Day Two; Elections
Nov. 2nd, 2010 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxinthestarsI voted today! Seriously, though, I'm expecting a bloodbath... I do have a perverse win/win with my Congressman, though; if he wins, I'll be glad a Republican lost, but he ran as such a DINO (look at me, I'm Pro-Life, Pro-Military, and NRA-approved!) that if he gets his a$$ handed to him, it'll be gratifying to see that, too.
But! In spite of recto-cerebral convergence from Salon's Laura Miller, it is NaNo Day 2, in which I say good-bye to my demon worm squid; it was enjoyed. In other news, no one can do the "look behind you" trick like an off-camera telepath, and the Seiryuu no Miko's brother helps himself to other people's soft drinks.
(BTW, here's the progress bar generator I'm using.)
“Allow me.” Mitsukake at last stepped forward, raising his left hand.
“Mitsukake-chan, don’t do it no da!” Chichiri cried. She remembered when he had taken Miboshi’s control from Tamahome, how he had nearly been overwhelmed. If he absorbed a demon this enormous...
Not seeming to heed her, he aimed the red light of his Mark of Suzaku at the tentacles, and the monster’s unearthly howl of pain echoed between the rocks as his power began to melt them away. As he walked slowly down the deck, turning the light on the tentacles attacking Tamahome and the sailors, his face darkened, but rather than retreat, he turned his hand face up and drew it closer to his chest. With his free hand, he produced the medicine jar Taiitsukun had given him, and poured the white powder from it onto his palm. The light splintered through it, still lancing through the demon’s body.
“What is that stuff?” Tamahome asked, watching.
“Salt no da,” Chichiri remembered. “Of course! For ritual purification no da!”
Mitsukake focused grimly on his task; he felt the salt draw the thick black energy up from his hand until it burned on his skin; with a flick of his wrist he tossed it aside, literally blackened, and poured from the jar again. It wouldn’t leave him unaffected by the experience, but it was enough to keep him from being overwhelmed and let him continue the battle. The tentacles tried to dodge, but Tasuki hemmed them in with a wall of flame. With a huge, bursting column of spray, a larger mass shot up from the water, and the inhuman howl turned into a piercing shriek from what must be the demon’s head. A thick worming neck sprouting bony fins supported a head as large as a tree’s full leaf, snub-nosed and lion-like with fishes’ eyes, the legs and claws of a crab lining its jaw like a beard, that same black salamander skin, and the scream of a hundred women being burned alive.
Mitsukake braced himself and set his hand toward it, but a sudden warning shot through his mind: It’s a trick! Behind you! Instinctively, he whipped around, but nothing was there except Chiriko cowering on the deck behind him. Before he could recover, one of the black crab-claws snapped shut on his right wrist, crushing it. The medicine jar fell from his hand, and Chiriko ran to catch it. Mitsukake was whipped up into the air and down again as the demon threw its head back into the water, Chichiri and Chiriko shouting after him.
The head plunged back under with a deafening crash and a wave that knocked the ship loose from the rocks. Chichiri, with Chiriko, Tamahome, and Tasuki close behind, ran into the stern as the current carried them past the place where the demon’s howl and the red glow of Mitsukake’s powers still rose from the water. “Mitsukake-chan...!” Chichiri wailed.
Before they had time to think, the ship’s captain shouted behind them. “We’re taking on water where we hit the rocks! We need your help! If we don’t get a lot of weight off and fast---!” Already the sailors were furiously throwing the cargo overboard; Tamahome dashed in to help them. “Even dumping the cargo,” the captain huffed, “it might not be enough...”
Tasuki started to join in, but Chiriko desperately caught his sleeve, still clinging to Mitsukake’s jar with the other hand. “Don’t dump it all,” he told the captain. “Move it into the bow! Tasuki, can you cut wood?”
“Wha---??”
“That ribbon of fire! The masts, can you cut them?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cut the masts off!”
The captain looked stunned. “He’s right, do it!”
“Fine, everybody stand back!” Tasuki charged up to the nearest of the three masts. “Lekka Shinen!” Again the white-orange ribbon of flame sliced through it inches above the deck, reducing an inch-thick section to charcoal. The weight of the remainder crushed it to powder and leaned over, straining at its rigging and pitching the ship along with it. “Did we think this through??”
“I’ve got it no da!” Her hands shot out with two fingers raised, and the character on her cheek shone as she telekinetically seized control of the massive timber; the ship righted and lifted noticeably as she relieved it of the weight. With another flame-ribbon, Tasuki cut it loose from the rigging, and with a cry of effort, Chichiri hurled it through the air over the stern and it crashed into the water.
“The next one, too, but leave the one in front!” Chiriko urged.
Again Tasuki cut the mast and rigging with fire from his Tessen, and again Chichiri magically seized it. This time she strained even harder against its weight, but at last she threw her whole body forward with a raw scream and sent it flying in a long, high arc over the bow, then fell to her knees and collapsed on the deck.
Sailors still scrambled, moving the cargo, bailing water, and regaining control of the surviving sail, but their captain appeared again moments later, with Tamahome just behind him. “The hole’s out of the water,” he said. “We’ll make it to the next port.”
“It has to be someplace we can get another ship, fast,” Tamahome told him. “If there’s any chance of saving Yui and the others...”
“I can do that, but not before morning,” the captain told him.
Chichiri was sobbing with sorrow and exhaustion. Chiriko took her shoulder and helped her up to a seat on her knees; her mask had fallen from her face, and she clutched it in her hands. “They’re not dead no da... I’d know if they were dead no da...” she muttered to herself between gasps. Her fingers caught on the gold charm Taiitsukun had given her as it hung on her green beads, and she looked down at it, blinking tears from her brown eyes. “If this is ever supposed to help...” She rubbed the charm clumsily and furiously.
“Chichiri-san...” Chiriko squeezed her shoulder.
She didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes lost focus, her breathing became regular, and her fingers rubbing the charm slowed to a mechanical rhythm. She let her mask slip from her fingers and her head loll back, and gazed blindly at the sky, which was now rimmed with dusky coral. Chiriko couldn’t get a response even by shaking her, and he picked up her mask, trying to think what to do with it. At last he dried the remaining tears from her face with his sleeve and replaced it for her, where it held fast, but because the expression stayed so blank, he double-checked that it was secure.
He went into the stern of the ship, and he could feel the angle of the deck now pitched forward. Looking back upstream over the railing, there was no longer any sign of the demon or Mitsukake’s red light. He ran back down past where Chichiri still sat motionless and Tamahome was still talking to the captain. When he saw Tasuki standing in the bow, he slowed and quietly came up beside him, and the two of them looked ahead downstream. The main mast was floating away far in the distance, and Yui, Hotohori, and Nuriko were nowhere in sight.
“Not a good day when you lose half your people,” Tasuki said, without looking down. Then, unexpectedly, he lay a hand on Chiriko’s head and rubbed his hair, crouched and looked him in the eyes. “You saved what’s left of us, kid.”
Chiriko didn’t say anything. He looked down at Mitsukake’s medicine jar, which he was still clinging to; it hadn’t been even an hour ago, seeing him snatched away and having no way to stop it... At least I did something...
Tasuki crossed his arms on the railing and settled his chin on them to watch the water intently despite the fading light.
*******
Keisuke leaned back and took a deep breath of cool air, as if he were coming up out of water for a breath himself. He’d been so drawn in that, for a fleeting moment, the Hongous’ normal apartment felt surreal; he could understand the book having put Hiromasa into such a state. He didn’t believe at this point that Hiro was lying or even, it seemed, mistaken, but an ineffable kernel of disbelief was still lodged inside him, and he thought it would be better if it stayed there --- it helped him keep his head. Carefully balancing between believing this and not believing it was better than falling into hysteria about, on the one hand, not knowing where Yui and Miaka were, and on the other hand knowing that the book with its fantastical action and danger was where they were.
He found that he was thirsty and didn’t think anyone would mind, so he got up, went into the kitchen, and found a can of soda in the refrigerator. After the pop and hiss of the tab, he paused quietly for a moment, but he didn’t hear any stirring from Hiro’s apartment. Of course, he had demanded to be told “if anything happens,” and Yui being washed away down a river would have to qualify, but why tell him? What could he do if he knew, except drive himself crazy? Even if she dies in the book, should I tell him? Should I take it away so he wouldn’t find out? If Miaka died in the book, what would I think...? He tossed those questions aside; no reason to get ahead of himself. For now he just knew that he wasn’t going to wake Hiro up.
Returning to the couch, when he picked up the book, it occurred to him to look it over. The covers where thick library tagboard with a pasted paper label. He fanned it open and looked down the spine, and noted that the paper was accordion-folded, each page two layers with creases for edges, as though it had originally been written as a scroll and then converted into a book. He opened to a random already-written page, teased the top edge and pushed the folded edge in to make the layers open up, and looked inside, but found nothing. Opening the book and looking at the writing itself, he saw that there was no kana*; it was difficult to keep himself on the surface of it and see the characters as shapes of ink on paper rather than see through them to the meaning, but the more he managed it, the more he was convinced that it was written in Chinese, or at least in a language he didn’t know, and yet its meaning was perfectly transparent. At this thought, he felt his delicate balance of disbelief wobble, and flopped the page block over forward.
He was about to flip to the last printed page and start reading again, but found on the inside of the back cover a label he hadn’t noticed before: “Bequest of Okuda Einosuke.” After a thoughtful pause, he looked around, found a notepad and pen by the phone, copied the name down and put the note in his pocket before setting about to read again.
But! In spite of recto-cerebral convergence from Salon's Laura Miller, it is NaNo Day 2, in which I say good-bye to my demon worm squid; it was enjoyed. In other news, no one can do the "look behind you" trick like an off-camera telepath, and the Seiryuu no Miko's brother helps himself to other people's soft drinks.
3688 ★ 50000 (7.38%)
(BTW, here's the progress bar generator I'm using.)
“Allow me.” Mitsukake at last stepped forward, raising his left hand.
“Mitsukake-chan, don’t do it no da!” Chichiri cried. She remembered when he had taken Miboshi’s control from Tamahome, how he had nearly been overwhelmed. If he absorbed a demon this enormous...
Not seeming to heed her, he aimed the red light of his Mark of Suzaku at the tentacles, and the monster’s unearthly howl of pain echoed between the rocks as his power began to melt them away. As he walked slowly down the deck, turning the light on the tentacles attacking Tamahome and the sailors, his face darkened, but rather than retreat, he turned his hand face up and drew it closer to his chest. With his free hand, he produced the medicine jar Taiitsukun had given him, and poured the white powder from it onto his palm. The light splintered through it, still lancing through the demon’s body.
“What is that stuff?” Tamahome asked, watching.
“Salt no da,” Chichiri remembered. “Of course! For ritual purification no da!”
Mitsukake focused grimly on his task; he felt the salt draw the thick black energy up from his hand until it burned on his skin; with a flick of his wrist he tossed it aside, literally blackened, and poured from the jar again. It wouldn’t leave him unaffected by the experience, but it was enough to keep him from being overwhelmed and let him continue the battle. The tentacles tried to dodge, but Tasuki hemmed them in with a wall of flame. With a huge, bursting column of spray, a larger mass shot up from the water, and the inhuman howl turned into a piercing shriek from what must be the demon’s head. A thick worming neck sprouting bony fins supported a head as large as a tree’s full leaf, snub-nosed and lion-like with fishes’ eyes, the legs and claws of a crab lining its jaw like a beard, that same black salamander skin, and the scream of a hundred women being burned alive.
Mitsukake braced himself and set his hand toward it, but a sudden warning shot through his mind: It’s a trick! Behind you! Instinctively, he whipped around, but nothing was there except Chiriko cowering on the deck behind him. Before he could recover, one of the black crab-claws snapped shut on his right wrist, crushing it. The medicine jar fell from his hand, and Chiriko ran to catch it. Mitsukake was whipped up into the air and down again as the demon threw its head back into the water, Chichiri and Chiriko shouting after him.
The head plunged back under with a deafening crash and a wave that knocked the ship loose from the rocks. Chichiri, with Chiriko, Tamahome, and Tasuki close behind, ran into the stern as the current carried them past the place where the demon’s howl and the red glow of Mitsukake’s powers still rose from the water. “Mitsukake-chan...!” Chichiri wailed.
Before they had time to think, the ship’s captain shouted behind them. “We’re taking on water where we hit the rocks! We need your help! If we don’t get a lot of weight off and fast---!” Already the sailors were furiously throwing the cargo overboard; Tamahome dashed in to help them. “Even dumping the cargo,” the captain huffed, “it might not be enough...”
Tasuki started to join in, but Chiriko desperately caught his sleeve, still clinging to Mitsukake’s jar with the other hand. “Don’t dump it all,” he told the captain. “Move it into the bow! Tasuki, can you cut wood?”
“Wha---??”
“That ribbon of fire! The masts, can you cut them?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Cut the masts off!”
The captain looked stunned. “He’s right, do it!”
“Fine, everybody stand back!” Tasuki charged up to the nearest of the three masts. “Lekka Shinen!” Again the white-orange ribbon of flame sliced through it inches above the deck, reducing an inch-thick section to charcoal. The weight of the remainder crushed it to powder and leaned over, straining at its rigging and pitching the ship along with it. “Did we think this through??”
“I’ve got it no da!” Her hands shot out with two fingers raised, and the character on her cheek shone as she telekinetically seized control of the massive timber; the ship righted and lifted noticeably as she relieved it of the weight. With another flame-ribbon, Tasuki cut it loose from the rigging, and with a cry of effort, Chichiri hurled it through the air over the stern and it crashed into the water.
“The next one, too, but leave the one in front!” Chiriko urged.
Again Tasuki cut the mast and rigging with fire from his Tessen, and again Chichiri magically seized it. This time she strained even harder against its weight, but at last she threw her whole body forward with a raw scream and sent it flying in a long, high arc over the bow, then fell to her knees and collapsed on the deck.
Sailors still scrambled, moving the cargo, bailing water, and regaining control of the surviving sail, but their captain appeared again moments later, with Tamahome just behind him. “The hole’s out of the water,” he said. “We’ll make it to the next port.”
“It has to be someplace we can get another ship, fast,” Tamahome told him. “If there’s any chance of saving Yui and the others...”
“I can do that, but not before morning,” the captain told him.
Chichiri was sobbing with sorrow and exhaustion. Chiriko took her shoulder and helped her up to a seat on her knees; her mask had fallen from her face, and she clutched it in her hands. “They’re not dead no da... I’d know if they were dead no da...” she muttered to herself between gasps. Her fingers caught on the gold charm Taiitsukun had given her as it hung on her green beads, and she looked down at it, blinking tears from her brown eyes. “If this is ever supposed to help...” She rubbed the charm clumsily and furiously.
“Chichiri-san...” Chiriko squeezed her shoulder.
She didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes lost focus, her breathing became regular, and her fingers rubbing the charm slowed to a mechanical rhythm. She let her mask slip from her fingers and her head loll back, and gazed blindly at the sky, which was now rimmed with dusky coral. Chiriko couldn’t get a response even by shaking her, and he picked up her mask, trying to think what to do with it. At last he dried the remaining tears from her face with his sleeve and replaced it for her, where it held fast, but because the expression stayed so blank, he double-checked that it was secure.
He went into the stern of the ship, and he could feel the angle of the deck now pitched forward. Looking back upstream over the railing, there was no longer any sign of the demon or Mitsukake’s red light. He ran back down past where Chichiri still sat motionless and Tamahome was still talking to the captain. When he saw Tasuki standing in the bow, he slowed and quietly came up beside him, and the two of them looked ahead downstream. The main mast was floating away far in the distance, and Yui, Hotohori, and Nuriko were nowhere in sight.
“Not a good day when you lose half your people,” Tasuki said, without looking down. Then, unexpectedly, he lay a hand on Chiriko’s head and rubbed his hair, crouched and looked him in the eyes. “You saved what’s left of us, kid.”
Chiriko didn’t say anything. He looked down at Mitsukake’s medicine jar, which he was still clinging to; it hadn’t been even an hour ago, seeing him snatched away and having no way to stop it... At least I did something...
Tasuki crossed his arms on the railing and settled his chin on them to watch the water intently despite the fading light.
*******
Keisuke leaned back and took a deep breath of cool air, as if he were coming up out of water for a breath himself. He’d been so drawn in that, for a fleeting moment, the Hongous’ normal apartment felt surreal; he could understand the book having put Hiromasa into such a state. He didn’t believe at this point that Hiro was lying or even, it seemed, mistaken, but an ineffable kernel of disbelief was still lodged inside him, and he thought it would be better if it stayed there --- it helped him keep his head. Carefully balancing between believing this and not believing it was better than falling into hysteria about, on the one hand, not knowing where Yui and Miaka were, and on the other hand knowing that the book with its fantastical action and danger was where they were.
He found that he was thirsty and didn’t think anyone would mind, so he got up, went into the kitchen, and found a can of soda in the refrigerator. After the pop and hiss of the tab, he paused quietly for a moment, but he didn’t hear any stirring from Hiro’s apartment. Of course, he had demanded to be told “if anything happens,” and Yui being washed away down a river would have to qualify, but why tell him? What could he do if he knew, except drive himself crazy? Even if she dies in the book, should I tell him? Should I take it away so he wouldn’t find out? If Miaka died in the book, what would I think...? He tossed those questions aside; no reason to get ahead of himself. For now he just knew that he wasn’t going to wake Hiro up.
Returning to the couch, when he picked up the book, it occurred to him to look it over. The covers where thick library tagboard with a pasted paper label. He fanned it open and looked down the spine, and noted that the paper was accordion-folded, each page two layers with creases for edges, as though it had originally been written as a scroll and then converted into a book. He opened to a random already-written page, teased the top edge and pushed the folded edge in to make the layers open up, and looked inside, but found nothing. Opening the book and looking at the writing itself, he saw that there was no kana*; it was difficult to keep himself on the surface of it and see the characters as shapes of ink on paper rather than see through them to the meaning, but the more he managed it, the more he was convinced that it was written in Chinese, or at least in a language he didn’t know, and yet its meaning was perfectly transparent. At this thought, he felt his delicate balance of disbelief wobble, and flopped the page block over forward.
He was about to flip to the last printed page and start reading again, but found on the inside of the back cover a label he hadn’t noticed before: “Bequest of Okuda Einosuke.” After a thoughtful pause, he looked around, found a notepad and pen by the phone, copied the name down and put the note in his pocket before setting about to read again.
