Gesture Without Motion by LtF
Summary: ...Between the idea and the reality, between the motion and the act falls the shadow. For thine is the Kingdom... 500 years after their deaths, the Sanzo cohort collide once again the Homura and his group...but what good can come out this?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Saiyuki
Characters: Genjo Sanzou, Homura Taishi
Genres: Drama, General, Romance
Warnings: M/M, Language, Chara Death
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 11/21/05
Updated: 11/30/05
Index
Chapter 1: one: fatality driven on wings of wax
Chapter 2: two: in the bird cage he sings, sorrow-sorrow-sorrow
Chapter 3: three: a reunion in death’s other kingdom
Chapter 4: four: clipped wings to a bittersweet descent
Chapter 1: one: fatality driven on wings of wax
“…You are the keeper of my heart…”
one: fatality driven on wings of wax
That fateful day, five hundred years past, he had told the pale god to “return safely to me,” to “keep strong with the knowledge of my love.” Five hundred years ago, he had foolishly believed in optimism and the supposed bond love’s powers might forge. Five hundred years ago, he had prayed.
…is it like this
in death’s other kingdom,
waking alone
at the hour when we are
trembling with tenderness,
lips that would kiss,
form prayers to broken stone…[1]
–And Konzen had fallen, a broken bird with crimson feathers fluttering behind and around, staining that golden hair, that pure white silk, red marring the despair filled face. Haunted violet.
Five hundred years ago, he had died. Rinrei had unsuccessfully tried to revive him, but that series of events had just twisted the knife in his heart deeper, had cut open old bleeding scars and renewed the flow of blood.
So he threw himself into this radical ideal world where someone so golden, as golden and pure as the sun’s rays could live without fear of death.
…the fear in his eyes as he had fallen…
Konzen had been reincarnated and if possible, was even more cold and callous than his godly incarnation; a brutal demise and harsh trauma the conditioning.
Genjo Sanzou was everything a monk was not. Genjo Sanzou was everything a god was not. Genjo Sanzou was everything and nothing of Konzen Douji.
Homura had fallen hard again, heart beating and health regained only for him. Unable to escape the clutch Konzen had on his heart, this time he was fully revived from the dead. Once again, he believed. This time, however, he would not let go: he would painstakingly pin down the iridescent wings of the white butterfly if he had to.
[1] T.S. Elliot's "The Hollow Men"
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Chapter 2: two: in the bird cage he sings, sorrow-sorrow-sorrow
“…In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of
the tumid river…”[1]
two: in the bird cage he sings, sorrow-sorrow-sorrow
It was dark.
He remembered the blood steeped everything, the panic in their eyes, the taste of bile and bitter failure on his tongue.
Sweat and anxiety, anticipation and fear–his last glimpse of the three alive.
And then his world had blackened with the unconsciousness of blood loss and injury.
He had fallen, but never hit the ground.
He sat up with difficulty (aching everywhere), hands bound. His robes were gone. His gun and sutra were gone. Blindfolded, he had to rely on his senses.
There was silence. And silk. And the faint, almost imperceptible fragrance of delicate blooms…
a field of flowers, brightly reflecting the sun.
dark lonesome figure blatantly in the middle, robe billowing out behind
black hair fluttering.
pale face turning and meeting his own.
glittering blue and gold.
(malice filled whispers in the dark of taint and heretics)
a smile.
....love in those eyes.
He needed a nicotine fix and an aspirin to clear his head and… He was stubborn, but the tide was too strong. Sanzo cursed as he faded into the white of comatose.
[1] "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Elliot
Author's Note: I have (what I think to be) a beautiful format for this short-chaptered story... but am inept in terms of the use of html codes, so do not know how to use them to recreate my pretty formatting. Technology does not agree with me.
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Chapter 3: three: a reunion in death’s other kingdom
“…sunlight on a broken column
there, is a tree swinging
and voices are
in the wind’s singing
more distant and more solemn
than a fading star…”
three: a reunion in death’s other kingdom
Darkness and the stifling humidity of hot water–a sudden reminder of the state of his own hygiene. What he would gladly sacrifice for a bath…
…footsteps.
Clinking metal.
He blindly turned towards the source of sound; moisture dripping onto his upturned face–residue from a fleeting caress, droplets streaming down wet hair.
Click. The smell of burning. A lighter–his lighter–used.
Brightness with the removal of the blindfold, or was the newly acquired sense due to the soft pool radiating from the just-lit candle?
A drawn breath and a shaky exhale: “Konzen,” more a lover’s clinging call than a statement.
“I’m not your fucking lover anymore,” a spat rebuke at the amused demigod.
Delighted laughter. (The sound of irony.)
“–So you remember.”
“…those who have crossed
with direct eyes to death’s other Kingdom
remember us — if at all — not as lost
violent souls, but only
as the hollow men…”
A/N: Quotes in the beginning and end are from T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” (I just noticed that I’ve been spelling his last name wrong; sorry!). Next chapter is the last chapter, and I’m debating over an epilogue… Back to index
Chapter 4: four: clipped wings to a bittersweet descent
“…here they receive the supplication of a dead man’s hand
under the twinkle of a fading star…
for thine is
life is
thine is the…”
four: clipped wings to a bittersweet descent
(Konzen, Konzen, is all he seems to cry with that sinuously sinful, soft voice.)
“I’m not Konzen.” (Denunciation, dissent; how many times will you have to tell him this?)
“I can’t say I agree with you completely,” he will say, “you and he share the same soul. He would be greatly disappointed to hear your absolute denial.”
“Where are the others?” Deliberately ignore the truth in the response.
A thoughtful murmur–“Being accommodated nicely. After all, we can’t let the General, Marshal and itan pet be separated from you.”
“How lenient you are.” Display that beautifully haughty sneer, your uncertainty flickering briefly, but only briefly; make no mistake. Look down at the folded hands in your lap (almost coyly, eyelashes inadvertently fluttering), lean back slightly against the plush down pillows. Show no doubt, show no emotion. Leave everything behind, leave no ties…let me be no nearer in death’s dream kingdom, let me also wear such deliberate disguises…
“Just for you.”
And there will be no ridicule in that. Only whole-hearted admiration, adulation.
Only love.
(Try not to focus on his words, on him. Bring your attention, instead, to the light drizzle starting outside as that familiar sinking feeling of failure and misery sets in. Hear the rain against the glass pane of the window; you can almost see the rivulets running down, in your mind’s eye.)
He will blow the candle out. Footsteps in the dark. You will be startled, but almost expecting the weight on the space next to you. Cringe at the warmth of skin against skin. Cringe at the fingertips under your chin and the palm laying against your heart (feel the burning pulse of your heart speed) as he softly brushes his lips upon your forehead, temple, eyelids, tracing the road that once bore the burden of heavy sorrow-saturated tears, down to the corner of your mouth. Shallow breaths. He will stop at your lips. When the heat recedes from your side, you know he will leave. (Maintain composure and bring back that frigid façade. Do not tilt your head slightly in that request for more. Show no doubt, show no emotion. Sever all ties, including the one that joins your heart to your mind.)
You will sigh–in relief? In disappointment? It is hard to say–a breathy exhale that is too quiet for a human’s ears. But you know he will hear.
“Good night.” The inflection will be that of a soft smile.
A click. The door will close quietly. Footsteps will tread quietly away. There will be the quiet pitter-patter of rain that will not cease. The quiet of a dreamless sleep waits.
Silence and the rain falling.
Quietly, quietly. Doom waits quietly, he waits quietly. Doom and he? He and doom? The distinction between the two will blur. Reality and surreality will collide–the fine line between the living, the dead, the divine…
…fate waits but time does not. And the gods are watching.
You sleep.
“This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whisper.”
A/N: This is the last chapter of Gesture Without Motion! My favorite chapter as well… I suddenly changed the POV to second person. Oh! And I know “Surreality” is not a real English word. I like it, so just don’t mind that…I am currently still trying to figure out an epilogue to tie in Hakkai, Gojyo and Goku; they have no true role in this, after all. My first draft of it is absurdly light-hearted and happy. This may take some time; if there is no epilogue, the story still works as a stand-alone. Sorry about the inconsistency in formatting. Thank you for reading, and comments/criticisms are welcome.
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