Post by Watanuki Kimihiro on Feb 26, 2012 8:25:05 GMT -5
Something didn't feel quite right.
It wasn't the air, though a breeze barely stirred its pressing warmth. Not the earth, immovable as ever. Something...far more subtle, but infinitely more potent. Watanuki lifted the kiseru in his right hand to his lips and drew in a long breath, leaning his head back, turning his eyes skyward in contemplation.
Not the air or the earth. It was that faint, whispering undercurrent of magic, pulsing at the edges of perception, hovering and vibrating somewhere in its own uniquely palpable space. Incomprehensibly powerful, but...distant, in a way. He exhaled, and in the faint smoke haze that lifted in front of his eyes, the skyline changed.
Things that had been as clear and whole as ever in the city lights not a moment ago were broken and twisted, no more than shattered remnants of what they should have been. He lowered the kiseru, felt the tap of it against the wood floor at his side, but didn't avert his eyes from the image. His legs tensed slightly, but before he could move to stand, a faint breeze stirred the air, dispersing the smoke, and as quickly as it came, the image was gone.
Very slowly, he settled back, allowing his gaze to drop, unseeing, to the confines of the shop's gate. Premonition? No, not quite - it was too brief, too faint. More like...he leaned forward slightly, closing his eyes, considering. Like a glimpse into something that could have been, or perhaps something that was. That seemed more accurate. An image as real as what surrounded him now, a flickering overlap of displaced reality.
Yuuko, what does this mean?
And that air of magic was as prominent in the air as ever. Even if he reached out to it, brushing at the edges with his thought as he so often did when he didn't understand the nature of something, it was too distant to touch. But he could feel it there, shifting, twisting, working in ways he couldn't comprehend. Watanuki pulled the kimono he wore - purple and black, with bands of gold scattered throughout - a little tighter, though the night was warm and humid. Very little gave him a sense of unease, anymore, but this...this was more than unsettling.
Something on this scale should have felt different. It should have been light and noise, visible even to those who had no perception at all of magic and the things it worked, throwing everything around into chaos and upheaval. But, though he couldn't step past the edges of the shop's gates, Watanuki was absolutely certain that everyone out there walked on with their lives as though nothing of any importance was happening. Even to his own considerable abilities, it was much too quiet, no more than a barely-intrusive whisper.
Like the entire world was changing around him, and he couldn't even see it.
He rose to his feet with the rustling of fabric, casting a long look back out over the city, and then sighed. It was times like these that he felt, acutely, that all of the things Yuuko had taught him hadn't been enough, and her absence was as keen as the day she was gone. There were books and notes in the shop, of course, but a question posed to lifeless words would receive no answer.
The shop door slid open at his touch, and he stepped over the threshold into cooler air, closing it behind him. Sleep, if anything, could reveal answers. He had always been proficient in the art of dream-searching. "Maru, Moro," he called through the quiet halls, pausing with one hand on the display stand seated just outside the doorway, "Be careful tonight. Don't let anyone into the shop."
His hand slid off as he passed through the doorway, but it wasn't until he had reached the bed that he realized something was off. There, on the stand, was a blue glass vase of Yuuko's, on display as it had been since the day he had begun his work.
But earlier in the day, enthused as he was about the promise of evening sake, Mokona had broken it.
It wasn't the air, though a breeze barely stirred its pressing warmth. Not the earth, immovable as ever. Something...far more subtle, but infinitely more potent. Watanuki lifted the kiseru in his right hand to his lips and drew in a long breath, leaning his head back, turning his eyes skyward in contemplation.
Not the air or the earth. It was that faint, whispering undercurrent of magic, pulsing at the edges of perception, hovering and vibrating somewhere in its own uniquely palpable space. Incomprehensibly powerful, but...distant, in a way. He exhaled, and in the faint smoke haze that lifted in front of his eyes, the skyline changed.
Things that had been as clear and whole as ever in the city lights not a moment ago were broken and twisted, no more than shattered remnants of what they should have been. He lowered the kiseru, felt the tap of it against the wood floor at his side, but didn't avert his eyes from the image. His legs tensed slightly, but before he could move to stand, a faint breeze stirred the air, dispersing the smoke, and as quickly as it came, the image was gone.
Very slowly, he settled back, allowing his gaze to drop, unseeing, to the confines of the shop's gate. Premonition? No, not quite - it was too brief, too faint. More like...he leaned forward slightly, closing his eyes, considering. Like a glimpse into something that could have been, or perhaps something that was. That seemed more accurate. An image as real as what surrounded him now, a flickering overlap of displaced reality.
Yuuko, what does this mean?
And that air of magic was as prominent in the air as ever. Even if he reached out to it, brushing at the edges with his thought as he so often did when he didn't understand the nature of something, it was too distant to touch. But he could feel it there, shifting, twisting, working in ways he couldn't comprehend. Watanuki pulled the kimono he wore - purple and black, with bands of gold scattered throughout - a little tighter, though the night was warm and humid. Very little gave him a sense of unease, anymore, but this...this was more than unsettling.
Something on this scale should have felt different. It should have been light and noise, visible even to those who had no perception at all of magic and the things it worked, throwing everything around into chaos and upheaval. But, though he couldn't step past the edges of the shop's gates, Watanuki was absolutely certain that everyone out there walked on with their lives as though nothing of any importance was happening. Even to his own considerable abilities, it was much too quiet, no more than a barely-intrusive whisper.
Like the entire world was changing around him, and he couldn't even see it.
He rose to his feet with the rustling of fabric, casting a long look back out over the city, and then sighed. It was times like these that he felt, acutely, that all of the things Yuuko had taught him hadn't been enough, and her absence was as keen as the day she was gone. There were books and notes in the shop, of course, but a question posed to lifeless words would receive no answer.
The shop door slid open at his touch, and he stepped over the threshold into cooler air, closing it behind him. Sleep, if anything, could reveal answers. He had always been proficient in the art of dream-searching. "Maru, Moro," he called through the quiet halls, pausing with one hand on the display stand seated just outside the doorway, "Be careful tonight. Don't let anyone into the shop."
His hand slid off as he passed through the doorway, but it wasn't until he had reached the bed that he realized something was off. There, on the stand, was a blue glass vase of Yuuko's, on display as it had been since the day he had begun his work.
But earlier in the day, enthused as he was about the promise of evening sake, Mokona had broken it.