Chapter Three (Part1)- Silhouettes
…Shapes of every size,
Move behind the eyes--
Doors inside my head…
--Bolted from within!
Every drop of flame,
Lights a candle in…
--A memory of the one,
Who lived inside my skin!
And I can tell you why people go insane!
…I can show you how you can do the same…
I can tell you why it will never come--
I can tell you I'm a Shadow on the Sun.
Audioslave - Shadow on the Sun
"--Add another one to the list." Zheng He sighed loudly, wiping the sweat off his face with his the end of his worn shirt tail, as he stomped across the 'island's' virgin-white sand, detailing the wreckage with a critical eye.
He wasn't a large man by most standards--barely able to clear the 5'5'' mark by the skin of his teeth--but he was lean; well muscled, and hardened by the harsh lessons of the sea. His hair was beautifully chaotic; a gaggle of split ends and calyces framing a youthful face that belied his years--he was twenty-four, but could easily pass for a teenager if he needed. He would have almost been considered pretty, were it not for the perpetual scowl he wore like a well-made suit of armor, hiding his emotions behind the steel of his eyes… he would have almost been likable were it not for the same reasons.
"That makes five now, I believe…" He spoke to no one unparticular. His eyes were glazed in thought, and his lips thinned almost to the point of invisibility as the words fell from his mouth. "--Damn."
He was the 'unofficial captain' of the merchant ship, the Mourning Tide--after having won the right to call the ship his own in a rather …unsavory…way--and the duty of assessing the toll of crash fell to him, whether he liked it or not, so he'd grit his teeth and persevere; hoping it'd all be worth it in the end.
After all, he was the one hoping for an adventure…
"…Uh, Cap-y, I think we've got ourselves a problem," hesitantly, a man with long hair and a bandana tied about his head spoke up, "--besides the whole 'Stranded on a Deserted Island that came out of Nowhere, and Moans randomly at will' thing, ya know?" he said, gesturing about him wildly as he spoke. He definitely had a way with words…
Zheng He corked an eyebrow--gesturing for him to continue--not at all amused. Though, that might have been because he couldn't quite recall his name.
"Yes?"
"Oh! Um… it's the mason, he-uh …well…ya know?" He gestured helplessly with his hands. "He's d-dead. Dead--dead, ya know? Like a door …handle? Uh, I never really got that…" he sighed, "Hm. …I know, as in the, 'Passed gas and Passed on' type of death; not the, t-the," he frowned, not knowing how else to explain it. Zheng He had this glazed over, blank look on his face so he obviously didn't get it, but, but… " …Um, is there …any other way to be …uh, dead?"
Another blank look.
"…Well yea, he's dead, so now we're officially stranded. Before it was just temporary, ya know, but now, it's like permanent …and stuff…" he sagely hedged on--oblivious to the onslaught of his words. "With the ship's mason dead how are we supposed to get out of here? Who's going to rebuild the ship? We're missing a lot of people, and now our mason is dead on top of that. What little team moral we've mustered for this mission has been shot to hell; it's as if God just shoved his middle finger in all of our faces …and told us to sit and spin."
"We're fucked," he finished. "Royally so…"
Zheng He took a breath, and the chewed his bottom lip as he thought. The odds were against him, and it'd do no good to thing short term, now he had to contemplate what would be best for the survival of his men and their guest. That's what the real Zheng He would have done.
He ran both hands through his still damp hair, before deciding to tie it back in a tight, thick ponytail. His eyes hardened along with his resolve, as he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw shut before he spoke.
"Gather the men and our guest, but try not to speak. They need to be as unfretted as possible, and something tells me you'd be a handful otherwise. Have them meet me at the remains of the ship--over there," he said pointing a bit to the east, at one half damaged ship. "We'll have a funeral for the dead and try to attend to the wounded."
The crewman nodded, simply. Suddenly his presence was so overwhelmingly powerful it was almost excruciating to be near. The bandana-ed crewman idly wondered how his 'captain' suddenly spoke with so much conviction, when only moments before he looked so lost and agitated. He didn't like the idea that someone as young as himself could be his superior, but he would follow his orders for the moment, though only because it seemed to make sense, and nothing else that day did.
"Oi, Qi-shi!" The long haired man turned around, his eyes wide and mouth agape, truly surprised by the man in front of him.
"There are other, worse ways to …be dead, but, I--" he took a breath and continued, "I promise neither you nor the rest of the crew will ever have to experience it on my watch. Some how, some way, we'll make it through." he smiled, "I give you my word."
"…A promise between men…?" Qi-shi asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Yeah." he replied, a fierce look in his eyes. "--A man's promise is never to be broken."
They sat just as they'd stood hours ago in the vast expanse of forest, in a scattered circle staring solemnly into each others eyes, trying their hardest not to tense, as if they were still statues--cold, and unmovable.
"So it's really back, eh? We should've figured it would, but…" the black cat spoke, sitting on its haunches with a vaguely human air, it's attentive eyes plaintively scanning the room in thought. Leisurely, it brought a small fur-covered paw to its face, swiping with distain at its dark maw. "--I guess not even hope floats even in murky waters."
The feline sighed, quietly.
A boy with hair of fire and blood sat, lounging casually as he waited the rainfall from the sky--feigning disinterest. "Feh. It was gone, but not really…" he said, threading his fingers behind his red hair. He breathed deep and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right analogy--trying his hardest to channel his inner-sage. "Like a childish game, it hid from us in plain sight," He cracked an eyelid, narrowing his oval irises on Urahara as he spoke. "--But now the counting's stopped, and it's waiting to be found..."
The 'What are YOU going to do about it?' was left implied.
He rose, tussling with nappy locks of auburn hair as he groaned, irritated. "Ugh! This is such a bother, I could be doing much more important things with my time! Why'd ya hafta wake me, huh?"
"Jinta!" bellowed the large, muscular braided man. He grabbed the flinching boy, his iron-clenching fingers digging deeply into the younger's skin, but he spoke with scolding paternal warmth. "That's enough. Have you forgotten the reason why we spent so many hapless years in the Forest of Abandoned Thought, hiding our faces like fiends the unknowing world! We've sacrificed, but please, let us not forget Urahara-san's gamble--he's given up just as much …if not even more than we could imagine…"
Jinta pried his arms from the larger man's grip, turning his back to everyone while he spoke. His left hand rose from his side to his heart, while the other, fisted, pressed firmly against the cool windowpane; his bitter words coalesced with the harsh pitter-patter of the English rain, sending a chill to his bones colder than a thousand years stone sleep.
"Urahara's gamble? Heh. It's more like his gambit, no? He played us," He grinned sickly, looking into himself through the window's reflection. "Lest we've forgot it's his fault Shinjiru no Unmei's here in the first place!"
"B-b-but it's n-not his f-fault!" a cutely pigtailed girl interjected, meekly, for the first time. "N-not …not exactly at least; the Blade of Fates predates him by decades, if not centuries…" She frowned, fighting with herself to continue. It'd be too easy for her to slide back into the shadows, hiding silently away as he watched the proceedings, but she felt she owed it to Urahara--whether he knew it or not--to stand up for him…at least this once.
"He's a victim of his own blood."
They'd all made mistakes after all, even her--especially her--she was just a stupid girl after all…
"Ah, a-anyways, did we not swear ourselves to this one purpose? We promised to give our all to watch over the 'accursed blade' …a-as long as necessary," she continued. "D-did we not?"
"…Ururu…" Kisuke looked on in askance behind the shade of his misplaced fisherman hat. He was truly surprised by Ururu's actions. For her to stand up to Jinta, if only for a moment, was a momentous occasion. Even if it did nothing to ease his guilt, he felt thankful to her. He didn't deserve their acceptance. He couldn't dawdle this time…
He was a descendant of a proclaimed weapon-making clan who lived on the outskirts of …well, everything. His reclusive clan--of which he was thought to be the only survivor--lived in secrecy for years, and were assumed to be the makers of the accursed blade, Shinjiru no Unmei, which was said to have the power to change a persons fate, along with numerous mystical items that were meant to contain and suppress it's power. To most it didn't seem like a particularly horrific power, but to few understood …the words 'corrupt' and 'change' became synonymous.
He frowned, hiding his eyes, as he thought of his part in the whole power play. There were lot more things to feel guilty about than the flawed blood flowed consistently though his old veins. He wondered if he had the strength to reach for his atonement, which lie dangling before his very grasp.
He crawled, climbing out of the sea like a newborn striving to be delivered from the protective prison of its mother's womb, spewing venom and coughing water onto the Italian shore, until he was sure he was safe from the raging astral storm. Lights exploded above him, dancing in the air, and flying like fireflies over his sodden hoary-mane.
The early morning gray of the Italian brisk air was contaminated by spiraling darkness floating ominously above. The early Italian commuters and other unnamed passerby's remained oblivious, however, to the eminent threat on the horizon; carelessly moving in a haze, drifting between wakefulness, and sleep as they made there way.
Closing time, He grinned, but it looked more like a grimace--his face twisting sardonically as he thought. Last call for alcohol, but the party's just begun…
"Ah, shit, this'll be fun…" he whispered, blood coating his teeth.
Her memories sometimes seemed like pictures from one of those cameras 'professionals' constantly wore around on their necks. Like sterling gray indiscretions, the still-frame images dangled precariously in forefronts of her mind, haunting her …at times to the point of insanity. They were helpless reminders of who she really was, and her exact worth …or lack thereof.
Coming in every size and shape imaginable to the capable mind, these pictures left impressions on her very soul--like footsteps in the sand--causing her heart to burn, and her eyes to water when no one was around to see.
She stood with the remains of empty beer cans and debris, strangling a guttural cry with her teeth while staring blithely into swarthy ocean abyss like she had done sporadically for hours (…or was it days?) before. Her arms were splayed behind her as she stood dangling in the dank, early evening breeze; her fingers intermittently clenching--grasping, hoping for something real to help pull her out of this daze, but all she found was emptiness.
I've never been told nothingness could be so palpable.
And yet, her depression and the scant moments of celluloid-like lucidity she forced in the presence of the crew no longer seemed contrast, but felt equally dismal to her, as she stared out blankly in to the still waters--The same waters that had devoured him whole, opening indiscriminately like the legs of a wanton whore and seizing him, engulfing her Shui Zhen in the blink of an eye, snuffing out a life before it ever truly began.
Her denim Daisy Duke shorts rode high up her thighs as she kicked the aluminum cans out of her way, clearing a path towards the end of what was left of the ship's deck, placing her hands lightly on the wooden railing on both her sides. The air was lodged, lingering in her throat as she stared at the cerulean thief rippling, before her.
She stepped a little closer to the edge.
She hated it for that. She could still the ripples where the water had parted, admitting him into it's cold, crucial embrace like it'd happened only moments, instead of hours, ago…
Taking him away…
Taking him away.
Taking him…
She whispered, harshly to the waves; her immaculate fingernails chipping away as they dug deeply into the hard wood, practically turning the broken rails into shrapnel as she spoke: "Give him back. Give him back to …me… now or I swear I'll--"
She never got a chance to finish those words--as explosions turned her world to silence.
The eastern sun bled into the horizon, changing from crimson to cobalt in the blink of an eye. They cautiously searched the seemingly sentient, island for provisions; Zheng He, the captain of the wrecked merchant ship led a small group of able-bodied men up the side of a large hill in the center of the large mass they'd crashed in to. They foraged the island for edible fruits and vegetables, along with natural supplies, not knowing how long it'd take to rebuild and escape from their deserted prison, but silently, hoping they wouldn't need half as much as they'd gathered. It would hopefully be a very, short stay.
But it seemed as if misfortune looked upon them like a long lost lover finally found, following their footsteps avidly, trailing like a small child clinging to her mother's heel. During the storm and consequent crash, the Mourning Tide had apparently lost a fifth of her crew (and two passengers--one found dead--on top of that). Zheng He, along with the rest of his crew had held a small service on the island for the lost, and not forgotten men, but the morbid surreal-ness of the whole thing weighed heavily upon their shoulders, especially as they surreptitiously watched the surviving passenger. She was young, and inexperienced, and though she tried to deny it, the loss struck deeply into her core. She a lot more fragile than her sloth-like, nonchalance proved, and though it remained unspoken, the remaining crew vowed to protect her innocence.
"Yer 'ere that chattering, boss?" inquired the scraggly man by the name of Mzu Tsu, he frequently spoke proudly of his pure Mongol blood, saying he was a distant descendant of the 'Scourge of God' himself, Attila the Hun. He had beady, gothic eyes that were heavy with eyeliner, and a haughty, feral smirk that was often hidden behind thick, flowing locks of ebony hair. "Sounds like there's 'lest sumthin' living on this accursed island. 'Er aye was thinkin' we'd die alone…" He smirked.
Zheng He raised his hand, signaling everyone to stall, as he stood for a moment to listen to the sounds. That rat-bastard, Mzu Tsu, had acute hearing--along with vision--he was a good look out, but a little too wily for his tastes. The messy, haired brunette was always on guard around him, but couldn't summon the strength to feel bad about it.
"Yes. There is something out there, almost sounds like talk, but I've never heard such a dialect spoken before …sounds so guttural…" He paused. There must be savages on this island--but how? It came out of nowhere…
"Stay on guard."
When they reached the summit, a glowing alter greeted them, much to their surprise. In truth, it was really, less of an alter, and more of a roughly carved stone slab lying at the top of the hill they recently scaled. Its incandescent glow briefly struck fear in their hearts, but the lure of freedom echoed in its pulsing light. They clambered cautiously about it, trying to ascertain the most safe and more importantly productive way to go about using it.
…Are You Here To Play With Me?
A/N: First and foremost, I'd like to thank Seal-chan (and everyone elsewho's read and/or reviewed.)for your faithful reviewing. It's always a pleasure, not to mention a great motivatorgetting a review from someone who seems truly intrested in your story. Secondly, I'd like to say,I'm sort of proud of this chapter, but something still seems off. So if you read it and can figure out if something seems TOO confusing, or anything please tell me so I can fix it. I'd like to apoligize for Rangiku's characterization, I'm still trying to find her voice. After work tomorrow, I think I'll rewatch the few episodes she's in--to help, but then, her OOCness serves a purpose. And finally I'd like to promise that this WILL NOT be one of the fics were Original Characters take over and the story pratically revolves around them. I hate that, so I won't subject you to that.