Work Text:
No beauty in the world could rival that of females in their springtime of youth, and no beatings from dratted onmyōji could change that. Such was the thought running through the refined, scholarly mind of the masked fox demon Yōko the second he caught sight of a petite being with silky hair as blond as the morning sunlight and eyes as blue as autumn water wandering near the shore of the pond as he practiced a new dance. He had been especially hesitant to approach young females after that so-called greatest onmyōji of Heian-kyō and his companions kicked him to hell and back for what he did to lovely Koi-no-sei, but seeing such an exquisite beauty with a black dress so pretty and a face so full of youthful innocence his eyes never had a chance to witness, not even the threat of being slain outright deterred him anymore. Neither did it concern him that a dagger was clearly strapped to the blonde's hip, he had decided to claim this beauty to himself once and for all.
Yōko didn't even have to approach the blonde, for she approached him first. "Wow, that was one awesome dance you were doing right there," she said. "I wanna know how to do it. Do you mind teaching it to me and maybe causing chaos with me?"
Yōko was unable to answer, for the words causing chaos with me instantly teleported his mind to the highest clouds. He just stood there grinning like a madman as the blonde waved her hand in front of his face after not getting any response.
Until he was rudely pulled back to earth when a boy looking as young as the blonde, but with short black hair stepped between them. "Oi, Midare, looks like there are no enemies here. Let's head back to our agreed meeting spot," he said to the blonde. He then gave Yōko a glare as sharp as knives out of the corner of his eyes and continued. "Were you talking to this man?"
"Yeah. So?" the blonde said, "What's wrong with it? Come on, Yagen, don't give me that look!"
"What did General tell us about talking to random people in this period? For all we know, that man may be an evil yōkai about to eat you alive," the black-haired boy said, not bothering to keep his voice down, and Yōko had a sudden urge to kill. The boy then told him, "That guy over there, what are you planning to do to my brother?"
Yōko's urge to kill turned into confusion. "What brother? This humble scholar doesn't understand what you're trying to say. Are you falsely accusing me…"
"This brother," the black-haired boy interrupted, grabbing the blonde's shoulder. Then something occured to him, and he changed his tone, "Wait a minute, I know what you're thinking. In which case, you've sadly mistaken. If you still want to press on and attempt who-knows-what with this total, one-hundred-percent boy, you'll have my blade to answer to." He put a hand on the knife at his hip threateningly before leading the blonde away.
One would expect Yōko to feel bummed because his beauty had been taken away, loathe the black-haired boy for taking his beauty away or some combination of both, but instead, he was unable to move as though frozen into stone, his jaw so slack it might reach the ground any moment.
"This… this is impossible! That's a boy?!"
Being the demon of words, Shoyō never expected he would one day find himself struggling with the very thing he mastered.
Sighing for who knew what time that morning, he tucked a lock of his grey hair behind his ear as he gazed through the lens of his monocle at the exquisite sight before him: a pond of blooming lotus, dewdrops shining in the sunlight like the most brilliant gems upon the green of the leaves and the pink silk of the flowers. So lovely, so breathtaking was it, yet Shoyō failed to find the perfect words to capture that divine beauty, and so he had no other choice than to let the ink on his brush drip to the ground, drop after drop, as the beautiful scenery still lay before his eyes, but not on his scroll.
The beauty of flowers would soon wither; if he couldn't make their ephemeral lives last but a bit longer with the only way he knew how…
"Hisakata no, ame mo furanu ka, hachisuba ni…"
"Who's there?" he asked as his thoughts as well as the silence were suddenly interrupted by an unknown voice coming from behind. He wasn't answered right away; instead, the voice continued.
"Tamareru mizu no, tama ni nitaru min…"
At this point, he no longer cared who it was. He turned around to face the owner of the voice – a man with short purple hair, a single peony upon his kimono and a garden of peonies upon his cape. His very being gave off a vibe of slight over-flamboyance to Shoyō's simpler tastes, but none of that mattered, as this was his hero saving him from a crisis he thought there was no way out. "Such beautiful poetry," he said, ignoring even the strange man's holding a sword from whose blade an ominous dark liquid dripped to the ground, drop by drop. "I cannot imagine better verses to describe the beauty of dewdrops upon lotus than yours. I am in deep awe."
The man seemed not even aware of Shoyō's presence, for he answered, "Oh, sorry, what is it you're trying to say? Did I disturb you?"
"I have always considered myself the demon of words who has traveled miles and written scrolls, but now I realize my talent is still largely limited. I wonder if you could grant me the pleasure of," he paused for a second and then continued, "becoming your student?"
That took the peony man by shock… all for a split second before he understood everything. A smile creeping on his lips, he said, "I decline to accept your generous compliment. Neither do I feel my poetry talents are quite up to that standard, despite being an admirer of all things elegant." He barely hid the shameless pride in his voice; the intention of telling Shoyō the truth that it wasn't even his poem, that it was something he picked up from the Man'yōshū, never once crossed his mind. "I'm sorry I can't become your teacher, but it would be a pleasure to see you again," the peony man said before turning to leave. "Do call me the Poetry Immortal, Kasen."