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Sang Sur les Roses	By : Saoirse Category: +S to Z > Utena Views: 2873 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Utena, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Ohtori�s
library housed eight million volumes excluding periodicals, films, music,
microfiche, cartographies, and its most recent addition, a state-of-the-art
computer lab. Ohtori also had a separate wing devoted solely to the school�s
and Hou�ou-shi�s local history. Only the administration building had the honor
of being the largest on the campus, the library rivaling second. The chief
librarian and her staff slaved over the summer with personnel hired from
Tokyo�s foremost IT firm to convert their catalog system into an electronic
database to launch it in time for the fall term. Gone away were the miles of
card catalog breakfronts, in their place was a neat row of a dozen Macs on a
comfortable chest high mahogany countertop. Utena was certainly grateful for
the gradual advancement of Ohtori�s European Old World ambiance so grudgingly
static it garroted her nearly everywhere she went. Double study hall was the
only free time she had to think for herself, and she moved about easily without
suspicion of glancing over her shoulder every five minutes. Needless to say she
didn�t return to the rose garden since that night and frequently she was torn
from sleep, her dreams metamorphosing more vivid than the last as she felt
herself to be in Anthy�s body stuffed at both ends. Sometimes in the hothouse
and sometimes under the simulated stars, but it was not the university�s planetarium.
The delicate flesh on her knees burned from the friction on leather, it was
white and glowing like an altar. Deafeningly the aging drone of pulleys and
clashing steel cloyed her but the violating cocks to do nothing else but
incapacitate Utena.

Utena sat at one of the hundreds of lengthy cherry
reading tables under the white glare of a green glass shaded Tiffany desk lamp.
She was a woman possessed suddenly having the urge to ransack her closet. Utena
cut classes just to search for her jewelry box, rather her mother�s jewelry box
left to her. It was an antiquated thing made of polished artificial wood; a
ring of wild flowers painted on the canary yellow lid, an oval mirror on the
inside of the lid was bordered by a narrow braid of fading red satin, it was
lined in crimson velvet and played Follow Me, her parents� wedding song
each time the lid was lifted. While she owned several pieces herself, Utena
didn�t wear any of them save for her rose signet. These were irreplaceable
treasures that couldn�t be lost or damaged during a fencing match. But now
finding their meaning took precedence. The only copy the library had to lend
was no easy feat to locate, but she regaled in the narratives and findings of
the author over the crisp crackling of a turned page. Remarkable how this bit
of data could be so easily unobserved by academia seeing how it could tie
seamlessly into either history or mythology. Utena felt cheated having found it
under Scandinavia, not in sociology or anthropology, but in foreign travel. A conspiracy
she presumed, to bury it somewhere no one would think to find it.

Lifting the tiny object in three clustered fingers
closer to the light to make out the markings on the tiny gold tile, Utena
referred back to the open pages and scanned down the right leaf with her left
index finger. She stopped at the depiction of a letter shaped like a pennant
soldered on a small tile of birch. She read over her breath, ��Wunjo: glory.
Phonetic equivalent: w. DIVINATORY MEANINGS: success, recognition of achievements,
reward, joy, bliss, achievement of goals, contentment. MAGICAL USES: for
success in any endeavor, to motivate, to complete a task. ASSOCIATED MYTHS
& DEITIES: Baldr, Asgard. ANALYSIS: Wunjo is the last rune of the first
aett, and thus represents both the end of one cycle and preparation for the
next. It is a very positive, stable rune, and is another place where people
tend to get stalled along their journey. Christian poets related it to heaven,
but in fact it more closely resembles the Pagan Valhalla, since this particular
paradise is not a permanent one.

Like the wealth of fehu, the glory of wunjo is
only an illusion. We have achieved success on one level only, and there are
many more lessons to be learned. It is, however, a welcome respite, which allows
us to rest, re-charge our batteries and prepare ourselves for the rest of the
journey. It also gives us some perspective, allowing us to look back and
reflect on the road thus far. Wunjo gives us a glimpse of what is possible, but
if we try too soon to reach out and grab it, like the Grail it will disappear
between our fingers.��

And momentarily Utena pictured the wintry smiling
face of a blue-eyed woman whose blonde hair fell lavishly to her hips in layers
of bodily waves that Utena inherited. Her pink coloring came from her father
something he also shared with his younger sister. Wunjo�s description would be
most apposite for her late mother. But according to the wisps of tradition
Utena caught from eavesdropping on her aunt�s conversations, only a priest gave
a runic designation after the naming ceremony. Her father gave the earring
Utena held up to her mother, she judged. Seventeen years earlier Hijikata Orimi
married Tenjou Rihito in a secret ceremony witnessed only by his sister,
Yurika. The Tenjou siblings seemed to be joined at the hip and were often
mistaken to be twins, but Rihito was seven years Yurika�s senior. They shared
the exact shade of dark rose hair and impish ruddy eyes, when amber flecks
surged within their dilated pupils they were often involved in plots jointly.
But his marriage to Hijikata was something Yurika had an augur about since as
far back as her memory allowed her to go. The clandestine affair ended in a
crash; at least it was what Utena had been told. Away at school, the six-year-old
transformed a sheet of white paper into a landscape of fantastical design. She
drew mimosas as high as corn stalks and polka-dotted flying lions creating long
graceful parabolas in a red sky. Under the child�s tiny hands she birthed whole
worlds and one of them would be awarded to her family. But it was not to be.
Yurika a grad student turned foster parent greeted Utena within the sympathetic
circle of her arms and told her that while her parents were somewhere far off,
they loved her dearly.

It was all very clean and convenient. One minute
they were there and the next gone. Ran through smoothly as a dress rehearsal,
and that was one of the reasons why she knew Yurika had lied to her. Snapping
the book shut, Utena left her seat and proceeded to the checkout, behind the
waist-high falcate basswood desk sat the assistant librarian, a cheerless,
lanky woman in her mid-thirties whose black eyes were transfixed on the flat
screen computer monitor, keystrokes going 75 miles per hour. It was music to her.

�I�d like to check this out please,� Utena said. Her
eyes never leaving the spreadsheet she was working on she swung 45 degrees on
her green cushioned swivel chair and scanned Utena�s book. A receipt curled out
of the tiny printer listing the book�s due date. Utena went to a back reading
table under the picture windows, letting in the white sunlight to open her
brief case up and make room for her book when Miki ambled in. Under his arm was
a trio of thick tomes; Utena was mesmerized at the strength of his slender
birdlike upper appendages, his books had to weigh at least a pound and half
each. But not a single one of them creased a rumple on his white Seitokai
uniform jacket.

�Returns please.�

Not only did the wispy woman
shrink her program window that she was working on to prevent distraction but
she stood up and took the books from his hands all at once. �Of course
Kaoru-san.� She didn�t lay one hand on Utena�s book, just simply aimed the red
laser beam over the barcode fastened on the inside of the back cover which she
gestured to Utena to flip open herself, and returned the scanner to its base
under the counter. Special treatment as well? Miki handed her his book receipt,
she reached under the desk and Utena heard the grinding whir of a shredder. Every
student was carefully instructed to toss their receipts and garbage into the
tall, white trash receptacles planted everywhere. �Will there be anything else
sir?�

�Do you have Runic Translations available?�

�I am sorry Kaoru-san,� the librarian genuinely sounded
apologetic as opposed to the generic indifference she displayed to the rest of
the student body. �It was just taken out.�

Like a pre-schooler just
informed that all the swings on the playground were occupied he gnawed on the
inside of his lower lip. Utena flattened herself against the side of a
bookshelf trying her damnedest to conceal herself behind the crisp white spring
season drapes. �I see. No matter.� Miki was blessed with the inhuman talent of
finding optimism in everything. Then again finding the book currently in
Utena�s possession may not have been critical. �If I may�� the librarian
trailed off.

Miki�s royal blue eyes
rounded elatedly. �Please do.�

�If I may,� she repeated, �offer a bit of advice, I could
purchase a copy for you through the school. It only makes sense Kaoru-san since
you�ve borrowed it repeatedly.� The fencer chuckled appreciatively.

�Thank you ma�am, but the book has been out of print for
30 years now. I have personally done research and it is such a rarity that the
few private owners aren�t willing to part with their copies.�

�I see,� she sighed her hands folded on her thighs. She
bowed to which Miki returned the gesture. �Let me know if you require any more
assistance.�

�Arigato gozaimasu.� He then retreated from the library.
Patience grated on Utena�s nervous system like the rusted mechanisms in a clock
tower and ordered herself to stay put until the bell rang. Five minutes later
the hallways rumbled with activity and Utena sped out of there as fast as her
legs could carry her getting lost in the crush.

* * *

�Can you believe that?!� Utena sat with the only three
other people she allowed herself to get close to on the outdoor refectory.
However she was finding it difficult to enjoy her lunch. �They act like they�re
high priests or something! Something doesn�t fit with that Student Council! I
mean whoever heard of an SGO advising the teachers that teach their classes!�
She stabbed at the chicken cordon bleu on her china platter, watching with
fascination as the gooey Swiss oozed down each tine. One of Utena�s companions
gulped her yuzu juice and wet her lips feeling them crack from lack of
moisture.

�I don�t know what to tell you Utena. Kaoru-san is so
friendly, really. But if you want my advice you shouldn�t complain so loudly
about the Seitokai� kids have been driven out of Ohtori for crossing them from
what I heard.� Utena laid her knife and fork down on her platter calmly; her
game face replaced her usually amicable countenance.

�Oh really?� She backtracked to that night in the
Seitokai�s private rose garden. She had not mentioned this to any of her
friends. The girl�s name was Himemiya Anthy Utena discovered after meticulously
providing her physical description accompanied by a healthy dose of arm-twisting.
The girl was the rose garden�s caretaker and was associated with the Seitokai
but did not hold any ranking nor had any office. What exactly Himemiya did was
a mystery. Utena only asked those who stood on the side of the corridors that
seemed remotely interested or terrifically frightened. Utena was brought up to
believe that whatever others engaged in behind closed doors was their own
affair. She was certain that Himemiya was inclined to join two men in sexual
intercourse and that she was more threatened by Utena�s audience than the
President or Vice President. It was consent to defeat if she were to back down
now. It left a sour taste clinging to the back of her throat so pungent she
wanted to spit at that moment, but to do so in front of hundreds of pairs of
eyes would be in bad form. Utena had compromised only once in her short life
span and that was one too many times! Ohtori�s teachers and counselors
beleaguered Utena without respite about her uniform. Instead of dressing in the
prescribed sailor fuku and pleated skirt she opted not to change the garb that
gave the teachers at Seiran a communal coronary each time she walked through
the front gates. They relented since Utena was either clinically insane or
immune to fear and intimidation even of expulsion from such an auspicious
academy. If she wanted to challenge the status quo so be it, but she would not
under any circumstances mock the school�s insignia with that particular shade
of rose. Her Lycra shorts were tomato red and the jacket black, trimmed in red
with a line of gold coin buttons stamped with the Ohtori rose insignia.

Her classmates were bowled over by her forthcoming and
boldness, ironically the same ones who were cowed of the Seitokai. As for the
others sauntering and dawdling on the other side of the corridors, she was just
another contemptible unknown face. �I have to agree with Benika, Utena-san. You
really should think twice about pursuing anything to do with the Student
Council.� Kazami Tatsuya, the only other teenage male she considered a friend
besides Kaido stuck out like a sore thumb because of his egregious soup bowl
mold haircut. Hence his callous epithet �Onion Prince�. Bringing both tiny
fists down on the white table causing the glasses and china to clatter
hatefully, Benika stood up and pushed her nose onto Utena�s.

�Sou! It takes a strong man to know when he could get his
ass kicked, but Tatsuya�s got it down pat.� Tatsuya uttered some monosyllabic
shocking grunt around his spoon. �It�s hopeless to win a confrontation with any
of them, you�d just better stay out of their way until graduation day.� Maisaka
Benika reoccupied her seat. She was nothing special in the classroom, but in
the dance studio they considered her to be the heir to Maya Plesetskaya. A
sweet-faced girl with jet-black hair smartly trimmed below her ears parted on
the right side with a pink barrette, Benika created masterpieces with her
tattered white satin toe slippers. Once a member of a touring children�s dance
troupe she was offered a fellowship at the Royal London Ballet Academy. It was
strange to see the only one to stay silent during the entire exchange was one
of Utena�s ardent supporters who was so vocal about her feelings, her
hyperactive antics earned her a reputation. Shinohara Wakaba, the doe-eyed brunette
who looked out of place without her exaggerated curlicue ponytail bound by a
bit of red ribbon. The luminescence in her brown eyes would steal over her
ripping open her chest bearing all of her secrets threatening to implode from
the inside out.

�I don�t care,� Utena whispered. �If they think they
could go on playing around like this� they�ve got another thing coming.�

* * *

They crept under her shivering eyelids stronger now.
Flashes of intermittent images. A patchwork of thought, voices and languages
converging on speed and viscously laying down a web thick as molasses for Utena
to trudge through sucking her down into the moist earth. The tall swaying reeds
smelling of rebirth� a broken window� sweating salty flesh she grasped between
her gasping, thirsty lips� a splash� and the depths of blue. The garments she
wore weighed her down like iron chain mail and her pink tresses tickled and
confused her as she flailed, the more energy she expended the farther she
descended. Air bubbles white and perfect as rose petals surfaced upwards and
lethargy slipped over her battered limbs.

�Utena!�

Under her lashes she made out in the distance a black
blur drew closer. �A prince� my prince?� Her eyes too exhausted to make
out the face but its paleness surrounded by a mist of vermillion its shading
closer to blood. The touch of flesh against her lips once more only this time
Utena was reenergized by the by the blast of air hitting her lungs turning them
pink. She felt a drunken smile spreading as he drew away. �My prince�� Sheltered
once more in the womb Utena wanted to never leave but what her prince had to
say to her next he only did out of love.

�There�s only one way to escape this world Utena.�

�What�?�

�Forget about me.�

�NO!� Utena tossed herself out of bed trapped in a
snarl of damp bedclothes. The back of her T-shirt plastered to her back and she
daubed her forehead with her knuckles. It was Saturday night again. She
stubbornly refused to pull the drapes across her window and she was about to commit
a greater transgression, she was going out again.

* * *

She tussled into her clothes, sunbleached denim
pedalpushers and her black off the shoulder knotted midriff again pulling the
first thing she spotted out of her cedar bureau. Under her black ballerina
flats the ground turned from smooth hardwood to concrete then cobblestone and
finally crushed freshly mown grass. The wind howled like a beast streaking
across the inky blackness and she was lost. The tower could be seen from her
vantage point rising like a heavenly spire puncturing the peaceful air. The
campus was cosseted under the gazes of Nike, Eros, Aphrodite, Ares, Zeus and
their Olympiad ilk everyone in Ohtori fantasized of. Emulation or desire to be
a god Utena knew was dangerous and greedy but the majority of the students
dashing under their noses unwittingly. But there were the chosen few who would
pause and meet their marble eyes to smile as if communicating, I will join you
up there in time.

Utena smelled the minty crispness of the forest behind
the campus. European pine and Japanese birch clumped together in Mother
Nature�s melting pot, she took the secret winding path strewn with packed red
earth and shards of bark. Clawing back was the cottony fog and she saw the
thick, rotting hemp rope dangling like a spider web slashing in the breeze
noosed around the trunks of a pair of mighty oaks. The crude wooden sign
sagging and moaning in the center bore kanji that was given a fresh coat of
black oil paint.

DANGER! KEEP OUT!

A subtle invitation for a busybody plagued by insomnia.
Utena stretched one long leg over the rope one at a time and pushed on. As she
walked the old familiar loathing of life returned this time combining with an
inexplicable rich desire and passion as she approached the bowels of the
forest. The indistinct primal beats of rock music permeated her flesh
activating her ever nerve sense and the tangerine glow in the middle distance
of a seemingly giant conflagration tantalized her. But it was the push and sigh
of fast heady breaths close by that made her freeze and she sprung to the trees
for security and a better view. Under crackling debris and pebbles of the
forest floor a couple dressed languidly, Utena saw bits of flesh vanish under
designer clothing. The auburn-haired man zipped up his black jeans and pulled
on his slashed Aeropostal� gray and white T-shirt getting to his feet in an
infuriated hurry.

��Telling you I heard something��

��Could you possibly hear��

��Can�t be too careful��

��Now you sound like my brother�� A blue-haired female
came into view from the bushes in black leather knee boots, a flared silver
satin mini and a black sports bra. She was petite and her bob of cerulean
feathered out. Kaoru Kozue. �Really Kayato, if you don�t want to be here with me
why don�t you just Goddamn say so instead of playing games! If I wanted that,
I�ll just go to Touga!�

�Would you be quiet!� He snapped and scanned the
perimeter with his eyes as though he could see perfectly in the pitch black.

�You see? Nothing!� And she proceeded to stomp in the
direction of the glow. Kayato chased his date and Utena dropped softly to the
earth dusting her thighs. Evidently Kozue�s reputation was as well deserved as
Touga�s and she just referred to an encounter she shared with him as an
apparent slight that ultimately went unheeded. Utena rethought her course of
action and intimidated by the consequences should she be discovered she decided
that it was better to retreat to the campus. But common sense seemed to be
working against her as well. She ran out of the forest and landed on a stretch
of black highway, the yellow blacktop reflectors adhered down its center
resembling a cadence of yellow jackets. Halogen street lamps looming 50 feet
above lit her way as Utena scaled the guard railings mindful of any oncoming
traffic. She was fast on her way to nowhere and tempted to throw a temper
tantrum but refrained just in the case anyone may hear and just resigned
herself to anything. The delicate hum reverberated from under her thin soles up
to her knees and the juncture between her legs the breeze caressed her there
making her slam her legs shut. The white high beams occluded her vision and
although she was well out of its way she mounted the guardrail and waited.
Screeching virulently a black Porsche sped to a halt before her cornering at a
45-degree angle and stopped. The passenger side door gaped open.

�They�d have your throat if anyone saw you here!� Railed
the driver.

Utena�s lips barely moved.
�Tsuchiya� sempai�?� Ruka sat behind the wheel dressed in charcoal slacks and a
white pin striped dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows exposing his
sculpted forearms.

�Get in Tenjou. But I don�t know if
it�ll do a damn thing,� Utena left with little choice leapt from her rusty
steel perch into the vehicle. Ruka revved the engine pumping his right foot on
the accelerator before turning the car around and took off. �They probably
already knew you were prowling around a long time ago.�

TSUZUKU
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Sang Sur les Roses