ratsoftobruk | Open Post

[ There's a well-meaning quality to the little room that leads Ukoku to guess where he is almost as soon as he comes to. There's not much light to see by—it filters through a single small window in the door, and it's some dim ascetic indoor light, not sunlight—but it's enough to confirm that he's a prisoner.

He remembers mostly pain and delirium, deep and wrenching and constant. It had felt like his bones had turned into wires, and then the universe had taken him in its hand and crushed him into a little ball. He thinks he remembers being taken before the Three Aspects. He might have laughed; he might have tried to tell them a story. He's almost certain he couldn't have said anything coherent if he'd tried. He thinks they might have declared Ukoku Sanzo dead—Ukoku "Sanzo." It might have been a fever dream.

But not all of it. He touches his shoulders in the darkness, sitting back against the door. The sutra is gone. There are beads around his wrists, prayer beads; not tight enough to hurt, but not loose enough to easily get off. He can feel inscriptions on each one, wards, but the effort to suppress his power is either unnecessary caution or someone's misjudgment. He couldn't summon up the magic to kill an ant. ]

[The light in the window never changes and there's no sound to be heard this far down, but it isn't hard to keep track of the days, if Ukoku feels like he wants to. Once a day a man comes- not always the same one- with a tray. A bowl of rice, a small dish of vegetables and a cup of water. A monk's diet. The men never speak to the prisoner and don't make much effort to look at him. Some of them glance up if addressed, give a dirty glare if insulted, but the reactions aren't very interesting. They take the old tray, whether the food has been touched or not, and replace it with the new.

None of them seem worried about the prisoner escaping.

Seven trays come and go. The eighth is carried by a tall, serious looking man- he's been here before, was the first to deliver a meal- and when he opens the door he seems more irritated than usual. Unlike the other times, he doesn't immediately leave after placing the tray on the ground. Instead he takes a post by the open door, glaring steadily at the prisoner as though daring him to try something. But that's when a third person enters the cell.

As always, the Kouten sutra is draped over Sharak's shoulder and her robes hang half off her hip. Beaded jewelry clicks together as she walks and tail swishes behind her. There's a new scar across the bridge of her nose. Other than that there's... something. Something not readily visible.

Sharak stares at the prisoner for a moment before turning to the man at the door. He looks back at her. Sharak upgrades her stare to A Look and the man crosses his arms stubbornly. Sharak glares.]

Hassan.

[The man grits his teeth for a second before throwing his hands up in exasperation and leaving the room. Sharak closes the door behind him.

There you go, Ukoku, dinner and a show.]

[ Ukoku is still in the shadows against a wall, legs folded. He waits a second before he says anything, and he doesn't bother getting up to get the tray. He hasn't touched much of what they've given him in the past week. ]

Sharak Sanzo. I'm honored.

[ His voice is rough with disuse, but the slight humor comes through. ]

What can I do for you?

[Sharak studies Ukoku in the shadows for a minute. She knows he hasn't been eating much, which would be concerning if she had it in her to care too much. He's still alive and healthy enough to speak. That will do for now.]

Just thought I should check in. It's rude to ignore a guest, after all.

[She sits down casually, crossing her legs and seemingly relaxing. This is just a nice catch-up session. She even brought snacks.]

You don't mind, do you? First chance I've had to sit down all day.

No, not at all. Make yourself at home.

[ In his cell, ha ha. He shifts to face her. He moves sluggishly, tired, and his eyes close while he talks. ]

You've been very gracious. Very hospitable. I don't know if I should thank you or not.

Well, that depends on what you want, doesn't it?

[She keeps watching Ukoku carefully- except that's not his name anymore, is it? They'll have to sort out something new for him later. But this isn't like with Cho Gonou. It can't be rushed.]

A lot of people wanted you dead.

[ Ukoku chuckles, either oblivious to or ignoring her scrutiny. ]

That doesn't sound very pious. I'm not against it, though. It's not too late, right? Maybe those people could draw straws, to keep it fair. Or would it be a public execution thing?

Nothing so exciting. I'm not in the business of indulging in revenge fantasies or encouraging bloodthirst. We've had enough of that these past few years already.

[Sharak "No Fun Allowed" Sanzo over here.]

And I already won the draw. [So it is too late.]

[ He actually laughs, this time, leaning his head against the wall. ]

Then I guess I owe you my life and death. Exploit it wisely, okay?

[ For whatever either one of those things is worth.

It's not obvious in his posture, but his voice is livelier by the second. He's enjoying the company. ]

[Well, that's something.]

Not much to exploit. You piss me off enough, you get a bullet in your temple and a quiet burial out back.

[Quiet, boring and unmentioned to the rest of the world.]

We'll have to wait and see if your life is worth anything.

[ There are a few acid things he could say to that. Attempting to piss her off would be a transparent effort, probably, and silly. One bullet in the head would be boring. He shifts again, as if to shake off impending sleep, and looks away. ]

I don't know what it'd be worth to you. [ A pause. ] Unless someone around here has my sutra.

What sutra would that be?

[She keeps watching him, even when he looks away, and raises her eyebrows.]

Ukoku Sanzo had one, but he's dead now. You're no one. You have nothing.

[Despite the content, her voice isn't particularly harsh. A statement of fact.]

[ He laughs again, letting his head hit the wall. It's a dry laugh, this time. ]

You remind me of someone.

[ But it doesn't really matter, and he doesn't feel like talking about Goudai, so he leaves it at that, and gets up. It takes some effort—he has to lean on the wall to avoid falling back over, and he stays there for a few seconds, acclimating. ]

Sorry—I, nobody, was asking about the Muten sutra. I misspoke.

[Sharak stays seat, looking up at him as he stands. This is what you get for not eating all week, nobody. Once he's steady, Sharak a pauses and then slowly reaches into her robe and pulls out the rolled up Muten sutra.]

It's here. [She holds it in her hand, palm up. He could maybe grab it, if he were fast enough. If he were stupid enough.]

The guardian of the Kouten sutra... and the Muten, now. [It'll take time for her to be used to it enough for her to wear it alongside Kouten. For now, it's safe in her hand. There's something inherently dangerous about the pairing, death and the unknown, nothing and the infinite.]

[ His eyes linger on it for a second too long, but only a second. He shoves himself off the wall and shuffles the few steps to get his tray. He braces it against his hip instead of holding it with two hands as he makes his way back over, and then sets it down again before he sits—he's being careful. ]

Well, if you're planning to learn how to handle it, I guess I can probably be useful. [ It's only a little sardonic. ] If that's what you want.

It's not why I'm here.

[Maybe it would be helpful, but she's confident enough in her own ability. She's been through this before with Kouten, she knows what she's doing. She suspects that's why Uten has been taken to find a new guardian, some fresh-faced new priest, while the sutra that spent so long in the hands of Ukoku Sanzo has been cautiously left with her.

No, she's here for an entirely different reason.]

But if you want to share some advice, I'll listen. It's as good a topic for conversation as any.

[ Outside of a quick glance at her before he picks up his water—two hands for that; they shake, sometimes, and they're starting to now—he shows no curiosity, but he doesn't say anything, either. Advice: a few vague pointers, twenty years condensed down to five minutes.

He sets his water down without drinking, spreads his palms out on his knees to let the tremors happen. ]

Why are you here, then? Not that I mind.

[Sharak watches him carefully, face showing nothing more than her usual stern expression. After a moment, her hand curls around the Muten sutra and she holds it loosely against her ribcage.]

They told me you weren't eating. [And she can see the evidence of it on his body now.] You're not here to waste away.

Oh, is that all? I'm touched. I have, a little. I just haven't been hungry.

[ He lifts a hand for her to see. ]

This has been happening since I got here. Or since I remember getting here, anyway. [ There's no self-pity in his voice; it's just an explanation. ] It comes and goes. I promise I'll stop wasting away in a minute.

Edited (wait no i'm an idiot,) 2017-02-08 12:41 (UTC)

[Not much she can do, examining his hand from this distance, but she does anyway.] ... I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise, after the stunt you pulled.

[He's lucky to be alive. After examining him for a second more, Sharak holds out her own hand to beckon him over.] I told them you didn't need those. Want me to take them off?

[The prayer beads. They're probably not helping with the shaking. Hassan is just sighing on the other side of the door.]

Are you sure? I'm pretty dangerous, you know.

[ About as threatening as a bunny, especially to her. He doesn't mind the beads; he's gotten accustomed to their weight—but she asked. He gets up unsteadily, bracing himself on the wall to move closer, and drops down again. He's a polite distant from her as he holds out his hands, eyes downcast, a passing imitation of someone who still believes that a Sanzo deserves reverence by default. ]

I'm terrified. [Her tone couldn't be more dry if she were buried in the desert.

Whether it's because she's used to the distance, expects it or doesn't notice it at all, Sharak doesn't acknowledge the deference. She just takes one of Ukoku's hands by the wrist in a firm but gentle grip and looks it over. She can see the burns left by the sutras from here, can feel the general lack to Ukoku's everything compared to the terrifying "nothing" from before. What's less than nothing? Well, that's what she's here to find out. The beads slip off his wrist easily under her fingers and she lets him go to repeat the action on his other wrist. A little less pressure on his spirit and body, for whatever that's worth. Maybe he can't even feel it.]

You won't get past my boys anyway.

[Not bragging, just simple confidence. The Kouten Brigade is not worried, for whatever reason.]

No, I'm sure I wouldn't.

[ Not that sure, but saying otherwise would be pointless as well as stupid. He's not going anywhere. He flips his hands over, examining the marks left by the beads, and rubs each wrist in turn. She's right: he can't feel it. The only way he could tell the beads were warded, apart from the inscriptions, was because they wouldn't have bothered putting them on him otherwise. ]

So: how much of your time can I monopolize if I don't eat?

[ He's enjoying the company, part two. He leans over to drag his tray closer, this time, instead of getting up. ]

Another two minutes, maybe. Some of us have work to do. We can't all sit around on our asses all day.

[Like the lazy slob... locked up in her dungeon... It's possible that, for once, something isn't Ukoku's fault. Amazing.]

I can't force you to eat and I don't intend to try. [Sharak leans back, resting her head against the door.] But if you're good I'll visit again, maybe.

Sitting around all day's what most priests do, isn't it?

[ Possibly not a wise train of thought, but she started it. The tremors in his hands are subsiding, though, and he's starting to eat his rice. It's a worthy bribe. ]

Oh—if I'm very good, do you think you can you have someone bring me a razor?

[ It's just that it could be worthier. ]

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