Good 2CU Again
Written by Mugen7
There is neither heaven, nor earth. No sun and moon, no sea, no stars, only an empty space where everything appears to be seamlessly moulded together under a uniform light.
A featureless white realm.
A gorgeous being feathers through the space, stark against white. They are elegant, youthful, and energetic, like the fay of an exotic land. Their robe is loose and made from fine silk, embroidered and beautifully coloured in the variegated tones that betoken the break of dawn. Their hair is long, the colour of wisteria and exuding a sweet, sweet smell, woven up and pinned with fancy hair ornaments. And their eyebrows arch over blue eyes like the crescent of a moon.
They are something of a divine being, one whose lips extend into a glittering smile. Their attractive face and svelte frame resembles that of a woman's, yet there is a boyish charm to this individual's nature. There is little way one can tell the difference.
Merrily they dance, with sinuous and graceful gestures narrating a performance that is sensitive to change. Their art is both sophisticated and theatrical, spiritual and sensual. It is in constant motion, flowing and crashing and mutable. Like water. And as they move their body sings with an irresistible, celestial tune, capable of compelling any form of life to rhythmically move about if they felt so inclined.
As they continue to caper into the white depth, their sweet, sweet smell drifting like a fragrance in spring, the corolla of blossomed flowers twirl around them as magic waves, and blue, fertile eyes discern a thing of grandeur further in the yawning abyss.
A gate. Pristine, whole, and imposing, shaped not by anything of mortal relation, but of something... other. Its surface is an off-white colour, embossed with esoteric markings and shimmering blue light. Something profound and indelible resonates from within.
As the figure draws near, space around them begins to alter. A pale mist expels itself from the space the towering doors float above, and voluminous clouds as ethereal as the first rays of sun halo the gate from up high. Light as a feather the dancer comes to a graceful halt, and petals that breathe like cherry blossoms in a gentle breeze fade from view. A delightful sigh passes between their lips as they look upon the gate, or rather, they look upon the now present individual who sits poised against the dividing the line of the off-white structure. They, too, are stark against white.
A man, handsome of face with a straight nose, thin lips, and angular features. His skin is warm, as though touched by an illusive sun on the verge of setting. Crimson colours him in the form of a coat, decorated with gold and silver. His legs are shrouded in a loose pair of billowing strides, their colour matching that of a moonlit sky at night. His feet are secure in a pair of sturdy footwear tipped with silver, and his hands – strong and firm and owning a certain elegance and grace – are intimate with a pair of gloves of dark leather encrusted with silver and red stone. The man's torso is bare up to a point, but the dancer can distinguish enough of the hard lines of an athletic, supple frame that has weathered many advances in times long since passed. And his hair, which appears to defy the notion of gravity, is thick, with long and pointy-ended bangs that frame his face and sweep to one side. White is the man's hair, its glow and purity perfectly encapsulating a transcendental quality.
They, the dancer, continues to stare at the man through blue eyes, like a pair of precious stones, without blinking. Nothing happens. The man doesn't move, and he doesn't make a sound. He is simply there – existing – and yet the dancer cannot turn away from his image. He looks to be absent. Vacant, much like how the abyss seemingly was; empty of anything and everything. But the dancer knows, though. By intuition, they can sense that which lies dormant.
They can sense life.
Before long there is movement. A tiny movement. One that can pass as illusory at first. A trick of the eyes. Then it happens again. And again, and again, until it spreads all throughout his body; a twitch here, and a momentary spasm there. The entire process takes place before their eyes. The man is thawing and gradually moving away from his deep sleep towards awakening. He is resistant along the way, wanting to ignore the world on the outside in favour of resting in whatever reality has manifested inside himself. But the divine beauty prohibits this. They are a light, one that is natural and alarming, persuading the sleeping male to come to. And he does, at long last.
A world-weary sigh is cast, and, slowly, eyes open.
Once upon a time, this man bore eyes that were fiery, determined, and wild, attuned to an expression easily shaded with anger. Now they are changed. Sight cleansed, these eyes are seen among a face that is even and calm, shining with a brilliance all their own and betokening an untold depth of power conditioned to the state of both his hair, and aura.
His life had played out. Far be it from either of them to call his final moments an ending, however. They had become a prelude. Immortalized through self-sacrifice and pure of all corruption, becoming so much more than he ever had been in turn, this man of red and night, of white and gold and silver... now lives eternally bound to a plane in which all souls are irresistibly drawn to.
The dancer and the man stare at each other.
Intently.
Silently.
Then there is a twitch. The man's mouth starts to lift at one corner, and from that, filled with great happiness and mirth, turns into a beautiful smile.
"You look so fly." Laughs the man. And by the same token, the divine beauty smiles and laughs with a beautiful sound.
"I dress to impress," they say in a humorous sort of way. Their smile becomes brighter and more passionate. "It has been a while... since I saw your smile."
Solitude can be blissful. But an eternity of it? That is something that weighs heavy. No one can be happy in it, the dancer firmly believes.
The man will never say that he is alone. Nor will he supply that he is lonely. He will smile, like so, but with a subtle cue of longing, and he will speak of how this life of isolation and obscurity is essential; of how it is a good thing. The dancer sees very, very little merit in such a view, but there isn't much of anything that they can do.
What they can do, however, is talk with him. What they can do, is laugh with him, and jest with him. Sing for him, dance for him, and tell him stories. Stay with him whenever they can for as long as they can, and, should he have such a need, be somebody for him to lean on.
Whatever it takes, to make and keep him happy.
"Good to see you again... my friend."
End
Mugen: An interview said that Tomokazu Sugita had a part in our stylish dancer's in-game ability an' discipline. I say that they're a buddy the Man of Blue could use.