starlogs | putting out the fire with gasoline

putting out the fire with gasoline

WHO: Ukoku and Koumyou (at least until this inevitably becomes a catchall)
WHERE: the atrium
WHEN: right after orientation/9 dec (I think)
WHAT: monks being weird, probably bad jokes
WARNINGS: none/will update if needed

[ In the end, Orientation answers none of Ukoku's questions. This is not a failing of the video—it's informative, and his subconscious mind files things away automatically—it's just that there's a fascinating mirage in front of him. This is an extraordinarily vivid hallucination, if that's what it is, but he's forced to acknowledge that brain trauma is more likely than this very specific combination of anomalies. He is, after all, suddenly and conveniently removed from the people who were in the middle of attempting to kill him. He might have given them too little credit.

When it's over, and they're ushering everyone outside, he accepts the duffel bag someone hands him rudely, distracted, without taking his eyes off the ghost.

And then he starts to follow, shamelessly. Koumyou is bright in his white robe ahead; Ukoku melts into the shadows. The halls that might have interested him otherwise give way to trees, and soon they're surrounded by them, alone.

He uses the sutra's power to dart forward, skip spaces and hop once in the grass, and then he's behind Koumyou's back, reaching out to catch the end of the cord in his hair. ]

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It's easier to clean.

[ So there. He starts to reach out, a let me do it gesture, and steps behind Koumyou, attempting to take the cord back and bat his hands away. ]

But I don't mind white. It stands out better.

[ At night, for instance, or when being mercilessly followed by some nerd who's not going to explain what his deal is. ]

[ Let some strange man with a depthless aura move behind him and put him in a vulnerable position?

Well, why not? He gives up the cord freely, making a fussy but grateful sound of assent low in his throat. There's nothing unusual about that at all, maybe. ]

I'd say it makes it harder to be misplaced, but I don't think that's the case anymore. [ They were extraordinarily lost now, depending on one's standards. And what a contrasting pair of misplaced priests they were.

'...what do you see?'

'Darkness... and light.'

Then again, they might be exactly where they needed to be. ]

[ He's taking his time pulling Koumyou's hair back, a minor act of hedonism. ]

Are we misplaced? I think I feel placed.

[ And the concept of place has never been less meaningful or more relative. The bow he makes is neat, and quicker. He might be arranging the loops into bunny ears. ]

[ Koumyou bounces on the balls of his feet when the bow is tied, smoothly ducking away from his fellow priest. ]

I suppose everything would have to be where it ought to be, shouldn't it? [ Perhaps that's the case. It's a thought that ought to be comforting or reassuring, probably, but instead it makes him feel tired.

He smiles anyway as he turns to face him once again. ] I'm the 30th of China, Koumyou Sanzo.

[ For a second Ukoku's silent, rudely. He lifts his hand a fraction as if to reach out, or make some emphatic gesture, but instead he pauses and looks away, scratching his chin. ]

Yeah. [ Whatever that means. ] I'm Ukoku. [ A beat, and he looks back at Koumyou. ] Thirty-nine.

Thirty-nine? [ Koumyou can't help sounding surprised, and maybe a little impressed. If that were the generation he was, it's technically more a marker of a line that followed a difficult path. ] That's a high number!

[ A beat. His eyes seem to glitter faintly with a curious sort of mirth. ] Well, at least it's not your age.

[ He laughs, clapping a hand over his eyes. It's too coincidental. It'll stop being funny later. ]

You're right! That wouldn't be good.

[ Koumyou's still there when he looks up again. The expectation that he'll suddenly vanish is minor, but it's also not going away. ]

But if I'm thirty-nine and you're thirty, you're much older than me, right? You're a historical figure.

Ah... I can't be older, I'm nowhere near thirty yet.

[ Despite the foolish sounding protest, he's gone cold. It's as if he hadn't been paying any mind before.

Now, all of his attention is fixed. ]

I'm a bad choice for a historical figure. [ That aura of his, it wasn't depthless, was it?

It was nothing like that at all. ]

How can you tell? You're not even thirty.

[ For a minute he doubted, but now the gulf between this Koumyou and a much older Koumyou is clear and vast. ]

Would you avoid it, if you could?

[ He holds out one of his hands, beckoning for one of Koumyou's, but with the question and his faint smile it could almost be something else: come away from there, I can help you with that. ]

[ If he takes that hand, he thinks, he might be swallowed up. It's a wholly absurd thought, and he's not sure why it's so compelling. Koumyou makes an indecisive, plaintive sound as Ukoku beckons to him.

Perhaps it's because it feels like he can still hear Goudai shouting as if, somehow, he could keep Tenkai with them a little longer.

It wouldn't, and it didn't matter now.

(It did.) ] It's nice to meet you, Priest Ukoku Sanzo. [ He reaches out impulsively, clasping his hand in a way that suggests he never shies away from touch, but he doesn't answer his question. His actions should be enough to say that he wouldn't avoid anything at all. ] I almost forgot to say that.

I would've been so offended.

[ And he's not going to say it back. He steps closer, lifting Koumyou's hand to examine it with interest. Don't mind him being weird like this. (It's strange how vividly he remembers Koumyou's hands; how well he can look at them and identify everything he remembers.)

He looks up again, smiling. ]

Do you want to look around with me?

[ Really, Koumyou doesn't mind the strangeness. The only uncomfortable part is the realization that Ukoku was clearly looking for something, and not knowing just what it was. His hands aren't terribly interesting, not even the odd scars that he's earned in the past years.

(There is that one scar across his knuckles that looks remarkably like a cat's silhouette if you squint, and happen to be three sheets to the wind at the time. That one could be endlessly amusing.)

Ah, well, it'd all make sense in its own time. ] Whatever you were looking for here, you've found, right?

What?

[ He looks up, mildly distracted, his thumb obscuring Koumyou's stupid cat scar. (He'd made that observation himself, at some point, years ago.) ]

I don't know yet.

[ Even saying nothing, this is the most direct conversation he's had with anyone in a long time. He laces his fingers through Koumyou's, briefly, before he lets go. ]

[ When his hand has been released, he glances at it briefly like he might catch a glimpse of whatever had so completely absorbed Ukoku's attention. Nothing jumps out at him yet, and he crosses his arms, tucking his hands away in his sleeves.

Later, he'll think about it later. ] Then we ought to keep looking. Maybe we'll find lunch on the way.

[ Lunch is the most innocuous thing they might find, which also makes it the least likely. ]

Maybe! Is that what time it is?

[ Time feels more frivolous and surreal than it ever has, and checking it is suddenly appealing. Ukoku slides the duffel bag off his shoulder to dig through it. The dog tags and their instructions distract him first, so he's quiet for a few seconds, reading. ]

It says we have to wear these, or else.

[ Not in those words, but same thing. He immediately tries to snap one of them in half—out of curiosity rather than defiance; there must be a chip in the middle, and maybe something interesting will happen—but it doesn't even bend, alas. ]

[ Koumyou only shrugs at the question of time. It could be lunchtime, maybe, but it also really doesn't mean anything. The thought of time of day as something not governed by the sun and moon is just a bit odd. ]

That's not going to suit me at all. [ It's a silly complaint, but it's enough an issue that he decides to look in Ukoku's bag to see what else there is, paying not the faintest attention to invading his space. ] It's no good to have so much jewelry. I'll misplace it.

I'll probably misplace mine, too.

[ He's letting his bag of stuff hang off his arm for ease of ransacking, watching Koumyou while he's busy. ]

Let me see yours.

[ Clearly, inspecting each other's belongings makes perfect sense, and he offers his bag up freely. Why not?

He makes a face, glancing up through his bangs. None of this makes much sense at all. It's lucky for them that it probably doesn't have to. ]

If we're both so forgetful, we're going to give the Sangha a bad name. [ Because of all the things they could do, misplacing an object would be the worst. ]

[ The worst. Ukoku laughs—an I'm sure we can do better than that laugh—and digs through Koumyou's things until he finds the dog tags. ]

Do you think it'd bother them if we switched?

Hmm? [ That's a thought, isn't it? ] You're really trying to misplace them now, aren't you?

[ But following the rules has never been in his nature. He smiles beatifically, wholly genuine for the first time since Ukoku approached him. ] Let's see what happens.

[ What a good philosophy. He digs out his communicator while they're walking, loops one of his arms through Koumyou's, and abruptly turns in a different direction. Lunch is over, it's canceled. He's messing with the communicator with his free hand. ]

I think we need to be farther away from each other.

[ But clearly they should do that by testing whether the dog tags will unlock their respective doors if the wrong person uses them. ]

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putting out the fire with gasoline

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