Categories > Anime/Manga > Saiyuki
The Marshal's Office
It feels like voyeurism of a sort, and Konzen feels priggish even for thinking it. There is a strange satisfaction in watching Tenpou puttering distractedly about the office, apparently forgetting his presence for the moment, smelling faintly of fresh sweat and citrus cologne. Of course, this is the only time he can smell it - the cologne that is - with a Tenpou freshly rescued from a bath he had fallen asleep in. Rescued? Could gods drown?
The hare of his wandering thoughts annoys him, and he ruthlessly wrings its neck with a brisk swipe at the accumulated dust on the unused shelves. As if aware of the direction of his thoughts, Tenpou smiles at him and slides another book smoothly into its place. Wherever that is, in the mysterious order he has assigned for it among the vast collection he has amassed, an infinite bibliography of connections that exists only in his mind. It is not important in the greater plan of their visit, so he does not ask and Tenpou does not tell.
They are adults who know there is a time and place for everything, and ere they are finished with making his office a safer place for children and bored doujis to play in, the pizzeria will be called and lunch will be served. Preparations to feed Goku must be made before he wants it, else they will have to endure his plaints, and he has had enough of losing control before Tenpou, who will make him look even more the villain that he already knows he is.
It will be pizza because Goku has been making noises about wanting some, and for someone who loves the written word so much, Tenpou cares very little for the books they are in, and doesn't mind if Goku brings back his comics covered in sauces and oily fingerprints. This is not a new thing; Tenpou has never been averse to using his books as weapons, stacking them to fall on any intruding fool who will quickly learn to avoid disturbing him in his office unless it is truly necessary. Though at least one, head harder or more determined than most, has thus far failed to be deterred.
Mutability is not a quality he associates with Tenpou, however strange he seems by divine standards. He thinks of the other gods, with families, with children, counting their grey hairs as their children grew to adulthood. He can't imagine it: his hair greying, Goku older, his energy and endless questions worn thin, unquestioning adulation faded as he learnt to see Konzen for what he was instead of what Goku imagined.
No, he can. But he cannot imagine a Tenpou different from this; more grey and grave, with less joy and passion in his existence than he already lacked, the cool amusement of too little attachment that is his base response for everything... He stops, surprised at the turn his thoughts have now taken, and Goku comes in, having run out while they were otherwise preoccupied, and proffers to a surprised Tenpou a bunch of flowers no doubt gathered in the field from the stalks of hay caught in his wild hair.
For a moment, Tenpou seems younger.
end
It feels like voyeurism of a sort, and Konzen feels priggish even for thinking it. There is a strange satisfaction in watching Tenpou puttering distractedly about the office, apparently forgetting his presence for the moment, smelling faintly of fresh sweat and citrus cologne. Of course, this is the only time he can smell it - the cologne that is - with a Tenpou freshly rescued from a bath he had fallen asleep in. Rescued? Could gods drown?
The hare of his wandering thoughts annoys him, and he ruthlessly wrings its neck with a brisk swipe at the accumulated dust on the unused shelves. As if aware of the direction of his thoughts, Tenpou smiles at him and slides another book smoothly into its place. Wherever that is, in the mysterious order he has assigned for it among the vast collection he has amassed, an infinite bibliography of connections that exists only in his mind. It is not important in the greater plan of their visit, so he does not ask and Tenpou does not tell.
They are adults who know there is a time and place for everything, and ere they are finished with making his office a safer place for children and bored doujis to play in, the pizzeria will be called and lunch will be served. Preparations to feed Goku must be made before he wants it, else they will have to endure his plaints, and he has had enough of losing control before Tenpou, who will make him look even more the villain that he already knows he is.
It will be pizza because Goku has been making noises about wanting some, and for someone who loves the written word so much, Tenpou cares very little for the books they are in, and doesn't mind if Goku brings back his comics covered in sauces and oily fingerprints. This is not a new thing; Tenpou has never been averse to using his books as weapons, stacking them to fall on any intruding fool who will quickly learn to avoid disturbing him in his office unless it is truly necessary. Though at least one, head harder or more determined than most, has thus far failed to be deterred.
Mutability is not a quality he associates with Tenpou, however strange he seems by divine standards. He thinks of the other gods, with families, with children, counting their grey hairs as their children grew to adulthood. He can't imagine it: his hair greying, Goku older, his energy and endless questions worn thin, unquestioning adulation faded as he learnt to see Konzen for what he was instead of what Goku imagined.
No, he can. But he cannot imagine a Tenpou different from this; more grey and grave, with less joy and passion in his existence than he already lacked, the cool amusement of too little attachment that is his base response for everything... He stops, surprised at the turn his thoughts have now taken, and Goku comes in, having run out while they were otherwise preoccupied, and proffers to a surprised Tenpou a bunch of flowers no doubt gathered in the field from the stalks of hay caught in his wild hair.
For a moment, Tenpou seems younger.
end
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