GetBackers Fan Fiction ❯ The Picturesque Backdrop ❯ One-Shot

THE PICTURESQUE BACKDROP

The last literary affinity in `Yellow Backdrop', Ginji and Ban will clear the vagueness in their world with ashes of memories and guilt it drags along, or so the truth whispers. Go figure.

 

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In this place of darkness, truth would be waiting. Through the starkness of desolation's furnace, it'd still be waiting. It'll be waiting even if it means imprisonment; it can go through miles of galaxies, fields of daffodils and red burns of roses - it can drink gore, torture and even enjoy violence but it'd still be waiting. It will never be sure and it may never ever, finding itself amidst social possibilities, but it'd still be waiting. It'll be waiting even if words collide, even if poems become shenanigans of people to express mockery. It'll be waiting until frantic rhymes with optimism, until the winds become the waters. And in this place of darkness, it'll be waiting. It can go on and on with words and start making fictions all over again. It may never be understood but truth would still be waiting.

 

**********

 

Seemingly, down by the apartment that has disclosed the uttermost sighs of the soul, Ban could not help but wonder the meticulousness the universe has weaved upon his memory; the rationale perhaps went down to the psychoanalysis of it, that the pleasure he'd been feeling was something akin to jagan itself, fashioned in its purpose to create illusions, to fake reality, to feign all truths. His guilt - it was the most futile in his perspective, because it did nothing but crumple his conscience in the ethics of sexuality and intimacy. His memories - all it did was to assure him of verifiable situations but meaningless in its allusions. Down by the apartment that both Ginji and Ban has saved for the nth time, the vagueness was so recurring it became the most instinctive.

 

Ginji, in his solitude, reminisces all there is.

 

Raw jagan lad he is, gone with the sleep of awakened rage and torn scorn; toothed buildings surrounded them as the broken windows and broken hearts of the citizens of Infinity City manifested its own nothingness. On the other hand, windstorms have cracked Ban's lips from cigarettes and it was somewhat discomforting, save for the restlessness from caffeine drinks. Over and over, Ban looks for no one but himself.

 

Dashing off of noir, Ban waged his own hostilities at the sight of numerous psychotic faces; neon colors distinguished themselves from each other. In this Ban threw his own kind of psychotic face, trying not to overwhelm the calling of snake witchcraft within. In split seconds, thunders came rushing down the sky, the rain pouring subsequently. In this knowledge of reality Ban has lost his awareness but not sanity, for the two are different things; in existence for wane - notwithstanding - Ban is wondering.

 

“If you want to stay alive you better leave this place,”

 

Another breakdown of thunders accompanied by lightning splattered from the sky. Five other men stood up caressing their bloody and beaten bodies. Ban's back felt jabbed by the rain that kept pouring, but somehow, at the back of his psyche - the vortex of his perception and conception - lays a comforting sound from the words uttered by Ginji. With eyes resolute from fear, Ban looked straight up, only to be deafened by the rowdy sounds of lightning ascending from Ginji's body.

 

Electric mist shrouded Ban's sight and a lightning gushed in front of him, but he managed to dodge the deadly attack, but winced as blood splattered in his shoulder. Ban looked up to find the spiky blond man standing in the threshold of rusty metals cloaked in lustrous filaments of lightning, cultured in its psyche. The man wasn't moving yet he managed to maim at Ban. With a sprawl of a palm another burst of explosion was emitted in the land of Infinity City and Ban jumped high enough to reach and grab the blond man but it was too late, the other have stealthily hurdled across the thresholds.

 

“Damn,” he cursed, another wound opening at his right leg.

 

“I told you to leave,”

 

“Heh, `tis my territory now,”

 

“Leave,”

 

“Bite me,”

 

Loud roars strayed amidst Ban's ears and several lines of pallid electric waves dashed in front of him, but in a split second the witch-man was gone.

 

Ginji Amano stood at the barren land of Infinity City to find starvation skulking amidst the city's citizens. Several people lay dead with others bloodied at the sound of bombs and faint cries of the children. A child slowly walked up to the blond man. “Ginji-san, is this heaven?”

 

He cannot take it anymore. The aridity and starkness of Infinity City and the plague it was bringing in the citizens, a wrath only the VOLTS leader can only imagine. Almost crying he held up the little child but it was too late as the child stopped breathing. Sadness was killing him. He shouted and cried out loud to find Ban standing still in front of him.

 

“Did you enjoy your dream?” he sarcastically said.

 

The process of his innocence delving on the very first memory he shared with Ban resulted in a broken smile, resulting his body to slouch once again on the bed, his arms nestled underneath his nape, continuing and going along the lines of threads that seem to weave truth, whispering but hiding.

 

“Ban-chan! Ban-chan! Now that we have so much money, we can buy anything we want! Haha!”

 

“Stop being so childish,” Ban responded, only to be struck with muttering words of Ginji's fantasies about chocolates, dimsums, ramens and so on so forth.

 

“Ei, Ban-chan, let's go to Honky and eat there. Mr. Paul would be happy to see us with money, and he'll let us eat there as long as we want!”

 

“I dunno Ginji, sometimes Mr. Paul turns into a suck-up dude if he sees people with money.”

 

“Don't be so rash, Ban-chan”, he said, poking my nose.

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”, Ban asked pointing on his nose he just gently poked.

 

“Nothing.” He smiled. “Ne, Ban-chan, I want to rent an apartment. We can't just sleep everyday in either the car or the pavements.”

 

“A very lovely apartment indeed.” Kazuki commented upon entering the apartment. Hairs from all over started to spin, which left a hinted a smell of familiar leaves. Ginji's hair, on the other hand, smelled, well, like... Ban dunno. Maybe he should try smelling it.

 

“Ban-chan's room is chaste white, even his stuffs!” Ginji said.

 

“And I assume yours is linoleum green. Is it?”

 

“No, not actually, Kazuki-chan. It's... well, um, how do I say it? Hehe... it has green, white, yellow...”

 

“Like himself.” Ban snorted, and Kazuki softly laughed.

 

“What's that supposed to mean, Ban-chan? Is it myself myself or myself with the individuality and all?” He asked, looking more curious now.

 

“The first one.”

 

“Oh,”, he sighed. “Not really. I'm not finished yet, you know.” He grinned. “Kazuki-chan, want to see my room? You'd get bored if you see Ban-chan's room. So plain.” He grinned again.

 

“Well of course, Ginji-san.”

 

On the onset of all other beings, Kazuki is a calm person; the type that philosophizes the order of situations conditioned in his accidental life; the lessons of fuuchoin has made him traverse the endlessness of the earth, leading his choices in life in a pack known as VOLTS. His ability to discern the manifestations of despair in the world has made him invent his own set of choices, made him become the fighter amidst all the miseries. Kazuki, at most, is a composed being; he is a warrior that more or less has the rationale of all of it - it isn't because of some divine intervention but because the condition of the world has led his existence into such environment.

 

Then comes Juubei. Kazuki thought it was the best choice he made.

 

Juubei, meanwhile, has this dualism in individuality; the first is an attitude towards life inclusive of nonchalance in terms of trouble and all that relates thereafter - it is an reserve against emotional distress, masked by his superiority in using illuminated projectiles; in short, his fighting abilities. The second one though is a secret to everyone except Kazuki; it is a metaphysic attitude that containing warmth and fear, the warmth to the point of sacrificing his existence for the sole purpose of Kazuki's safeguard, the fear to the point of losing Kazuki. It was cheesy, he admits, a cliché negatively derivative in the mindset of cynics about love and all.

 

The two are in the process of mutualism; the transcendence of their feelings with each other is owed to the fact that they subsist for the sake of having each other. The paradox of selfish love, Kazuki once told Juubei, is the most despised - but it was all well for the both of them.

 

As the totality of the universe shifts its spotlight to Ban once again, the witch-man was still under paradigm shift, the cause of course from the bafflement, from his flawed ability to discern reality in the sentimental realm. Now, after some time, he has to accept the truth whispering in his ears like it was an extant individual. The intimacy between him and Ginji is no more than the product of his hormones and jagan; yes, it was a painful realization but his defense mechanism is as automatic as his smoking. The initiative all along is his will.

 

On the other hand, Ginji, reminiscing all together, has led himself in a delusion.

 

“Ginji,”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The sky is perfect. Innocent and pure. It is unadulterated even if violence and carnage try to reach it. Its assets are so pure, that's why men cannot reach it even if they try their best.”

 

Looking up the sky himself, Ginji sighed. “I know.”

 

“Babylonians tried to surpass God, but they were not able to. Their kingdom fell, and their race was obliterated from existence because they tried to be something they aren't.”

 

“So you fancy religion now?”

 

“It was an analogy.” Ban said.

 

“You know Ban-chan, sometimes worlds can collide, and it's either because existence and conformity have a thin line, or existence is not existence at all.”

 

“Violence can be neither moral or immoral because no one has actually and verifiably proved it, but people cling on to it because they want to survive.” He sighed. “Most people have a great attachment to life,” he continued.

 

This conversation happened the second night they finally owned an apartment; Ginji thought it was the most sincere memory he and Ban shared, but who knew if it really happened at all? Of course it was empirical in verifiability, but how can they prove it knowing its antiquity? The solution, perhaps, laid down on his thirst. Hours of harking back on those fine days had made him parched, and thus decided to go to the kitchen for water.

 

The ceilings were black to its full color, due to the lack of light in Ban's room. He swiveled his head at the door and saw Ginji in his green trousers and white loose shirt. The everyday sickness started to dissuade in its uttermost sigh, and he could feel a little warmer. Ginji pouted and yawned, his fingers caressing the corners of his eyes. What a sight.

 

“This is not the kitchen,” he said.

 

“Eh?” His husky voice made Ban's throat gulp.

 

“You look... thirsty.”

 

Ginji signaled a nod, and Ban nodded back. He went in to his room, not closing the door. His body gleamed in the soft glows of the moon, all the while with breezes coming from my open windows. What a sight; He sat beside Ban, feeling the pumping of heart, literally, but Ban actually was sure the surprise wasn't showing in his face. Ginji was in his mood of silence, and Ban was trying to decipher his sighs and his silences that probably meant of words trying to escape from his mouth. Ban sighed a deep exhale. This made him wince.

 

“Anything wrong?”

 

He looked at jagan man in the most indescribable faces. “You didn't smell a perfume from Himiko, did you?”

 

“No, I didn't.”

 

“The what's that look on your face?”

 

Ginji smiled. “Nothing...”

 

Ban can feel hot breaths coming closer at him, the blonde lip's coming nearer at his lip's touch. Ban did nothing but to welcome it, the kiss soft and tender. It wheeled beyond all his inhibitions as Ginji probed, feeling all there is to feel like the skin longing not only skin but the sentiments of the backdrops swelling inside his mind. It sure was black.

 

Ginji groaned the other's name.

 

Ban murmured his name, too.

 

Ban started to feel his collarbone, his hands exploring the depths under the garments he wore. With a flash of a second, Ginji's shirt was now out of his sight, the pale moon glowing in the mist, the pale moon shimmering the flesh of the blonde. He looked so much good, and Ban can feel his insides starting to swell up in the most scorching way. Ginji smiled as he brushed the tresses on his forehead, the boyish look that seemed to be a very typical thing. Yet the ministrations the blonde was doing right in front of him was too much for Ban's eyes to take. He was unbuckling his belt. One by one his fingers folded against themselves and Ban sees himself again in the planes nowhere of his reach. Hands started to creep on Ban's neck. It felt warm, the kiss, again, and somehow the kiss itself turned something wildly he can't control anymore. Ban hates not being in control. In winced in the pleasure of Ginji's tongue as it swirled against his.

 

Then it broke.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

 

“I... I'm fine.”

 

“I'm... I'm... I can't risk our liaison because of this Ban-chan; I don't want to stress yourself too much.”

 

Ban didn't reply.

 

Of course, both knew that truth is a whisper open to be heard and open to be chosen; vagueness is a deception while memories and guilt are mere embellishments of it. In this realization, both continued on with assurance.