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literenture · 11 months

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A Sho scene. Technically this part would be shown much later but it happens in the earlier story so I’ll post it.

On the morning he was due to meet the artist, the Prophet awoke with anticipation. Truth be told he had hardly slept, feeling a sort of excitement he could not place. He rose early and bathed, then dressed in some of his finer ceremonial robes. It would be important to make a good impression after all. His attendants combed his hair and applied the facial makeup of his office. He examined himself critically in the multiple mirrors before finally raising a hand. It was just about time. The artist’s assistants had warned that the man was a bit fickle with his time, and not to expect him too early, but Sho had nothing but nervous energy as he awaited the arrival of the Painter.

It was to his great surprise, and not altogether displeasure, to be told that the artist had arrived to the precise minute they had agreed upon. He was led into Sho’s chambers by Rana and the silent monk Filu, and the Prophet was immediately struck by his appearance. He was incredibly tall, towering over both of Sho’s disciples, to say nothing of himself. Not as tall as his father, but easily one of the tallest on the compound. He was draped in layers of elegant cloth with a sash of fine silk wound about his thin waist. His dark hair was trimmed haphazardly and escaped down the back of his collar in a sort of long tail. Most stunning of all was the mask he wore of a finely carved face, lips parted just so as if to tell a secret. Sho could tell it was his father’s work and he smiled as sweetly as he could.

“Welcome, o master artist.”

Pierrot clapped his heels together and bowed with immense flourish, his oversized sleeves touching the wooden floor.

“It is my greatest of honors, learned one.”

Sho gestured for his attendants to leave.

“Please, I am but a figurehead,” he insisted. “You needn’t concern yourself overmuch.”

The tall artist rose at the Prophet’s insistence, all one fluid motion. Sho had expected to see greed and derision behind those masked eyes, the usual hallmarks of those who came to see him. Either the Painter was an extremely accomplished liar, or he was one of a rare number who actually saw the Prophet as a person. It made him feel a bit uncomfortable to imagine sitting under that gaze for hours at a time, days at a time. He shifted a bit and broke eye contact first, staring down at his hands and blushing in embarrassment. He was grateful for the layers of white makeup caked on his face.

“Ah, that’s right, did my disciples mention our offer..?”

“I do apologize, but I’ll have to decline,” the artist said kindly. His voice had a sonorous sorrow underpinning every word. “I have my own facilities, and those will be sufficient.”

“Pity,” said the Prophet, although he found himself a bit grateful. “Was the payment not sufficient?”

“It was more than kind, especially the pigment. It is simply more than I’m looking for at this time.”

With that topic out of the way, Sho made his way to the area that had been set up for the portrait. He was feeling oddly self conscious in the careful attention of the other man.

“I hope this will suffice,” he said lamely, lifting his copious sleeves at the area before a great circular window that let in an abundance of natural light. There was already an easel with canvas set upon it, as well as pigments and mediums and brushes, although Sho could see that the Painter had brought along some of his own supplies. Settling himself into the middle of the display, Sho allowed himself to be lightly prodded and posed just so. As the artist tilted his chin, he paused for just a moment.

“Is something the matter?” Sho asked.

“You’ve just got quite unique eyes.”

The compliment made Sho laugh.

“It’s nothing, just… they’re not anything special.”

He wasn’t sure why he was putting himself down, but it seemed to ease the tension he’d felt. There was something about being with Pierrot that felt safe, like he could relax and let go of all of his usual burdens, he could leave the plans to the artist. He did not have to worry himself for the time being, just let the professional do his work.

It was in this way that the first hour passed, with the Painter laying down guidelines and loose strokes with the graphite. He stopped in the middle of what he was doing and leaned back.

“We should take a break. Are you hungry?”

The mundane nature of the question startled Sho from his reverie.

“It’s only been an hour. Surely that’s not enough time for you to get a satisfactory drawing done?”

“Perhaps not yet, but it’s a long time to sit if you’re not used to it. Stretch out a bit, see how you feel.”

He was not wrong. Sho had not expected sitting still to be so tiring, but when he relaxed he found his muscles were fatigued from holding posture. He eased himself up from the chair and rolled his shoulders.

“Can I see it?”

Pierrot considered the young prophet for a moment before nodding slowly.

“It’s not much to look at yet, though.”

As Sho rounded the easel and looked at the canvas, his breath caught. He had seen himself in countless reflections before but somehow in the loose sketch that was taking shape he saw a more real version of himself than any mirror. There was a melancholy to his own features he had never picked up on, a sort of resignation to the set of his chin. He was left dumbstruck and reached up to nearly touch the canvas before he withdrew his hand. He stared at Pierrot.

“It’s amazing. How did you do this in just that time? It’s fantastic.”

His words tumbled out before he could stop himself, awed by the skill the artist held with his craft. There was a freedom to the pencil strokes that belied the talent of the hand that held it.

“You flatter me, but your words are far too kind for just this. I can assure you that the finished product will be of a much higher caliber,” the Painter said smoothly.

Sho tried to imagine how it would look, still somewhat in awe of the sketch as it was. He had always found the arts fascinating, although his grandfather had steadfastly discouraged them, his mother had adored mystery novels and avant-garde comics. Unfortunately, after her death the priests had thrown out the majority of her collection, and so Sho only had a few

books he had managed to hide. In his mind, art was linked with her, and he delighted in anything he could take in, limited though his selections may be.

That was one reason why he had been so delighted when the priests had suggested he get his portrait done. Apparently, Pierrot had been hired to paint the matching portraits of Sho and his mother Rie when he was still a young child. Sho had been anticipating what it would be like to meet a real artist, and so far he had not been disappointed. The man had obvious skill and an air about him completely unlike those who usually came to attempt to weasel something out of the young Prophet. Just because he was only yet 14 years of age did not make him a fool. He appreciated how Pierrot spoke to him earnestly, without greed in his eyes. It made an immense impression on Sho.

That night after the artist had departed the temple, Sho found himself unable to sleep. He could not stop thinking of the picture and how Pierrot had spoken to him as a person rather than a position to exploit. Against his better judgement he found himself looking forward to the next session. He had so much he wanted to ask the man about.

With mind ablaze in thought, he snuck out of bed and stole down to the sitting room. The canvas lay covered on its easel, but he was here for the pencils and paper that lay beside. With only the light of his lantern, he stayed up until the birds began to sing trying to capture some shred of the excitement that had overcome him seeing the artist at work.

His aides found him asleep face down on a sheet of childish scribbles. While he had been drawing he’d felt so confident, but upon waking Sho felt only disappointment at his ineptitude. He had never wanted so much to be able to do something, and while the possibilities had seemed endless last night now he wondered if it was foolish. It’s not as though he needed a skill, he had everything handed to him, but still he found himself wishing for something to call his own.

It was with those thoughts and many more fruitless attempts at drawing that Sho walked into his second drawing session. The artist was once again on time despite his reputation, and the Prophet was brimming with enthusiasm. There was so much he wanted to ask that he hardly knew where to start. It took all his self control not to pepper the man with questions the moment he entered the room.

Once his aides were dismissed and they were alone together, Sho could hold back no longer.

“How did you learn to draw like that?”

Pierrot thought before answering. The way he carefully considered Sho’s words and treated them as worthy of thought was something that Sho was quickly growing fond of.

“A great deal of observation and even more practice,” he said finally. “It takes a lot of work, even if it looks simple. I learned through my work as a doctor, many years ago now.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Sho leaned forward. “Did you draw dead bodies?”

He realized after saying it just how odd the question must be for a child his age to ask, and wondered if the painter would reel back in horror but instead he just carefully considered his answer.

“Often we would dissect and carefully examine the interior structures to have a better understanding of the next living patient. It may seem grim but it’s the foundation of many of the modern sciences.”

The way he said it made the Prophet curious.

“What sort of sciences did you do?”

“Oh, we had a misunderstanding about humors,” the Painter said, waving a hand dismissively. “Although I would argue leech therapy has plenty of legitimate and beneficial uses… its relation to the humor theories have tainted its good name unfortunately.”

“Leeches? Aren’t those like, slugs that suck your blood?”

“They’re annelids,” said Pierrot patiently. “A type of parasitic worm, but they’ve been proven to have anti inflammatory benefits, and honestly if people would just give them another chance perhaps they might prove to have more uses…”

Sho had never imagined someone could feel so passionately about the subject of some worms. It was fascinating to hear the man talk about his past, although it did make Sho have to question just how old he must be. It was the modern day, with electronics and quantum physics and satellites sent into orbit, yet here was a man discussing the ways in which allowing a worm to suck your blood might actually benefit you.

“Did you cut up a lot of people, then?”

“No, no, I was more, ah, in the business of medicines and elixirs,” the Painter said humbly. “I did eventually move on to surgery, but that was later.”

“Hmm, I see,” Sho said thoughtfully. He examined his hands. “So you cut up living people then?”

“Indeed, when necessary. But that’s a subject for another day. We’re starting to waste time.”

“Could you teach me how?”

That seemed to take the Painter by surprise.

“To draw, that is. Not for free, of course,” added the Prophet a bit self consciously.

“That’s not it, rather… I suppose I could try showing you the basics, but—“

“Really? Would you do that?” Sho interrupted in his excitement. He knew it was unbecoming of his position but it had been so long since he had been able to just be a kid. His grandfather had had the priests long since beaten out the childishness in him over the past six years.

The Painter sighed and touched one long finger to his chin.

”My schedule does not currently permit taking on a new student. But,” said the Painter before Sho could protest, “I do have an assistant who could use the practice with teaching. And if we have time after our painting sessions, I might be able to offer some insight and pointers.”

In that moment the Prophet could have hugged the man. He didn’t know until then just how much this meant to him, and the thought of learning how to draw even a fraction as well as the artist would please him.

For the rest of the day Sho was buzzing with excitement. It was difficult for him to sit still as his mind went over the prospect of his lessons. They had agreed to start next week, though Pierrot gave Sho some simple prompts as exercise in the interim. When he was getting ready to pack up for the day, Sho hung around him asking him all manner of inane questions. The older man humored him and did not seem to begrudge the barrage. Sho knew he was chattering, but his joy at having someone to talk to overshadowed any self conscious thoughts.

When had he last been able to enjoy himself like this? Not since before his mother had died, surely. It had been so long since he’d been treated with such kindness that was not bought or threatened. He knew there was some acquaintance between his father and the Painter, but what that was he could not say, only that the artist owned at least one mask created by the masksmith. There was no mistaking his signature. It filled Sho with some anxiety, but there was no use pondering over the unknown. For now he would continue their sessions and their lessons, content to have at least this activity to himself. All his life was at the directive of others, whether the members of the Lotus Eaters or his grandfather.

He met the Painter’s assistant that next week. They would not be meeting for their usual portrait work as Pierrot’s schedule had become quite busy, but he sent along a local woman who he had trained in the arts. She arrived half an hour late, out of breath and frazzled. It was such a difference from the image of the Painter that had it not been for her half mask and ostentatious clothing Sho might have thought her someone lost in the mountains.

“Hoy, young lad, and apologies for the delay!” greeted the women with an exaggerated flourish. “Wouldn’t you know, the rainy season has made a mess of all the local roads! I hadn’t even noticed it had come! Ah? You’re a mite smaller than I expected.”

Sho stared open mouthed at the bizarre stranger. She was so unlike the master painter in most ways that he was left gobsmacked. She shook out one long pleat of dark brown hair and strode up to him. While not tall by any means, she easily towered over Sho’s head. With a ribald laugh she reached out and ruffled his hair without the least hesitation. He heard twin gasps of surprise and saw his aides rushing forward to stop the artist.

“Miss, I do think that’s quite enough,” Rana insisted, but Sho raised a hand to stop her.

“Enough. The two of you are dismissed.”

“But, learned one—“

“Dismissed, I said.”

Rana hesitated but both she and Filu bowed deeply before departing, shutting the sliding door behind them. Sho waited until he heard their footsteps vanish around the corner before he turned back toward the newcomer and swatted her hand from his head.

“I’m not a baby, you don’t need to treat me like one,” he said sulkily. It only made the woman grin wider.

“Heh, I see. Okay then, let’s cut to the chase. Show me what you’ve got.”

Now it was the Prophet’s turn to hesitate. He had been ready to have his work torn apart but not by a total stranger. It made him wonder if maybe he was overreaching, that it was too late for him to take up this new hobby.

Before he could stop her, the woman had taken long strides over to his mess of papers and started rifling through them.

“Hm hm, I see. Interesting. Such strong lines. Haha, what’s this, a pig?”

“It’s a cat!” Sho exclaimed, temperature rising. He tried in vain to grab the papers away, but the woman easily twisted out of reach.

“A cat! You’ve got an interesting eye, little man.”

He could feel the blush from his ears to his cheeks, and cursed himself for not allowing the usual ceremonial makeup. He knew his embarrassment was obvious on his pale features. He tried again in vain to take the papers away and misjudged his step, tumbling down face flat on the ground. The woman stopped and set the pages down before kneeling down beside him.

“Hey now, careful—“

“Why didn’t you just give them back to me!” he wailed. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his breath was coming hard. Shit. He had over exerted himself. The fever was coming on.

“It’s okay, don’t be upset. Hey, I’m sorry okay?” The woman reached down toward him. “You just reminded me of my little brother, I got carried away. Cmon, up and at ‘em, thattaboy.”

He took one of her strong, dark brown hands in his own and with her help got to his feet. His vision was swimming from light headedness and he stumbled to sit in a nearby chair.

“You okay kid?”

“I’m fine,” he said, a bit out of breath. “It happens sometimes.”

“Should I get someone, maybe come back another—“

“No!”

Even Sho was surprised by his exclamation. He hid his face in his hands and tried to calm his breathing. This was all so much more than he had anticipated, but he knew one thing for certain. He wanted to at least try to follow through.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Let’s begin.”

The artist hesitated before nodding.

“You can call me Alma,” she told him. “And do I call you Learned One or..?”

He could practically hear the air quotes. After only a moment to consider he blurted out a response.

“Just Sho is fine.”

Alma’s bright green eyes flickered with amusement, and Sho wondered what it was now that had drawn her attention. However she just gathered her supplies together and stood to attention.

“All right then, let’s begin.”

Between the sessions with Alma and the occasional input from Pierrot, Sho was finding himself enthralled with the world of art. He drew inspiration from the aberrations that lingered around the compound grounds, creating images that disturbed many of the congregants but both of the artists encouraged him. They never acted uneasy about his subject matter, and only bluntly offered critique.

He had said nothing of this to his grandfather, although he strongly suspected the man knew. He had been busy with the unrest in Mineshi, and his own transference into a new body, that of Sho’s aunt, the sister of the young CFO of Daikokuten. No matter his appearance though, the Founder commanded respect.

It was during one of his grandfather’s visits to the Lotus Eaters compound that Sho turned up late, covered in charcoal. The Founder looked him up and down with those burning golden eyes, a scowl that mismatched the soft face it was attached to. Sho did not know just how many times now his grandfather had transferred bodies, but in his fourteen years alive he had witnessed it only once. He was still uncertain how to act around his grandfather’s new form. It felt so off, like he was there but not.

“Sit,” the Founder directed. Sho sat.

“I understand you’ve taken up a rather frivolous hobby,” his grandfather continued. “Tell me, are you focused on your studies?”

Sho squirmed in his seat, sweat beading on the back of his neck. He always felt this immense, physical pressure around his grandfather. It made it hard to breathe and his mind was buzzing as though with electricity. He swallowed drily.

“I’ve mastered recitation of the Eightfold Path,” he said slowly. “My maths need work, but I’m doing my best.”

“Your best? This is your best?”

The Founder slapped down a stack of papers from various courses. Some had doodles in the margins that had marked down an otherwise flawless paper, others were riddled with mistakes and comments about the Prophet’s lack of focus in classes. He had been falling behind as his interest flagged.

“Grandfather, I’m sorry, I just,” Sho scrambled for an explanation. “It’s been hard to focus, my fevers have been coming back.”

The Founder brought one elegantly ringed hand to his chin, staring deeply into Sho’s eyes. He sighed as though in disappointment and waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head, the long black pleat of his hair swaying.

“This is not acceptable. I’m instructing the head priests to confine you to the inner sanctum.”

Sho’s blood drained from his face.

“Please Grandfather, I promise I’ll do better. I don’t need to go—“

“Are you questioning me?”

The Founder’s voice was sharp as a knife, and Sho shrank back in his seat. He stared down at his hands, noticing now that he had gripped his palms so hard he’d drawn blood.

“No, Grandfather,” Sho whispered. “It is as you say. I need to focus on my studies.”

There was a long moment of silence before the Founder spoke again.

“Good lad. Well then, until next time. A week should be sufficient to learn from your mistakes.”

“And the art lessons..?”

The Founder locked his golden eyes on Sho.

“Will continue. For now. But if this happens again, they’re over.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

The isolation chamber in the inner sanctum was so familiar to him by now that Sho could navigate it with eyes closed. Not that it was difficult in such a small space. It was buffered against sound and sealed away with no windows. There were claw marks in the wood from those who had spent too long in here. Some of them were his own.

The first aberrations started to drift through his vision there in the dark. Here, completely deprived of human contact, light, or sound, it was difficult to tell the hallucinations from the genuine oddities. Spectral fish floated through the walls, pulsing with a dim light, while many armed monstrosities scuttled soundlessly across the floor mats. It was like some deep sea trench such as he’d read about in his biology papers.

It was just a week, he told himself. He could manage a week. He was stronger now. It would be okay. He just needed to stay busy, not let his mind wander, that way everything would be—

“Sho.”

He dug his fingers deeper into his scalp, curling up into a tiny ball as he whimpered.

“Sho, honey.”

His mother always seemed to find him here, but she looked nothing like in life. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to gaze upon the decaying form of her face. Even as he ignored her, he felt her step closer.

“Mama’s missed you.”

“…away….”

“Oh honey, just look at me.”

“Please…”

His nails broke the skin of his head, tearing at his hair. It would all be over soon. That’s what he kept telling himself as his mother sung to him in a warbling, off tone.

During his next session with the Painter, Sho was much quieter than previously. He kept fidgeting, having to be reposed all over again. Finally, frustrated from Sho’s lack of focus, Pierrot set his brush down.

“Perhaps it would be better to end here for today.”

“I’m sorry,” Sho said, ashamed. “I’ve been busy with my studies.”

His voice was a sullen monotone, eyes half lidded. He felt like his body weighed eight times more than it did. The Painter considered him silently.

“Maybe you should try painting how you’re feeling right now,” he said slowly. “Sometimes it’s easier to explain it through art.”

Sho looked up at the artist, studying his mask. He wanted to ask him about his association with the Mask Seller, but it was still too personal. Instead he hedged the topic as vaguely as he could.

“My father, he’s always gone,” he said, not looking at Pierrot. “I think maybe I’ve seen him two, three times in the last year. My grandfather’s all I have.”

The words were starting to tumble out of him as he played with the hem of his robes.

“He doesn’t like it when I…play around. He says that’s all art is. Playing around.”

Sho knew he was over sharing, but he had no one else he could talk to, and the Painter was the one person he trusted to be honest with him.

“But well, it’s all I really have. That I’ve chosen to do.” His voice wavered. He felt embarrassed by his own candidness.

“I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s all I have.”

Pierrot stood for a moment, his feet in the corner of Sho’s field of view. Then he began walking toward him. He placed one long fingered hand on the Prophet’s shoulder.

“It’s important to have something we can call our own,” he said gently. “I think that so long as you’re serious about it, your grandfather will see how much it means to you.”

He hesitated a moment before adding,

“I am truly sorry about your father.”

He tactfully avoided asking Sho about his mother, for which the Prophet was grateful. He would tell him the rest, one day, but he needed time. It had all eaten away at him for so long. He was getting tired.

They ended their session early, Sho apologizing profusely and promising a tip for the inconvenience.

After his first confession, Sho began to tell the Painter more and more about his life. It was in halting bits and pieces but he started with small memories of his mother. The lovely times. Or he would discuss his frustration at his father for his absence, for not wanting him, and his desperation for his grandfather’s approval. He had never discussed these things, not even with Imani, and he felt nervous every time. But Pierrot took it in stride, never chiding him. In fact, he shared some of his own life. At those rare moments Sho listened, completely enraptured with the stories of his time as a doctor. He had tried so hard to live up to a harsh master’s expectations, and Sho felt he could understand how he felt. So often, he felt completely detached from those around him, like an alien species. But with the Painter it was all so easy, and he cherished their every moment together.

“Why did you stay with him, if he was so harsh?” Sho found himself asking one day. It was more pointed than his usual questions. The Painter paused mid-brushstroke, and at first Sho worried that he had asked too much. But then the man sighed and resumed painting.

“You see, I was in love with him.” He laughed. “Despite his wife. Although perhaps the most pathetic part is that I had no idea for the longest time.”

Sho’s eyes widened and he broke his pose for a moment, earning him a warning glare from the artist. He resumed his position but couldn’t stop the questions that bubbled to mind.

“He was married? And you…”

“I was young,” said Pierrot sorrowfully. “And very, very foolish.”

They were quiet for a while as Sho processed the information. He wondered what it meant to fall in love with someone already married. It just seemed so messy.

“You shouldn’t go after married men,” Sho finally said, sounding a bit absurd with how final he was about it. As if he knew anything about the world. But his grandfather had always been strict about hierarchy, and the respect of status, and somehow Sho didn’t think falling in love with a married man respected those boundaries.

“Surely you were punished for it,” he said smugly.

To his dismay, the Painter only laughed sadly.

“All too well, my boy,” he said. “Don’t we always pay the highest price for those we love?”

Unfortunately Sho knew all too well how that could be. He felt awkward for letting the topic get to this point, and scrambled for something to say.

There was one topic which he had avoided religiously, and that was his mother’s death. Now, without knowing exactly why he did, he spoke.

“I don’t think love should have to be painful,” he hedged. “My mother always said I needed a forgiving heart. But there’s a limit, isn’t there? When she died, even then, my father didn’t come see me. It wasn’t for months.”

He felt tears well in his eyes at the memory he had long since thought he’d grown numb to.

“If that’s supposed to be his form of love, I don’t want any part of it. Maybe some things are better left that way. Maybe it’s better to hate sometimes than to love.”

Pierrot considered this thoughtfully.

“You might have that right. It’s certainly easier to hate.”

“But Mother, she didn’t hate him.” He furrowed his brow a moment. “I don’t understand it.”

“Your mother sounds like a kind woman.”

“Then why did she choose my father? When he hardly ever came by. He barely came when he learned she was dying. But she still told me I shouldn’t hate him. Why?”

The artist didn’t say anything right away as he mulled over this, and Sho thought at first he wouldn’t get an answer.

“There are things we don’t always know about the ones closest to us,” Pierrot said finally. “Things we’d rather not see. Things others see. Perhaps your mother knew a side to your father you did not.”

“But she should have despised him,” Sho said with fervor. “He left us! He’s hardly even bothered showing up since she died. I…”

Sho bit his lower lip and looked away, breaking his pose but unable to look at the Painter as he continued.

“I only ever wanted him one time. He wasn’t there. Grandfather’s the only one who was ever around, but he wasn’t there either. But shouldn’t my father have been?”

He heard the Painter set his brush down and pad over to him on light feet. A hand gently touched his shoulder. Sho jumped, surprised, but the touch was not an unwelcome one. Before he knew it his face was screwed up in tears, the face paint running down in rivulets. His shoulders heaved as he thought back to that day.

All day, he had sat beside his mother’s corpse, convinced that the Mask Seller would surely come by. Some days prior he had asked Sho to come with him, but the boy had refused, telling his father off. He hoped then as the shadows grew throughout the day that his father would see through his ruse and take him away from this place.

It had never happened, and when they had taken Rie’s body for cremation Sho had wailed and clung to her, believing that his father would be there if they would just wait. He knew now how foolish he had been.

Pierrot held him gently as he cried. None of the shrine congregants would have dared to come near him, and he had learned from a young age that tears only got him looks of horror and prostrations. He had long ago locked away his heart.

So why was it all so painful now?

“I try so hard,” Sho said, quiet as though in confession. “But Grandfather is always so angry with me. He doesn’t approve of my lessons, or… of you being here.”

That seemed to take the artist by surprise.

“Then why commission me?”

“It was the congregants’ idea.. Grandfather agreed, but now…. He says art is frivolous. But it’s the only thing that makes me happy. It’s the only thing I have.”

Pierrot considered his words carefully.

“I think that if it’s important to you, then it’s worth fighting for. Nobody has the right to tell you what to do. No matter how dearly you love them.”

Sho pressed his head against the Painter’s chest, tears stilling. Pierrot patted him gently on the head, like he was a small child. He didn’t dislike it. His grandfather had rarely held him, and seemed to despise Sho’s touch. From a young age the Prophet had learned to expect no comfort from adults. It threw him off when he was with the Painter.

#mirepoix #Aelmidean #Sho #prophet #painter #writing #wip

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aubrgn · 4 years

Photo

Aelmidean sketch of Kain & Isobel in central/southern Medina. rough little idea.

#aelmidean #ocs #art #artists on tumblr #kain #isobel #illustration

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dinas-y-cerrig · 7 years

Text

crow sister narrative

Where to begin this story? Sis would have no problem instantly elucidating a perfect opening stage, but well, one could argue that it's exactly that mastery that has led us here. I'm not sure I'd wholly agree--somehow that seems all too blameless. Not that she hasn't her share of blame, but. Well. It's "too easy". Though the problem of blame really does fall to the reader. I'm just presenting the facts, as they happened, with as little personal embellishment as is possible in a story involving oneself. You'll have to trust me, though I've not the qualifications Sis does.

Just trust me.

Isn't that supposed to be an unspoken vow between reader and narrator? The inherent trust, no need to affirm--this situation, however, requires confirmation. Firm words. At the very least, it requires no more vague wordplay or soliloquy that could compound the issue at hand.

The issue.

Our bodies, of course. Or, to be more precise, our existence. But to understand all of that.

To understand the situation behind this farce.

I suppose I'd have to go back to the day she met him.

The summer of 1689 was particularly remarkable for its ferocity. Much like the animal of their nation's flag, that summer was a powerful, heavy thing--a tiger's summer. The torpid heat had come lumbering out of the east, over the plateaus and deserts of Medina, Dohar, and beyond, an aged heat that seemed to distort the very fabric of space itself. It manifested itself as an especially cruel presence upon reaching the straits, taking on a thick and sticky humidity as it settled over the Yasae archipelago. There was no escape even in the peaks of Hollo's mountains. It was there, in the northernmost of the island, where on a clear day one could see clear across to Medina, that the heat succeeded in thoroughly disrupting the habits of a particular shut-in. Indeed, it prompted this shut-in to become more of a shut-out, the heat so oppressive that it effectively did what this recluse's own kin could not; it drove Bianca Ioneszca out of the small room she had, six months prior, shut herself away in. Though that was not to say that she was particularly antisocial--she enjoyed company just fine, but her constitution was one that could only concentrate on one task at a time, otherwise she would end up exhausted and drained. It was, therefore, not out of disdain for her fellow man, but out of necessity that she had locked herself away in that small, stuffy closet-turned-study in the two room house she shared with her sister Viorica. For Bianca had before her a monumental task, one which she had taken to with such soldier-like austerity that Viorica now had been pleading, even bribing, her to leave the house and get some fresh air. Just a bit. But Bianca had steadfastly refused, time and again, her younger sister's attempts at camaraderie. Besides, Viorica surely couldn't complain--it was this same skill that Bianca so adamantly put herself to that had allowed them these six months of relative luxury.

To put it simply, Bianca's hobby grown out of a busy mind hungry for any release, or might it be compared to a monster that needed distraction, in any case, she had somehow managed to get a piece of her writing to press. It had been under a pseudonym, of course, and had been more of a wager from a former colleague at the monastery-turned-full-time print and press factory she had worked at, yet somehow it seemed to have gained quite the following among the educated types among the upper echelons of the company and their ilk. For a young girl whose duties consisted, somehow, solely of cleaning and tidying up--with all of that inkwork you'd have thought they might have at least allowed her some basic scripture duties!--this exposure was unheard of. Although it had lost traction outside of the confines of the business and surrounding town, it had provided her with a neat and unexpected lump of funds gathered from patrons who, upon hearing that the author was a young man in work rather than school, had taken it upon themselves to get together the means for this talent to attend university to polish their skills. However, once word got around that the writer was, in actuality, a young woman, therefore banning her from any academic setting, they had suddenly withdrawn their offers of support. What had been left was a sum they supposed she deserved--a young woman living on her own, after all, how pitiable, never mind that she lived with her sister, even more depressing--and once passed on to her they had thus retreated, as though fearing to contract ill. It was a great opportunity for Bianca though, despite the rather harsh and frivolous rumors that had arisen once her gender discovered. She decided to take the time to leave work and find for her and Viorica a home of their own--they had until now lived from room to room, a series of cheap and poor rentals. This was decidedly safer for two young women on their own, and it would provide her an opportunity to indulge herself. For the success that she had tasted, although brief, had lit in her a fierce desire to gamble all on the chance that maybe, just maybe, she could do this as a proper living.

That maybe she could be a writer after all.

Although now, six months down the line and their reserve funds dwindling, with the ending of the piece still a convoluted mystery even to her, the author, it seemed that maybe hers had been a fleeting and foolish dream after all.

Thus it was that, as the heat bore down on her from all sides and the humidity turned her cozy-hole into a hazy-hell, Bianca Ioneszca descended from her seclusion to the town of Marta. As it so happened, that day was the farmer's market, and the town square had become a bustle of activity, even in this heat. Having hoped for a quiet corner to sit and observe people as she jotted down notes, Bianca was thoroughly disappointed in the liveliness of the market. However it was the first in a long time she had allowed herself time to idle, and she was determined to get some sort of escape from the heat, even if only distraction. It was to be expected that someone so ill-suited to the atmosphere might stand out, though to most she would rather seem a hazy existence, too dim and wavering to much mind, yet to another who patrolled the grounds in the search of something, some escape from the mundane, she stood out like a beacon.

It just so happened.

It just so happened that that person was Eduard Yagyateri.

Like two moths to a flame, like one drowning person to another, clinging for life yet bringing them both down. On a distant summer day, in this distinct summer heat.

That was how the two stars to our tragedy met.

Yagyateri came from a long line of wool farmers, a meddling middling muddling son in a large family of dyers, shavers, washers, pickers, carders, a name dyed in its own craft; Yagyu- sheep, ter, textile, i. I. Personal reflexive. His father had something of a wool monopoly over Hollo, and Yagyateri Fabrics were a high-fashion item. Many of his sisters had made picturesque matches with other high-minded families, of all sorts of high-life high-lights. Many of his brothers had got pretty picturesque wives, and the pretty picturesque family was frequently host to frivolous follies where all and company danced and preened. It was, for all intents and purposes, of which they had many, a family on the rise to something approaching stardom Or, something less anachronistic at least. Quite the talk of the town, quite an assured life of prim and posh. Something others yearn for, Eduard Yagyateri possessed.

And it was slowly driving him mad.

Every day a pretty maid greeting him in the morning, afternoon tea, Does Master Take Cream and Sugar? Yes, Yes, and to sport. A light workout, cricket on the garden, and back to towel down as the heat reaches its apex. Then a light nap, or quiet reading, followed by aperetifs and quaint chatter. As all parties wend their way to the courtyard it all winds down to a feast under the brilliant summer stars.

Just like clockwork. Just round and round and round. It was enough to make a man sell his soul for a single diversion. But three-and-twenty years of gadabout roundabout and Eduard was fit to burst. He had gone off to Wellbridge--Hellbridge! he'd spit--to pursue a study in poetry, and after four years of fawning foreplay disguised as art and no real passions beside, Eduard was back at home. He was stewing, stirring, quivering with anticipation and restlessness, and his father had allowed him a summer to think over his plans for the future, fully expecting him to fall in with the rest of the family. To Hell with that! would be Eduard's reaction, and he had set upon himself to find something, anything, that would provide him even the slightest amusement, interest, or diversion, something to save him from this endless hell known as easy living.

That afternoon he had fled the family's estate to wander around the market. His sister Angeline had made some comment about his uselessness, and all in a huff Eduard had stormed out. He had burst forth like a thundercloud and descended upon the market in a frenetic state. Going from booth to booth, he was greeted by most everyone. Ah, yes, the young master Yagyateri. He felt sick with himself, sick with the world.

While he was absorbed in this sordid state of self-pity, he continued to mill about. It was as the sun was peaking that his attention was drawn to a small, dark-haired woman. She was short and stout, quite homely really, and her oversized glasses made her look like a frantic bug. It seemed she had lost something, as she was kneeling down--without a care in the world, there, in the dirt!--and reaching under a table. Eduard couldn't help but chuckle to himself, just a bit, at how silly this dumpy woman appeared, and when she was kicked by a stray boot in her search he let out a laugh. That was his undoing. Having straightened herself up, the woman turned her head at his sharp note of amusement. He paled. How uncouth. Although she was a far cry from beauty, she was still a woman, and it was crass of him to laugh at her circumstances. He cleared his throat, and was about to speak when she turned abruptly and dashed away. Feeling incredibly off-pace, he stood there stunned. When he turned to sulk away, his foot came down upon a sheet of paper. He bent down to scoop it up and, curious, turned it over. Finally settling himself down in as much an out of the way place as he could find, he took some time to read over the contents of the page.

It was

Fantastic.

Riveting, really.

He read hungrily, his eyes hastening along each and every line until, midway through a sentence, the page ended abruptly.

#unfinished #thing #aelmidean

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rendotpng · 4 months

Text

Recent sketches, lots of Tsu. Been getting back into using SAI’s marker brush

#my art #artists on tumblr #ocs #aelmidean #mirepoix #illustration #digital art #sketch #observer #prophet #lotus eaters #Tsubasa #Ayumi #etc #Daikokuten

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literenture · 11 months

Text

Rough draft, one of the first chapters in the Mirepoix arc.

“(The Empty Vessel)?”

The Observer raised an eyebrow. His prior aloofness slipped as he stared at the man, attention rapt. He glanced at Sowaca.

“I’m sure a young person like you wouldn’t know, but growing up the elders in the village would tell us about it.” The old man chewed on his tobacco before spitting into the urn. “We always thought it was just a yarn. But rumor is, they’ve crowned a new god at Yubari using that old ritual.”

As he spoke, the Observer’s expression darkened. Sowaca noticed him chew his lip, surprised at how open his face was. In all the centuries they’d spent together, the Observer had developed an unbreakable mask, yet for the first time in so long his expression was blatant. Sowaca’s hackles raised in anticipation, leaning on his toes.

Within moments the mask returned and the Observer put on his usual smile. However, his voice was taut when he replied.

“And you’re sure it was the (empty vessel)?”

“I may be old but I ain’t senile yet, brat.”

“My apologies, sir,” the Observer said. “It’s just that I’ve never heard of such a thing. You see, folklore is my passion, I’m always looking for new things. What is this Yubari you mentioned?”

“Why, the new shrine. Or, well, it was an ancient shrine but in the last few years some priests moved in and have been working on restoring the old place.”

“An old shrine, you say…”

Rui ran his tongue over his lips.

“Where might I find it?”

——

Their arrival to Yubari shrine was full of fanfare. A festival was in full swing, dancers and musicians everywhere. The air was filled with the sound of flutes, bells, shouts, and laughter. With his short stature, the Observer was quickly crowded. He grunted and pushed his way through the crowd, calling out for Sowaca.

“Let’s split up. You go find a way to get into the sanctum and I’ll try to ask around.“

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Sowaca asked with a sneer. “You look like a little lost child.”

The Observer didn’t respond. Sowaca noted this with some concern. Usually they’d banter, but the Observer was acing completely out of character. Rui adjusted his black and gold jackal mask.

“You sure everything’s okay, kid?”

“Just get going. Better to finish this up quick, I have a feeling these fine folk won’t be too fond of us once this is over.”

With nothing left to say, Sowaca parted. He glanced behind his shoulder as the Observer disappeared into the crowd. Something was wrong. Rui wasn’t one to let emotion rule him, not for things like this. There was something familiar about this karappo tanma thing, but no matter how he picked his brain Sowaca just couldn’t place it. Still, this was just a dime a dozen job, nothing they hadn’t dealt with before.

So long as it was just some mistake, they could walk away laughing. It’s not like they would walk into some sort of trap, and equally unlikely to have anything to do with that man.

At least, he hoped so.

——

The shrine’s grounds were oddly still. Sowaca strained his ears, but the festival noises made it hard to pick out each set of sounds. He glanced around the gardens, trying to decide on a path. Where exactly do you keep an aberration? It was their so called god, would it have been in a place of prominence? Or hidden away?

His ears suddenly pricked. To his left, some ways off and muffled, he thought he heard someone crying. It sounds like a child. With no other leads, Sowaca trotted toward the sound.

(Shrine stuff nearly gets caught by a priest and runs into a room)

The room he’d hurriedly rushed into was bare and empty. There was only a tiny window at the top of the wall, little airflow, and a stale smell. It wasn’t silent though. Sowaca turned toward the dark corner of the room. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the form of a small figure bent over. This was the source of the crying.

And the scent of a monster.

——

The girl had been crowned the previous year, and her life since had been a nightmare of blood and death. She could barely recall her life before she and her older sister had been taken from their village, somewhere in the north of Badhapur. She couldn’t recall exactly where. Her sister’s face was fading in her mind, her other half, but she knew in her heart that Imani was okay. She had always been the stronger of the two of them.

Her own name had been taken from her, but she still remembered it. They called her god, but to her she was just Santu. It didn’t matter how many sacrifices the priests made, no matter how her form twisted to belief. Every month they hosted a festival, one that ended in bloodshed. She became monstrous at these times, a bat-like creature with the trapped mind of a child.

It was her eighth month here at Yubari, after years spent in a dim and dingy environment, and her heart was heavy. She had hoped that coming to the shrine would change things, but it quickly became apparent that she would still remain under lock and key, with constant supervision. The only times she was let out were for lessons instructing her in her role, and the horrible, bloody rituals. The festival was coming to an end—even from her enclosed room she could hear the instruments crescendo. Her tears would not stop as she sat, alone, fearing the event to come. Santu didn’t understand why they continued to do such vile things, but she was powerless to stop them. She didn’t even want to be a god, she just wanted to run outside and play.

Her misery was interrupted by the sound of a bell and the soft padding of paws. She snapped her head up and saw a small black cat staring at her with three wide green eyes. A bell hung from a red, braided rope collar tied in an elaborate knot around his neck and jingled lightly as he walked. He froze when he saw her, but Santu hiccuped and extended one small palm.

“Hullo kitty,” she said as cheerfully as she could. “Are you here to see Santu?”

The cat blinked, apprehensive, before leaning forward and sniffing her hand. After a moment, he leaned in and rubbed against her. Santu squealed in joy, gleefully rubbing his silky black fur.

“What a handsome kitty. Such pretty eyes! Who’s a good boy? Yes yes, he’s a very cute little man isn’t he!”

“I’ll have you know I’m no little man. I’m feared throughout the world, my name incites terror and reverie. Be grateful to be in my presence.”

His sudden, commanding voice was contrasted to his eager nuzzling and purring.

“Wow, so talented,” Santu said in amazement. “Kitty can talk!”

Her tears forgotten, her face broke into a huge smile as she lifted the cat by the armpits. He squirmed in her grip.

“Unhand me, child.”

However he did not struggle much as Santu squeezed him into a hug, resigned to his fate. She set him down gently.

“Santu didn’t know kitties could talk. Is it hard to learn?”

“I’m no kitty,” the cat protested. “You may call me Sowaca, be pleased.”

“Sowa…” Santu screwed up her face. “Sowacchi!”

The nickname made Sowaca wince.

“No, like! I! Said! It’s—“

“Sowacchi, will you be Santu’s friend?”

The question took the little god unawares. He licked one back leg thoughtfully.

“So you’re the god here? Santu, is it?”

Hearing her name, Santu grinned.

“Mm!”

Sowaca sighed and groomed his ears.

“Say, wanna break out of here?”

She blinked at his question, not sure what he meant. She looked down at her thin arms; even balling her hands into tight fists, it was obvious her lack of strength.

“But, Santu can’t break anything. Santu’s too weak.”

“No, it’s just— it’s a figure of speech,” Sowaca said with annoyance. “Wanna get out of here? Or would you rather stay in this dingy little room forever?”

His point made clear, Santu inhaled sharply through her nose. The air hung heavy as he awaited her response, but it did not take her long to decide. She nodded vigorously.

“With all my hearth!”

—-

The Observer was having less luck in his research. He was twirled and spun around the crowds, and when he tried to ask for details he only got vagaries. The guests all seemed off, their eyes glazed and smiles too wide. Rui suspected the plentiful drink that was pushed on him from all sides. He pretended to take some and continued onward.

The main shrine of Yubari was an old collection of buildings in the Rinmae style, with recent additions tacked on. The streets surrounding the main compound were chaotic and he found himself in a labyrinth of dancing limbs and ambling walkways. The late summer weather was hot and the scent of sweat and flowers laced the air.

As petals rained down on the congregants, the Observer ducked down a side street. It was quieter here, and he moved on to the central buildings. It was far less crowded here and Rui moved cautiously.

He wandered aimlessly down the wooden hallways of the shrine, ducking out of sight any time he came across priests or shrine maidens. As he rounded a corner he practically bowled over Sowaca’s scampering form.

“I found her,” he said, out of breath.

“Her?”

“Mm. What’s worse, this has all the looks of being a project of Daiten’s. It’s awful. You’ll see. She’s just a kid.”

Rui’s stomach clenched. Just how far would Daikokuten go for their goals? How many children would they put through such cruelty?

“We need to end this,” Rui said with certainty. Sowaca nodded.

“Follow me.”

——

They managed to sneak into the inner shrine without needing to break out the shamisen. The lack of security was bizarre, and Rui wondered just what the festival’s goal was. It did not take them long to arrive at the enclosure deep within the ambling hallways.

As he stepped into the room, he was taken by surprise at just how young the godling was. It was impossible to tell her exact age but she appeared to be around twelve or thirteen, small and wiry. Her skin was dark but ashy from lack of sunlight, and her abundant reddish brown hair tumbled down her shoulders in waves and curls. Two small horns sprouted from her forehead and large cupped ears adorned her head, along with small, useless wings on her back and a long, thin tail, but otherwise she looked just like a normal child. She was adorned in embroidered robes, though it looked like she had discarded multiple layers on the floor, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She glanced up at the Observer with round, trusting purple eyes.

“Hullo!” she greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” Rui said, a bit at a loss. “You’re Santu?”

The girl nodded vigorously, her lustrous curls bouncing. She had a bright, innocent smile that took away Rui’s words. She was just so young.

“Sowacchi told Santu you’re taking her away,” Santu said. “Santu doesn’t like it here. It’s so very dreadful.”

Rui leered at Sowaca who for his part lowered his ears and looked away at the pet name.

“That so, Sowacchi?”

The cat grumbled, but the Observer just nodded. He put on what he hoped was his most trustworthy smile.

“Well, you wanna break out of here?”

Santu lifted her fists up and pumped her arms vigorously.

“Santu will do her best to break everything in the way!”

Rui grinned and tousled her hair. She was so small, even shorter than him, skinny and willowy. He wondered just what she had been forced through under the supervision of the Founder, and shuddered at the thought. His own experience attaining immortality had been horrific, and he could only imagine how much worse things would have been had he been her age and living under the thumb of that man.

Although quite young, Santu’s behavior made her seem even younger, and he was surprised at how easily she trusted them. Just how many times had that trust been abused? It made his head ache, but the Observer put on a smile to hide his unease.

“Well then, without further ado, let us away,” he said with a dramatic bow, a cheap imitation of the one he had seen his painter friend perform countless times.

Rui was under no illusion of the difficulties present in getting out with a child in tow, but with how lacking security had been he could only hope they wouldn’t run into any trouble. Due to the murky en of the shrine and its location, not to mention his wonky gate, they would have to get a ways away to utilize the shamisen to its fullest. Even then, without a better understanding of Santu’s constitution, any use would carry a not insignificant risk. Rui placed one palm over the hilt of his dagger, ready to use it if it became necessary. Daikokuten couldn’t be allowed to continue this project. They were getting too close to things that should have remained long buried. He ground his molars together, but he was snapped out of his thoughts by a warm hand gripping his own. Rui looked down to see Santu shyly holding his hand, fingers interlocked. She looked back at him with a hesitant smile.

“Is it okay?”

“Mm,” Rui said, nodding and swinging their hands. “Santu sure is a sweet girl, so it’s no good staying locked up in a dark room like this. The world is far too vast to remain trapped in one place. Now, let’s be very very quiet, and very very brave, and get you out of here.”

Sowaca led the way as they emerged from the claustrophobic room, peeking around corners before gesturing them to follow. It was much slower progress than when they had been alone, but those large ears weren’t just for show; Santu listened to their instructions with a grave expression, and she was silent as they made their way through the ancient wooden hallways.

At times they caught sight of a priest and had to duck away beside a shrub or into a side room. It was a miracle that they had yet to walk in on anyone, and Rui’s nerves were running high. He did not want to be stuck in enemy territory and forced to defend a young girl while assailed on all sides.

They were nearing the exit when a sudden group of shrine maidens appeared on the other side of a courtyard. Without a moment’s hesitation, Rui grabbed Santu close to him and dropped down beneath a bush. He held one hand over her mouth and calmed his breathing. His heart was pounding in his chest as he shrunk down as far as he could go. They all waited with baited breath as the footsteps approached.

The danger had nearly passed when disaster struck. Rui’s hand had relaxed from Santu’s mouth as he listened to the women above, and as it did a lock of her hair came loose and brushed against her nose. With a sudden inhale, she sneezed loudly. All three of them froze.

“Did you hear that?”

“Didn’t it come from over there?”

“Ehhh, how creepy! Is someone there?”

The footsteps which had stopped began to approach them. With little time to decide what to do, Rui went with the most obvious option.

“Run,” he urged his companions as he tugged on Santu’s hand.

She burst into a sprint behind him, the gaggle of women shrieking in alarm. Unfortunately, one of them also noticed who was fleeing.

“Milord! Please, come back! Quickly, go let the guards know!”

“She’s been abducted! Oh gods, it’ll be our heads if we—“

“Come on, quick, we have to—“

Their voices melded and faded behind them as Rui and Santu tore through the shrine on the heels of Sowaca. They whipped around corners sharply with no heed for who they ran into, causing a couple of priests and lone shrine maidens to jump out of the way with startled yells. Rui had no time to heed who saw them.

He had considered pulling out his shamisen, but at that distance and in this environment he wouldn’t have had the time. He was equally reluctant to unsheathe Suiko and draw blood if he could avoid it.

And so, they ran. Rui’s heart was pounding in his chest, but the exit was close. They had only a bit further to go.

“Ahhhhh? It’s just some kid?”

Their progress was halted suddenly by a figure leaning against the exit. It was a man of average height, which meant he still towered over Rui even slouched as he was. He did not seem especially strong, but on his back was a massive sword that seemed impossibly large for him to carry. Rui kept his eyes on it as he stood with an arm stretched out in front of Santu, breathing raggedly. The stranger gave off an aura of violence, and he cracked his neck as he approached.

“Ahhhh? What? So scared you piss your pants, ahhh? So terrified you wanna run home to mommy?”

The man’s voice was full of derision, green eyes sparkling. He had short red hair swept up in spiky layers, and he wore a light shirt and baggy pants, with heavy boots, chains hanging from his waist. He gave off the aura of a punk, but the danger he possessed was clear to see. He spat.

“Got nothing to say? Just gonna stand there like a jackass? Ahhh?”

Rui gulped but a strained smile played about his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. Maybe we can schedule a time to go over this? I’m kinda busy right now.”

The man snorted out a rough laugh.

“Hah! Very funny, little man. But that,” he pointed to Santu, who shrunk behind the Observer, “is company property. I’ll kindly ask you to hand it over, kindly, but just once, ahhh?”

Rui grit his teeth at the callous remarks.

“That, I can’t do. Sorry.”

The man grinned like a shark.

“All good by me, bro.”

In the next instant, that massive sword was coming down with destructive force and speed beyond comprehension, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Rui just barely managed to fling himself and Santu out of the way. He coughed, summoning his shamisen. A knife had no chance against a two-hander. Nor would he have the time to ring out the proper notes. He had but one option.

“Pretty good, pretty good, pretty pretty good! I’m gonna enjoy this, ya piece of shit!”

The man stood amongst the destruction his single swing had caused. The hallway had a massive hole in the floor, the wooden boards sticking up awkwardly. A line of damage extended from the impact point, and Rui shuddered as he imagined how it would feel to receive that blow head on.

“Isn’t she important to you?” he shouted, ducking through the dust. “You could have killed her just now, asshole!”

However, the man just barked out a harsh laugh at Rui’s complaints.

“Ahhhh? It’s not like it’ll die just from that. Even if I chop off every limb, I can just say it resisted. It’ll be fine as long as the head remains.”

“Bastard—“

Rui’s comment was interrupted by a massive swing parting the dust as the sword bore down on him. This time however he was prepared.

“—-Kahah! Seems you’ve gotten serious.”

The huge sword had been stopped by the slim blade of Rui’s one sided sword. He had managed to draw it from the neck of his shamisen just in time, and he panted heavily as he strained against the force of the two-hander. The man standing before him grinned wickedly.

“Didn’t take you for the strong type, little man.”

“I’m flattered by your compliments,” Rui grunted. “But it’ll have to wait for another time!”

He flung aside the opponent’s sword, knocking him off balance. Before the man could recover, a black shadow pounced on him, claws and teeth tearing into his clothes. Sowaca had transformed, his size that of a panther. However, the man easily shrugged him off with a scowl. The black cat slammed against a wall, the plaster fracturing. He slumped to the ground in a daze.

“Sowaca! Keep an eye on the girl, I’ve got this handled,” Rui shouted.

“Kahah! You gonna pull some tricks with your pet? Ain’t that cute. But half measure shit like this ain’t got a chance against my Fomalhaut!”

To punctuate his words, he twisted at the waist, sending a shockwave out around him. Rui went tumbling, just barely getting his feet back under him in time to dodge the incoming sword blow. Rui did not think he could count on wearing him down. The man was impossibly fast, wielding his weapon like it weighed nothing even though it was practically the same size as him. There was no doubt as to its impact though; it easily tore through the surroundings like paper, and Rui did not doubt that flesh would stand no chance against its edge. If he didn’t shut this down fast, it would only give his opponent time for reinforcements to join in. He adjusted his grip on his own sword, taking a breath to steady himself. He reached up and tore off his eyepatch, staring into the other man’s face. The action exposed the black sclera and golden, irregularly shaped, pulsating iris. The man sneered at him.

“Ahhh? What’s this? Trying to look cool, you shitbag? Posing like some hero, you prick? I’ll knock you down to your level.”

“Just try it,” Rui said sweetly. His lips widened to an almost maddening grin.

The man looked taken aback for a moment, but he snorted and gripped his sword handle.

“I’ll make you eat those words, insect.”

In the next moment he had stepped forward with unnatural speed to close the distance between them. His sword would reach him in the blink of an eye. But Rui simply stood until the last moment, dodging the minimal distance with ease. The man’s eyes widened in shock, but before he could react Rui had swung his blade.

There wasn’t enough space nor time for him to adjust his grip, and he succeeded only in slamming the man across the back of the head with the flat of his blade. It resounded with a sharp clack and the man stumbled down. However, he had not dropped his weapon and quickly regained his footing. He shot up at Rui with an underhanded swing, putting his weight into the killing blow.

Rui dodged again as though toying with him. The man howled as he slammed into the wall, totally wrecking it.

“Ya bastard! Pipsqueak piece of shit! Don’t mess with me, ahhh!?”

He complained loudly. Rui glanced down the corridor in the meantime. Sowaca had made his way over to Santu, and Rui nodded at him. As long as he could keep the enemy distracted, they should flee immediately. Sowaca nodded back, his three green eyes full of unease. Rui sighed and looked towards the man.

“Maybe we could call it a tie and save this for another day..?”

“You fuckin’ with me, ahhh?”

The Observer shrugged.

“It was worth a try.”

In the next moment their swords clashed, Rui’s thin blade ringing against the two-hander. It did not so much as chip despite the immense size difference. No, this Fang bestowed upon him by Sowaca would not shatter, even against such a mighty foe. He grit his teeth, feeling the tingling of roots spreading down his cheek. He knew he was overdoing it while his gate was still recovering, but his instincts told him that this opponent was not one to be taken lightly. That sword’s aura was bad news too, and it felt like he was on the verge of understanding why. But he would not get the time. A single wrong step would land them in serious trouble.

“Pretty fuckin’ gross, pretty damn nasty, just what the hell is up with that?”

The man squinted his eyes at Rui’s changing face, visibly disgusted by the black roots that spread across his right cheek. Taking advantage of his confusion, Rui adjusted his footing and sent the man stumbling. This time, blade pointed, he would not fail. He swung down at the man’s back.

Metal met flesh and the scent of blood filled the hallway. However, he had not succeeded in landing the killing blow. Rui stood, wide eyed, at the man who had turned at the last second and sacrificed an arm in exchange for his life. Blood seeped from the bisected stump, and he howled in rage as he clutched it, sword abandoned beside him.

“Ya prick! Piece of shit! I’ll fucking murder you, you bastard, you hear, ahhhh!?”

Despite the grievous wound, the man continued to hurl insults and verbal abuse at Rui. The Observer stared down at him coldly.

“I think that’s enough playtime.”

He rushed forward and slammed the hilt of his blade into the back of the man’s head with a crunch. The man’s eyes widened as he gasped, but he soon slumped to the floor. His bizarre weapon sat beside his limp form. Even on its own it gave off a bloody and dangerous aura. It felt almost familiar, but its appearance was unlike anything he had seen, and the Observer couldn’t tear his gaze from it. Rui stood breathing raggedly over the still bleeding man, thoughts a tangle, but Sowaca soon snapped him to attention.

“We gotta go now kid.”

With but a glance back, Rui flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it. In the next moment, the shamisen had once again vanished from sight. He turned and grabbed Santu’s hand. The girl had watched silently as the fight had gone on, wide eyed and scared. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the unconscious man even as Rui and Sowaca hurried her along.

They made it out of the shrine, but the commotion had drawn attention. The sound of the festival was ongoing, yet there could now be heard shouts of alarm interspersed among the jubilation.

The Observer didn’t bother to stop and consider where to go. He ran after Sowaca, who had reverted to his usual form.

The destruction would at least serve as a distraction, he reasoned. They were lucky and managed to avoid any further interruption as they made their way through the side streets. The revelers they did run into were too far gone on the festival brew to take much notice.

Once they had gotten some distance into the forest, they stopped, breathing heavily. Santu collapsed to the forest floor in exhaustion, shoulders heaving. Sowaca came up to her and bumped his nose against her face.

“You did a good job, kid.”

Unable to speak as she caught her breath, the girl managed a weak smile. Rui came over and reached out to her.

“Are you okay?”

To his surprise, she flinched away from him with a violent jerk. The Observer’s eyes widened slightly and he withdrew. She gulped down a breath of air.

“Mm, Santu is, okay.”

“Ah, that’s, that’s good then,” Rui stammered.

Sowaca was looking at him with understanding as he was petted by the girl. After a moment of silence, with head lowered, she spoke up.

“Is… the bad man okay?”

Her question took Rui aback, and he tried to think of the correct response. Unable to come upon anything he could say as a convenient lie, he rubbed his head furiously and sighed.

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” he mumbled, eyes downcast. “But I’d like to think they have the resources to take care of him. I only knocked him out, and as long as someone finds him fast… Yeah, with all that noise someone will certainly…”

His voice trailed off. It wasn’t as though he wanted to kill anyone. But if it was between that or ending up a test subject for eternity, or send this child back to her cruel fate, he would not hesitate.

“We had to protect you,” Sowaca interjected gently.

He punctuated his statement with a headbutt against Santu’s outstretched palm. The girl appeared to consider his words, one hand toying idly with a long lock of hair. Rui had no idea how to handle children, and he felt a bit awkward now that they had made it this far. He coughed and dropped his hand from his head before clapping his palms together and bowing his head apologetically.

“Sorry! That must have been really scary,” he said. “Sowaca’s right in a way, I was worried that he might hurt you, and all of us. It’s… a complicated situation. I’m not sure where to start.”

Still looking down, Rui heard the rustle of grass and the next moment a small hand was patting him on the head.

“There, there. It’s okay now. Big brother tried his best to make sure Santu and Sowacchi are okay.”

Her words were gently spoken, a soft utterance forgiving him. Rui straightened his back and looked down at the girl. Truly, he had no idea what went through the mind of a child. Better to be off quickly and bring her to Nozoe for safety. He cracked his neck and let out a sharp breath as he thought of the travel ahead. With his gate in its current condition he’d be limited in his options.

Of course it wouldn’t be that convenient.

The Observer noticed Santu staring up at him with a questioning gaze. He tilted his head.

“What is it?”

The batling cast her eyes down, hands clutching the hem of her robes.

“Um, if it’s okay,” she hedged, “will big brother tell Santu his name?”

Rui froze for a second, realizing just now that he had neglected to even introduce himself. He considered giving her a pseudonym but his emotions got the better of him.

“It’s… Rui. You can call me Rui.”

Santu’s face broke out into a sunny grin, dappled sunlight glinting off of her sharp teeth. It was a discordant sight, but not off putting in the least. Before he could say or do anything more, Rui was caught in a sudden hug from the girl, her full body weight flung at him. He staggered a bit so as not to lose his balance and held his arms out awkwardly as she clung to him. After some hesitation and an urging look from Sowaca, he carefully placed his hands on her shoulders and patted them lightly.

“Rui-nii!” she shouted in delight. “Santu is oh so grateful.”

“Ah, right,” Rui replied weakly. “That’s, well.”

Sowaca was leering at him in clear amusement as the Observer struggled to respond. Rui stuck his tongue out at him, but trapped as he was in Santu’s grasp he could do little else to retaliate.

Finally, as it felt like his lungs would be crushed from the pressure, the young girl released him and stepped away with a bashful grin, fingers interlocked before her as her wings fluttered. He couldn’t keep up with her at all, but she wasn’t a bad kid. Despite what she had surely been through, she had a bright and trusting disposition. He ruffled her hair.

“Well then, we’d best be off if you’re all rested up. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

Santu just nodded vigorously, hands balled into fists as air blew out her nose.

“Mm! Let’s go!”

And so, the three set off into the wood.

It had been some hours since they had escaped the shrine, and deep in the Rift Valley as they were, their options were limited. As the day wore on, Santu’s comments and pace began to falter. Rui did not take notice immediately until Sowaca spoke up.

“Hey, the kid’s getting tired.”

Of course, she was just a child after all. Still, Rui sighed. He wasn’t comfortable with how close they yet were to the shrine, even if they were in the middle of nowhere and their pursuers had no idea of their destination. As he watched Santu stagger along without a single complaint though, he halted his steps. He turned around to the surprised girl and clapped his hands together.

“Well! I’d say that’s about enough for today,” he declared.

Santu did not look pleased, and protested despite her obvious exhaustion.

“Santu, can still, keep walking,” she panted out between gulping breaths.

Rui just shook his head and waved one finger sternly.

“Sowacchi’s getting tired, and we should eat.”

Although he shot him a glare, Sowaca did not disagree. Instead, he coughed and nodded his head.

“Oh, yes, I’m very tired and hungry. Oh, how worn my poor little paws are…”

“Aww, if kitty is sleepy then it’s okay,” Santu mumbled, relief evident on her face.

She then put a finger to her chin quizzically.

“But, where will we sleep..?”

Rui put on his best smile and spread his arms.

“That’s the fun part. Anywhere we want.”

Try as he might to make it sound more appealing than it really was, it was just fancy talk for roughing it in the woods. He wouldn’t be surprised if the girl would be disappointed or even upset.

In reality, Santu only grinned at his comment, eyes sparkling. Her tail wagged behind her furiously as her ears twitched.

“Camping! It’s camping, right? Oh, Santu is so excited, I’ve never been camping before!”

Her earlier exhaustion forgotten in a heartbeat, the young girl was brimming with expectation. Just seeing her like this made Rui feel weary, but he nodded and explained.

“Yup, totally, it’s camping,” he said smoothly. “We could reaaally use Santu’s help in finding the perfect spot. Somewhere with adequate cover, a cave is best.”

“I’ll go with her,” Sowaca said quickly.

The Observer paused, realizing how reckless that could have been. He had nearly asked a child to go off poking around strange caves without a thought. He smacked his forehead, admonishing himself. Indeed, he was not suited to watching over children.

“Ah, yeah, good idea,” he agreed. “Then, I’ll try over there, why don’t you guys look around within this area?”

“Leaf it to Santu!”

He could practically see the smoke coming from her nostrils as she snorted and crossed her arms, posing confidently. Rui grinned weakly and set off.

While he was poking around high and low for somewhere decent to sleep, he heard a shout. His heart froze and he dropped what he was doing to rush back to where he had left Santu and Sowaca. That was definitely her voice. Had the enemy caught up already? His head hurt.

However, when he burst out of the underbrush panting from his exertion, he was met with the decidedly proud form of Santu. Totally safe, with Sowaca by her side.

“Rui-nii, look, look, Santu found the perfect place!”

“Is that, so,” Rui huffed out.

Sowaca was giving him a look of remorse, and he could imagine the cat god trying to keep the girl quiet. An impossible task. Rui let out a long, ragged breath as he stood hunched over, hands on knees. If he wasn’t careful then this child would shorten his immortal lifespan.

When he finally straightened back up, his eye widened at the discovery Santu had made.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it? It is perfect, right?”

Indeed, as she opened the branches overhanging it, what she revealed was the perfect spot to spend the night. It was the mouth of a large cave, impossible to spot unless one were to part the way. Rui whistled.

“How’d you manage to come upon this?”

“Mm, it just, sounded weird? Santu doesn’t know, my ears told me so,” she replied with some confusion.

Her large ears flicked, and Rui wondered if maybe she could pick up on her surroundings much like a bat. So it went beyond aesthetics. He mused over that as the three stood before the cave.

“I checked, it’s safe,” Sowaca said. “No recent smells either, so it’s likely not inhabited by anything.”

“Ah, that’s good then. Why don’t we make it nice and cozy for the night and spend the rest of the day relaxing? Not long before the sun goes down.”

He set about unpacking his travel supplies. He had only brought enough for one, though his copious scarf could replace a blanket for now. While Santu followed Sowaca to the nearby stream to fetch water, Rui made himself useful setting up their sleeping quarters. As he was rummaging to retrieve some of the dried rations he had brought, the duo returned.

“Thanks,” the Observer said over his shoulder as he prepared their meal.

“Mm!”

Santu rushed over to see what he was doing, kneeling beside him on the grass outside the cave. He held up a piece of dried rice cake.

“Sorry, dinner tonight won’t be much, but we can’t make a proper fire here.”

“Santu doesn’t mind! Santu only ever gets mushy slop for meals, except once a month. But what happens after makes Santu not want to eat…”

Her voice trailed off forlornly and her purple eyes seemed to fog over. Rui did not doubt that she was recalling painful events, and not knowing what else to do, he hoisted up the pack of preserved foodstuffs.

“Why don’t you help me out? There’s not much to do other than choose what to have, but, well…”

Santu’s eyes rapidly regained their sparkle.

“Santu will help!”

Dinner ended up being a mix of dried meats and rice cakes, though Santu had also discovered something which Rui had forgotten he’d packed.

“What’s this..?”

She held up the pouch which held a fine powder.

“Ah, that’s a reward for Santu for all of her hard work.”

She looked at Rui with an uncomprehending expression as he took the pouch from her. Removing the tin mug he carried with him, he took some of the water and emptied it within.

“Once this is boiled, we can have sweetened milk for dessert. You just mix this with water and you have instant milk.”

Rui gave her a grin, although he wasn’t sure just how exciting a treat that would be, he did have a bit of sugar remaining. To his enthusiastic claims, Santu merely tilted her head.

“Melk..? Santu has never had melk before.”

Her response was completely unexpected. The Observer sat for a moment, but she just kept her head tilted quizzically.

“You know, like, milk? Usually from an animal, though not always…”

“Like cats?”

She looked sidelong at Sowaca, concern plain on her face. Rui ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No, no, like cows or goats, but sometimes plants too… ahh you know what! Just try it! I can’t explain it.”

Though still visibly confused, Santu nodded at him.

“Okay! Santu will try this melk!”

Sowaca snickered at the hapless Observer as he struggled to make himself clear.

#Aelmidean #writing #wip #observer #Santu #Reynard #Ymhir

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