[dream] [week 28, day 5] Smoke and Mirrors
[ooc: Please feel free to interact with any part(s) of the dream! ♥]
His father’s obnoxious roaring wakes the entire house. His reek is so pungent it spreads like a fume, the stink of booze and sick enough to turn your stomach. He stumbles down the hall in a drunken haze at some ungodly hour of the night, throwing punches at the moving shadows on the wall that turn out to be his own damn reflection in the mirror. He eventually passes out face-down on the couch with his arm hanging off the side and bloodied knuckles smearing the carpet red. Pathetic. Yukimi stands behind his sister Kazuho the next morning as she sweeps up the broken shards from the floor. He just stares blankly at his reflection in that mirror, distorted by the cracks radiating from the point where his old man’s fist made contact with his phantom. There’s a crooked smile on Yukimi’s face as he thinks to himself that at least this time, the bastard finally directed his rage against the one person who deserved it.
“I’m late for school,” Kazuho says quietly as she slides the glass shards into the trash from the dustpan.
“I know. Go on, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But -”
“I’ll be okay.”
She looks up at him dubiously, but she’ll comply. She gathers her schoolbooks together and puts them carefully into her bag. Before she leaves through the door, she glances back at her brother over her shoulder. There’s a look on her face that gives him a twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. Anxiousness, fear, and an emptiness that creeps in more and more behind that haunted gaze. This is why he stays behind. So he can take down that mirror from the wall, and rub out that bloodstain on the floor. He can’t shield her from everything, but he can make the house look like something of a home, even if it is what it is.
He turns and makes his way down the hall.
--
He sprints down a narrow corridor that lets out into a side street, and from there, he turns toward the traffic of the evening rush. His gun is stashed already in his holster under his jacket. It feels warm against his chest, for it hasn’t been that long since he used it to dispatch someone to the other side.
It’s nightfall. Like any agent of the shadow, he should turn away from the crowds and light, slip into the twisting alleys of which there are countless many in this sprawling city. But he was taught the tactics of the ninja, and their primary skill is to become one with that crowd. One face amongst many, the perfect spy. The guy next door. The last person anyone would suspect of murder.
The streets are milling with people in suits and school uniforms, making their way home, or to happy hour, or the karaoke bar after a long day’s work. Yukimi thinks to himself, me too, except not really. He works, but not in the way that most people do. Not today, in any case.
The sky rumbles, gray and overcast. Around him, the chatter of everyday lives brush past like snippets of unfinished business.
“So then, I said ‘no way you’ve gotta be kidding me! Why would he think I’d be interested in him? Has he looked at himself lately??”
“Hey, Okamura! Where do you think you’re going? I told the guys you were comin’ out with us tonight? Aw, come on, just a few drinks. I’ll buy you the first round, how about it?”
“Taxi! Yes, I’m heading to the airport…how fast can you get me there-” The voice cuts off as the car door shuts.
Something wet hits his face. He looks up at the sky.
It begins to rain. Like a chorus line, umbrellas pop up in a colorful array throughout the streets, and a few people who hadn’t read the weather report this morning scurry quickly under awnings to take cover.
He passes a café with a brightly lit window displaying plastic food. Omelets, curries, parfaits. Yukimi stops in front of it, watching his dim reflection in the window as streaks of rain slide slowly down. He rubs a bloodstain off his cheek with the back of his hand.
Another day’s work.
--
They’re in a field, somewhere in the realms of Iga.
There’s a crack of thunder in the sky. Yukimi turns toward the sound. He sees the heavens shudder as lightning bolts split the darkness in jagged pieces, screaming like a living thing. Rain pours down in torrents with a flick the wrist, all of nature’s power under Hattori’s command. What’s a little Shinrabanshou without the shock and awe? The King of Nabari knows what he’s capable of, and he’s not afraid to use it.
He’s really gone and done it. There’s a smile of triumph on the Chief’s face, and if Yukimi isn’t mistaken, he sees a touch of madness there, too. He can’t be too surprised. Abilities of this kind are beyond the comprehension of a normal man. And any normal man might think twice before reaching for it.
Yukimi always knew there was something a little crazy about the whole thing. Maybe that was why he was drawn to it in the first place.
And what will you do now, Chief? Bring on the new world, like you promised?
He can reshape it to his will, rid the world of the cruelties and despair that cripple its people and cause so much needless suffering. So sisters don’t have to look to their brothers to protect them from their fathers. So all the blood he’s shed already would not have been for nothing.
But fathers - even ones you choose - are only human. Human enough to disappoint. Human enough to succumb to addiction. And this one is far more intoxicating than the kind that comes in a bottle.
Hattori squeezes his hand into a fist and a tree splits in two, groaning under the stress as its branches teeter and come crashing to the ground. It’s child’s play.
A crowd has gathered here to bear witness. Familiar faces all around, and maybe some not so. Throughout the crowd are a flurry of mixed expressions, ranging from amazement to horror.
“Welcome, my friends,” Hattori says. His voice echoes through the mind like he speaks directly to your soul. “Welcome to a new dawn.”
His father’s obnoxious roaring wakes the entire house. His reek is so pungent it spreads like a fume, the stink of booze and sick enough to turn your stomach. He stumbles down the hall in a drunken haze at some ungodly hour of the night, throwing punches at the moving shadows on the wall that turn out to be his own damn reflection in the mirror. He eventually passes out face-down on the couch with his arm hanging off the side and bloodied knuckles smearing the carpet red. Pathetic. Yukimi stands behind his sister Kazuho the next morning as she sweeps up the broken shards from the floor. He just stares blankly at his reflection in that mirror, distorted by the cracks radiating from the point where his old man’s fist made contact with his phantom. There’s a crooked smile on Yukimi’s face as he thinks to himself that at least this time, the bastard finally directed his rage against the one person who deserved it.
“I’m late for school,” Kazuho says quietly as she slides the glass shards into the trash from the dustpan.
“I know. Go on, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But -”
“I’ll be okay.”
She looks up at him dubiously, but she’ll comply. She gathers her schoolbooks together and puts them carefully into her bag. Before she leaves through the door, she glances back at her brother over her shoulder. There’s a look on her face that gives him a twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach. Anxiousness, fear, and an emptiness that creeps in more and more behind that haunted gaze. This is why he stays behind. So he can take down that mirror from the wall, and rub out that bloodstain on the floor. He can’t shield her from everything, but he can make the house look like something of a home, even if it is what it is.
He turns and makes his way down the hall.
--
He sprints down a narrow corridor that lets out into a side street, and from there, he turns toward the traffic of the evening rush. His gun is stashed already in his holster under his jacket. It feels warm against his chest, for it hasn’t been that long since he used it to dispatch someone to the other side.
It’s nightfall. Like any agent of the shadow, he should turn away from the crowds and light, slip into the twisting alleys of which there are countless many in this sprawling city. But he was taught the tactics of the ninja, and their primary skill is to become one with that crowd. One face amongst many, the perfect spy. The guy next door. The last person anyone would suspect of murder.
The streets are milling with people in suits and school uniforms, making their way home, or to happy hour, or the karaoke bar after a long day’s work. Yukimi thinks to himself, me too, except not really. He works, but not in the way that most people do. Not today, in any case.
The sky rumbles, gray and overcast. Around him, the chatter of everyday lives brush past like snippets of unfinished business.
“So then, I said ‘no way you’ve gotta be kidding me! Why would he think I’d be interested in him? Has he looked at himself lately??”
“Hey, Okamura! Where do you think you’re going? I told the guys you were comin’ out with us tonight? Aw, come on, just a few drinks. I’ll buy you the first round, how about it?”
“Taxi! Yes, I’m heading to the airport…how fast can you get me there-” The voice cuts off as the car door shuts.
Something wet hits his face. He looks up at the sky.
It begins to rain. Like a chorus line, umbrellas pop up in a colorful array throughout the streets, and a few people who hadn’t read the weather report this morning scurry quickly under awnings to take cover.
He passes a café with a brightly lit window displaying plastic food. Omelets, curries, parfaits. Yukimi stops in front of it, watching his dim reflection in the window as streaks of rain slide slowly down. He rubs a bloodstain off his cheek with the back of his hand.
Another day’s work.
--
They’re in a field, somewhere in the realms of Iga.
There’s a crack of thunder in the sky. Yukimi turns toward the sound. He sees the heavens shudder as lightning bolts split the darkness in jagged pieces, screaming like a living thing. Rain pours down in torrents with a flick the wrist, all of nature’s power under Hattori’s command. What’s a little Shinrabanshou without the shock and awe? The King of Nabari knows what he’s capable of, and he’s not afraid to use it.
He’s really gone and done it. There’s a smile of triumph on the Chief’s face, and if Yukimi isn’t mistaken, he sees a touch of madness there, too. He can’t be too surprised. Abilities of this kind are beyond the comprehension of a normal man. And any normal man might think twice before reaching for it.
Yukimi always knew there was something a little crazy about the whole thing. Maybe that was why he was drawn to it in the first place.
And what will you do now, Chief? Bring on the new world, like you promised?
He can reshape it to his will, rid the world of the cruelties and despair that cripple its people and cause so much needless suffering. So sisters don’t have to look to their brothers to protect them from their fathers. So all the blood he’s shed already would not have been for nothing.
But fathers - even ones you choose - are only human. Human enough to disappoint. Human enough to succumb to addiction. And this one is far more intoxicating than the kind that comes in a bottle.
Hattori squeezes his hand into a fist and a tree splits in two, groaning under the stress as its branches teeter and come crashing to the ground. It’s child’s play.
A crowd has gathered here to bear witness. Familiar faces all around, and maybe some not so. Throughout the crowd are a flurry of mixed expressions, ranging from amazement to horror.
“Welcome, my friends,” Hattori says. His voice echoes through the mind like he speaks directly to your soul. “Welcome to a new dawn.”