Post by Shinpei Minamoto on Sept 7, 2015 20:52:55 GMT -5
Been a while, hasn't it? That's okay. Sometimes life makes us take little breaks. Sometimes we dip in and then out again. Sometimes we find interesting pieces of life that grab us for a while and refuse to let go.
This wasn't the case with Shinpei: for something to really catch and hold you with that kind of ferocity it needs to be somewhat novel. The thing itself doesn't have to be absolutely new but it has to be interpreted, carried out or understood in some novel way... understand? It has to be reinvented in some way, and that's very much not the kind of person Shinpei is. Not at this late date. It's far too late for that.
And so he was occupied day-by-day with the sorts of pursuits you might expect. Just this last Monday he met a cute waitress at a bar and wound up talking her up for a few hours. What they spoke about I can't tell you; I doubt he even knows. On Tuesday he walked through the local park and found a girl who'd been stood up by her boyfriend. She hid her mouth when she giggled like she was afraid of the sound escaping. Wednesday he paid a visit to a woman he knew already: an empty-nested mother with an amazing figure and a wealth of experience. Her husband, it seems, was out of town or perhaps not in the picture at all. He saw no need to ask.
And Thursday... and Friday... and Saturday... time drifted on in the way it's particularly keen to. And nothing changed for Shinpei. Just the way he liked it.
The only time you could say things "changed" for him was when a plan fell through or some new opportunity presented itself: today was a case of the former. It was why he was sunning himself in the park--probably the place he spent the most time in, apart from the small flat he'd rented. He lay for a half an hour or so on the grass without thinking of anything in particular. His thoughts, if they were to be mapped, probably ran something like the following:
Hm... that cloud looks a little like a bunny rabbit. Oh, now it's a... plane? Maybe a plane.
That breeze feels nice. Is it coming from the west or the north? Can't tell.
If I fell asleep here, would anyone move me or could I rest for a couple hours?
And so on, and so on. Banal. Bland. A man of little action until the fire catches him and then he's a million miles an hour. Shinpei Minamoto.
Too cliche?
At last he stirred, forced from his comfortable resting spot by the light grumbling coming from his stomach. He vaguely remembered he was supposed to meet a girl and see about some lunch, but he could have been thinking about the wrong day. He turned his gaze around the park and found something sufficient: a small booth selling hot dogs. Not quite Japanese, but then it wouldn't be the first completely out-of-place element he'd seen, even in just that day. Hell, he himself was half anachronism and half foreign immigrant. The Seireitei wasn't Japanese per se; it was merely Japanese-like. The real thing was... well, it was hard to describe. It had changed a great deal over the years he'd known it, but even more had stayed the same. It was, he supposed, a little like how he was.
And that was enough introspection for one day. He joined the line for the stand, looking perfectly odd in his flowery, silk robes next to a queue of people wearing mostly westernized clothing. Some habits never die; in Shinpei's case, most habits never did.
He didn't mind standing out, though; far from it, being at the center of attention was always a good opportunity to draw a few pretty stares his way--and that was half the battle.
I don't think he ever told me what the rest of the battle was. You'll have to ask him.
This wasn't the case with Shinpei: for something to really catch and hold you with that kind of ferocity it needs to be somewhat novel. The thing itself doesn't have to be absolutely new but it has to be interpreted, carried out or understood in some novel way... understand? It has to be reinvented in some way, and that's very much not the kind of person Shinpei is. Not at this late date. It's far too late for that.
And so he was occupied day-by-day with the sorts of pursuits you might expect. Just this last Monday he met a cute waitress at a bar and wound up talking her up for a few hours. What they spoke about I can't tell you; I doubt he even knows. On Tuesday he walked through the local park and found a girl who'd been stood up by her boyfriend. She hid her mouth when she giggled like she was afraid of the sound escaping. Wednesday he paid a visit to a woman he knew already: an empty-nested mother with an amazing figure and a wealth of experience. Her husband, it seems, was out of town or perhaps not in the picture at all. He saw no need to ask.
And Thursday... and Friday... and Saturday... time drifted on in the way it's particularly keen to. And nothing changed for Shinpei. Just the way he liked it.
The only time you could say things "changed" for him was when a plan fell through or some new opportunity presented itself: today was a case of the former. It was why he was sunning himself in the park--probably the place he spent the most time in, apart from the small flat he'd rented. He lay for a half an hour or so on the grass without thinking of anything in particular. His thoughts, if they were to be mapped, probably ran something like the following:
Hm... that cloud looks a little like a bunny rabbit. Oh, now it's a... plane? Maybe a plane.
That breeze feels nice. Is it coming from the west or the north? Can't tell.
If I fell asleep here, would anyone move me or could I rest for a couple hours?
And so on, and so on. Banal. Bland. A man of little action until the fire catches him and then he's a million miles an hour. Shinpei Minamoto.
Too cliche?
At last he stirred, forced from his comfortable resting spot by the light grumbling coming from his stomach. He vaguely remembered he was supposed to meet a girl and see about some lunch, but he could have been thinking about the wrong day. He turned his gaze around the park and found something sufficient: a small booth selling hot dogs. Not quite Japanese, but then it wouldn't be the first completely out-of-place element he'd seen, even in just that day. Hell, he himself was half anachronism and half foreign immigrant. The Seireitei wasn't Japanese per se; it was merely Japanese-like. The real thing was... well, it was hard to describe. It had changed a great deal over the years he'd known it, but even more had stayed the same. It was, he supposed, a little like how he was.
And that was enough introspection for one day. He joined the line for the stand, looking perfectly odd in his flowery, silk robes next to a queue of people wearing mostly westernized clothing. Some habits never die; in Shinpei's case, most habits never did.
He didn't mind standing out, though; far from it, being at the center of attention was always a good opportunity to draw a few pretty stares his way--and that was half the battle.
I don't think he ever told me what the rest of the battle was. You'll have to ask him.
