[closed]

[existentialcrisis]

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. ]

Comments

[killsthebuddha]

[ Can't say it, huh? He wants to think that might mean something, but he knows how badly he wants some sliver of information that he can use. It's not a matter of the past, but how to go forward.

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.

[existentialcrisis]

[ Ukoku pauses with his hand in his sleeve. ]

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.

[killsthebuddha]

I don't think I'll offer my sympathies. [ There's almost something like dry humor to the way he says that. There's a low level of dread that seems to slide down his spine, an icy chill that settles and doesn't fade. He knows the danger that he's facing here.

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.

[existentialcrisis]

[ Of course he is. ]

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?

[killsthebuddha]

[ There's something about the rhythm of the dialogue that seems familiar. Maybe he's never experienced it before, not personally, he wouldn't know. Didn't need to. ]

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. ]

[existentialcrisis]

[ He doesn't say anything, at first; he just laughs a little. Smartass. ]

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. ]

[killsthebuddha]

That's generous of you. [ Wry, but when he sighs it doesn't sound terribly aggravated. He thinks he ought to be more irritated. He could have been, had he not been so off kilter or had it not felt so familiar.

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.

[existentialcrisis]

I did, didn't I? Ukoku Sanzo.

[ There's a playful, winking irony in Sanzo. ]

What are you reading?

[killsthebuddha]

[ It's an easier name to swallow than "that dinosaur-shirt wearing asshole," at least. He inclines his head just slightly, the tenseness in his shoulders loosening somewhat as he takes a drag off his cigarette. ]

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.

[existentialcrisis]

[ He only smiles in response.

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?

[killsthebuddha]

[ He's entirely too aware of Ukoku moving in his space. The juxtaposition of the strangely empty aura with the physical reality kicks his heart rate up, and he's shifting away before his conscious mind catches up.

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. ]

[existentialcrisis]

[ He picks up the cigarettes first, and—without warning, except for a deliberate slowness of movement (this is normal, this is comfortable)—sets them on Sanzo's knee, and picks up the book.

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.

[killsthebuddha]

[ Sanzo snorts, shrugging a shoulder with a firm disinterest. He'd moved onto another cigarette in the time that the other monk had been reading, chain-smoking without a second thought. ]

Coming from an old man, is that supposed to be a compliment?

[existentialcrisis]

It is a compliment! With age comes wisdom, right?

[ 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.

[killsthebuddha]

Sometimes age comes alone.

[ 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. ]

[existentialcrisis]

[ He hums thoughtfully.

(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.

[killsthebuddha]

[ ...fucking weirdo. ]

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.

[existentialcrisis]

It wasn't bad! [ It's a blithe admission, but the silence following could be wistful, an unsaid and then. He crosses his arms behind his head, staring up at nothing. ]

Do you remember what to do with that? [ He indicates the Maten sutra with a nod, after a few seconds. ]

[killsthebuddha]

[ 'Wasn't?' A faint wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens. Did he consider it past now, or...?

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.

[existentialcrisis]

I'm sure it can be very heavy.

[ 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.