The Chichiri and the Hotohori|
The Hong-Nan Prince and the Pauper
{Disclaimer| In no way am I affiliated with Fushigi Yuugi, though how much I want to be. I do not have any effect on the original series, which is probably a good thing.}
A young Hotohori sat in the throne room; he was no older than twelve or thirteen. Beautiful as he would always be, he flicked a few pieces of hair from his face. He was oblivious to the outside world, the streets, and his country that he would rule. He stood up, pacing the throne room aimlessly, as all boys do when they are not amused.
Meanwhile, deep in the heart of Hong-Nan, the small Chichiri ran in the streets. He was staying with relatives while his parents were ill, as they feared he would catch a illness. He ran through the marketplace, harrasing the cart owners. Tossing apples at girls, and running wild in his chibified form, which was basically all he was as a child. Popping up randomly, who would guess that this was the youth of the well-behaved, somewhat sane Chichiri that we all know and love.
Hotohori, finally fed up with his boredom, decided to sneak outside. He pretended he was a Suzaku Warrior, or a James Bond, as he played Mission Impossible to get outside. His two index fingers held out as though they were two swords, as he made whooshing sounds with his lips. He turned to look behind him, and *BAM!*. He walked right into a wall. He scoffed, "Great, now my face will be ruined." he complained. He dropped his charade and sulked out to the gates, leaning on them staring out through them to the bustling city. Oh how he wished to join them everyday, to be normal. Of course, this was impossible, besides, what would he do if he couldn't have his perfect image at all times? He wondered how the people in the street could live like that; No one to draw their baths, fix their food, dress them, chauffer them everywhere. "Hmm..They think they have it so hard."
"Who are you talking to?" Said Chichiri, sitting on top of the gate, grinning. He looked so much different without his mask, but he still had the trademark bangs. Sticking straight up into the sky like a flag pole.
{Too be continued in Chapter 2.}
{Disclaimer| In no way am I affiliated with Fushigi Yuugi, though how much I want to be. I do not have any effect on the original series, which is probably a good thing.}
A young Hotohori sat in the throne room; he was no older than twelve or thirteen. Beautiful as he would always be, he flicked a few pieces of hair from his face. He was oblivious to the outside world, the streets, and his country that he would rule. He stood up, pacing the throne room aimlessly, as all boys do when they are not amused.
Meanwhile, deep in the heart of Hong-Nan, the small Chichiri ran in the streets. He was staying with relatives while his parents were ill, as they feared he would catch a illness. He ran through the marketplace, harrasing the cart owners. Tossing apples at girls, and running wild in his chibified form, which was basically all he was as a child. Popping up randomly, who would guess that this was the youth of the well-behaved, somewhat sane Chichiri that we all know and love.
Hotohori, finally fed up with his boredom, decided to sneak outside. He pretended he was a Suzaku Warrior, or a James Bond, as he played Mission Impossible to get outside. His two index fingers held out as though they were two swords, as he made whooshing sounds with his lips. He turned to look behind him, and *BAM!*. He walked right into a wall. He scoffed, "Great, now my face will be ruined." he complained. He dropped his charade and sulked out to the gates, leaning on them staring out through them to the bustling city. Oh how he wished to join them everyday, to be normal. Of course, this was impossible, besides, what would he do if he couldn't have his perfect image at all times? He wondered how the people in the street could live like that; No one to draw their baths, fix their food, dress them, chauffer them everywhere. "Hmm..They think they have it so hard."
"Who are you talking to?" Said Chichiri, sitting on top of the gate, grinning. He looked so much different without his mask, but he still had the trademark bangs. Sticking straight up into the sky like a flag pole.
{Too be continued in Chapter 2.}