Friday night, after the party
Well, that went better than I expected. Ryuki sat down on his bed to gather his thoughts, and to sober up enough to contact his uncle Shiro. Shiro and he had often been drinking buddies, so being a little tipsy and smelling of bar might get his attention, let him enjoy the nostalgia. Being dead had to suck, and Ryuki would provide any little comfort he could. Instead of washing, as was the usual prerequisite for talking to kami, he went to the shrine garden as he was, stopping in the kitchen for a bowl of rice to offer. Miyako gave him token resistance, it was her kitchen and how dare a man defile it.
Ryuki gave the proper greetings to the spirits that had been his family members, clapping and bowing in the correct sequence and leaving a few pennies in the box. He then walked off the path and over the gravel to his uncle's marker, careful not to cross the paths of the guide statues. He knelt at the shrine and left the bowl of rice there, chatting briefly and intimately with Shiro as he had done often in both life and death. A tiny cold spot drifted through his space, settling momentarily on the briefcase at the shrine's base, the one that Shiro had on him the night he died. As a sign it was ambiguous, but Ryuki had faith. As much as he tested and teased, in this he had faith.
On the plane late that night he laughed to himself. The two new angels, neither was a seraph or at least not a sensitive one. He knew the Squeaky Hammer--you don't forget a name like that. And he knew the demons bragged that it had been Dominic's booby prize, a silly MacGuffin that nobody knew quite what it was supposed to do. They had laughed mightily at the thought of Heaven's stiffest upper lip having a cloak that squeaked.
Neither angel had called him on the lie.
He wondered what mission they were really sent for, and whether they themselves knew. He kept his copy of the address book, counting himself the unofficial faceman for Corat's misfits.
Shiro had a pet mouse--not something he would have kept in life, but found by necessity now that he was dead, and transported to America on top of it. He slipped his psyche into the mouse, carefully watching the house before letting himself into the garden. They'd left his spirit a path out of the garden, so his rage at the injustice of his death would not be visited on his family. Mostly he left them be, but it kept his humanity alive to be treated to the occasional bowl of rice, and the mouse gave him the feel of a full belly, always a pleasant and grounding thing. Dammit his nephew forgot the sake!
Ryukawa knew about the shrine visits, knew about the mouse, knew how often the kids snuck into the kitchen late at night when their mother/stepmother was not guarding it. He felt no need to interfere or even to get out of bed. His castle was secure.
Ryuki slept on the plane but not well enough, having no tether Disturbances to rock him to sleep. His daughter used him as a pillow to watch Saturday morning cartoons, though he suspected she was humoring him, getting a little old for that stuff. Besides which, mornings on Oahu were so much more interesting outside.
Ryuki gave the proper greetings to the spirits that had been his family members, clapping and bowing in the correct sequence and leaving a few pennies in the box. He then walked off the path and over the gravel to his uncle's marker, careful not to cross the paths of the guide statues. He knelt at the shrine and left the bowl of rice there, chatting briefly and intimately with Shiro as he had done often in both life and death. A tiny cold spot drifted through his space, settling momentarily on the briefcase at the shrine's base, the one that Shiro had on him the night he died. As a sign it was ambiguous, but Ryuki had faith. As much as he tested and teased, in this he had faith.
On the plane late that night he laughed to himself. The two new angels, neither was a seraph or at least not a sensitive one. He knew the Squeaky Hammer--you don't forget a name like that. And he knew the demons bragged that it had been Dominic's booby prize, a silly MacGuffin that nobody knew quite what it was supposed to do. They had laughed mightily at the thought of Heaven's stiffest upper lip having a cloak that squeaked.
Neither angel had called him on the lie.
He wondered what mission they were really sent for, and whether they themselves knew. He kept his copy of the address book, counting himself the unofficial faceman for Corat's misfits.
Shiro had a pet mouse--not something he would have kept in life, but found by necessity now that he was dead, and transported to America on top of it. He slipped his psyche into the mouse, carefully watching the house before letting himself into the garden. They'd left his spirit a path out of the garden, so his rage at the injustice of his death would not be visited on his family. Mostly he left them be, but it kept his humanity alive to be treated to the occasional bowl of rice, and the mouse gave him the feel of a full belly, always a pleasant and grounding thing. Dammit his nephew forgot the sake!
Ryukawa knew about the shrine visits, knew about the mouse, knew how often the kids snuck into the kitchen late at night when their mother/stepmother was not guarding it. He felt no need to interfere or even to get out of bed. His castle was secure.
Ryuki slept on the plane but not well enough, having no tether Disturbances to rock him to sleep. His daughter used him as a pillow to watch Saturday morning cartoons, though he suspected she was humoring him, getting a little old for that stuff. Besides which, mornings on Oahu were so much more interesting outside.