Reposted 8-11-05: Hello again. :) Sorry for my incompetence and constant need to repost this. (Well, it's only the second time I've reposted it, but still…XD) I should have edited this better before posting it…but I was so excited when I was finished…I guess shared it prematurely. ;) Hopefully, this will be the last time I need to do editing, and this fic will finally be polished to the best of its extent. I do really like it, and I hope to make it the best possible. I would also like to thank Nanani for her review. She spoke the truth about me needing to re-edit this. She gave me the inspiration to try to make this fic better.
Original writing (which I had to edit also, LOL. XD –thwaps self over the head for being an idiot-): Yesterday I had been reading a LOT of Ban/Ginji fluff, shonen-ai, etc. Then that night this really big thunderstorm stuck. And I mean really big; the thunder shook the house and the lightning flashed white in my eyes even when they were closed and I was away from the window! And I kept smiling and thinking, 'This is Amano Ginji's Storm, and he's in the center of all its chaos and beauty!' I was a psycho enough to open my blinds and just stare outside, watching all of the lightening flash and grinning like a madman XD. I think I burst into giggles several times as thoughts of the little story I would write the next day filled my head. So here it is! What my mind has conjured up about Ginji, and how he is a part of the Storm. When I wrote about this, I kept thinking of the storm yesterday, and I think it was an omen to write this… -;;; Or maybe that's just my imagination giving me an excuse to write something for the heck of it… XD Well, whatever the case… Taa-Daa! A one-shot was born! Read and enjoy, fellow lightning lovers. :)
Warnings: Mild shonen-ai, a tad bit of swearing…nothing bad at all, in fact. -blinks surprised- Wow, this fic is pretty harmless…how will it defend itself against bigger, eviler fics? XD And I don't think there are any spoilers… Unless you didn't know that Ginji had lightning powers…but then again, if you don't know that, that must mean that you not have read any of the manga or watched the anime, so what are you doing here anyways? ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own any or the Get Backers…at least not YET…just wait until I get that…erm…million dollars need… :P that shouldn't take TOO long…only this life and the next. XD I don't think good Karma will cover those expenses…
Written by Ice Dragon3
Eye of the Storm
The thunder called…booming shockwaves that shook his soul in depths not reached by daylight. Even when he closed his eyes, lightning flashed brilliant white in his eyelids. The charged particles slithered through walls, tapped on windows, knocked on his door. Always finding a way to reach him. And once they did, they shivered through his blood and body joyfully, calling, calling, calling him to come out and play. There was no sleeping during his Storm. The Storm built by his soul and released by his mind. Rain pounded a rhythm that only he could hear, a tempo he felt on his skin in the dark silence that was filled by thunder and lighting and himself. Night hid the clouds, but the sight of them was not needed to see the power that the Storm commanded.
Amano Ginji was the Eye of the Storm.
So when it called to him, barely visible electric charges weaving though him, in him…he followed. The Storm was his making, this wild and untamed creature, but the music it played for him was a creation in itself, one unheard by mortal ears. There was no one here in this time and place; no mortals trespassed into his realm. The winds whispered his reign, and the rain pounded his will. A thousand years could not fade his Storm or the passion that fueled it.
People feared that passion.
They took cover behind locked doors, leaving the rain's invitation unaccepted. They hid under thick quilts that even lightening could not penetrate with all its dazzling wonder. The wind roamed endlessly, knocking on windows and receiving no welcome. The dance of the Storm was a lone duet, him and itself, and it needed no other.
Wanted no other.
His hand lifted, partially of his own will and partially of the Storm's; it made no difference. They were one and the same. He was unafraid of the power the Storm held, for that same power had been restrained within him for too long. It was let out now, forming a life of its own. Swelling and spiraling upwards into the dark clouds overhead, it was a life that had no boundaries. It shared its joy of freedom, of living, with its bound maker. Shackles clung to him, placed on him from birth, and he could not remove them without removing the memories. Memories of himself, of those around him…from friends to the unnamed strangers he passed on the sidewalk. They were also trapped in this earthen plane, but they were either unwilling or unknowing of the treasures that were in their sight…just out of reach… He couldn't be the only one feeling this way.
He couldn't be the only one who wanted to touch the sky.
And the Storm rose to his bidding, expanding as his emotions and loneliness grew. It shouted and stormed like a tempest, a tempter; there was no differentiating the two in the Emperor's Eye. The seductive power was the same…the companion that was always there in the shadows, in the night. Waiting for him to tease it out, waiting for him to join the Storm. This night…this was the night the Storm cried joyfully, whirling itself into a frenzy.
This is the night of the Storm.
Lightning struck his hand, flames that licked and caressed with the playfulness of an eel. No pain, but a warmth familiar he felt. Warmth that only he could obtain in the lightning and thunder, rain and wind. His other hand lifted, by its own volition, knowing what it had to do, what it had done so long, long ago. When people had not been taught to fear the Storm, his brother in the night. Back in the childhood where others did not fear him. But in the city they feared, so they hated, and the Storm's freedom and unrestrained joy was alien to them, an anomaly they shunned. So they hated the Storm for rejoicing and vainly tried to shut it out. The destruction they blamed on the Storm was their own fault, caused in their wild attempts to escape the beauty they couldn't understand. But the Storm cared not what happened to the struggling lives, like so many ants drowning, underneath it. It had only eyes for its Emperor, sounding its siren call and trying to pull him in…
It had waited too long for this moment to be taken away, and it called with a pulse so loud…
With both hands connected above his head, the bent fingers colored lightning and dazzled with thousands of worshipful raindrops, thunder roared in the wake of lightning. Swirling upon itself, the Storm's clouds, though birthed in the dark of night, grew luminous with the power and lightning the Emperor shared, that the Emperor gave lovingly like a caress. Violent purple slashed the sky; lightning burned the air hot-white, leaving throbbing red marks behind that clouded the vision, like the clouds clouded the moon. No stars were there to witness the power that raged in the Emperor and in his subjects, for the clouds blanketed and isolated his Empire from not only earth but from space. But the rain glittered far brighter, was far more alive, than any cold distant star. The prolonged, drawn-out lives of stars paled in comparison to the short but vivacious life of falling rain.
He was alive.
Containing the power, the Eye of the Storm, within himself and closed to the outside world both physically and mentally, his head began to swing, like a cobra about to strike, to the pounding of the thunder that throbbed over his skin and into his bones. The wind, as it plucked at his clothes and shivered past his face, sang its joy in a pitchless soprano. Haunting and hollow, it was more full than any manmade music. It was not a soulless divination told by world-weary tellers of tales, but a single note that was never the same and never could be.
It was the song of endless freedom.
And it gave itself up willingly to only him. And so he smiled, thankful, grateful, and hungering for more. The wind sang of stories and told of tales, and he listened to every one without needing to truly hear. For they had been his stories and his tales before the wind had ever known them. There was no measure to his life and no limit to his reign as long as he remained the Eye of the Storm. Only his physical body, holder of his soul and the mortal idealism that it contained, held him back.
With that mortal body which was detested and loved, he opened his Eye, the God's Eye.
Thunder clacked, an army welcoming its ruler home. Lightning swirled around him in jagged waves, burning themselves out in their attempt to illuminate him. But the flame inside him, the lightning, never burned out, sustained on nothing but the pure will to survive. There was no violence or death handed out by the Emperor this time, there were no enemies invading his peace to cause his powers to harm. But the Storm's own destruction did more than enough to accompany its companion's silence. It was damage wrought out of joy, damage done unbeknownst to the destroyer itself. And the Emperor smiled at his adoring subject, this innocent and destructive child, as he saw it destroy the world that really wasn't there, couldn't be there…not when the storm was within and surrounding him. And it called still for more.
It called for him to join it, dance with and for it.
Abandon who and what you are, it screamed in the wind and whispered in the rain. Abandon yourself, for one night, and join us. One night is all we ask…and then the next perhaps, but this night always. Shedding the cloak of humanity, the Emperor did as the Storm willed, for it was his own whims that fueled the thoughts and passions of the Storm. He gave in to his desires. He danced. He consorted his body as smoothly as an eel and as dangerously as lightning. Thunder mimicked his steps, and the rain followed his path, filling in the marks caused by his God-like imprints upon the ground that could not hold up under his power.
Ground that crumbled and gave way as he danced his love for the Storm.
His voiced pitched into the wind, a mortal sound that mimicked the unearthly. For the storm, though it may sweep the ground, was never part of the earth, never held by the laws and physics that bound all creatures within its spherical cage. In the midst of violent flashes and the wind's singing, he was the twirling center. And his dance was seen to no one…and it saddened him, to know that he was the only one who knew such pleasures, felt such disconnection from the world. He was something beyond human. The sadness, the anguish, became part of the song he sung, and the storm mimicked it. But such a human feeling could not be held within the winds for long, could not be comprehended by the clouds long enough for them to cage its color for their own. It was a hollow mockery of humanity, and the Storm washed it away. So its Emperor went with it.
There was only the here, the now…neither past nor future mattered, barely the present existed.
Where no eyes but the Emperor's Eye saw, and no foot except the Emperor's stepped, the Storm bowed down to his might and his absolute sovereignty. He willed the marks left by others to be washed away, for it pained him to remember humanity and his disconnection from it, and the rain responded by flooding the ground. The water cleansed the ground, washing and drowning every memory ever left by imprints. On hallow, unsoiled ground the Emperor weaved steps pure, untainted by love or hate. Sounds that had been echoes long ago, before the Storm had been born, were shredded by winds that could only feel the touch of their master. Lightning erased past images and thunder destroyed the thoughts that they brought with them.
And so the only emotion remaining was the Emperor's, and the Storm's; an emotion of wild abandonment and careless destruction, as empty as it was free.
There was no reason for the dance now, no meaning behind the signs and the song, except the meaning of nothing. This was true freedom, the not knowing, the not caring. A wild cavort with elements that thrilled and killed the senses. This was what he craved, what he loved, what gave him not happiness but hollowness. What he sacrificed his soul for. The Emperor was an element himself, a world unto himself. A world that held only the Storm, ever-changing in violent motions, ever his in its limitless worship.
How could this be wrong?
Lightning licking his skin harshly and he felt only the gentlest of touches; thunder quaked the earth and merely throbbed in his bones. He was the holder of power in this world of his. This Storm of his. The dance consumed him as he consumed it, the cycle never-ending, never tiring. Rushes of electricity scorched the air. His own emotions rose into the storm, and it swirled around him. He was its center and focus. With him, the Storm would never die; could never die. And so he could never die. It was the perfect cycle, the flawless ideal.
The idea that was always there within him, always ready to bloom like shocks of electric waves.
In his dance, where the world of humanity dared not show its face or feel its emotions, one walked forward. Where the rain had pooled in the Emperor's footprints, he splashed out. Where the earth had been shattered beyond repair, he merely crushed it back into solid form with heavy footfalls. Where lightning and wind blinded the eyes, he walked onward without fear, blinded by light and trust. He knew not that he was entering the Eye of the Storm, its power too strong to be grasped by the mortal mind. The Emperor could see everything, but the mortal was blind to the Storm's power and pain and rage and loneliness. The mortal's love kept him blind… love shielded him from the Storm's almighty powers.
The mortal, in his blindness, was even unaware of the love that gave him such power, such sway over the Emperor.
The Storm called to him, pleaded for him to stay. Discard the mortal, destroy the mortal, anything, but do not follow him! The wind shrieked. The Emperor smiled, full of electricity and limitless power, and knew his choice, knew his answer. It was the same he had chosen countless times before and would choose countless times again. Though the Storm screamed with all its worship and rage, its elemental powers rushing around him in a futile attempt to prevent his hearing, he listened to the words spoken soft by a mortal.
"Ginji, the rain's going to soak you to the bone…come on and get that scrawny ass of yours back into the damn car before you get a cold."
He smiled at the mortal. Not with pity, as one would expect an Emperor to do at one foolish enough to command a ruler, but with love and joy. He laughed freely, with all the emotions that bound humanity. And so he followed the trusting fool, the caring friend, who left his back open to the most dangerous of all. He left his domain, where he had pure power, to live the life where he wasn't always strong or smart, where he made mistakes and had to make amends for them. In the real world he had a past, present, and future. But as he followed the silhouetted figure away from the Storm that was slowly wisping away, he smiled, and knew that he would be back. Just as he always returned to the mortal, he would always return to the Storm. Both lived within him, in a conflicting but content coexistence, and he could not live if he lost either of them. The Storm was a part of him, but so was the person he was racing after, ready to give an electrifying hug to once he caught up…
"Hey, wait for me, Ban-chan! I'm coming! I'm co—" Thump. "Wow, good thing you're so comfy, Ban-chan, or that might've hurt!"
"Gargh! Ginji, now my clothes are all soaked! You didn't have to tackle me! Why can't you be normal, you moron!"
"Aww…Is Ban-chan mad with me now?"
"…No, let's just get inside, it's cold out here…"
The Storm was powerful, but the strongest power of all was love.