Author: Roving Kite PM
Drabble, Souki POV. Time is like sandpaper, in a way...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Supernatural - Words: 280 - Reviews: 14 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 1 - Published: 11-06-05 - id: 2650072
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Genjyu no Seiza and characters therein are property of Akino Matsuri.
A/N.: The author's first stab at a GnS fic. Or, in other words, her take on why the series should not end with Fuuto simply being carted back to Darashaal.
Darashaal is steeped in history. So much, in fact, that it's ready to burst at the seams.
Sometimes he thinks he would very much like to take the city and shake it to its foundations, just to hear the rattle-rattle of relics in every corner - epitaphs behind every door.
Sometimes, he finds it ridiculous that attempts are made at all to induct people to Darashaal, that anyone can be expected to go from middle-school student to High Priest in the course of a ceremony. Think of the city's layers of time-dust, the figurative skeletons in its closets, and you'd know that no one could ever get used to it. Not in the course of a human lifespan, anyways.
And maybe that was why Darashaal got more than its share of "ever-afters", but only rarely correlated these with "happily".
Sometimes, he'd stand at the door of throne room, still expecting a dose of the infamous Kamishina temper. But instead of Oy, kirin, is this rain and lightening stuff yours! he hears time-weary half-thoughts, I'm sorry - there, Souki, I said it, sorry. Maybe the forty-third will turn out better.
And then he'd be outside, leaning against the door's intricately-carved panels, thinking that he can almost hear the thump-thump of sketelons against the woodwork, the epitaphs that held them in place.