Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Smoke Signals ❯ Chapter 1

SPOILERS: "Unnatural Talismanic Monk," "A Twilight Farewell," "The Scarlet Curse," and "Hymn for the Living."
SUMMARY: The Sanzo party's relationship with smoking and each other.
ARCHIVAL/DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you ask me first.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things Saiyuki belong to Kazuya Minekura/Epix, Saiyuki Project, TV Tokyo, and A.D. Vision, Inc. No infringement intended.
NOTES: Personally, I hate cigarette smoke....

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"Smoke Signals"
By Viridian5
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I picked up smoking on the road not long after I left the monastery. One group I briefly traveled with had this guy who offered me some cigarettes as a friendly gesture. Didn't start charging me until I'd come to rely on them. I was still a stupid kid sometimes then, but I learned.

When he died in a bandit attack, I took whatever gear I wanted, including his remaining packs, from his corpse.

I can't regret taking up cigarettes, though. They let people know immediately that I am not a traditional Sanzo. They lend extra punch and punctuation to my words and moods, making my impatience look more impatient and my contempt more contemptuous. They pass the time. They give me something to do with my hands aside from strangling all the idiots in the world.

My master's habit of lighting up a pipe had lent him an extra aura of peace that my cigarettes could never convey. I used to ask him if he put anything else in his pipe to help his serenity along, because I kept getting the feeling that he hadn't always been like this. For a long time, the fragrance of pipe smoke gave me some measure of peace as well.

That was a long time ago. Now it always smells faintly of blood to me.

I can't imagine myself being serene or smoking a pipe. Of course, I also can't imagine myself living to see 30.

Gojyo looks laidback and serene while smoking, but that was a façade I quickly saw through. The man is actually a screaming mass of want and need.

It annoys me. At least I strive for some truth in representation.

I took up smoking after I saw this cardsharp use it. Damn, but he'd looked cool and collected as he'd smoked while bilking the table. By that point I'd started to realize that I came off as too desperate, and I wanted to be as in control. So I studied the way he smoked, and it helped. Flattered and bored and secure in the knowledge that I'd be moving on out of his hunting ground, he even gave me a few hints about winning at poker.

Belief was key. Pretending. Believe so much and so deeply that the people around you can't stop themselves from falling into it too. It didn't help on the big stuff, but it did just fine on the little ones. I saw it myself.

It didn't take me too long to see that he was actually a mess, not cool and in control at all, but I had to get real close to see it, so it was good enough. Nobody would get close enough to see my cracks. I took what he gave me and used it.

So I found a place where people didn't know what my red hair and eyes meant, and I believed and fronted with a cigarette dangling from my mouth and one woman or more on my arm for years with almost no one seeing through the world-on-a-string bullshit. It turned out to be a boring life.

Then, one rainy night, Hakkai fell at my feet with his guts hanging out. I never could get my mother to smile at me, but this stranger smiled at me before passing out and blew my little world apart.

Weirdest thing was that he didn't feel like a stranger. He never did.

As the doctor gave me a list of dos and don'ts for my comatose new roommate, I kept wondering if I really intended to do it. Mom never let me touch anything fragile--though she was the one who actually broke things--so how could I possibly keep this guy alive?

But he was my fragile thing, so I believed that I could do it until it became true. And I smoked outside, since the doctor said it would be healthier for him.

When my fragile thing woke up I went all growly and macho territorial about my home and my smoking and I would do what I liked, but inside I was shaking. He didn't seem too relieved to be alive, while I needed him to live and never leave. So much for being cool and not at all desperate. Hell of it was, I think he saw it even then. He saw it and still smiled at me.

Weird how Sanzo had helped keep Hakkai alive and with me in the end. Would have been nice if I could have done it all myself, but I wasn't so proud that I'd cut off my nose to spite my face.

Though Sanzo still needs to get his pointy, superior head knocked around for the shit he pulls. Being pretty doesn't make up for being a bastard.

Anyway, I have Hakkai and his smiles, and sometimes he even gives me the deep, real ones. You could get through a hard winter on the strength of one of those. He sees more of the real me than anyone does, yet he still hangs around. Has to be love.

But I can still get desperate, so I keep smoking and I keep pretending for the rest of the world. Besides, I think Hakkai finds smoking sexy--not that he would admit it to me--because I've seen the look he gets when Sanzo and I light up. Sometimes I actually have to outvamp the monk to keep Hakkai interested. It would be annoying if it didn't crack me up.

I worry about Gojyo and Sanzo, with all the smoking they do. Their insides should be black as pitch by now. It couldn't be good for their health. Their combined polluting output could be nasty for everyone around them as well.

Yet I was sure that having it in common gave them a bond that put a bit of peace between them, although they insulted each other's brands. I could easily imagine what Sanzo would say to Gojyo about habits and addictions if he didn't have the same addictive habit.

I didn't know whether it was a good thing or bad thing that I had Sanzo, Gojyo, and Goku voices in my head that could predict what they would say. Either way, it could certainly be useful. And sometimes entertaining.

And, oh, Sanzo and Gojyo could look very sexy as they smoked. Gojyo in particular. He made it so sensual and savored it so obviously that it made me hungry to watch him.

Smoke flattered and obscured.

Once it had seemed very appropriate to me that my blood-haired reminder had a mouth that tasted of ashes. I deserved it for my crimes. My poetic soul found it very fitting and pleasing until the day Gojyo had asked, "You're not using me to punish yourself, are you, Hakkai?" I felt ashamed then. How not? I had used him shamefully, and, worse, he had noticed. I might deserve punishment or not, but he had done nothing wrong and deserved to be loved. Great heart that he is, he never complained, simply expressed concern for me. I amended my ways.

I've since decided that Gojyo's red hair is more emblematic of fire anyway. He certainly has that effect on me, in a positive manner. He's a fire that cleanses instead of destroys.

I continue to chide him on his health but have become accustomed to and comforted by the scent and taste of him this way.

I don't really get smoking. Who was the first guy to try that? I mean, set a roll of leaves on fire, stick it in his mouth, and suck on it. Who would guess that anyone would like that?

Gojyo just smokes because it's part of his image, but Sanzo uses his smoking somehow. Like to express himself. It's like a tool. I can quickly tell how he's feeling by how much he smokes and how thick, sharp, and stale the scent gets. It's like wetting your finger and putting it up to see which way the wind is blowing.

I don't tell him that. I get the feeling that he wouldn't like it.

Sometimes when I wake up after a really deep sleep and see him smoking it seems wrong, and I have this urge to ask him when he started doing that. I actually asked him one morning and got a confused look and a "Stupid monkey" as an answer.

At least I hadn't asked him when he'd cut his hair. I still don't get where that came from, no matter how many times Sanzo had said that dreams could feel really strong just when you wake up, especially if you sleep like the dead and snore at high volume, keeping everyone else awake, you stupid monkey.

So Sanzo smelled like cigarette smoke. On the surface. But if you got close, closer than he let most people get, you could smell him under it. At mealtimes he smelled like food and warmth. Sometimes on the journey he smelled like sun and wind and open air and being free.

The smoke scent is like a wall to keep people out. But I'm already on the right side.

***********************THE END**********************

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