One more scene...
Oct. 16th, 2006 09:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sakon76...before I run off to the doctor's. Had this working itself out in my head last night as I tried to fall asleep.
Ryu closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering the form in his mind. He opened his eyes again and touched ink to the white paper, darkness following the clean strokes of the brush held neatly perpendicular to the sheet. Around the curve of one stroke, flowing neatly into the next, the essence of meaning imbued into each minimalist move, his hand and eye moved, expressing the word in his mind as clearly as he could.
It was in its own way another kata, a discipline and a form. This one, though, had less to do with war and more to do with sensibility.
He finished the word and set the pen down. "Jin," he muttered quietly, looking at the result. /Forbearance./
He looked over at Mirai's work as the other set down his brush, and winced.
"What the hell is that?" Ryu demanded.
"Gi," Mirai replied proudly. /Justice./ They'd decided, or rather Ryu had, on the Confucian virtues for a set for this lesson.
Mirai's calligraphy looked like a tanuki set loose with a paintbrush.
"Is your handwriting this bad too?" Ryu demanded, snatching up Mirai's paper and staring at it in horror. "How can you call this writing?" He looked up to see Mirai's crestfallen expression. "You /do/ have writing on your planet, don't you?"
"Of course we do," Mirai defended himself. "It's just different."
Maybe Mirai's shoddy writing was due to a lack of familiarity with Japanese, Ryu thought. He picked up Mirai's brush and held it out to him. "Show me."
Mirai blinked at the brush, then shook his head. He closed his eyes. Ryu slowly put the brush back down, feeling /stillness/ and /centering/ in Mirai's form.
Mirai opened his eyes and began tracing in mid-air with his index finger. Where he drew, a sparkling line of green fire remained behind, curves and swoops and straight lines. Mirai's eyes were fast on his work, the smallest of smiles on his lips.
*
Mirai spelled out his own name in his own language, careful as ever but swift with the work. There were so many more variables in the Ultra tongue than there were in Japanese. The angle of /this/ line denoted his rank, the depth of /that/ curvature his immaturity, and oh how he'd wanted to change that line and write his name differently when he was younger, but hadn't, knowing that changing it would only prove how immature he was. There, his kin and ties were named, and here, his skills and power level. He closed the word with his personal signature, the infinity symbol that was his name, and smiled to see it properly written. He looked up at Ryu. "This is Ultra script."
Ryu was looking at the glowing character in fascination. "What is it?"
"My name," Mirai admitted.
"Looks kind of like Arabic," Ryu said, his head a little tilted to one side as he examined it.
Mirai had a thought, and swept his hand across the word. It dissolved into nothing, and he began again.
This was a word he'd never written before, and discovering it was exhilarating. The height of one line spoke of Ryu's rashness, but that was balanced by the deep curl that spoke of his loyalty. His passion was demonstrated in a trio of swift cross strokes; his lack of blood family in an empty space where kin ties should have been named. His humanity was covered under power level, and his heart... the stroke with a double curl at either end wrote itself out before Mirai knew it. He sealed the word again, and blinked, looking at it.
That last stroke... lover, and beloved?
He wondered who Ryu was in love with, and if he knew it was returned.
"What's that?" Ryu asked.
"Your name," Mirai answered, looking up and meeting Ryu's eyes.
Ryu looked thunderstruck.
Mirai smiled and captured the word against the flat of his palm. He swept it over to the writing implements Ryu had set out, and pressed it against a sheet of paper. It flared, then sank in, precise dark lines burned into the paper. He examined the set, then picked it up and handed it to Ryu. "So you'll always know who you are," he said.
Ryu still looked a bit stunned as he accepted the sheet, his eyes going over his name in a language he couldn't read.
And Mirai wondered again about that last stroke.
Ryu closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering the form in his mind. He opened his eyes again and touched ink to the white paper, darkness following the clean strokes of the brush held neatly perpendicular to the sheet. Around the curve of one stroke, flowing neatly into the next, the essence of meaning imbued into each minimalist move, his hand and eye moved, expressing the word in his mind as clearly as he could.
It was in its own way another kata, a discipline and a form. This one, though, had less to do with war and more to do with sensibility.
He finished the word and set the pen down. "Jin," he muttered quietly, looking at the result. /Forbearance./
He looked over at Mirai's work as the other set down his brush, and winced.
"What the hell is that?" Ryu demanded.
"Gi," Mirai replied proudly. /Justice./ They'd decided, or rather Ryu had, on the Confucian virtues for a set for this lesson.
Mirai's calligraphy looked like a tanuki set loose with a paintbrush.
"Is your handwriting this bad too?" Ryu demanded, snatching up Mirai's paper and staring at it in horror. "How can you call this writing?" He looked up to see Mirai's crestfallen expression. "You /do/ have writing on your planet, don't you?"
"Of course we do," Mirai defended himself. "It's just different."
Maybe Mirai's shoddy writing was due to a lack of familiarity with Japanese, Ryu thought. He picked up Mirai's brush and held it out to him. "Show me."
Mirai blinked at the brush, then shook his head. He closed his eyes. Ryu slowly put the brush back down, feeling /stillness/ and /centering/ in Mirai's form.
Mirai opened his eyes and began tracing in mid-air with his index finger. Where he drew, a sparkling line of green fire remained behind, curves and swoops and straight lines. Mirai's eyes were fast on his work, the smallest of smiles on his lips.
Mirai spelled out his own name in his own language, careful as ever but swift with the work. There were so many more variables in the Ultra tongue than there were in Japanese. The angle of /this/ line denoted his rank, the depth of /that/ curvature his immaturity, and oh how he'd wanted to change that line and write his name differently when he was younger, but hadn't, knowing that changing it would only prove how immature he was. There, his kin and ties were named, and here, his skills and power level. He closed the word with his personal signature, the infinity symbol that was his name, and smiled to see it properly written. He looked up at Ryu. "This is Ultra script."
Ryu was looking at the glowing character in fascination. "What is it?"
"My name," Mirai admitted.
"Looks kind of like Arabic," Ryu said, his head a little tilted to one side as he examined it.
Mirai had a thought, and swept his hand across the word. It dissolved into nothing, and he began again.
This was a word he'd never written before, and discovering it was exhilarating. The height of one line spoke of Ryu's rashness, but that was balanced by the deep curl that spoke of his loyalty. His passion was demonstrated in a trio of swift cross strokes; his lack of blood family in an empty space where kin ties should have been named. His humanity was covered under power level, and his heart... the stroke with a double curl at either end wrote itself out before Mirai knew it. He sealed the word again, and blinked, looking at it.
That last stroke... lover, and beloved?
He wondered who Ryu was in love with, and if he knew it was returned.
"What's that?" Ryu asked.
"Your name," Mirai answered, looking up and meeting Ryu's eyes.
Ryu looked thunderstruck.
Mirai smiled and captured the word against the flat of his palm. He swept it over to the writing implements Ryu had set out, and pressed it against a sheet of paper. It flared, then sank in, precise dark lines burned into the paper. He examined the set, then picked it up and handed it to Ryu. "So you'll always know who you are," he said.
Ryu still looked a bit stunned as he accepted the sheet, his eyes going over his name in a language he couldn't read.
And Mirai wondered again about that last stroke.
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-16 04:56 pm (UTC)Oi, Mirai... *smacks forehead*
Now I must go write more!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-17 06:08 am (UTC)