Captain Souji Okita (souji_okita) wrote in the_tardis_trap, @ 2013-02-10 11:59:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | souji okita : souji-okita, the 8th doctor : someoldhippy |
Who: Souji and Eight
What: Clearing a space for the school.
Where: A seemingly abandoned room located parallel to the garden.
When: Presently.
Warnings: Mild language, silliness, potential violence.
Despite its size the well-proportioned space did not echo. It seemed as if sound softened mid-arch, caught like a child in the warm embrace of a parent's arms. Perhaps the thick layer of dust allowed only glancing blows to surfaces. Maybe the almost sentient aura of patient expectation intervened. In any case, all was still and pleasantly muted in the half-empty storage space. Clearly this room had not been disturbed in quite some time. Little wonder: it contained few items and nothing of interest. One warped plastic box with a litter of bent springs inside, a naked metal shelf, someone's tie-dye handkerchief, two bulbous wine bottles spilling mummified flowers, a triangular contraption covered in buttons and dials, and a rolled Persian rug with small holes burnt through it.
Saizo's hooves made soft thumps as he trotted ahead. The sound drew his master's attention to the foundation of the room. A butterfly of excitement flew agitated loops in Souji's stomach at the faintly discernible seams in the dust. Hastily he squatted and scrubbed one palm across the floor. Yes, it was boards! Dull and aged but still serviceable timber. With some scrubbing they would glow burnt umber. The floor would ultimately be covered with tatami, anyhow. "Ahhh! This is perfect!" Souji exalted to no one in particular.
Where in heaven's name did all the dust originate, the young rōnin wondered as he collected the haphazard detritus. He did not suppose there was much opportunity for it to float inside whilst traversing outerspace. Perhaps it was haunted with unhappy spirits? It didn't have the feel of such a place. Souji pondered possible sources of grime as he packed the easily moved items into the plastic box and deposited it outside. The shelf would have to stay for now and the rug could be leaned against it. It now appeared a zashiki warashi had been wandering through the dust.
"I think we should start cleaning before a filth-licker moves in, don't you?", he queried of the now-brown-nosed piglet.
In answer Saizo sneezed.
A trip to the laundry produced a washtub (wooden; Souji hadn't recognized the plastic one as such), cloths, soap, and the oddest broom he had ever encountered. He stripped down to his nagajuban and began the methodical procedure of tidying the newly claimed space. It summoned memories of a seven-year-old Souji scrubbing the boards of the Shieikan dojo, lingering on the stoop to surreptitiously watch kenjutsu instruction. These nostalgic fragments lodged a stone of longing in his chest. It banged against his ribs with each drag of the wet cloth. He allowed himself to miss headquarters, Tetsu, and his adoptive family while laboring; there would be no time for sadness once the school was opened. Ninety minutes later the stone had softened to sand.
The fine particles of dust aggravated Souji's perpetual cough and he was forced to stop every twenty minutes to rest. A streak of dust starkly bisected the length of one cheek and beads of sweat had gathered in the hollow of his throat. Saizo clearly thought manual labour beneath his superior suid pedigree. Though he retrieved nearby items if gently implored the piglet did so with visible disdain. For a pig he did not think much of poor housekeeping.
"We'll both need a bath after this." Souji observed while patting his companion's dirty rump.
"Buki!" Saizo agreed with great dignity.