.a.n.: Eto, where to start... Well, I picked up 38 (since it was -gasp- open) at 30kisses a month or so ago, and settled in for the long haul by prepping for a story that would have to span thirty chapters, and a whole lot more pages. So far, I'm stuck on chapter two, so for inspiration (and because some people suggested it), I'm posting this up on FFnet, in a hopefully non-futile attempt to get my muses working.This is anAU fic, and so far, though I've roughly outlined 28 chapters of it, I've yet to finalize any characters, etc. But that's not important. If you notice my characters going OOC, have any ideas, etc., I'd love to hear them. The first chapter's a bit short, since it's my teaser/intro, and hopefully, the chapters'll get longer as the plot progresses. Hope you enjoy, please take good care of me!
.d.i.s.c.l.a.i.m.e.r.: I wasn't aware that Minekura wrote Saiyuki in AU. -sweatdrop- It's not mine.
"The greatest mystery is not that we have been flung at random between the profusion of matter and of the stars, but that within this prison we can draw from ourselves images powerful enough to deny our nothingness."
- Andre Malraux
chapter one : somewhere inbetween
4/25 5:56 PM
forgive me Father, for i have sinned.
He ignored the sign.
4/30 11:08 PM
Six days prior, three inches of the "now hiring" page had been devoted to four-line black-and-white ad.
Wanted: prison guard
12-Hour Shifts
$20/hour, meals included
Contact: (893) 390-5892
It'd been a gift from heaven.
Fresh off the plane with what amounted to fifty dollars in yuan, Sanzo was flirting with bankruptcy - again. The last job had been a nightmarish fiasco, and after wasting a year of his life chasing an imaginary deity through the hills of China, he was once more rejoining the ranks of American homeless and jobless.
The first thing he'd done was contact Koumyo.
The old monk had been understanding, or as understanding as he could be through the muffled laughs. Not willing to let the chance go, he'd subtly poked the younger man's ego until Sanzo had stormed out, lest he shoot Koumyo in a fit of rage. Five minutes later, the monk called him back and he was given a sofa.
The next thing he did was buy a newspaper.
It'd been comforting sitting in Koumyo's cramped kitchen, sipping tea while the monk hummed. He'd long since gotten used to the other man's tuneless mumbles, perhaps even missed them when he was lost in the mountain's obscuring fogs. It was during a lull in the humming, when he'd leaned over to pour himself another cup, when he'd seen the ad.
Koumyo had taken one look, and laughed. He knew something Sanzo didn't.
The interview had gone fairly quickly. He'd filled out a form, demonstrated his proficiency with a gun, and answered a few questions. No more than thirty minutes after he had entered, he left with a paycheck and directions to start the next night.
Five 6 PMs later, he was beginning to hate the job.
His first impression had been misleading. The building could have been ordinary, had he not later learned that the walls were soundproof and the windows heavily barred. Inside, the night guard had leered at him before handing over a sweat-covered ID card and some basic information. Too basic, it turned out, since he'd managed to lose himself a mere two minutes after leaving the front desk. A right-turn into the cafeteria had found a heavily made-up waitress only too happy to help.
She'd taken one look at his ID before sending him what she considered a soulful gaze. A rough napkin-map later, she offered to keep him company if things got too lonely down at death row.
He probably should've stopped short and quit when she said that, but the pay was high and another like opportunity was questionable. He weighed the pros and cons: babysitting death-kissed men for $120 a day or being babysat by Koumyo for none. As it were, Sanzo had nodded and accepted the napkin but not her offer.
So strong was his determination that he ignored the sign above the door.
The block was fairly simple: one door in and out, no windows and ventilation slits barely larger than a man's hand. The aisle was flanked by two rows of cells, seven to a row. All seven filled on the right, three on the left. Fluorescent lights illuminated the high voltage bars that separated the inmates from the world but kept the old romantic feel of prison, and burned out before shedding light on the back of the cells, leaving a good four feet to the imagination. The solitary desk to the side of the door was scarred, unsturdy, and Sanzo's home for half the day.
And what an exciting half-day it was.
There was something notably different, he discovered, about men who knew they were going to die. For one, they didn't waste energy yelling, demanding lawyers, or complaining. In fact, they didn't speak at all. He enjoyed the calm, breaking it every so often with the turn of a page or the touch of a cup to saucer. One round per twenty minutes was enough to earn his wage.
It'd taken the silence three days to get to him.
It wasn't that he had nothing to do, no - for Sanzo, a job was a job, and time that couldn't be filled with newspapers and tea was well spent staring at his surroundings or checking on the prisoners. But when rain fell on the third day early morning, its patter had been like a foghorn in the dark, and by that, a light as well. It was then he realized that aside from the shallow rises of the chests, automatic blinks of the eyes and occasional rasps of the throats, he had no proof the prisoners were alive. They were fed before and after his shift, bathed by the day nurses on a biweekly schedule, and examined once a month. But they never made a sound.
Humane, death row might be. Sane, it wasn't.
It took him another day to adjust himself to the silence that had suddenly turned heavy. Another day until he could meet the empty eyes of the visible prisoners, another day until sharing air with shells grew on him. He'd been almost relieved when the prisoner in cell eight caught pneumonia and couldn't stop coughing. And he would've felt guilty for feeling relieved, had the sound pollution not been so welcome.
When he arrived on the fifth night, prisoner eight had been "Removed for Immediate Medical Attention" - they didn't want him to die before they could kill him. Sanzo acknowledged the information with a grunt, and resigned himself to another night of unnatural silence. Settling himself with a cup of tea and the career section, he took a sip.
And would've choked, had desperation not forced him silent.
For the first time in fifty-four hours, there was another voice in the block. Only a whisper, amplified by the cement walls and sound-hungry air, but a voice nonetheless. Swearing at a god he didn't know he had, Sanzo traced the voice quickly, praying it wouldn't stop.
Left side, cell three.
The occupant of cell two, a ragged, greasy man, was pressed against the right corner of his cage, as close to cell three as possible. As Sanzo passed his cell, he looked up and grinned. Sanzo averted his eyes from the rotten teeth, and continued.
Or he would have.
Prisoner three was visible for the first time since Sanzo had been there, stretched out languidly under the fluorescent lights instead of behind his four feet of darkness. He nodded genially at Sanzo, shooting him a quick smile before resuming his conversation on curry. Sanzo nodded back dumbly, and returned to his desk.
Even without a file, he recognized the convict. Defined face to long neck, long neck to long limbs and body clothed in prison orange. Pleasant smile set on too pale skin, white dust floating on faded brown hair. Eyes greener than any he'd seen, contacts included.
He hadn't known he was in this block.
Cho Gonou.
yuan: Chinese monetary unit
.a.n.: Reading this over again, I feel an urge to rewrite it. Though I've rewritten it already. Six times. -cringe- I promise that the future chapters will be better? Also, I might use romanized Chinese from here to there, where it's necessary, but I'll always include explanations at the end. It won't be too common, 'cause otherwise, I might as well be writing this in Chinese (which I can't), but if something's unclear or you feel it's unnecessary, let me know. Anyway, hope it wasn't too painful, until next time!
