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Two Mushishi fics, one written for Yuletide '07 and one written for Yuletide '08. I am apparently incapable of writing a fic for this fandom without referencing episode 12 in some way. (I may have a huge writer-crush on episode 12. ;;)
I think I like Deluge better. Both because it's more recent, and because I love Adashino.
When he was twelve, Ginko found himself staring down a mushi for the first time in his life. He'd seen them up close, even mere centimeters away, but this one, thin as a blade of grass but long as a snake, was settled around his neck. And even though it lacked eyes, it was considering him.
This particular mushi was known for crawling into its host's mouth and settling itself near the heart, surviving off its host's energy until death. But Ginko stared at it steadily, without a tremble.
The mushishi traveling with Ginko hung back, sharing an uncharacteristically nervous expression, until it seemed to come to a decision, slithering down Ginko's back and into the ground.
When he told the story to Tanyuu, years later, she watched him, just as steadily. "What were you thinking at the time?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"Well..." Ginko grinned wryly. "Probably something like, 'It would be a problem if I died, huh?'"
"A problem?" Tanyuu echoed, smiling.
He looked back at her incredulously. "Is something funny?" he sighed.
"Nothing, really." She bit her lip. "Some of the other mushishi I've met... they pretend to be fearless, but I really think they would have panicked then."
Ginko's traveling companions had said the same thing, back then. "Weren't you scared?" they'd demanded, hoping for an affirmative to assuage their embarrassment.
"Not really." Ginko had blinked up at them. "Everything is what it is, right?"
The other mushishi smiled down at him, praising him for his maturity. And Ginko tried to smile back, tried to feel proud and mature - but he couldn't stop that familiar feeling, as if something was stirring in the back of his head. Something telling him that the words he just spoke weren't his own.
On occasion, Ginko forgot what human interaction was like. Not often; his work brought him into contact with every sort of person. But sometimes, on the treks through the mountains that could take weeks, he forgot voices existed.
They still did, of course.
"Ginko."
Ginko, who had been staring unfocusedly at the opposite wall as he listened to the splash of raindrops against the roof, snapped to attention, and met the doctor's eyes as if he had been listening the whole time. "What?"
Adashino glared, taping the last bit of gauze against Ginko's foot. "I said, how long did you drag yourself around like this before you thought of coming to me?"
"Ah." Ginko had the decency to look sheepish. He would have lied, but lying to a doctor didn't seem sensible. "A week."
"... a week," Adashino repeated as he shook his head. "A few days later and I'd be cutting your festering foot off right now. I imagine that would put a damper on business, wouldn't it?"
"A one-footed mushishi," Ginko mused. "Doesn't sound very effective, no." Perhaps Tanyuu could give him a few pointers.
Adashino's forehead creased further at his patient's cheek. "At least tell me you got this off a very dangerous mushi."
"Extremely," Ginko promised him. "Fangs and all." In truth, he had lost his footing on a particularly muddy part of the mountain, sliding a ways down before hitting a jagged rock. But Adashino didn't need to know that.
Adashino also didn't need to know that Ginko had sprawled next to that rock for close to an hour, half-covered in mud and soaked in the rain, and had thought the entire time that it felt vaguely familiar.
"Whatever the case was," Adashino said, "try not to do it again." Ginko waited for the self-conscious qualifier, the 'If you die, where am I going to find another mushishi at such short notice?' Surprisingly, it didn't come.
"Hehhh," Ginko said, grinning. "It's rare to see Dr. Adashino so competent."
"I don't need to hear that from you," the doctor huffed, standing up to put his tools away. "Not after I've offered you my home and everything."
"... hm?"
"You'll be staying the night, of course," Adashino said, as if this had already been discussed. "You won't get anywhere in this weather, or on that foot."
"I'll find some shelter somewhere," Ginko said with a shrug.
"One night isn't going to turn my house into a mushi nest," Adashino insisted. "And I wouldn't mind if it did."
"I'm sure you wouldn't." No, one night never did make much of a difference. But the first night was always the most alluring: there was no pull stronger than four walls and a roof. And if he had to stay anywhere, he knew, it was always better to sleep in the house of a stranger.
But Adashino, with a smug smile, said, "I don't think I have to remind you that in your condition, I could easily catch you if you try to run."
And there was that. Raising an eyebrow, Ginko reached for his cigarettes. "When did you get so violent?"
"I've had more difficult patients than you, you know." Adashino took a seat next to Ginko, glancing at the roof. The splash of the raindrops had become an indistinguishable roar. "I was wondering," he said, quieter. "Do mushi like the rain, or dislike it?"
"Hmmm." Ginko took a drag on his cigarette. "It depends, I think. Some of them might not even notice it."
"Not notice?" Adashino repeated.
"Right," Ginko sighed. "Some of them don't pay attention to much of anything at all."
It was more than a little enviable.
I think I like Deluge better. Both because it's more recent, and because I love Adashino.
When he was twelve, Ginko found himself staring down a mushi for the first time in his life. He'd seen them up close, even mere centimeters away, but this one, thin as a blade of grass but long as a snake, was settled around his neck. And even though it lacked eyes, it was considering him.
This particular mushi was known for crawling into its host's mouth and settling itself near the heart, surviving off its host's energy until death. But Ginko stared at it steadily, without a tremble.
The mushishi traveling with Ginko hung back, sharing an uncharacteristically nervous expression, until it seemed to come to a decision, slithering down Ginko's back and into the ground.
When he told the story to Tanyuu, years later, she watched him, just as steadily. "What were you thinking at the time?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"Well..." Ginko grinned wryly. "Probably something like, 'It would be a problem if I died, huh?'"
"A problem?" Tanyuu echoed, smiling.
He looked back at her incredulously. "Is something funny?" he sighed.
"Nothing, really." She bit her lip. "Some of the other mushishi I've met... they pretend to be fearless, but I really think they would have panicked then."
Ginko's traveling companions had said the same thing, back then. "Weren't you scared?" they'd demanded, hoping for an affirmative to assuage their embarrassment.
"Not really." Ginko had blinked up at them. "Everything is what it is, right?"
The other mushishi smiled down at him, praising him for his maturity. And Ginko tried to smile back, tried to feel proud and mature - but he couldn't stop that familiar feeling, as if something was stirring in the back of his head. Something telling him that the words he just spoke weren't his own.
On occasion, Ginko forgot what human interaction was like. Not often; his work brought him into contact with every sort of person. But sometimes, on the treks through the mountains that could take weeks, he forgot voices existed.
They still did, of course.
"Ginko."
Ginko, who had been staring unfocusedly at the opposite wall as he listened to the splash of raindrops against the roof, snapped to attention, and met the doctor's eyes as if he had been listening the whole time. "What?"
Adashino glared, taping the last bit of gauze against Ginko's foot. "I said, how long did you drag yourself around like this before you thought of coming to me?"
"Ah." Ginko had the decency to look sheepish. He would have lied, but lying to a doctor didn't seem sensible. "A week."
"... a week," Adashino repeated as he shook his head. "A few days later and I'd be cutting your festering foot off right now. I imagine that would put a damper on business, wouldn't it?"
"A one-footed mushishi," Ginko mused. "Doesn't sound very effective, no." Perhaps Tanyuu could give him a few pointers.
Adashino's forehead creased further at his patient's cheek. "At least tell me you got this off a very dangerous mushi."
"Extremely," Ginko promised him. "Fangs and all." In truth, he had lost his footing on a particularly muddy part of the mountain, sliding a ways down before hitting a jagged rock. But Adashino didn't need to know that.
Adashino also didn't need to know that Ginko had sprawled next to that rock for close to an hour, half-covered in mud and soaked in the rain, and had thought the entire time that it felt vaguely familiar.
"Whatever the case was," Adashino said, "try not to do it again." Ginko waited for the self-conscious qualifier, the 'If you die, where am I going to find another mushishi at such short notice?' Surprisingly, it didn't come.
"Hehhh," Ginko said, grinning. "It's rare to see Dr. Adashino so competent."
"I don't need to hear that from you," the doctor huffed, standing up to put his tools away. "Not after I've offered you my home and everything."
"... hm?"
"You'll be staying the night, of course," Adashino said, as if this had already been discussed. "You won't get anywhere in this weather, or on that foot."
"I'll find some shelter somewhere," Ginko said with a shrug.
"One night isn't going to turn my house into a mushi nest," Adashino insisted. "And I wouldn't mind if it did."
"I'm sure you wouldn't." No, one night never did make much of a difference. But the first night was always the most alluring: there was no pull stronger than four walls and a roof. And if he had to stay anywhere, he knew, it was always better to sleep in the house of a stranger.
But Adashino, with a smug smile, said, "I don't think I have to remind you that in your condition, I could easily catch you if you try to run."
And there was that. Raising an eyebrow, Ginko reached for his cigarettes. "When did you get so violent?"
"I've had more difficult patients than you, you know." Adashino took a seat next to Ginko, glancing at the roof. The splash of the raindrops had become an indistinguishable roar. "I was wondering," he said, quieter. "Do mushi like the rain, or dislike it?"
"Hmmm." Ginko took a drag on his cigarette. "It depends, I think. Some of them might not even notice it."
"Not notice?" Adashino repeated.
"Right," Ginko sighed. "Some of them don't pay attention to much of anything at all."
It was more than a little enviable.
