on the same retreating ground
Jan. 9th, 2019 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: on the same retreating ground
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Matoba/Natori
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 400
Notes: Blergh. Burnout. What are words, how do they work, etc etc.
-
They turn their necks to him baring cotton kimono and some thrumming skin. It’s all a needless display that’s meant to satisfy an old tradition of peace keeping. The clans come in pairs or not at all. And there are families still that don’t rely on a visionary to keep their old haunts at bay, just as there are some who are born into that solitary position. The stakes remain high for them -- were it him, this story would have been conclusive long ago.
Matoba turns his attention to the door and the wind sweeping through, carrying the smell of earth and water; rain beads down over the estate as it has always done this time of year, as it will do for decades and centuries to come. It will deter evil and wash away the marks of history -- most of it, except what he permits himself to keep, which is not much, and not by his own doing; fate, maybe, plays a hand if he believed in such a thing -- he doesn’t.
Natori says his hellos and makes for the west side of the room, where the lamp glare confuses all his colors and Matoba can’t watch the expression he makes when they catch each other looking, eyes slanting across the space out of habit. How funny that he remembers the boy who put his back to the wall at his old parties, a spearhead of grass in a field of swords. How that boy turned his shoulders square and looked at him the same now, but how he disguises it more cleverly, conceals himself away -- still a boy, then, just masked in a different way. It wouldn’t be familiar otherwise.
The spot in the room beside Matoba remains empty. Natori stays a lone figure and sits down on his knees. Unintentionally, there are some shared things left between them still. He deliberately doesn’t wonder if it’s the same for him, because it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, partially because he could give it power, and then -- it may become a wish.
“Shall we begin?” Nanase asks.
He lays his palms on his legs, feels that heat rise through them. Lights catches on all the masks like cooling embers, the top of twenty-three white wrists. From here, he can still smell the smoke from fires burned on other evenings like this one, burning still, even. Does Natori -- no.
“Let’s.”
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou
Characters/pairing: Matoba/Natori
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 400
Notes: Blergh. Burnout. What are words, how do they work, etc etc.
-
They turn their necks to him baring cotton kimono and some thrumming skin. It’s all a needless display that’s meant to satisfy an old tradition of peace keeping. The clans come in pairs or not at all. And there are families still that don’t rely on a visionary to keep their old haunts at bay, just as there are some who are born into that solitary position. The stakes remain high for them -- were it him, this story would have been conclusive long ago.
Matoba turns his attention to the door and the wind sweeping through, carrying the smell of earth and water; rain beads down over the estate as it has always done this time of year, as it will do for decades and centuries to come. It will deter evil and wash away the marks of history -- most of it, except what he permits himself to keep, which is not much, and not by his own doing; fate, maybe, plays a hand if he believed in such a thing -- he doesn’t.
Natori says his hellos and makes for the west side of the room, where the lamp glare confuses all his colors and Matoba can’t watch the expression he makes when they catch each other looking, eyes slanting across the space out of habit. How funny that he remembers the boy who put his back to the wall at his old parties, a spearhead of grass in a field of swords. How that boy turned his shoulders square and looked at him the same now, but how he disguises it more cleverly, conceals himself away -- still a boy, then, just masked in a different way. It wouldn’t be familiar otherwise.
The spot in the room beside Matoba remains empty. Natori stays a lone figure and sits down on his knees. Unintentionally, there are some shared things left between them still. He deliberately doesn’t wonder if it’s the same for him, because it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, partially because he could give it power, and then -- it may become a wish.
“Shall we begin?” Nanase asks.
He lays his palms on his legs, feels that heat rise through them. Lights catches on all the masks like cooling embers, the top of twenty-three white wrists. From here, he can still smell the smoke from fires burned on other evenings like this one, burning still, even. Does Natori -- no.
“Let’s.”
