Leaving
by Tank!
created: 17 October 2000 12:08:22
last revision: 23 September 2002 00:07:54
SPOILERS for Volume 20
"Leaving?"
Now that was such a curt, one word question. But still, a little something in the voice hinted at, possibly, concern?
Either that, or I'm just really reaching.
Keeping my hands on the horse's saddle, I lowered my foot from the stirrup.
I didn't look up.
A light tapping of high heeled boots told me she was still waiting for my answer. I should think it was obvious, what with the horse and all, but I make it a point never to disappoint pretty ladies... which is really a modified version of something Mom taught me. Be nice to girls, she said.
I turned around. Doing my best ladykiller impression, I grinned with the cigarette end hanging from my lips, leered, and said something that had pissed her off before,
"So how're you doing?" Just the right accent on the 'you', a practised lift of the brows, and just the perfect lazy grin towards the end.
I watched with practised nonchalance as she stalked over with her hands on her hips, then reached out to pluck the cigarette end right off my lips.
...! She can't do that, some small part of my mind (the part that wasn't in shock) thought. That's my trademark cig!
A determined stomp of her boots, and I was looking at the sad and untimely demise of Mr. Nicotine.
Ah, poor Nic, I knew you well.
The night wind played a serenade streaming through vermillion red strands, carrying with it the subtle, teasing scent of lilacs. She looked much better with her hair down than in those ridiculous braids.
Then again, her hair could be electro-fried by Bat-Boy [1], then hog-tied to Paopei-ningen's [2] wheels, and still look better than it does in those braids.
I wondered... if she knew.
It was not our usual antagonism that kept me quiet; but the feel of her fingertips as it accudentally brushed my lips, her proximity, and that clean, fresh, yet intoxicating scent, that made anything more than breathing an impossibility.
And the fact that she was even here, really. The possibility that somehow, some way, she felt the same way, if only a little...
I reached my calloused fingers to the petal-smooth face, in a poor attempt to gently wipe the tears off them. For a while the image of morning dew on soft petals came to my mind, and I laughed at my rather late and sad attempt at being a poet... only to gasp in pain that reminded itself.
Laughter was definitely not the best medicine when your stomach had a gaping, mortal wound.
I gently pushed away the arms that reached for me as I doubled over in pain. It wouldn't be right, if I told her that, only to die right after.
Besides, she loved that mogura [3]. That 'honey' of hers.
I think it's the way she defended him time and again, no matter how ridiculous the odds, against opponents way beyond her league. And boy, there were plenty, considering her only skill was tossing a stone in the face of certain death. Like when she fought that crazy stalker of hers for that mogura's life...
She pulled me to my feet, ignoring arms that tried to push her away.
And she said, "...I can't say I understand just why you are still going."
Then she put my arm over her shoulder, and continued. "But being the pig-headed mule that you are, you're probably going no matter what I say."
We started walking.
"But if you are going to accomplish anything at all, you'll need to be in the best shape possible."
No, Sengyoku, I smiled as I thought, you do understand.
She led me back to my tent, and proceeded to wrap my torso properly in bandages.
For perhaps, the last time.
Footnote:
[1] : Bat-Boy (non-canon) = Raishinshi
[2] : Paopei-ningen = Nataku
[3] : mogura = mole
Endnote:
Found this in the backburner folder of my HDD, and decided to give it a once-over before throwing it to the wolves. Can't believe I wrote this two years ago. Well, actually, I can, considering how much it sucks... But you know, time flying and all that crap. Doesn't excuse the lack of a plot though.
I really don't like to write in first person perspective. 'specially, the 'motional stuff. Blech. There's always the tendency to over-compensate, i.e. the author becomes the character, rather than the other way round. But Tenka's last scenes in the manga were done almost entirely in first person, so it was hard to write this in anything else but.
Listening to Kyousuke No. 1 from Shin KOR, and Tokimeki Memorial's piano collection as I revised it. First wrote this after days of to l'arc~en~cielism and nights of depeche modism (you know, so the neighbours can't complain), then suddenly switching to Lea Salonga's "Don't Know What To Do" (I blame my brother for my lingering tolerance for pop ballads)... . So all that had an effect of, like, I don't know, over-compensating? Warui na.