Prayer Wheel
Chapter 6
A/N: I realized as I re-read the fic more thoroughly that I made a couple of mistakes in continuity...=/ If you didn't notice them, then that's good. If you did...well, there's a year-long difference in between the time I wrote the chapters, so forgive me.
Wrapped safely in her bed, The History of Shinryuu Convent hidden securely underneath her mattress, Jun reviewed the facts and fallacies swimming through her head. Yoma had not, in fact, died at the monastery, but instead of some sort of seizure after the Iron Fist Tournament. How could Mother Azami have mixed up those two? This was something that Jun could not chalk up to old age.
Something is very wrong at Shinryuu Convent, she realized, and only curled up tighter beneath her covers.
But I can't leave. Whatever has happened to this place, and whoever has been tied to it, I was the one that it picked to rescue it. I can't back out now.
"God, give me sleep..." murmured Jun audibly and somewhat subconsciously, the quiet thundering of her voice piercing through her thoughts like a rocket. With one final thought crossing her mind, the fleeting and faceless image of death, she fell into an uneasy slumber.
Jin Kazama stared at the letters upon the dining room table. His mother had written them, but he just didn't have the heart to read them. What could she, a woman born into a newer and infinitely more simple life, say to her son born and bred in violence? They only could have been letters of hollow "hello"s, reports on goings-on around Shinryuu, fleetingly spoken "I miss you"s. All she needed to say to him was contained in that final glance as she walked out the door.
She had written him a letter from the final fighting tournament she attended, a small competition in Hokkaido. "I trust that you are truly mature enough to take care of yourself. I need this time alone, to purify myself of the damage I've done. Love, Jun." The words written in her elegant penmanship were burned into his brain, committed to some reflexive memory he had no control over. Before she left, she had come back to the house to collect her possessions before she left. He knew he would miss her, but she would have been back in due time. Jun needed this, after all.
The steam of the hot ginseng tea frolicked under Jin's nose much as a playful child does, with a sweet sense of charm and carelessness. He had poured Jun's favorite tea into her favorite cup, the little china glass with the chip in the handle and 'sunrise' written on it in calligraphic kanji, and carried it into the dining room upon her favorite pewter saucer. The birds she lovingly kept filled the air with their rich and heart- warming anthems, and the room was filled with the plants that she tended to with the utmost of care. Jun was everywhere in this little house; he saw her and remembered her in each corner and every room.
Jin stared down at the tea. The murky green liquid stared back. He didn't even like tea that much; had Jun gone so far as to possess him to drink it? As reserved and subtle as her presence was, she had really had more of an effect on him than he had thought. After all, the one who takes the child by the hand takes the mother by the heart.
With a winsome sigh, he gave one last look at the modest little pile of letters on the table and rose from his seat. The walk over to the stack seemed to be in slow motion; he wasn't sure why, but there was an unusual sense of apprehension filling him. Jin picked up the most recently written letter, a document contained in an incredibly thin envelope of some strange paper, and tearing open the wax seal was a more rewarding touch than any blow he'd delivered to an opponent.
His eyes fell upon the writing, and just as he'd predicted, it was an update on Jun's status at the convent. It was postmarked as August 17 – about a month ago. She had not written since. Her oldest letter dated back two months ago; that was around when she had first arrived at the convent. It was similarly unexceptional.
Jin was a little worried at this sudden silence, but she was living at a convent. What could go wrong?
Jun felt like a nightmare. She had not gotten a decent night's rest in almost a month, and as she gazed into her modest little mirror in her bathroom, it was quite evident. Her gentle black eyes were rimmed with forbiddingly sable rings and her only remaining habit (the others having been tossed out the window with the drawer full of bugs; Mother Azami had promised her some new ones) was wrinkled and in need of a washing. Her hair was matted and stringy and even her complexion had started to become abnormally flushed and erratic. And, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, the span of one month without shaving had caused some rather unpleasant growths on her legs and chin. She decided that it would be best to tend to these devilish little hairs, for there was nothing better to do on a silent Tuesday morning.
Like with the matches, Jun had cheated and brought a razor with her as well. She was beginning to wonder if the very deities that she was trying to embrace at this convent were condemning her for breaking the life of austerity that they demanded. Even though it couldn't have been noticed underneath the long habits, Jun simply could not live with the concept of running around with unshaven legs. Even though some of the nuns had noticed that she was utterly devoid of feminine facial hair, she hadn't yet been caught, as the loose tile on the bathtub rim made an ideal hollow for the shaver.
Jun gently lifted the peach-colored cover and removed the razor from the hole, and for one wild moment her eyes caught a rogue splash of crimson on the blades. Alarmed, Jun looked at the razor again, but the liquid was gone. She had never cut herself with this razor; how could blood have formed on the blades?
Jun rinsed her legs with warm water from the bath and began on the thoroughly unremarkable task of shaving her legs. In her mind she quickly likened the blissful monotony to spinning on the loom, something that she had not done in a great deal of time. Her ugly little shawl had probably fallen into disrepair, not that she really cared, but Mother Azami would certainly be disappointed. Her thoughts quickly turned away from the accursed loom and back to the equally dull task of shaving, and to her surprise Jun discovered that she had completely finished her right leg while in her trance. The left leg proceeded similarly. Jun rinsed her legs again and strode over to the mirror, razor in hand, to shave her face.
As she ran the blade across her cheeks, she suddenly became aware of a stinging sensation behind her right eye. Jun ignored the tingling; it was most likely an eyelash. After her cheeks, she dragged the razor below her jaw, but suddenly stopped when she felt the blade nick her right in the center of her neck. She drew the blade away and noticed a tiny fleck of blood resting there, and it quickly began to blossom; in an effort to blot it out she put a handkerchief to it and held it there. A small red stain appeared on the smooth cloth, but to Jun's horror it quickly exploded across the surface. The scarlet spot expanded so rapidly that she removed the handkerchief, and what she saw in the mirror elicited a scream of horror from the terrified woman.
The cut, no longer a little fleck, had extended all the way from ear to ear in a wide and angry slash. Blood poured from the open wound, and as she lifted her hand to see if she was in some surreal dream, it poured down her arm, warm and thick. She screamed again, terrified, but then realized...
Why is this not hurting?
She blinked and the cut was gone.
Jun looked at herself in the mirror again. Nothing. Not even that one little fleck. She wondered if she should cry or scream or just go back to sleep but she didn't know what would happen and she was going to lose her mind and
I need to leave.
Jun swept over to the bath and hid the razor once again, and hurriedly strode out to the front gate, where she noticed that several of the nuns were crowded about the front courtyard. She dashed out to meet them, and was greeted by Sister Narin.
"Narin, I need to leave this place!" exclaimed Jun, a little less composed and quiet than she probably should have been. Narin, her thin hazel eyes knitted into a look of concern, gestured out to the courtyard. Jun saw that a massive amount of rubble and debris had knocked down one of the red arches on the trail leading to the convent and completely obscured the path itself. Despair welled up inside her stomach, and Narin's following narrative was hardly needed as she made a horrible realization.
"Jun, there was a rockslide in the surrounding mountains and some of the rocks are blocking the path down. You CAN'T go back."
Jun knew it wasn't natural. Someone was keeping her there.
A/N: Hah. Jun the Nun. I can't believe I only just caught that. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated; they let me know that I'm not wasting my life entirely. =P
Chapter 6
A/N: I realized as I re-read the fic more thoroughly that I made a couple of mistakes in continuity...=/ If you didn't notice them, then that's good. If you did...well, there's a year-long difference in between the time I wrote the chapters, so forgive me.
Wrapped safely in her bed, The History of Shinryuu Convent hidden securely underneath her mattress, Jun reviewed the facts and fallacies swimming through her head. Yoma had not, in fact, died at the monastery, but instead of some sort of seizure after the Iron Fist Tournament. How could Mother Azami have mixed up those two? This was something that Jun could not chalk up to old age.
Something is very wrong at Shinryuu Convent, she realized, and only curled up tighter beneath her covers.
But I can't leave. Whatever has happened to this place, and whoever has been tied to it, I was the one that it picked to rescue it. I can't back out now.
"God, give me sleep..." murmured Jun audibly and somewhat subconsciously, the quiet thundering of her voice piercing through her thoughts like a rocket. With one final thought crossing her mind, the fleeting and faceless image of death, she fell into an uneasy slumber.
Jin Kazama stared at the letters upon the dining room table. His mother had written them, but he just didn't have the heart to read them. What could she, a woman born into a newer and infinitely more simple life, say to her son born and bred in violence? They only could have been letters of hollow "hello"s, reports on goings-on around Shinryuu, fleetingly spoken "I miss you"s. All she needed to say to him was contained in that final glance as she walked out the door.
She had written him a letter from the final fighting tournament she attended, a small competition in Hokkaido. "I trust that you are truly mature enough to take care of yourself. I need this time alone, to purify myself of the damage I've done. Love, Jun." The words written in her elegant penmanship were burned into his brain, committed to some reflexive memory he had no control over. Before she left, she had come back to the house to collect her possessions before she left. He knew he would miss her, but she would have been back in due time. Jun needed this, after all.
The steam of the hot ginseng tea frolicked under Jin's nose much as a playful child does, with a sweet sense of charm and carelessness. He had poured Jun's favorite tea into her favorite cup, the little china glass with the chip in the handle and 'sunrise' written on it in calligraphic kanji, and carried it into the dining room upon her favorite pewter saucer. The birds she lovingly kept filled the air with their rich and heart- warming anthems, and the room was filled with the plants that she tended to with the utmost of care. Jun was everywhere in this little house; he saw her and remembered her in each corner and every room.
Jin stared down at the tea. The murky green liquid stared back. He didn't even like tea that much; had Jun gone so far as to possess him to drink it? As reserved and subtle as her presence was, she had really had more of an effect on him than he had thought. After all, the one who takes the child by the hand takes the mother by the heart.
With a winsome sigh, he gave one last look at the modest little pile of letters on the table and rose from his seat. The walk over to the stack seemed to be in slow motion; he wasn't sure why, but there was an unusual sense of apprehension filling him. Jin picked up the most recently written letter, a document contained in an incredibly thin envelope of some strange paper, and tearing open the wax seal was a more rewarding touch than any blow he'd delivered to an opponent.
His eyes fell upon the writing, and just as he'd predicted, it was an update on Jun's status at the convent. It was postmarked as August 17 – about a month ago. She had not written since. Her oldest letter dated back two months ago; that was around when she had first arrived at the convent. It was similarly unexceptional.
Jin was a little worried at this sudden silence, but she was living at a convent. What could go wrong?
Jun felt like a nightmare. She had not gotten a decent night's rest in almost a month, and as she gazed into her modest little mirror in her bathroom, it was quite evident. Her gentle black eyes were rimmed with forbiddingly sable rings and her only remaining habit (the others having been tossed out the window with the drawer full of bugs; Mother Azami had promised her some new ones) was wrinkled and in need of a washing. Her hair was matted and stringy and even her complexion had started to become abnormally flushed and erratic. And, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, the span of one month without shaving had caused some rather unpleasant growths on her legs and chin. She decided that it would be best to tend to these devilish little hairs, for there was nothing better to do on a silent Tuesday morning.
Like with the matches, Jun had cheated and brought a razor with her as well. She was beginning to wonder if the very deities that she was trying to embrace at this convent were condemning her for breaking the life of austerity that they demanded. Even though it couldn't have been noticed underneath the long habits, Jun simply could not live with the concept of running around with unshaven legs. Even though some of the nuns had noticed that she was utterly devoid of feminine facial hair, she hadn't yet been caught, as the loose tile on the bathtub rim made an ideal hollow for the shaver.
Jun gently lifted the peach-colored cover and removed the razor from the hole, and for one wild moment her eyes caught a rogue splash of crimson on the blades. Alarmed, Jun looked at the razor again, but the liquid was gone. She had never cut herself with this razor; how could blood have formed on the blades?
Jun rinsed her legs with warm water from the bath and began on the thoroughly unremarkable task of shaving her legs. In her mind she quickly likened the blissful monotony to spinning on the loom, something that she had not done in a great deal of time. Her ugly little shawl had probably fallen into disrepair, not that she really cared, but Mother Azami would certainly be disappointed. Her thoughts quickly turned away from the accursed loom and back to the equally dull task of shaving, and to her surprise Jun discovered that she had completely finished her right leg while in her trance. The left leg proceeded similarly. Jun rinsed her legs again and strode over to the mirror, razor in hand, to shave her face.
As she ran the blade across her cheeks, she suddenly became aware of a stinging sensation behind her right eye. Jun ignored the tingling; it was most likely an eyelash. After her cheeks, she dragged the razor below her jaw, but suddenly stopped when she felt the blade nick her right in the center of her neck. She drew the blade away and noticed a tiny fleck of blood resting there, and it quickly began to blossom; in an effort to blot it out she put a handkerchief to it and held it there. A small red stain appeared on the smooth cloth, but to Jun's horror it quickly exploded across the surface. The scarlet spot expanded so rapidly that she removed the handkerchief, and what she saw in the mirror elicited a scream of horror from the terrified woman.
The cut, no longer a little fleck, had extended all the way from ear to ear in a wide and angry slash. Blood poured from the open wound, and as she lifted her hand to see if she was in some surreal dream, it poured down her arm, warm and thick. She screamed again, terrified, but then realized...
Why is this not hurting?
She blinked and the cut was gone.
Jun looked at herself in the mirror again. Nothing. Not even that one little fleck. She wondered if she should cry or scream or just go back to sleep but she didn't know what would happen and she was going to lose her mind and
I need to leave.
Jun swept over to the bath and hid the razor once again, and hurriedly strode out to the front gate, where she noticed that several of the nuns were crowded about the front courtyard. She dashed out to meet them, and was greeted by Sister Narin.
"Narin, I need to leave this place!" exclaimed Jun, a little less composed and quiet than she probably should have been. Narin, her thin hazel eyes knitted into a look of concern, gestured out to the courtyard. Jun saw that a massive amount of rubble and debris had knocked down one of the red arches on the trail leading to the convent and completely obscured the path itself. Despair welled up inside her stomach, and Narin's following narrative was hardly needed as she made a horrible realization.
"Jun, there was a rockslide in the surrounding mountains and some of the rocks are blocking the path down. You CAN'T go back."
Jun knew it wasn't natural. Someone was keeping her there.
A/N: Hah. Jun the Nun. I can't believe I only just caught that. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated; they let me know that I'm not wasting my life entirely. =P