[wavell]
REFLECTIONS FROM A TIN-FOIL MOON
by macey_muse
“I know this isn’t real, you know.”
The go-ban in front of him is plain but fine in quality, kaya surface rippled with veins but still - he reaches out - perfectly smooth to the touch.
“You don’t exist, do you?”
The stones are equally smooth, clinking between his fingers, cool despite spring sunlight.
“Why am I here?”
“Onegai shimasu.”
He doesn’t ask ‘Who are you?’; he doesn’t need to ask. There’s only one person it could be. Instead, “Do you even know how many times I’ve held back from asking?”
“Onegai shimasu, Touya Akira.”
“Fine.”
Two stones on the board. The sound they make as they strike the wood is as rich and as hollow as he has come to expect. Opposite him, the white pieces slide to the side - five. He passes the go-ke across the wood, exchanging it for the other with smooth motions. Their fingers don’t brush.
His opponent claims a kosumi.
He responds in the lower right - his opponent secures his own corner. He advances to the upper right. The moves are as familiar as the texture of glass beneath his fingers. If he took a piece and smashed it against a rock, it would shatter, probably slicing the delicate skin of his fingertips into thin, red slivers. He is suddenly, ridiculously tempted.
But. “You’re not mocking me, are you.” There’s no sense of laughter, cruel or otherwise, in the oddly weighted air.
“There are things that need to be shown.”
“And I’m the person you choose?”
There are sakura petals falling, pale against green grass and golden wood. He doesn’t need to watch the game - it will play out as it does, inevitable as the blossoms tumbling around them. Inevitable, perhaps, as waves eating into some distant riverbank, carving bites out of the countryside. Inexorable.
“Why me? Why this game, why now?” Why did you leave him; how do you exist; why can’t he -
“I never meant to hurt anyone.” It might be wistful, but the voice is indistinct, and hard to make out.
His opponent’s hands are long and graceful, his voice cultured and gracious. The go embodied in black-on-brown has never been anything less than crushing, for all that this may be its second playing.
“I don’t think that really matters, does it?” You did hurt someone. You left him alone. But you left him to me.
Pa-chi, and another stone echoes into place.
“No.”
Pa-chi.
“So - does this meeting even have a purpose?” Your Go is majestic, but this game has been played so many times -
“Not everything is permitted that luxury.”
Pa-chi.
The sound is all the louder for the complete lack of life here.
“My father - ” He left the pros for you, he doesn’t say. He abandoned his world, just on the chance that maybe, one day…
“I have played my allotted games.”
“Then how - ”
“I might not be allowed any new ones, but - my memories are intact, and this game has been a treasured one to me.”
“I see.”
Pa-chi - and they are nearing the point, he recalls, when the weight of that gaze became too great to bear. He doesn’t try to slow their dance.
“Would you have me pass on a message?” To either of them.
It really is a remarkably idyllic scene. The sun is not hot enough to cause discomfort, and the sakura tree provides enough shadow to obscure his opponent with its dapples, whilst beneath them, the grass is soft and dry.
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
Pa-chi.
“He misses you.” Strangely, in this place, it slips out freely. It is a truth; it has been admitted; it can change nothing.
Although there are no birds in this land, the trees still rustle gently with the breeze. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the rushing of a river.
“I know.”
“Makemashita.”
by macey_muse
“I know this isn’t real, you know.”
The go-ban in front of him is plain but fine in quality, kaya surface rippled with veins but still - he reaches out - perfectly smooth to the touch.
“You don’t exist, do you?”
The stones are equally smooth, clinking between his fingers, cool despite spring sunlight.
“Why am I here?”
“Onegai shimasu.”
He doesn’t ask ‘Who are you?’; he doesn’t need to ask. There’s only one person it could be. Instead, “Do you even know how many times I’ve held back from asking?”
“Onegai shimasu, Touya Akira.”
“Fine.”
Two stones on the board. The sound they make as they strike the wood is as rich and as hollow as he has come to expect. Opposite him, the white pieces slide to the side - five. He passes the go-ke across the wood, exchanging it for the other with smooth motions. Their fingers don’t brush.
His opponent claims a kosumi.
He responds in the lower right - his opponent secures his own corner. He advances to the upper right. The moves are as familiar as the texture of glass beneath his fingers. If he took a piece and smashed it against a rock, it would shatter, probably slicing the delicate skin of his fingertips into thin, red slivers. He is suddenly, ridiculously tempted.
But. “You’re not mocking me, are you.” There’s no sense of laughter, cruel or otherwise, in the oddly weighted air.
“There are things that need to be shown.”
“And I’m the person you choose?”
There are sakura petals falling, pale against green grass and golden wood. He doesn’t need to watch the game - it will play out as it does, inevitable as the blossoms tumbling around them. Inevitable, perhaps, as waves eating into some distant riverbank, carving bites out of the countryside. Inexorable.
“Why me? Why this game, why now?” Why did you leave him; how do you exist; why can’t he -
“I never meant to hurt anyone.” It might be wistful, but the voice is indistinct, and hard to make out.
His opponent’s hands are long and graceful, his voice cultured and gracious. The go embodied in black-on-brown has never been anything less than crushing, for all that this may be its second playing.
“I don’t think that really matters, does it?” You did hurt someone. You left him alone. But you left him to me.
Pa-chi, and another stone echoes into place.
“No.”
Pa-chi.
“So - does this meeting even have a purpose?” Your Go is majestic, but this game has been played so many times -
“Not everything is permitted that luxury.”
Pa-chi.
The sound is all the louder for the complete lack of life here.
“My father - ” He left the pros for you, he doesn’t say. He abandoned his world, just on the chance that maybe, one day…
“I have played my allotted games.”
“Then how - ”
“I might not be allowed any new ones, but - my memories are intact, and this game has been a treasured one to me.”
“I see.”
Pa-chi - and they are nearing the point, he recalls, when the weight of that gaze became too great to bear. He doesn’t try to slow their dance.
“Would you have me pass on a message?” To either of them.
It really is a remarkably idyllic scene. The sun is not hot enough to cause discomfort, and the sakura tree provides enough shadow to obscure his opponent with its dapples, whilst beneath them, the grass is soft and dry.
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
Pa-chi.
“He misses you.” Strangely, in this place, it slips out freely. It is a truth; it has been admitted; it can change nothing.
Although there are no birds in this land, the trees still rustle gently with the breeze. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the rushing of a river.
“I know.”
“Makemashita.”