炎子 (honooko) wrote in slashtheslasher,
炎子
honooko
slashtheslasher

For Ranalore.

For: ranalore
Author: honooko
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei, Gensoumaden Saiyuki, one mention of the Fullmetal Alchemist anime.
Rating: PG. In a really weird way, it's totally safe.
Notes: So, I wrote this and showed it to Rana, only to discover she was no longer in. And I didn't get a reassingment, so... here it is anyway. ^^;;


Mibu Oriya did not consider himself a religious man in any sense of the word. He had too many yakuza connections, whores, and sharp swords to be even close to pious. But he had managed to master the art of being spiritual. There was something blissfully soothing about practicing his kendo in the mornings; and he never felt closer to heaven then when he sat in the fall sunlight smoking his pipe.

Occasionally, he would be joined by a person that few would consider to be enjoyable company. Oriya had always had an extraordinarily strong 6th sense, and the man before him no longer bothered to hide.

He said his name was Genjo Sanzo. He’d been dead for roughly 500 years, but when you’re a bodhisattva time doesn’t really matter so much anymore. Watching Sanzo gave Oriya a bit of hope for his afterlife; the monk was hardly a good example of Buddhist values. For a holy man, he sure drank a lot. And swore a lot. And he smoked like a chimney pretty much constantly. But if a man like him could become something of a saint, then surely there was hope for Oriya.

Together, they sat in Oriya’s garden in silence, smoking. Occasionally Oriya would practice Kendo; sometimes Sanzo would clean his remarkably well-kept Smith and Wesson. They rarely talked; words weren’t really needed between them. Words only cluttered a wonderfully casual companionship.

And sometimes, even more rarely, they would allow a young woman to join their quiet moments. With her came a bit more speech; it was probably safer to know what was on her mind than simply to guess. She laughed easily, and smiled often. The relaxed company of the men suited her fine; all three knew better than to question what brought them together. The only thing that really changed was the lack of tobacco; she was terribly allergic, much to Sanzo’s dismay.

It didn’t matter one of them was dead; as she so aptly put it, “Well. All right, then.” It didn’t matter another lived a life he hated; Sanzo simply nodded his understanding. And if Rana happened to be something of an assassin-for-hire, neither man spoke of it.

Until, that is, she was offered a contract on a rather detestable doctor by the name of Muraki Kazutaka. She’d arrived at Oriya’s late that evening, just as the sun was setting. Sanzo was already there, a small pile of orange paper at his feet.

“Oriya.”

He paused to exhale a breath of crisp blue smoke. It curled lazily around his face, and he eyed her blandly from the corner of his eye.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to kill Muraki.”

Sanzo looked up when Oriya’s pipe hit the wood floor. He only paused briefly in his folding; just long enough to show his expression of mild amusement. Oriya was frozen; still as a statue and far less emotive. Rana stood firm, her arms folded across her chest, her face determinedly set. Her long fingers tapped on her upper arm anxiously; it was the only thing betraying her unease.

“Who the hell is Muraki?” Sanzo drawled, finishing up a plane quickly. Oriya snorted.

“A bastard. I’ve... known him a very long time.”

“A bastard, huh?” Sanzo said, eyeing his plane carefully. “Is he really going to die that easily?”

A plane sailed gently across the yard.

Oriya smirked.

“Shoot the hell outta him, Rana. Hopefully you’ll have better luck than me.”

Rana grinned, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Good. I’ve wanted to get him a very long time.” She plopped down on the porch next to Sanzo, who chuckled softly, snuffing his cigarette on the ceramic plate beside him. Rana gave him a grateful smile that he flatly ignored. Oriya snorted.

“I swear, I wasn’t crazy before I met him.”

Rana cocked her head. She smiled again, almost lazy, her short blonde hair getting mussed by the cool autumn breeze. Leaning back, she watched the wind chime shake and jingle for a moment before answering.

“Maybe he’d say the same about you.”

Sanzo let out a short, barking laugh. Oriya allowed himself a crooked smile.

“Nobody’s crazy until they meet someone else. If you’ve got nothing to measure against, then you’re automatically normal.” Sanzo pointed out. Rana hummed her agreement, and all three fell into a comfortable silence.

“If all y’all could kill anybody, who would it be?” She asked abruptly. Oriya growled.

“Muraki.”

“That fucker, Hazel.” Sanzo spat. Rana cocked an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Because he’s a fucker.” Sanzo snapped, as if this explained everything. Oriya laughed outright, and Rana couldn’t help but snicker. Sanzo glared fiercely at them both, before whipping out another cigarette and starting to light up, his face resembling a sulky child. Rana snatched it from his mouth and tossed it across the yard, giving him a Look.

“What about you?” Oriya asked, feigning disinterest. Her face darkened for moment.

“Lots of people. That Gyokumen, Nii--” Sanzo grunted his agreement as she continued, “And this annoying little brat that goes by the name of Wrath.”

Sanzo cocked an eyebrow, clearly waiting for an explanation. She indulged him.

“The kid just drives me up the wall.

“I sympathize.” The monk replied, reminded of a certain monkey-boy.

Oriya twitched; a raindrop plopped wetly on his shoulder. He swiftly ducked under the porch, and watched as Rana relaxed and Sanzo tensed. The air quickly grew saturated with the dusty scent of warm rain, and two of the three breathed it in deeply.

It was in these quiet moments (when nothing but the sound of the sky, crackling paper, and the rustle of cloth disturbed the silence) that Rana could truly say she was content. The company was at ease, and the conversation was casual. The shortcomings of each were ignored in favor of simply enjoying the fleeting moments.

Mibu Oriya did not consider himself a religious man. But it was at these times that he felt closest to God.



********
OMAKE:

“Shoot the hell outta him, Rana. Hopefully you’ll have better luck than me.”

Rana came back, a week later. She raged and stomped across the yard like an angry mustang.

“That man is like a cockroach. He just won’t DIE.”

Sanzo eyed her blandly.

“Welcome to my world.”
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
  • 0 comments