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maderrUm. There's no real explanation for this drabble, except that I like to play in my worlds, and from all sides of them? It came to me on the bus awhile ago, and I finally am able to type it out. Unbeta'ed, cause I just don't care right now, and not really much to it. Just, it made me happy to write it.
"Not your pearls," Midori snapped. "You're being stupid."
Aoi yanked his arm free from where she clung to it, glaring coldly. "They are mine, I will do as I see fit."
"Calm down, Aoi," another villager interjected. Aoi rather thought it was none of his business. It was no one's business but his own. "Midori is correct, you are being foolish. What are you going to do? Sell them to venture off on some rescue mission? The best thing for us to do is wait."
"Yes," said another villager. "Show some sense."
"Sell?" Aoi demanded scathingly, disgusted with the lot of them. "I would never sell something so precious as my mother's pearls."
Another villager snorted. "What, then, do you plan to do with them?"
"Make an offering," Aoi said, flushing when everyone laughed.
"An offering, he says!" Yet another villager exclaimed. "Oh, what nonsense. You are as foolish as your mother, Aoi."
Aoi turned and stormed off, snarling when Midori tried once more to halt him, ignoring the sting of the rocks as they dug into his bare feet.
His mother had never been foolish. She had always believed in the gods, even when everyone else forgot them. Not once, even in hardship, had her faith wavered. What about that was laughable?
He did not want to part with the pearls. Delicate pink, a gift from his father, who had collected the pearls himself over the course of ten years and had them strung into a necklace before he finally proposed to her.
Finally he reached the temple that rest high on a cliff overlooking the vast ocean beyond, the white beach below. It was faded, neglected, but even during the storm which had raged a year ago it had stood strong. His mother had come here every day of her life – even the day his father died, the day she died, she had come here.
The temple was in a fairly central location – many villages were near enough to it that they made frequent use. Though he did not often see people, occasionally he saw one or two, and over the years their faces had become familiar. It had always made his mother happy to know she was not the only one who still worshipped in their remote corner of the world
Aoi had always come with her, barring the one time he had simply been too sick to move.
He gripped the pearls more tightly in his hand and stepped into the temple. It was all pillars and open space, the floor made of beautiful iridescent tiles in shades of blue and green.
At the far end of the temple was a shallow pool of water. Above it the temple ceiling was open to the sky, that the pool was kept every filled by the not infrequent rain showers.
Climbing the few steps, he knelt and dropped the pearls into the pool, watching them sink the bottom. From time to time he had glimpsed other offerings, though eventually everything vanished.
His mother had always taught that offering should always be made – the finest of the fish their father caught, the best shells he found on the beach, whatever fine oddities washed upon the shore near their little hut.
If one was so daring as to ask the gods something, then the offering must be the equal of the request. It would not do to offer a mere fish if one hoped to be granted a great boon. His mother had also cautioned requesting certain gods – they none of them were exactly alike, and it would not do to beg a favor of the wrong one. Neither did each god accept the same offering – what one saw as grand, the other might only sneer upon.
Aoi had no idea to which god he should appeal. He was too nervous even to pick one, and had no idea what manner of offering each god preferred. Even his mother had not known. Such knowledge, she said, had long been lost.
So he could only offer up the pearls, his most precious possession, and hope it was enough.
Moving back down the steps, he knelt and clasped his hand together as his mother had done a thousand times before. Holy Dragons, hear my feeble request. Bring Nori back home. Nori whom he had long loved, whom he wanted to be safe though his ship had been due back months ago. No news had ever come, good or bad, and the village only continued to fret and fret and wait for word that never came.
Yet they laughed at him for wanting to make an offer.
He focused on his prayers, driving all else out. Holy Dragons of the Three Storms, fathers and protectors of Kundou, please grant the wish of this foolish child and return to me the man I love. Mostly humbly do I beg you to grant me this one boon, and offer in return all that I have to give. He would offer more than pearls if only he had it, and for the first time hated he was only a poor and simple fisherman.
The sun had gone down by the time he finally ceased his prayers, though he had repeated the wish so long it echoed still in his head as he stood. With a groan he stretched out his limbs, hearing joints crack and pop, and tried not to think of all the work he must do by candlelight tonight to make up for the hours spent in the temple.
He turned – and yelped.
The stranger's mouth quirked in amusement. "I was attempting not to frighten you."
Aoi shook his head. "I did not even hear you come in. I bet your pardon, if you have been waiting your turn all the while."
"It is of no concern," the man said with a shrug.
He tried not to stare, but it was hard. The man's like he had never before seen. He was beautiful, and so shockingly white. Against his simple dark tunic and pants, the high boots favored by sailors, his white skin nearly seemed to glow. His hair was cropped short, and from one ear dangled a single pearl that put his entire strand to shame – perfectly, flawlessly black, a breathtaking contrast against his white skin.
"You seemed rather ardent in your prayers," the man continued. "Not once did you so much as move a muscle." His eyes were gray, and so sharp, and as he moved closer Aoi could smell the sea upon him – definitely a sailor. "You must be wishing for gold or love."
Aoi flushed. "I would not know what to do with gold, except perhaps surrender it in hopes of having my prayers heard. But please, I will be off and out of your way. I am sorry I kept you waiting so long."
The man shrugged again. "I have nowhere to be but my ship, and this is a fine enough temple, especially for its age. You would attempt to purchase love?"
He was tempted to ignore the question, but something about the man's eyes just compelled him to answer. "No – that would be stupid. The chief did that with his wife, and they do naught but scream at one another now. I want only for Nori to return home safe."
"Nori is your lover?" the man asked.
Aoi shook his head. "No. I…" He hesitated, feeling foolish to confess such things to a total stranger…but he looked again into those eyes, gray with a bit of blue he had not noticed before. "I love him, but he is not my lover."
"You have never told him how you feel?"
"It is complicated," Aoi said, and felt stupid with the words said aloud.
The man's mouth quirked again, and for a moment he looked briefly annoyed. "Love always is. Your love is a sailor."
A statement rather than a question, but Aoi nodded as though in answer. "Yes. His ship, the Sunrise, has been lost at sea these past few months."
"That is a name I know," the man replied. "It has yellow sails."
Aoi startled. "Yes! You know of Nori's ship?"
"Aye," the man replied, smiling ever so briefly, and it eased the severe lines of his strange beauty. "Its Captain fell ill, and has been stuck in port in Pozhar. I believe that put it a month behind schedule, and it would be working hard to recover the losses incurred by so much downtime. No doubt it is even now headed home."
"Truly?" Aoi asked.
"I swear it," the man replied.
Aoi could not contain himself. "You have brought me great news indeed, dear stranger. I can never repay you for it. Thank you."
"It costs me nothing to relate what I know of the ships I see," the man said. "I can see you want to run home and tell your fellows. Please, do."
He wanted to argue, to make some show of gratitude, but even as he thought it he was racing off to share what he had learned, oblivious to all but the fact that Nori was alive, and safe, and would be coming home.
Soft laughter wafted through the temple. Kin glanced toward the altar, the beautiful figure standing before it, absently admiring the pearl necklace he had fetched from the pool. "You are a soft touch, Kin."
"I am not soft," Kin snapped, refusing to feel flustered. "He was loud. I wanted a bit of quiet."
Kyo chuckled warmly and stepped down from the altar space, walking toward him slowly, long hair rippling, moonlight making the jewels within it flash, adding a shimmer to his blue and silver robes. "Mm, yes, my wholly unromantic sailor. That is why you always hear such prayers more clearly than the rest of us, because you are not a soft touch at all."
"Shut up, brat prince," Kin muttered, and bent his head to kiss Kyo deeply, if only to silence him, and perhaps because love was complicated, but always worth any sacrifice, and he would always listen to those who were willing to make them.
"Not your pearls," Midori snapped. "You're being stupid."
Aoi yanked his arm free from where she clung to it, glaring coldly. "They are mine, I will do as I see fit."
"Calm down, Aoi," another villager interjected. Aoi rather thought it was none of his business. It was no one's business but his own. "Midori is correct, you are being foolish. What are you going to do? Sell them to venture off on some rescue mission? The best thing for us to do is wait."
"Yes," said another villager. "Show some sense."
"Sell?" Aoi demanded scathingly, disgusted with the lot of them. "I would never sell something so precious as my mother's pearls."
Another villager snorted. "What, then, do you plan to do with them?"
"Make an offering," Aoi said, flushing when everyone laughed.
"An offering, he says!" Yet another villager exclaimed. "Oh, what nonsense. You are as foolish as your mother, Aoi."
Aoi turned and stormed off, snarling when Midori tried once more to halt him, ignoring the sting of the rocks as they dug into his bare feet.
His mother had never been foolish. She had always believed in the gods, even when everyone else forgot them. Not once, even in hardship, had her faith wavered. What about that was laughable?
He did not want to part with the pearls. Delicate pink, a gift from his father, who had collected the pearls himself over the course of ten years and had them strung into a necklace before he finally proposed to her.
Finally he reached the temple that rest high on a cliff overlooking the vast ocean beyond, the white beach below. It was faded, neglected, but even during the storm which had raged a year ago it had stood strong. His mother had come here every day of her life – even the day his father died, the day she died, she had come here.
The temple was in a fairly central location – many villages were near enough to it that they made frequent use. Though he did not often see people, occasionally he saw one or two, and over the years their faces had become familiar. It had always made his mother happy to know she was not the only one who still worshipped in their remote corner of the world
Aoi had always come with her, barring the one time he had simply been too sick to move.
He gripped the pearls more tightly in his hand and stepped into the temple. It was all pillars and open space, the floor made of beautiful iridescent tiles in shades of blue and green.
At the far end of the temple was a shallow pool of water. Above it the temple ceiling was open to the sky, that the pool was kept every filled by the not infrequent rain showers.
Climbing the few steps, he knelt and dropped the pearls into the pool, watching them sink the bottom. From time to time he had glimpsed other offerings, though eventually everything vanished.
His mother had always taught that offering should always be made – the finest of the fish their father caught, the best shells he found on the beach, whatever fine oddities washed upon the shore near their little hut.
If one was so daring as to ask the gods something, then the offering must be the equal of the request. It would not do to offer a mere fish if one hoped to be granted a great boon. His mother had also cautioned requesting certain gods – they none of them were exactly alike, and it would not do to beg a favor of the wrong one. Neither did each god accept the same offering – what one saw as grand, the other might only sneer upon.
Aoi had no idea to which god he should appeal. He was too nervous even to pick one, and had no idea what manner of offering each god preferred. Even his mother had not known. Such knowledge, she said, had long been lost.
So he could only offer up the pearls, his most precious possession, and hope it was enough.
Moving back down the steps, he knelt and clasped his hand together as his mother had done a thousand times before. Holy Dragons, hear my feeble request. Bring Nori back home. Nori whom he had long loved, whom he wanted to be safe though his ship had been due back months ago. No news had ever come, good or bad, and the village only continued to fret and fret and wait for word that never came.
Yet they laughed at him for wanting to make an offer.
He focused on his prayers, driving all else out. Holy Dragons of the Three Storms, fathers and protectors of Kundou, please grant the wish of this foolish child and return to me the man I love. Mostly humbly do I beg you to grant me this one boon, and offer in return all that I have to give. He would offer more than pearls if only he had it, and for the first time hated he was only a poor and simple fisherman.
The sun had gone down by the time he finally ceased his prayers, though he had repeated the wish so long it echoed still in his head as he stood. With a groan he stretched out his limbs, hearing joints crack and pop, and tried not to think of all the work he must do by candlelight tonight to make up for the hours spent in the temple.
He turned – and yelped.
The stranger's mouth quirked in amusement. "I was attempting not to frighten you."
Aoi shook his head. "I did not even hear you come in. I bet your pardon, if you have been waiting your turn all the while."
"It is of no concern," the man said with a shrug.
He tried not to stare, but it was hard. The man's like he had never before seen. He was beautiful, and so shockingly white. Against his simple dark tunic and pants, the high boots favored by sailors, his white skin nearly seemed to glow. His hair was cropped short, and from one ear dangled a single pearl that put his entire strand to shame – perfectly, flawlessly black, a breathtaking contrast against his white skin.
"You seemed rather ardent in your prayers," the man continued. "Not once did you so much as move a muscle." His eyes were gray, and so sharp, and as he moved closer Aoi could smell the sea upon him – definitely a sailor. "You must be wishing for gold or love."
Aoi flushed. "I would not know what to do with gold, except perhaps surrender it in hopes of having my prayers heard. But please, I will be off and out of your way. I am sorry I kept you waiting so long."
The man shrugged again. "I have nowhere to be but my ship, and this is a fine enough temple, especially for its age. You would attempt to purchase love?"
He was tempted to ignore the question, but something about the man's eyes just compelled him to answer. "No – that would be stupid. The chief did that with his wife, and they do naught but scream at one another now. I want only for Nori to return home safe."
"Nori is your lover?" the man asked.
Aoi shook his head. "No. I…" He hesitated, feeling foolish to confess such things to a total stranger…but he looked again into those eyes, gray with a bit of blue he had not noticed before. "I love him, but he is not my lover."
"You have never told him how you feel?"
"It is complicated," Aoi said, and felt stupid with the words said aloud.
The man's mouth quirked again, and for a moment he looked briefly annoyed. "Love always is. Your love is a sailor."
A statement rather than a question, but Aoi nodded as though in answer. "Yes. His ship, the Sunrise, has been lost at sea these past few months."
"That is a name I know," the man replied. "It has yellow sails."
Aoi startled. "Yes! You know of Nori's ship?"
"Aye," the man replied, smiling ever so briefly, and it eased the severe lines of his strange beauty. "Its Captain fell ill, and has been stuck in port in Pozhar. I believe that put it a month behind schedule, and it would be working hard to recover the losses incurred by so much downtime. No doubt it is even now headed home."
"Truly?" Aoi asked.
"I swear it," the man replied.
Aoi could not contain himself. "You have brought me great news indeed, dear stranger. I can never repay you for it. Thank you."
"It costs me nothing to relate what I know of the ships I see," the man said. "I can see you want to run home and tell your fellows. Please, do."
He wanted to argue, to make some show of gratitude, but even as he thought it he was racing off to share what he had learned, oblivious to all but the fact that Nori was alive, and safe, and would be coming home.
Soft laughter wafted through the temple. Kin glanced toward the altar, the beautiful figure standing before it, absently admiring the pearl necklace he had fetched from the pool. "You are a soft touch, Kin."
"I am not soft," Kin snapped, refusing to feel flustered. "He was loud. I wanted a bit of quiet."
Kyo chuckled warmly and stepped down from the altar space, walking toward him slowly, long hair rippling, moonlight making the jewels within it flash, adding a shimmer to his blue and silver robes. "Mm, yes, my wholly unromantic sailor. That is why you always hear such prayers more clearly than the rest of us, because you are not a soft touch at all."
"Shut up, brat prince," Kin muttered, and bent his head to kiss Kyo deeply, if only to silence him, and perhaps because love was complicated, but always worth any sacrifice, and he would always listen to those who were willing to make them.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-07 03:22 am (UTC)*laugh* Dork <3 Read something less brain-rotting.