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31_days2006-11-04 08:28 am
acesodapop.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-04 08:28 am
3 november . samurai champloo . the manner in which i honor their memory
Title: the manner in which i honor their memory
Day/Theme: 3 nov // my pillow won't tell me where he has gone
Series: samurai champloo
Character/Pairing: fuu
Notes: pg! fic + picture at the end because i missed yesterday. D:
It is months after everything, and instead of the memories quietly settling into a corner of her mind, to be taken out from time to time and looked through fondly (and a bit irritably, of course), they sharpen instead of dull, vivid images signs symbols things that leave even her imagination, cross over into the real world where they really don't belong.
A tall, thin man (with dark dark hair tied carefully back) walks with sleek grace that she secretly covets. Her dashing forward and pushing through the crowd with hasty apologies doesn't help matters -- and when she puts her hand on his back, he quickly turns around and is revealed to be, in fact, a she.
It sort of figured.
The odd job at a restaurant gives her a town-by-town dictionary knowledge of all sorts and varieties of bums and crooks; there's more than one kind with wild hair and an almost-snarled drawl for the lunch order, and the frown she gives the nameless deadbeat (with an unceremonious drop of the dish on the counter, a searching look up and down the person to confirm her ill-conceived eye) is both disappointment and relief and always definitely anger.
There's a heartstopping instance where she passes by an old bridge in a rural country, twenty miles from any sort of civilzation, and sees a body lying face down in dried mud, rotting and stinking of decay. Her first thought is, plainly, of course he would be the first to die, the idiot, and the second thought is that of the horrifying first thought and she run off the bridge, holding her breath and berating herself for being so silly, that corpse didn't even look remotely like Mugen.
At the end of her journey (there's not always an end, in truth, and for a whiles she was unsure of if she would have one), she sits down on an old tree stump, comfortably worn from other travelers, and is quite coincidentally at a literal crossroads. (Some joker manipulated the sign so that both arrows faced the ground, and she comforted herself with the idea that Mugen and Jin would've killed him immediately for simple idiocy.)
What's wrong with me? she asks herself gloomily.
You probably need a man, at this point of your life. To settle down. That's what he'd say, likely.
You probably need to get laid. And that's what he'd say.
Well, you're both wrong, she tells them stoutly. She tries to think of what she needs, and all she can come up with is to dejectedly hang her head, sitting on a lonely tree stump.
There is a time in every young woman's life to find a purpose refulfilled, to start again, anew. Fuu resigned herself to an unsure happiness that would always want to reach out and look for a different one, other possibilities.
She would look proudly at the strong and sturdy house her husband built with his own hands, then walk around to the back and try to see over the tall grass and trees and, in the distance, purple mountains.
*
*
Day/Theme: 3 nov // my pillow won't tell me where he has gone
Series: samurai champloo
Character/Pairing: fuu
Notes: pg! fic + picture at the end because i missed yesterday. D:
It is months after everything, and instead of the memories quietly settling into a corner of her mind, to be taken out from time to time and looked through fondly (and a bit irritably, of course), they sharpen instead of dull, vivid images signs symbols things that leave even her imagination, cross over into the real world where they really don't belong.
A tall, thin man (with dark dark hair tied carefully back) walks with sleek grace that she secretly covets. Her dashing forward and pushing through the crowd with hasty apologies doesn't help matters -- and when she puts her hand on his back, he quickly turns around and is revealed to be, in fact, a she.
It sort of figured.
The odd job at a restaurant gives her a town-by-town dictionary knowledge of all sorts and varieties of bums and crooks; there's more than one kind with wild hair and an almost-snarled drawl for the lunch order, and the frown she gives the nameless deadbeat (with an unceremonious drop of the dish on the counter, a searching look up and down the person to confirm her ill-conceived eye) is both disappointment and relief and always definitely anger.
There's a heartstopping instance where she passes by an old bridge in a rural country, twenty miles from any sort of civilzation, and sees a body lying face down in dried mud, rotting and stinking of decay. Her first thought is, plainly, of course he would be the first to die, the idiot, and the second thought is that of the horrifying first thought and she run off the bridge, holding her breath and berating herself for being so silly, that corpse didn't even look remotely like Mugen.
At the end of her journey (there's not always an end, in truth, and for a whiles she was unsure of if she would have one), she sits down on an old tree stump, comfortably worn from other travelers, and is quite coincidentally at a literal crossroads. (Some joker manipulated the sign so that both arrows faced the ground, and she comforted herself with the idea that Mugen and Jin would've killed him immediately for simple idiocy.)
What's wrong with me? she asks herself gloomily.
You probably need a man, at this point of your life. To settle down. That's what he'd say, likely.
You probably need to get laid. And that's what he'd say.
Well, you're both wrong, she tells them stoutly. She tries to think of what she needs, and all she can come up with is to dejectedly hang her head, sitting on a lonely tree stump.
There is a time in every young woman's life to find a purpose refulfilled, to start again, anew. Fuu resigned herself to an unsure happiness that would always want to reach out and look for a different one, other possibilities.
She would look proudly at the strong and sturdy house her husband built with his own hands, then walk around to the back and try to see over the tall grass and trees and, in the distance, purple mountains.
*
*