Heaven's BBS | Text

[sweetdeath]

Posted: August 1, 2016 16:40:38
From: Asato Tsuzuki

----

If you're a shinki, how do you know if you knew how to do something before you died? We all have skills and talents, I mean, mostly. I haven't found a whole lot of mine so far.

I feel like there's got to be something, though! So.

How did you remember?

Do I just have to try doing everything once?

EDITED 16:55:20

Oh yeah also if anybody knows anything about onmyojitsu, text me? Thanks!

[He's appended his phone number.]

Comments

[tadanokusuriuri]

The very same, yes.

I'll await your arrival.

[sweetdeath]

[It doesn't take too long for Tsuzuki to make it out to the park. He's wearing the pair of shorts he's found with all of the extra pockets, to make room for the small sheaf of mulberry paper strips, the brush case, and the ink he's bringing along. His phone, too, just in case he can't recognize Hakari. Since he has no idea what the other shinki looks like.

He should probably have asked, he reflects, stopping nervously at the path by the park's edge and scanning the few people out this time of day. Some are strolling together, some others seem to have come here alone. Hakari should be alone, right? And looking like he's (or she's) looking for someone?]

Hello! Hakari?

[And, hopefully, in earshot?]

[tadanokusuriuri]

[The Medicine Seller has never quite managed to take to Western-style clothes, somehow. His wardrobe has gravitated naturally towards an odd blend of old-fashioned and strikingly colorful, in colors that complement the odd markings on his face. He's a little bit hard to miss, once you've spotted him, and yet still somehow easily overlooked until he speaks up and begins walking towards Tsuzuki.]

Tsuzuki-san... I take it?

[sweetdeath]

[Oh! Okay there he is -- the man has an odd aura, quiet and unobtrusive despite the outlandish outfit and makeup, and Tsuzuki's not quite sure how he manages to pull it off. He smiles hesitantly.]

That's me.

[Somehow... he seems to fit into the Heavens far better than Tsuzuki does.]

So, how do you want to do this? I thought I could try out one of the spells I think I know how to cast, and see if, you know, anything blows up.

[tadanokusuriuri]

My, my.

[He smiles, though maybe that's not exactly much of a change from his expression to begin with.]

Has blowing things up been... an issue before?

[sweetdeath]

More like a fear.

... See, I haven't exactly tried this yet.

[And maybe he's a little overly afraid of property damage. Things getting damaged is expensive, and he doesn't have any money. Or a salary, even if Sakura's household is usually okay enough on grocery money and gods don't have to pay rent.],/small>

[tadanokusuriuri]

Oh?

[There's got to be a reason for that. Most people would be curious, he imagines, so something would have to rein in that curiosity...]

I must ask... what it is you expect these spells to do.

[sweetdeath]

Honestly?

[He's settling down cross-legged. The grass is dry, and cut short, so he can settle his ink pot down in it while he unfastens the brush case and pulls the brush out. He picks up a strip of paper, and holds it with care.]

I'm just going to try a barrier. I don't really think it's going to blow up or turn the, the nearest tree into a monster, or anything like that.

But...

[But, even knowing better, there's that itch of fear at the back of his mind, the sense that he could blow things up, or turn someone or something into a monster. If he wanted, he could do quite a lot of things.

He doesn't like that feeling.]

[tadanokusuriuri]

"But"?

[That strikes him as an awfully important detail to gloss over. He looks Tsuzuki over curiously, rather interested to see just how powerful he is now.]

If it's only a barrier... that shouldn't cause much damage, either way.

[sweetdeath]

Right?

[So, maybe he's just being a coward, Tsuzuki tells himself, dips his brush, and carefully starts to write out the spell on the translucent slip of paper. It takes shape quickly, ancient forms of the characters for protection, envelopment, and strength filling the paper.

His own energy hangs in the air as he works, his efforts to keep it contained slipping away as he focuses on the paper. It's powerful indeed, if inconsistently disciplined, and there's a flavor to it that speaks of the spirit world more than the human.

It takes a few minutes before he finishes and sets down his brush, holding out the still-wet paper to display its geometrically precise calligraphy.]