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Second Beat
Day 3
Life had become a heartbeat that never came to rest.
In the days before, the weeks and months and years wherein everything unusual had become so commonplace, there had been nothing to approach this nervous tension that filled the castle so oppressively it was suffocating. Always there had been something going on, somewhere to go, their lives a constant blur of changing locale, friendly skirmishes and respectful retreats.
It wasn't the pattern of life any of Kougaiji's group would have set out to make for themselves, but having now grown accustomed to the taste, all other life seemed rotten, like fruit left too long to ripen.
The hours in the castle stretched out infinitely without event or purpose.
Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. The glares of the palace guards sending them right back to their quarters if they dared so much as step out for air; it was like they had been taken prisoner.
They themselves had no purpose anymore. Their orders as set out by Gyokumen Koushu had been either followed or superceded by other events. There was no Sanzo-ikkou to hunt now. They might not even need the maten sutra, if latest experiments were successful.
The experiments the scientists were calling the blackbox project, kept in the far room partially removed from the rest of the cluster of compartmented laboratories. It had no guard and no lock at its door, but unauthorized entry meant death. Only a few close to Gyokumen knew what was in it. Dokugakuji and Yaone knew. They had seen Sanzo fall in battle, never to rise up on his own power again.
They had seen the contents of the room only once. That had been enough.
Dr. Nii and the other scientists reported directly to Gyokumen Koushu; very little of their activities was relayed back to others, least of all now when Kougaiji's last valid purpose had been stripped and he was kept around only as a formality. But the sense of things was that progress was being made steadily and surely, the revival on the cusp of total, final completion.
The whole castle breathed of Gyumaoh, the king of demons. A slow and steady howl of lungs so massive it shook the air. He was waking up, with or without the final sutra. No human scientist was needed to point it out. Every youkai in the castle could feel it.
It could be days away, or weeks or months, but it was as imminent as the tide, the slow rushing of the waves back into the depths, a long and patient precursor to a violent crash that was to follow. The only thing you could do was brace yourself and hope it wouldn't break you too, when it hit.
Things had never been so bad.
In general terms, Dokugakuji and Yaone were enthusiastic proponents for the revival of the King. Expressing any other sentiment was sure to have one killed. But inside there could be no one for them but Prince Kougaiji. And Kougaiji was slowly but surely being destroyed.
It might have been the loss of every last opportunity to free his mother, it might have been the knowledge of his father's inevitable return, it might have been for the uncertainty over his own role in the days to come, being far more displaced than Dokugakuji or Yaone could ever be. But they were sure that there was more to his distance and frequent absence than mere apprehensions and anxieties.
And he was visiting the room of the blackbox project.
This was not denied to him. Most of the human scientists politely tolerated Kougaiji's presence as they would Lirin's, though Dr. Nii was a slightly different matter. It was certainly suspicious that Kougaiji would choose to go there, when even the scientists never bothered, all of the consoles under remote control from the main lab. And he would stay there, alone, for hours, sat crosslegged on the floor and hunched forward as though in poor man's meditation, a few feet in front of the glass tank that held a captured high priest, the blackbox itself. The figure Dokugakuji and Yaone couldn't lay eyes on and not come away with a heavy, confusing sense of guilt.
The days of their own battles were over. There was no more Gojyo, no more Hakkai, no more little Goku. Sanzo was here, if that lifeless doll strung up with wires and cables could really be called the same Sanzo as they'd known before. And then the two would remember that they had barely gotten to know him either, as familiar as they'd become with their own respective sparring partners.
Biting, unending howl of breath, whistling over the gaps in lives like holes bored into the walls. A sting so terrible it nearly became a physical pain.
And Kougaiji continued to visit that room, for what reasons he would never disclose of his own volition, not for how he avoided them too these days. Penance, perhaps, a pronounced guilt, or maybe simple compassion. Foolish, stupid sentiments that would earn him the wrath of Gyokumen if he persisted to pursue it. She knew already, of course, she had to know, just as well as his servants knew and the palace guard knew. If it turned to bother her enough that it merited attention, they knew there was nothing they would be able to do to protect him.
They'd give their lives to trying, but only to repent for not being strong enough. They knew their own limits and understood the power of others. Kougaiji was the strongest mage most of the world had ever seen, and he had been released from imprisonment by Gyokumen Koushu.
This was not the time to make her question this mercy. Not now, with the house held in that burning unending heartbeat, awaiting the crash and the thunder in such violently active apprehension. Tension like a spring wound so tight that one accidental twist would cause it to shatter.
Death to stay there in that room, looking up at the trapped puppet remains of Genjo Sanzo as if in groveling prayer. Even if the prince wished death upon himself so strenuously now.
But neither of them could bring themselves to speak.
~*~
By the end of the first night, Kougaiji and Sanzo were able to communicate with complex sentences. This was an asset, when Sanzo asked Kougaiji his first and only real favor.
Be the one to give him the last rites.
Kougaiji had been forced to memorize them, repeating in pieces and then longer verses until he had it all committed firmly in his brain.
He did not complain. They both understood, without airing the thought, that if he didn't provide this, no one else would.
By the second night, the radius of telepathy was over twenty feet, and abstract thought had been achieved. Branch-thinking was becoming tolerable. Empathic conveyance was so powerful it superceded the more cumbersome points of language occasionally.
They spoke of philosophy and religion and the psyche of humans and youkai, from an analytical standpoint from which no messy emotions could be attached. They discussed creation myths and folk tales and odd points of lore, not always strictly from their respective cultures, but ranging all over. They talked about death until the subject had been exhausted, and when this happened Kougaiji asked if Sanzo wanted him to recite the last rites again, to be sure he still had them committed properly. And Sanzo said he was confident so Kougaiji didn't have to worry about it, and to say them so much without meaning would trivialize them when they finally needed to be said.
By the third evening, the radius of thought-speech extended out far past the limits of the room, and seemed intent to keep growing.
Despite their achieved range of communication, Kougaiji prefered to sit or pace a few feet in front of Sanzo's tank. It bore no detriment on the radius of perception, but actually seemed to lengthen it, in the same way that someone who sits close to a fire will feel the warmth longer after he's left it. The physical proximity was important to him too, even if not so much to Sanzo, who could barely see him through the glass, and no longer needed visual cues to guess the youkai's mood anyway.
Kougaiji discovered that given the opportunity he could really be quite locquacious. At least in conversations that didn't involve the draw of real breath. He wanted to talk, to have Sanzo's interest in things, to get the feedback. The more ground they covered, the more he found he was dealing with a very refined intellect, far above and beyond anything he had encountered dealing with the man face to face.
He had called Sanzo a crouching tiger. Sanzo said he didn't go to picture shows.
The prince would talk and the monk would listen, if not captivatedly then at least with full attention, gladly making use of every word as something to preoccupy his mind enough that he couldn't dwell on death.
Kougaiji knew if the man was in full possession of his sanity and dignity he would have rathered to be left alone to die quietly. If not that, then he would at least have remained stubbornly fixated on the topic of death, resisting all attempts to touch on lighter subjects until he finally expired just to spite someone. But the youkai prince had seen those layers of defense thrown down in minutes and now he didn't want them to come back up.
Because--
Well--
He couldn't admit it within Sanzo's range of frequency, but the priest seemed happier to have Kougaiji talk about other things. Just a little. Just enough to feel encouraged to keep going.
He would tell him about legends and great heroes, not for the wonder of the tales but just the simple poetic rhythm of the words. He half-suspected Sanzo sometimes drifted off to sleep in the middle of these stories, and that it didn't matter because he was aware the thoughts pervaded the priest's subconscious anyway. Other times, certain times, the story was odd enough to keep an active interest.
He said: ...and so it went that she finally languished and wasted
away into nothing, becoming only theleaving nothing but
her voice.
They were getting used to these, the "accidentals," the small slips of thought completely unintentional and unmeant. After a while even the listening mind glided over these without much attention.
An emote of piqued interest from Sanzo came over the line.
Really. A bit more romantic than the other way I've heard echoes explained.
What, having to do with rebounded sound waves or similar?
Something like that.
I can just about imagine where you picked that up
I suppose Hakkai told you that one.
It wasn't really a cold sensation, but it was some mental equivalent, as Sanzo's brain freezed up for a moment.
I guess, he admitted eventually.
Kougaiji sighed, an emote of dissatisfaction wavering over the line.
Why won't you think about them?
If I start, I won't stopGoddammit, you know
why.
Melancholy. Sadness.
I know.
Bastard-- You--
Don't block yourself off! Kougaiji thought quickly, all the force of a sudden yell.
It's fine. Really. If you don't want to think about them. I can't
force you to any different. I just thought sinceimsoopenaboutmyselfsinceitalkaboutitsomuchsinceitalkaboutmyownfriendscomrades
alliesfriendscomrades--
Exasperaton. Slow your brain down and figure yourself out.
Kougaiji took a few deep breaths. Sanzo had instructed him to this. Calming exercises. He'd never have figured him for such a thing.
Well, he said, after recovering a little. I thought that it was open for discussion. Because I've mentioned my own life here so frequently.
Heh, honestly you could learn a little on how to hold
back restrain yourself.
If you filled the void a little more often, I wouldn't feel a need to.
An emote of helplessness whined long before Sanzo answered, What would you have me do? If I start to dwell on them...
So dwell. I'm here to listen.
I... CAN'T, do you understand?
Kougaiji stood up. This physical action changed nothing for the mood, too far away from the glass for Sanzo to see anything but an indistinct blur, but the impatience his mind conveyed did the job in its place.
Could you possibly go back to Greek myths?
Sure, fine. Not right now, though.
Is it late already?
Very. I've missed dinner again, actually. She's going to notice eventually.
Kougaiji very rarely referred to Gyokumen Koushu by name in his thoughts. Sanzo didn't need him to, either. The inflection alone left no doubts about who the woman in question was.
Is this all really safe for you?
I don't care if it isn't.
Disapproval. You should.
Why do you care?
The thoughts fractured. Kougaiji couldn't even hear any of them individually-- it went beyond multi-branching, which a person could get used to eventually in the same way a person can adapt to multi-tiered mathematical equations. This was pure incoherent confusion. It was what happened when the thinker simply didn't know.
All right, all right, Kougaiji relented. Nevermind.
The line quieted a bit, leaving a patina of awkward embarrassment.
We'll argue about this some other time, all right?
Goku isAll right.
Kougaiji tilted his head a little. The emotive equivalent of a single question mark resonated over the frequency.
Sanzo gave in.
Whether this was to be defined as "progress" or a sick downward spiral, the prince had no idea. But for the moment, he felt compelled to stay again. Just a little longer.
~*~
When he left it was late, the hallway torches dimmed to a muted blue, and the only sound was that of the dull hum of the machines.
Dokugakuji watched him exit, half-shuffling in obvious fatigue, or despondency, or both. He paid little attention to his surroundings, simply selected a direction and began stalking off.
"Lord Kougaiji."
The prince did a full-body jerk, then tried to conceal it and half-turned around. Recognization dawned belatedly and he lifted his chin.
There was something foreign in the expression, that Dokugakuji couldn't place. And he wondered, not for the first time since staking himself out by the door, if it was wise to approach Kougaiji at all right now.
But wisdom could wait, or be damned, whichever it liked, for all Dokugakuji cared.
"Have a moment?" he chanced.
A slight twist in the neck, minute tilting of the neck, a narrowing of eyes and pursing of lips.
Eh?
"Look-- Um-- I'm not very good at charades, so--"
Kougaiji blinked. Then, as though he couldn't quite be satisfied with this alone, he blinked a second time, and frowned.
"Sorry. What is it?"
Leave it to the man to address things so directly that all of Dokugakuji's attempts for tact were thrust right out of the window of a tall tower.
"...Are you all right?"
Ker-splat.
Kougaiji scowled. "What are you asking, Doku?"
Doku. Informal. Well, that was a bit of a good sign.
His bodyguard edged a little closer, backing off from the wall. "I just meant-- lately. With everything."
The muscles in his cheeks flexed for a moment. "It's another stage of life to adjust to, nothing more."
For as long as that happens to last, Dokugakuji thought grimly.
"It's just you have the others worried."
"They're women. Worrying's just what they do."
"Am I a woman?"
Pause. "You're saying you're worried too, then."
"Just a bit."
Kougaiji breathed a laugh out of his nose, breaking eye contact to look away and shake his head. "You have ample reason to, more than any of us, so--"
"I don't mean Gojyo. And you know it."
His eyes locked on the floor. "Leave me alone," he muttered darkly.
"You've been acting strange lately," Dokugakuji persisted, not about to be turned away so quickly. "Everyone's noticing. The wrong people are going to start noticing too, pretty quickly. We just don't want to see you get hurt, Kou--"
"And what makes you think," Kougaiji interrupted, voice shriller than it should have been, "I don't totally deserve it if I do?"
For the first time Dokugakuji was able to get a good look at the prince's face in the low light. Every line of fatigue, the unimitable strain it was just to stay conscious. It wasn't the weariness of sleep-deprivation, or from heavy physical exertion. Just the look of someone whose inner power generator, of whatever form it took, had begun to die out.
He wished for all the world to just reach out and hug the man, pull him into a tight embrace and never, ever let go. Or else do other things that drew quarters even closer between them, if he could only get the consent and the privacy. But even though it seemed like an eternity since they'd last engaged in such a thing, the desire to fuck the brat senseless until he got out of this angst pit wasn't half as powerful as the want to simply comfort and tell him it was going to be all right.
Even if things wouldn't be. Ever.
"What's happened to you, Kou?"
"Just leave me alone. Please. Now isn't the time."
His voice was growing cold and hard. Like steel.
And nothing Dokugakuji could say could push its way past that. He stammered, "But I..."
Dammit! Don't shut yourself off from me! After all that I've done to get through to you!
He wanted to yell. To scream. To grab Kougaiji roughly by the shoulders and slam him right into the nearest wall and do whatever he felt like. To get his mind out of whatever cloud of agony it was in and make his brain wake up to the here and now and what he meant to the others and what he meant to him. If only there was any other way to get the point across.
But instead all he could do was freeze, watch silently as the prince spun around, hair swishing, and stalked off into the darkness. Alone.
...I'm so useless to you.
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