death by his own ridiculous speeches and Francis dying after eating a poisoned scone (his version of them, not mine, so it would go unsuspected), when I decided – since Yao was currently ranting to us all about some rubbish, trade or something equally off-topic – to proceed with doodling many of us other Nations forcibly carrying Yao toward a sign that read, “NOT the Center of the Earth.”
This is how I’ve been spending world meetings lately. The diplomats are the ones who actually deal with this nonsense. Locking us Nations in an overcrowded, poorly lit conference room will only result in, shall I say, an “international incident.”
I had just put the finishing touches on “of the Earth” when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I reached up to grab the slip of paper I knew would be resting there. Probably a message passed to the front of the room by someone from the UK Diplomatic Corps. They could simply have texted whatever I needed to know. A bother.
I opened the note, folded as precisely as one can fold a scrap of paper torn from a notebook. Not an official notice, then. The message, written in small, neat handwriting, contained only one sentence:
Kirkland-san’s drawings are impeccable.
I nearly laughed aloud. Instead, I settled for a smirk before turning round in my chair. Sitting at the small table behind me were Heracles (who was sleeping unabashedly, head resting on his arms) and, of course, Kiku. Because no one else calls me “Kirkland-san.” And not many use the word “impeccable.”
Kiku’s face was carefully neutral, the way it always is at these meetings, particularly when it’s a real bore. I held the note casually between two fingers, ensuring that it was within his line of vision.
He raised his eyebrows just slightly, as if to say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arthur, really.” (If he ever said Arthur, which he does not. In all cases, he says Kirkland-san. All cases involving me, that is. A bit uptight, really.)
I turned back around, tore out a piece of paper from my folder, ignored whatever snippet of treaty was written on it, and flipped it over. On the back, I quickly sketched an agenda of the meeting (containing items like “U.S. Delegation Steamrolls Everyone’s Ideas” and “Ridiculous Row Eruption Time”) displayed on an old-fashioned easel. I then drew myself considering various weapons, laid out in a row in front of me, for the purpose of destroying the agenda. I folded it in half and tossed it back without looking.
I heard the quiet sounds of paper tearing behind me a few seconds later. A few minutes after that, an origami box appeared next to my elbow. I opened it. Inside were three minute paper shuriken and another message: For Kirkland-san’s use. お願いします。
I chucked one of the shuriken at the back of Alfred’s head. The shuriken’s trajectory had unexpected accuracy.
“Ow! What the heck?” Alfred exclaimed, interrupting the flow of the meeting as he looked around for whatever had hit his head. I doubt the thing actually hurt. He was just calling attention to himself, as usual, but, I thought, perhaps with a desired result this time around. And sure enough, the entire spectacle quickly descended into chaos as many began to look for whatever it was that had caused Alfred’s momentary distress. Alfred didn’t find the shuriken – and whoever did kept quiet about it.
I did allow myself a soft laugh at that. Success. I got up to leave.
“All in all, a satisfactory end to an unsatisfactory meeting,” I remarked to Kiku as if nothing at all unusual had happened.
“Indeed,” he responded with all seriousness, then smiled briefly. “Until we meet again, Kirkland-san.” Then he turned to rouse Heracles, who had slumbered through the search for the shuriken.
I left, deciding to keep the two remaining shuriken in my briefcase at all times in case of similar circumstances at the next meeting.
--
Later in the week, as I was preparing my briefcase for (I nearly groaned at the thought) another international meeting, Kiku’s notes and shuriken fell onto the table. I reread them quickly and was amused all over again. Japanese humour is not British, but it suffices on more than one occasion. It rarely translates well, but Kiku speaks English well enough to get the point across.
Indeed, Kiku has certainly mastered my language in almost all respects – except when he spells things like Alfred does (that insufferable git, leaving out letters and changing others willy-nilly) and when he insists on unnecessary formality.
Formality wasn’t always so out of fashion. Not even two centuries ago was it the common practice among my people – and of many other peoples – to have such specific rules governing social interaction as to force anyone to the brink of insanity. Then Alfred decided that casual speech was more “honest” or some such thing and is still single-handedly causing the demise of the language today.
All right, I admit to some exaggeration. The fact remains that when Kiku first visited my home, politeness dictated I call him “Mr Honda” and he call me “Mr Kirkland-san,” because, I imagine, he assumed that “Mister” was simply a part of every Englishman’s name. (I wrote off his then-poor skills at distinguishing between “Mr,” “Mrs,” and “Miss” as a Japanese quirk. The girls were too fascinated by the “exotic Oriental” to mind much. At that point I was aiming to modify his English vocabulary to include the word “you” and assure him of its politeness.)
But really, these days, among friends – and we are friends, no matter what our governments have decided this week, and even if we weren’t friends before, which we were, I might add, we would be now since both of us have Alfred bothering us all the time – anyway, these days, among friends, formality is nearly rude. Ironically. In English – and even in Japanese, Kiku can’t lie to me about that one (excuse me, he rarely lies, rather obfuscates), I still remember the language well enough – being too formal and pompous (oh very well, I’ll admit being guilty of the latter on occasion) and whatnot clearly sends the message we’re not friends.
And we are, aren’t we?
We’re not as…close, shall I say, as we once were, but we’re certainly still friends. Well, we’ve been out for coffee. And last time I was over at his flat in Tokyo we did a variety of things – a little sightseeing, going to restaurants, catching a movie, simply walking and talking around his city. I see more of Kiku with each decade since the forties, certainly. I enjoy his company and I do believe he enjoys mine. I am still able to tell when he’s actually enjoying something – something about the way he moves, I suppose, he’s more relaxed.
So yes, we’re friends. We’re certainly friends. And friends aren’t formal, are they.
A thought crept into my mind. By the time I retired I had a half-arsed little plan and decided to put it into practice the following day.
--
“Kiku,” I said casually, walking over to his table during a break in the meeting and leaning on it a little.
“Ah, Kirkland-san, good morning,” Kiku replied, looking up from his papers.
“It’s, erm, it’s too bad they rearranged the seats for this,” I said, gesturing at the changed layout of the room. Somehow Heracles (how is he able to keep sleeping through the din of every single meeting?) still managed to end up next to Kiku – lucky bastard, it would’ve been so much easier to do this if I were sitting in the vicinity like last time – while I had spent the morning on the other side of the room, in between Francis the Frog and Alfred the Gitface.
“Indeed,” said Kiku gravely as his eyes also swept the place. “I noticed that you looked rather weary of your new seat – perhaps because of your close proximity to Bonnefoy-san and Jones-san?”
“They’re not all bad,” I admitted, because it is true, though I will not say it within their hearing, “when you don’t have to sit by them for hours and you’re free to draw caricatures.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Kiku’s face for a moment.
“Anyway,” I pressed, not wanting to lose the advantage, “I was wondering if…well, you might want to go for a coffee or something this evening. After the meeting. If you’re free, of course; if not, pay it no mind.”
Kiku thought for a moment, checked something on his cell phone quickly, and said, “Thank you for the invitation. I shall accept it.”
“Seven o’clock, then? Surely this infernal meeting will be adjourned by then.”
Kiku nodded. “One would think.”
“One would hope, more like.”
At the front of the room, Ludwig began to call for order and I mentally cursed his punctuality.
“Later, then,” I said quickly, heading back to my seat after giving Kiku a quick nod.
--
Neither of us actually ordered coffee. I handed Kiku his tea (green) as I took mine (black) and we sat at a small table in the corner. I sipped mine and he sipped his, and I remembered how easily silence could fall between us when there was nothing to talk about – though the silences between us are rarely uncomfortable.
“Not the same,” I remarked. It is very difficult to get tea that meets with my approval outside of my own borders.
Kiku glanced down at his own tea. “Yes,” he agreed simply.
We both continued to drink our teas in spite of their quality. I began thinking of ways to broach the topic I wished to and quickly became so pensive as to nearly forget where I was.
Kiku, thankfully, provided me with a suitable opening point with a question: “Kirkland-san, did the rest of the meeting proceed as you wished?”
“Well, no, but when do they ever – but that’s beside the point,” I said.
Kiku gave me his “what on earth are you talking about?” face – which is to say he raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head just so. He even put down his tea.
“You don’t always have to be so polite, you know,” I began. “I – no one will be offended if you, erm, decide to cut down on it a bit.”
“Is that so.” Kiku was still giving me that face, now twinged with slight bemusement. All right, the conversation topic change was abrupt. Nonetheless, I would proceed.
“Yes, it is so,” I said, for once answering the phrase I learned long ago was rhetorical.
“Is my current manner of speech insufficient?” Kiku asked. It was the same tone he used during meetings; he was tense.
“It’s fine, completely fine,” I hastened to assure him. “Grammatically, and all that. First-rate. Just a bit…stiff.”
“Stiff,” Kiku repeated. I can hear the “desu ka” echoing silently in the space between our faces.
“Y’know…not…casual.”
“Not…casual?” Kiku only looked more uncertain about where the conversation was going.
This was not going well, was it. Bloody hell.
I started to long for our original silence and so said nothing, choosing instead to drink my tea. Maybe this would give me enough time to come up with something eloquent, I thought.
“Kirkland-san?” Kiku said tentatively. “Perhaps, if it’s not too much trouble, you could provide an example?”
“Yes! Yes, an example,” I seized on this opportunity immediately and Kiku drew back a bit at my sudden enthusiasm. “Brilliant idea. Let us take your question into consideration: Kirkland-san, perhaps if it’s not too much trouble, you could provide an example. Right?”
Kiku nodded.
“I mean, first of all, there’s my name.”
Kiku nodded again.
“You can call me Arthur, you know. I call you Kiku. Everybody calls you Kiku nowadays, don’t they? Kiku, Arthur. Arthur, Kiku,” I said, gesturing between us even as I mentally berated myself: He can still speak your language, you git, what are you doing!
“Ah, I think I would prefer not,” Kiku said slowly.
“Why not? I’d prefer it if you called me ‘Arthur,’” I said, jumping to the crux of the matter. This couldn’t become much more awkward – the only way that could happen would be if Alfred or Francis or some other equally insensitive tosser burst in and demanded to know what we were talking about. I also knew that Kiku, now knowing my own wishes, would want to comply for the sake of keeping the peace in our friendship. (I did pay attention to his habits for a long time. I haven’t forgotten them all.)
“Will you please explain the rest of the sentence?” Kiku said after a pause.
Ah, the Japanese and their insistence on politely changing the topic without addressing the underlying issue. Maybe this is why they’ve had five prime ministers in as many years: change the topic, keep the issues and the illusion of a solution. I resolved not to let the matter rest that easily, but I also knew I had to get there on Kiku’s time, not my own. A bother, certainly, but worth it in the end if I succeeded.
“Well, you can do without the whole ‘perhaps if it’s not too much trouble’ bit. Of course it’s not too much trouble and anyway, who would mind explaining further? If anyone said something like, ‘Yes, I do mind, you’re an idiot, leave,’ it would just be rude.”
“Yes.”
“And then you could say, ‘Could you give me an example?’ or just ‘Give me an example.’ Yes, the second one – it’s not too impolite, I promise.”
“I will take that into consideration.”
Well, at least he said he’d consider. That was promising. (Not that I could tell what exactly he was thinking.) I decided to make a tactical withdrawal for the time being.
“Good. So I’ve heard that your people are developing some plans about all that deflation–”
“–ah, yes,” Kiku said, relaxing slightly despite the less-than-cheery topic change. (It was the first thing I thought of. Everyone could always find something to say about the economy.) Kiku began outlining the various ideas that had been proposed. This line of conversation carried on for quite some time, long after we had both finished our tea. I found that I appreciated a civil, rational discussion about the myriad of options relating to the topic. (Discussing the economy with Alfred ends in migraines for everyone but him. Pity we have to drag him into any debates about the topic. Him and Yao, who is almost worse.)
We realized how late we’d stayed talking when the coffee shop staff began the general cleaning that always precipitates closing. We parted ways just outside the shop.
“Do this again sometime?” I suggested.
Kiku smiled and answered immediately, “Of course, Kirkland-san.”
“Arthur.”
--
It was a while before I saw Kiku again. We exchanged emails and letters quite a few times – we hadn’t really had the chance to finish talking. I sent him scanned images of things I had drawn during meetings he had, for one reason or another, not been able to attend. I knew he had liked them because of two comments in particular: “Kirkland-san’s portrayal is particularly apt” and “These drawings are so cute!” (The latter sentiment caused me to do something rather undignified while reading the letter over breakfast.)
I did not usually doodle during meetings; I simply sat and grew more sullen with each passing minute. The day Kiku had passed me his note was the first time I had drawn anything bigger than a few dots. I was only drawing to try something new. Browsing in the bookstore led to reading a few passages on “anger management” that mentioned doodling. The book suggested it would be a good coping mechanism or some such thing. Instead, it had renewed my acquaintance with Kiku – even better.
So I kept up the drawings. I got better. I even remembered a bit of portraiture and landscaping from a time when the gentry did such things to amuse themselves. Kiku commented, “As the drawings grow more detailed and numerous, so too does my anticipation for pictures from the next meeting.”
This exchange continued for the better part of the year. We met whenever our schedules allowed to discuss the pressing issues of the times and the drawings and anything else we happened to stumble across over the course of conversation. We slowly settled into a rhythm of exchanging letters, attending meetings, and spending a bit of time together outside of all that.
This was all part of my plan, which was now one-quarter arsed and three-quarters serious. I purposefully didn't mention the issue with my name often – just every once in a while, after we’d been talking for a while, when Kiku was already in a good humour. He would then politely rebuff my request or manage to change the subject without jarring the conversation, but he wasn’t tense when we talked about it now.
His latest refusal had simply been a soft smile, a shake of the head, and, “Perhaps we can discuss this another time.”
Definite progress. I can be quite patient when I want to be, and I wanted to be patient. It took many centuries to garner the power of an empire. This – to reach this response from Kiku took significantly less time. I kept practising my drawing, nearly whistling as I scanned in the finished images and attached them to an email.
While drawing a piece entitled “Nations at the Pretense of Civilisation,” I thought of ways to force this “another time” Kiku mentioned to occur sooner. No, no, I couldn’t “force” it – I had to convince. Or give Kiku an opportunity to discuss the matter in a context he could accept comfortably.
When were the Japanese ever like that with foreigners? There had indeed been a time when Kiku was quite comfortable with me – in the early twentieth century – but even then he always held back something. We’d again grown comfortable in each other’s presence now that we had been seeing each other in a non-governmental setting for so long.
Still…
I continued to ponder as I sketched Alfred trying desperately to find America on the half of a map showing the Eastern hemisphere and Yao looking for China on the other half. I outlined Ivan attempting to build a replica of the Kremlin out of vodka bottles.
Vodka. Alcohol. A bar.
Nearly every bar I’ve ever been to in Japan had a bunch of salarymen acting ridiculous in the corner. I saw Kiku with some of them once, looking on, fond and wistful and regretful and amused all at once.
I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that the Japanese could speak their minds when drunk. And, based on what I’ve seen of Kiku when he has had a copious amount of sake, this is largely true. (My grasp of Japanese at the time, however, was too poor to understand much of what he said. A pity.) My Japanese certainly became functional over time, and this time around, Kiku would be fluent in English and maybe, if I played the game correctly, he would agree to “consider” the topic I wished to address.
Now I knew where I would take him when we next met.
--
To my surprise, Kiku agreed quite readily to my suggested venue, a pub in London.
To my dismay, I failed to take into account that he could possibly outdrink me. East Asians are not known for their tolerance of alcohol – the opposite, in fact. Except Japan, the nation that gave birth to sake and shōchū. Or maybe it was just that I kept ordering drinks to keep us there. That could have been it. I’d be hard pressed to remember exactly all that went on.
The day after, I recalled a smattering of speech:
“Kirkland-san, are you all right?”
“O’ course I’m not all right, you won’t call me by my right proper name, how could I be all right when you–”
“If it’s really that troublesome to you–”
“You used to call me ‘Arthur’! Once! Before the twenties!” (I may or may not have been using a whining tone. I may or may not have been tugging on Kiku’s sleeve. I may or may not actually know for certain whether I did those things or if I would ever admit to doing them.)
“That was – different.”
“And what’s so different now?”
“…I finally understand why Jones-san and Bonnefoy-san and others say what they do about you and places that sell alcohol.” (Someday the gitface and the frog will perish, no matter whether or not I remembered that verbatim.)
The next clear bit:
“Kirkland-san, were I to call you by your first name as you request, my position would become…difficult. I do not think I would mind addressing you as you wish. It is simply that–”
“I’ll kill Alfred for you if he–!” (I was in the mood for it. I truly was.)
A sigh. “…please refrain. It is not only Jones-san who would notice, and I do not wish for his death in any case. If I were to call you, and only you, but your first name, it could result in an impression that we may not wish to cultivate–”
“I wouldn’t mind them knowing – oh yes, the look on Francis’s face would be fine–”
“I would prefer my international relations to remain in their current state. It would be awkward, Kirkland, if they heard–”
“No ‘san’! Hah!” (A crow of triumph may or may not have erupted from my throat.)
“–and the last thing I need is to have more strain in the security alliance with Jones-san–”
“–bullocks, I could take care of that–”
“–the treaty–”
“–treaties be damned!”
Kiku ordered another drink.
There was one last part – a part that stuck out in the haze from the wee hours of the morning:
An unfamiliar voice: “You two, go home. There’s laws about serving shit to intoxicated blokes.”
“–shove it, ya tosser–”
“–inshu unten – shite wa ikan – train?”
“There’s a tube station a block down that way.”
“Ah, yes, thank you.” (Except it sounded more like ah iesu san kyuu and I couldn’t see what was going on.)
“–I’m not leavin’ when I can’t see a bloody thing–”
“–we have to go, Kirkla–”
“–and why the bloody hell is the sky that colour!”
“–it’s – it’s red, yes, it’s not the sky, it’s the seat–”
“–‘s nice–”
“–we really should go, nearly everyone else is gone–”
“–don’t want–”
“Arthur-san. We’re going.”
And so I went, a lopsided grin splitting my face in half.
--
I woke up in my own bed in my flat. I got up and splashed cold water on my face and took three Advil. I walked to the next room. Kiku was curled under a blanket in a chair.
I recalled the three scenes I could dig up from my memory. I could feel my face growing red. I went straight to the kitchen sink and threw more water at my face, put the kettle on, and began rummaging around in the fridge, knocking containers over every which way.
“Good morning,” I heard from behind me. I nearly slapped my hand to my forehead. Kiku was a light sleeper and the kitchen was near the chair he’d been in and – oh, yes, he’d said, “Good morning.”
I thought up some words in my head but what came out was unintelligible.
“I wasn’t confident of the Underground route to a hotel,” Kiku said, an apology clear in his tone, “and I had hoped to wake before you so I wouldn’t disturb–”
“’S fine,” I mumbled. I wondered if taking a few more Advil would be a dangerous overdose.
“I did not think it was a wise idea for you to return unaccompanied, so–”
“’S fine,” I repeated, shutting the fridge and turning round to face Kiku. “You – I mean, thanks. And, erm, about last night, we were drunk, and so all that about my name and, well, you don’t have to, it wasn’t really fair of me to keep you there all that time, and–”
“I was not drunk,” Kiku interrupted with an inscrutable expression.
“Pardon?”
“I was not drunk.” An almost imperceptible smile began to form on his face.
I should not have been as taken aback as I was. “You – you weren’t? Really?”
“No, Arthur-san, I was not.”
I fear I wore that silly drunken grin for the rest of the day.
--
Our outside-of-official-duty meetings increased yet again and Kiku continued using his new term of address for me. Now we purposefully planned excursions outside of our borders with each other in mind. We did not interact much at actual conferences – besides passing notes, of course, and this activity was usually hidden behind the sleeping Heracles’s back – and thus no one noticed. Kiku’s fear of social awkwardness is so acute that I did nothing to indicate that I knew of his change in speech. After the conference ended, though, we would head to a coffee shop or a museum or a park – somewhere far enough away from the meeting place that it was unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew – and enjoy each other’s company.
“Arthur-san,” Kiku said one day, “would you like to return to Japan?”
“Certainly,” I answered. “Whenever’s convenient for you is fine with me.”
“You have mostly seen my cities, and I thought I would like to show you other prefectures – though they are not as grand as the English countryside, I’m sure,” Kiku added quickly. “Also…the probability of encountering someone we would rather not would decrease significantly.”
“I’ve never, er, actually seen Mount Fuji without clouds surrounding the whole place,” I admitted. “Not that I’d be able to tell which mountain was Fuji.”
“When there are few clouds, it is very easy to tell which mountain is Fuji-san,” said Kiku, nodding.
I smirked at the mental comparison of my own –san-related dilemma and the name of the mountain even though I knew the san of Fuji-san was, strictly speaking, yama, a mountain, and not an honorific.
“But I will certainly show you Fuji-san. And if it is cloudy on the day you arrive, you may of course stay as long as you like to ensure you see Fuji-san clearly before you leave.” Kiku smiled.
“A splendid idea,” I said.
I bought my aeroplane tickets the next day.
--
I arrived at Narita airport at ten a.m. local time, took a two-hour train ride to Yamanashi-ken (a prefecture that borders on Mt. Fuji, where Kiku told me he had a small house), and promptly collapsed at a hotel. Kiku was not expecting me at his house until early the next day. I’d told him I’d arrive then because I prefer to keep to myself when a jet-lagged zombie.
I woke at five a.m. local time and vaguely wondered what time it was in Greenwich before giving up on more sleep. After making myself presentable and eating a light breakfast from one of the ubiquitous convenience stores (though the name “Family-Mart” does not seem to be a convenience store name to me), I went back to the hotel and inquired about nice places in the area. I was given directions to a public park, something called a “Fruits Park” (I would have to ask Kiku about that one), and shopping in downtown Kofu. Since the public park was within walking distance, I decided to begin there.
It was certainly rural, though not as much as I expected. I passed grape fields and a local school before coming to the park. I thought it would be nearly deserted at six-thirty in the morning, but I thought I could hear music.
I walked a few steps further into the park. Yes, it was definitely music, and – it wasn’t singing, no, but someone intoning, “Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi. Ichi, ni, san, shi….”
I quickened my pace and took a bend in the path that lead toward the sound.
“–roku, shichi, hachi. Shinkokyuu!”
And there was Kiku, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and red shorts, waving his arms around in a ludicrous pattern with no fewer than thirty boys and girls following his lead. The sound was coming from a portable radio near Kiku’s feet.
I stood, watching them all. It was clearly an exercise regimen of some sort. Eventually the broadcast ended and Kiku snapped off the radio, only to be swarmed by all the children, who had each produced a little paper packet and were pushing toward him insistently.
I walked toward the group and the children on the fringe of the group noticed me.
“Gaijin da!”
“Hora, gaijin-san da yo!”
Kiku immediately looked up, saw me, and gave me the most unrestrained look of happiness I’ve ever seen on his face.
“Arthur!” he said. “Good morning.”
“W-W-Wha–,” I began, wanting to ask, What did you say and knowing it would only draw undue attention. I quickly changed course: “What – what were you all doing, waving your arms about like that?” I knew my face was turning red.
Kiku had fetched a stamp and a stamp pad from behind the radio and was stamping each child’s little book in turn. “Rajio taisou,” he answered.
“Radio exercises?” I asked, just for clarification.
“Yes…I lead the neighborhood elementary school group whenever I stay here during the summer.” He turned to the children, who were still peppering him with questions, and spoke to them so quickly I couldn’t make quite make out what he’d said.
The children left one by one, each bowing and thanking Kiku before cheerily scampering off to do whatever Japanese children on summer vacation do. When they had all gone, Kiku collected the radio and a couple of extra stamp pads.
“I must admit, I was not expecting you here,” he said. We began to walk out of the park together. “I thought I would go home and change before you arrived.”
It occurred to me that I’d never seen Kiku in shorts before.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I said not to expect me until later.”
“Did you just arrive, or–”
“No, I arrived yesterday and stayed in a hotel.”
“Please check out and stay at my house instead. It will be less expensive that way,” Kiku said decisively.
“It wouldn’t be a bother?”
“No, of course not,” said Kiku.
“Are you quite sure?” I asked, having an eerie feeling that our roles had been reversed. This encounter was no longer on my terms.
“Arthur,” Kiku said as he gazed intently at me. “You are most definitely not a trouble to me.”
--
I felt as if I was living in some dream the faeries cooked up and planted in my head. I stayed at Kiku’s house. Each day we would pass by Mt. Fuji to check if it had emerged from the clouds yet. He made good on his word and showed me the sights. I discovered the “Fruits Park” was largely what it sounded like – a huge place with fruit fields that offered a stunning view of a small city and (Kiku assured me) Mt. Fuji on a not-cloudy day. We even had watermelon ice cream at the “Fruits Center,” where Kiku introduced me as “my friend Arthur” to the man behind the counter.
We went to museums, a park with koi, even an amusement park called Fujikyuu Highland where Kiku purchased a small, smiling replica of Mt. Fuji and offered it to me, saying, “If you should return without seeing Fuji-san, you may at least have this to imagine it with.” (We did go on the roller coasters. I will not admit to screaming though Kiku laughed softly whenever I mentioned the picture the mid-ride camera had taken. Kiku looked rather calm, like he was enjoying myself. I refuse to this day to describe my own expression.)
In the evenings, we stayed up late talking, watching movies, or in companionable silence. I ignored the numerous messages on my phone and in my inbox. I did not care.
I had stayed nearly a week and a half when Kiku roused me at six one morning. “Arthur, Arthur – Fuji-san is visible now!”
I was not sure whether I wanted to see the damned mountain that badly after only a few hours of sleep. I got up anyway, pulled on respectable clothes, and walked outside where Kiku was waiting for me.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he whispered to me, gesturing.
I agreed that it was beautiful. “Is this the only time it’s not covered in clouds, though?”
Kiku smiled a bit and said, “It is folly to argue with Fuji-san.”
“Why are you up this early anyway?”
“Rajio taisou.”
“Right.”
We stood, watching as the sun steadily climbed up the mountain.
“Kiku?”
“Yes?”
I hesitated, then said, “You’ve been calling me by my first name the entire time I’ve been here.”
Kiku’s eyes rapidly shifted from the mountain to me.
“And I’d like to say that it’s a welcome change. And I am glad that we’ve closer…friends…recently. And that, well, I really have been enjoying my stay.”
Kiku looked somewhat relieved as he turned his gaze back to Mt. Fuji. “It’s fortunate you were able to see Fuji-san before you left.”
I decided to let the it was a splendid excuse to stay longer than I ought remain unspoken between us. Kiku could, if nothing else, read the atmosphere between him, me, the mountain, and the past several months.
“…about the ‘Arthur’ thing, though.”
“Yes?” Kiku turned back to me instantly, almost nervous.
“All of your people here have heard you use ‘Arthur.’ You are all right with that, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. They are my people. I do not wish to hide from them,” Kiku said. “I do not think I can hide from them in this time.”
“And since all your people are fine with it,” I said, “you can always use it outside of Japan, if you’d like.”
Kiku gave a little sigh and turned back to Mt. Fuji. “I will call you ‘Kirkland-san’ when we are with the others. I–”
“I understand,” I interrupted with a half-truth. “That’s fine. Would you lend me your computer? I probably should get back home sometime this month.”
“Yes, of course,” Kiku said. “If you need my help, please tell me. I will be back from rajio taisou soon.”
“Have a good time. They’re good kids.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” And with that, Kiku left. I was left staring at the mountain and trying not to feel disappointed.
--
A month or so later, it was time for another dreaded world conference. Everyone was packed into a few hotels in New York City while the diplomats scurried to and fro between embassies and consulates and the United Nations building. And we Nations were packed in a poorly lit conference room. As the room began to fill, I participated in the mandatory greeting of everybody else.
“Hey, Arthur!”
“Good afternoon, Arthur.”
“How’s BP doing these days?” (Stupid Francis.)
“Hello, Kirkland-san.”
I looked up at that. “Hello, Kiku,” I said as he proceeded to his seat.
Without further ado, the meeting commenced.
A few hours later, I’d already drawn Alfred drowning in his own ignorance and Francis being transformed into a frog by the faeries when I decided – since Kiku was behind me and surely sneaking glances over my shoulder – to proceed with doodling the two of us standing by Mt. Fuji. At first, just our feet were touching. Then we were holding hands. I smirked as I began to draw our faces getting ever closer–
A paper shuriken pelted the back of my head. I retrieved it from the floor, nearly laughing aloud, and read the message:
Arthur, ダメ.
Thus our note passing began anew.
What should I draw instead? Suggestions?
Your drawings are skilled, as always, but perhaps your skills are not put to the most constructive use.
Most constructive? Whatever do you mean by that?
Something not so blatant, perhaps.
I drew a chrysanthemum and a rose with their stems intertwined and passed it back with the message, My authors have always been overly fond of symbolism.
As the seasons change/powers of symbolism/remain quite
constant/Interpreting their meaning/is not a challenge to some.
Not everyone spent a few centuries composing waka about flowers. I
think you have a harder time being vague with those in English.
I did not want my meaning to be lost in the niceties of your language.
If that had not been in your handwriting, I would not have believed it. I am utterly shocked. I must return the favor to you. And I completed my original Mt. Fuji picture.
“Arthur!” Kiku exclaimed from behind me. From beside him, Heracles opened his eyes, glanced at Kiku, grinned, shrugged, and went back to sleep.
“What?” I asked slyly.
“It is not – that is – I–” Kiku whispered, visibly flustered.
“You’re not amenable to the idea?” I said, holding up the picture.
“That has nothing to do with – with that picture,” said Kiku as he reached for it. “Not here–”
I held it further away. He’d have to stand to get it now. This was the most enjoyable world meeting I’d attended in a very long time, and I was not about to give up my source of fun. The sight of Kiku red in the face – clearly more embarrassed than concerned – while knowing that he had not been opposed to the content of my illustration, just its presence in this situation, was utterly hilarious. I couldn’t help it now: I began to chuckle and then to laugh outright.
“Arthur! Why are you interrupting!” Ludwig barked at me from across the room. I just laughed harder.
“What’re you holding?” Alfred demanded. “If I’m not allowed to have paper airplanes at these gigs, why can you?”
“By all means, share with the class,” suggested Francis, smirking.
“No!” Kiku exclaimed as he stood. “I – that is to say, no, it’s not his fault – I spoke to him first. I am therefore the cause of the interruption and I apologize.”
“Non, non, it is definitely Arthur’s fault,” said Francis, still wearing his insufferable grin.
“It is not Arthur’s fault!” Kiku insisted. “I was the one who began the conversation with Arthur and I shall take this” –he snatched the paper from my hand before I could stop him; I was too taken aback at his uncharacteristic outburst to stop him– “and take care of it, so please, continue with the meeting. I am very sorry for causing this disturbance.” He bowed quickly and sat down, stuffing my drawing in his briefcase.
The room was silent for a few minutes as everyone stared hard at me and even harder at Kiku.
“Well,” said Francis eventually, sniggering in between his words, “congratulations, Kirkland-san.”
I watched Kiku’s face as he went over what he said in his mind. Even he could not hide his dawning comprehension of what he and Francis had said.
“A pox on you and all your frogs,” I retorted (it was the first thing I thought of; I was more concerned about Kiku).
“Order!” Ludwig shouted above Francis’s laughter and the tittering of most of Europe. Yao simply shook his head in the corner. Alfred turned to Matthew and said, “What a second – I don’t get it. What happened?”
That made me begin laughing all over again. I turned back to Kiku.
“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” I said.
“Congratulations,” Heracles, finally awake again, said warmly as he patted Kiku’s shoulder.
“Let’s go out for tea later,” I said, “and I’ll pay.”
Kiku looked up as near-silence descended again, Ludwig having gotten control over most of the room. “Shikata ga nai,” he murmured, then gave me a hint of a smile. “Of course, Arthur.”
--
A few months later, I arrived at the base of Mt. Fuji.
Kiku was waiting for me there. He handed me two pieces of paper. The first was my drawing, the one I’d done at the meeting. The second was his, a piece in Kiku’s style, of the same thing.
The only thing he said as he smiled: “Arthur.”
And I discovered that I can read Kiku’s atmosphere quite well.
The end.
I apologize for the egregious quantity of notes.
Notes on the Japanese language (in order of their appearance in the story):
お願いします(onegaishimasu) – literally “I request,” often used as a form of please, thank you, I leave this to you. In this context, it means “Use them as you will [preferably in the manner that I am imagining at this moment].”
At that point I was aiming to modify his English vocabulary to include the word “you” and assure him of its politeness. – In Japanese, a word meaning “you” (anata, omae, kimi, etc) is rarely used; usually it’s used when you don’t know someone’s name yet, from senior-to-junior/friends (kimi, omae), or if you mean disrespect (omae, temee, etc). Instead, someone’s name is used in place of “you.” (Ex: Shizuka-san wa nihongo ga hanasemasu ka = Can you [Shizuka] speak Japanese?)
Desu ka – “Is?” In this context, a polite question mark.
Inshu unten – shite wa ikan – A colloquial version of “[I] must not…drive while drunk….” Pretty much Kiku being like, “Crap, well, neither of us can drive like this.” Drunk driving penalties are extremely severe in Japan.
富士山（ふじさん） Fuji-san/Mt. Fuji. As Arthur correctly thinks, the last character, read san or yama, means mountain, and is unrelated to the honorific –san.
Rajio taisou – radio exercises (more on that below)
Ichi, ni… - counting
Shinkokyuu! – Deep breaths!
Gaijin da!/Hora, gaijin-san da yo! – It’s a foreigner! Hey, look, it’s a foreigner(-san)! (In my experience, Japanese kids actually say things like this.)
ダメ(dame) – a handy all-purpose phrase meaning “no,” “don’t,” “bad,” “stop,” etc. In this case, Kiku wrote it in katakana for emphasis, making its meaning “DON’T. STOP. THIS WILL END BADLY.”
Shikata ga nai – It can’t be helped. In this context, “There’s nothing I can do about this, so….”
To read the atmosphere (空気を読む kuuki wo yomu) – Hetalia fans probably know this one; “to be socially aware of the situation and take the appropriate action.” It’s opposite is KY (ケイワイ, meaning 空気読めない kuuki yomenai “can’t read the atmosphere”). Prime examples of KY: Italy, America.
…I confess that I chose this prompt partially because I squee about anything related to the Japanese language. Being able to go from Kirkland-san to Kirkland (briefly) to Arthur-san to Arthur made me smile and say, “Oh, Japan.”
General Notes:
I like puns. Hence Sans –San and Yao not being the center of the universe in Arthur’s drawing.
How to fold a shuriken.
This is what Kiku was doing with the elementary school kids.
Adorable video. (You can’t really hear the audio, but you do see the adult supervisor with the kids and some of the kids carrying their little stamp booklets. The caption on the video says, “Radio exercises on a morning during summer vacation,” exactly the situation portrayed here.)
Version with Miku
(Audio is excellent, at 3:02 you can hear the shinkokyuu line that cracks me up.)
I've done rajio taisou for years now, usually during the summer. It's fun.
About Arthur’s trip to Japan:
I lived in Yamanashi-ken for 6 weeks during the summer of 2008. When I thought of Arthur going to Japan, I decided he’d go there since I actually knew what was there.
Mt. Fuji was covered by clouds for all but 10 minutes of my stay. And I got pictures. As in I ran out of the restaurant with my camera and frantically took 2 shots.
The Fruits Park exists. They have the best watermelon ice cream (made with real watermelon) in existance. The view from the top is stunning.
Fujikyuu Highland (the amusement park) is a main attraction of Yamanashi-ken. The roller coasters are great. I went with a girl who knew where all the mid-ride cameras were so we posed with, yes, peace signs. One roller coaster is Fujiyama, the other is Ee Ja Nai Ka. I was too scared to go on the second one.
Pretty picture.
Yamanashi-ken is absolutely gorgeous and somewhat rural. If you are ever in Japan, stop by.
Waka is traditional Japanese poetry with the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count. Nature (including flowers) is a popular composition topic.
The chrysanthemum is, of course, Kiku, but also the Japanese national flower. Take a wild guess about the rose.
…augh I’m sorry this was so long! OTL I had a lot of fun writing this; I got to try a lot of new things (like writing England...and in first person) and I'm happy with the result!
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Date: 2010-08-28 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-28 04:28 pm (UTC)I smiled so much throughout the entire fic, but watching this happen was my favorite!
This is so well-written! I loved that you wrote this from England's POV and you have such a good grasp on his voice, I could hear him reading it the entire time.
And your characterization of Japan is spot-on ♥! He is so polite and it's rare to see someone capture him this well.
I ADORE THIS. ALL OF IT.
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Date: 2010-08-31 03:03 pm (UTC)England's POV was really challenging but I'm glad it came out well! And I'm glad you liked Japan's characterization too; I have various head-canon thoughts about him (depending on what era of history) and feel comfortable writing him, so it was enjoyable to get to write Modern!Japan so much. THERE IS SO MUCH "CUTE" POTENTIAL IT MAKES ME WANT TO SING. ♥
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Date: 2010-08-28 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-30 06:27 pm (UTC)Usually, I'm a bit iffy about first-person narration, but I think you really made it work here. You have Arthur's voice down pat except for a couple of Americanisms. I'll Brit-pick them for you for future reference...
'Bullocks' should be 'bollocks' << don't ask why we changed the word, I have no idea...
Convenience stores...uh, we don't really have a word for these. We refer to them by their name if they're a chain, 'corner shops' if they're on the corner, a couple of other terms...really, 'shop' is just an all-purpose word that'll do (we never say 'store')
And vacation in this sense is 'holidays' (plural for school holidays, singular for a holiday abroad or just away from home)
But that's it for mistakes, which I thought was very impressive since in a first-person narrative you need to write the voice of the character all the time and therefore have to worry about this stuff more.
Anyway, onto the stuff that was just everything I wanted. Your characterisation for one thing - I've already mentioned how spot-on Arthur's voice was, and Kiku was also very typically Japanese in his restrained, polite way. The way the two of them interact was also brilliant - I loved the awkwardness between them when Arthur first brought up the topic, but also the way that they could have comfortable silences without needing to talk. And the way their relationship developed gradually, just like how Kiku's form of address changed just a little each time.
I also love the concept of Arthur drawing doodles in meetings as anger management XDD Everyone else is probably relieved that he's found a way to vent his frustration that isn't picking a fight with Francis or Alfred (unless you count throwing paper shurikens as assault XD). Kiku's one reaction of 'so cute!' made me laugh XD Way to show your inner fanboy, Kiku XD
I also liked your title a lot. I'm also fond of clever puns and plays on words <3
Basically, everything in this fic was well-written, cute, IC and every other compliment I can think of. You're an amazing author and I'm so glad you were the one to fill my prompt because you did it more than justice <33 Thank you so much!
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Date: 2010-08-31 02:57 pm (UTC)While I was writing this, I was thinking, "It's so painfully obvious I'm not a Brit...isn't it. Oh well! I tried! At least the Japanese will be all right!" Unfortunately I don't have any Brits around to tell me of these things. I've only been to the UK once when I was an infant and thus I failed to absorb anything. XD Reading/watching the BBC and Dr Who has only gotten me barely proficient in the wonderfulness of British English. :D I'll go back and fix the things you mentioned before I post this on my journal. (You never do say "store" - whoa. Just realized that. I used the term "convenience store" largely because the Japanese word for it is the Japan-ified version of the American "convenience store," shortened to "konbini.") "Holiday," "holidays" -- ok. I think I've got it now. /epic American fail
Confession time: I was writing up until the deadline so I'm sorry about the typos you got in version 1! And the I'm-not-British fail! (Around an hour before the deadline I was frantically thinking, "Oh dear, do they spell 'civilization' with an 's'? They do, don't they.... BBC HELP ME. OH WAIT NO DEADLINE'S IN AN HOUR GO!") But I had so much fun with this prompt that I didn't care about my deadline panic~~~ My friends were all shocked because I usually go to bed early, and now I can say that I've not pulled an all-nighter for classes ever but I have for fan fiction, and somehow that makes me feel badass. And then I laugh at myself.
I was very worried about England's voice the entire time, so I'm so glad it met with your approval! This fic was the first time I wrote England as anything more than a minor character and the first time I've written anything from Hetalia in first person, so it was a great challenge. I thought I had more hilarity potential if it was in first person. Hence the drawing during world meetings. XD And I loved the prompt; it reminded me of my own experience with Japanese people, who, except for the teacher I had in high school and some people my age, insist on calling me "[My Last Name]-san." (This year I finally got them to agree to call me "[First Name]-san," but they keep forgetting. XD) It was fun to be able to vent my own frustration and express all the funny things that can come with it through fic!
Thanks for your lovely comment and your awesome prompts. You've made my first foray into the Hetalia fandom and fic/art exchanges wonderful. <3
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Date: 2010-09-01 05:47 pm (UTC)Haha, you know what? I've written two fills now and on the first one, I wrote the whole thing on the last day of the deadline XD I'd started other versions before then, but didn't like any of them. In fact, I did a pinch hit fill and overshot the deadline XD Admittedly that was because I thought it had to be done by midnight, but it was actually noon...OTL Thankfully, I'm several hours ahead of the deadline time zone so it wasn't too late...
I'm glad you had fun with the prompt! =D And pulling all-nighters to write fanfiction is something I'm familiar with XD It's fun! And sometimes necessary XD
For your first time writing England and first time with this narration style, you did really well! Really, I wouldn't have guessed that you'd never done something like this before if you hadn't said so. It's also quite a coincidence that the person to get my prompt would be someone who'd had a similar experience! What are the chances?
Haha, I do love making icons <3 And I ship England with literally every character XDD He really is the fandom bicycle XDD
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Date: 2010-09-08 02:40 pm (UTC)The assignment: "Bring in something you've written recently that amuses you and is important to you." -> THIS FIC. And this fic was all thanks to you and your prompt. SO YAY! (Bet my teacher's not expecting THIS...I had to edit the notes a bit, but the story itself is staying exactly the same. OH YEAH. BRING ON THE GAY COUNTRIES.)
(Re: Fandom bicycle: that's like me and America. I've come to the conclusion that everybody's own country is secretly or not so secretly their bicycle. XD)
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Date: 2010-09-10 03:47 pm (UTC)(It does seem to be that way XD I know that in the Japanese fandom, Japan seems to be the bicycle, and Americans tend to pair America up with everyone...though IDK, England seems to be generally popular as a fandom bicycle, as deduced from my research (i.e. writing an England pairing that no one had even thought of before I wrote it and stalking the nationality of the people who actually read it XD)
Patriotism: making your country the world's bitch 8D)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 03:06 pm (UTC)BRB I AM FANGIRLING YOUR USERPIC.
...truer words were never spoken.