More xxxHolic drabble things
More! I'm steadily plowing my way through them and mentally earmarking the ones that could evolve into longer fics.
xxxHolic #327
Shizuka rarely had to use his bow to exorcise a spirit. Even with Watanuki's spiritual sight--now quite reduced from what it was, but not gone--he rarely ever took his bow with him when he went on a job. Mostly he took some sutras and other instruments he needed, and exorcised the spirit the way any other Buddhist priest would.
Most of the time, though, he insisted on Watanuki coming with him. If the spirit didn't want to be exorcised, it could be a result of a crime, and he never liked the idea that someone might go free after committing murder.
Watanuki, as always, complained; but it was more out of the idea that he had to tag along with Doumeki than because he honestly didn't want to go.
"...Bet you expect me to make you dinner tonight, too, as soon as we get back. Honestly, I think that's half the reason you drag me with you...." Watanuki paused in his tirade and glared at Shizuka's profile. "You don't really need me, you know. You can see and hear spirits now, from what Yuuko-san said."
"I want you here," Shizuka replied, matter-of-fact. Watanuki sputtered.
Being an exorcist had its good points, Shizuka decided.
***
Meh. Doumeki, quit being hard to write.
***
AU, Through the Television
The studio was well-lit, with lots of comfortable chairs on the stage, and crowds of crewmembers surrounding it like a choppy sea. Kimihiro made his way through the crowd, Doumeki trailing him closely. The host was on stage, and introducing the psychics one by one.
"Watanuki Kimihiro-san," he said, and Kimihiro climbed the steps, trying not to think about the television cameras. He had a spirit ward sewn into his clothes, as well as Doumeki's watchful presence, and he had done these programs before.
Well, once.
He bowed to the host and said polite things, then took his seat next to a young girl named Tsuyuri Kohane. She gazed at him with interest, and he returned the look.
She's like me, he thought.
"Now," the host said, "we have a young woman here who is interested in finding her mother's lost ring. Can anyone up here be of any help?"
Some of the other psychics offered ideas. Most of them, Kimihiro noticed, were just giving commonsense suggestions; only one offered anything that might be considered a psychic glimpse. He stayed silent. His talents lay more accurately with not only spirits, but also with individual souls and lines of fate. He could only find a lost ring if he actually went looking for it.
Tsuyuri stayed silent as well, but she traded a glance with him that said, You can't do this either, then. He smiled at her, and she gave him a very small smile back.
The host introduced any number of people--so it seemed to Kimihiro--who were interested in finding only lost rings, or wallets, or silverware. At last someone stood up and asked about a missing child.
Kimihiro sat up straight. The man was tall, and a little balding, but there was a young boy standing next to him, with his small fists knotted into the man's trouser leg.
"My son, Kantarou. Is he going to be found?"
Kimihiro had to work to clear his throat. The other psychics murmured and said various things. Ultimately, they all nodded and agreed he would be found in just a few days.
Kimihiro cleared his throat before the man could sit down. "Excuse me," he said, "excuse me, sir, but what did your son look like?"
"Eh?" The man paused. "He was about six, and he had very short black hair."
Kimihiro swallowed. "Was he wearing a red t-shirt when he disappeared? One with a cartoon on it--like Totoro?"
The man's face lost what little color it had. "Yes," he said faintly.
Kimihiro looked at the boy again. The boy was watching him with sad eyes, but he nodded. Kimihiro cleared his throat.
"Your son," he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as he could, "is not going to be found among the living. I'm sorry."
There was a hubbub as the other psychics--particularly, Kimihiro noted absently, the ones that were the fakes--protested this. Tsuyuri gave him a glance, and said, in a quiet, polite voice, "Watanuki-san's right."
"But he is going to be found!" One of the other psychics, a pretty young woman, insisted loudly. Tsuyuri shook her head.
"Watanuki-san didn't say he wouldn't be found," she said. "He said Kantarou-san is not going to be found among the living."
"What would you know?" the lady snapped. "You're a child, and he isn't even out of high school! Neither of you know very much about the world, do you?"
"Two against four!" The host crowed. This must be good for the ratings, Kimihiro thought sourly. "We'll have to do another show once Kantarou-san is found once and for all, won't we?"
Kimihiro sat through the rest of the show with only barely contained patience. It wasn't just the fake psychics and the inane questions of the crowd; he could see, faint but there, spirits leaking from the television cameras. That was the thing about electronics; they bridged two places together, no matter what barriers, physical or otherwise, were in place.
At last the cameras were turned off, effectively cutting off the spiritual leakage, and Kimihiro rose gratefully to his feet. Doumeki was at his side in a mere moment, giving a cold, careless look to the other seething psychics on the stage.
Tsuyuri gave Kimihiro a little bow, which he echoed. "Thank you for your help," he said. "I'm afraid it only got you into trouble."
Tsuyuri shook her head. "You were right. You could see the little boy by that man, couldn't you?"
Kimihiro nodded. "I'm no good with finding lost rings," he said. "But I can see ghosts all over. Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing."
"I can't tell you how many times he stops in the street and starts talking to thin air," Doumeki said blandly. He bowed to Tsuyuri a little, which she returned. "We need to go soon," he said, looking at Kimihiro. "That was a little too long, wasn't it?"
"A little," Kimihiro said ruefully. "I hope I'll see you again soon, Tsuyuri-san, under better circumstances," he said.
Tsuyuri gazed at him, her eyes deep and dark. "I think we will, Watanuki-san," she said.
***
Hmmm. I didn't really do what I was originally thinking with that. Oh well.
***
Downpour, AU (It's seems like I'm doing little else)
Watanuki idly wondered when he was going to get carted off to the crazy house. True, he hadn't been dragged off yet, but he knew it was just a matter of time. He didn't really want to go; he had been there, done that, as the t-shirt said. It was sort of a miracle he'd managed to get out.
Lying for eight consecutive psychiatric sessions, about how he wasn't really able to see spirits that spoke to him, managed to work wonders.
The only problem, he decided, was the fact that they simply would not leave him alone. He was their ambassador, they said. He had to let the humans know how badly their actions were affecting the natural and spiritual world.
It was so bad he couldn't even get a job. Three okonomiyaki places had fired him, all because the resident earth spirits wanted him out there, pounding the pavement and lecturing people who didn't care about things they thought didn't exist.
So. He leaned against a brick wall, sitting and letting his feet cool. No job. No home. No money, which meant no food.
It wasn't all bad, he supposed. He was their ambassador, so the spirits wouldn't let him starve. They came by several times a day, giving him a curry bun here or an onigiri there. It wasn't much, but it was food. No one ever mugged or assaulted him--at least not for long. There were still large, hungry spirits who thought he would make the perfect entree, and that was what he considered his transportation--running like hell until they lost him or lost interest, one of the two.
His stomach gave an irritable growl. Watanuki could smell ramen, yakisoba, takoyaki, oden, tempura...almost all greasy, unhealthy foods, but right now he could eat anything.
A rain drop fell on his nose, and Watanuki scrambled to his feet. There was a shop with an awning just down the street, and he made for it like a fly to honey.
Within moments it was pelting rain, and the passerby were all pulling out umbrellas. Within seconds the busy Tokyo street was awash in color, like a garden blooming. Watanuki would have appreciated it more if he hadn't been soaked by the downpour and dripping beneath a shopkeeper's awning. He looked bad enough, he thought morosely, in old torn jeans and a dirty hoodie, and with his glasses scratched and the hair hanging in his face. Did he have to be soaking wet, too?
"The shower was for your benefit," a tart voice informed him. He glared at the Ame Warashi, who had moved through the crowd with no trouble.
"I'm ragged enough," he said lowly. If he yelled, the shop owner might decide he was bad for business and make him move. "Did you have to drench me?"
Her mouth pulled into a mou of irritation. "It's called a bath, you stupid child," she retorted.
"A bath is where one gets undressed, then clean, and then into clean clothes," he hissed back. "Now I'm grubby and soaked. It's not an improvement!"
"Whatever," she said. "You haven't talked to anyone in the past hour. Get to it! It's not something you can just ignore, you know!"
"I know that!" he snapped, raising his voice. "But I get tired, and I'm hungry, and since no one will let me hold a job, I kind of don't have the cash to go around getting respectable!"
"Quit whining," she said, her voice cold and her face unsympathetic. "You've got a job to do."
Watanuki opened his mouth to protest--how could he convince anyone of anything, when he was homeless and talking crazy?--and she shoved a damp curry bun into it.
"There," she said. "Now I can tell that girl you're not going hungry."
"Mmmph!" Watanuki said, half enraged and half devoted to the (processed, mass produced, rather tasteless but still quite delicious) curry bun.
***
Okay, that one wants to be longer, too. Damn it all, drabblets.
xxxHolic #327
Shizuka rarely had to use his bow to exorcise a spirit. Even with Watanuki's spiritual sight--now quite reduced from what it was, but not gone--he rarely ever took his bow with him when he went on a job. Mostly he took some sutras and other instruments he needed, and exorcised the spirit the way any other Buddhist priest would.
Most of the time, though, he insisted on Watanuki coming with him. If the spirit didn't want to be exorcised, it could be a result of a crime, and he never liked the idea that someone might go free after committing murder.
Watanuki, as always, complained; but it was more out of the idea that he had to tag along with Doumeki than because he honestly didn't want to go.
"...Bet you expect me to make you dinner tonight, too, as soon as we get back. Honestly, I think that's half the reason you drag me with you...." Watanuki paused in his tirade and glared at Shizuka's profile. "You don't really need me, you know. You can see and hear spirits now, from what Yuuko-san said."
"I want you here," Shizuka replied, matter-of-fact. Watanuki sputtered.
Being an exorcist had its good points, Shizuka decided.
***
Meh. Doumeki, quit being hard to write.
***
AU, Through the Television
The studio was well-lit, with lots of comfortable chairs on the stage, and crowds of crewmembers surrounding it like a choppy sea. Kimihiro made his way through the crowd, Doumeki trailing him closely. The host was on stage, and introducing the psychics one by one.
"Watanuki Kimihiro-san," he said, and Kimihiro climbed the steps, trying not to think about the television cameras. He had a spirit ward sewn into his clothes, as well as Doumeki's watchful presence, and he had done these programs before.
Well, once.
He bowed to the host and said polite things, then took his seat next to a young girl named Tsuyuri Kohane. She gazed at him with interest, and he returned the look.
She's like me, he thought.
"Now," the host said, "we have a young woman here who is interested in finding her mother's lost ring. Can anyone up here be of any help?"
Some of the other psychics offered ideas. Most of them, Kimihiro noticed, were just giving commonsense suggestions; only one offered anything that might be considered a psychic glimpse. He stayed silent. His talents lay more accurately with not only spirits, but also with individual souls and lines of fate. He could only find a lost ring if he actually went looking for it.
Tsuyuri stayed silent as well, but she traded a glance with him that said, You can't do this either, then. He smiled at her, and she gave him a very small smile back.
The host introduced any number of people--so it seemed to Kimihiro--who were interested in finding only lost rings, or wallets, or silverware. At last someone stood up and asked about a missing child.
Kimihiro sat up straight. The man was tall, and a little balding, but there was a young boy standing next to him, with his small fists knotted into the man's trouser leg.
"My son, Kantarou. Is he going to be found?"
Kimihiro had to work to clear his throat. The other psychics murmured and said various things. Ultimately, they all nodded and agreed he would be found in just a few days.
Kimihiro cleared his throat before the man could sit down. "Excuse me," he said, "excuse me, sir, but what did your son look like?"
"Eh?" The man paused. "He was about six, and he had very short black hair."
Kimihiro swallowed. "Was he wearing a red t-shirt when he disappeared? One with a cartoon on it--like Totoro?"
The man's face lost what little color it had. "Yes," he said faintly.
Kimihiro looked at the boy again. The boy was watching him with sad eyes, but he nodded. Kimihiro cleared his throat.
"Your son," he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as he could, "is not going to be found among the living. I'm sorry."
There was a hubbub as the other psychics--particularly, Kimihiro noted absently, the ones that were the fakes--protested this. Tsuyuri gave him a glance, and said, in a quiet, polite voice, "Watanuki-san's right."
"But he is going to be found!" One of the other psychics, a pretty young woman, insisted loudly. Tsuyuri shook her head.
"Watanuki-san didn't say he wouldn't be found," she said. "He said Kantarou-san is not going to be found among the living."
"What would you know?" the lady snapped. "You're a child, and he isn't even out of high school! Neither of you know very much about the world, do you?"
"Two against four!" The host crowed. This must be good for the ratings, Kimihiro thought sourly. "We'll have to do another show once Kantarou-san is found once and for all, won't we?"
Kimihiro sat through the rest of the show with only barely contained patience. It wasn't just the fake psychics and the inane questions of the crowd; he could see, faint but there, spirits leaking from the television cameras. That was the thing about electronics; they bridged two places together, no matter what barriers, physical or otherwise, were in place.
At last the cameras were turned off, effectively cutting off the spiritual leakage, and Kimihiro rose gratefully to his feet. Doumeki was at his side in a mere moment, giving a cold, careless look to the other seething psychics on the stage.
Tsuyuri gave Kimihiro a little bow, which he echoed. "Thank you for your help," he said. "I'm afraid it only got you into trouble."
Tsuyuri shook her head. "You were right. You could see the little boy by that man, couldn't you?"
Kimihiro nodded. "I'm no good with finding lost rings," he said. "But I can see ghosts all over. Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing."
"I can't tell you how many times he stops in the street and starts talking to thin air," Doumeki said blandly. He bowed to Tsuyuri a little, which she returned. "We need to go soon," he said, looking at Kimihiro. "That was a little too long, wasn't it?"
"A little," Kimihiro said ruefully. "I hope I'll see you again soon, Tsuyuri-san, under better circumstances," he said.
Tsuyuri gazed at him, her eyes deep and dark. "I think we will, Watanuki-san," she said.
***
Hmmm. I didn't really do what I was originally thinking with that. Oh well.
***
Downpour, AU (It's seems like I'm doing little else)
Watanuki idly wondered when he was going to get carted off to the crazy house. True, he hadn't been dragged off yet, but he knew it was just a matter of time. He didn't really want to go; he had been there, done that, as the t-shirt said. It was sort of a miracle he'd managed to get out.
Lying for eight consecutive psychiatric sessions, about how he wasn't really able to see spirits that spoke to him, managed to work wonders.
The only problem, he decided, was the fact that they simply would not leave him alone. He was their ambassador, they said. He had to let the humans know how badly their actions were affecting the natural and spiritual world.
It was so bad he couldn't even get a job. Three okonomiyaki places had fired him, all because the resident earth spirits wanted him out there, pounding the pavement and lecturing people who didn't care about things they thought didn't exist.
So. He leaned against a brick wall, sitting and letting his feet cool. No job. No home. No money, which meant no food.
It wasn't all bad, he supposed. He was their ambassador, so the spirits wouldn't let him starve. They came by several times a day, giving him a curry bun here or an onigiri there. It wasn't much, but it was food. No one ever mugged or assaulted him--at least not for long. There were still large, hungry spirits who thought he would make the perfect entree, and that was what he considered his transportation--running like hell until they lost him or lost interest, one of the two.
His stomach gave an irritable growl. Watanuki could smell ramen, yakisoba, takoyaki, oden, tempura...almost all greasy, unhealthy foods, but right now he could eat anything.
A rain drop fell on his nose, and Watanuki scrambled to his feet. There was a shop with an awning just down the street, and he made for it like a fly to honey.
Within moments it was pelting rain, and the passerby were all pulling out umbrellas. Within seconds the busy Tokyo street was awash in color, like a garden blooming. Watanuki would have appreciated it more if he hadn't been soaked by the downpour and dripping beneath a shopkeeper's awning. He looked bad enough, he thought morosely, in old torn jeans and a dirty hoodie, and with his glasses scratched and the hair hanging in his face. Did he have to be soaking wet, too?
"The shower was for your benefit," a tart voice informed him. He glared at the Ame Warashi, who had moved through the crowd with no trouble.
"I'm ragged enough," he said lowly. If he yelled, the shop owner might decide he was bad for business and make him move. "Did you have to drench me?"
Her mouth pulled into a mou of irritation. "It's called a bath, you stupid child," she retorted.
"A bath is where one gets undressed, then clean, and then into clean clothes," he hissed back. "Now I'm grubby and soaked. It's not an improvement!"
"Whatever," she said. "You haven't talked to anyone in the past hour. Get to it! It's not something you can just ignore, you know!"
"I know that!" he snapped, raising his voice. "But I get tired, and I'm hungry, and since no one will let me hold a job, I kind of don't have the cash to go around getting respectable!"
"Quit whining," she said, her voice cold and her face unsympathetic. "You've got a job to do."
Watanuki opened his mouth to protest--how could he convince anyone of anything, when he was homeless and talking crazy?--and she shoved a damp curry bun into it.
"There," she said. "Now I can tell that girl you're not going hungry."
"Mmmph!" Watanuki said, half enraged and half devoted to the (processed, mass produced, rather tasteless but still quite delicious) curry bun.
***
Okay, that one wants to be longer, too. Damn it all, drabblets.