voidtreckerexpress | A New Platform [Intro Post December]

Entry tags:

A New Platform [Intro Post December]

On the Train

It's only been a couple of days since the Voidtrecker Express took to the void once more, and many of the passengers are still recovering and recuperating after a very hectic end to their latest mission. Nevertheless, they are awoken by a familiar message.

"Good morning passengers, it is day sixteen of the month of Imagination. Points have been updated on the system."

They have indeed, and everyone can spend the morning shopping. Those who have been on the train for a while will be expecting the second announcement that comes a few hours later.

"Shortly arriving into a designated void platform. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one." A lurch and a jolt and the windows fill with the fog that means they are at a platform. It is warm outside with a pleasant breeze that flows down the platform, rustling the light spread of leaves that litter the floor.

As usual the first to leave the train notice nothing, walking silently, rucksacks on their backs, towards the barriers. Akemi Homura, Alfred the Poisoner, Donatello Versus, Chie Satonaka, Joscelin Fitzthomas, Ronan Lynch, Rose Tyler, Tangle the Lemur, Trowa Barton, Wester Mazaki and Whisper the Wolf all pass through the platform, not looking back before they disappear through the barriers and into the fog beyond.

But on the platform itself there are new faces. Wearing hoodies in all four colours, in various states of confusion.

For New Passengers

At first all they can see is steam, billowing around them as they come to their senses. The second thing they will notice is the swirling leaves at their feet, moving in flurries and rattling against each other softly. As their eyes adjust, they will see they are on a platform, cement and packed earth forming a very practical, plain-looking shelter. Behind them is a set of barriers, and in front of them is a single track extending both ways into thick fog.

They are standing, in clothes that are not their own and a style they might not even recognise. They are carrying a rucksack on their back. For a moment it seems to just be them, alone in the white haze but then the steam begins to fade and they realise they aren’t alone.

The platform is not large and it holds eight figures all facing the tracks, all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies. Both left and right the tracks disappear into the mist. Then there is a roaring sound and out of the fog arrives a train. Jet black with gold writing on the side. The Voidtrecker Express. There is a hiss as the doors slide open and out into the gloom step a selection of people. Some are human, some are less so. Most are wearing the same hoodie in one of the four colours, red, orange, blue and purple though some are sporting different clothes in a variety of styles.

The Train

The doors hiss open. Those from the train may encourage those on the platform to board. It’s not like there's anywhere else to go and even if there was, you feel a pull. A need to board, a feeling that staying on the platform would lead to something terrible. If that is not enough, there are plenty of people on the platform now, to encourage them onto the train.

Each ICP shows the same message and next to the screens there are stacks of leaflets written by those on the train, with further information (see
'Publications'). The store rooms have been restocked with more jars of honey, the ingredient of the month of Imagination, as well as sundries.

A new carriage has been added right next to the luggage carriage. It is a second medical carriage, or triage carriage. Downstairs is more open with beds and chairs, upstairs are two surgical bays for those that need immediate attention.

For those intrigued by the claim of a parcel for every passenger they will find several large boxes filled with small blue bags. Inside each bag is ten dark blue coins imprinted on each side with a silver snowflake. Each bag has a small label with a passengers name. On the other side of the label it reads: Keep these safe for now.

Of course for any passengers that have bought items, these are also scattered around the luggage carriage as well.

New passengers will find their tickets allow them into their cabins. They may need to negotiate for beds, especially if they want a top bunk!

Room is tight but there are storage cubbies at the head of each bed, beds fold up and the bottom bunks double as benches for the small table. There is storage under those benches and you will hopefully find a pillow for your bed if it has not been nabbed by a roommate, there are also spare blankets for if it gets cold.

Departure

A second horn sounds to encourage any stragglers taking advantage of the pleasant weather and the doors slide shut. Veteran passengers know what will happen next, but they may wish to brief their new companions.

The train sets off, the fog obscuring the view again as it picks up speed.

"Welcome aboard, passengers of the Voidtrecker Express." A female-coded artificial sounding voice echoes throughout the train. "Please take the time to read the passenger information displayed on the Information and Communication points and familiarise yourself with the layout and emergency exits."

The train begins to tilt, leaving the ground and rising up into the fog-filled sky.

"Entrance into Voidspace imminent. New passengers are advised to remain seated. Entry into Voidspace in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

A shudder, a jolt, a lurch to the left. A flash of light, colourful and blinding. As quick as it happens it is done. The train seems to steady. The fog from the windows is gone now, replaced with a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours.

Welcome to the Void!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What? You don't know how to braid? But it's so simple!"

Sorry, Devero, Koumyou has no idea why you might hesitate to follow through on that offer. He follows the other man to the lounger, even as he's rolling -- yes, rolling -- the second arm-warmer up over his bicep.

"Here, I'll show you."

And now the priest drops down to sit seiza on the floor in front of him, pulling his hair forward over a shoulder. Lesson time!

"So first, you want three sections, right? As equal as you can make them. I should really comb it out before this part... makes it easier to divide, but, it's fine for a little demonstration, right?"

Oh no. Oh no. Devero did ask for this, he just hadn't expected to be taken up on it immediately. Maybe he should have known better.

But the thing about Devero is he meant it sincerely. He's always had a little bit of ah, ahem, fascination with hair, and the prospect of helping Koumyou with his is genuinely appealing. He's just. Going to need to not let the proximity get to him.

Right.

Concentrate, Dev. "Hold on just a second," he murmurs. He's got his eye back on, so he might as well take full advantage of the demo. His gaze goes distant for a moment as he looks through the screen and moves a finger through the air.

"Smile," he tells the priest with a quirk of his lips, "you're on camera. Go ahead."

Blink, blink. "...Oh! Right, you can do that video thing!" And Koumyou does indeed beam for the camera. Complete with a wave. "Hello, future Devero!"

It might be precious if there wasn't that underpinning problem of Devero's. And here's Koumyou on his knees on the floor, in the base layer of his uniform.

You know, as you do.

"Right, so, three parts...! Normally it'd be like, one on either side and one down the middle," Koumyou demonstrates as he talks, trying to peel his hair apart from itself. "But it's hard to get it started on yourself, you know? Even if you're really flexible."

Unspoken but perhaps understood; a martial artist of Koumyou's caliber was very flexible.

That is. so charming. Devero has to bite his lip to keep from doing more than smiling in return. He tries to keep his eyes on just Koumyou's hands, but the priest's hands are in his luscious hair, and his luscious hair is draped over his sculpted chest, and--

Fortitude, Devero! Virtues, not vices! Discipline!

He has to lick his suddenly-dry lips. "I-- I'm following you," he says, trying to sound normal. (Koumyou casually bringing up flexibility is not helping.)

And once again, the air is so humid, the material of that black top and arm-warmers has that extra... shimmer to it.

Koumyou glances up at him for a moment, and... okay, maybe on a later viewing, Devero might notice his eyes going right to the lip-licking. And a fraction of a second of interest in those pretty brown eyes of his.

But in real time, the priest is rather sneaky about it.

"Okay so, this is going to be harder to show because it's flipped around, but," Koumyou drops his attention to his own hands for a second, gathering up the three sections in his hooked fingers. "It's like this, right? And then you pass this section over to your other hand like... this. See how it went under? And then the part that hand already had goes like... this."

To his credit, Devero is able to force his attention to the actual task at hand, instead of just the hands alone. And the pattern is pretty simple, once he sees it repeated a few times.

"I think I've got it," he says shortly. He holds out his hands, palms up. (He also catches the corner of a lip between his teeth again, as if using the bright spot of pain to remind his libido to behave itself.) "May I?"

"Of course," Koumyou even lifts himself up on his knees properly, to put his braid in easier touching-range, and hands over the three sections one at a time. "See, the bottom part is trying to knot up, too, that's another thing that wouldn't be quite as bad if I'd combed it first."

Helpfully, he goes to untangle the bottom part once Devero's got ahold of the three sections. And then with a very slight wobble--

(Had that been a glance up? So quick, furtive--)

He catches himself with a soft laugh, putting both hands on Devero's knees for stability.

One of the things Madame made much of when it came to her boy was his willpower, his control. It's only by exercising that iron will that he comes so close to making it through this. So damn close.

But when Kouymou tips against his knees and glances up like that for just a second, it feels like Devero could shatter. He's-- he's projecting things now, and Koumyou's practically in his lap, and it's been so, so long since he's had his cock--

No. He won't do this, not to someone he owes so much to already. He's not going to-- going to prey on him, playacting that he's fine when he's longing for every touch. Bad enough if they were just two people, but Koumyou's a priest. Just because Devero doesn't understand such things doesn't mean he shouldn't try to respect their sanctity.

He drops the other man's hair and grabs his wrists instead, pinning them against his knees as if he's afraid they're about to strike. His eyes are huge and dark when he meets the Sanzo's, his expression almost hunted.

"I'm sorry," he manages, his voice hoarse with desire. He wets lips suddenly gone dry with a darting swipe of his tongue, and swallows. "Sanzo, I am very, very attracted to you right now and I think I'd better leave until I can-- can get my head on straight about you."

He releases his wrists and surges to his feet, putting several long strides between himself and the other man. "I'm sorry," he says again with hands pro-offered in plea, imploring the priest to understand.

Koumyou doesn't really react to having his wrists seized. If anything, he's surprised the grip isn't a whole hell of a lot tighter, like Ukoku does it when he's trying to make Koumyou react.

Not many others dare to grab Koumyou Sanzo, after all.

But the priest's focus is on those huge, dark eyes. That expression.

That voice. That's what nearly gets a reaction out of Koumyou, but he's glad it doesn't because then Devero's fleeing. Koumyou doesn't even get up, just twists in place to stare after him, one hand settling on the abandoned seat.

"I..." oh, well. Okay, then. "If you-- if you think that's for the best."

It's all so very confusing.

He's fleeing. Again. After just swearing to Koumyou that he wouldn't run anymore.

That's the only reason he doesn't turn tail right there. He stands frozen for a moment, his mind crowded with things he wants to say. Explanations, justifications, pleas: the words fill up his throat until he thinks he might choke. But this knot he finds he can't dislodge, because his blood is up and his heart is pounding and bad boys who talk too much get their mouths filled, don't they? Bad boys who think they know best, who dare to act up instead of waiting to be told what to do. Only a bad boy would want to bury his hands in that pale gold hair and claim those smiling lips and-- and--

The easiest thing would be to run until his head has cleared, and then to swallow every single thing churning inside of him until he can pretend they didn't exist. Keep his distance until he can act right--

He said he wouldn't run from his anymore.

There are two Deveros at war inside him: the wounded one pushing him to obey his Madame even in her absence, and the trapped, screaming one desperate to be heard. Caught between them, Devero closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. He still can't open his mouth, he daren't speak, he daren't presume...

But.

His hands start to move.

Koumyou just watches carefully, and levers himself up off the floor just enough to sit where Devero had been just one moment prior.

There's something... big, going on with the other man. The way he's frozen in place, the way Koumyou can actually see his pulse from here. It's pounding away in his throat like a trapped bird, as his blood pressure goes insane.

And his hands are moving. Mudras? No. Koumyou has seen sign language before, since not everyone who comes to live at a temple can hear, or speak out loud. But he's only ever learned a few key phrases, and none of them match what Devero's doing now.

But he doesn't look away, regardless. Maybe the pattern will make some kind of sense. Maybe not. Maybe Devero just needs something to be seen, if not heard. The silence hasn't gone unnoticed.

And it's fine, he's here.

>start new: text document
>activate function: gsl-to-text transcription
>begin transcription

I don't think you understand how badly I want to

>select text
>delete

I'm terrified that I'm going to

>select text
>delete

I know you're a priest and I know priests take vows but could we maybe

>select text
>delete

I'm not running. I told you I wouldn't run and I mean that, I swear I do. But right now I'm scared. I'm scared of how attractive I find you, and I'm scared that I'm going to act on it selfishly.
I'm scared of how important you've become to me in such a short period of time. I'm scared that I'm reading too much into how kind you've been to me, and how patient you've been with my outbursts. I'm scared that you see me as just another soul to shepherd, or do whatever it is priests do for souls. I'm scared that it would be inappropriate or insulting to ask you if you'd be interested in having sex with me, or that you won't want me to be around you when you learn how badly I want to take you into my arms and kiss you.
I'm scared, because I know that when Madame finds out about this, she'll take my unfaithfulness out of my hide.
If I were a coward, I wouldn't say anything, because the thought of my interest disgusting you or ending whatever it is that we have together right now is terrifying. You're the best thing about this train and I don't want to lose that.
But I wouldn't be able to stand myself if I kept my mouth shut and hung around you on the pretext of purely platonic interst and then slunk off to fantasize in private. I respect you far too much to lie to you and use you like that.
So even though I'm scared shitless right now, I need you to know this: I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. I want to play with your hair and map your scars and have all kinds of sex with you. I want to have fun with you. I want to make you feel as joyous and light as you have me in just this last week. I want to see you, all of you, and I want to let you see all of me.
I know this is intense. I know this is sudden. I don't even know if Sanzo priests are allowed to have sexual relationships, or if men who love men are accepted where you come from.
If, after learning all of this, you don't want anything to do with me, please know that I'll respect that. And I'll always respect you, even if you think I'm a disgusting pervert

>select text
>delete

And I'll always respect you, no matter what your response is to this utter garbage spewing out of my impertinent mouth

>select text
>delete

And I'll always respect you, even if your answer to the question I haven't actually asked you is 'no'.
Thank you for being you. I think you're wonderful. I'm sorry about this.

>end function: gsl-to-text transcription
>save file; destination: local storage

Devero is shaking visibly by the time he finishes his missive, his gestures by the end having become jerky and almost unintelligibly uncoordinated. He takes his Interface off and converts it to handheld mode, with the document open on the screen. Before his nerve can quit him, he closes the space between himself and Koumyou and thrusts his Interface into the priest's hands.

"Please," he says, voice strangled. His fingers tremble as he closes Kouymou's long ones around the little device. He's can't bear to meet Koumyou's eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't-- I know this isn't-- Just, please--

"Please understand."

He leaves the Sanzo there with his Interface and breaks for the far end of the carriage. He's not running, even if his steps are rapid, and he doesn't aim for the door. He just finds another chair on the other side of the pool and sits on it as heavy and boneless as a puppet with the strings cut. He puts his face into his hands, and unable to help himself, he starts to weep.

Koumyou isn't sure what he's expecting when Devero finishes signing, or when he closes the gap and pushes his device into the priest's thin hands. Not even meeting Koumyou's questioning gaze; back to the beaten hound.

"I'll try," he promises only, to that swiftly-retreating back. Only once Devero has collapsed onto his new seat, does Koumyou look down at the thing in his hands, starting to read to the muffled sounds of weeping.

He has to read it twice, and then a third time. It's a lot. Not so much the flattering bits -- though that's pretty new, too -- as what's in between. Taken in combination with his silence and now his weeping, across the room.

"Devero," Koumyou doesn't even mean to say it out loud, but there it is. His heart hurts for the other man, for the pain he's enduring.

He doesn't even know where to start, with all of this. Where the hell can he start with it? He can't brush this off with a joke, or by acting the fool. No spear-like single sentences of profound, blink-and-you-miss-it wisdom are going to encompass all of that.

"...I'm not going anywhere."

Maybe that's a good start.

He's carried so much bottled up inside, for so long, that once he starts to cry he feels like he can't stop. It's catharsis, in a way; it's despair released, for everything he's bound up in denial and buried so deep and how it's wounded him. That first meeting with Koumyou, those brilliant moments of simple and unqualified happiness had sprung hairline cracks in the walls of this dam; everything that's cascaded between them tonight has blown those eroding holes right open.

Eventually his sobs quiet, but not because he's wept himself out. No, as Koumyou's silence stretches, tension and fear creep up into his throat once more and throttle him. Koumyou's silent because he's horrified, Koumyou's silent because he's disgusted, Koumyou's silent because why would anyone but me care for you, you stupid boy? Your face may be pretty but that's all you have, isn't it?

He flinches when he hears his name, too lost in carefully fashioned ruts of self-loathing to be able to interpret the tone. Chastisement? Disbelief? Horror? He wraps his arms around his head and braces like he's going to be lashed--

The priest's next words land like a feather, but he's so wound up for pain that he opens his mouth without planning what he's going to say and what falls out is a hoarse, wretched, "You should."

That's what gets Koumyou to get up and come over, and then sit down next to Devero on the lounger. He'd been torn for a moment, on whether the guy needed the space more, or the reassurance more... but that had tipped the scales.

"Well, I'm not," Koumyou holds out the device for Devero, and deliberately leans over to bump his shoulder into the other man. "I'm right here."

And then, a little uncertain, "I didn't realize. You said I was attractive before, but I... didn't take it very seriously? I thought it was just harmless fun. I had no idea it was hurting you."

Devero goes so, so still when he hears Koumyou approaching from behind him, only his chest moving with his erratic, shallow breathing. He watches the man like he expects to be-- like he expects him to-- like he expects--

Koumyou sits beside him. He did not expect that.

He's still tense as a load-bearing cable when Koumyou bumps him, and his fingers shake as he accepts his Interface back. He still can't look at him, turning his face away as the priest speaks.

"How could you know?" he asks, his voice low and strained. "Any n-normal person would have just meant it for fun. But you had to get stuck with me taking a fancy to you."

Koumyou's earlier cigarette had been abandoned across the room, just before he'd gotten stuck in his shirt. It's either burned down or burned out, by now, so Koumyou lights another.

He needs it to steady his own nerves.

"You say that like it's such a bad thing," Koumyou says only after taking a long drag from the fresh cancer stick, letting the words out into the air with the smoke. "One could easily argue that taking a fancy to an aloof, inexperienced old priest is more of a problem."

Koumyou knows his shortcomings. He knows there are a myriad of reasons that so many have compared him to the moon. Distant, watching, silent, shining a cold light down onto things both open and secret alike. Not even its own light, not really, but merely a reflection of the sun.

"There have to be better suited people on this train, for you. Younger, gentler. Someone who won't snag against every ragged edge you have and rip it open even worse."

"One could," Devero concedes, "but not this one. And you're not that old!"

Like that's the actual issue at play here.

"Other folk here have been kind to me. They've made me feel very welcome. And I know-- I know I can bring a lot to this community, and I know my contributions it will be appreciated. But Sanzo--" He almost looks at him, but his eyes snag on smoke and cigarette and don't move higher. "No one has made me feel the way you've made me feel."

He looks away again, clasping both hands around his Interface. "And I don't just mean-- how much fun I had with you, the other day. I think there's been something festering inside me for-- for-- for a long time. You saw that. I feel like maybe my ragged edges need to be ripped open, to let this infection out."

Koumyou thinks about that for another long, silent moment, just quietly smoking. He doesn't like to rush to say the first thing on his mind, but especially when something's important.

So he sits, and he smokes, and he thinks.

It's probably hell on Devero's nerves, but there's no helping it. That's just how Koumyou is.

"...I suppose so," he finally allows, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. His eyes are staring only at the glowing tip as he speaks, "Whatever else does or doesn't happen here, I'm not going to turn away from you, Devero. It's just not in my nature."

The moon may be hidden by a dark cloud once in a while, but it always comes out again. Even if Koumyou is nowhere near as punctual or reliable as the moon, the priest can admit the idea has its merits.

(Jikaku had known him better than most, to make that comparison to begin with. Not much got past Koumyou's old teacher.)

"...And shepherding souls sounds far too troublesome."

That kind of left the whole sex topic, didn't it? And the question of any vows that could make the subject moot.

No, it doesn't help Devero's nerves at all, to sit beside Koumyou while he smokes and thinks. But he endures it, looking nearly like a penitent as he sits with his hands clasped and his head bowed.

That bowed head lifts, Devero finally, finally managing to actually look at Koumyou. His dark eyes are guarded, that beaten hound still anticipating a raised hand. He assesses Koumyou's expression for a long, long moment; whatever he sees there satisfies him. He nods and lowers his eyes again. "Thank you."

A long exhale through his nose. "A person should be responsible for their own soul anyway, I should think."

Koumyou has said nothing about Devero's confession of carnal attraction, and where he comes from, that's answer enough. He squares his shoulders and sits up straighter on the lounger. "Attraction on my part doesn't entitle action on yours," he recites, his voice subdued but even. (That relative calm is belied by the way he worries his Interface between his thumbs.) "Being attracted to you isn't what h-hurts me, it's the fear of what would happen if I can't control my actions because of that. I don't want to use you."

He stands slowly and turns to face Koumyou, wiping a hand across his mouth as he does. He has to swallow before he can continue, and he's back to looking anywhere but at the Sanzo's face. "I swear to you that I'll be able to control my-- m-my interest around you. I won't be inappropriate. But I may need some s...space sometimes, that's all."

"I haven't said 'no'," Koumyou says gently, but firmly.

He takes another long drag of his cigarette, holds it in for a moment, and then stares at the ash collecting on the end as he exhales the smoke. To the priest, the way he's really burning through this cigarette is a sign of his own nerves.

"I'm not as immune to your charms as I may seem. But there are... considerations."

His monastic vows aren't really a problem, to Koumyou. He's broken all the others except this one, after all. He eats meat, he smokes, he drinks, he gambles, he kills.

"As a Sanzo, I can do pretty much whatever I want. On paper, there are rules. In practice, I answer to no one."

That left the more mundane issues at hand. Namely...

Quietly, "...I wouldn't know what I'm doing, Devero."

"...You haven't?" That brings Devero's eyes back to Koumyou's face, his expression startled. His needy heart lurches in his chest and he tries to set the iron bands of his control around it, but they've been warped and weak since he first met Koumyou. His effort doesn't do very much.

That word considerations makes him withdraw a little. Considerations. The priest may answer to no one but Devero doesn't even know what vows he's taken, or how closely he holds to them. Just because no one else could enforce his rules doesn't mean he won't enforce them for himself.

He nods, to show he's listening and understanding, and tries to brace himself for the demurral he knows is going to follow that statement--

But Koumyou startles him again. Devero had drawn up in his head a list of all the reasons Koumyou might refuse him-- religious commitment, heterosexuality, asexuality, plain disinterest, and more-- and 'inexperience' hadn't even made the bottom of it. Sexual activity is so normalized where he comes from that he'd just assumed-- surely Koumyou hadn't been born a priest--

He takes a moment to process that, and then slowly lowers himself to sit seiza on the floor in front of him. "If you're worried that would matter to me, it doesn't," he says. If he sounds a little uncertain himself, it's only because he's not 100% positive that Koumyou just admitting to being a virgin. "No one knows what they're doing their f... first time?"

The fact that they've switched positions isn't lost on Koumyou. There's an effortless... symmetry to their interactions, in general, like it's all one very slow dance. They'd switched positions in the pool, too, and probably other times he can't even recall now.

"I suppose it's a little embarrassing, at my age."

Another long draw from his cigarette, burned almost down to the filter, now. He regards Devero steadily through the smoke.

Devero regards him back. "I don't think it has to be," he says. "Where I come from, we understand that everyone's sexual journey is unique and deeply personal. Shaming or judging someone for the shape or length of that path is cruel, and I won't do it to you."

"Yes, well, in a temple..."

Things are a lot different. He doesn't bother to elaborate.

"Your letter made it sound like you want more than... that."

Why yes, it is hard for him to address it directly. Any of it. Koumyou's natural inclination is to be aloof, distant, never touching on things directly unless he has to.

But he doesn't look away, despite that.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw sexual content, abuse mention

no subject

just assume the cw above is going to continue for a while

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