Title: An Ocean Apart: The Bitter Heart
Author: Chocobo Mushroom
Rating: M
Pairing: Yogi & Gareki
Disclaimers: I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval.
Warning: Not for young readers... And I botched the characters pretty bad to fit my story... so if you don't like it, don't read.
A/N: It's been forever since I've put out a story. I concentrated more on emotional balance this time. This story is pretty important to me. I should be protected by some sort of copyright... so respect my work. Please.
It was boring. The broken petals, the dull wine, the endless ceremonies, the useless formalities; they were all a form of torture that he couldn't take anymore. The same endless pattern with not one new face or activity was slowly driving him mad. Swordplay and practice could not make him shed the fatigue of his Prince life. Gareki was the Emperor's son, the regal majesty's heir. He would be the father of the next heir, and so on. Everyday he woke to twenty maids to help his dressing and prep. He bathed in lilac and milk to soften his inner bloodlust. He ate fine crispy roast duck with green onions and hoisin sauce for breakfast. For lunch he dined with ambassadors from the New World and the Ancient cities. He feasted on puff pastries and jam cookies, on stuffed partridges and swan-carved pineapple. His fruit was chilled and molded, designed into the most exotic and beautiful of animals. His food was always imported and it was tested for poison by an old servant. He wore the finest threaded silk in the entire Legion. It was embroidered with the delicate lotuses and dragons, the epitome of luxury and finesse. He lounged in the coolest lotus gardens, with maple wood floors and sickly sweet rice wine.
But he was bored. He lacked something. A basic need.
His father was strict but understanding. He enlisted for courtesans and concubines to help out Gareki, his majesty, but he pushed them away in anger. He didn't want those fake women, with their abused thighs and powder-caked faces. Their nasally voices and seductive touches made him want to spit. He did enjoy the lotus gardens though. The way the delicate flowers swayed heavily from their own beauty and caught rain with their deformed umbrellas made him feel at ease.
It was in his garden that he met him.
Gareki was drinking sweet jasmine rice wine on a rainy day in the water garden. The drizzle pattered onto the thin paper dividers. He sat under a clay tile and wood awning by himself, watching the slow dance that the lotus pond found itself in. The pink tinted petals on each dancer bounced with the fall of heaven's dew. Gareki got up and gracefully leaned at the edge. He pulled back his heavy sleeve to reach out for a core. It broke with a twist of his wrist as he carefully got up and sat again. Falling into a pond was not the most regal thing he could do. With a satisfyingly fresh crack he retrieved the seeds out of the reluctant (green )lotus core. He peeled one to the white body. Inside was a bitter heart, but he didn't bother to take it out. His father had once told him that bitter things made life sweeter. Also that taking out the bitter things in life made him a coward unworthy of being a good emperor. He understood that much.
The slow patter of rain grew in power, and proceeded to drown out the sound of Gareki's thoughts. He tsked. Some of the flowers were drooping and breaking petals off, bending over as if humbled. But Gareki would not attempt the foolish act of pushing the beauties back upright, because he knew that it would be impossible in the rain, and that to catch the next emperor getting drenched in a torrent was highly disgraceful and a shameful thought.
The clickety clack of sounds on cobblestone make him squint through the cream dividers. A shadow quickly stopped and entered the garden, a blue silken umbrella hiding the user. After the figure entered the safety of the awning, he retracted his umbrella, revealing hair the color of golden wheat and eyes sparkling of a delicate lavender. He sighed in relief and didn't seem to notice the stunned Prince. He first thought was that he was an outsider. A notary maybe? Some kind of ambassador? No, too young. An important guest, for diplomatic reasons, most likely. The second thing he realized was that this guy didn't want his life anymore, obviously, since he didn't even begin to apologize for entering the Majesty's presence without his consent. He didn't kneel or greet him in a ceremonial gesture. The third thing that made him cringe; was the possibility if the man being an assassin. But he deemed it unlikely, with him being an outsider. A skilled assassin maybe? But he calmed his unsteady temperament. He wanted to see how this man would treat him without those fancy names and precautions. Assassins would still be courteous. Just as he made up his mind, the man finished wringing out the bottom of his robe of water and finally noticed his presence.
"Ah! Sorry, I didn't know someone was here. Just trying to keep out of the rain. You don't mind if I wait it out here?" His pronounciation was a bit accented, from a nearby region, but otherwise, he spoke perfectly. So he was a half-breed then, with an outsider. The perfect diplomatic weapon.
Gareki didn't have time to respond with sarcasm before the man sat in the chair beside him. Did he really not notice his fine clothing? That the table and chairs were made of lacquered cherry wood and the cushions of the finest down and silks? The man poured Gareki and himself a cup of rice wine. He held it up. He was either extremely friendly, or extremely rude. If he was an assassin, he wouldn't have minded dying in a few moments of friendship. They clinked the cups together, and Gareki felt a strange part of him feel satisfied, his spirit more present, his mind more at ease. The torrent of rain became a steady rhythmic downfall, instead of being chaotic.
The man drank with him the cup emptied in one go and lifted for the other to see that it was indeed empty. Gareki offered him the lotus core, an act he had never done before. His mind acted on its own. Only after the man had graciously accepted it with a charming smile did he voraciously blush at his naivety. They were strangers, and they did not know anything of each other. He was the Emperor's son! What if the court heard about this? If this man was lower than a nobleman- what would they say about him? "The Emperor's son shared tea with lower-class scum." He could hear the whispers already.
The lavender-eyed creature peeled a heart and slit it open, taking out the bitter green shoot in the middle and eating the white body.
"Oh..." The sound escaped from Gareki's lips.
"Hmm?" The blonde haired stranger looked up intently.
"It's just that you took out the bitter heart. Why did you do that?" He demanded, not used to talking casually. The man threw him a crooked grin while he thought.
"Well, why not? Why live through the bitterness if you have a choice otherwise?"
"But that makes you weak. Choosing the easier path will always mean that you are weak."
"You can see it that way. But to me there is no easy or hard path. Rather, you already did the hard work. You already broke the stem, cracked the core, and peeled the heart. What's left is for you to choose between a sweet or a bitter ending."
Gareki sniffed at his response he was miffed at being lectured by a stranger- an outsider no less. He could have killed him for talking back to him. Death by a hundred lashes. Death by dismemberment. Death by poisons. But that was all too harsh. For revenge, he wanted to see his stunned face after the outsider left the lotus garden and inquired the servant who it belonged to. That would satisfy him. A small smile formed on his lips. He downed his wine and gazed at the dripping rain that was beginning to ease. The man noticed at the same time.
"I think it's time for me to leave." He fumbled inside his robe to take out a silver contraption, with a long chain attached to it. He edged away, thinking it was a weapon, but the golden-haired man didn't attack him. He leaned forward to see that it was a western pocket watch. An outsider indeed. The man struggled to arrange his clothing. It suited him, although a bit out of place. He must have worn the traditional clothing to appease the Emperor's conservative tastes.
"Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Mr..."
"Gareki." He had to try hard not to add any regal additions to his name. He was already taken aback at the fact that the outsider didn't introduce himself first, and when he thought about it, the man should have introduced himself as soon as he saw him under the awning. "And to you, Mr..."
"You can call me Yogi."
"Good-bye, Yogi." He felt his face twitch up into a smile. The amethyst-eyed gave him an earnest but small smile. The Highness caught a look of curiousity as he swept his robes up and opened the umbrella. With a twirl, he descended into the light drizzle and left the lotus garden, rendering it silent once more. The flowers returned to their graceful ballad, and the frogs began to croak again. The cicadas sang a forte chorus, and the Majesty was a bit overwhelmed from his sudden attention to his surroundings again. Using a technique he had learned from an old tai-chi master, he regained a peace inside that softened the patter or rain and the long croaks of the toads. His eyes closed shut and he dozed lightly. The rain continued to lightly fall...
He continued to sleep until a light bell chime made him twitch. The sun had already come out from it's protection behind the clouds. He tsked angrily.
"Who dares wake me up during my nap?" He thundered, exercising his authoritarian voice, flexing his power that had been subdued earlier by that Yogi guy.
"I-I'm sorry your majesty. I am your humble servant. Spare me please." The maid shook with terror. It only made him more perturbed. He tsked again.
"Get up already. What do you want?"
"The E-Emperor says that your presence is requested at the royal court for tea. Your outfit and midday snack has been prepared." He rose and swept his heavy robes towards his study. It was one of the many rooms and buildings that he had given to him. The maids held open the ornately carved doors as he entered his opulent but sparsely furnished quarters. A large oak table for writing was against the wall, with papers that he was too frustrated to look strewn over the glossy wood. There were claims that he needed to address, complaints that needed appeasing. Blue satin covered the cushions, bed dressings, and sheets. Silk thread weaved flowers and mystical creatures onto every available surface. Freshly cut blossoms were placed in artful corners, a dust of the room dampening the sweet smell. He quickly told a servant to take the flowers away and open all the possible windows. He felt suffocated even though he had sat outside for so long. He sat at his table and stared at the plate of durian pastries. He sat there for a long time, not doing anything. He reevaluated his happiness in comparison to his wealth. He enjoyed the privileges and the delicacies that only royalty could enjoy. But he felt hollow inside- he didn't do anything to get these things. His only connection to everything around him was his heritage. He wasn't on the fields fighting for the King, he didn't sell clay wares like the merchants, and he definitely wasn't weighing grams of rice like a farmer. He knew that his responsibility would increase dramatically after he became king, but he wanted to be responsible for something now. To truly own something with his own hands.
The maids kneeled before him until he impatiently waved for them to get up. They had a heavy black and gold embroidered outfit worn on formal occasions. He had many, but he was fond of this one for it's dramatic appeal. If he was correct, then he would be meeting with Mr. Yogi, the outsider, and he wanted to look his most regal. Appropriately for the occasion as well, of course. It would stun him for sure. He let them dress him, fit his arms through the large sleeves and attached a golden headpiece for hair. The slight application of gardenia essence for formality completed his preparations. An ink dragon was delicately painted below his left eye. Picking out a paper fan painted with water and mountains, he ascended the gold-colored sedan with an orange overhead canopy, was lifted by eight servants, followed by two maids, and headed to the royal court.
The arrival of the Dragon's son was announced as he alighted from his sedan. He nodded generously to the many noblemen and ministers who were present, but did not smile. He walked the stiff procession and entered the court, now transformed into a formal gathering for tea. The Emperor was at an elevated desk with two guests. The prince kneeled to his father, a tall man who wore gold robes with threaded twin dragons, and a strict face wherever he went. A delicately graying beard indicated his wisdom and knowledge. He waved for him to stand. The taller man across from the Emperor at the table was a gentleman who looked uncomfortable in the oriental clothing. He had black hair and a strong body build, different from the royal family's lean build, but of the same origin. The man next to him was of mixed origin, but looked similar. He had gold-wheat hair and amethyst-colored eyes. An exotic combination.
They kneeled, and he quickly waved for them to get up.
"We are all friends here," he said.
"I am pleased to make the acquaintance with the Dragon's son. I am the neighboring Minister of Finances and this is the representative nobleman, Yogi. We are forever your loyal servants, your Majesty." They bowed deeply. The one that Gareki was familiar with was more hesitant to bow. Gareki gave a courteous smile.
"I am honored to be in the presence of such revered guests. I'm hoping that you will lend me your insight during your stay."
"Of course, of course," The older man appeased, graciously accepting the Emperor's motion of sitting with nods.
Gareki pushed back his heavy robes to sit down. He finally looked up to gaze at the blonde man. He had a look of shock that was barely hidden through placidity. Gareki felt the twitch of a smile at his lips, but he transformed it into the friendly calm smile used in public. He referred to the sweet rice with mango slivers and said,
"Minister, Honorable noble, do try this delicacy. It was imported from the southern legions." The blonde man snapped out of his trance. He frowned and his face was a bit stressed.
"O-Of course." The blonde man replied, even though he was of less importance than the Minister. Gareki didn't point out the gaffe and allowed the maid to serve the dessert he had pointed out. Gareki carefully sipped the Oolong tea and covered his mouth with a silk handkerchief. The leaves were perfectly tempered and the fragrance was very fine.
He looked up to see the outsider stare at his plate with an intimidated and ashamed face. It served him right for not knowing who the people around him were. Gareki felt a flush of a surprising feeling he couldn't put his finger on. The poor soul didn't know anything about the rules in the palace. Of course he was a sad mistaken fool.
"The garb compliments you, Minister, Honorable noble," Gareki added, giving them a small smile. He kept it up while the Minister returned one over the fake compliment. The Minister made sure not to look him in the eye, lest he wanted to get his head chopped off.
"Oh, thank you your Majesty... I'm pleased that you approve," The chief said.
"Thank you, your Majesty," Yogi replied, bowing his head down.
"Now, let us talk of formal matters," The strong voice of the Emperor declared. He stroked his long beard. "The silk tapestry for the moon festival is a costly affair. I assume that preparations for the material are complete."
"To answer your Majesty, Yes, I've seen to them carefully. The designs of which are to be sewn... Well for this immense project, I was wondering what your Highnesses might want as a subject."
"Yes... For something like the moon festival... Well, what do you think, son?" Gareki racked his brains; he needed to think of something good.
"Perhaps something... Mystical? Mythology, with a twist of royal blood mixed in?" He said.
The Emperor slapped the table. The guests jumped a foot into the air. The servants quickly kneeled, hoping they hadn't angered the old man.
"Great idea. What do you think, Noble?"
"To respond to you Majesty, I think it's magnificent. The Nobles will be pleased." Yogi replied.
"Perfect. Do that then. You will need to stay in the Kingdom to use the record history books. As I said before, your presence is welcome and for as long as is needed." The hidden message was that they were needed for diplomacy as well. "Your sewing mistresses will see to the completion of it. Our historian will relay any necessary requirements on the affair and formalities concerning the books, with the upgraded ranking of Master's secretary, temporarily." A servant heard the request and scurried off to inform the historian of his new privileges. The minister and Yogi both stood and bowed.
"Then, if that is arranged, then Gareki, they could use your skills in the interpretation of ancient language. Help them later after tea."
The formal afternoon ordeal continued for a while for, but soon after the master of dyes and silks kneeled on one foot to beg for pardon and requested for the Minister's help with the colors and threads.
"You may go. Gareki, you may accompany them as well." The three kneeled.
"Thank you your Majesty. I will go after some preparation." He said, his regal wear in need of something more casual, as well as some references that he could use.
"Of course, my son. Work hard." The long-bearded man gave him a hard, cold smile. They backed away and then left while Gareki was followed by his servants. A possy of women were waiting outside, the ones who were going to do the silk embroidery on the tapestry.
"Minister. Advocate Noble. I will accompany you soon to the Eastern flower pavilion. First I must pick up some necessary tools." He flashed Yogi a small smile and bowed curtly before getting on his sedan. His men picked up the sedan and marched back to his quarters while the two guests and the team of seamstresses waited for his Majesty to leave out of sight. They then got up onto their own sedans, which were less extravagant but still honorary for guests, and a servant who was instructed to lead the way for them appeared.
"You must be thinking that you didn't get to contribute much just now, Yogi." The dark-haired man said, an amused face making him seem younger.
"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare." Yogi was actually still welling in his shame over not recognizing a prince when one was right in front of him. He was lucky that he was still alive! His punishment was blatant shame, obviously. The shame of having to realize the difference in class and the importance of his standing while before a formal audience. He had kept his composure, or so he hoped. Some sly smirks from the prince told him otherwise. Thankfully the prince had a sense of humor, but he wasn't cruel. He could have been sentenced to death. But the rambling of the chief brought him back to reality.
"It's alright. I brought you mainly because you're such a phenomenal writer. A good writer can weave what's real and what's not real together. We'll turn your story into pictures, and we'll transfer those onto silk. I hope that you'll help in doing so, Yogi." He had a knowing smile on his lips.
"Of course, Minister. I'll work hard." He said, glad that he had brought his own brush with him on this trip. A mystical story with folklore, was it? He could do that. They walked for a good twenty minutes before arriving at the East flower pavilion. It was a beautiful garden with chrysanthemums and gardenias, camellias and irises. Flowers from different seasons were magically blooming all at the same time. A small pool with Koi were lounging at the bottom of the craggy rocks. The outsiders walked into the wood-musk room. The tables were set up, with chairs and special racks for embroidery already prepared.
"To your seats according to skill, from simple stitch to compound, right this moment." The minister announced, pointing for the women to seat themselves. He called for one to ask for candles, one to call for the dye master to bring in the thread choices since they were prepared, and one to call for the silk.
Yogi sat down at one of the tables while a paper was set down in front of him. He used the stone ink well to mix the black for his writing. He retrieved his own pen, which had an oak handle and cow hair bristles. He tapped his fingers on the table for a while and tsked to himself for an hour over how to begin. Finally, he dabbed the brush in the ink and wrote in beautiful penmanship,
"And so a forbidden story began, a story of two lovers that were separated by an ocean of stars..."
A/N: Hi everyone, if you like this, favorite or follow. Send me a message. Show some love! It's been forever since I published anything. I have some more parts already done, they're just not proofread yet. Everytime I publish it's always at a bad time... this time it's Labor Day. It's the only time I'm at home and not too busy with work. I've got a ton of homework. Next time, maybe Thanksgiving... showing support will improve my work habits. Thanks for reading!