Brave Two Soldiers (Chichiri + Tasuki, Fushigi Yuugi, PG)
Author: transient_words
Word Count: 1852
Prompt: Fushigi Yuugi, Chichiri/Tasuki: road trip - we'll take this never-ending journey together.
Warning(s): Possibly OOC. Set in the modern world. Profanity. Too much philosophical pondering? Title is not necessarily connected to the story. I chose because it sounded good. If you’re expecting slash, you’ll be unavoidably disappointed because this is a gen/friendship fic.
A/N: Geh, I’m not very happy about this. I feel this takes on too much flavour of an original fic, but then it’s what my mind came up with. I might rewrite this, in fact, if the prompter wants me to?
For simplicity’s sake, I refer to Tasuki and Chichiri as such, even though it’s more than likely that they’d go under different names.
...
Everything ahead of and behind him is nothing but a great wasteland: everywhere he looks he just sees barren landscapes and yellow dust. Not one fleck of green anywhere: it’s as if the world were on the brink of an apocalypse. Tasuki feels cheated; the dust is obstructing his sight and he feels tears forming because it's fucking getting into his eyes.
Hell, it’s depressing and Tasuki is not someone who’s prone to such emotions. But he thinks that standing here too long would make anyone feel like jumping off a cliff.
If I wanted to see dust and nothingness, I could just as well have booked a flight to the Sahara Desert , Tasuki thinks angrily, remembering how he'd actually looked forward to this. Hell, he'd even smashed his piggy bank in the hopes of buying some new video games and doing something fun. He feels that, in the past few months - what with exams and cram school - they haven’t really been having much of that.
But there's nothing fun about this shit: what can he do here, other than leaning against the door of the car and stare at the great expanse of the never-ending waste and dust? It’s not only depressing, but boring.
It’s be cool if they’d brought beer with them, but a) they’re underage and b) in this hot weather, it’d not have been fun to drink alcoholic beverage anyway.
The worst thing about this whole thing is that Chichiri is grinning like a madman; it's evident that for some inane reason he's actually enjoying this - then again, he always enjoys weird things, like reading books by Confucius (boring) or meditation (just plain weird).
And Tasuki - who can barely keep himself from punching a particular someone - grits his teeth and sighs loudly. He feels like stamping his feet on the ground, but doesn’t because he’s a cool and mature guy. Cool and mature guys don’t do things like that (only in private when locked up in their rooms and feeling frustrated over getting dumped and or rejected by a hot girl yet again).
“I don't know why you dragged me here, you bastard,” Tasuki says, accusation so evident in his tone that Chichiri's little reverie is broken and he frowns. “You said we'd do something entertaining. But this is cheating - fucking cheating, I tell ya!”
For a second, Chichiri simply sighs - as if he were dealing with a hyperactive little kid.
“I didn't drag you here - you came here out of your own volit- free will,” Chichiri corrects himself, remembering that Tasuki hasn't been quite as eager about reading books as he has been. Which is a shame because Chichiri feels that Tasuki's vocabulary could use a little more register than expletives and “yeah”. Also, he’s just a tad bit too hot-blooded.
Then again, it's that boyish, roguish and hot-blooded nature that makes Tasuki who he is. And Chichiri, though he often feels annoyed at having to save his friend from (potentially) endangering his own existence, knows he wouldn't want Tasuki any other way.
“I thought this would be nice. It's quiet here - one can think.”
That weird stuff again; Tasuki doesn't quite understand what Chichiri always wants to think about: he's not a philosophy student. Then again, they both aren't students yet. In fact, Tasuki doubts he’ll make it this year: he’s only made it through high school because he’s good at studying last minute. However, he doesn’t entirely believe that his minimalism will be enough to make him pass the university entrance exams. Chichiri, of course, doesn’t have this problem since he’s one of those model students who never procrastinate.
Show-off. But he’ll see: I’ll embrace my ronin status with manly pride!
“You can do in a park as well. Or a library. Though libraries are boring as hell,” Tasuki exclaims and holds out a hand before his eyes, observing that he’s already become browner. He really does tan easily.
Chichiri shakes his head. “Yes and no - one can think, but you're never really alone. There are so many people, always so many people.”
“You're so odd,” Tasuki says and grins, despite himself - odd or not, he likes Chichiri for who is. “Even then, you were like this - in this dream or past life thing, you were also like this. But, back then, you wore a mask - and what’s weirder is that you were a monk.”
Chichiri looks at Tasuki, no longer grinning or even remotely smiling. They've rarely spoken about what that. Of course, it's always been there unsaid; they'd both understood it as something that made them different from others. After all, you can hardly call yourself normal if you constantly dream about a past life: not just once or twice, but all the time. And all the time, it’s too real - too tangible.
Chichiri isn’t even sure how they both realised they were the same: it must have been during one of those hot summer nights when they were still small boys and, after reading Akira and drinking too much coke, they’d become light-headed and talked about all sort of things. And, as the talk became more personal, one of them must have brought the dream thing up, expecting to be laughed at - but not understood.
It goes without saying that they were both immensely pleased and that their bond grew much stronger, once they realised just how much they had in common. Yet, they never really brought the dream thing out in the open too often. Maybe because both of them knew that digging too deeply into matters you don’t really understand is rarely a good idea.
“And you were a bandit. Not that it's gotten any better. I'm sure you'd have become a delinquent if it hadn't been for me.”
Tasuki rolls his eyes at that. He doesn’t know where Chichiri gets that from, but - ever since they’ve known each other - he always swears that it’s only him who’s kept him from stealing old ladies’ purses. Which is bullshit, of course: Tasuki - like the much acclaimed Robin Hood - would only steal from people who deserve it.
Sleazy businessmen who are probably involved with the Yakuza.
“Don't pride yourself too much. You'd have been an even worse smartass if it weren't for me,” Tasuki replies and holds out his fist as if wanting to challenge Chichiri to fight him. But Chichiri simply shakes his head and holds out his own - and then, their fists meet in an unspoken agreement.
Tasuki feels like mocking his friend a bit more, but then he thinks of something. It's odd and stupid, but he can't help it. “Say, do you think - if we assume that those dreams aren't dreams, after all - that we'd meet the others again?”
Chichiri smiles - it's not a happy smile, Tasuki immediately notes. “I don't know.”
He'd like to say “yes”, but at eighteen, Chichiri knows better than chasing after childlike fancies. Just like you stop believing in children-eating demons, at some point in life you realise that some things just can't be, no matter how much you want them to happen.
Or them to be true, Chichiri thinks, feeling suddenly nostalgic as he feels his throat getting dry. They should leave this place soon.
“You know, losing them - even if it never happened - felt so fucking real. And sometimes ... “ Tasuki stops, his head spinning; it’s getting hotter - sweat is trickling down his back and it’s filthy. But what’s worse is how he suddenly feels a tad bit nauseous: talking about loss and death is something he’s never handled that well. Maybe because, even though he’s barely an adult yet, Tasuki fears it: the thought of closing your eyes and never waking up again is something that can make him panic if he really ponders over it all.
“Sometimes?” Chichiri asks, though he's fairly certain he knows what Tasuki wants to say. It's not like he's not been thinking about this as well. In this, they’re both similar too: they both can’t let go of things.
“Sometimes I feel the two of us are the last remaining survivors of a weary battle that killed off the best people,” Tasuki says in a half mournful tone, which reminds Chichiri of the fact that - in spite of his brazenness - he’s a thoughtful and vulnerable person, after all. Then again, Chichiri has always known that. After all, everyone wears a mask.
Some of the us , he thinks, are just are less obvious about it.
“And then I wonder why it was us, actually. I mean - no offence, man- but neither of us were particularly important in the dream-world. I mean ... a bandit and a monk? Nothing the the world would cry a river over.”
Neither would a world mourn over two senior students. Then again, what does the world really cry over?
Chichiri, as he stares at the wasteland - its vastness and the fact that it’ll continue to be so tomorrow and the day after tomorrow - realises that the world itself could care less about the deaths of two, twenty or the five billion people. It would still continue to exist.
“Hmm, but then that's the way it is. And maybe we should be happy that we weren't the one who died in that ... dream world. Maybe it's a sign that we should appreciate what we have - together.”
“This sounds so gay,” Tasuki immediately says, but he can’t help feeling a bit happy about that. No, he’s not in love with Chichiri or something like that, but the prospect of always having him at his side is comforting. Like this, Tasuki knows that he’ll able to face a lot in life. “I’ll be happy to do things together with you - as long as you don’t attempt anything funny. And stop talking so oddly.”
Chichiri suddenly feels like laughing - leave it to Tasuki to interpret serious talk as being gay. Then again, he’s willing to admit that what he said was slightly cliche and odd, after all.
Time to stop being so serious, Chichiri decides.
“Say ... I think there’s something we should do - something fun!”
Tasuki immediately stares at him, all seriousness etched away from his face. Chichiri smiles: that boy has and always will remain excitable. “We should, during the holidays now, go on a road trip - just course through the country and be free men.”
“Alright - but only if you promise not to drag me to another place like this.”
Then, Tasuki laughs. And Chichiri, though he’s just been mocked, does so too.
...
Word Count: 1852
Prompt: Fushigi Yuugi, Chichiri/Tasuki: road trip - we'll take this never-ending journey together.
Warning(s): Possibly OOC. Set in the modern world. Profanity. Too much philosophical pondering? Title is not necessarily connected to the story. I chose because it sounded good. If you’re expecting slash, you’ll be unavoidably disappointed because this is a gen/friendship fic.
A/N: Geh, I’m not very happy about this. I feel this takes on too much flavour of an original fic, but then it’s what my mind came up with. I might rewrite this, in fact, if the prompter wants me to?
For simplicity’s sake, I refer to Tasuki and Chichiri as such, even though it’s more than likely that they’d go under different names.
...
Everything ahead of and behind him is nothing but a great wasteland: everywhere he looks he just sees barren landscapes and yellow dust. Not one fleck of green anywhere: it’s as if the world were on the brink of an apocalypse. Tasuki feels cheated; the dust is obstructing his sight and he feels tears forming because it's fucking getting into his eyes.
Hell, it’s depressing and Tasuki is not someone who’s prone to such emotions. But he thinks that standing here too long would make anyone feel like jumping off a cliff.
If I wanted to see dust and nothingness, I could just as well have booked a flight to the Sahara Desert , Tasuki thinks angrily, remembering how he'd actually looked forward to this. Hell, he'd even smashed his piggy bank in the hopes of buying some new video games and doing something fun. He feels that, in the past few months - what with exams and cram school - they haven’t really been having much of that.
But there's nothing fun about this shit: what can he do here, other than leaning against the door of the car and stare at the great expanse of the never-ending waste and dust? It’s not only depressing, but boring.
It’s be cool if they’d brought beer with them, but a) they’re underage and b) in this hot weather, it’d not have been fun to drink alcoholic beverage anyway.
The worst thing about this whole thing is that Chichiri is grinning like a madman; it's evident that for some inane reason he's actually enjoying this - then again, he always enjoys weird things, like reading books by Confucius (boring) or meditation (just plain weird).
And Tasuki - who can barely keep himself from punching a particular someone - grits his teeth and sighs loudly. He feels like stamping his feet on the ground, but doesn’t because he’s a cool and mature guy. Cool and mature guys don’t do things like that (only in private when locked up in their rooms and feeling frustrated over getting dumped and or rejected by a hot girl yet again).
“I don't know why you dragged me here, you bastard,” Tasuki says, accusation so evident in his tone that Chichiri's little reverie is broken and he frowns. “You said we'd do something entertaining. But this is cheating - fucking cheating, I tell ya!”
For a second, Chichiri simply sighs - as if he were dealing with a hyperactive little kid.
“I didn't drag you here - you came here out of your own volit- free will,” Chichiri corrects himself, remembering that Tasuki hasn't been quite as eager about reading books as he has been. Which is a shame because Chichiri feels that Tasuki's vocabulary could use a little more register than expletives and “yeah”. Also, he’s just a tad bit too hot-blooded.
Then again, it's that boyish, roguish and hot-blooded nature that makes Tasuki who he is. And Chichiri, though he often feels annoyed at having to save his friend from (potentially) endangering his own existence, knows he wouldn't want Tasuki any other way.
“I thought this would be nice. It's quiet here - one can think.”
That weird stuff again; Tasuki doesn't quite understand what Chichiri always wants to think about: he's not a philosophy student. Then again, they both aren't students yet. In fact, Tasuki doubts he’ll make it this year: he’s only made it through high school because he’s good at studying last minute. However, he doesn’t entirely believe that his minimalism will be enough to make him pass the university entrance exams. Chichiri, of course, doesn’t have this problem since he’s one of those model students who never procrastinate.
Show-off. But he’ll see: I’ll embrace my ronin status with manly pride!
“You can do in a park as well. Or a library. Though libraries are boring as hell,” Tasuki exclaims and holds out a hand before his eyes, observing that he’s already become browner. He really does tan easily.
Chichiri shakes his head. “Yes and no - one can think, but you're never really alone. There are so many people, always so many people.”
“You're so odd,” Tasuki says and grins, despite himself - odd or not, he likes Chichiri for who is. “Even then, you were like this - in this dream or past life thing, you were also like this. But, back then, you wore a mask - and what’s weirder is that you were a monk.”
Chichiri looks at Tasuki, no longer grinning or even remotely smiling. They've rarely spoken about what that. Of course, it's always been there unsaid; they'd both understood it as something that made them different from others. After all, you can hardly call yourself normal if you constantly dream about a past life: not just once or twice, but all the time. And all the time, it’s too real - too tangible.
Chichiri isn’t even sure how they both realised they were the same: it must have been during one of those hot summer nights when they were still small boys and, after reading Akira and drinking too much coke, they’d become light-headed and talked about all sort of things. And, as the talk became more personal, one of them must have brought the dream thing up, expecting to be laughed at - but not understood.
It goes without saying that they were both immensely pleased and that their bond grew much stronger, once they realised just how much they had in common. Yet, they never really brought the dream thing out in the open too often. Maybe because both of them knew that digging too deeply into matters you don’t really understand is rarely a good idea.
“And you were a bandit. Not that it's gotten any better. I'm sure you'd have become a delinquent if it hadn't been for me.”
Tasuki rolls his eyes at that. He doesn’t know where Chichiri gets that from, but - ever since they’ve known each other - he always swears that it’s only him who’s kept him from stealing old ladies’ purses. Which is bullshit, of course: Tasuki - like the much acclaimed Robin Hood - would only steal from people who deserve it.
Sleazy businessmen who are probably involved with the Yakuza.
“Don't pride yourself too much. You'd have been an even worse smartass if it weren't for me,” Tasuki replies and holds out his fist as if wanting to challenge Chichiri to fight him. But Chichiri simply shakes his head and holds out his own - and then, their fists meet in an unspoken agreement.
Tasuki feels like mocking his friend a bit more, but then he thinks of something. It's odd and stupid, but he can't help it. “Say, do you think - if we assume that those dreams aren't dreams, after all - that we'd meet the others again?”
Chichiri smiles - it's not a happy smile, Tasuki immediately notes. “I don't know.”
He'd like to say “yes”, but at eighteen, Chichiri knows better than chasing after childlike fancies. Just like you stop believing in children-eating demons, at some point in life you realise that some things just can't be, no matter how much you want them to happen.
Or them to be true, Chichiri thinks, feeling suddenly nostalgic as he feels his throat getting dry. They should leave this place soon.
“You know, losing them - even if it never happened - felt so fucking real. And sometimes ... “ Tasuki stops, his head spinning; it’s getting hotter - sweat is trickling down his back and it’s filthy. But what’s worse is how he suddenly feels a tad bit nauseous: talking about loss and death is something he’s never handled that well. Maybe because, even though he’s barely an adult yet, Tasuki fears it: the thought of closing your eyes and never waking up again is something that can make him panic if he really ponders over it all.
“Sometimes?” Chichiri asks, though he's fairly certain he knows what Tasuki wants to say. It's not like he's not been thinking about this as well. In this, they’re both similar too: they both can’t let go of things.
“Sometimes I feel the two of us are the last remaining survivors of a weary battle that killed off the best people,” Tasuki says in a half mournful tone, which reminds Chichiri of the fact that - in spite of his brazenness - he’s a thoughtful and vulnerable person, after all. Then again, Chichiri has always known that. After all, everyone wears a mask.
Some of the us , he thinks, are just are less obvious about it.
“And then I wonder why it was us, actually. I mean - no offence, man- but neither of us were particularly important in the dream-world. I mean ... a bandit and a monk? Nothing the the world would cry a river over.”
Neither would a world mourn over two senior students. Then again, what does the world really cry over?
Chichiri, as he stares at the wasteland - its vastness and the fact that it’ll continue to be so tomorrow and the day after tomorrow - realises that the world itself could care less about the deaths of two, twenty or the five billion people. It would still continue to exist.
“Hmm, but then that's the way it is. And maybe we should be happy that we weren't the one who died in that ... dream world. Maybe it's a sign that we should appreciate what we have - together.”
“This sounds so gay,” Tasuki immediately says, but he can’t help feeling a bit happy about that. No, he’s not in love with Chichiri or something like that, but the prospect of always having him at his side is comforting. Like this, Tasuki knows that he’ll able to face a lot in life. “I’ll be happy to do things together with you - as long as you don’t attempt anything funny. And stop talking so oddly.”
Chichiri suddenly feels like laughing - leave it to Tasuki to interpret serious talk as being gay. Then again, he’s willing to admit that what he said was slightly cliche and odd, after all.
Time to stop being so serious, Chichiri decides.
“Say ... I think there’s something we should do - something fun!”
Tasuki immediately stares at him, all seriousness etched away from his face. Chichiri smiles: that boy has and always will remain excitable. “We should, during the holidays now, go on a road trip - just course through the country and be free men.”
“Alright - but only if you promise not to drag me to another place like this.”
Then, Tasuki laughs. And Chichiri, though he’s just been mocked, does so too.
...