[fic] Uncharted, Yami no Matsuei
i suspect i am recycling my lines again. or even stealing the lines of others, however unwittingly. >_. but february is ending and i feel like i should have something to show for it. so.
Title: Uncharted
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
And what is space anyway if not the
body's absence at every given
point?
-- Joseph Brodsky, To Urania
If Meifu is a mirror of the living world, then the same maps should apply. But time moves differently, even if space is easily copied; sometimes a map is not enough to lead you the right way.
(One would think that years are meaningless when bodies fail to age, and when the cherry trees are always in bloom. But then, Tsuzuki has been in Meifu for over seventy years - he tries not to keep count - and by now he knows that even if time moves differently, it passes all the same.)
Hisoka is not fond of contact. Tsuzuki knows this, and though he is no good at measuring distances, he tries.
Still, Tsuzuki is not the calculating sort, as Tatsumi never fails to point out whenever he runs up another pastry bill of unseemly length. And in any case topography is not the same as cartography, so even if Tsuzuki understands how time works in Meifu -- not that he does, or that he even tries to -- he cannot reduce it to numbers and co-ordinates. Tatsumi is the one who measures distances, who measures everything: the ideal length of a pause before a response, the exact pressure of a comforting hand on one's shoulder.
Theoretically speaking, at least. Sometimes it is hard for Tsuzuki to remember.
(Once, at the end of a mission: Tsuzuki glanced up, for no real reason, and discovered that Tokyo's light pollution did not quite blot out all the stars.
A few seconds later Tatsumi turned around, wondering why his partner had stopped walking; and perhaps he was in a pleasant mood because the mission had gone well, or perhaps it was enough that this happened early in the partnership, before Tsuzuki's guilt caught up with both of them -- but in any case, Tatsumi sighed and went over and pointed out the major constellations to Tsuzuki, tracing lines between unrelated points of light.
And that was Tatsumi as he has always been: making constellations out of stars, giving names to pieces of the sky.)
He could say: Tatsumi, predictable and unwavering as a compass needle. Or: Tatsumi, self-contained as a mathematical law. Tatsumi, precise as the distance between two points, plotted neatly on a graph. And other similes, as appropriate as Tsuzuki can make them: Tatsumi with his calculator, Tatsumi who knows the price of everything they have -- and, of course, the cost of everything that they do not. But none of those would be correct; or, at least, none of those would be true.
"Aren't you bored, Hisoka? Let's go to the human world, just for a while."
Hisoka rolls his eyes, and leafs through the assorted papers on his desk.
"Oh, Hisoka, stop being so boring." Tsuzuki smiles, suddenly and childishly enthusiastic, though Hisoka is staring steadily at the desk calendar and trying not to be swayed. "No one will notice! I bet it's a lovely afternoon over there. We can have some tea -- tea and cakes, and then we can walk along the river, and find a friendly green field where we can lie back and watch the clouds--"
"And get grass stains on our clothes," Hisoka says, "and be lectured by Tatsumi when we get back. The sun will be in our eyes all the time, so we'll have to squint to see anything, and people will stare at us and wonder if we're insane."
"Yes," Tsuzuki says happily. "Come on."
He grabs Hisoka's sleeve. Hisoka sighs but does not protest, and Tsuzuki's smile widens, and then they are off: out of the office, down the stairs, away from Meifu before Chief Konoe can spot them, leaving behind cherry blossoms for the lazy warmth of a summer afternoon.
(Tsuzuki thinks: they will buy ice-cream. And feed pigeons. And stroll the streets, waiting for sunset; and watch the stars appear, and not wonder what they are named.)
Title: Uncharted
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
And what is space anyway if not the
body's absence at every given
point?
-- Joseph Brodsky, To Urania
If Meifu is a mirror of the living world, then the same maps should apply. But time moves differently, even if space is easily copied; sometimes a map is not enough to lead you the right way.
(One would think that years are meaningless when bodies fail to age, and when the cherry trees are always in bloom. But then, Tsuzuki has been in Meifu for over seventy years - he tries not to keep count - and by now he knows that even if time moves differently, it passes all the same.)
Hisoka is not fond of contact. Tsuzuki knows this, and though he is no good at measuring distances, he tries.
Still, Tsuzuki is not the calculating sort, as Tatsumi never fails to point out whenever he runs up another pastry bill of unseemly length. And in any case topography is not the same as cartography, so even if Tsuzuki understands how time works in Meifu -- not that he does, or that he even tries to -- he cannot reduce it to numbers and co-ordinates. Tatsumi is the one who measures distances, who measures everything: the ideal length of a pause before a response, the exact pressure of a comforting hand on one's shoulder.
Theoretically speaking, at least. Sometimes it is hard for Tsuzuki to remember.
(Once, at the end of a mission: Tsuzuki glanced up, for no real reason, and discovered that Tokyo's light pollution did not quite blot out all the stars.
A few seconds later Tatsumi turned around, wondering why his partner had stopped walking; and perhaps he was in a pleasant mood because the mission had gone well, or perhaps it was enough that this happened early in the partnership, before Tsuzuki's guilt caught up with both of them -- but in any case, Tatsumi sighed and went over and pointed out the major constellations to Tsuzuki, tracing lines between unrelated points of light.
And that was Tatsumi as he has always been: making constellations out of stars, giving names to pieces of the sky.)
He could say: Tatsumi, predictable and unwavering as a compass needle. Or: Tatsumi, self-contained as a mathematical law. Tatsumi, precise as the distance between two points, plotted neatly on a graph. And other similes, as appropriate as Tsuzuki can make them: Tatsumi with his calculator, Tatsumi who knows the price of everything they have -- and, of course, the cost of everything that they do not. But none of those would be correct; or, at least, none of those would be true.
"Aren't you bored, Hisoka? Let's go to the human world, just for a while."
Hisoka rolls his eyes, and leafs through the assorted papers on his desk.
"Oh, Hisoka, stop being so boring." Tsuzuki smiles, suddenly and childishly enthusiastic, though Hisoka is staring steadily at the desk calendar and trying not to be swayed. "No one will notice! I bet it's a lovely afternoon over there. We can have some tea -- tea and cakes, and then we can walk along the river, and find a friendly green field where we can lie back and watch the clouds--"
"And get grass stains on our clothes," Hisoka says, "and be lectured by Tatsumi when we get back. The sun will be in our eyes all the time, so we'll have to squint to see anything, and people will stare at us and wonder if we're insane."
"Yes," Tsuzuki says happily. "Come on."
He grabs Hisoka's sleeve. Hisoka sighs but does not protest, and Tsuzuki's smile widens, and then they are off: out of the office, down the stairs, away from Meifu before Chief Konoe can spot them, leaving behind cherry blossoms for the lazy warmth of a summer afternoon.
(Tsuzuki thinks: they will buy ice-cream. And feed pigeons. And stroll the streets, waiting for sunset; and watch the stars appear, and not wonder what they are named.)