Durarara!!/デュラララ!! Role Play
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 Tsugaru and the Statue

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Age : 25
Posts : 91
Join date : 2011-11-19
Location : Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo, Japan

PostSubject: Tsugaru and the Statue   Fri Aug 31, 2012 2:16 pm

(Hi guys. This is a TsugaruXPsyche drabble based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion, a sculptor who claims he will never fall in love and ends up falling for a statue he makes. It's a truly lovely and heartfelt story and I recommend it deeply. I changed a few things around for my story so the myth is not ruined if you decide after reading that you want to go read the actual tale. Do it. It's wonderful. Or just contact me and I'll send the actual myth over. Without delay, enjoy Tsugaru and the Statue.)

It was long ago, before the days of the golden week celebrations. It was long before the lands of the world were fully named and mapped upon scrolls and parchment. Those days were much simpler, much less complex. There was a bright sun upon the tapestry of the sky. Rivers flowed peacefully from one terrain to another, unblemished with any type of pollution. Fish swam where they may, unstopped but by natural boundaries.

This was the lands to which the people lived upon. This rich land with fertile soils and lush forests. Everything was watched over by their gods, by their own hand. It would take days, agonizing, vicious days of walking to reach another’s home. That was unless you lived in the cities. Bright, breathtaking cities, made of the finest trees and natural materials that their profits and crops could buy.

There were of course other occupations other than farmers. There were blacksmiths, wood carvers, bards, messengers. People of the cities flourished on their independence of one another. They worked together to flourish through the harsh natural elements and the wild animals that roamed rampant over the scenery.

There were many in this particular cityscape. Some of less… less appropriate occupations. The enforcers of the peace at large usually were going after such people, but sometimes they could do nothing.


One of these people of which the lands could do nothing of was the infamous monster of Edo*, Heiwajima Shizuo.

Nonetheless, the sculptor looked away from his block of the finest material he could find in the land and regarded the hazardous beast with no fear or hesitation. His soft azure gaze falling to the man’s disheveled appearance. He could do nothing for this, merely shaking his head. “Another fight with that god of yours?”

Shizuo spat upon the floor, the gesture causing the sculptor to wince. “God? What god goes about ruining my life for their entertainment? Izaya is a monster! A beast of the legends. He haunts me like a plague, cousin!”

“Sit yourself down before you become dysfunctional.”

The man moved in a huff, sitting down at the small table, covered in chisels and tools of the trade. Shizuo looked over at them, scoffing, “I still cannot believe that you devote your life to such a trade as sculpting. Could you not handle the trade of being a blacksmith?”

“It was of no interest to me.” The man replied gently, hands caressing the latest materials for his work. “I find that blacksmiths have a tendency to become easily distempered souls.”

The other man winced, hands balling to fists upon his hands. His eyes were small as his frown forced the once content gaze went to anger. “That damned Izaya. He plagues me, cousin. Over and over, he comes to play with my life. He knows nothing of the difficulties I have to deal with offhand.”

“Izaya is merely a god of love, perhaps if you appeal to him for help-“

“I would rather be killed upon a thousand racks before I asked him to help me put on my own clothes,” the other growled. He stood up and scoffed at the sculptor. “I don’t know how you can sit there and work at all these things day after day. I envy you the peaceful life, but the gods won’t let me relax like that.”

How sad it must be to be Shizuo. He was so naïve, so easily provoked into his beliefs. Tsugaru worried for him with every passing night. The man was leading a life that was going nowhere. He went about his days chasing after gods, calling upon the god of love and cursing him for every problem the man gave him. Tsugaru could not say that Shizuo was doing too terrible. As the inheritor of a good deal of money and a brother known for being one of the most successful scribes in the area, he was in no manner fully suffering.

“Tsugaru.” The sculptor looked over at him and Shizuo shook his head, “you’re completely out of it today, I’m going to head home.”

“Alright, of course. Have a good afternoon Shizuo.”

“I will if that damn god leaves me be.”

But if only life was so simple.

Upon the rooftop of the cottage sat the devilish god himself. Adorned in his fur trimmed attire, hair gleaming in the summer sun, the man grinned as he listened to the cousins speak. His lips mouthed the disrespectful words of the blond, his eyes gleamed with promise of more to come.

“Shizu-chan~,” he cooed as the blond exited the building. “You will never guess what just caught fire.”

The brown gaze flew to him, like a moth to a flame. Such burning fury from those eyes, it pleased the god.

“I will murder you.”

“So barbaric! Truly, you humans must still be working at crawling out of the land made of Yadogiri. My foe’s vile thoughts must have been drawn to you.” He grinned, “how disappointing. Nonetheless, it is a shame about your home. And your cousin soon. Tsugaru was such a promising person. Tis a shame he will die because of you talking to him.”

“You ARROGANT FLEA!” The man seethed, reaching to his belt for his sword. Barbarians and their toys, the raven-haired god shook his head and hurried along the roofs of the buildings.

“I will be going now, Shizu-chan. I have a busy schedule and you unfortunately are taking up too much of my time.”

Izaya stood above a hole in the roof of the building, the sun shining down upon the sculptor for a moment as he looked up.

The perfect image, that was his goal. Tsugaru’s eyes gazed upon this celestial being and he decided right then, and right there; that was what he wanted his raw materials to look like. The eyes were so harsh though, the smirk promising far too much trouble. He would make the smile more genuine. He would lighten the color of his sculptures eyes to a more pleasant color.

This being would be perfect. He had no need for others, others who lied and deceived. Others who judged him for being cousins to a lunatic who chased after the infamous god of love, no. Tsugaru would have his masterpiece to gaze upon and know that, at least in his mind, there was someone kind enough and absolutely beautiful from the inside out, to be there. It was the spirit after all that made a person.

The spirit he would put into this work would be far beyond anything he had or would ever do in his entire life.

And so, as Shizuo chased the notorious and troublemaking god Izaya over the countryside, Tsugaru slowly set to work. His hands carved as though he were caressing true skin. His eyes remained focused on every bit and piece he chiseled away from the being within. Such a lithe body, one made for roaming around in a bubbly manner, one made for being cherished and loved by only one lucky soul, were formed. A small slightly sheepish smile was graced upon his visage, soon followed by eyes that could only be described as caring and filled with adoration. With each detail that the blond added, Tsugaru felt his strength wane.

With each night, his mind wandered to the being in his workshop. He imagined reaching to him, taking the hands into his and kissing them sweetly, watching the man’s face blush in embarrassment. He imagined the being running into his room in the middle of the night, crying because there was rain spilling down into the workshop and getting all his tools wet. The sound of the thunder scared him into Tsugaru’s bed. Tsugaru could only smile calmly, pressing his lips to the man’s forehead and telling him not to fear. That he was here and therefore nothing would ever get him.

They would sleep in his dream, cuddling close to one another until the coming dawn. And as that sun rose over the heavens, Tsugaru’s blue gaze would drift over the slumbering man and he would always remember, he loved this man.

Because with each piece of clay and material that he chiseled away to reveal this perfect being, he fell more madly in love, he loved this being so much. He would spend sun up til sun down working on freeing him from his prison. He would get up in the middle of the night, inspired by his dreams and longings to continue to work on the man.

He loved him.

Tsugaru couldn’t understand how deeply this love went nor did he want to. No one came to him anymore, the sign on his door, saying that he was closed remained in place, never moved around to claim he was open. Anyone who came to check on him found themselves stuck waiting for hours at the door only to retreat at one point.

No, Tsugaru didn’t want anyone else to come to see him now. His obsession was with finishing this. He had to free “Psyche.” Psyche was this being’s name, as Tsugaru had asked him during one particularly difficult night during which he felt sick.

The brunet had smiled to him and named himself right then and there. A name, so powerful such a thing could be. From this name Tsugaru had found strength again, setting to work with vigor on the man. Psyche like the far east’s stories. Psyche, the beautiful being who went forth on such perilous missions just to be with their love; somehow, the name and that tale encouraged him to go on.

He was like Psyche from the story. He had seen his love, held him in his dreams, and now through this journey of creation, he would work to reunite himself with his love.

He worked through so many months, so many days and nights. When the image was done, he scrambled forth from his home, wandering into the forests to find materials for adding life like colors to his love.

Magenta, found from the strange clays near the river. whites and blacks, made through many a night’s experimenting with mixing bowls. He worked himself until he had the correct color, and then once more he was back to Psyche, lighting for his eyes, highlights from the sun being unable to resist giving him life, shading, from the darkness trying endlessly to pull his love into its grasp.

Finally, it was complete. Psyche stood before him in colored and lifesized glory. He smiled that bubbly and timid smile of his. He stood there and Tsugaru took his hand into his calloused and bruised hand. No blood ran through it though. No warmth was found in that touch. Those eyes remained the same. None of that life he had imagined in his dreams and ponderings was there.

The image remained just that, an image.

His soul felt crushed, his energy depleting completely from him. His tools were thrown upon the floor. Nothing felt important anymore. His chest felt burdened with a thousand arrows. His eyes felt stung with a thousand needle pricks. He felt so deathly ill.

Psyche remained there, standing before him in such a perfect manner, forever frozen in his absolute radiance, but Tsugaru… Tsugaru was to grow old and weary, forced to make this false being watch until he was mere dust upon his own workshop floor. Through his own actions, he had forsaken everything for this love, but there would be no love returned.

He wept upon his own cot that night. He looked to the skies outside his own window and prayed. His voice rang through the night in plea. “Please, dear Izaya. You have cursed me to love my Psyche but never to be able to hold him. Why would you do such a thing. I need him. I want to care for him as I did in setting him free. Please, oh troublesome god, wise god, grant me death before I greedily take it for myself.”

Izaya was in the workshop though, without the blond’s knowledge. He paced around the being and shook his head. It was quite a likeness to him, that he would give. The sculptor was quite skilled. It was almost like another person was standing in this room. A more docile version of the god himself, in fact, the sculpture seemed.

“And what do you wish for,” the god asked the image. “Do you wish to hold that beast? Do you wish to sully my eyes with my own likeness being in love with a mere body of flesh and blood, burdened by the seas of time?”

The statue remained silent.

Izaya pressed his hand to the statue a moment before turning and taking his leave.

When morning came, Tsugaru laid in bed. His soul and body were on their last legs, unable to drive him to do anything. When his body begged him to eat, he stood upon weak limbs, walking into his workshop and pausing before Psyche. His blue eyes gazed upon the magenta eyes, shining almost with the essence of life. He reached his hand forth and cupped the man’s face, no doubt warmed by the light of the morning sun.

He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against the brunet’s. He shut his eyes, feeling tears fall forth from him. A hand went to them, wiping them away.

“Tsu-chan should not cry,” the voice that spoke was like chimes. It resonated to the depths of Tsugaru’s iced spirit. His eyes opened mouth hovering just in front of the brunet’s as the being pouted slightly.

“Psy… Psyche?”

The brunet wrapped his arms around him and shook his head, “You shouldn’t be up, you look so tired. Let’s get you something to eat and stay in bed today.”

Tsugaru hugged him back, crying harder as he followed his love to the kitchen, kissing him whenever they paused. His footsteps were shaky, taken with weak limbs. Psyche held him though, the raven-haired beauty led him to his own kitchen, handing him fruit before leading him back to his room. He pushed him softly onto his bed and curled up against his side, crawling under his haori.

And Tsugaru wept. He wept until his eyes no longer had tears to shed, his arms wrapped around the man, food all but forgotten in lieu of the brunet. “I love you, Psyche,” he told the man. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Tsugaru,” that angelic voice replied to him. “Let’s go into town tomorrow.”

“We can go visit my brothers and cousins,” he told his love. “I want them to know who my one and only love is.”

Psyche looked over at him and blushed, leaning up to kiss him again.

Tsugaru - 21 - Psychiatrist
Viveka "Avid" Ayama - 20 - Musician/Assassin?
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