do you dream about music or mathematics
Challenge: Dreams
Canon: Manga
Rating: G
Genre: Character study
Words: 1,000-ish
Summary: After Fujitaka receives his inheritance, he and Eriol find themselves in a familiar place.
Note: Yes, it's posted after the new challenge went up, but it's still Thursday and I'd feel bad not answering my own challenge!
Part 1: Clow
He presses a finger to his lips and sucks thoughtfully at the dab of honey; tastes the rich sweetness with faint floral hints - wisteria and English rose. All the delicate blooms of his garden, each with their own meaning. Pale pink sakura for the young girl with green eyes, bight sunflowers for Keroberos, who was never one for subtlety, and night-blooming jasmine for Yue, who could breathe in subtlety like the heady scent of his favorite blossoms.
He frowns a bit at that, glances down at a bunch of rosemary he had plucked for the potatoes. Remembrance you'll have enough of, he thinks, his shoulders shrugging with a deep sigh. With the back of his hand, he brushes a stray hair from his eyes before giving the delicate sugar icing. Keroberos and Yue, both dozing in the lazy summer sunlight, will be most put out when they hear he has had tea and cake without their company, but this is an occasion for only the three of them - if they could be said to be three.
The cake is still warm, and the white icing drizzles down its sides as he tips the delicate bowl over the golden brown cake that smells so richly of honey. He picks up the platter, an elegant bone china, and smiles kindly at the pair of bespectacled blue eyes that peer at him intently from the doorway.
"Sit down, Eriol. You're right on time.."
Part 2: Eriol
At first he isn't certain he's crossed the threshold; so many thing in his life are, consciously or unconsciously, patterned on the old. Though there is the constant, the musty scent of books and dust and leather, the descant is different - the scent of honey and flowers and the faint aroma of tea. But Kaho is in London and Nakuru is away at university - and Spinel is not one for baking.
He pushes himself out of a ridiculously comfortable chair, his hand brushing against the book on the table next to him. The arcane symbols carved on the cover hint at familiarity; he wouldn't be surprised to wake up and find this very tome on his shelves. Blowing away a fine cloud of dust, he opens the book and finds nothing. An endless see of pristine pages, fluttering like birds beneath his hand.
Curious, he takes the book and cradles it to his chest, following the tantalizing scent out of the library and into the kitchen. A few details are different; a lampshade is crimson, not blue, a table is nestled up against a window looking out into the garden. The creak of the door interrupts his reverie, and a man with tousled brown hair and familiar kind eyes enters. He looks rather bewildered behind his spectacles, clutching a riotous bouquet of flowers in his arms.
"I think we're wanted in the kitchen, Kinomoto-sensei," he says in a gentle voice. "It's just this way, if you remember."
Part 3: Fujitaka
He remembers.
He remembers these heady scents, he remembers the feel of the summer sun, warm against his skin, the rush of happiness at watching things grow. He can't put these feelings in the context of a memory, can't make them any more specific than this deja vu, no matter how intense. But he remembers this place, surrounded by blossoms and herbs and trees, remembers the lion and angel sleeping just past his feet.
Pink petals brush against his face, whisper soft, and he instantly recognizes their sweet scent. He holds out his hand, and a few of the sakura fall into his outstretched palm. The petals have iridescence about them, a bright glow that warms his skin. He thinks of his daughter, thinks of her smile and luminous spirit, and he smiles.
Beyond the blossoming sakura, he sees one tree is struggling, its blossoms faded and brown, many of them littering the grass beneath its boughs. Petals still cradled in his hand, he walks to the ailing peach tree with unease, but as he touches one of the branches, he feels the thrum of life yet in the tree, muted but growing stronger. He sees the new growths, the red shoots and buds just waiting to bloom again, and his heart is settled.
Another flutter comes into his chest as he sees a tender nadeshiko push out of the thick grass and unfurl into the achingly familiar pink flower. Another follows, and another, and soon the ground beneath his feet is encircled by a ring of pinks. He kneels down and brushes his fingers against the petals, the most delicate of smiles coming to his lips as he gathers a bouquet. Carefully stepping over the blooms, he regards the strange but familiar manor in front of him, sees a door exactly where be feels a door should be. The wisteria tree near the door, however, simply seems strange.
Before he can reach out to touch the purple blossoms, the tree bursts into flames, tongues of fire licking along the branches and petals, but nothing burns, nothing is yet consumed, even though he can feel the heat rolling off the tree in waves. Eyes wide, he rushes to the door and flings it open, to tell the master of the house of the calamity in the garden. But he only finds a child, holding a musty tome in his arms, regarding him with a reassuring gaze. He says they're needed in the kitchen, and in this world of illogic, the statement makes complete sense. It is perhaps the only sane thing. Eriol steps into the kitchen doorway, and is greeted by a kind voice that jars something deep inside him, like a bell. He hears his name, a curious lilt to it, and he steps into the kitchen, into the world of the blank book and the burning flowers.
"Eriol will cut the cake for us," the man says, tilting his head and smiling warmly. "There's a vase on the counter you can put those lovely flowers in while I serve the tea. I imagine you both have many questions."
Dream symbols:
House: The house represents the self, and the kitchen often represents our core self.
Book: Books represent knowledge and wisdom.
Fire: Fire represents change.
Canon: Manga
Rating: G
Genre: Character study
Words: 1,000-ish
Summary: After Fujitaka receives his inheritance, he and Eriol find themselves in a familiar place.
Note: Yes, it's posted after the new challenge went up, but it's still Thursday and I'd feel bad not answering my own challenge!
Part 1: Clow
He presses a finger to his lips and sucks thoughtfully at the dab of honey; tastes the rich sweetness with faint floral hints - wisteria and English rose. All the delicate blooms of his garden, each with their own meaning. Pale pink sakura for the young girl with green eyes, bight sunflowers for Keroberos, who was never one for subtlety, and night-blooming jasmine for Yue, who could breathe in subtlety like the heady scent of his favorite blossoms.
He frowns a bit at that, glances down at a bunch of rosemary he had plucked for the potatoes. Remembrance you'll have enough of, he thinks, his shoulders shrugging with a deep sigh. With the back of his hand, he brushes a stray hair from his eyes before giving the delicate sugar icing. Keroberos and Yue, both dozing in the lazy summer sunlight, will be most put out when they hear he has had tea and cake without their company, but this is an occasion for only the three of them - if they could be said to be three.
The cake is still warm, and the white icing drizzles down its sides as he tips the delicate bowl over the golden brown cake that smells so richly of honey. He picks up the platter, an elegant bone china, and smiles kindly at the pair of bespectacled blue eyes that peer at him intently from the doorway.
"Sit down, Eriol. You're right on time.."
Part 2: Eriol
At first he isn't certain he's crossed the threshold; so many thing in his life are, consciously or unconsciously, patterned on the old. Though there is the constant, the musty scent of books and dust and leather, the descant is different - the scent of honey and flowers and the faint aroma of tea. But Kaho is in London and Nakuru is away at university - and Spinel is not one for baking.
He pushes himself out of a ridiculously comfortable chair, his hand brushing against the book on the table next to him. The arcane symbols carved on the cover hint at familiarity; he wouldn't be surprised to wake up and find this very tome on his shelves. Blowing away a fine cloud of dust, he opens the book and finds nothing. An endless see of pristine pages, fluttering like birds beneath his hand.
Curious, he takes the book and cradles it to his chest, following the tantalizing scent out of the library and into the kitchen. A few details are different; a lampshade is crimson, not blue, a table is nestled up against a window looking out into the garden. The creak of the door interrupts his reverie, and a man with tousled brown hair and familiar kind eyes enters. He looks rather bewildered behind his spectacles, clutching a riotous bouquet of flowers in his arms.
"I think we're wanted in the kitchen, Kinomoto-sensei," he says in a gentle voice. "It's just this way, if you remember."
Part 3: Fujitaka
He remembers.
He remembers these heady scents, he remembers the feel of the summer sun, warm against his skin, the rush of happiness at watching things grow. He can't put these feelings in the context of a memory, can't make them any more specific than this deja vu, no matter how intense. But he remembers this place, surrounded by blossoms and herbs and trees, remembers the lion and angel sleeping just past his feet.
Pink petals brush against his face, whisper soft, and he instantly recognizes their sweet scent. He holds out his hand, and a few of the sakura fall into his outstretched palm. The petals have iridescence about them, a bright glow that warms his skin. He thinks of his daughter, thinks of her smile and luminous spirit, and he smiles.
Beyond the blossoming sakura, he sees one tree is struggling, its blossoms faded and brown, many of them littering the grass beneath its boughs. Petals still cradled in his hand, he walks to the ailing peach tree with unease, but as he touches one of the branches, he feels the thrum of life yet in the tree, muted but growing stronger. He sees the new growths, the red shoots and buds just waiting to bloom again, and his heart is settled.
Another flutter comes into his chest as he sees a tender nadeshiko push out of the thick grass and unfurl into the achingly familiar pink flower. Another follows, and another, and soon the ground beneath his feet is encircled by a ring of pinks. He kneels down and brushes his fingers against the petals, the most delicate of smiles coming to his lips as he gathers a bouquet. Carefully stepping over the blooms, he regards the strange but familiar manor in front of him, sees a door exactly where be feels a door should be. The wisteria tree near the door, however, simply seems strange.
Before he can reach out to touch the purple blossoms, the tree bursts into flames, tongues of fire licking along the branches and petals, but nothing burns, nothing is yet consumed, even though he can feel the heat rolling off the tree in waves. Eyes wide, he rushes to the door and flings it open, to tell the master of the house of the calamity in the garden. But he only finds a child, holding a musty tome in his arms, regarding him with a reassuring gaze. He says they're needed in the kitchen, and in this world of illogic, the statement makes complete sense. It is perhaps the only sane thing. Eriol steps into the kitchen doorway, and is greeted by a kind voice that jars something deep inside him, like a bell. He hears his name, a curious lilt to it, and he steps into the kitchen, into the world of the blank book and the burning flowers.
"Eriol will cut the cake for us," the man says, tilting his head and smiling warmly. "There's a vase on the counter you can put those lovely flowers in while I serve the tea. I imagine you both have many questions."
Dream symbols:
House: The house represents the self, and the kitchen often represents our core self.
Book: Books represent knowledge and wisdom.
Fire: Fire represents change.