imbrii (imbrii) wrote in imbrication, @ 2010-05-27 23:34:00 |
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Current mood: | accomplished |
Current music: | Rurutia - 朱雀の空 |
Entry tags: | unnatural light series, vienna teng prompts, xxxholic |
Vienna Teng prompt 7, xxxHolic, Unnatural Light 3
Series: xxxHolic
Characters: Doumeki, Watanuki, Touya, Clamp cameos
Pairing: Watanuki/Doumeki
Type: AU, fantasy
Warnings: sexuality, expositiony things
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 3010
Etc: Likely will be edited a bit further, but wanted to go ahead and post due to how long it's been. Beta'd by ldesu, who was kind enough to volunteer!
7
The dream comes gradually—a breeze, flashes of color, a familiar scent, dappled sunlight through clouds. Like fog rolling in it slowly takes over Shizuka’s senses until he’s immersed in unreality.
He knows it’s a dream, and not a normal one; what he sees is not some figment his mind created. But it retains the strange liquid logic, blurring together details and impossibly vivid.
In a lush meadow on a lake of azure pillows, a figure is lounging, barely kept decent by the drape of thick blankets. As soon as Shizuka sees it he finds himself suddenly much closer.
The witch, smiling coyly, pats the pillows inviting the Seeker to sit down. The movement makes the blanket slip off his shoulder, exposing another swathe of smooth, pale skin. Doumeki’s mouth goes dry. He is barely able to think he should refuse before he finds himself already seated.
“Welcome, Doumeki Shizuka,” the witch greets as camellias burst into bloom behind him, small explosions of white, yellow, red. Despite the riot of color Shizuka finds his eyes drawn to the witch, to his blue eyes. The presence of a witch is a strange, echoing thing, filling up spaces and pulling everything towards a chaotic center. He’s never found himself so attuned to simple physical presence, his body aching with the knowledge that the slightest shift would have his knee brush against bare skin.
No sense not cutting straight to the point. “What am I doing here?”
The witch is holding a long pipe, the smoke making thin trails in the air. “I told you I’d be keeping an eye on you.” The blankets now match the sky, complete with moving clouds.
“You left mere hours ago.” Shizuka points out as he shifts away from the other man. The smoke is what he noticed before, and again he finds himself wanting nothing more than to inhale it greedily.
The witch blows a puff of smoke at him, watching it break against his skin. Shizuka shivers at its light touch, feeling the echo of fingertips. “Not happy to see me?”
“You put a geis on me.” Breathing through his mouth helps little in diminishing the smell of the tobacco. Each breath is measured with his remaining resistance. He curls his hands into fists and puts them in his lap where they won’t stray.
“A necessary precaution.” One calf slips free of the blanket and lazily waves through the air. “I have no intention of getting killed any time soon.”
Shizuka finds his eyes keep lingering at the Mark, and knows he needs to end this interaction soon. As the witch has yet to give it a point, he might as well give it one. “I want my grandfather’s things back.”
The camellias turn into butterflies, making lazy circuits around the field. “I can’t do that. It’s much too dangerous for my kind.”
He forces himself to look the witch in the eye. “It’s all I had. The rest was confiscated by the Seekers.”
There’s a flash of something on the witch’s face, a raw emotion that isn’t glossed over with false charm. It passes too quickly to identify, but it catches Doumeki’s interest nonetheless. Witches are all facades and misdirection, too-wide smiles and clinging hands. Even when faced with the fire they never show fear until the flames lick their feet. They’d never quite seemed real before. He wants to see it again, grab onto that flash of humanity.
The witch’s face is a smooth mask now, playful smile not reaching his intent eyes. “Why are you so attached to his possessions? The man betrayed the Order, after all.” The question is delivered casually, but Shizuka sees the way the witch’s fingers are clutching the pipe too hard.
“He was still my grandfather.” The hard days after Haruka’s treachery never erased his childhood memories of the smiling old man who introduced him to magic, the weathered hands that wiped his brow when he was sick. Even his current circumstances could only evoke small bursts of anger at his grandfather, not lingering hate. He’d long taken that bitter shard into his chest, accepting the ache that pulled at him with every memory.
“I still can’t give them to you,” the witch says, his eyes softening for a brief moment. It’s quickly replaced by a predatory smile spread across his face. Apparently Shizuka’s response was pleasing. “You wanted to know what I’m doing in your dreams? I’ll tell you.”
The witch vanishes from where he was sprawled, and a wall of heat is suddenly pressed against Shizuka’s back. Arms wrap around him, pulling their bodies close; he fights to keep his breathing steady. The witch whispers into his ear, “You will be my pawn. I will make you break your geis of Order by your own volition, Doumeki Shizuka.”
“I won’t—“ he starts, feeling a flicker of anger kindle somewhere under the haze, his brows furrowing.
The witch is before him, encompassing his vision with eyes the color of the sky. Shizuka feels fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him forward as his hands brush bare hips. He doesn’t even think to pull away as the rest of his sentence dies in his mouth.
"You will," the witch breathes onto his skin, eyes sharp enough to cut into him, break him into pieces.
Their lips meet and Shizuka is falling.
***
He wakes up to his heart pounding on his ribcage, sweat sticking to his skin and blankets a twisted mess. Closing his eyes Shizuka takes a moment to calm himself down, determinedly not thinking about the dream.
The news that the witch is hoping to convert him is far from shocking, but doing it through dreams is unexpected. Sleeping won’t be safe anymore, but avoiding it would be even more dangerous. He’d never heard of witches invading dreams before and wonders if it was something only this witch could do, or an ability that simply requires more power than most witches have.
Next time, he’ll do better. Next time he won’t let the witch have his way. Somehow he’ll find a way to keep his head on his shoulders. If he can crack the sultry façade, keep the witch off-balance, it’ll work.
Shizuka ignores how hollow it sounds. He can’t give up yet.
Judging by the light shining through his small window, it’s a reasonable hour to be awake. He might as well start the day.
It feels strange dressing without his weapons, the lack of their comforting weight nags at him almost as much as his stomach. Shizuka will have to commission new weapons after he’s eaten. He has enough money saved up to buy something of equal quality to his grandfather’s—he’s never been one for frivolous expenditures—but it will be days before they’ll be done because of all the rituals involved. In the meantime he’ll have to hope that he manages to avoid anything dangerous.
He sets off for the barracks, hoping to catch one of the good cooks at the dining facility. Shizuka is particular about the food he eats, especially who makes it. He can taste the lingering emotions like an extra spice, a peculiar quirk of his magic. Enhanced senses are common among magic users, but Shizuka is the only one that has it manifest in taste.
There’s the wet tang of night rain still in the air, scattered clouds promising a small break before rain settles in. The wind is strong, greeting him as soon as he leaves the building, pushing at Shizuka’s shoulders and tugging at his clothes in a way that reminds him a bit too much of his dream. Thankfully it’s a brief walk, the Seeker buildings situated in a cluster. Avoiding the main entrance where a clerk might inquire about his last mission, he takes a side entrance close to the cafeteria. Few are up so early, as Seekers keep the odd hours necessary to hunt down their prey—nobody he knows, so he ignores them in favor of seeing who’s cooking today.
Touya’s father is there, his smile warm but stretched too thin when he greets Shizuka.
Once a scholar of magic, the kind man never recovered from the death of his wife and disappearance of his daughter. He took up the job as cook for the Seeker barracks so he’d be close to his son and able to quickly hear about any sign of Sakura. His last joy is cooking, so he does his best for the Seekers in hopes they’ll have some small scrap of news. Shizuka is fine with accepting the bitter aftertaste in exchange for the care that goes into it.
Mr Kinomoto’s body is taut when his eyes meet Shizuka’s, begging for news. The Seeker can’t bring himself to say it aloud, only shakes his head and watches the older man’s brittle expression shatter into sadness. He picks up the pieces quickly enough, the facsimile of a smile reappearing, used to enduring disappointment.
They don’t talk beyond necessity, as Shizuka knows his presence is a reminder of another dead end. Keeping hope alive is slowly destroying both of the surviving Kinomoto, but he admires their refusal to give in all the same. Finishing his meal quickly, he heads out to see the weaponsmiths.
As Seekers are the primary customers, any town with an outpost is sure to have at least one shop for Order weapons. This town has all three, clustered together on the outskirts near the river for the purer atmosphere. Despite the wind it’s a pleasant walk, townspeople greeting him with cautious warmth. The Order is respected most places, with some amount of fear mixed in.
First to the bellmakers, as there is no customization in bells and it will be a straightforward affair. Everything must be exact in order to safely and consistently product the same tone. Bellmaking is done entirely by the Suzuhara clan, passed through the generations. Learning the process is long and exhaustive so weaponmaking generally stays in the family as a result. Bows and blades work the same way, handled by the Imonoyama and Monou clans respectively.
The damp of the morning has worn off, but the skies are increasingly overcast. As he walks through the town, it seems like everyone can feel the rain coming, making the most of the time to check roofs and run errands. Aogawa is too small to have most of its roads paved, so going anywhere once the rains start is an unpleasant affair.
As he heads for the edge of town the green spaces become larger, houses laid out more haphazardly. The road leading to the river is lined with smiths, ending with the bellmaker’s small stone shop. The inside is dim as the shop doesn’t have any windows.
“Welcome, Seeker!” greets a girl on the cusp of puberty, her smile retaining the boundless joy of childhood. She’s likely an apprentice, the bellmaker’s daughter. Her energetic greeting makes the two bunches of her auburn hair swing about.
“I have a request of the Suzuhara.”
“The bellmaker is busy, but I’m Suzuhara and able to help you.” She offers no name, and he doesn’t ask. Only family and close friends know somebody’s given name, everyone is referred to by title or family name. Children sometimes have a name that is abandoned when they reach adulthood to cast off any ill associations, but it is still never given to strangers.
“I need a full set of bells, as soon as they can be ready.”
Her face shows a brief spark of curiosity, her eyes darting to the pips on his collar. She obviously wonders why a Sergeant would need a full set of bells, but she reins it in and doesn’t say anything. Shizuka hopes she won’t mention anything to one of the other weaponsmiths—that would certainly set tongues wagging.
“My mo—“ she shakes her head, reverting to a more formal tone, “the bellmaker is finishing something up right now, but she’ll be able to work on it soon, Sergeant…”
“Falcon.”
The girl nods as she notes it down. “It should be only four days.” There is no haggling over price—Seeker bells are expensive and the family doesn’t make enough money elsewhere to demand anything but top dollar.
Her face is suddenly too serious for her young years. “Will you pay the toll?”
“Yes.”Shizuka hadn’t expected her to be already trained in the ritual, but as it’s relatively simple it’s no surprise they have a novice performing it.
If parts of the wielder are used in the creation of weapons, attunement goes much faster. Using blood to quench the bells or knives during forging and mixing hair into the bowstring are the most common methods. Bones of dead relatives are also used, but his family never saw Haruka’s remains.
Her movements slow with stilted formality, the weight awkward on her shoulders as she heads to the back. She brings out a heavy clay bowl covered in Seals, a vial of rainwater collected during the full moon, a small Order-style dagger, and a pile of bandages. Each is placed on a heavy stone table also crawling with purifying Seals in an alcove of the shop.
The water is poured over his wrist as she speaks a Word of power, cleansing him and making sure the blood won’t clot too soon.
“I take what has been freely given.” Her face scrunches in hesitation before smoothing back out as she cuts into the veins by his wrist. It’s shallow, but it should be enough. The blood wells to the surface and trails down his skin to drip into the bowl. It’ll take some time, but there’s nothing left to do but wait.
The Suzuhara girl doesn’t look at his wound, her hands wringing nervously. “I have duties to attend to…”
He inclines his head slightly, “I’ll be fine.” She almost runs from the room.
There’s an ache on his shoulder where the damning bruise is. Shizuka can’t help but wonder if his blood has been tainted by the witch and all his new weapons will work against him as a result. Ultimately he has no choice—to have any chance of fighting the witch he’ll need the most effective weapons he can get.
His thoughts wander aimlessly but constantly fall back to his dream of the witch, to the heat of another body against his skin, to long legs and swirling smoke. Each time he forces himself to think of something else, to no avail. By the time the bowl is full and he’s wrapping up the wound his movements are harsh with pent-up frustration. He leaves the money beside the blood, his payment in full, and leaves for the bladesmith.
The encounter there is much the same, though this time it’s a melancholy middle-aged man performing the ritual using his other wrist and with added light-headedness afterward. Easiest left for last, the bowyer is only a much-needed haircut—his hair had started curling around his ears.
Unease slightly lifted with the promise of new weapons, he eats Touya’s father’s cooking again for lunch and writes a letter to his father, explaining in the most vague and polite terms he can manage that Haruka’s weapons are no longer in his possession. As unpleasant as the repercussions will be, it’d be worse to not send the letter. At least he’ll have the sense not to say anything to somebody outside the family, so Shizuka will have the time to concoct a decent excuse for the Order.
Touya is waiting for him when he returns from the post office, long body leaning against the doorframe. “You have until tomorrow to report. Sgt Oak is missing and it’s got them on edge, they wouldn’t hear of you waiting any longer.”
Shizuka pauses as he unlocks his door. “If Sgt Oak has been corrupted, that’s the second one this month.”
“And the fourth in the last six.” There’s an edge to his voice now, unacknowledged fear that becomes sharper once the door is closed.
They both fall into silence as Shizuka digests that uncomfortable piece of news. “Which witch was he tracking?”
“The one with a dog familiar.”
His stomach clenches, nausea sweeping in.
Not even a powerful witch, but a novice they’d expected to easily pick off. If such a stalwart man as Sgt Oak could be defeated by a girl much less powerful than he is, how is Doumeki supposed to have a chance?
They want to say it won’t happen to him, that he’ll be different from the others, but neither of them have any use for unfounded hopes.
It’s easy to come to his next decision. “Go to Akazawa, track down any signs of the fire-using witch.”
Touya’s hands clench. “That’s on the northern border of our circuit, days away. And nobody’s seen her in weeks.”
“Are you disobeying an order?” Though it rarely comes up between them, Shizuka is a Sergeant, and in charge of Touya and two other Seekers. He provides their focus, coordinating with other Sergeants to make sure there are no holes in the Seeker net. He’ll be pissing several people off by sending Touya so far out, but it has to be done.
The older man sees it, sees the logic in keeping him away so that he doesn’t fall into whatever mess Shizuka is in and hates it. But he won’t risk losing his freedom to search for his sister.
He puts a heavy hand on Shizuka’s shoulder, his face now clouded with all the emotions struggling to surface. Lips move in a few aborted attempts before pressing into a thin line. Squeezing once, he lets go and moves for the door. Pausing under the lintel, he says, “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” without looking back.
Shizuka says nothing, chest constricting as Touya walks away. It’s better for both of them this way, but that makes it no easier.
He has no dreams he can remember, but doesn’t sleep well that night.