( fuji ) shuusuke (
reveiller) wrote in
route_10652011-08-01 10:10 pm
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Entry tags:
log ; the rose I kept in a glass cage
Who:
reimprovise and
usedlaserbeam
Where: Goldenrod, in a park by the pokemon center
When: 07/30, directly after the text messages
Summary: a discussion about foxes, and the eyes that see them
Rating: PG-13
Log:
[it really is a nice day for the park, isn't it.
he knows that he's there early, for a given value of early, when he doesn't see Yagyuu there-- though really, it couldn't be called early. not since neither he nor the other set on a time. 'now' is so very subjective in the strangest of ways-- what constitutes as 'now' for a world where the land never stops spinning? surely it must've been the moment before that one, just slightly off-kilter...
he finds a nice park bench, and settles down on it, leaning back.
the sun really is so high.]
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Where: Goldenrod, in a park by the pokemon center
When: 07/30, directly after the text messages
Summary: a discussion about foxes, and the eyes that see them
Rating: PG-13
Log:
[it really is a nice day for the park, isn't it.
he knows that he's there early, for a given value of early, when he doesn't see Yagyuu there-- though really, it couldn't be called early. not since neither he nor the other set on a time. 'now' is so very subjective in the strangest of ways-- what constitutes as 'now' for a world where the land never stops spinning? surely it must've been the moment before that one, just slightly off-kilter...
he finds a nice park bench, and settles down on it, leaning back.
the sun really is so high.]
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So he thinks carefully a minute, adding up what he knows, where he thinks this might be going, what point Fuji might be leading towards...]
Foxes may not eat bread, but I'd imagine a prince would. Is that what it is to be tamed, to learn to see from someone else's point of view?
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[a pause, as he consider his next words carefully.] But for this fox, it was because of what it embodied. For this fox, wheat held no meaning, but once tamed, the golden fields would remind him of the prince's blond hair, and he'll be able to love the whispering of the wind through the fields.
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[The little fox sneaks closer still, settling down contentedly under Fuji's hand. The two humans aren't really paying attention to her anymore, and that's just fine with her; she's content to sit nearby and make herself unnoticed, peering about with wondering eyes.]
He makes being tamed sound like a reward, not a punishment.
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But I think what the fox was trying to say, was that what you gain is something precious. Like a fox by your hand, for example.
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[But then, he's surprised to find himself thinking, you'd never look at the color of wheat and see anything but wheat. Are memories like that really so precious, that they're worth what you'd have to trade to get them?]
Who's really being tamed here, Fuji-kun?
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Maybe the tamer gains from the tamed just as much as it's true for the other way around.
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[He mulls it over again.]
So does the prince agree to the fox's wishes, and tame it?
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[The honest answer is, he's really not sure. And Fuji's taking this a step farther now, putting him explicitly into the metaphor instead of merely implying it...which means the natural thing to do is stall for time.]
I suppose it would depend on the fox.
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[He nods slightly at the Vulpix.]
You've made much more progress with it than I have.
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there's one thing that he omitted from his half-hearted retelling of the little prince's story, and that's the existence of his rose. but he thinks that that story isn't his to tell. but more than anything, he knows that from the story of the prince and his rose, Fuji himself isn't the sort of person fit to be responsible for a fox. not if he truly loves the fox. not if the fox loves him.
therefore, he takes a gamble.]
Mm, have I. [because he hasn't, he thinks. as far as he knows, the fox has been in Yagyuu's possession for quite some time, and if there's one thing he believes in, it's in the capacity a fox has for remembering the truth of the matter.] Why don't you hold out your hand?
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And too often, that's the way it seems between the two of them, as well--Fuji evading, Yagyuu pursuing, a perpetual hunt that never seems to resolve one way or another. But the words of the past few minutes are still turning over in Yagyuu's head, even as he waits and watches to see if the Vulpix will approach as Fuji expects, his attention only half on the matter at hand because the rest of it is spinning back and curving in on itself in reflective thought.
Why did it change? The little prince, the lonely prince. And Fuji changed the scenario with it, taking himself out of that role, putting it onto Yagyuu's shoulders like a mantle. The color of wheat--to let in a person, to become tamed--the insinuation that it wasn't a subordinate position, that the exchange was mutual, that both gain from the relationship--
You're responsible for what you've tamed.
--another park, another bench, a streetlight in the dark--
One has to run before the other can follow and bring him back.
--and no, Fuji Shuusuke isn't the only fox he knows, is he?]
Let's hope this fox isn't as particular about her tamer as some can be.
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it's not at all just about the fox-- it's also about the tamer. because the little prince could have never tamed the fox if he wasn't lonely, if he didn't want to tame the fox, if he didn't already have the capacity to tame the fox, if he didn't already have something precious enough to him so much that he knew how to cherish what he had tamed, even if he didn't quite understand it yet.
and this, he thinks, is the reason why Fuji would never be responsible for the fox. and throughout this conversation, if he had to be honest with himself, he never quite thought that Yagyuu was fit to, either. but there's something about the way Yagyuu delivered that last sentence, the slight twist of his words that insinuate that the subject of the sentence isn't quite this particular fox. for a moment, he toys with the idea that it might be himself-- and at this, he smiles to himself. there would be a sense of irony to him, he thinks, but judging from the way Yagyuu is focused on the fox and the slight, foreign, quality to his expression (understandable, because Fuji wouldn't recognize the slightly less guarded expression, not since he's Fuji), that isn't it at all.
he isn't Yagyuu's doubles partner. and here, he can draw the simple lines of similarity between Niou and the fox, and wonders if there's the missing connection, right there.]
I wouldn't say it's just about the fox. [and here, he shrugs, quietly.] After all, she couldn't be tamed by you if you were of no use to her. If she comes to you-- [he pauses in consideration, before going on] -- it's because you're the one who's fed her, watered her and taken her out for walks.
I couldn't be the one, after all, because I've done none of those things.
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But Fuji isn't his partner, and won't be, and Yagyuu knows he'll never understand him the way he does Niou, because he'll never understand anyone the way he does Niou. Niou, who saw through his masks. Niou, whose jagged edges always seem to align so perfectly with his own. Niou, who knew there was something more behind the manners and smiles and went after it, pursuing it incessantly like he was on a hunt of his own.
Niou, who found him. And needs him. And knows better than to think that need is one-sided.
It's only belatedly, when the fox is halfway to his outstretched hand, that it occurs to Yagyuu to check the expression on Fuji's face--and wonder about the self-depreciation coloring the deeper levels of his words.]
There's more to it than simply the food and water and care, I think. Would she like me so well, Fuji-kun, if I didn't remind her of the wheat as well?
[And again, his thoughts go back to that match, Niou against Fuji, the two foxes at odds--and the illusion Niou chose to use against him.
What are you really waiting for, Fuji-kun?, he muses.]
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but the fox being half-way presents an interesting analogy for the undercurrents of their conversation. if he thinks that they're conversations are like tennis, then the ball is edging its way back into Yagyuu's court, and the movements of the fox coincidentally coincides. he fancies that if the fox stops half-way, maybe the conversation will, too, suspended in animation, neither side daring to speak for fear of upsetting the delicate balance. it almost makes him want to get the fox back, just to see it back in his court, because it being in his court means that it's not in Yagyuu's court.
on the other hand, a question that he's never quite got around to pondering occurs to him. he knows what the fox means to him, in all of its ambivalence, but what does taming the fox mean to Yagyuu? lost in thought, his expression is amiable, fogged with something like nostalgia, if not fondness. does it remind him of someone else that he tamed and was tamed by? he's whimsical enough to think that that's how relationships work. but since when was a fox not a fox? when the fox itself is a metaphor for something similar, not quite the same, but similar enough that you don't mind it, too, drawing closer...]
She reminds you of something, too, doesn't she? [he thinks aloud, thoughtful] It's why you don't particularly mind, when she draws close.
[it's also why this conversation has looped around itself onwards-- this person, he knows, is fully capable of stopping any conversation from going too far. could've simply saddled the fox with Fuji, and left it at that. if he didn't understand, didn't see the similarities himself, he wouldn't have engaged.
for the first time, he thinks that he has finally come to understand something about Yagyuu Hiroshi.]
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But that's part of it, isn't it? It was with Niou (and still is with Niou, but in shifting, changing ways, in variations on a tilting theme) and it is again now. It's half the game, keeping secrets, and the other half seeing who can unravel them first.
It's still a mystery to him, how it is that Seigaku's Fuji Shuusuke somehow insinuated himself among the team Yagyuu knows, how he made himself an ally to people he defeated. It's not hard to see that Yukimura and Niou trust him in a myriad of ways. But the name of this game is why, and he intends to find out.
And Niou, perhaps, is the route through which to do that.]
Is that the sort of thing you think I'd mind? I'm not as lonely a prince as you might take me for.
[Patience, he thinks, and watches the little fox hesitate on her way toward his fingers. This fox will take simply patience and time. It's Fuji that's going to warrant the effort.]
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still, though, the rejoinder almost begs the question. he thinks that Yagyuu can probably see his reply formulating on the tip of his tongue, and considers keeping it to himself, just to be contrary, but that, too, is predictable. what prompts him to ask, however, is the fact that Yagyuu's question is one that he can't answer himself. has he ever really considered Yagyuu to be a lonely prince? he makes metaphors intuitively, knowing that if he sat down to rationalize them, he'd inevitably come to the same conclusion. it sense a prickling sensation down his spine, because the implications make him uneasy. he usually attributes the role of the lonely prince to Tezuka.
it makes him wonder if he's been read (again). which is a frustrating prospect, just like how Rikkai as a whole is a frustrating prospect, with the way they read and meddle.]
Not as much of a prince? Or not as lonely?
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[In ways, it's infuriating, that tendency of Fuji's to counter every question with one of his own, to deflect and reflect and go after every advance Yagyuu makes, always working to ensure that it never makes it past his defenses. And Yagyuu is well aware of exactly how excellent a defense it can be, because it's one he practices himself--guarding, parrying, sidestepping anything that comes too close for comfort. But sooner or later, a chink in the armor will appear, and that's the time to strike. That's a game Yagyuu knows all too well, too.
Fuji will never say what he really thinks. They've done this enough times, enough different ways, for that much to be clear. It's a different experience, then, from Niou, who is usually all too eager to say exactly what he thinks (or what he wants you to think he thinks, at least). What is it, then, that Fuji thinks he's accomplishing by it? It's not simply to take as much advantage as he can get while giving none in return. The questions he asks, the way he operates--no, it's not mercenary enough for that. Yagyuu would've overcome him long ago if it were.
Then what is it? At the moment, he doesn't know. And perhaps that's it, that the game will stretch on until he does--and when he does, that will be the chink in the armor that ends it once and for all.]
And you might say it's one of the perks of playing doubles, that loneliness is never something to be concerned about.
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which should have, by all rights, exhausted the conversation-- the point has been reached, the matter has been dealt with, the metaphors have been said and re-said, and the story has been told. they should've already parted ways. but fox has yet to reach Yagyuu's hand, and the conversation flows on-- is there something else that still needs to be said? or does that, in itself, hinges on the position of the fox? he's whimsical enough to think that physical symbols translates smoothly to metaphorical symbols, and that the meaning behind anything lies in the little coincidences that riddle life and beyond.
what Yagyuu is saying is interesting. this is a language that he isn't entirely foreign to, the language of doubles. he's played doubles, on occasion, with others: Eiji, Taka-san. He's always understood that the sole purpose of him playing doubles is not because of his lack of worth as a singles player, but because he was one of the few on the team who was fluid enough to cover both positions, and the developments of their underclassmen often hinged on singles. but because of that, he's never quite developed what others often developed with their doubles partner-- that sense of closeness that seems to encompass all the space between them. that solidarity.
it's something he considers with whimsical fondness, 'longing' being too heavy of a word and 'regard' far too light. but from the way Yagyuu makes it out to be, it's not something that he envies. after all, Yagyuu hasn't actually said anything definitive in his two statements, and neither of them contradicted his implied claims.]
If life began and ended on the courts, perhaps. [he hums, resting his cheek on his knee.] Suppose the fox set you on fire?
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But for Fuji to deflect a tennis metaphor is a signal in itself, and it comes as no surprise that the subject changes again as the flow of the conversation tilts a little more. He had to have known they would reach the topic of doubles eventually; it was the natural conclusion to the ongoing train of thought. Why, then, let it escape so easily? Was the very mention of it all the confirmation that Fuji needed, and he's somehow scored another point while Yagyuu wasn't on his fullest guard? Or is it something else entirely?
No, he's still on the defensive. And the little fox is a few inches closer.]
If it's the responsibility of the tamed to accept a loss of independence by it, perhaps it's that of the tamer to accept that he might get burned in return. Just as stray cats sometimes scratch the hand that feeds them.
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he thinks on stray cats.
he likes cats. they don't necessarily like him. he thinks of scratches, and from Yagyuu's words, he thinks on where his education went wrong. cats are prideful, individual creatures. and when thinking on cats, it's only natural to draw out an analogy from their spiritual cousins, the dog. the dog, while it may have no need of you, and you have no need for it, will still wag its tail in familiarity. cats on the other hand-- if you have no use for them, he thinks, then they most certainly have no use for you.
he likes cats, but really, he doesn't like them at all. a glance, a hum.]
Is it satisfying, bearing that responsibility? I wonder if that's what they all ask.
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[And now it's Yagyuu's turn to counter, turning the question back with one of his own, because Fuji isn't the only one who can play at that game and now, at last, Yagyuu thinks he's found the advantage he's been waiting for.]
The scratch isn't the most troublesome part of a stray cat. It's when they leave and you're forced to let them go.
[It's a guess, a vague shot in the dark. And he can think of a handful of people it might be--because Niou would fit this description, too, though Yagyuu knows he's far from the only one. It is, effectively, a Rorschach blot in words. He's set the image; now it just remains to see what Fuji will see in it.
Because that's what ultimately matters in this game, really.]
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there really isn't any other way of describing it. the processes that kept him guarded and wary throughout this entire conversation slugs to a halt when the words sink in, like something cold and undesirable, ice prickling at the back of his neck. for a glorious three seconds, his mind is blank, just blank, as he kneels there and thinks of something that's really very much like nothing.
it takes him a second more to realize that even his breath has come to a standstill. it's that realization that breaks the solid whiteness, urges his mind gears to click onwards, onwards. he exhales slowly, controlled, and dearly wishes that he could lean back.
well played, and how unfair.
because as the gears in his mind pick up speed frantically, the first thing he thinks of is Yuuta-- but that isn't quite right. he's never owned Yuuta, has never tamed him, will never tame him because he will never understand him, and while he dearly wishes to cocoon him in the safety of domestication, knows that Yuuta wouldn't be Yuuta if he weren't free. Yuuta left, but the hurt couldn't have been from letting him go. he's never had him. there's nothing to let go. no, the hurt must have come from something else entirely-- and he thinks of Tezuka, the one who traversed an ocean. but Tezuka is like Yuuta. and he thinks, woefully, that the only people in his life that he cherishes more than anything else are those that he cannot, will not control. and Yagyuu-- he may not have seen this, but he must've realized something, and Fuji knows better than anyone that the subtle power struggle only needs but a drop in the bucket to tip the scales.
if he is at all honest with himself, maybe he'd admit that it hurts, just a little.
it's not the first time his mood wavers in Yagyuu's presence, but he hides his conflict well. the hint he willingly imparts, like a warning shot, is in his smile, all teeth, and the lifting of his head from his knee as he contemplates Yagyuu's gaze.
well played, indeed. a murmur, quiet enough to be unobtrusive, yet pitched to carry.]
Did you speculate because you'd thought you could draw something out from my personal experiences? [though the question is rhetorical in nature. while he's still fairly unsure as to what that 'something' may be, he's fairly certain that Yagyuu wouldn't have said such a thing if he didn't expect some sort of reaction, stirring.
a hum, contemplative. he brings a hand up to his cheek, and taps, twice.]
Or is it a confession, because you're drawing from your own?
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It's a shame, really, that they're like this, so guarded and so careful and so unwilling to let the light of day touch their true selves, or Yagyuu would tell Fuji that he understands perfectly, that feeling of loving most the ones he can control least. He understands because he has a captain, a partner, a team, and he is theirs as much as they are his. And perhaps that's how they differ, ultimately--that Yagyuu knows his place, his niche, even as he imposes his will on the world around him, and Fuji is still drifting, telling stories of lonely princes as he waits for someone to make him appreciate the color of wheat.
But he doesn't know it, and all he does know is that his guess has proved truer than he knows--that somehow he's struck a chord in the midst of his vague recognitions and intuitions, a figurative chance ball in the ongoing match between them.
So it's hard to say, really, what drives him to honesty in that moment. Perhaps it's Fuji's reward for finally dropping his obfuscations for once. Or perhaps it's simply that the blow has been struck, and if he doesn't soften it in the aftermath, he risks losing all the progress he's made when Fuji runs once and for all.]
Are we so different, that it couldn't be both? You've met my stray already.
[He reaches for the Vulpix now, a little more daring, and it's both gentle and familiar enough by now that she doesn't shy away.]
I can't say how your prince tamed his fox, Fuji-kun, but let me give you a word of advice about catching cats. As fickle as they may seem, if one is patient enough, they'll usually come back in the end--because even independence only goes so far, and sooner or later, even the most fickle of cats will come demanding the attention you're not giving it. You may not be able to hold them, but that doesn't mean you can't find ways to keep them.
[He pauses, regarding Fuji with a significant look.]
But as a word of advice for the cat himself--if he makes himself too hard to catch, he'll likely only find in the end that no one did.
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