Moonlight Parable
By: Nuriko Kamaiji
Disclaimer: No I don't own Wolf's Rain, and no I'm not getting anything out of this.
A/N: Honestly, this is more of my bad attempt at writing Wolf's Rain related fanfic. It just came to me one night and I went on a writing spree. I've got the whole thing planned out, though the chance that I'll ever finish it is unlikely. This is the most I have written in a fluid format, plot-wise. Anyway, it's just randomness and I'm sure I won't get any reviews. Ah, me…
what's in a name?
"the future couldn't last, nailed it to the past
with every word a trap that no one can take back from all the architects who find their towers leaning"
-This Isn't What We Meant (Savatage)
"Tsume"
Emma called the name as she always did. The night sky outside was dark blue, a deep shade of midnight ink. White blinds obscured the sight of the stars.
The name resounded in her head again, pulling at her heart though she had never heard it before. It was a name unknown to her.
"Tsume"
And just as suddenly she knew she should return back to bed. The glow from her tiny lamp only amplified this point; the rest of the house was clearly dark and asleep just as she should be. And yet…her reason struggled to win. It was a Sunday night, and tomorrow was Monday, not that it made much difference to her. Her elder brother was returning back to school the next morning, taking their sister with him since they went to the same school. Rachel, her sister, had not been pleased about the application, but it was a prestigious school and would be easy to get a transfer. That's what Rachel had told her the months before she had gone away to college. But it was taking her sister longer to adjust then anyone had perceived. But if her sister was having a slight difficulty in getting out into the world, she was having a horrid time of it.
No college had accepted her applications, though really she hadn't been too disappointed. College had not been the first thing on her mind. First, she had wanted to feel ready, more prepared to take on the outside world. But more importantly, she had wanted to keep writing. She had wanted to have the free time to herself.
At the time the choice had seemed splendid. Be free, write when she wanted, do as she wished. But, as things inadvertly do, it did not turn out quite that way.
She had ended up feeling more alone than free, more trapped than sure of herself. Even her words did not seem to come as well. It seemed as though everyone was moving on, and moving out into the world ready with plans. All right, shaky plans at best but still a cloudy road to follow for a little while. She had none, no direction, no where to turn to, and nobody to confide in.
That's when the naming had started.
Without warning an unusual name would dance its way into her head, unbidden.
The first week or so the name had prominently been 'Hige'. She kept a record of it in her journal.
It was a yellow name and filled her with unforeseen warmth, a feeling she had never felt, as far as she could remember. The name had rolled in her head fluidly, reminding her of sunlight. Yet in spite of that, the name had carried with it a resonance of deep sadness.
The next name had been Toboe, a bright red warmth. Like a dazzling red flower, was how she had thought of it. Something beautiful and sweet but determined to show its worth by shining in such a brilliant way. But the name was red, so red…almost like blood.
The third name had been Blue, a peculiar name and uncommonly dark. It was the blue of nighttime, like outside her window, that the name seemed to imply. A solemn, quiet name, always watching over you, always beside you, always surrounding you, just like a peaceful night. With it the name had brought a dull pain to her chest, as though there were tears locked inside her that she didn't know how to shed.
But this was the fourth name that had come to her since. Tsume. It almost reverberated in her blood, if such a thing was possible. Cool, distant, and gray, almost misty with cloudy shade covering a soft green spot, untouchable as it hovered before her mind. Tsume.
These were more than words, there was something more to them, and she knew that as clearly as she knew she was breathing. And yet…
She had no time for this seeming fantasy, despite what her heart, her instincts and her mind was telling her. These names beseeched something inside, begging to be heard. But for the life of her she didn't know what it was. She was only an eighteen year old girl. She had barely lived at all. What in the world did she know about anything?
Sighing, she struggled back into bed pushing the emotional resistance away, turning the small reading lamp off.
The darkness sunk around her, complete and all consuming until her eyes adjusted. Staring up at the ceiling for a long, long time, she heard the name running through her mind, a name of cool softness, smooth and comforting, as it echoed in her mind.
"You'll be late!"
The panicked voice of her mother did nothing to calm her racing pulse. She had over slept, of all the absurdities. If there was something she didn't need it was that. Emma's job at the Jolly Donuts store, twenty blocks from her parents' house, was all she had going in terms of work, much as she disliked it. But she kept at it, if only for the sake of her parents and the path she felt she should be leading regardless of her feelings.
"Emma, you–"
But she never had the chance to hear the words her mother had wished to say, as she banged out the side door leading into the garage, her warm winter coat still dangling at her elbows. Hurrying, Emma fumbled for the car keys, dropping them in the process from her cold fingers. Groaning softly, she pulled the red and white coat up tight and bent swiftly plucking the aggravating keys up.
Apparently luck was still hanging in on her side, for within a short while the old Toyota that her mother allowed for her to use, however sparingly, since getting her own was out of the question, opened without to much hassle.
She arrived only ten minutes late. Hoping her luck held, there was a slim chance no one would notice. Silently Emma crossed her fingers.
Upon entering she noted the small line, and then slid back behind the counter to the employee storage room. What a weird name…the thought crossed her mind. The air was stuffy as usual. Without much ceremony, she decked her coat and made her way back out to the front counter.
Now here was an interesting thing. One would think that such things as this would fuel her writing and her personal growth toward maturity. But somehow it only held her back though there were no more paths for her to take. A sigh of dejection escaped her.
"Chez!"
The surly face of her co-worker, Raphael jolted her out of her weary daydream.
"You're late, you know."
"Hardly, Raph."
"Ya can't keep doing this. Mr. Stillwater won't like it."
"Not if you don't tell him."
Batting her eyes across at Raphael, she gave him one of her cutest look-at-me-don't-you-love- me pouts
Raphael groaned rubbing a dark brown hand against his forehead in mock annoyance.
"Ya got me, Chez. Anything for a cutie like you." He gave her one of his lopsided grins, his teeth strikingly white against his skin.
Realizing they were wasting more time on their silly banter than their own customers, she gave Raphael a sharp nudge and got to work.
It was only after ten a.m, but it seemed later with the slow flow of people. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary though. Ms. Cottonwood dropped by for her latte. Hectic Mrs. Thomas flusteredly ordered her standard two dozen, with coconut, jelly-filled and glazed. The small band of high school 'skippers' dropped by as usual at the half hour mark.
As they entered, jostling and laughing, it took her a moment to notice the new one with them.
He stood a ways from the others, as if ill at ease around them. From the dark leather of his clothes to the vibrantly bleached shade of his mostly short cropped hair, he was clearly a guy who made his own rules.
She couldn't help but stare. Noticing her avid attention, to her bewilderment, he strolled nonchantly up to the counter. His thumbs were hooked into his pockets, melding with the flow of his gait that simply oozed lively but untouchable charm.
Like something surrounded in gray mist... The brief thought bounced through her racing mind, but she never had a chance to look further into it.
He stood there in front of the counter impassively, remote, cold and faraway. Though somehow she felt that wasn't really how he was. Up close she thought he looked older than the high school students, maybe even older than her. From this close as well, she made a note of the dark pair of sunglasses peeping out from the front pocket of his jacket and the odd earrings he wore. On one ear it hung in a rectangular form, dangling loosely, while on the other it was only a bronze stub, but the back looked piercingly sharp.
Her head tilted slightly as she continued to stare.
A nudge from Raphael brought her back to the present.
"Hey, Chez." He was grinning widely at her, his smirk irritatingly self-amused.
She glared at him even as she felt the rush to cheeks.
Oh perfect, just want I need!
Clearing her throat self-consciously, she asked, mustering as much normalcy as she could salvage, "Sorry 'bout that. Have you decided what you want to order?"
Instead of asking for something, anything, he asked in a quiet but deep voice, "Do you really expect me to believe your name is 'Chez'?"
Blinking rapidly, it took her a moment to grasp what this strange man was saying.
"Of course not," she snorted indignantly. "My name's Emma. Emma Starr."
"It's a nickname of mine." Raphael piped up from down the counter as he helped another customer. He had a bad sense of priority, Emma decided. "It's a shortened form of Cheza. Just a name I thought suited her since she always seems likes she's dancing, standing on her toes, and always being so playful."
"Yeah, yeah, that's enough there Raph." She shot him a look telling him to keep his mouth shut. She hated when he did that, since all it ever did was alienate people. Turning back to the strange leather clad man who had began this whole problem, she found him staring at her with an intensity that unsettled her.
"Cheza."
When he said the word in his deep voice, a soft gravely tone, it sounded different to her ears. As if it had a deeper meaning, as if something deep within in her was beginning to grow.
Abruptly she shoved the feelings aside. This was no time to be getting weird.
"Yes. And what's your name, since you seem so interested?"
The strange man watched her unblinking, while she had a momentary fear that she had somehow offended him in some way, when his voice broke through the haze in her mind.
"Tsume. You can call me Tsume."
"Tsume?" she squeaked. Her heat was racing again but this time it was not from panic at being late.
"Yes. That's what I said," pausing his head cocked to the side, "Cheza."
The sunset was beautiful. Crimson-orange streaks seeping in the western sky, somehow lighting the eastern sky a pale pink, a rich shade like a blooming flower. A flower? The phrasing stuck in her mind and with it, a tingling to her nose.
Her neck ached. Pulling her scarf tighter she attempted to ward off the disturbing feeling of blood beating in her veins. She could almost feel them, vibrant and warm, the life flow pulsating in her delicate neck. The fragility of her pale, mean existence beat down on her as well, threatening to overpower the beauty of the sunset.
Shaking her head she leapt from the watch tower. Her legs were still shaking as she landed.
It wasn't really much of a watch tower, simply an old oak tree with knotted branches reaching toward the sky overhead. When she had been younger, she had wished to believe that there was someone sleeping within its hollow space, waiting to be awakened. She still wasn't sure where such a positive assertion had come from, other than the funny bump that rose out of the tree's eastern side. It bended in a strange way, almost bent in half, slightly reminisive of a sleeping form curled up. But Katherine Winterhart was now much too old to think such silly thoughts. Besides, she mused to herself with a smile, even if the bump is nothing the tree is still hollow, so really there's no telling what's in there.
With a ceremonial wave, she raced through the swaying grasses and pass the stalks of wheat and corn to the brightly lit farmhouse of her Aunt Susan and Uncle Albert.
The serenity of the night was rapidly washed away in the loud, noisome clutter.
Michael was sitting just inside the front hall, the narrow part that lead into the wider end, his mess of trains and tracks taking up the space of a clear entrance.
Expertly, Kathy leapt over her brother's handiwork, arching upward on her toes as far as she could to avoid as much damage as possible. The eight-year-old grinned at her, and she gave him a brief wave. He was a sweet kid, but so involved in his own interests that sometimes he seemed to miss out, drawing inward more and more recently.
A bombardment of flying missiles, craftily camouflaged as pipe cleaners, rained down on her from the above stair railing when she strolled into the open end of the front hall. A green one jabbed in the shoulder. In mute horror she collapsed on the living room's partially carpeted floor, opening from the left side of the front hall, wincing in pretend pain. The yells and hollers of her twin brothers only grew louder as she played along.
From the corner of her eye she saw her cousin Roger sitting forlornly in the kitchen. At least he looked forlorn to her. His usually bright eyes were staring in dull distraction out the large pane of windows that nearly made up one whole wall of the kitchen.
Dragging herself across the carpet, she got a few more missiles thrown at her, most of them sticking to her back, followed by hoots of laughter.
Once safely inside the Sanctuary, as she often thought of it, she tapped Roger gently on the shoulder.
"Huh? Oh, Blue it's you." His face was cringed up in a sheepish expression under his auburn hair as it curled around his face. Large eyes wouldn't meet with hers as she sat down beside him at the kitchen table.
It was a nice table, made of a hard wood and smoothed until it was as sleek as stone. The table was plain but stylistically charming in its simplicity. Their Aunt had always insisted on covering the table when her nephews and niece came to visit. A visit Auntie always loved for the lack of children that had come to her and Uncle Albert, despite how young they both still were. Blue had never entirely understood it, but she assumed it was a more grown up matter and certainly wasn't in any hurry to worry about it.
When she had used to come, back when she had been younger, she had always picked out the cerulean blue tablecloth because it brought out the color of her eyes, and so the name had stuck.
"What's on your mind, Roger?"
"It's…nothing."
"From the look on your face, it's not 'nothing'."
He still couldn't meet her gaze.
"But that's just it Blue – it really isn't anything. Just a feeling, I guess."
"A feeling?" Noticing the plate of cookies Auntie had left in the middle of the table, she helped herself to a few. Through her munching she asked, "What kind of feeling do you mean?"
"A happy one." His eyes grew thoughtful, unwittingly making contact. "But sad somehow, too."
She nodded. Offering him one of her hand-picked cookies, Roger simply shook his head.
"Do you know what triggered it?"
He shook his head again. "No. But sometimes I get this pain in my chest, right under my heart, and I can't help but feeling sad."
Shivering despite the warmth of the room, Blue felt a jab of ice shoot up her back, putting a chilling pressure on her throat. His words unnerved her, almost as if she wished he wouldn't say them.
Her cousin had surprisingly brightened now, the sadness seeming to leak off.
"It's not always bad like that. Sometimes it's just a nice feeling. I'm not sure how to explain it." Tapping a finger to his lips, his thoughtfulness was interrupted by a mewing yowl of feisty recognition.
Without warning the tiny kitten bounded onto the blue tabletop. Purring gently the white Snowdrop butted her small head into Roger's cheek. He laughed, seeming to forget what he had been saying as he pulled the kitten into his lap.
Whatever he was trying to say has clearly slipped his mind. Blue did not entirely mind and smiled as he played with Snowdrop, chewing as she watched.
Deep down, she knew the feeling he meant, or she thought she did. It was a feeling like running for hours, completely winded but never being tired. Somewhere free where there's lots of room to run, and run forever as the stars leap to the sky. A warm quickening in her blood, a need, a desire, a kind of wild freedom that's as natural as breathing or singing is. But every now and then the feeling brings back with it the ache beating in her throat.