Song of the Heartless

Song of the Heartless

May 23rd, 2005

There, deep within the burning sands of a desert whose name had long been forgotten to history, on a scorched world long abandoned by its children waiting to be swallowed by a swollen red star, two figures sat cross legged, across from one another, the winds howling about them.

"You're nothing but a cliche, you know that? The same pattern, over and over again. Sure, you were fresh and interesting once, but now-- so blahhh."

The words were spoken by a young man in a dark grey cloak, tan cargo pants and a red haori. His light brown hair was scruffy and unkempt, largely covering his eyes, which were hooded in a display of sinister bemusement as he observed the reaction of his conversation partner. He scrutinized every line of her face, her posture, her rhythm and pattern of breathing, Why, he was even fairly certain he had a handle on her blood pressure, too-- after all, it was an important detail. And to him, details were everything.

While his posture was deceptively sloppy, casual and overly relaxed, his companion, on the other hand, an average height blonde girl, sat solidly upright, hands folded across her lap, her clothes-- from the tan slacks and white silken blouse down to even the weatherbeaten double-breasted brown leather vest, neon-green socks and bright orange hairbow, all immaculate, precisely positioned, smoothed out and adjusted for perfect appearance.

He was known in this time as Yaijinden, the heartless madman of the burning sands, and she, Sakura Xadium Aino, the Time Lord from Gallifrey, last of the house of Venus. There they sat, Chaos and Order, in opposition-- nay, in contemplation of each other.

The young woman did not reply to the barb at once, continuing to sit impassively, wearing a cheerful smile. Anyone-- perhaps even she herself-- would have imagined that she had taken no offense, or that if she had, she was choosing to ignore the slight. Anyone save for Yaijinden.

He could see the subtle shift in her brow, the delicate quiver of a narrow, preened eyebrow, the slight movement of a deep brown eye, and the ever-so- insignificant parting of orange-lipstick covered lips. He could smell the slight scent of irritation coming from her, taste it, almost like a whiff of succulent, roasting meat carried upon the wind.

Involuntarily, his lips curled into a long, sinister smile. She was doing her best to cover her reaction, of course-- which was par for the course with beings such as herself, who did not like to be seen out of control, over emotional or subject to the needling of others.

But reacting she was, Yaijinden noted with satisfaction. He could almost see the outburst bubbling inside her, clawing and tearing at her mind, itching for release in the form of a clenched fist, or a verbal splutter-- a mumbling, a shout, or even a delicious scream of rage.

His smile broadened. With anyone else, the lack of a loud, bombastic response was usually classed by him as a failure, or at the very least, a disappointment. But with crafty, guarded ones like this one, her level of reaction was deliciously equivalent. Yaijinden lived to provoke such responses-- mainly because it a) amused him, and b) it provided such wonderfully clear insight into the true natures of a being.

People tended, he reflected, to be very good at hiding their true selves behind masks-- veneers of cheerful or at least guarded civility, practicing all the right techniques to make themselves seem good, correct and proper-- perfectly bland and generic members of a society that valued not knowing too much about the reality behind the cogs in its machine. As long as they operated within nominal bounds of acceptable conformity, didn't make any waves, they could get ahead, make friends and influence people. It was the sort of mindset that encouraged groupthink, mass deference and generally very docile and boring company.

Such people were the ones Yaijinden loved to provoke the most.

Being essentially immortal, he reflected, gave you a slightly different attitude regarding your role in the world. When you're mortal, you do your best (assuming you're sane) to fit in quietly, to avoid provoking your neighbor. After all, who knew what they could do to you when fully enraged? And even if they didn't, assuming you learned whatever horrible secrets they carried within their souls, could you stand to face them day after day? Life would be hell! For the smoothest operation of both life and the social machine, keeping your nose under the radar and being deadly dull was the way to go.

But an immortal, on the other hand, no longer had an investment in the smooth workings of society, other than perhaps to ensure he had a place to stand in the morning. There was no longer any need to worry about the consequences or ramifications of throwing a cherry bomb into the flock of sheep. The threat of death or physical harm was the most society really had as a club, after all-- and without that leverage, well-- what good was it?

Yaijinden knew that rage was the quickest way to the true core of a being. Only in raw, uncontrolled fury were the masks shattered, the personal boundaries crossed, the polite civilities discarded. Only then would their true natures emerge. Would they rant, would they rave? Protest, whine, complain? Would the meek become murderous creatures of savage fury, the strong and "hard" suddenly nothing more than blubbering, petulant children leaning on their muscles and weapons to prove their worth?

Sakura sucked in a deep breath as she pondered Yaijinden's words. Cliche? Cliche?

Ahh, Yaijinden realized. She's going to rise to the bait. The smile lingered on his lips. He had lived for thousands of years, and yet the sight of a personal shell *breaking* was always something he enjoyed seeing. Most times, the explosion that followed was merely the application of violence towards his person, an externalization of the enraged person's own rage at the discovery of their flaw directed against the grinning messenger. Crush the message, they reasoned, and it would become silent, go away-- and then they could live in peace, carrying on as usual with no inconvenient distractions.

Except of course that Yaijinden always came back.

Only rarely, and with a few, did this cracking of the shell actually lead to something else. To introspection, to reflection. To-- dare he think it-- real, lasting change. It was a rare few who could actually take his insults-- which, he had to admit, were done more for his pleasure than the slight hope that they might actually spark a catharsis-- and actually use them as the basis for some kind of personal growth.

"I'm very old, Godpop," Sakura said slowly. "I tend to get set in my ways. And you know what they say," she replied with a knowing smirk, "familiarity breeds contempt. I was a tabula rosa back then, so anything I did would have, by definition, been new and interesting. But your getting to know me diminished the mystery, so to speak."

Even she was making excuses for herself. Yaijinden exhaled tiredly. She was the sort who wouldn't bash him in the head, or beat him up. For god knows what reason, she actually seemed to appreciate his presence.

Well no, he knew why. She was relatively wise, one of the few who had seen past his seemingly random, hateful words, seen past the bludgeoning club of verbal battery that he seemed to employ on a daily basis, and perceived the almost scalpel-like precision with which he usually deployed his cutting insults and insights. Yes, he had the odd day when he was simply being spiteful for the hell of it, or incoherent because it was too much trouble to think, but on the whole she had seen past the veneer of insanity and approved of his methods. Perhaps something about the deviousness of it all appealed to her crafty sensibilities. But even for all her wisdom, she was just as bad as the others.

"You were pretty interesting at first," Yaijinden replied, nodding his head slightly, looking Sakura dead in the eye. "But now you're just a broken record like all the others."

"What, you mean I have habits?" Sakura replied with a smile. "Of course I do. Everyone does. If it's unmitigated, unadulterated, unlimited bursts of nigh-constant innovation you want, you're not gonna find it here. My evolutionary process is that of punctuated equilibria." She frowned a bit. "It's not like you don't have patterns either."

"Do tell," Yaijinden replied, steepling his fingers ominously.

Sakura pointed at his ominously steepled fingers. Then she affected an overly broad grin, much like Yaijinden's. "GWEE!" she chortled, as he had been wont to do, once upon a time. Aping his voice, she continued, "Look, it's Yaijinden, come to poke at our foibles with his witty words and wondrous witticisms!"

"First of all," Yaijinden replied tiredly, holding up an extended index finger, "I know you know better than to be fixated on superficialities. Second of all--" he sighed. "I don't alliterate to that ridiculous extent-- it gives me a headache. That's *your* quirk."

"So it is, so it is," Sakura nodded sagely, musing.

"I never claimed to have a higher purpose, you know," Yaijinden replied. "You and the others all claim to see some grand scheme behind my comings and goings-- well those of you who can be bothered to look past the sweat slathered bodies of your significant others, or beyond the limited confines of your perfect little personal paradigms."

"That... was an alliteration," Sakura countered with a chuckle.

"You catch like some sort of perky plague, sneaky future girl." Yaijinden replied dryly. Sensing what he had done again, he frowned, pulled out a rather large pistol from the folds of his cloak and shot himself in the head, flopping over dead, blood oozing out into the sand. The thunderclap of the shot echoed across the desert for several seconds.

A bird cawed overhead.

Sakura shook her head and sighed, patiently waiting with a slight smile on her lips.

After a moment, Yaijinden's body restored itself, and he pushed himself upright, shaking his head quickly and roughly, in the manner a dog might when shaking water off its coat.

"That's better..." he exhaled.

"Anyway, yes I claim to see a scheme," Sakura continued. "Or do you deny there is one?"

"I deny nothing," Yaijinden replied brightly, his sinister expression unchanged. "Now you tell me something, Sneaky Future Girl."

"I would like to point out," Sakura interjected, "that we are in my present, so that name really doesn't quite apply."

"Sneaky Present Girl, then-- whatever." Yaijinden exhaled, waving dismissively, not really caring about the nuances of nomenclature. "Why do you keep coming to see me? Because I'm ostensibly your third godfather, a title you gave me? Or because of my literary legend?"

Yaijinden, at this point in history, had managed somehow to come out with a best-selling trilogy of works, which Sakura had alluded to many years ago upon her first meeting with him in the distant past.

"I come because--" she began slowly. She looked up to the bloated red sun in the sky, which hung over the rapidly cooling world. These burning sands were some of the last hot places on the planet's surface.

"Pointedly," Yaijinden interrupted. "Why do you care? You must know that in my state, I have precious few emotions. I live for my own amusement, and frankly I wouldn't bat an eyebrow if you were to meet a grisly and tragic fate such as being swallowed up by a red giant. In fact, I'd probably enjoy seeing such a thing."

Despite her attempts to hide her reaction, Sakura involuntarily closed her eyes for a moment, bit her lower lip and clenched her fists a bit. Rationally, intellectually, she always knew this was true. She knew it wasn't personal, that this was the way he had become, for good or ill.

Were they friends? Were they enemies? Who knew, even after all this time. Personally, she classed him as a friend. She had even done extensive research into his true nature a long time ago, and probably, she reflected, even knew how to release him from his heartless state. Not that she would ever do such a thing without his express permission. Nor would she ever breathe the secret to another. But she had wanted to at least be able to aid him should he need it-- not that he would. She knew full well Yaijinden was a man intent on living forever, a shadow of whoever he had once been long ago.

Yes, it hurt her a little to hear him say those words. But his cutting words had always been of service to her-- either when they had cut away the veneer of a person of interest, allowing her to see the truth of them, or whether they had cut her, forced her to dig deep inside and confront herself. Words hurt, but they did not kill those of strong will. Words like Yaijinden's only killed those who let them. And she would not let these words deter her.

"Crispy-fried Time Lord! Or is that lady! GWEE!" Yaijinden chortled, looking up at the sun. "♫ You'd better get moving~ ♫" he sang, as he saw the reddened sphere seem to bloat a little. It had already eaten Mercury and Venus. He had watched it night after night, as the parent consumed its children one by one.

"Yes, I must," Sakura replied, standing. "And you're coming with me. You know full well that's why I'm here. In less than two hours, this planet will cease to exist. And I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

Yaijinden shrugged. "Not like it matters much to me." He stayed seated, looking up at the girl. Despite what he had said, she was still intent on helping him. Foolish sentiment, really. He decided to examine it. Such niggling things as the approach of a gas ball threatening to boil him to an annoyed crisp for a few hundred years were of little import to him. Knowing what was in her head-- what made her tick-- that was the prize.

"Why do you care?" he repeated. "Some noble heroic code, a vestige of the do-goodery your late parents instilled in you? Or perhaps it's a Senshi thing?" As an afterthought, he curiously added, "Geez, do you even do that anymore?"

"All the Sailor Senshi are long dead," Sakura replied as a matter of fact-- and of policy. "And no, this isn't because of morals and ethics, Yai-godpop. Or some sailor code."

"So then why." Yaijinden did not move.

Sakura took a deep breath and crossed her arms briefly, then uncrossed them. In all these years, after all this time, she had never actually told this to him.

"Because I like you, Yaijinden."

Yaijinden smirked and patted the sands. "Let the burning sands experience the heat of our passions!"

Sakura snorted a bit and had to hold back from laughing. "Not amorously."

"Who needs Amore when you can just have HAWT SECKS?!" Yaijinden pressed on, wanting to see if he could discomfit the poised young woman.

Sakura, however, in her long life, had heard it all and seen it all. In this case, Yaijinden was barking up the wrong flagstaff. She simply smiled and pondered her next words. They were honest, and from her hearts.

"I've always considered you a mentor, and a guide."

"God help you if you use me as a template," Yaijinden replied under his breath.

"You taught me never to take life too seriously, to look beneath the surface of things, and to poke things where they least want to be poked." Sakura's tone was one of reverential respect.

"Sounds to me like you were doing most of that when we first met anyway, sneaky present kid," Yaijinden replied, cracking his neck.

"Maybe that's why I like you. You add something to the mix that I would surely miss if it were gone-- or in this case, floating about aimlessly in hard vacuum because it was too stubborn to get off a dying planet."

"Even if it insists you're nothing but a tired cliche, a walking parody of yourself?" the heartless immortal said seriously, slowly coming to a standing position.

"Even so," Sakura said nodding, aiming a remote control at her TARDIS and watching as the surface of the shiny silver monolith slid open, revealing the vast interior. "Because I know in my hearts I can change who I am, and that's what you want."

"Maybe I just want to annoy the hell out of you," Yaijinden replied honestly. "And that's all there is to it."

"Maybe," Sakura pondered, indicating that Yaijinden should step inside the TARDIS. "But even if that is truly all it is, those of us around you who care to listen get more out of it than that."

"Is the birdsong we enjoy really a song," Yaijinden mused as he walked into the TARDIS, stumbling slightly as he encountered the local gravity difference, "or are the birds just hurling profanities at one another and we happen to find their babblings musical?"

"Who knows?" Sakura asked as she followed him inside and locked the door, the TARDIS vanishing as the red sun consumed the burning sands of Earth.