damned_institute | Day 23: Lunch

Entry tags:

Day 23: Lunch

The second the intercom sounded, while the man on the intercom was still talking, Ashton pulled himself off the couch in the Music Room and slowly made his way to the door. He walked, glided even, as if he were a ghost in a dream. The nurses had already filed up to escort the patients to the lunchroom, and one bustled over to walk Ashton those few feet from one room to another.

"You're not looking very well, Mr. Pritchett," she said cheerfully. "Didn't you enjoy your shower?"

Ashton replied with a small, forced smile, then shook his head. He didn't feel like talking now. Though the nurses were pushy and downright annoying, he figured he owed this one at least a little explanation. They didn't know - or didn't believe - what went on after dark, but he owed them the benefit of the doubt. "Bad day," he decided on telling her.

Bad day indeed. The showers and the music had done nothing for his nerves. But then again, what could get that graphic image out of his head?

He glided ghostily through the taco line and settled on two chicken and bean tacos, with chips, a scoop of guacamole, two churros on the side, and a glass of apple juice. He wasn't used to this sort of food (save the juice) and he wasn't even sure he'd eat it, but the chances were high that he'd be able to pass it off on someone.

He was on the verge of tears again, too. What he would have given to just sit down next to a barrel and eat a hamburger.

Thank goodness the cafeteria was bare just now, too. It left all the corner tables open, the tables that shouted 'Don't talk to me, I'm brooding over here.' He sat at one, pushed his food a little away from him, and buried his head in his arms.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Homura didn't think it would be very interesting either; such was the case with most mortals. Still, perhaps the boy could offer something of a surprise. He already had during their conversation, after all.

"I have no way to prove what I am, or rather, what I was." The chakra of the gods was gone, and it was clear that Kyouya had no idea of the significance of his eye colors. He gave the teen a smile.

"Before, I was Homura, Toushin Taishi of the Heavens. My mother was a god, while my father was a mortal. And because of this, the Heavens despised me as a heretical being, born of a forbidden union between deity and man. They cursed me to a life of darkness, and then, when I wouldn't die, appointed me to be their puppet assassin, thinking perhaps I might perish in battle instead."

Homura paused there, taking the moment to study Kyouya's expression, and to give his words time to sink in. Given Kyouya's apparent nature, Homura wouldn't have been surprised if the teen laughed in his face.

At least it would be amusing.

He had to give Homura credit. This was far beyond any ridiculous story Tamaki could conjure up, and Kyouya found it a challenge to keep a straight face. It didn't help that Kyouya couldn't quite tell whether Homura was being completely serious or simply messing with him. Instinct told him that the man believed what he was saying, but... really. A half-god?

Different times. Different worlds.

Fine. He could bite.

"I'm assuming battle didn't kill you either," Kyouya said mildly.

Homura's grin widdened at the boy's utter lack of reaction. How much would it take, the man wondered, before that quiet facade cracked?

"Oh, it did. But not until a great deal of time after I was appointed my position. Nearly five hundred years, in fact." For the first time, Homura looked off to the side, his expression growing thoughtful as he remembered.

"The gods in Heaven are cruel creatures. They took what was most precious to me. So I rebelled, and nearly managed to recreate their white-washed paradise entirely. But I was cut down by a warrior with strength greater than my own before that could happen."

Homura still looked away, not at any object in the cafeteria, but at the memories of his final moments, finding genuine happiness in recalling his success.

Kyouya could've explained away the first part of the story. Many ancient civilizations on Earth believed that certain members were the children of gods, and so while Homura believed in his parentage, it didn't mean it was true. But this other stuff... you couldn't be confused about living for several centuries or dying unless you were actually delusional.

This was a mental hospital, after all. While Kyouya was certain that none of his friends deserved to be here, there had to be at least a few legitimately crazy people in this place.

But Homura behaved so lucidly. And despite everything, Kyouya was interested in the peculiarities of this man. Whether he told the truth or not, Homura was definitely a character.

"So," Kyouya began at length, after enough time to keep the incredulity out of his voice, "you're telling me that you're a dead five-hundred-year-old demi-god. Approximately."

He still sounded a little skeptical.

Homura couldn't keep a touch of laughter from his voice as he replied. Put it that way, and it probably would sound impossible to most mortals. "That is exactly what I am telling you. It's good to know you were paying attention."

The man leaned forward in his seat, once again meeting Kyouya's gaze. "Is there anything more specific you would like to know, or are you ready to tell me some of your story now?"

"I'm ready to tell you about it any time. As I said, it's only fair. But..." Kyouya considered Homura's extraordinary story again. It had the flavour of legend: epic and vague, like the addendum to a folk tale.

Folk tales tended to fall apart in the details. Kyouya wasn't about to pry that deeply, not now anyway while they barely knew each other, but he was curious to see how detailed Homura's recollections were.

"I assume your longevity and prowess in battle is thanks to your mother. Does your parentage give you any other, ah, powers? Last night, the other man did... something to one of the monsters. It was like... lightning. You see, there's nothing like that in my world. Powers, I mean. Not lightning," Kyouya clarified.

"I once had abilities like that, though the element I used was fire." Homura's displeasure at the past tense of his words bled into his voice; it was by far the most frustrating aspect of this place for him. "But my strength has been greatly diminished since I found myself here. It is possible that I have been reincarnated as a human since my death. Or..."

Homura frowned slightly. Though he hadn't taken much time to consider it, he had noticed something missing from Sanzo from the start, something the man was willing to die to protect.

"It is entirely possible the forces that placed us here have ways to strip powers as well. They certainly seem able to identify items that give their owners power."

Like Sanzo's scripture.

Reincarnation as a human. Convenient. Kyouya made a mental note to question Tamaki about supernatural powers, stripped, muted or otherwise. Perhaps he'd also relate his findings to Homura. He owed the man that much for last night.

The teen continued to watch Homura raptly, intrigued by the change in his disposition as he talked about his powers. Kyouya supposed he could understand—it wasn't exactly the same, but losing the wealth and privilege that had accompanied him since birth was discomforting to Kyouya. He was beginning to realize that his family's name and power meant nothing here.

"I was told that they conduct experiments on the patients. For what reason, I don't know, but it wouldn't be a stretch for them to have developed the knowledge and methods to do that to you."

He wasn't done with the questions, however.

"Are there are many... immortals where you come from, Homura-san? You mentioned multiple gods. Do they all have abilities like yours? Augmented strength, unnatural longevity... using fire." Kyouya suddenly smiled at himself, amused. He almost sounded like he believed in this stuff.

"No, it wouldn't be." Homura's voice trailed off as he tried to think of an experiment that would enable those who ran this place to remove abilities, or even take souls from extremely varied times and locations. But the distraction was unwelcome, and quickly pushed to the back of Homura's mind for a time when he was alone.

After all, the remark proved that Kyouya had some information to offer.

The questioning continued, and Homura let out a low laugh. "You won't be satisfied until you know everything, will you?" The question wasn't mean-spirited, spoken instead in amusement. Homura had never been able to escape his origins, but he had freed himself from the sense of shame the other gods had wanted him to feel.

"There are a great number of gods in Heaven, and all are by their nature immortal, untouched by time or illness...though it is possible, if difficult to kill them."

"Not all gods are suited for combat, however." Homura briefly glanced at the cafeteria seats he could see without turning his head, but Konzen was no where in sight. Pity. It would have been an excellent opportunity to rile him a bit.

Kyouya smirked back at Homura when he laughed, glad that he didn't seem to resent all of the prying questions. Normally Kyouya's information gathering methods were less direct, but Landel's wasn't providing him with a cell phone and long lists of contacts.

He wouldn't have known how to call Heaven, anyway.

"Not suited? You mean they don't have any combat-related abilities like you do, or something else?" Kyouya caught the man's subtle glance, and did the same, seeing his friends also engaged in conversation with strangers.

It was a question he strangely hadn't considered until now: "Are there people from your world here too?"

Homura nodded slightly. "Both, really. There were some who had the spirit to fight, but not the training. By far, however, most of the gods are content to sit back and watch someone else risk their lives in the name of Heaven." It was just such a desire that had inspired them to create the role of Toushin Taishi, and the convienence of disposing of their heretical creations, such as Homura himself.

He saw the movement of Kyouya's eyes, and smiled lightly. "There are several, but only one of them remembers me. He was a god as well, a man named Kenren Taisho. Unlike the others, he is still able to recall his time in Heaven."

That made sense. Kyouya knew well the practicality in delegation. He wondered now how organized was this system in Heaven, and what exactly their roles were in the world. Powerful gods in flesh and blood (apparently, anyway), existing alongside 'mortals' like himself?

Kyouya felt glad that such things were only fiction where he came from, but only momentarily. This still wasn't Japan, and he wasn't having lunch in the Ootori mansion or Ouran Academy.

"So, the people from your world also arrived here from different times?" he noted. Kyouya sat back, clear frustration edging into his next words. "I guess it is common in this place after all, but it still doesn't make any sense to me."

He sighed. Calm. React, adapt. His father could be proud of his coping mechanisms so far. "One last question, if you'll indulge me. These other people... none of them are the one who supposedly killed you, are they?"

"Very different times. Five hundred years, in fact. And I doubt it makes sense to anyone." Different times, different incarnations; nothing about Kenren being here with Sanzo and Hakkai made sense in the least. But it was enough to say that they were from different points in history.

After all, he wouldn't want Kenren to lecture him about revealing too much to complete strangers, would he?

The final question drew a smile from Homura, and he looked to Kyouya curiously. "What an interesting thing to ask. One of them is in fact the one who killed me, though he has no memory of it. A boy with bright golden eyes named Son Goku."

Kyouya gave a slight shrug. "This whole conversation's been interesting," he said truthfully. The answer, although unexpected, confirmed something for him: a confident man like Homura, were he truly delusional, would be unlikely to ascribe greater strength to someone else in his grand mythological story. Maybe. Kyouya wasn't exactly an expert in psychology, but—

Wait.

Son Goku, as in the monkey god of Saiyuuki? Kyouya knew the Journey To The West tales as well as any other Japanese youth, and all that, when matched to everything Homura had told him so far...

"Son Goku. That's an unusual name," commented Kyouya after a brief moment, trying his best to maintain his unflappability. "You know, what's also unusual is that while you quite obviously come from a different world than mine, 'Homura' is Japanese name. Japan being the country I come from."

"Unusual, perhaps, but his name suits him." A new twist to the game? The corners of Homura's mouth lifted, and the man wondered if Kyouya was trying to trap him somehow. "My name was decided for me before I was born; before the gods realized what I was. I've never questioned it's origin."

Truthfully, Homura could not remember a country named Japan, but he'd never really questioned geography either. He went where he needed to battle, and there was little more to know than that; however, if he had ever been sent to Japan, he'd likely know it very well. He'd certainly learned a great deal about China and India once he began to form his plans.

"I've never been to this Japan." Homura let a lilt of curiosity enter his voice. "What is it like in your world?"

"My world..." It was unusual for Kyouya to think of 'his world' being something much larger than the experiences of his sixteen years. He put aside the strange name coincidence for now (although few things were true coincidences), and considered the question.

How to describe it? "As I said before, we have no supernatural powers... and we have no gods, not as far as material evidence goes. While there's battle, the people who are fighting aren't the ones who change the world—not really. That sort of power is in the hands of those with wealth and influence, and they of course leave the grunt tasks to others." He gave a slight laugh. "Sort of like your gods in Heaven, I suppose."

Kyouya's tone reflected no resentment or ruefulness. If anything, it was a touch of homesickness. He hadn't been here for long, but another week wasn't going to change his wish to return to the ways he understood.

"In short, an unremarkable world. The lives of 'mortals' must seem very small to you," he mused.

Well, the description of Kyouya's world made it seem plain enough, and almost pleasant, at least to the former Toushin Taishi. Was it truly like that? Kyouya's apparent age had to make Homura wonder, but then, there were those who had gotten a sense of the Heavens when they were even younger.

Wasn't that right, Son Goku?

But some things remained unchanged, and Homura nodded at the accurate comparison. While wealth was not so much a factor, influence certainly was, and there were and had been gods who would do anything for political position. Still, most men of that type had one major weakness.

"But can your wealthy and influential battle for themselves, if necessary? Or would they be helpless, should the men they rule over realize their own power and rise against them? Would they even be able to see it?"

The gods of Heaven certainly hadn't seen Homura's plan as it unfolded before them...not until it had been far too late to stop him.

But there were other factors in that battle, and with a grin, Homura shook his head. "Short, perhaps, but not uninteresting. Mortals have a beautiful stubbornness that most in Heaven simply do not possess. Their desire to not just live, but to live in a manner of their own choosing is to say the least, admirable."

"And what about you, Ootori Kyouya?" Homura rarely addressed anyone by just a first or last name; a quirk he'd developed too long ago to be able to explain. "How do you choose to live your life?"

Kyouya was unable to hide a smile at the comments about the wealthy and influential. It was in Kyouya's nature to plan for chaos and unexpected turns of luck (just not anything as bad as Landel's, admittedly), but even he'd been thrown by Fujioka Haruhi's arrival into their lives. What one unassuming commoner could do to boys who'd been raised since birth to become CEOs or members of the Diet...

It wasn't exactly the same thing, of course. "It's a concern. But it won't happen, not to any effective degree anyway, as long as those in control appear to serve the needs of the masses and give them a semblance of choice. Anyone arrogant enough to not accomplish something so basic would deserve to be ousted, wouldn't you agree?"

And that last question... what a question. Kyouya had given himself enough away so far, having been largely unconcerned with impressing Homura, but it wasn't too late to recover his full façade. But why bother?

"How do I live my life? Simple: profit. I am entirely motivated by reciprocal benefits when it comes to others." Kyouya leaned forward again, matching Homura's grin with a shameless smile. "For instance, I talk to you now because I know you can fight, and that appears to be useful here. I'm sure you already know that I'm not a warrior, and most of my allies aren't either."

Besides, it was more interesting this way.

"There are those who accomplish just that who still deserve to be removed from their positions...but I do agree." Homura studied Kyouya's smile, curious at a moment like this. Even for one so young, the god was certain that Kyouya's role in such a system was an active one. But from below, or above?

Homura had an idea, of course. And Kyouya's uninhibited claim confirmed it.

The man let out a quiet, delighted laugh as Kyouya spoke. The reason for Kyouya's presence had been fairly obvious from the start, at least to a man like Homura, who believed creatures should act in their own interest.

Within reason.

"Certainly. It was quite clear from your actions last night that none of you, save for your short friend, has received significant training, if you've had any at all." Homura certainly would have agreed that the game just grew much more interesting had he known Kyouya's thoughts. He leaned back in the chair, his pose very open and unafraid as he held Kyouya's gaze.

Would this boy have accepted godhood? Or would he have been one of the rare few who chose free will over immortality? For a fleeting moment, Homura wished he still had the ability so he could find out.

But he couldn't let what was now impossible distract him from the matter at hand. Certainly not when the young mortal before him seemed rather talented at the game.

"What exactly do you want from me, Ootori Kyouya...and what are you able to give?"

Homura's soft laugh allowed Kyouya to relax in his seat — he hadn't even realized that he was tense. Some part of his instinct and self-preservation was still working for him, then. Kyouya might act like the game was still the same, but he knew that this setting was far more dangerous than anything else he'd encountered before.

Kyouya shook his head at the double question. "I think that sort of negotiation is best left for later, when we both have a better sense of the situation. I may not be a world-class martial artist, but I don't believe I'm useless yet. Still, let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? As we already discussed, arrogance can lead men to their downfall." He laughed, rather lightly considering their subject. "Or demi-gods, where the term is appropriate."

First thing in order was an assessment of his resources. Kyouya was playing the game with no money, no family name, and no reputation beyond what the host club could vouch for. But it was something. There was always something.

"As you wish." Patience was one thing Homura had learned very well during his long life, and there was certainly no rush to commit himself. Given the rundown one of Kyouya's allies had given the youth the previous night, it was likely Kyouya was in a situation very similiar to Homura's own; new, and unsure of what was available to him.

And while there certainly were those who would make empty promises without hesitation, Homura doubted Kyouya was that type. So he would let the boy have as much time as he wished.

"When you are ready, I would like to discuss options with you." His eyes met Kyouya's, and now it was his turn to smile without shame. "You've got a clever mind for one so young. I like that."

"Thank you," Kyouya answered, as flawlessly polite as ever. He hadn't expected Homura to take issue with what was essentially a stall tactic — practical, yes, but stalling nonetheless. Kyouya normally preferred not be caught so unprepared. He needed to get his head together soon, and fast.

Kyouya looked back at Homura, again struck by his different-coloured eyes. Was it common? The Son Goku he'd mentioned apparently had two golden eyes instead of one. Was he a god too, or just a 'boy' as Homura had called him? "I appreciate the compliment. And of course, should you need to discuss something else with me, I'll certainly be receptive."

Kyouya glanced around. "I still owe you my story, don't I? Only, I'm not sure if there's enough time left for me to tell it."

Homura watched as the boy seemed almost to retreat into himself, that unrestrained desire slipping behind a mask of polite words. Or so it seemed to the war god.

"We'll talk again, I'm certain. And one thing a lifetime in Heaven teaches is to take what is enjoyable and make it last." And he certainly had taken pleasure in his time with Kyouya, reardless of the teen's belief in his story, or lack thereof. Mortals such as him really were his favorite aspect of the Lower World.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Day 23: Lunch

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject