Eidolon - Goujun - PG
Eidolon
Author: lillypuff
Characters From: Saiyuki Gaiden
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Goujun centric w/implications of relationships
Rating: PG
Warnings: nothing really, a bit angsty perhaps, worksafe
Summary: The rooms are silent and the air is heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke gone stale; a thick layer of dust has settled atop scattered stacks of books and haphazard piles of scrolls…
Disclaimer: Sadly, Saiyuki does not belong to me.
Notes: Prompt - Ghosts, Time Taken - every last second of the allotted 35 minutes; the time went by way too fast on this one.
Witness the worst of your history only to chase it again
Discreet but curiously
Repeating the act in the end
Lonely and grieving
Will your god take me too
This won't be the memory I will carry of you
- The New Amsterdams, “Your Ghost”
He should not be here, but he is. The ward had not been hard to break but it had been his doing in the first place and it had done its job, no one had stepped over the threshold here for months. To Goujun it felt like ages had passed since he had sealed the rooms from those who would destroy the wonders within it, and destroy it they would. Kami were fickle creatures, he knew this all too well and they would destroy what was left behind by the traitors since they hadn’t been able to destroy the traitors themselves. That honor had fallen into someone else’s hands.
The rooms are silent and the air is heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke gone stale; a thick layer of dust has settled atop scattered stacks of books and haphazard piles of scrolls. Time has stood still here and he almost expects to find the nearest couch occupied by a half-sleeping tangle of long limbs; almost expects to hear the rustle of old parchment as tired eyes scan ancient scribbles.
The steps he takes are slow and silent as if he is sneaking about in the middle of the night trying not to wake the inhabitants while he searches for the answers he is looking for; answers to questions he barely knows. He does not know why he has come here; particularly when every step he takes brings him closer to memories better forgotten, when every shadow on the wall looks wickedly familiar and every breath is filled with that wretched smell of spent cigarettes and unkempt leather.
When it suddenly feels like he is being watched Goujun turns half hoping to find them standing behind him but all there is to see is a cluttered desk that he had laid eyes on so many times before. He takes tentative steps forward, one sure stride after the other until he is standing in front of the old wooden desk and staring down at a familiar object that stares back without emotion; its large ceramic eyes are wide and its mouth is gaping and filled with discarded cigarette butts.
Goujun snorts at the harmless piece of pottery, the ridiculous frog ashtray that had likely been found while snooping down below, and yet somehow it manages to do the most harm; somehow it manages to unravel him in a ways nothing else could.
“This was a mistake,” he says aloud to the frog, or maybe to himself.
Turning on his heels Goujun quickly walks from the office back into the main room, his eyes wandering from place to place still searching for whatever it is that he has come here for even as he is beginning to understand that he will never find it. It is not hidden among the books and the scrolls, not behind the furniture or under the uniform coat the still hangs over the back of a chair, he will not find it because it is not there.
Yes, he understands now; there is no forgiveness here, no salvation, no reconciliation, only once fond memories that have been tainted by his own hand. This place is no longer a sanctuary, now it is only a horrible reminder of things that have come to pass.
With one last glance around the dark and dusty apartment Goujun heads towards the door that had once been sealed against the world outside. When he is in the hallway he takes in a lungful of clean air, air untainted by smoke and guilt. He knows what he must do, he knows that he can no longer keep the apartment under lock and key. Sealed and preserved it was doing more harm then good, it must be emptied and forgotten.
As he begins to walk back to his office Goujun realizes that above all he had been in search of his comrades; one that had stood faithfully by his side for longer then he could recall and the other who had somehow worked his way in like a mite would work its way under a dragon scale. He had hoped to find them in those rooms just like he always had, but all he found was ash and dust and shadows.
He had gone in search of ghosts but even the ghosts had left him behind.
Author: lillypuff
Characters From: Saiyuki Gaiden
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Goujun centric w/implications of relationships
Rating: PG
Warnings: nothing really, a bit angsty perhaps, worksafe
Summary: The rooms are silent and the air is heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke gone stale; a thick layer of dust has settled atop scattered stacks of books and haphazard piles of scrolls…
Disclaimer: Sadly, Saiyuki does not belong to me.
Notes: Prompt - Ghosts, Time Taken - every last second of the allotted 35 minutes; the time went by way too fast on this one.
Witness the worst of your history only to chase it again
Discreet but curiously
Repeating the act in the end
Lonely and grieving
Will your god take me too
This won't be the memory I will carry of you
- The New Amsterdams, “Your Ghost”
He should not be here, but he is. The ward had not been hard to break but it had been his doing in the first place and it had done its job, no one had stepped over the threshold here for months. To Goujun it felt like ages had passed since he had sealed the rooms from those who would destroy the wonders within it, and destroy it they would. Kami were fickle creatures, he knew this all too well and they would destroy what was left behind by the traitors since they hadn’t been able to destroy the traitors themselves. That honor had fallen into someone else’s hands.
The rooms are silent and the air is heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke gone stale; a thick layer of dust has settled atop scattered stacks of books and haphazard piles of scrolls. Time has stood still here and he almost expects to find the nearest couch occupied by a half-sleeping tangle of long limbs; almost expects to hear the rustle of old parchment as tired eyes scan ancient scribbles.
The steps he takes are slow and silent as if he is sneaking about in the middle of the night trying not to wake the inhabitants while he searches for the answers he is looking for; answers to questions he barely knows. He does not know why he has come here; particularly when every step he takes brings him closer to memories better forgotten, when every shadow on the wall looks wickedly familiar and every breath is filled with that wretched smell of spent cigarettes and unkempt leather.
When it suddenly feels like he is being watched Goujun turns half hoping to find them standing behind him but all there is to see is a cluttered desk that he had laid eyes on so many times before. He takes tentative steps forward, one sure stride after the other until he is standing in front of the old wooden desk and staring down at a familiar object that stares back without emotion; its large ceramic eyes are wide and its mouth is gaping and filled with discarded cigarette butts.
Goujun snorts at the harmless piece of pottery, the ridiculous frog ashtray that had likely been found while snooping down below, and yet somehow it manages to do the most harm; somehow it manages to unravel him in a ways nothing else could.
“This was a mistake,” he says aloud to the frog, or maybe to himself.
Turning on his heels Goujun quickly walks from the office back into the main room, his eyes wandering from place to place still searching for whatever it is that he has come here for even as he is beginning to understand that he will never find it. It is not hidden among the books and the scrolls, not behind the furniture or under the uniform coat the still hangs over the back of a chair, he will not find it because it is not there.
Yes, he understands now; there is no forgiveness here, no salvation, no reconciliation, only once fond memories that have been tainted by his own hand. This place is no longer a sanctuary, now it is only a horrible reminder of things that have come to pass.
With one last glance around the dark and dusty apartment Goujun heads towards the door that had once been sealed against the world outside. When he is in the hallway he takes in a lungful of clean air, air untainted by smoke and guilt. He knows what he must do, he knows that he can no longer keep the apartment under lock and key. Sealed and preserved it was doing more harm then good, it must be emptied and forgotten.
As he begins to walk back to his office Goujun realizes that above all he had been in search of his comrades; one that had stood faithfully by his side for longer then he could recall and the other who had somehow worked his way in like a mite would work its way under a dragon scale. He had hoped to find them in those rooms just like he always had, but all he found was ash and dust and shadows.
He had gone in search of ghosts but even the ghosts had left him behind.