/jp/ - Otaku Culture

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Today I would meet with the illustrious Toyosatomimi no Miko at her home in the Divine Spirit Mausoleum for which I was excited and nervous in equal measure.
I’d never been to Senkai where the Mausoleum was located, the realm was akin to the hells or the dream word, a place not within Gensokyou, but still connected to it and damn hard to reach if you weren’t a hermit.
The butterfly stamped invitation had strange instructions on how I was to arrive ‘take this invitation and whoever is you guest in hand and walk through the crack that’s appeared in your mind’. I instantly thought of a massive rock that had smashed itself a little way from the village, so after I had acquired the proper wares, I made my way there.
Seija refused to stay behind, not wanting to pass up the chance at being perhaps the first Youkai to visit Senkai. I didn’t put up too much of a fuss, since the realm was equally unknown to me, however I did insist on her wearing a more formal garb and from the village markets I quickly acquired some heeled sandals, a white dress with a cut that layered blue, black, and red fabrics behind it, and a black piece of cloth wrapped around her shoulders to complete the outfit.
She almost looked like Kagerou’s more formal sister, but I kept that to myself, she was being agreeable as it was and quite a few villagers had given us some strange looks. Although that could’ve been my choice of garb: the dark green kimono with the orange, padded sash, and the bracelet we’d acquired from the Youkai Slayer tomb. We were an odd couple to be sure.
“What’s the hold up? I want to see what those old coot hermits have been hiding from us!” Seija said as she tapped her foot beside the crack.
“Gathering my thoughts.” I remarked.
I didn’t like hermits. They were just the wrong mix of proud, eccentric, ego-driven, dangerous, and isolationist. Ask a hermit a question and they’ll give you an answer so far removed from any common understanding that you may as well have asked a whimsical child or the drunkest man. And that crazed model of the world they developed in their heads? Made trading with them absurdly difficult. Sometimes they’d say no to gold other times they’d get on their hands and knees for a random piece of rye you had in your mouth. They were a queer and chaotic kind.
“Alright, no use dallying then.” I say offering my hand to Seija.
She takes it and closes her eyes just as I do, and I lead her toward the crack invitation in hand.
Instead of colliding with the rock I feel a rush of air and the smell of lilac, I push forward a few more steps before opening my eyes to Senkai.
The Divine Sprit Mausoleum stood before us; a golden pillar surrounded by a moat dotted with Lilly pads. Behind it where rolling mountains, with peaks far too numerous to be natural, all cloaked in fog.
“Welcome honored guests.” A formal voice spoke.
Beside us stood the white-clad, eboshi-wearing servant of Miko: Mononobe No Futo and she went from bowing reverence to reserved contempt. I returned her bow regardless.
“Perhaps it is not for me to say, but mayhaps you should consider abandoning your company and that… garb.” She states.
As expected, Futo had little tolerance for Youkai and the outfit which we had acquired from the tomb resembled a Buddhist robe.
“My sincerest apologies, circumstances bound me to this one and this robe is one of legends, I wouldn’t want to offend by coming in anything less.” I justify.
“Tis not only that, but-“ Futo begins.
“What was that about us being honored guests?” Seija interjected. “Your master expects us, so wasting our time is wasting Her’s runt.” She said hauntingly.
Futo’s face scrunched up into a disgusted expression, but like a good Taoist she simply sighed and guided us inside rather than butt heads with a strong-willed woman.
As we ascended the tower we saw quite a few aspirants, some doing mundane tasks like cleaning and the like, while others looked to be doing more spiritual practices like tai-chi, transcribing scripture, and meditation.
I took some pleasure in watching them gawk and harrow at the sight of Seija in her more elegant, slightly risqué dress. Or where they surprised by my appearance? Either way the Oni and I where both taking some pleasure in their comic expressions. Futo merely gave the odd stare and only tossed a plate at one troublesome guy who was leaning on the ladder to get a better look, plummeting him to the ground.
As I said, hermits were a queer, ego-driven bunch. Learning anything from them was a fool’s errand and I couldn’t help but pity these poor disciples just a little.
When we finally arrived at the top of the Mausoleum’s Spire and the doors to the meeting chamber stood before us, we all laid eyes on the green dress wearing ghost who hovered a few inches off the ground.
She also gawked.