#had this creature flying around my brain the past couple of days so i drew it out :]

[auden-dahn]

pilot (it/its), delivery dragon of the plains! ✈️☁️🌈

[🍵 ko-fi]

[lesdemonium]

romtober day 8: love breaking a curse

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2696 Summary: Geralt receives a contract to take care of a creature haunting the castle overlooking a village. Geralt decides he might be able to save the creature instead. 

AN: ok i'm gonna warn y'all before you start--i make no fucking effort to wrap this up. this is basically 3kish words of an idea for a longfic, which has been rattling around inside my brain and hopefully will get written eventually. but if i get any angry messages about the curse not getting broken or me leaving this without any sort of resolution, i will give you sassy responses. your expectations should now have been adjusted accordingly!

if you like this idea and would like to eventually see a resolution, lmk! i find it fun and would love to get back to it, if there's an interest.

read on ao3

The castle was freezing. Geralt had barely stepped past the threshold before he could see his breath fogging out before him. Outside, it had been a spring morning, on the cooler side, but still held a hint of warmth. Inside, the air felt harsh against his skin, cold enough to cause pinpricks of pain.

It was dark and dusty. Cobwebs covered everything and the furniture and paintings showed a level of degradation Geralt wasn’t expecting. The castle hadn’t been deserted for long, maybe a few decades at most, and yet it looked as if it had been abandoned centuries ago. The cold, the rot, the stillness of the air, the overwhelming feeling of decay, it left Geralt feeling as if he’d never be warm again. This place reeked of sadness.

As he stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind him, he heard something shift in one of the rooms beyond what he could see. There had been reports of a specter, of a monster, of a something haunting the deserted castle, and the forests around. The villagers were scared to go near it. They were convinced if they drew too close, they would die an unspeakable death. Better to have a Witcher go and take care of the problem for them.

Geralt followed the sound, though he was unsure if it was the creature or just an animal that had looked for warmth. He dispelled that thought, however--it was so much colder inside than beyond the castle walls, he was certain no animal in its right mind would seek out this place for protection from the elements. Something shifted again, and a cracking sound echoed through the halls. Geralt pulled out his silver sword and stepped carefully, silently.

He came to a large, open room, with wide windows, many of which were shattered. A ballroom, maybe. Once, it might have been grand, but now it was just as destroyed as the rest of the castle. Geralt edged a foot forward, crossing the threshold.

A voice, high and inhuman, hissed its way through the air. “Go away,” it said, and Geralt whipped his head around to find the source. 

There, in the corner, he saw it. What, exactly, he was seeing, Geralt wasn’t entirely sure. The figure was humanoid, almost, but much taller than the average human with long limbs and sharp angles. The skin was partially translucent, like glass, but splattered with hundreds of flecks of black and dark gray and brown to muddy its appearance. It stretched as tall as it could, its arms and legs lengthened to make it appear more imposing than it actually was, and if Geralt was human, he was sure he would cower at this icy creature that was easily ten, twelve feet tall.

Geralt was not human, however. And despite the way the creature attempted to make itself look like a threat, Geralt noticed the way it remained bent in on itself, and as far from Geralt as he could get. 

“What are you?” Geralt asked, pulling himself fully into the room.

A scream rung out in the room, high and hissing like the voice had been, and Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from being flung. The windows rattled and Geralt heard one high above shatter, only to rain down on the creature. It did not react. Instead, it seemed to close in on itself more.

“Go away,” the creature insisted again, but now the voice sounded more human, and far more sad than Geralt was expecting. A man’s voice.

“I’m a Witcher,” Geralt said. He returned his sword to his scabbard, then held his hands out in front of him, palms facing the creature to show he meant no harm. “I was hired to investigate this castle, rid it of whatever was haunting it. But I think you mean them no harm.”

“Go away,” the creature repeated. He sounded desperate now, and Geralt saw the way he pressed up against the wall behind him, like he was trying to get away from Geralt. Geralt stopped.

“I can help you.”

“No one can help me,” the creature answered. Ah. So he could say more.

“I could try.” Geralt looked around. “Is this your home?”

“It was.”

“What happened to it?”

The creature was silent for a long time. Then, the room erupted into color, and light, and warmth. The debris littering the floor was gone, and it revealed a beautiful marble floor, so clean and shiny Geralt was sure he could see his face reflected in it. He was right, the room had been grand, with the large windows letting in so much light. Geralt started when a body moved through him--a specter, a visual trick the creature was creating just for him. Couples danced, and now Geralt could just barely hear the music, and the far-off sound of voices and laughter.

“A witch,” the creature said, and it felt as if the voice was in his head. 

Geralt saw her now. She was beautiful, in a floor length gown and a deep purple cloak that flowed around it. The witch stepped up to a man, young and beautiful and dressed in finery, who held out his hand. She accepted, and they joined the other couples dancing.

Just as quickly as the couple appeared, they faded into nothingness, and Geralt watched as the entire illusion faded into the disrepair it was now. The creature slumped, all of his energy gone.

“Were you the man?” Geralt asked.

“I was,” the creature answered.

“What’s your name?” Gerlt asked.

“Go away.”

“What’s your name?” Geralt asked again.

“Go away!” the creature insisted, his voice taking on the hissing, harsh, inhuman quality again.

“I want to help you.”

“No one can help me!” Now the creature stood up again, and Geralt tried to brace himself again for the scream, but it was louder this time, more powerful. Furniture moved across the floor, and the wind whipped around him, picking up in intensity as it carried off the creature’s final “Go away!”

Geralt barely registered escaping, but he found himself outside the castle and wind slammed the giant door shut behind him.

--

The next day, Geralt wore the furs he had unpacked from Roach’s saddlebag. She was safely stabled in the village, and Geralt left her with the stablehand and thorough instructions.

Getting to the castle was no easier the second time as it was the first. It was perched high on a mountain, surrounded by large, tall, thick trees. It made little sense--surely there would be an easier way to travel between the castle and the village, as this castle would have presided over the village. Perhaps the creature had a hand in making it inaccessible.

Impossibly, the castle was colder when Geralt finally pushed his way inside. The door had been blocked off with debris, the creature clearly thinking that a little effort and a thick tree branch were enough to deter Geralt from his mission. They were not. Geralt was made of far sturdier stuff than that.

Geralt had barely cleared the doorway when he heard that hissing voice again.

“Go away!”

“No,” Geralt answered. He planted his feet, sure that another display of the creature’s power was coming, but after a few moments, Geralt still only heard silence. He made his way back to the ballroom.

The creature was not there.

He searched the surrounding rooms, but there was no sight of him. There were about a hundred more rooms in the castle that he could have searched through, but Geralt had a feeling even if he did, the creature would be one step ahead of him.

“You could make this easier on both of us and just show yourself,” Geralt said.

The creature’s only answer was a quick burst of wind that blew leaves into Geralt’s hair.

“Have it your way,” he answered.

Geralt made his way back to the ballroom. This was where he set up his supplies. He had planned for an extended stay this time, complete with rations, extra bedding, and even a tent in case his host was feeling like manipulating the weather. By the time he was finished, he caught a flickering in the corner of his eye, and turned to look.

The creature was now in the corner, right where he had been the day before, and whatever magic he had used to make himself invisible was wearing out. Or he was choosing to allow Geralt to see him.

Satisfied, Geralt sat himself upon his bedroom, his legs crossed, and faced the creature. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

“Why are you still here?” Geralt asked.

“It’s my home.” The creature sounded offended, but at least his voice was human.

“Are you stuck here?”

The creature didn’t answer, but the wind blew another clump of leaves at Geralt’s face.

“What’s your name?” Geralt asked, to help squash the grin growing on his face.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt hummed. “That’s a bad name for an ice monster.”

This time, when the leaves hit his face, he didn’t bother hiding his grin.

“What are you?” Geralt asked.

“Shouldn’t you know that, Witcher?”

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” Geralt answered, figuring honesty was probably what was needed here to get the creature--Jaskier--on his side. “And you didn’t tell me much about how you came to be.”

The wind swirled in the room, and Geralt watched the leaves spin in circles as Jaskier, presunably, mulled this over. At least they weren’t flying toward his face this time.

“Cursed,” Jaskier finally answered.

“By the witch?”

“Yes. Marikka.”

Geralt hummed. “You knew her. Why did she curse you?”

Behind him, a door slammed. Geralt turned to look at it, and saw it swaying open again, apparently broken. He hadn’t even felt the wind, but when he looked back to Jaskier, he could just barely see the pinched expression on his face. It was hard, from this distance, but the message was clear. Back off.

Geralt wouldn’t.

“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t give me any information?” Geralt asked, rolling his eyes.

The door slammed again, and this time Geralt didn’t look. Over and over, it banged against the threshold, but as it went on, the less pointed it seemed. The wind kicked up around him, swirling the leaves and debris and creating little tornados. Jaskier didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. Geralt felt the anguish there.

“I can’t help you unless you help me,” Geralt said, standing up. He held his hands out again, and tried to inch closer to Jaskier. “I can’t break this curse if I don’t know what it is.”

“Then don’t!” Jaskier screamed back, sounding more like a wraith than he had yet. Geralt kept moving closer, even as the wind picked up, his steps slow and steady. This time, he’d make it to Jaskier. He knew he would.

That was his last thought before Jaskier sent a burst of wind directly at him. So strong Geralt flew off the ground, and right into a marble pillar. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

--

When Geralt woke, he was in another room entirely.

The bed he was in wasn’t destroyed, exactly, but it certainly showed its wear and tear. Cloth just didn’t last that long, and as a result the canopy above him was in tatters, and the blanket over him didn’t hold in the warmth as much as his furs had. Still, he noted the effort that Jaskier--it had to be Jaskier--put in, even if Geralt was shivering from the moment he woke up.

“Jaskier?” he called, as he sat up. 

There was no response, and Jaskier wasn’t in the room. Geralt stood and--checking to make sure there were no damages, or that he was healed of any that had been there--made his way back to the ballroom. When he got to the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“Jaskier, I know you’re doing this,” Geralt said patiently. “Let me in.”

“No. Go away.” Jaskier still sounded as if he was in the same room, rather than behind the ornate door.

“That hasn’t worked every other time you said it, and it won’t work this time.” Geralt pushed on the door again, and it budged, but swiftly closed again, knocking Geralt back. “Please don’t launch me again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and he did sound remorseful. Miserable, even. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Geralt answered. “You were in pain. I knew you were lashing out, and I still got too close. I forgive you.”

There was a long silence, and when Geralt tried the door again, it gave way. The room was even more destroyed. Broken glass was everywhere, and while he was out, the chandelier had given way. It now lay destroyed in the center of the room.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt asked, turning to face Jaskier, back in his place on the far side of the room. As always.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier repeated, sounding no less miserable than he had before.

“So this… was you?” Jaskier didn’t answer, but Geralt took it as an admission. “Because you were upset? Guilty?”

“For hurting you,” Jaskier agreed.

“I’m fine, Jaskier. I heal. I’ve gotten worse injuries than a smack to the head.” He bent to pick up one of his own belongings, which were now strewn about the room. “I’m going to set up my camp again. I won’t approach you, but I might have to get closer.”

The wind kicked up again, but only strong enough to blow some of his belongings closer to Geralt. Geralt smiled, then set himself on the task of setting up camp again. By the time he was finished, the sun that had been shining through the windows had grown low in the sky. Geralt had a feeling, with his long healing rest, that he wasn’t going to sleep much today.

“You can leave this room,” Geralt said. It was as much a statement as a question. He was pretty sure Jaskier didn’t use wind to carry him the whole way upstairs, into the bed, and under the covers. He didn’t seem strong enough, except when he was upset. That meant he had to have carried Geralt. “Why don’t you?”

“I like it,” Jaskier answered.

There was a pause, then slowly the room started to change back into that magnificent vision Jaskier had given him before. Jaskier, it seemed, remembered this room in sunlight and warmth, despite the growing darkness outside and the ever-present cold. This time, the room was empty of people, aside from a small boy playing a piano. His melody was rough, clearly he was still learning, but as the song went on, he grew better. He grew older.

Soon, Geralt was looking at the boy turned young man. Jaskier, it had to be. Jaskier wasn’t dressed in his finery this time; instead he wore a pair of trousers and a loose-fitting shirt, unbuttoned far below what Geralt was sure was appropriate. The music he played was beautiful and had a great deal of character and humor pressed into it. He had never heard this song before.

“You like music,” Geralt said.

The image before him changed rapidly. Images of Jaskier playing a piano, images of Jaskier dancing, playing a lute, singing, writing. They went too fast for Geralt to get a good look at anything, but he knew this was a correction. Jaskier didn’t like music, Jaskier loved music.

“How long have you been here?” Geralt asked.

The image of Jaskier changed. It was horrific, Jaskier’s take on his transformation. The memory-Jaskier’s body twisted and cracked in unnatural, painful ways, sharp edges breaking out of his skin and enveloping him in ice. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his legs and arms grew long, long, longer, until he was the creature Jaskier was today. The warmth crept out of the room, and slowly the ruin grew, until Geralt found himself right back in the destroyed ballroom, all illusions gone.

“A long time,” Jaskier answered.

[crazylittleentity]

Headcanons for Reader having the child of the Creeper after one of his seasons?

Oh yay my first ask for the “bat out of hell” (I’m so sorry this took so bloody long, it was one of those weeks and my brain likes to do massive story arcs for some reason) anyway, here you are. I hope this turned out alright.

The last thing you had ever expected on this God-forsaken earth was to be kidnapped by an ancient demonic creature who also happened to have a taste for human flesh.

You were certain that you were about to be eaten when the beast flew down and grabbed you while you were just minding your own business doing a spot of gardening.

You were new to Poho County and had heard something about ‘Jeepers Creepers’, but you had foolishly brushed it off as merely made-up rumours started by folks trying to scare their children into behaving.

After he kidnapped you, he took you to its lair – “its house of pain” as the locals called it. You pleaded with the monster, begged it not to eat you. After a while you changed your tune and asked the creature to kill you quickly, convinced that this was going to be the end of you.

To your surprise though, the Creeper became very gentle with you. He set up a cosy and quiet little corner for you in his lair, well away from the rest of his ‘house’. He brought back takeout meals for you, gave you a whole pile of clothes (that were likely from some of his victims) and kept you safe and warm.

The Creeper was also very affectionate with you, a stark contrast to all the horrific stories that you’d heard about him. After he came back from hunting for the day, he would strip off all his dirty clothes and curl up on the bed next to you, wrapping both his powerful arms and his wings around your body in a possessive cuddle.

He would constantly sniff you with that freaky 3-nostrilled nose of his and groom you with is tongue. You weren’t too pleased about him licking you, those teeth looked pretty grimy and his breath wasn’t that much better either.

After several days of the Creeper’s cuddling routine, you plucked up enough courage to ask about why he was keeping you alive. He was hesitant to answer at first, but he felt that you deserved some sort of an explanation.

He told you that he wanted a partner and that he had tried to find one each season while he was awake, but he couldn’t find the right person, or he was attacked and chased into retreat at each town that he visited. He had pretty much given up the chance of having a mate until you came along.  

You weren’t sure about this at all. On one hand, the thought about being the mate to an ancient, cannibalistic monster terrified you, but you also had a twinge of curiosity towards the Creeper. By the sounds of it, he hasn’t let anyone get this close to him before and the opportunity to find out more about him was tantalising to say the least.

As the days drew on, the Creeper slowly revealed more about himself as you became more comfortable with him. During your cuddle sessions with him, you would ask him general questions about his past and he would ask the same.

What he told you was truly heartbreaking. Ever since he became the Creeper, he had been continually hunted by man. Knights and kings alike wanted his head as a trophy to hang up on their walls and to turn is skin into a macabre rug beneath their feet.

He had come across a group of people called the Mayans and they worshipped him as a God and offered him human sacrifices to please him. Life was good there for a bit, but again he was forced to flee when the Spanish arrived to their shores.

Over the next few centuries he watched fair-skinned men and women take over the lands that he’d called home for so long. The smell and taste of these newcomers brought a fresh change to his palate, but again he became the target of man’s hatred.

He had lost count of how many attacks he had endured. He’d been beaten, stabbed, speared, shot at, hung in chains, dismembered and even had his wings cut off a few times just to torture him. He couldn’t help being who he was and he couldn’t change it either.

He had tried eating animal flesh, but it wouldn’t regenerate his body as well. He tried his best to only kill bad people but having to live in extremely isolated areas gave him no choice but to eat anyone he could get his claws into at times.

On the 22nd day of his cycle, the Creeper brought you back to your home. He was in quite a flustered state and he hadn’t left you alone all day. He then told you that he had to leave, that there was a battalion of men in the area looking for him and he warned you to keep yourself hidden from them. He gave you one final kiss goodbye and a near bone-crushing hug, before flying off into the afternoon sky.

You intently listened to the radio for the next couple of days, praying that this battalion didn’t catch up to the Creeper. Luckily they didn’t, however you had begun to feel sick during this time. You put it down to all the worrying, but the nauseousness got worse, particularly during the mornings as well as the tension headaches, the fatigue and the tenderness in your abdomen.

After a few more days of feeling awful, you went into town and got yourself a pregnancy test. The townsfolk were astonished to see you still alive. Apparently you had been reported missing all month and it was assumed that the Creeper had killed you.

You went home feeling somewhat embarrassed by everyone asking about what happened. You lied and made up a story about having to see relatives in another state, but some people weren’t as convinced as others by it.

You paced your bathroom, nervously waiting for the results. When it came back positive, your whole world came crashing down. So many questions flooded your brain. How will the baby turn out? How will it look? Will it have to eat human flesh in order to grow? Will it ever be able to live a normal life?

One thing you did know, was that you would have to keep the pregnancy a secret from other people around town, including your family. It was one thing to have an illegitimate pregnancy with a man you’d only known for 23 days, but it was a whole different story when that ‘man’ was a human-eating monster.

You decided to create your own micro farm, cultivating food for yourself and your growing baby so you wouldn’t have to go into town to buy it and risk having your secret exposed. On the rare occasions when you did go out, you wore loose-fitting clothing to hide your expanding tummy.

At the 6 month mark, there was no way that you could hide the baby bump any longer. People were sure to notice it and you didn’t want anyone asking all those patronising questions about your baby. The less people knew, the better.

The one question that kept chewing away at you was how the hell were you going to give birth without medical assistance. There was no way you were going to the hospital for it. If the baby did turn out looking unusual, every staff member would be talking about it.

Then out of the blue a few weeks before you were due, an elderly lady knocked on your door. She introduced herself as Jezelle and she explained that she was a local psychic who was aware of your dire situation. Before he went into hibernation, the Creeper had made contact with her and asked her to ‘look after you’ when the time came.

The day of the birth arrived and Jezelle helped you deliver your baby at home. As you feared it did looked quite different to that of a normal human baby. Its skin was beautifully mottled with a mixture of the Creeper’s charcoal skin and your skin and it had already started to develop those distinctive facial ridges.

Jezelle was less than impressed, but she promised to stay and help you raise the child. You thanked her for her kindness and compassion and you felt less alone in your struggles. Meanwhile, the Creeper in his state of hibernation dreamed that he was no longer all alone in the world. He knew then that he had become a father and for once, he felt truly happy.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score  Chapter 3: Knowing

“You said it yourself bitch, we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.” Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title “The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma,” by Bessel van der Kolk

“She moves with shameless wonder

The perfect creature rarely seen

Since some lie I brought the thunder

When the land was godless and free

Her eyes look sharp and steady

Into the empty parts of me”

Foreigner's God - Hozier

“We’ll follow your lead, Star-Lord,” Gamora smiled happily, leaning against Peter’s chair. She forced a slow breath, feeling the bright Xandarian suns shining on her through the wide window of the ship. The light feeling in her chest rushing through her veins.

“Bit of both,” Peter decided, swinging the ship upward away from the surface of the planet, away from the Nova Corps. The only thing louder than the bumping music was Drax’s laughter. Let yourself have this, she thought sitting down and strapping herself in. You deserve this. The Benatar leapt through the jump point and her hair went flying into her face playfully as the ship evened out. Gamora  looked from Peter to Rocket regarding the latter with sympathy, it hadn’t occurred to her until just now, he’d lost Groot. She tilted her head carefully to look at him and...there was a pot in his lap, and in that pot ...Impossible. No, not totally, she remembered slicing Groot’s arm off not four days ago. The sharp sound of her sword hacking through his bark. The same bark that had wrapped around her, to save her...despite all she’d done to him. Mutilated him and then virtually ignored him. Noxious guilt writhed in her chest. The little twig in its container stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“Is that….?”

“Groot!” Peter gasped, he shifted the Benatar into auto-pilot and jumped out of his seat, looming over the tiny twig.

“Don’t crowd him!” Rocket hissed, waving Peter’s hand away. The little sapling only blinked up at them. Something’s not right, the realization of it dawned on her slowly. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the way Groot looked at her was, off.

Rocket unclasped his seat belt and slid off the chair, holding Groot’s container in one arm and baring his teeth as Peter reached out a helpful hand.

“Don’t touch him.”

“Easy man I’m just trying to help,” Peter held his arms out and open. Gamora only watched the raccoonoid settle Groot down on the nearby table.

“Groot! My wooden compatriot, I am glad you have regrown! You are smaller than me now, and quite puny. I am fond of you.” Drax gushed with such sincerity Gamora had to laugh. Groot only reached out his arms and flailed in joy.

“Well team, I think this is cause for celebration! I think we should treat ourselves,” Peter placed his hands on his hips triumphantly looking down at Groot. “We deserve some R and R!”

“R and R?” Drax’s face squinted in confusion, “R is a letter in the English Human tongue. How can we have two of  a letter?”

“It means rest and relaxation!” Rocket grumbled. At least he didn’t attach an insult to the remark Gamora observed thankfully.

“What do you guys say? We could go to Ertrbra or Wvonta, I know some great bars on Presscoa but if the bartender at Ikva asks I am definitely not the same guy who stole their top shelf Hrania bourbon.” Gamora shook her head in amusement, ever optimistic Peter. Peter who could brush off his past with humor.  

“Let us go to this planet of libation!” Drax prompted, “and we will toast to Groot for his sacrifice and his return!”

His return, Gamora watched Rocket ignore the conversation and run off to fetch something. He returned moments later with a jar of water and carefully let it pour over the soil at the saplings thin roots. Groot gurgled in a high-pitched squeak as the water soaked in. The vague feeling of uncertainty persisted in her gut. She swallowed it and punched in the coordinates for Presscoa.

                                                        ---

“Ohh, looking fancy,” Peter leaned against the doorway of her room. She turned, the black cloak stirring with her movement. “What’s the occasion?” She fashioned the strings of the garment pulling it tight against her collar and tie it in a knot.

“The occasion is Nebula is still out there, she’s gone back to Thanos no doubt. We are not his only children,” she fixed Peter with a look. “Once she goes to him she will tell him of my betrayal. It is only a matter of time before they come searching.” Peter’s face softened with comprehension.

“We won’t let that happen,” he tried to reassure her. “And if he or his goons try anything we’ll take them on. And we’re protected by the Nova Corps.”

Protected, that’s one way of putting it. She met him in the doorway, looking over that face still so full of hope and wanton foolery.

“Rocket was right,” she recalled. “I have a reputation.” How did he know her before they clashed on Xandar? Where did he hear of her? What else did he know? She’d ponder these questions later no doubt, later that night when everyone else was asleep. Peter’s hand raised slowly, aiming for her cheek but stopped short, dropping to her shoulder.

“Let’s just go out, have fun, we’ll be back on the ship before long and if you want to leave at any point. We leave. Okay?” She looked at him. “If we’re going to work together you might try trusting me.” Trust. She nodded, pulling the hood of the cloak over her head.

                                                             ---

“I like this bar you have selected!” Drax hoisted his drink into the air, sending a good portion of it spilling onto the table. The five of them crowded into a booth in the dimly lit dive. Gamora had already located two exits and another possible exit point on the ceiling if it came to that. The couple at the end of bar across from their table seemed kindly enough. But the woman had looked over her shoulder four times since the Guardians entered.  Gamora took note and switched her gaze to the booth directly in front of them, over Drax’s head. Two oprevien men, neither of whom appeared to be armed.   But the booth behind her, the woman sitting there…

“Right Gamora? Gamora?”  Peter’s voice called her back.

“Um right,” she mumbled.

“See! I knew it! Drink!” Drax muttered something but downed his glass of ale in three single gulps. On the table Groot struggled to reach for the empty shot glass beside his container.

“Let us toast! To Groot! Who gave his life for his friends and is now living again! We are most glad!” A sad smile lifted on Gamora’s face as she clinked her drink against those of the others. The yekkelian mixed drink was bitter and purple, but oddly tasty. Drax hoisted his third drink towards Groot’s pot and let the clear liquid seep into the dirt much to the saplings delight.

“Drax no!” Rocket was on the bottle in a moment, knocking it away from the Groot. “Don’t give him that!” Gamora nodded approvingly. “Give him this!” Her appreciation instantly turned to concern as the raccoonoid swiped the bottle of Hyerlian Liquor he and Peter had split and tipped it into Groot’s pot. “Don’t give him that cheap shit, top shelf only!” Drax and even Peter, five drinks gone at this point erupted in erroneous laughter. The sapling only laughed and hiccuped, swaying happily. Gamora reached for the water beside her own drink and allowed Groot to drink it in. He gazed up at her, those large brown eyes...too innocent. Too loving. Groot would never look at me that way, kind as he was. I only ever tried to hurt him. Her nostrils flared, taking a long breath out as the uncertainty now revealed itself. She looked at Rocket, who drank from a glass the size of his face. He laughed and slid one paw around Groot’s pot, bringing him closer.

That is not Groot.

                                                      ---

“See! We had a great time and we didn’t even have to fake our own deaths or steal a ship!” Peter’s arm weighed heavy across her shoulders as she helped him back to the ship.

He is right, no one made a stir. No one tried to kill us. But they still could have noticed me.  She forced that thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on getting Peter to his room. Behind them, Rocket was sitting a top Drax’s shoulders with Groot hoisted even higher still in the raccoonoid’s arms above his head. A risky move especially as Gamora watched the destroyer stumble forward. Pick and choose your battles. Groot’s safety is…. the little flora giggled, eyes half closed. Let it be. She led Peter into his room and helped him down to sit on his bed. He ran a hand over his face, flushed with the alcohol and smiled.

“Say it,” he prompted, leaning forward. “Say you had a good time.”

“I had a good time,” she responded honestly. His smile widened and he tilted his head forward. Instinctively she drew back. Then waited in the tense silence, whatever it was between them pressed against her at all sides. Suffocating. She tensed, even as his lips missed their target and his head instead rested on her shoulder.

“Good! I think this is going to be the start of something great for us.” Us? Which us? You and I or all of us? She knew the answer to that and nodded, harboring a secret hope that he could be right. “Nova let you leave,” he continued happily.

“Not sure why,” she speculated.  Peter waved a dismissive hand.

“Because you’re….” he caught himself. “You’re cool, you're with us, the Guardians!” She smirked.

“Goodnight Peter,” she sat up, his head falling onto the pillows.

“G’night!” His snoring sounded in her ears before she even made it to the hall.

Alone at last. She made her way through the metallic halls of the ship. Listening to the thrum of the engines. The darkness was serene, the darkness was how she moved, she knew how to navigate it. An empty slate to think on. Think. Groot is not himself. Well he is A Groot, but not our Groot. She tip-toed up the steps to the main deck. Not Rocket’s Groot. Whether or not to tell him. The scales tipped in either direction. She tried to measure as she walked, pausing every now and then to admire the stars out the wide windows.  Better to live a horrible truth than a sweet lie. That’s what I am after all. A daughter of Thanos. A lie. She sighed, running her hand along the cool metal piping of the ship. Down passed the common area, through the storage chambers. Toward the engine room.  She summoned her courage, putting on the face. The imperial, unfeeling veneer of unflinching honest without emotion. One of the many skills Thanos had taught her.

“Rocket….”

“I’m glad your back buddy,” she stopped short of the metal door to the engine room. Rocket’s slurred voice echoing against the corridor.  “Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought...thought I lost yah. Okay?” Groot did not reply. “I mean it man. I know I called you an idiot and all...and...I feel really lousy about it.” 

Gamora peeked forward, Rocket sat on his work bench. Groot’s little pot on the table. The sapling was most definitely down for the count. His head flung back, mouth agape. Yet Rocket’s arms wound around the base of the pot. “You gotta hurry up and grow bud. Or at least say something.” He punctuated the sentiment with a belch and hugged the pot close to him, resting his snout in the dirt. “Your the only thing I got man….I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Gamora watched the tears in Rocket’s eyes fall into the soil at Groot’s roots. She backed away, down the hall. Leaving Rocket in sickly sweet inebriated denial.

                                                           ---

The straps dug into her wrist with a biting ache. The table hard beneath her. She shut her eyes against the blinding lights.

“Daughter,” that voice. It held no face but she knew. “You are doing well my child. But there is always room for improvement.” Gamora made to struggle, arching against the straps but her body lay immobile. Thrash! Kick! Find the lock on the straps it’s to the right just under the...Ebony Maw came to her side, beady eyes gleaming.

“Full facial enhancement then?”

“Yes.”

No! Kick damnit! Kick! Bite him! Why aren’t you…? The needle pressed to her skin, at her left temple just against the metal webbing. Something hot and burning entered her flesh. Gamora screamed, trying to move but her body would not obey.

“Ease yourself daughter.”

I...am...n...not...y..your...daught...ter!

More agony, spreading through her insides, burning the metal inside her.

Ahhhhh!!!!

“Gamora!”

“N...not...your...d...daughter!”

“Gamora!”

Peter?!

Her eyes flashed open in a wicked sensation of falling. She gasped for breath, her heart hitching. Sweat slicked against her face.

“P...peter?!”

“What, no!”

Gamora rubbed her eyes, must have fallen asleep in the common area. She realized, gazing up at Peter’s large movie poster for The Goonies. Whatever that is.

“Rocket,” she swallowed. His disgruntled face nodded.

“Will you keep it down? Groot’s trying’ to sleep.” 

His words barely registered, she nodded numbly putting a hand to her chest to steady her pounding heart. He looked at her with irritation and resolve? She could read most aliens in the galaxy very well. It’s what had led to her “success” as a lackey for Thanos. No matter how many eyes or appendages they had. Gamora was skilled at reading intentions but Rocket ….those red pupiless eyes. They glowed in the dark of the ship, the hairs on the back of her neck rising with the unfamiliarity. Rocket folded his arms in a huff and flicked his tail turning towards the hall. Gamora stood, crossing the room to the kitchen area and fumbled for a glass of water, watching him leave.

“Gotta drink more next time,” he whispered.

“What?”

Rocket halted, back to her.

“Drink more next time,” he repeated. “It keeps the nightmares away ...at least that’s what I tell myself.”

Gamora narrowed her eyes, in the dark she could see him open his mouth to speak once more, then shut it, sniffed, and scurried down the hall out of sight.

[chilly-territory]

Uchouten Kazoku 2, chapter 1 (part 3 out of 3)

This was chapter 1 out of 7 in total. As should be clear, the anime did make some changes; they’re not plot-impacting, but the novel definitely feels ‘fuller‘ and clearer, if you will. And yeah, I’m absolutely loving this novel, the writing style, the characters, everything.

The Eccentric Family: The Nidaime’s Homecoming (Uchouten Kazoku: Nidaime no Kichou) by Morimi Tomihiko

Chapter 1 (part 3/3, pages 52-67)

〇

I set my mind on visiting Akadama-sensei, currently working hard at his training, and delivering him some mamemochi [*1] as a sign of support.

That said, Kumogahata was awfully far away.

I planned to borrow my eldest brother's automated rickshaw for the trip, but my stingy brother just wouldn't give his permission. His reasoning was that Akadama-sensei in his seclusion was bound to be in a rotten mood, and it would be too late to cry if his precious rickshaw was to be accidentally smashed to smithereens in a misdirected explosion of sensei's anger. With no other choice, I went by bicycle, forced to pedal all the way, but the road was so long that soon I got fed up with it almost to death. I had lost count to how many times I had wanted to just wolf down the gift mamemochi and turn back as if nothing had happened.

Still, clenching my teeth and following the winding mountain trail, at long last I had arrived at my destination.

Since there was a tengu secluding himself in the mountains specifically to train, I was prepared for some great rumbling and shaking in the region, but Kumogahata's settlement looked peaceful as ever. Rays of the early summer sun shone through fresh verdure that the mountain hamlet was buried in and illuminated the vicinity, the old building of an elementary school and stone walls included, with the only loud sound coming from the water flowing in the irrigation channels leading to the plots of cultivated land. Time flowed sluggishly, like syrup.

I came as far as the branch office of the Kumogahata ward office and, slumping in the shade of a tree, took some rest.

Suddenly, a voice came from overhead.

"My, my, if it isn't Shimogamo Yasaburou."

I looked up in surprise and found a genteel elderly man in a white shirt coupled with a bolo tie sitting on the small concrete overhang of the branch office and slowly drinking grape-flavored Fanta. He was one of Akadama-sensei's few friends, Iwayasan Kinkoubou, running a used camera shop in the Nipponbashi neighborhood in Osaka after retirement.

"Oh, Kinkoubou-sama." I rose and bowed my head to him. "Did you come to see how Yakushibou's doing?" "Yes, sir. Seeing as I've found myself with a lot of free time on my hands." "Hahaha. Such a kind-hearted pupil, as always. Then let's go visit him together. We can climb to the tengu training ground from here."

In front of me were the steep stone steps leading to Kouunnji temple.

Following Kinkoubou, I started climbing them.

Rather than entering the temple's grounds, Kinkoubou proceeding along a small waterway on the left, setting foot in the mountains. Passing through a grove of trees glistening with new green, the waterway soon dived into the chilly cedar forest. Wherever you looked, all you would see were towering deep black cedar trees tearing into the very sky itself. The more the tranquil atmosphere of the small mountain hamlet receded, the more the solemn tengu presence grew.

A small gourd, dark brown in color, that hang at Iwayasan Kinkoubou's waist produced adorable little splish-splash sounds.

"It contains dragon water."

I knew that the area around Iwayasan-Shimyouin temple was the source of the Kamogawa river, but the fact that a few dragon stones were buried in the surrounding mountains was new to me. The liquid that seeped out of those stones was called dragon water and it was beloved by tengu and habitually used as an energy and vitality booster. What was in the gourd was collected for Akadama-sensei who intended to challenge the Nidaime to battle. It appeared that Kinkoubou had no slightest intention to try and stop this ongoing fight between Yakushibou Sr. and Yakushibou Jr.

"Tengu are creatures who know not how to settle things peacefully." "Good grief, both the father and the son are so equally difficult and ill-natured that I'm just stumped." "I'm thankful that you're worried about your mentor, but there is no need for tanuki to go as far as rack their brains on how to settle the fight between those two. Just let them do as they please."

We walked for about 15 minutes along the waterway until numerous fallen cedar trees, quite big at that, blocked our way on both sides. It was clearly a tengu's doing. Kinkoubou drew a seal in the air with his fingers and chanted some incantation, then made a gesture as if to open his linked hands, and the fallen trees rose one by one, clearing the path in front of us.

On the other end of the opened path was the tengu training ground.

On the clearing shaped like a footprint of a giant, in the part where the arch of the foot would be, there towered a lone enormous cedar with its top stabbing the sky. Beneath it was laid out the stale bedding specially brought here from the apartment behind the Demachi shopping arcade. Akadama-sensei, hugging a daruma in his lap, puffed on his tengu tobacco. For someone who had taken pains to seclude himself deep in the mountains, this sight hardly bespoke of any changes for the better.

Accepting the gourd with dragon water from Kinkoubou, sensei glanced at me.

"Yasaburou, what are you doing here?" "I was searching for tsuchinoko and got lost. This is mamemochi, a small present for you." "All you ever do is play around without a care in the world, huh."

At this point, sensei must have been aware that I, while knowing perfectly well about the Nidaime's return, had feigned ignorance. But with all the time that'd passed, he didn't throw a fit about it now.

"So... what is he up to?" "He keeps to himself at a hotel in Kawaramachi-oike." "Probably devising schemes upon schemes on how to cut off my head while I sleep. Mickle fails that fools think [*2]."

Akadama-sensei uncorked the gourd, gulped down the dragon water and wiped his mouth.

"That accursed fool. I see his bad habit of worrying about trifling things and straying off the path of sorcery is incurable. Nyoigadake Yakushibou neither hides nor runs! Time to do battle has cometh! Hi-hoo!" "He is not the same anymore, Yakushibou."

When Kinkoubou said that quietly, Akadama-sensei snorted and fell silent.

Back when I was a tiny little furball, Akadama-sensei would announce a so called extracurricular lesson, round up his tanuki pupils, toss them in a handbasket and fly to this tengu training ground. While the tanuki played in the grass-covered clearing, sensei smoked his tengu tobacco on the top of the massive cedar and amused the little tanuki by setting weirdly-shaped cloud afloat in the sky.

Seeing this cedar after such a long time made me feel nostalgic, and I slowly circled it. Because of its massiveness, the top was well out of sight. On its thick branches senjafuda [*3] were pasted here and there, as well as various other things lost or forgotten by tengu, such as sake bottles and onigawara tiles [*4] probably collected as a joke, with a discolored hand towel caught on a branch fluttering in the spring breeze.

When I was little, once, Akadama-sensei lost his temper and tied me to the top of this cedar as punishment. Forgetting all about me, sensei left, and I was left behind to sulk silently at the top of the cedar until my eldest brother came to get me.

When I narrated these memories, Akadama-sensei said, "Oh, I forgot that, I completely forgot that." "How awful of you to forget, sir." "Well, I used to tie up your father and before him his father, too, so how can I remember every one of you little critters?"

After a few moments, Akadama-sensei got up from his stale futon, gave the gourd a shake and approached the base of the cedar. Turning the gourd upside down, he let the dragon water flow until the gourd was empty.

"Are you sure?" asked Kinkoubou. "I've known this cedar for many years, so why not give it what's still left," sensei replied.

Sensei's profile as he poured the dragon water onto the roots of the cedar was full of dignity befitting a tengu by the name of Nyoigadake Yakushibou. It vividly reminded me of what sensei looked like in the past when he still reigned over Nyoigadake and spat on the world below in its entirety.

Pushing the now empty gourd back to Kinkoubou, Akadama-sensei took out a letter from his breast pocket. At first I mistook it for a love letter, but only until I saw the words 'letter of challenge' on it.

"Take this to him. Know that this is a honorable task."

I accepted the sealed envelop and prostrated myself.

"I, Shimogamo Yasaburou, am honored."

〇

I handed over Akadama-sensei's letter of challenge to the Nidaime in the lobby of the hotel in Kawaramachi-oike. Even as he accepted such a disturbing thing as the letter of challenge to an all-out duel from his own father, the Nidaime didn't so much as bat an eye, his face calm and indifferent as if what he'd just received was a routine mail order.

"I might go. I might not," the Nidaime said. " I would prefer for you not to assume I will."

In contrast to the Nidaime's apparent lack of motivation, the tanuki world met the news of a tengu duel with wild enthusiasm. Would Akadama-sensei win, like those hundred years ago, and kick the Nidaime out of Kyoto? Or would the Nidaime emerge victorious, carving a path to a new era open for tengu? Tanuki waited for the day of the duel with batted breath.

To begin with, tengu had always been creatures that peered down at the whole of creation from the pinnacle of haughtiness.

They were great because they were tengu, and tengu because they were great. According to the logic of tengu who carried all before them, the likes of tanuki were but furballs, the likes of humans but naked monkeys, and even all the other tengu but oneself were but paper tigers.

The only being of any importance between Heaven and Earth was oneself - that was what tengu were.

Consequently, a father was greater than his son, and a son greater than his father.

There was just no way this conflict could ever be settled peacefully.

〇

On the night of the duel, Akadama-sensei crawled with wobbling steps up and onto the main roof of the Minamiza theater.

From his wearing a hachimaki headband and a tasuki sash, it was evident that he was brimming with fighting spirit, but his swaying form crawling up the roof on all fours had not a drop of anything that made tengu tengu. To put it mildly, choosing the main roof of the Minamiza theater from which he had kicked down his son a hundred years prior as the location for the duel was a rush decision on his part. Still, sensei kept crawling on with indomitable drive, finally making it to the rooftop somehow.

"Freely flying through the sky is what defines a tengu, but... good grief."

Akadama-sensei sat down cross-legged and wiped the sweat, then lit up his tengu tobacco.

The night wind, cool and pleasant, dissipated the tendrils of the thick smoke.

From that spot, if you looked to the east, you would see the lights of Gion-Shijou stretching in a line like some sort of a night festival, and if you looked to the west, the radiance of Shijouoohashi and the downtown high-rise area would come into view.

From the rooftop of 'Restaurant Kikumi', located on the other side across Shijou-doori street, the night wind brought the delicious smell of cheerfully sizzling roasted meat. Its beer garden, illuminated with paper lanterns, was reserved exclusively for the Kurama tengu tonight, and it looked like the conference they were holding there, themed 'How to thoroughly mock and make fun of Yakushibou', had already opened and was well underway. They obviously planned to enjoy the show that was the duel between Akadama-sensei and the Nidaime from their box seats with a beer mug in hand. For to tengu, strife and duels were the best snack to go with their beer.

The Kurama tengu, bending over the railing of the beer garden and leaning far out into the space over Shijou-doori street, brandished folding fans and even a megaphone. "Yakushibou, fight without reserve!" "Leave it to us, we'll pick up your bones for you!" "Yeah, pick them up and throw them into the Kamogawa river after!" As they shouted these cheers no one asked for, the Kurama tengu clanged their beer mugs together, scattering beer foam and jeering loudly.

"You stupid little mountains acorns... Just you wait, one of these days, I'll drown you in Lake Biwa," sensei cursed through clenched teeth.

As a matter of fact, the Kurama tengu weren't the only ones burning with curiosity.

The area around Shijouoohashi bridge was teeming with innumerable tanuki who, shapeshifting into regular drunkards, gathered to watch how the duel would unfold. Even the Nise-emon Yasaka Heitarou accompanied by my brother Yaichirou were standing by somewhere in the vicinity of the bridge. Worth of mention was also the roof of 'Touka Saikan' on the opposite shore of Kamogawa shining bright with hanging lanterns, where Iwayasan Kinkoubou waited for his old friend's duel to end while drinking some aged Lao Jiu wine [*5] all by himself.

In due time, black from head to toe, the Nidaime descended down from the dark night sky, as if a drop of ink from a fountain pen. Putting a hand to the brim of his silk hat, he gave a shameless little bow to Akadama-sensei in greeting. And then spoke up in a manner of a total stranger just passing by.

"Good evening, elderly gentleman. What might you be doing in a place like this?" "I'm expecting some company." "What a coincidence. I am also expecting some company here." "...Who might you be waiting for?" "Someone quite worthless. I'd rather not speak of him." "Oh? Isn't that quite the coincidence. I'm waiting for someone equally worthless myself."

Akadama-sensei put out his tengu tobacco and stood up, wobbling precariously. Back still bent, he glowered at his son, laying eyes on him for the first time in a hundred years.

"That fool was my son and my student, but now he is neither. Barely halfway through his training, he did something as stupid as wasting time on a love affair and even defying me. How utterly deplorable for the man who was to eventually succeed someone as grand as myself and hold the world in his grasp, to be played by some little lass and stray from the path of sorcery. Since then he had disappeared without a word from him for all those years, and now, after all this time, he's suddenly back. Figuring he won't even have enough courage to show his face at my place, I took the initiative and sent him a letter of challenge. Thinking I might kick him down from here again," Akadama-sensei provoked, but the Nidaime said nothing, remaining unfazed.

The tengu father and son didn't move, only kept glaring at one another.

Soon, however, the Kurama tengu in the beer garden got tired of waiting. "Come on, come on!" "Hey, get to it already!" "Don't tell me you've made up!" "What friendly father and son!" they jeered and mocked.

The Nidaime raised a hand in a leather glove and took off his glamorously glittering silk hat.

Holding it to his chest, he made a quick motion that took only a moment, like praying to Heaven; without skipping a beat, he turned with a cold expression, facing the beer garden where the Kurama tengu were partying, and hurled his silk hat with ferocity. Apparently, that silk hat of his, intended for self-defense, was fashioned out of a shell for a cannon used in World War I. The silk hat smashed into the tables with deafening rumbling in its wake, silencing the Kurama tengu in one blow.

The Nidaime turned back around, tilting his head a little and fixing his hair with a theatrical gesture.

"If you think you can kick me down, by all means, try." "Rest assured, I shall. Prepare yourself."

What Akadama-sensei took out from his breast pocket then was the Fuujin-Raijin folding fan [*6].

〇

The Fuujin-Raijin folding fan was such a peerless fan that if you waved with one side of it, you could summon a gale, and if you waved with the other, you could produce a thunderstorm. Formerly, it was one of the seven tools of Nyoigadake Yakushibou, but in defiance of its value, sensei treated it roughly. When he presented it to Benten as what he called a 'commemoration of love' gift, he seriously pissed off both the tengu and the tanuki worlds, but last year, after much ado, the fan had returned to his possession.

As Akadama-sensei was at the present, he had no power to summon tengu winds. Even if he tried, pouring all of his might in it at that, it would be something like a spring breeze streaming across a field of blooming lotus flowers, capable of only gently fluttering the Nidaime's bangs at best. However, as long as he had the Fuujin-Raijin fan with him, even sensei could blow off the Minamiza without much trouble despite his old age.

"Say your prayers!" Akadama-sensei let out a thunderous shout and raised the fan overhead.

Only, the fan suddenly slipped out of sensei's fingers and flapped through the space toward the Kamogawa river. No matter how powerful a fan it was, it was completely useless unless you waved it. Akadama-sensei, panicking and trying to catch the fan that was being swept away, grabbed only at the empty air, losing his balance, falling with a thud and slipping off head first. The fan kept rolling down nimbly.

At this rate, the Fuujin-Raijin fan and our former mentor's life both would be in danger.

Appearing out of the dark, I dashed along the roof and, catching the fan, shoved it in a pocket, then took a firm hold of sensei and checked his slide.

Akadama-sensei got up silently and sat down next to me, crossing his legs.

There were tears in his eyes as he held his nose that he'd hit hard, but he didn't seem to have suffered any other injuries.

From above us the Nidaime's stern voice rained down.

"Is that you there, Yasaburou-kun?"

I immediately prostrated myself on the edge of the roof. "Shimogamo Yasaburou, at your service."

"What are you doing in a place like this?" "...Following the call of my idiot blood, I'm afraid." "So you came rushing to the rescue, huh," the Nidaime sighed. "Good grief, how truly foolish creatures tanuki are. I will admit that they are charming, but the fact that they are fools still stands irrefutably." "That is a rather tengu-like thing of you to say, Nidaime, sir." "I am not a tengu. What is a tengu? It's that senile old fool right there." The Nidaime pointed to Akadama-sensei with his chin. "After all his big talk, throwing his weight around and bragging about his magical powers, in the end, unable to even defend his own territory, he had been run out by the Kurama lot and forced to seclude himself in a filthy apartment for the likes of humans to live in. I'm sure even now he thinks of himself as great, when in reality he's but a laughable naked emperor. Incapable of making a single tengu whirlwind do his bidding, he can't even fly through the sky properly. What is he even capable of anymore? What truly meaningless and risible last days. This, however, is what a tengu is. What a tengu's ruin is. ....Aah, still, even knowing that, what a positively pathetic sight this is. To think you would still choose to live reliant on the pity of creatures such as tanuki." The Nidaime knitted his beautiful brows, gazing down at Akadama-sensei with cold eyes. "You should be ashamed. For shame!"

Probably unable to stomach the Nidaime's words, Akadama-sensei wobbled to his feet, pushed me aside and tried to crawl up the roof. Although slipping and sliding, after a few tries he managed to hold on feebly, then made another attempt to climb to the high place where the Nidaime stood.

Out of breath and with his white hair disheveled, he groaned out, "Don't you run away, just wait right there. I'll kick you down once again."

What the Nidaime haughtily peered down at in those moments from his high vantage point was not only his father frantically crawling up the roof, but also myself watching with batted breath, the city below and the masses wriggling and squirming in it - overlooking all of that at once. The only being of any importance between Heaven and Earth is I alone, his cold eyes were eloquently expressing. And I was enchanted with those glimpses of a dazzlingly blazing tengu beneath the veneer in the Nidaime who insisted he was 'not a tengu'.

Letting his white cheeks stretch in a derisive smile, the Nidaime said, "Oh, are you still not dead, father?"

Akadama-sensei replied through grinding teeth, "...If you want me dead, then try and kill me."

The Nidaime snorted with laughter at that. "You're not even worth killing. You can die in some ditch on your own somewhere, for all I care."

Not waiting for sensei to finish crawling up, the Nidaime jumped off the roof.

Easily leaping over the Kamogawa, he gave a slight bow to Iwayasan Kinkoubou sipping wine on the roof of 'Touka Saikan', then flew off into the sparkling night city.

Akadama-sensei could only watch him go with a gaping mouth.

And that was how the curtain fell on the tengu duel.

〇

"Good grief, he ran away again. What a pathetic fellow."

Akadama-sensei sat cross-legged in the middle of the roof and smoked his tengu tobacco, pleased expression on his face as if he'd just successfully finished a difficult task. I sank down to sit beside sensei, gazing absentmindedly at the brilliant radiance of the night city where the Nidaime flew off to and playing with the Fuujin-Raijin fan.

In due time, Akadama-sensei opened his mouth to say in an exasperated manner, "My goodness, what a tanuki you are, you seem to be positively everywhere." "I take the duty of being elusive and unpredictable close to heart."

Out of the blue, sensei asked, "Well?" and nudged my flank. "It's my victory, isn't it?" "...E-Erm, how did you come to the conclusion that you won, sir?" "If you can't understand, then there's no point talking to you."

Sensei watched the Kamogawa river beneath as it carried its waters from south to north, while puffing on his tobacco with satisfaction.

By the river, the noryouyuka cool-floor [*7] opened for operation, its night illumination casting phantasmagorical lights on the black surface of the water. It was a scene of a nighttime amusement that would suit Benten's taste perfectly.

My and sensei's thoughts seemed to coincide at that moment.

Looking toward the Kamogawa, sensei murmured suddenly, "I wonder where Benten is and what she's doing." "When she gets back - things will turn fun, for sure." "... Now, of all times, is really the time when that beauty should be here more than ever."

Sensei stared at the moon glittering in the night sky and said on a sigh, "How I want to see Benten. Oh how I long to see Benten."

T/N:

[*1] Mamemochi (豆餅): a rice cake with beans. Why did Yasaburou choose to bring mamemochi? Apparently, there is an old and popular wagashi shop (that is, specializing in traditional Japanese sweets), Demachi Futuba, located in the Demachi neighborhood which, in turn, is not far away from Shimogamo shrine. [*2] Mickle fails that fools think (下手な考え休むに似たり): this translation is not a widely used one, so just to elaborate a little if this is your first time seeing this proverb: basically, the sense here is along the lines of 'They to whom only bad ideas come might as well be asleep' and 'Inadequate ideas are worse than none at all'. [*3] Senjafuda (千社札) lit. thousand shrine tag: a name tag originally posted on shrine pillars by pilgrims (wiki) [*4] Onigawara tile (鬼瓦) lit. demon tile: ornamental roof tiles with oni/demons (wiki) [*5] Lao Jiu 老酒: a variety of rice-fermented traditional Chinese wines, a subtype of Shaoxing wine (wiki) [*6] Fuujin-Raijin (風神雷神): fuujin is lit. wind god and raijin is lit. thunder god [*7] Noryouyuka (納涼床): a wooden platform, a type of restaurant balcony overlooking the river for enjoying cool breezes, mainly in the evenings, laid out in summer (jp wiki)