[May 2] [Mushishi] thrall
Title: thrall
Day/Theme: May 2: one by one the nights will fall
Series: Mushishi
Character/Pairing: Ginko
Rating: G
While it lasted, he did not realize how long he sat there watching the foxes chase each other across the clearing. There was no sign of the passing of days as each long white fox-tail faded into long white fox-face following close behind, broken only here and there by the shadow of an overhanging leaf, a branch, a root, things that belonged to the real world, that were only as shadows here. He forgot even to relight his cigarette when it went out, which, as Adashino pointed out later, was a blessing. “Otherwise you would have tried to light your own fingers once you ran out of smokes.”
“Shit,” he said, when the thrall lifted, the foxes raised their sharp heads and barked in quick staccato succession and then - vanished. After the length of time he’d spent gazing at the luminous half-light of their white bodies, the dark hurt his eyes. His body ached from the ribs downward, fell over when he tried to stand. From the cramp in his legs it felt like he’d only been there a few hours, but he figured, by the stars he could see in between the trees, it had been more like a week. It was dark - it had been dark, when he’d put his pack down, but already he saw industrious cobwebs stretched from its wooden struts, like so many long gossamer fingers reaching out for solid ground. He broke them all off and lit a fresh cigarette. The one in his mouth had gone cold a long time ago; he rinsed vigorously in the stream, but the sour taste of stale tobacco lingered in between his teeth, he couldn’t keep his mouth from curling.
He shouldered the pack, gingerly, shifting from foot to foot to see if his back would snap from the sudden pressure. It didn’t. “Great,” he said out loud. Some distance away there was a dry rustling of leaves, a thin giggling as if drawn out through a long snout. He looked for it, knowing he would only see it if it wanted to be seen. Between long shadow-black trunks, out of the bushes, it smiled at him - a long white grin, below long yellow eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked. “It’s not like I’ve ever offended any of you.”
“You only stayed to watch because you thought we were mushi,” it said. “That’s offensive.”
“Well - true. Sorry.”
“Didn’t you see our shrine on your way in?”
“Are you trying to get me to make an offering?” he asked in some amusement.
“If you feel like it.” The grin disappeared; the eyes remained, then shut, and the bushes rustled suddenly as if with a toss of a proud, unseen head. “No matter; we’ve had our fun. At least, they have.”
“Oh, have they,” he said. “What about you?”
“You shouldn’t travel all alone like you do,” the fox spirit said. “Think of all those evil spirits you can’t see, that might hurt you! These things can do a lot worse than stealing a week of your life, you know. No, I’ve decided I’ll haunt you a bit, to remind you that not all strange things on heaven and earth can be dismissed as mushi.”
“Oi, oi, I never once said--”
“You don’t have to say it, mushi-man. I just feel you need reminding.” Both eyes reappeared, then, as he stared suspiciously at them, one winked out for a brief second. “Between you and me, and the open road.”
“It’s only me and mushi, and the open road,” he corrected. But the eyes were gone, the leaves didn’t even rustle, he stood alone with the pack on his back and coat in hand and the smoke from his cigarette curling upwards, marking a lazy path to the half-moon. In the air there was already the faint salt smell of the sea; he must have been close to the edge of the forest, when he ran into the foxes. An urgent bumping in one of the pack’s drawers; he started, realized it was the drawer housing the letter-coccoon, ran his fingers through matted white hair. “Shit,” he said, “one whole week, Adashino’s going to be really pissed.”
All the way to the seaside village, until the sound of the waves was loud enough to drown it, a soft and elegant laughter followed him, a sound on the very edge of sound.
Day/Theme: May 2: one by one the nights will fall
Series: Mushishi
Character/Pairing: Ginko
Rating: G
While it lasted, he did not realize how long he sat there watching the foxes chase each other across the clearing. There was no sign of the passing of days as each long white fox-tail faded into long white fox-face following close behind, broken only here and there by the shadow of an overhanging leaf, a branch, a root, things that belonged to the real world, that were only as shadows here. He forgot even to relight his cigarette when it went out, which, as Adashino pointed out later, was a blessing. “Otherwise you would have tried to light your own fingers once you ran out of smokes.”
“Shit,” he said, when the thrall lifted, the foxes raised their sharp heads and barked in quick staccato succession and then - vanished. After the length of time he’d spent gazing at the luminous half-light of their white bodies, the dark hurt his eyes. His body ached from the ribs downward, fell over when he tried to stand. From the cramp in his legs it felt like he’d only been there a few hours, but he figured, by the stars he could see in between the trees, it had been more like a week. It was dark - it had been dark, when he’d put his pack down, but already he saw industrious cobwebs stretched from its wooden struts, like so many long gossamer fingers reaching out for solid ground. He broke them all off and lit a fresh cigarette. The one in his mouth had gone cold a long time ago; he rinsed vigorously in the stream, but the sour taste of stale tobacco lingered in between his teeth, he couldn’t keep his mouth from curling.
He shouldered the pack, gingerly, shifting from foot to foot to see if his back would snap from the sudden pressure. It didn’t. “Great,” he said out loud. Some distance away there was a dry rustling of leaves, a thin giggling as if drawn out through a long snout. He looked for it, knowing he would only see it if it wanted to be seen. Between long shadow-black trunks, out of the bushes, it smiled at him - a long white grin, below long yellow eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked. “It’s not like I’ve ever offended any of you.”
“You only stayed to watch because you thought we were mushi,” it said. “That’s offensive.”
“Well - true. Sorry.”
“Didn’t you see our shrine on your way in?”
“Are you trying to get me to make an offering?” he asked in some amusement.
“If you feel like it.” The grin disappeared; the eyes remained, then shut, and the bushes rustled suddenly as if with a toss of a proud, unseen head. “No matter; we’ve had our fun. At least, they have.”
“Oh, have they,” he said. “What about you?”
“You shouldn’t travel all alone like you do,” the fox spirit said. “Think of all those evil spirits you can’t see, that might hurt you! These things can do a lot worse than stealing a week of your life, you know. No, I’ve decided I’ll haunt you a bit, to remind you that not all strange things on heaven and earth can be dismissed as mushi.”
“Oi, oi, I never once said--”
“You don’t have to say it, mushi-man. I just feel you need reminding.” Both eyes reappeared, then, as he stared suspiciously at them, one winked out for a brief second. “Between you and me, and the open road.”
“It’s only me and mushi, and the open road,” he corrected. But the eyes were gone, the leaves didn’t even rustle, he stood alone with the pack on his back and coat in hand and the smoke from his cigarette curling upwards, marking a lazy path to the half-moon. In the air there was already the faint salt smell of the sea; he must have been close to the edge of the forest, when he ran into the foxes. An urgent bumping in one of the pack’s drawers; he started, realized it was the drawer housing the letter-coccoon, ran his fingers through matted white hair. “Shit,” he said, “one whole week, Adashino’s going to be really pissed.”
All the way to the seaside village, until the sound of the waves was loud enough to drown it, a soft and elegant laughter followed him, a sound on the very edge of sound.