bunnylord phd, doctor of extremely good philosophy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
existentialcrisis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thenearshore2016-08-20 04:01 pm
existentialcrisis) wrote in thenearshore2016-08-20 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
[closed]
Who: Sanzo (bad) and Sanzo (worst)
Where: a grove somewhere in the Far Shore
When: April 17
What: words
Warnings: n/a (p…robably)
[ There is always at least one crow in the cherry tree grove Sanzo likes, day or night. They've seen him talking to people he knows; they've watched him read. On this particular evening they're not needed here—they're in the trees along the way to Menrva's temple, instead, watching the path.
Ukoku waits in the grove. He's dressed in most of his priest's regalia, minus the crown, his sutra laid across his shoulders. Until now it's mostly been hidden in the ribcage of a monkey skeleton propped up in the entrance hall of his temple. He's sitting under a tree in the middle of the grove, a conspicuous shadow, occupying himself with a stag beetle crawling across his knuckles. ]
Where: a grove somewhere in the Far Shore
When: April 17
What: words
Warnings: n/a (p…robably)
[ There is always at least one crow in the cherry tree grove Sanzo likes, day or night. They've seen him talking to people he knows; they've watched him read. On this particular evening they're not needed here—they're in the trees along the way to Menrva's temple, instead, watching the path.
Ukoku waits in the grove. He's dressed in most of his priest's regalia, minus the crown, his sutra laid across his shoulders. Until now it's mostly been hidden in the ribcage of a monkey skeleton propped up in the entrance hall of his temple. He's sitting under a tree in the middle of the grove, a conspicuous shadow, occupying himself with a stag beetle crawling across his knuckles. ]
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Heaven has too many birds, but Sanzo ignores them as he wanders down a familiar path. At some point, he'd come to find the grove of cherry trees to be one of his favored places to get proper peace and quiet. Under his arm is a collection of poetry by the long dead monk Jakushitsu. He could read until it became too dark to do so, contemplating matters that would let him avoid thinking too much in dangerous directions.
His steps slow before he even sees him, a sense of danger snapping him back to awareness, but then he picks up his pace. And sees him, stopping cold some distance away. The details don't all snap together at first. A sutra like his own, the bamboo rakusu, but his robes are as black as night.
And it's that dinosaur-shirt wearing motherfucker. ] You...
[ "That's no way to talk to your colleagues! Relax, Genjo." ]
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Don't worry. I won't tell you anything you're not supposed to hear.
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That bug gets eyed oddly, though. Dinosaur-shirt, bug-loving weirdo. Great.
He strides over more confidently than he ought to be, sitting down cross-legged not far from the other priest. Resting his hands on his knees, he manages to get his words out without overt hostility: ] Do I look like Genjo Sanzo now?
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[ He tips his hand to let the beetle crawl onto his knee and digs into his sleeve for his cigarettes and a lighter, plain black plastic. ]
This has been harder for you than it is for most shinki, hasn't it?
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Sanzo finds himself making a similar gesture, pulling out a battered pack of Marlboros with a book of matches tucked in the cellophane. After lighting up, he sits both on the book laid on the ground beside him. ]
Who knows? [ The cracks in his self-control had been widening over the past week, but he still held it together. That's all that mattered.
He watches him cautiously, curiously. ] It's all bullshit. I doubt it's easier for the people that buy into it.
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Ah, you had matches! I should've asked you.
Anyway. People are pretty good at justifying bullshit to themselves, you know? But I wouldn't expect you to deal with it like that.
[ He picks up the beetle again and holds it in front of him while it crawls over his fingers, skittishly avoiding his cigarette. ]
This is harder than I thought it would be.
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He's too stubborn to call this off. It hasn't gone too far yet. ]
I don't know if there's a way to win here, but I'm going to fight. I don't need a past to do that.
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You don't need a past to do anything. [ Easy for him to say, naturally. He's watching Sanzo, now, instead of the bug, and the look on his face is something like indulgent. ]
What are you fighting for?
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If you don't need a past to do anything, do you need a reason?
[ Probably, but he wonders what the other priest will say. ]
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Does that mean you don't know what it is, or it's too stupid to say out loud? There's no judgment here, Genjo.
[ But he's grinning like there's a teensy bit of judgment. Between-friends judgment. ]
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Or was it the fact that this was clearly familiar to the other man? ]
So are you going to introduce yourself? You're skipping steps here.
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[ There's a playful, winking irony in Sanzo. ]
What are you reading?
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Poetry written by some dead old Zen bastard. [ This is a safer topic, oddly. Fact-based, not something from his supposed 'life.' ] The school of Buddhism I know has some key differences to the sects around here, I've noticed.
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He shoos the beetle away, finally, with a flick of his wrist, and rises. As if Sanzo is used to closeness, as if he's used to closeness, Ukoku sits down next to him with the book between them, and he's already reaching for it. ]
May I?
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But there seems to be no overt lie in Ukoku's body language, and he stubbornly aborts the gesture to make more space into turning slightly towards him. ]
Tch, just help yourself. [ This is a challenge he'll match up to. ] Don't lose my place. [ There's a gold-colored pull strip of cellophane for a pack of cigarettes between the pages. ]
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He opens on a random page, and his expression smooths out while he reads. A few poems later he speaks up, voice neutral: ]
You have good taste. [ He closes it and sets it back in the grass with a smug glance at Sanzo. ] Or an old man's taste.
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Coming from an old man, is that supposed to be a compliment?
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[ He leans back on his hands and turns his face up toward the sky. Everything is ruddy yellow, bathed in sunset; before too long it'll be hard to read.
After a pause, and with a little plaintive humor: ]
I'm not that old.
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[ He's not sure what to think, but the tension starts to ebb with each uneventful breath. He reaches into his robe for his reading glasses, hesitates, and tucks them away again.
Instead, he glances up towards the sky as well. ]
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(What would Koumyou say? Koumyou was always proud of him, even when there was no reason for it. Ukoku runs a few lines through his head, tweaked from memory, patchwork echoes. None of it sounds right.)
He starts to laugh—at himself, completely—and flops onto his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. ]
Well, my age came with decreased responsibilities and some very well-educated interns to delegate all the boring work to. I hope you're as lucky as me.
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And now you're on vacation playing god. [ He leans back, resting his weight on a hand as he looks over at Ukoku with a blandly unamused expression. He imagines the man had to expect this kind of response. ] There's a hell of a charmed life for you.
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Do you remember what to do with that? [ He indicates the Maten sutra with a nod, after a few seconds. ]
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It's a line of thought he can't pursue, knocked off balance by the question. His eyes widen slightly. ] No.
[ Of course, he couldn't. ]
When I found myself here, it was on my shoulders. It's heavier than it looks.
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[ A pause, and he props himself up on his elbows. ]
I think it's good that you're here, so I won't risk saying more, but your connection to it should be more like muscle memory than anything else. They might be able to neutralize it, whoever they are, but not completely.