I was in a meeting last night when I saw, on the chalkboard, beneath the
erasermarks and my own deranged scribblings, the words "the plane
orthogonal to HYD axis is called the pi plane." It must be a sign! I
thought. If only i knew of what. Maybe it means I should give up on wind
and start a different fic?. . oh, what you say? no, I don't care if the
answer really is just hydrodynamics, I'm sticking to my own theory,
ThankYouVeryMuch. . .
Without Further ado: - - the sequel I swore I wouldn't write.
*Prologue*
Doumyouji Tsukasa stood before a wide picture window, looking out over the rolling fields of the Hudson River valley. Spring was fast coming to New York. The Long winter had been dark and dismal. Tsukasa told himself that it was a reflection of the depression he'd felt ever since fleeing to New York, but even he'd been glad to see the icy drifts of snow melted away by freshening spring rains. And now, as April began to enter its penultimate days, he could once more begin to appreciate the blossoming of the estate's apple and cherry trees, and the rapid greening of the grass.
But, all that was outside. Tsukasa pressed a hand against the almost invisibly clear windowpane. He could look at it, but hardly ever did he get a chance to wander out beneath the free skies. No, he more often felt like a prisoner, trapped in his parent's vast and sterile mansion. His days were occupied with learning the details of the day-to-day management of the sprawling octopus that was the Doumyouji corporation. His nights were a haze of meaningless social events and inane cocktail parties, as he mingled with, and formed connections with, the elite of the American business class. In his 'spare time,' he was constantly harassed by language coaches, who, one incremental step at a time, forced mastery of the English language into his resistant brain. All these things were necessary tasks for the Heir to the Doumyouji Corporation to fulfill. . . But he often wondered if his parents (and their social secretaries), had deliberately made it so that he had no free time of his own. He was a caged bird, singing to their tune.
What else could he do?
He'd fled to New York, running from Tsukushi's desperately sad rejection, and now he was stuck with the path he'd made for himself. He didn't even know if his parent's would actually let him go back to Japan if he had wanted to. Maybe that was why they'd made so sure to fill his days so completely. For, how could he dream of escape when he was kept running to the point of exhaustion on the company wheel?
It was only at rare moments like these, when the house was cold and empty, and he was alone with nothing but the sound of the wind outside to keep him company, that his thoughts were truly his own -- that is, of Doumyouji Tsukasa the man; his dreams and disappointments, and not those of Doumyouji Tsukasa, the embodiment of a vast corporation.
And again, maybe it was for the best that these moments were so rare, for he never found solace in these reflections, merely regret, and an ever- growing sense of loneliness and isolation.
His parents, it was evident, having failed to ever make time for him as he grew up, now found that they could not relate to the angry, brooding man their son had become. Nor were they willing to accept responsibility for this sad state of affairs. Tsukasa and Kaede fought constantly whenever they came into contact. Tsukasa would never forgive her for what he considered to be her role in helping to alienate Tsukushi. And Kaede was far too proud a woman to even consider unbending enough to apologize to her wayward son. The best the two ever managed was an icily-cold cease fire, that they maintained only in those rare social occasions that required both to be present simultaneously. There would be no witnesses to the towering inferno of vitriol that were their arguments. Even Tsukasa had enough sense, now, to avoid such a disgrace - such a loss of face to the Doumyouji name would cause unthinkable damage to the company assets.
As for Tsukasa's father, the man seemed embarrassed to have somehow acquired this stranger for a son. Why, he could remember, it seemed so few years ago, a smilingly innocent little boy. Not knowing how to cope with this older, more maddeningly frustrating (and frustrated) manifestation, he tended to retreat into his office and flee on his many business trips. When he did speak to his son, it was always with great formality and distance. . . With barriers like these, there was no way Tsukasa would ever be more than a cipher to him.
Tsukasa sighed and turned away from the window; turning his back on the joyful beams of sunlight poking their way through trees adorned with myriads of pale blossoms; turning his back on the revitalization of spring; on the promises of new life springing from the ashes of yesteryear. No, none of that was for him; now he had only the dry, cold life of a businessman; mergers, paperwork, finance. . . Yes, now That was the only future for him.
His feet trod more slowly with each plodding step he took back into the inner darkness of the mansion's labyrinthine corridors. Tsukasa had given up on happiness, on love. . . Now there was only duty. . . .
To be continued.
Short, yes, but It's only a prologue. Deal. And, of course, previous caveats apply, those being that I'm exceedingly short on time, so don't expect frequent updates. And secondly, no no, I don't own HYD, how could I, when I don't even speak japanese? Thirdly, No reviews means no continuation.
Without Further ado: - - the sequel I swore I wouldn't write.
*Prologue*
Doumyouji Tsukasa stood before a wide picture window, looking out over the rolling fields of the Hudson River valley. Spring was fast coming to New York. The Long winter had been dark and dismal. Tsukasa told himself that it was a reflection of the depression he'd felt ever since fleeing to New York, but even he'd been glad to see the icy drifts of snow melted away by freshening spring rains. And now, as April began to enter its penultimate days, he could once more begin to appreciate the blossoming of the estate's apple and cherry trees, and the rapid greening of the grass.
But, all that was outside. Tsukasa pressed a hand against the almost invisibly clear windowpane. He could look at it, but hardly ever did he get a chance to wander out beneath the free skies. No, he more often felt like a prisoner, trapped in his parent's vast and sterile mansion. His days were occupied with learning the details of the day-to-day management of the sprawling octopus that was the Doumyouji corporation. His nights were a haze of meaningless social events and inane cocktail parties, as he mingled with, and formed connections with, the elite of the American business class. In his 'spare time,' he was constantly harassed by language coaches, who, one incremental step at a time, forced mastery of the English language into his resistant brain. All these things were necessary tasks for the Heir to the Doumyouji Corporation to fulfill. . . But he often wondered if his parents (and their social secretaries), had deliberately made it so that he had no free time of his own. He was a caged bird, singing to their tune.
What else could he do?
He'd fled to New York, running from Tsukushi's desperately sad rejection, and now he was stuck with the path he'd made for himself. He didn't even know if his parent's would actually let him go back to Japan if he had wanted to. Maybe that was why they'd made so sure to fill his days so completely. For, how could he dream of escape when he was kept running to the point of exhaustion on the company wheel?
It was only at rare moments like these, when the house was cold and empty, and he was alone with nothing but the sound of the wind outside to keep him company, that his thoughts were truly his own -- that is, of Doumyouji Tsukasa the man; his dreams and disappointments, and not those of Doumyouji Tsukasa, the embodiment of a vast corporation.
And again, maybe it was for the best that these moments were so rare, for he never found solace in these reflections, merely regret, and an ever- growing sense of loneliness and isolation.
His parents, it was evident, having failed to ever make time for him as he grew up, now found that they could not relate to the angry, brooding man their son had become. Nor were they willing to accept responsibility for this sad state of affairs. Tsukasa and Kaede fought constantly whenever they came into contact. Tsukasa would never forgive her for what he considered to be her role in helping to alienate Tsukushi. And Kaede was far too proud a woman to even consider unbending enough to apologize to her wayward son. The best the two ever managed was an icily-cold cease fire, that they maintained only in those rare social occasions that required both to be present simultaneously. There would be no witnesses to the towering inferno of vitriol that were their arguments. Even Tsukasa had enough sense, now, to avoid such a disgrace - such a loss of face to the Doumyouji name would cause unthinkable damage to the company assets.
As for Tsukasa's father, the man seemed embarrassed to have somehow acquired this stranger for a son. Why, he could remember, it seemed so few years ago, a smilingly innocent little boy. Not knowing how to cope with this older, more maddeningly frustrating (and frustrated) manifestation, he tended to retreat into his office and flee on his many business trips. When he did speak to his son, it was always with great formality and distance. . . With barriers like these, there was no way Tsukasa would ever be more than a cipher to him.
Tsukasa sighed and turned away from the window; turning his back on the joyful beams of sunlight poking their way through trees adorned with myriads of pale blossoms; turning his back on the revitalization of spring; on the promises of new life springing from the ashes of yesteryear. No, none of that was for him; now he had only the dry, cold life of a businessman; mergers, paperwork, finance. . . Yes, now That was the only future for him.
His feet trod more slowly with each plodding step he took back into the inner darkness of the mansion's labyrinthine corridors. Tsukasa had given up on happiness, on love. . . Now there was only duty. . . .
To be continued.
Short, yes, but It's only a prologue. Deal. And, of course, previous caveats apply, those being that I'm exceedingly short on time, so don't expect frequent updates. And secondly, no no, I don't own HYD, how could I, when I don't even speak japanese? Thirdly, No reviews means no continuation.