[FAN FIC] Remnant 07 - Ritual

[tired_n_deadinside]

Beta: Lily-ko. All mistakes are my own.
Rating: Lily -- Sensitive subjects are thoroughly discussed.
Pairing/Warnings/Disclaimers/Etc...: Please see the prologue's head and footnotes.
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07: Ritual
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"For what it's worth, I do not remember."

But I do. Funny how the brain works. There is not much else I remember. Only this, the hard kick of the gun's recoil was etched into my muscle's memory. Sometimes I could still feel it and my finger would jerk in reaction.

"For what it's worth, I do not remember."

I hadn't known forgiveness could hurt so much.

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When several hours later still found me curled tight in a corner of the room I finally got up. I didn't leave. Where was there to go? The things I'm beginning to remember about who I am; Where my family is; Who they are. Well, I have no where to go. Living with people now made me uncomfortable. Living with my own family forced me to learn how to defend, then kill, with one blow before I was fully awake.

The amnesia was an equal opportunity thief. It took away everything from my ability to fight to my favorite color to who I can trust in my family. Instead of waiting for them to figure out out my weakness I left.

Wandering around the apartment I wondered what Kyuuzo would say now that I'm seriously considering taking up his offer of shelter. Did he mean it? More importantly, could I stay with him, knowing bits and pieces of what I did to him? Knowing that the bits and pieces I have is probably more than he does about his own past? I'm so tired. If he was sent to kill me, wouldn't I already be dead? The Kyuuzo I remember was nothing if not remote and brutally efficient.

The thoughts spiraled uselessly around. Until Kyuuzo returned, I had nothing to do but wait and continue exploring my new world.

Somewhere out of sight from this unit was a building being renovated that had the requisite row of public lavatories which explained both smells earlier. Thankfully, the public lavs are shut down for the night. It would have clashed disgustingly with the scent of dough, meats, and other ingredients used for making dim sum being steamed, broiled or fried filled the late evening air.

The apartment was located next to a specialty traveler's inn over a bustling market. It was a corner one and the living room had two walls full of windows. Its only saving (just barely) grace.

The room was hung full of origami. Some fluttered, others twisted and the rest swayed gently in the breeze coming through two open windows. The thin, colorful paper animals, plants and everyday objects were strung unevenly over the glass and seemed as ephemeral as my tenuous hold on reality. The strings holding them up were all but invisible against the spotted blackness of the cityscape.

In the middle of the room was a table with squares of papers stacked neatly by color with a large, half finished, perfectly creased pale blue and white crane. The pattern on the paper imitated the graceful bird's plumage.

Besides the living room, there was another bedroom, a bathroom with the toilet separated in a tiny alcove of its own and the kitchen which was open to the living room. On some of the walls were blue prints of weapons hung as if they were works of art, which judging by the aesthetic beauty of them they were. Each was meticulously drawn with every part of it listed in a neat handwriting. They also looked familiar. One was of a ballista, essentially a gigantic crossbow. Itchingly familiar.

When the headache threatened again, I reluctantly turned away from it. Next to the ballista blue prints were rolls of liquid crystals which could be charged to become customized screens for computers. Other than the screens there were no electronic equipment of any kind.

I felt no recognition in the way the rooms were arranged or in the styles of furnitings used. The entire apartment was just as bare as the bedroom I woke up in. The extra bedroom I'd passed on my way to the kitchen was only slightly larger than the one I occupied but was basically the same, except for another large, white crane presiding over the space from its perch atop the dresser. Even with the origami, there was nothing personal that said who lived here, what he did or if he even had any family.

All the walls were concrete with some corners and parts held together by currugated sheet metal. The ubiquitous wires were everywhere, fitted into the joints and creases where two walls met were neatly bundled. The flooring was the same faded, brownish-tan plastic tiles that were in my room. Only the living room had carpeting, or what passed for it. I wouldn't trust it to keep the cold chill of the floor from my feet.

I found a knapsack in a cardboard box supported by a duct-taped, cracked plastic tub next to the bedroom door and surmised the box must be for dirty laundry though there wasn't anything in it yet. It was vaguely familiar until I picked it up and noted the careful stitching on the strap. Mine.

From somewhere in my brain the knowledge that I had to learn how to sew at a very early age came forward. Why? Was I poor? What a stupid question. I asked myself it again anyway. No answer. Just a frustratingly generic thought of the knapsack's material. Canvas and leather.

Agitated, I took an extra set of clothes from it and kept my hands from shaking by sheer force of will. I scrounged around to find a comb and razor, then my other personal hygiene paraphernalia. Maybe a good head to toe cleansing will help.

Despite Kyuuzo's directions I still managed to scald my chest and a part of my neck before getting the right mix. I was very good at keeping my showers short and efficient. More ingrained habit. I had very specific routines. My days were organized down to the last minute. I found an appointment book next to the comb filled with things I don't remember writing down or needing in the first place.

I'm a survivor. No longer...no longer a samurai. I don't have the familiarity with death that would give me the smell of a battlefield. I no longer want it, whatever that smell is. Being a 'fighter' was too physical a word and 'merely going on living' was too constricting a concept for what I'm willing to do to get by in this world.

Was that why I learned to sew? And...normal? Why did that bring up the sensory memory of sharply acidic, onion-like sweat and muscle burn? There was something I needed to do. My body was restless. What did I have to do? My biceps twitched.

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In the end, it was meditation that allowed my body to do what it wanted without interference from my brain. So, even this late at night, I stuffed my already sock-clad feet into another pair and finally felt like I was ready to combat the floor's coldness to start my kata forms. Better late than never.

I kept up the loosely coiled, flowing movements which evolved into hard jabs and flickering twists, and knew I was missing something. It was an old ache, one that made the palm of my hands tingle as if they remembered even if I didn't. There was nothing I could do to get whatever it was back until my brain was willing to cooperate with the rest of me so I dismissed it from my mind. Time slipped by, unnoticed and unconcerned by my engrossed mind.

The feel of my muscles slowly expanding and contracting gradually helped me feel more secure and find the control I seemed to be lacking. Heat rose from my skin and formed a halo of steam around me. I measured my arm through it and it clung for an instant before evaporating. I could feel my pores responding by coating my skin with micro pebbles. I absently filed those little details away without breaking my physical rhythme.

Control. I liked to control the world around me. I learned to sew at a very early age because I liked the control it gave me over what I wore and how I presented myself. It was why I learned how to do a good many things. I am in control right now, and I hadn't felt that way in a long time.

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I laid in the darkness of the bedroom after exhausting myself for more than two hours before taking another shower. From my lack of drowsiness, I knew I must have spent a couple of days in a near coma. I was gratified. I do remember, if nothing else, that I was always tired these days.

I could still remember, some where...some times in the past...laying in wait in a forest that was too quiet. The ground was soggy and the air was blurry with mist. So much of it, and I remembered thinking I'll never be dry again. I stayed there with the taste of vaguely coppery grit in my mouth as I patiently scanned the parameter, clutching my bow--

I physically turned my back against the insufficiently blocked window as if I could do the same to my own memories. Was it part of what caused my condition? No, I don't want to remember what I did. Debating the merits of my actions wasn't going to change anything. Not my life, not my family's, or anyone else. It won't make anything better either. It could even get worse. I was thankful I couldn't remember what nightmare I woke up from this morning. Just vague images.

Bullets spitting out of barrels wreathed in orange, yellow and red fire. Smoke. Arcs of electric blue as blades cut closer. So fast. Screams. The blades cutting again. Cutting through thick steel and making that high, teeth grinding note. The song of the samurai.

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08 - The Ties that Bind,
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Ex. Notes: I speculate that the ships landing on the planet Samurai 7 is located on were filled mostly with Asians/Japanese though other races were obviously on board as well. It seems the planet have been occupied by them for what looks like the better part of a millenia now therefore everyone would have slowly but surely interbred. Because the Japanese outnumbered everyone else their culture, architecture, ways and names would be adopted.

I.E. In my family only the first generation immigrants to the United States of America have Asian names. Some second generations have both Asian and American names while nearly all of the third/fourth generations have only American names. By the fifth generation, I'm sure only one or two will have any Asian names and by then it'll be "Americanized".
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Remnant | 08

Comments

[i-am-zan.livejournal.com]

Ahaha! I was very nearly late in picking up my girl from school. You have to congratulate yourself. I have never really liked Katsushiro (perhaps I was biased because he did off the Redjacket), but somehow you have created in me a liking for said character.
As I said before, nice descriptive smooth flowing text. Very well thought out plotline and pacing to match...
lead on MacDuff!