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OMG meme!
Stealing meme from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kirathaune, because... well, it beats doing actual work. XD
edit: Also, a fun exercise: when writing, pause and explain the canon basis of the characterisation. Particularly interesting to consider when writing for a children's franchise which is best known for its magic and lol!Christianity content, as opposed to psychological profiling.
kirathaune, because... well, it beats doing actual work. XDName me one of my fics and the prompt--before, after, in-between. I'll write a ficlet about something that happened just before, just after, or during the course of the fic's events.
edit: Also, a fun exercise: when writing, pause and explain the canon basis of the characterisation. Particularly interesting to consider when writing for a children's franchise which is best known for its magic and lol!Christianity content, as opposed to psychological profiling.
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Here's for you: Where the Story Ends, After.
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It was the end of his shift, at long last. Dr Gray forced a yawn down and nodded at the nurses manning the reception. They had an eventful night ahead of them. The Saturday nights usually were.
He had tentative plans to go and get blind drunk on his couch, hopefully alone, but knowing his luck H was going to show up -- how did the freak get his on-call schedule? -- and bring along the unpalatable, hundred-proof vodka he favoured.
As it happened, however, when he set foot out the hospital door he found before him the picture of abject misery, curled on a bench. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where you live,” Sebastian said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Huh? Oh, no. I have a licence, it’s got my address on it.”
“Then what, no cash for a cab?”
“I’ve got cash. I can walk, anyway, it’s only a few blocks away.” He paused and blinked. “I have no idea why I remember that.”
“It’s a good sign. Means that there’s likely no lasting brain damage.”
“I don’t remember anything else though.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’re scared to go back home, because you may find out it’s a cardboard box under the bridge.”
Son cracked a smile. “I dunno, I got the address. Probably not a box, then.”
“Stop whining for ten minutes. I’ll drive you,” Sebastian said, before he could think about it.
“You don’t have to,” Son started protesting.
“Shut up and get your arse into the car. I’m not telling you again.”
He got in the car. “Thank you.”
“Whatever. Where is it?” Upon hearing the address, Sebastian raised a brow. “Seriously? You live there and you’re worried to go back?”
“You’d be worried, too, if you didn’t remember nuthing!”
“Proper grammar, too, evidently.”
“Says you and your sentence fragments,” Son said with a pout, that would have been almost attractive, if Sebastian hadn’t had fixed his mind on the idea that this here was a patient.
The drive was short. The gate proved to be as impressive as Sebastian thought it would be. “Come on in, I have plans for the night,” he said, seeing that Son was reluctant to exit the car.
“What if somebody’s there?”
“Then I’m that much closer to freedom. You have your keys?”
He had. Sebastian wasn’t sure why he followed into the dark corridor, why he disrobed and came into the living room. Amnesia of such scope was exceedingly rare -- perhaps he wished to observe whether a familiar sight would cause a jolt of recognition.
It was, without a doubt, Son’s flat. There were pictures of him on the mantle, a diploma in his name, and the few decorations were eclectic and indicative of great sentiment rather than a coherent thought. Chief among them was an gun, locked in a glass cabinet. “You keep a gun in the house?”
“I guess,” Son said doubtfully.
Sebastian wasn’t sure why was that so strange. The gun wasn’t new -- there muzzle was dull, where it should be shiny, the handle bore hints of rust, and there was little doubt as to its usability. A memento, then, rather than a weapon.
“Can I get you anything?” Goku asked, as he cautiously looked out into the other door of the room and found there a kitchen.
“Whiskey,” Sebastian said without thinking. “I mean, tea. I’m driving.”
Goku smiled at him. “I might have some whiskey,” he said, opening a cupboard. “Ah! And it’s a good one, too! I wonder why, I don’t think I like whiskey. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll see about the tea.”
Sebastian cast one more look at the pistol. “The whiskey is fine,” he said. He could always get a cab.
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Yes, but to whom, Sebastian? XD
Looks like Kanzeon was busy making Jiroshin decorate the place!
Thank you! ♥
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<3
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[simple things, before]
Kouryuu was ten years old when he met the devil for the first time. He was kneeling in the soil, weeding the chrysanthemums when the stranger appeared out of thin air and approached the parish. This would puzzle him for a few long years, before the progress of his education led him to conclude there was no possible way to appear out of thin air.
“Why hello there,” the devil said, smiling over the chrysanthemums. “Aren’t you a pretty little girl.”
Kouryuu glared at the approaching stranger, though later, as years started hurrying past, leaving him untouched, he would know this had been a bad idea. A sane man should have run screaming, fearful for the fate of his immortal soul. “I am a boy,” he said, getting up for emphasis. His height might have been unimpressive at that tender age and hardly indicative of his sex, but it allowed him a measure of dignity, he felt.
“Are you indeed,” the stranger mused, taking off his hat. “I have come in hopes of visiting reverend Koumyou Sanzo, tell me, is he in?”
“He is,” Kouryuu said, wiping his hands in his apron. It was high time to finish with his chores, the heavy greyness of the clouds threatened to overflow the world with rain at any moment. Even the wind had stilled, in fright of upsetting the precarious balance of calm. In a short while the storm would be upon them, tearing the veil of peace apart. Kouryuu looked at the stranger, and his pleasant little smile. “Father is in his study,” he said, opening the gates to the parish garden.
The corridor that led into the house was poorly lit, even more so when the lamps were put out and the only light was filtered in from outdoors, by the bruised clouds. Kouryuu didn’t turn, out of fear he was loath to admit even to himself. “Father,” he called, knowing full well that it was for naught, as the study was at the opposite end of the house and this was the time when Koumyou proclaimed he was studying the subject of next Sunday’s sermon, when in fact he was taking a nap before the afternoon cup of tea. All the same, in the dark corridor, followed by the dark stranger, Kouryuu took comfort in the sound of his own voice.
“Father,” he said again, opening the door to the study. True to his habits, the vicar was dozing in his chair, protected from the world by a sturdy Bible. He stirred at the sound, not in the least surprised.
“Kouryuu,” he said warmly, and a considerable concern was lifted from the child’s shoulders. “Is it time for tea yet?”
“You have a visitor,” Kouryuu said, stepping aside and closing his eyes. He felt the air move as the stranger walked past him, but no other indication of his presence, no scent save for the tobacco on his coat.
“It seems the time for tea arrived indeed!” Koumyou rose from his chair and clasped the stranger’s hand in his. “Dear Ukoku. It had been a long time.”
“Yes, it had.”
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Kouryuu disappeared through the door, hopefully to find the maid and request the dinner to be served early. Koumyou considered calling him back, as the guest’s hunger was unlikely to be an issue, but resolved against it. The child was well mannered, if a touch sour for his young age. It would behove him to practice his hospitality.
“He is a very beautiful child,” Ukoku said, seating himself by the window.
“I cannot take credit, I’m afraid.” Koumyou delved into the cabinet cleverly hidden by the bookcase. “I have some excellent whiskey. I do recall you don’t care for tea.”
“Whiskey would do fine.”
“I have been saving it since your last visit.”
“I am flattered.”
“As you should.” Koumyou poured the whiskey and took his seat. “So what brings you to my humble parish?”
“Need I a reason to visit and old friend?” Ukoku smiled behind the whiskey glass and Koumyou laughed.
“Need you a reason to do anything you ever do?”
Ukoku considered and raised his glass in toast. “To visiting old friends, then.”
“To cherished guests.” Koumyou sipped his whiskey, letting his mind overflow with the sensation of rich aroma tickling his nose. Drinking fine liquors was so much more than mere alcohol intoxication, he always believed.
“I must admit I am touched you’d hold on to this bottle, after so long.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I seem to recall our first meeting was unsatisfactory.”
“I had been a child,” Koumyou reminded him with a laugh.
“You ran.”
“You terrify me.”
“Surely you mean I terrified you.”
“Do I? Forgive the slip of tongue. I am getting on in years.”
“Perhaps that is the case,” Ukoku mused, tapping the glass with a slender finger. Behind his back the sky split, revealing, for a brief second, the blinding white glory of heaven.
“You certainly chose a turbulent time to return.”
“Such is my nature to arrive in thunder, lighting or in rain.” Ukoku leaned forward to knock his glass against Koumyou’s.
“Interesting. Have you come to prophesise my imminent kingship and subsequent doom?”
Ukoku’s answer, if he offered any, was lost in the roar of thunder. Koumyou found it was just as well. He enjoyed the company of the man, though, or perhaps because, of the horror it implied.
Koumyou was considered a wise man, though which incautious soul attributed that quality to him he didn’t know – his only talent was to see people’s hearts as they were, unhidden by they words or visages. What he saw in Ukoku’s veiled offers quite rightly terrified him. What he saw in Ukoku fascinated him endlessly.
“I am no saint,” Koumyou said. “The temptation of kingship may well prove too great.”
“Woe to the land which crowns you as its king.”
“I suppose that is a real concern.” Koumyou laughed, because the mere idea of himself in the kingly robes was hilarity no jester could top. “I would spend my days planning my escape.”
Ukoku looked away and Koumyou turned to the door, hearing the footsteps of a child.
“Father,” Kouryuu said, “The dinner is served.”
“Splendid. Shall we dine?” Koumyuu asked his guest.
“Gladly.”
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