Elementals
By: Vampire-elf
Tochi
Tranquility: a beloved word pursued by all, attained by none. It was impossible for the world to work that way. Granted, humans could sometimes enclose their fingers around a small piece of this calmness, but it always slipped away, like sand in an hourglass. They clutched at it, ripping their fingernails from their beds of skin to try and obtain a better hold on this word –a larger piece of the pie- but the end result was always the same.
Life thrived off of chaos or, if not chaos, then the general activity of those who possessed it. Tranquility was a disease, and fate continually seemed to find a way to "cure" it, whether it be by war, famine, death, or disease.
It was inevitable; it HAD to be accepted ... even if you didn't like it. The process was always at work, even if the ones affected by it were unaware.
As the demon slayer Sango trudged through the infinite grove of trees, she began to feel the workings of the system take its toll on her somnolent, seemingly-useless form. Burning demonic lifeblood still lightly coated her skin from a battle earlier in the day; an infinite number of salty sweat droplets worked their way into the various gashes along her arms, stomach, and –most painful of all- along the small of her back. Her tender joints rubbed against each other, like the squelching of a door hinge rusted in the elements, crooning out a frustrated tune. A pale brown layer of grime –an unpleasant mixture of dirt, dust, and the ever-persistent sweat- muted most of the protesting notes, though a few still rose up in harmony with the grumbles of her empty stomach.
To summarize –in an immense understatement- she was tired.
Yet they couldn't stop their quest, not for the elements, the protesting of the earth or their bodies, or the mental and physical agony brought about by every little quarrel they had every single day. It was an endless circle, their quest, roaming the earth in pursuit of the remnants of the Shikon no Tama –jewel of four souls- and the demon that carried most of its shards, along with the few remaining shards of their lives. Naraku, the puppet master; he was the cause of their tribulations.
Yet, at the moment, Sango didn't care.
After roaming through the dense forest for hours upon end, any ideas of hatred, vengeance, or any other emotion associated with the malefactor had been –along with coherent thoughts- forgone in favor of a continual mental stupor. It was easier to keep going that way, forcing herself into a daze whilst pinning all of her attention to some vague object, of which there were plenty.
There went a tree; there was another one. Her mind roamed the patterned contours of its bark, the way its leaves curled up in silent obeisance to the sky, emerald tips pointing to the canopy over their heads, straddled by the unseen sky. But then she'd passed it, and had to go on to the next one ... and the next ... and the... But there wasn't a next one.
Before her stretched a small respite from the onslaught of foliage, a hidden knoll, a secret clearing or grotto, that ran on almost as far as the eye could see. Verdant hills rose and crested like waves, only to roll abruptly back to level ground. Flowers –much more attractive than the plain earthy hues of trees- were clustered sporadically about the area, bending and swaying with the cool breeze that ran forward to kiss her warm skin.
She turned to her companions to observe their reactions to this paradise, only to see that they'd, being in deeper trances than herself, yet to notice her absence and had gone on, oblivious. Only Miroku had noticed Sango's pause in the procession, and turned his head to glance at the grotto that stretched out before him. (Anything that caught the attention of the slayer was well worth his attention.) Much was his surprise to be greeted with nothing but ferns and flowers: an inspiring sight to be sure, but not a fearsome demon, which is what he'd expected. Much more was his astonishment when Sango, still in a daze, ambled slowly forward to meet the sight before her, laying down Hiraikotsu, the sturdy bone boomerang that served as her main weapon, and bending to crouch in the swaying shafts of jade-colored grass.
The noise was enough to attract the attention of Inuyasha, the relentless "leader" of their troupe. His harsh eyes, sparkling with the color of golden ore, searched out the disturbance, corners turning downward with those of his lips as he scowled at the girl behind him.
"And what the hell do you think you're doin'?" he asked gruffly, stepping forward in an offensive posture.
Sango smiled absently, slipping her faded blue pack from its position atop her shoulders. Her dulled eyes took on a foreign sparkle, and she tucked a loose strand of sable hair behind her ear before turning to face the half- demon. She didn't speak, but simply traded her careless continence for one of annoyance, even mild anger. Then, her meaning accomplished, she turned to face forward again, and flopped lazily on the ground.
The jaws of every being present slackened at her indolent behavior; Sango was a stubborn, persistent one, perhaps even more so than their very own hanyou, Inuyasha. She was not known to give up, and had even held onto life when she was no more than an inch away from death, unwilling to accept defeat without first dishing out vengeance. So, why now, when only faced with mild amounts of discomfort and pain, did she suddenly give up?
Kagome, Shippo, Kirara, Inuyasha, and Miroku, the members of the traveling group, all stood still and pondered this enigma, still watching as Sango arranged herself into a somewhat comfortable position and closed her eyes. Only Miroku, knowing Sango in a way much more close, intimate than the others, was able to hazard an accurate guess at her behavior.
Sango was, in many ways, not the same woman they'd encountered so long ago. She was no longer living on borrowed time, was no longer hollow, empty, devoid of any and all emotion or love. In ways she was more fragile; in ways she was more hardened. One cannot constantly be strong, as much as one tries, and Sango was finally giving into the ache that had been bothering her for a long time. Everyone needed rest –mentally and physically- and she was finally getting hers. For one evening, she was entitled to forget herself.
And so was Miroku.
He understood the importance of living for the moment, and needed the same respite from the world that Sango did, for he too had wounds to heal. Ignoring the curses coming from the half-breed before him, Miroku made his way to the center of his earth, and lay down his Shakujou beside Sango's Hiraikotsu. Slowly, he crouched, as Sango had, in the grass, and turned to examine the girl beside him.
Her inky-black tendrils of hair blended into the dark shoots of grass; the vivid hues of her pink and green wardrobe were so close to the shades of the flowers she'd lain in that he was unable to determine where she ended and the foliage began. And then there was the creamy complexion of her skin, which matched the light hues of the soil. She seemed to have melded into the earth, as though it were already trying to re-claim her after being robbed of her body when she'd –oh so long ago- crawled from her grave.
'But she's mine,' Miroku though possessively, 'and you can't have her.'
And then he found a comfortable patch of earth beside the slumbering maiden, and eased himself down so he was close beside her, his body practically pressed against hers. His arm reached slowly around her slim waist, and Sango –already asleep- warmed to his touch and moved to rest her head against his chest.
A/N: I've wanted to do this one-shot for a long time, and only now (with the wonderful schedule I've devised for myself) am able to do it. It's one in a series of five one-shots, showcasing a theme of one of the five elements: earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. (They vary depending on what set of beliefs you look them up in, so don't say 'No, you're wrong, it's WIND not air,' or , 'Where the heck did you get spirit?!' Just go with it. This one was earth- themed. The title I chose for it was the word Tochi, which showed up in my Japanese pocket dictionary under the word "earth." It means land, ground, or soil, but, in a different spelling as far as the Japanese characters go, it can mean "this place, or here." Which is like, they're doing what they want to do now, in this place. (The clearing.) So there's a double meaning. And, if you're a former-reader of my other stories, fear not! I am working on schedule; the results are just a little hard to see right now. (Editing/re-writing is a lengthy process, and the other chapters have been pretty bad when I tried to write them. So, I came up with an outline for some of my stories as far as plot goes. (That means I can tell you how many chaps. Of Lethal Game are left...)) Anyway, I gotta. Since it's Friday still, I'm gonna try to put out the next one-shot in this quartet tonight. Ja ne!
By: Vampire-elf
Tochi
Tranquility: a beloved word pursued by all, attained by none. It was impossible for the world to work that way. Granted, humans could sometimes enclose their fingers around a small piece of this calmness, but it always slipped away, like sand in an hourglass. They clutched at it, ripping their fingernails from their beds of skin to try and obtain a better hold on this word –a larger piece of the pie- but the end result was always the same.
Life thrived off of chaos or, if not chaos, then the general activity of those who possessed it. Tranquility was a disease, and fate continually seemed to find a way to "cure" it, whether it be by war, famine, death, or disease.
It was inevitable; it HAD to be accepted ... even if you didn't like it. The process was always at work, even if the ones affected by it were unaware.
As the demon slayer Sango trudged through the infinite grove of trees, she began to feel the workings of the system take its toll on her somnolent, seemingly-useless form. Burning demonic lifeblood still lightly coated her skin from a battle earlier in the day; an infinite number of salty sweat droplets worked their way into the various gashes along her arms, stomach, and –most painful of all- along the small of her back. Her tender joints rubbed against each other, like the squelching of a door hinge rusted in the elements, crooning out a frustrated tune. A pale brown layer of grime –an unpleasant mixture of dirt, dust, and the ever-persistent sweat- muted most of the protesting notes, though a few still rose up in harmony with the grumbles of her empty stomach.
To summarize –in an immense understatement- she was tired.
Yet they couldn't stop their quest, not for the elements, the protesting of the earth or their bodies, or the mental and physical agony brought about by every little quarrel they had every single day. It was an endless circle, their quest, roaming the earth in pursuit of the remnants of the Shikon no Tama –jewel of four souls- and the demon that carried most of its shards, along with the few remaining shards of their lives. Naraku, the puppet master; he was the cause of their tribulations.
Yet, at the moment, Sango didn't care.
After roaming through the dense forest for hours upon end, any ideas of hatred, vengeance, or any other emotion associated with the malefactor had been –along with coherent thoughts- forgone in favor of a continual mental stupor. It was easier to keep going that way, forcing herself into a daze whilst pinning all of her attention to some vague object, of which there were plenty.
There went a tree; there was another one. Her mind roamed the patterned contours of its bark, the way its leaves curled up in silent obeisance to the sky, emerald tips pointing to the canopy over their heads, straddled by the unseen sky. But then she'd passed it, and had to go on to the next one ... and the next ... and the... But there wasn't a next one.
Before her stretched a small respite from the onslaught of foliage, a hidden knoll, a secret clearing or grotto, that ran on almost as far as the eye could see. Verdant hills rose and crested like waves, only to roll abruptly back to level ground. Flowers –much more attractive than the plain earthy hues of trees- were clustered sporadically about the area, bending and swaying with the cool breeze that ran forward to kiss her warm skin.
She turned to her companions to observe their reactions to this paradise, only to see that they'd, being in deeper trances than herself, yet to notice her absence and had gone on, oblivious. Only Miroku had noticed Sango's pause in the procession, and turned his head to glance at the grotto that stretched out before him. (Anything that caught the attention of the slayer was well worth his attention.) Much was his surprise to be greeted with nothing but ferns and flowers: an inspiring sight to be sure, but not a fearsome demon, which is what he'd expected. Much more was his astonishment when Sango, still in a daze, ambled slowly forward to meet the sight before her, laying down Hiraikotsu, the sturdy bone boomerang that served as her main weapon, and bending to crouch in the swaying shafts of jade-colored grass.
The noise was enough to attract the attention of Inuyasha, the relentless "leader" of their troupe. His harsh eyes, sparkling with the color of golden ore, searched out the disturbance, corners turning downward with those of his lips as he scowled at the girl behind him.
"And what the hell do you think you're doin'?" he asked gruffly, stepping forward in an offensive posture.
Sango smiled absently, slipping her faded blue pack from its position atop her shoulders. Her dulled eyes took on a foreign sparkle, and she tucked a loose strand of sable hair behind her ear before turning to face the half- demon. She didn't speak, but simply traded her careless continence for one of annoyance, even mild anger. Then, her meaning accomplished, she turned to face forward again, and flopped lazily on the ground.
The jaws of every being present slackened at her indolent behavior; Sango was a stubborn, persistent one, perhaps even more so than their very own hanyou, Inuyasha. She was not known to give up, and had even held onto life when she was no more than an inch away from death, unwilling to accept defeat without first dishing out vengeance. So, why now, when only faced with mild amounts of discomfort and pain, did she suddenly give up?
Kagome, Shippo, Kirara, Inuyasha, and Miroku, the members of the traveling group, all stood still and pondered this enigma, still watching as Sango arranged herself into a somewhat comfortable position and closed her eyes. Only Miroku, knowing Sango in a way much more close, intimate than the others, was able to hazard an accurate guess at her behavior.
Sango was, in many ways, not the same woman they'd encountered so long ago. She was no longer living on borrowed time, was no longer hollow, empty, devoid of any and all emotion or love. In ways she was more fragile; in ways she was more hardened. One cannot constantly be strong, as much as one tries, and Sango was finally giving into the ache that had been bothering her for a long time. Everyone needed rest –mentally and physically- and she was finally getting hers. For one evening, she was entitled to forget herself.
And so was Miroku.
He understood the importance of living for the moment, and needed the same respite from the world that Sango did, for he too had wounds to heal. Ignoring the curses coming from the half-breed before him, Miroku made his way to the center of his earth, and lay down his Shakujou beside Sango's Hiraikotsu. Slowly, he crouched, as Sango had, in the grass, and turned to examine the girl beside him.
Her inky-black tendrils of hair blended into the dark shoots of grass; the vivid hues of her pink and green wardrobe were so close to the shades of the flowers she'd lain in that he was unable to determine where she ended and the foliage began. And then there was the creamy complexion of her skin, which matched the light hues of the soil. She seemed to have melded into the earth, as though it were already trying to re-claim her after being robbed of her body when she'd –oh so long ago- crawled from her grave.
'But she's mine,' Miroku though possessively, 'and you can't have her.'
And then he found a comfortable patch of earth beside the slumbering maiden, and eased himself down so he was close beside her, his body practically pressed against hers. His arm reached slowly around her slim waist, and Sango –already asleep- warmed to his touch and moved to rest her head against his chest.
A/N: I've wanted to do this one-shot for a long time, and only now (with the wonderful schedule I've devised for myself) am able to do it. It's one in a series of five one-shots, showcasing a theme of one of the five elements: earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. (They vary depending on what set of beliefs you look them up in, so don't say 'No, you're wrong, it's WIND not air,' or , 'Where the heck did you get spirit?!' Just go with it. This one was earth- themed. The title I chose for it was the word Tochi, which showed up in my Japanese pocket dictionary under the word "earth." It means land, ground, or soil, but, in a different spelling as far as the Japanese characters go, it can mean "this place, or here." Which is like, they're doing what they want to do now, in this place. (The clearing.) So there's a double meaning. And, if you're a former-reader of my other stories, fear not! I am working on schedule; the results are just a little hard to see right now. (Editing/re-writing is a lengthy process, and the other chapters have been pretty bad when I tried to write them. So, I came up with an outline for some of my stories as far as plot goes. (That means I can tell you how many chaps. Of Lethal Game are left...)) Anyway, I gotta. Since it's Friday still, I'm gonna try to put out the next one-shot in this quartet tonight. Ja ne!