Notes: This is weird... before now, I swore that I would never write a Nuriko ficcie, just because that guy is so bloody confusing, but... well... *sigh* Whatever. This ficcie is Nuriko's POV, first-person. It's confusing and awkward, and Chiriko only got one mention. *sob* Basically, it's Nuriko doing some thinking. Lots of thinking. I know that there are too many though fics for Nuriko-san as it is, but... hey, whatever, I hope that this is slightly different. (and I hope that it isn't a bunch of random babbling, which I'm afraid it might be. *sweatdrop*)
Spoilers: Ep. 25. If you haven't seen that episode/don't want to be spoiled, don't read this. Also, this takes place before Ep. 27, after the Star Festival. Some time in between there. ^^ Enjoy.
Dedication: Ryuen-san. Why? Because she likes Nuriko (a lot. ^.^;), and because she reviewed my fanfic. ^.^; Domo arigatou gazaimasu, Ryuen-san! (*psstt* Minna-san! Go to Ryuen-san's Nuriko Shrine, Eternal Dream. ^^ http://www.geocities.com/nurikonuriko/)
Disclaimer: Don't even start with me... I don't own Fushigi Yuugi. Do I look like my name is Watase Yuu? She's Japanese. She's out of High School, which I am not. I am not Watase Yuu. She is the one who created Fushigi Yuugi. Sorry to burst your bubble. (tee, I know that technically I don't have to write a disclaimer (Xing-san wrote an official one for the entire site), but I love writing them. I get to be smartass. ^.^;;)
Masks
I smiled at the darkening sky, feeling the wind gently blowing against my face. It came up to me, like a whisper, as it caressed my cheek, and I could almost hear it speaking the words of the world to me. But then again, I do tend to be a bit too dramatic from time to time, so it was most likely just my imagination.
I was sitting on the grass, near the palace. Actually, to be more precise, it was near the pond that Chichiri often sat at as he fished. I always laughed at him when he did that: we all knew that there were no fish in that little pond, or, if there were, they would all be gone now, considering how many times Chichiri had sat there, fishing rod in hand. He always looked so peaceful when he sat there, eyes closed, his form relaxed. It made me wonder if his peacefulness was true - was he really at peace with himself, or was it just a show, an illusion, one that would make us think that he was relaxed?
Sometimes I wonder too much as well.
It was getting darker as I sat here, the soft light of the sun fading away. I was sitting against a tree, head resting against its' trunk, and I could feel the rough texture of the tree bark messing up my hair. It didn't bother me that much, though - after all, I was just going to go in and go to sleep after this, anyway. It was something that I would have to worry about if it were earlier in the day - I was still masquerading as a woman, even though I had lately begun to think about my choice to do so.
I smiled to myself as I thought of this, and I closed my eyes to the setting sun. Dressing up as Kourin had seemed like the right thing to do at the time of her death, yes, but lately, I had been wondering about whether or not it truly was. Here I was, the Suzaku shichiseishi Nuriko, and I was pretending to be a girl. It truly made me wonder upon whether or not I was being courageous, for taking my sister's place and allowing her to live on, or cowardly, for running away from the fact that my sister was dead.
I laughed lightly to myself as I thought this, scolding myself for being melodramatic again. If only Tasuki could hear me now, I think that that he would run away as fast as he could. Either that, or shake me and ask what I've done with the real Nuriko. I'm not suppose to be overly serious - after all, I'm Nuriko. The fun-loving, happy-go-luckly Suzaku shichiseishi, who had a smile for everyone, and a joke for every occasion.
Sometimes I wonder if my happy attitude is as much of a mask as my masquerading as Kourin. Heck, the two words even sound the same: and . It's that way for a reason, I assume. It makes me wonder, though, if that means that my entire personality is a mask - a mask to hide my inner thoughts and inhibitions. Like Chichiri's mask, the one that he wears everyday, to cover his scar. It's funny how he uses it - when he's serious, the mask is off, showing everyone that he is upset and concerned, but the rest of the time, it's on, and he is the calm and wise advisor to our group, happily helping us along our own paths.
I wish that I could do that. Be able to take off a mask, I mean, whenever I feel tired of being Kourin. Or, with the rest of the Suzaku shichiseishi, whenever I feel tired of being the upbeat and cheerful gay-boy. Sometimes, I wish that I could just be the moody one for a day, so that I could show the world that there is more to me than just a cheerful smile.
I shivered as I realized that it was colder than I had assumed, and I opened my eyes once again. All traces of the sun had long since disappeared, and I could see the faintest glimmerings of white-silver stars beginning to peak their way through the nighttime veil. All around me, the trees and grass were covered in shadow, making the color change from a usually vibrant green to a dark, greenish-black.
The light from the palace was the reason that I could see anything at all, truthfully. I was sitting in the courtyard, after all, and I could see the right side of the palace quite clearly. I bet, if I listened hard enough, I could hear Miaka giggling, and Tasuki swearing, and Chiriko playing his flute-
Oh, wait a moment... Chiriko wouldn't be the one playing the flute. That was Amiboshi, wasn't it?
I bit my lip as I remembered this, my eyes still fixated on the light from the palace. That was the reason I had come out here in the first place, after all - to pay my respects to Amiboshi, even though I had ended up sitting down and resting. Although he had betrayed us in the end, he hadn't been a horrible guy. In fact, I had quite liked him, even if he did call me every once and awhile.
But now he was gone, washed away by the river. I remember what had happened when Miaka told us; it seemed like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. It had hurt so much to hear that the poor young boy had died - and so horribly, too.
I wonder if Amiboshi had a brother or a sister. Would they make the same decision that I had, dressing up as Amiboshi to make the pain of their brother's death go away, only to realize that they were only deluding themselves?
Oh, there I go again. I really should stop being so melodramatic, one of these days it's going to make me depressed.
Did Amiboshi have to wear a mask? The question came to me suddenly, and my eyes widened a bit as I thought of this. I remember how he was, always smiling every so slightly, always playing that flute of his. Back then, before the ceremony, I never really thought to become close to him. He seemed so open, like a book, so innocent and young, that trying to find out about his past and inner self never seemed to be an issue.
Then again, I suppose that I seem like that as well.
Amiboshi's expression when he had begun to torture us with the tunes from his flute... it had scared me. Now that I think about it, it was like Amiboshi had taken the mask off. The mask of cheerfulness and child-like innocence, it disappeared. His true face had shown...
Again, I shivered, and I realized that it was getting colder than I had originally thought. Realizing that the stars were now shining bright in the sky, I figured that should go inside before someone realized I was missing and Hotohori-sama sent guards out to look for me. Standing up and brushing a few twigs and pieces of grass from my skirt, I looked back towards Chichiri's pond one last time, silently paying my respects to Amiboshi.
As I began my way back through the courtyard, towards the brightly lit palace, I thought of what I had just been thinking. Chichiri had a mask, a real one, one that he could removed manually. Sometimes he did just that, when he was worried or concerned. Amiboshi had a mask, and he also took his off, even though it wasn't a real one. With Amiboshi, it was a cruel, devious plot that he held behind the mask of kindness, even though, in the end, he gave it up. Both of them had taken their masks off, whether forever or just for the moment needed, but they had taken them off.
Maybe I should take my mask off, too.