OOC ❦ Memory (6)
Ginko had run out of tobacco a few days ago, and hadn’t managed to track down the old guy who usually sold the leaves in the market place. With a pang of worry-had he vanished?-he made his way over to the stall that sold cigarettes in packs. He didn’t like these as much-the taste was all wrong, flat and stale and the wrong kind of bitter. But they were better than no cigarettes at all.
Picking up just one pack (he’d make them last) he handed the vendor a few coins and headed for the park. Might as well make use of this good weather, and the rest of his afternoon off.
Settling himself under a tree, he opened the pack and reached inside it for a cigarette without even looking inside first, and his fingers brushed against a cool, smooth surface.
Well, that was stupid, was his last thought as the bright, sunny day dissolved into darkness.
************
It was still dark, a few moments later, but it was the darkness of night, not the darkness of having your eyesight taken away. There was the quiet slap of water nearby, the quiet sound of murmuring voices farther away.
“Be honest.” It was a familiar voice, though Ginko couldn’t place it immediately. “Even after all this effort, you really don’t know if these nets will actually snag that girl, do you?”
“No.” His voice sounded quiet, maybe a little rough. His vision was fixed ahead, looking out at water-the sea, perhaps? Out of the corner of his eye he could see flames dancing in the breeze, the breeze that he couldn’t feel, and people sitting near them. “But it’s the only chance I think we have of saving her.”
The other man’s back was to him, and he wasn’t looking at him. He could only hear that voice, that hauntingly familiar voice, as he continued, “Tell me. Why is this so important to you? This girl. Why does she weigh so heavy on your conscience?” His vision shifted then, turning to look down at the mop of dark hair, his vision good enough that he could still pick out the place the hair stopped and the night began with ease. He could see an ear, the curve of the other’s jawbone as it dipped down to form his chin, and what looked like the side of a pair of glasses… but not the face. “I could sympathize with your concern better if the girl had said she wanted to live. But from what you told me, it sounds like her sole desire was to become part of the swamp. Perhaps this path she has chosen brings her happiness. And if that’s so, should we deny her fate, however cruel it may seem?”
His body shifted forward; even though he couldn’t feel it, he could tell by the way his line of sight shifted, and he looked away from the other man. “You know that green cup that I brought you?”
There was a murmur of inquiry from the other, and he seemed to take it as an invitation to continue.
“It’s a recreation of one that belonged to that young man’s grandmother. She brought the original to a mushi banquet that was unfortunately cut short. That left her trapped in limbo between two worlds, and in a ghostly state that was neither mushi nor human. Recreating that cup allowed her grandson to see her again, but that stole her humanity. I made her mushi because she requested it, but I… question if I did the right thing or not.
“Becoming a mushi isn’t like a traditional death. Mushi occupy a spot between the living, and the dead. That means, the person still lives in one sense, but then they’re dead in yet another. Imagine what that must be like. Wouldn’t a natural death be more tolerable than living for eons? A life where everything that made you human is whittled away, bit by bit, until absolutely none of it remains. That’s the sad fate for which the girl is headed. She even dressed up for the occasion-her kimono would suit a wedding. Or in her case, someone’s funeral.
“So, yes, this cruel fate of hers? It is one to be denied.”
**************
He opened his eyes with a swift intake of breath, the pack of cigarettes falling to the ground. He reached for it automatically... then stopped abruptly. His hands were covered in strange, box-like contraptions, and the rest of his body was also covered in material. Well. At least his line of sight wasn’t entirely gone, and he could still breathe.
Abandoning the cigarettes with a sigh of regret--he was pretty sure some of the material was covering his mouth, so even if he’d had hands he still wouldn’t have been able to have one--and settled back again to think about the memory.
That had been... of course, the man’s voice. It was the same voice as that fish had had, the one that had insisted he call him ‘Sensei.’ Well, not that there were many floating, talking fish around Edensphere, anyway.
But those things he had said... about death, and the mushi, and that girl he had changed into one... he sighed. It was a heavy topic, and one he’d have to think about more before he really knew what to think about it.
Well. If he couldn’t smoke, he wasn’t sitting here in... whatever this thing was. He managed to get to his feet, and wandered off toward Wellspring, wondering how long this one would last.
[[ooc: He's now trapped inside this get-up until roughly noon-ish on 9/13/11]]
