DVD-style fic commentary
Feb. 24th, 2004 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterRight, long overdue ^^;
LIGHTS OF SAINT-DENIS
by Beth
Special DVD version with director's commentary
The basilica was a splendid web of gothic stone filigree. As the sun moved across the sky, multicolored shadows played hide-and-seek between the marble figures of long-dead kings. But from one chapel different lights issued, ones that flickered and reached out timidly only to pull back, limited by their wicks. The dozens of little flames shone on the single person in the chapel.
The woman was old, but not so old that her hands would tremble. Her fingers were sure as they struck the first match and lit the first candle of the row that lay before her, even though her hair was now almost completely gray.
The first candle was for a boy that never had the chance to become a man. They had talked about Paris and planned to spare a day for Saint-Denis, but by then he had already been fading. She remembered that at the end he had been not much more than translucent skin and eyes that had still shone like the brightest amethysts.
She took a second candle, for the boy that had taken the first one's will to live when he perished on that fateful day. Maybe if they'd found a way for him to live, they'd both be here now, lighting candles with her and arguing about whether La Tour Eiffel was more impressive than Tokyo Tower. She lit the wick and stared into the flame for a moment, then placed it on the rack beside its twin.
The third. The man she considered a true friend, loyal to a fault. Too good to be true, and in the end too good to live as well. She shuddered when she recalled holding his torn heart in her palm, then forced her hands to steady as she struck another match.
The fourth candle was for her friend's killer, who'd looked at her with wide-open eyes as she had struck. The lavender eyes had not even flickered while the white hair burned and crumbled, and the killer fell soundlessly into the waters of Tokyo bay. She still could not stand the sea, but the ritual she was performing was a way of letting go of those memories as well.
The next was for someone who could have been her friend if not for the cruel bitch called destiny. She'd gone out for coffee with him once, both of them studiously avoiding mentioning the others, and for a few glorious moments forgetting everything but the fleeting charm of summer.
With the next two candles she recalled the most cheerful person on her side. Oh, that boy had made her laugh... The second flame was of course for his love and apparent opposite, the girl who had cried for the first time when she held his broken body in her arms. When she felt his blood between her fingers. In deference to that memory, the woman lit their candles with one match.
But they hadn't been the only ones to find love in their battle. She lit another two candles for two bright souls, a girl of pure light and a man that shone solidly like a beacon in the night. She recalled the night the girl had told her about him, and asked for advice. The woman had given none, and none had been needed by the next sunset. They had been buried in one grave a few days later. She had been the only mourner.
She was now down to the ones she did not know so well. She lit a candle for the girl who had commanded machines. She knew that they had found the body frozen solid between the computers, the elfin face contorted in a grimace of fear.
A flame for the dreamer. She heard he'd woken, in the end, and thrown himself out of the window. It always struck her as a very melodramatic way to go.
There were only three candles left, and she placed the next one on the rack. She let her fingers linger around it, thinking of the man she had never seen. With al she had heard of him, it had surprised her that he'd been the first one to fall. Still, he fell but did not fail-
A new flame flickered into life, but her matches lay by the rack. A long-fingered, elegant hand appeared from her right, bringing a lacquered cigarette lighter to the candle.
"This one is for Sakurazuka-san," she said.
"You're looking very well, Karen-san."
She turned towards him and took in the changes. He was still tall and slim, and his face remained unmarred, but the thick dark hair was now streaked with silver at the temples. The eyes were the same.
"So are you," she said simply. "Did you come for me?"
"I'm afraid you overestimate my abilities." He chuckled ruefully. "I'm in Saint-Denis as a simple tourist."
"You were never simple. I'm-"
"Subaru-SAN!" a girl's voice called from the cathedral's main nave. "Do you have that roll of film we bought yesterday cause I've run out and there's this amazing tombstone I've gotta have a photo of and- oh! I'm sorry!" she yelped as she entered the chapel.
She bowed. "Please excuse me. I did not think anyone else was here."
"It's alright, I'm an old friend of Sumeragi-san," Karen smiled. "I'm Karen Kasumi."
"Rei Sakurazuka, nice to meet you. Have you known Subaru-san for long?"
"We haven't seen each other for a very long time," Subaru explained as he handed Rei the film. "What was it - twenty years?"
Twenty years, five months and twelve days.
"Something like that."
Rei bowed again before exiting the chapel.
"Sakurazuka? How old is she?" Karen asked.
"Fifteen. She's a sweet child."
"I thought I'd see you at his funeral." There was no question who 'he' was.
"I'm sorry."
"At least he went peacefully. The doctors said he died before the pain got too bad."
"I know. I was there."
"Oh."
"He asked me to."
"It wasn't fair. He won. *We* won."
"There's no justice..." he mused.
"Why the candles?"
"For their souls. It's a custom here... each flame is a prayer." She pointed to each candle in turn. "Kamui... Fuuma... Seiichiro... Nataku... Yuuto... Sorata... Arashi... Yuzuriha... Kusanagi... Satsuki... Kakyou..."
"Seishirou. And there are two left."
He picked up one of the remaining candles and passed the wick through Seishirou's flame. He held it up until the wax ran down his fingers, then placed it on the rack.
She put the last candle beside it, then lit it with a match. Out of the corner of an eye she saw his eyebrows rise, but the question remained unspoken.
They stared in silence at the flickering flames, recalling faces and voices long gone. A few minutes later hesitant footsteps echoed in the chapel and Rei joined them.
Then someone slammed the door to the church, and the resulting gust of wind picked up speed as it bounced around the basilica. It brushed past the marble faces of long-dead kings. It whistled between oaken pews.
It blew out all the candles in the chapel.
In the darkness, Karen smiled.
She brought the fourteen candles back to life first, with a single thought. Then the others, until the chapel was once again a galaxy of flickering flame.
But the candles of the dragons burned the brightest.
LIGHTS OF SAINT-DENIS
by Beth
Special DVD version with director's commentary
There's a story behind the title of this piece. I spent six months in Paris when I was nine years old. One of my fondest memories from that period is a trip we took to the Basilique de Saint-Denis. It's a gothic cathedral of IMHO unparallelled charm, and full of kings' tombs on top of it. I remember it as full of late spring sunlight that fell in through magnificent stained glass windows and turned marble statues and catafalks to shimmering half-life. There were also candles, especially in one side chapel: a chapel with a small statue of the Virgin Mary in a blue robe. Rows upon rows of candles on black iron frameworks rose by each wall until the entire chamber was naught but flickering lights. It was magic, pure and simple.
I was reminded of it during my 2001 visit to Vilnius, where there are a myriad churches filled with candlelight. I had only started writing fanfiction several months before, and almost exclusively X, so X was a natural choice for a vignette set in that chapel. I completely did not expect the direction the fic veered in.
I think a lot of the positive response for this fic is due to the fact I posted it just after September 11th. But it was not written with that in mind; it was written completely in late August.
The basilica was a splendid web of gothic stone filigree. As the sun moved across the sky, multicolored shadows played hide-and-seek between the marble figures of long-dead kings. But from one chapel different lights issued, ones that flickered and reached out timidly only to pull back, limited by their wicks. The dozens of little flames shone on the single person in the chapel.
I might have been inexperienced, but the foundation was there. I think this was my first "mood" piece, of more feelings and images than simple dialogue and action. Though the repetition of "chapel"... *shakes head*
The woman was old, but not so old that her hands would tremble. Her fingers were sure as they struck the first match and lit the first candle of the row that lay before her, even though her hair was now almost completely gray.
Up to here, it's the image I had in mind when I started writing in the cloakroom of yet another Vilnius museum. By elimination of likely suspects, and by the association with fire, I arrived at the woman's identity as Karen.
The first candle was for a boy that never had the chance to become a man. They had talked about Paris and planned to spare a day for Saint-Denis, but by then he had already been fading. She remembered that at the end he had been not much more than translucent skin and eyes that had still shone like the brightest amethysts.
Woo. Kamui as romantic XIX century figure dying of consumption / loss of will to live. Anyone think we can get a live-action movie of X1999 get done quickly enough so that Elijah Wood can play the title role? As for amethysts, see "young and stupid" comment. I had not yet read enough badfic with eyes described in terms of gemstones.
She took a second candle, for the boy that had taken the first one's will to live when he perished on that fateful day. Maybe if they'd found a way for him to live, they'd both be here now, lighting candles with her and arguing about whether La Tour Eiffel was more impressive than Tokyo Tower. She lit the wick and stared into the flame for a moment, then placed it on the rack beside its twin.
For some reason, I never could get a decent handle on Fuuma. I only see and define him in the terms of his twin star.
The third. The man she considered a true friend, loyal to a fault. Too good to be true, and in the end too good to live as well. She shuddered when she recalled holding his torn heart in her palm, then forced her hands to steady as she struck another match.
Karen is another semi-enigma to me, and she was far more so then, when I had little to no experience writing mature female characters. Gruesomeness seemed a good way out to avoid dwelling on her feelings. Now that I think of it, it might also work as a counterpoint to the romantic imagery of the previous two paragraphs.
The fourth candle was for her friend's killer, who'd looked at her with wide-open eyes as she had struck. The lavender eyes had not even flickered while the white hair burned and crumbled, and the killer fell soundlessly into the waters of Tokyo bay. She still could not stand the sea, but the ritual she was performing was a way of letting go of those memories as well.
I'm fascinated by Karen's relation to Nataku - the way her maternal instinct appears there. But if there is one person she'd kill him/her for, it would be Seiichirou.
The next was for someone who could have been her friend if not for the cruel bitch called destiny. She'd gone out for coffee with him once, both of them studiously avoiding mentioning the others, and for a few glorious moments forgetting everything but the fleeting charm of summer.
With the next two candles she recalled the most cheerful person on her side. Oh, that boy had made her laugh... The second flame was of course for his love and apparent opposite, the girl who had cried for the first time when she held his broken body in her arms. When she felt his blood between her fingers. In deference to that memory, the woman lit their candles with one match.
Quite apart from that "dying for a woman" thing, Sorata and Arashi are bound by being opposites on the surface and so similar underneath. Both separated from their parents, both raised in temples, both with a surprisingly large sense of duty and slavery to fate. I happen to think they're very well-suited for each other. Oh, and in this version of X, Arashi is alive. If you want to call it that.
But they hadn't been the only ones to find love in their battle. She lit another two candles for two bright souls, a girl of pure light and a man that shone solidly like a beacon in the night. She recalled the night the girl had told her about him, and asked for advice. The woman had given none, and none had been needed by the next sunset. They had been buried in one grave a few days later. She had been the only mourner.
She was now down to the ones she did not know so well. She lit a candle for the girl who had commanded machines. She knew that they had found the body frozen solid between the computers, the elfin face contorted in a grimace of fear.
A flame for the dreamer. She heard he'd woken, in the end, and thrown himself out of the window. It always struck her as a very melodramatic way to go.
*sigh* I don't like Kakyou much. I think he needs a good kick. Sue me.
There were only three candles left, and she placed the next one on the rack. She let her fingers linger around it, thinking of the man she had never seen. With al she had heard of him, it had surprised her that he'd been the first one to fall. Still, he fell but did not fail-
A new flame flickered into life, but her matches lay by the rack. A long-fingered, elegant hand appeared from her right, bringing a lacquered cigarette lighter to the candle.
The funniest thing happened to me a few days ago: we were cleaning out an old wardrobe and one drawer I found a black lacquered cigarette lighter with a chrome top. This is the exact same lighter I had in mind when I wrote this line: I guess I must have seen it earlier and remembered it subconsciously.
"This one is for Sakurazuka-san," she said.
"You're looking very well, Karen-san."
Yes, honorifics. Fangirl Japanese, if you want. I was a)young, b)stupid and c)couldn't think of a graceful way to translate them.
She turned towards him and took in the changes. He was still tall and slim, and his face remained unmarred, but the thick dark hair was now streaked with silver at the temples. The eyes were the same.
Timeline note: since this happens in 2020, Subaru is forty-six, and Karen is fifty-something. Fifty-three probably.
"So are you," she said simply. "Did you come for me?"
"I'm afraid you overestimate my abilities." He chuckled ruefully. "I'm in Saint-Denis as a simple tourist."
And here we have what I aimed to be the first indication of the changes wrought in Subaru. He was always so serious even as a child, would never dream of chuckling. I had in mind a warm, polite laugh with an edge of danger, something very Seishirou.
"You were never simple. I'm-"
"Subaru-SAN!" a girl's voice called from the cathedral's main nave. "Do you have that roll of film we bought yesterday cause I've run out and there's this amazing tombstone I've gotta have a photo of and- oh! I'm sorry!" she yelped as she entered the chapel.
Enter Mary Sue Girl. Okay, not quite. But Rei is one of the almost-clones I create to get the hang of a series: since I know those original characters well, I can have them interact with the canon characters to find out their reactions - my external point of view. Still, she's not that annoying, and I have the luxury of knowing a lot about her. She seemed to be a quick way to move the plot along.
The photo thing? I spent most of my senior year in high school with a camera glued to my hands.
She bowed. "Please excuse me. I did not think anyone else was here."
"It's alright, I'm an old friend of Sumeragi-san," Karen smiled. "I'm Karen Kasumi."
"Rei Sakurazuka, nice to meet you. Have you known Subaru-san for long?"
"We haven't seen each other for a very long time," Subaru explained as he handed Rei the film. "What was it - twenty years?"
Twenty years, five months and twelve days.
Since the Final Day, of course. Which makes this the middle of May.
"Something like that."
Rei bowed again before exiting the chapel.
"Sakurazuka? How old is she?" Karen asked.
"Fifteen. She's a sweet child."
Ah right. I did mention Rei's either a magical creature created by the sakura or the product of Nataku's grandfather's company? Since the fic was written, we also learned Subaru got ahold of Seishirou's eyes. Which was possibly full of nice rich DNA. Therefore, little miss Sakurazuka.
"I thought I'd see you at his funeral." There was no question who 'he' was.
"I'm sorry."
"At least he went peacefully. The doctors said he died before the pain got too bad."
I'm not quite sure what was killing Kamui. Possibly some form of cancer. All that magical radiation and destiny vibes can't be good for you.
"I know. I was there."
"Oh."
"He asked me to."
Ah, sweet merciful Death... *cackles*
"It wasn't fair. He won. *We* won."
"There's no justice..." he mused.
"...there's just me." Death, property of Terry Pratchett.
"Why the candles?"
"For their souls. It's a custom here... each flame is a prayer." She pointed to each candle in turn. "Kamui... Fuuma... Seiichiro... Nataku... Yuuto... Sorata... Arashi... Yuzuriha... Kusanagi... Satsuki... Kakyou..."
"Seishirou. And there are two left."
He picked up one of the remaining candles and passed the wick through Seishirou's flame. He held it up until the wax ran down his fingers, then placed it on the rack.
Pain, even now. Ah, Subaru-kun...
She put the last candle beside it, then lit it with a match. Out of the corner of an eye she saw his eyebrows rise, but the question remained unspoken.
They stared in silence at the flickering flames, recalling faces and voices long gone. A few minutes later hesitant footsteps echoed in the chapel and Rei joined them.
Then someone slammed the door to the church, and the resulting gust of wind picked up speed as it bounced around the basilica. It brushed past the marble faces of long-dead kings. It whistled between oaken pews.
It blew out all the candles in the chapel.
Wind and fire, Seiichirou and Karen. My subconscious likes to play these tricks on me. I honestly did not think about that stuff while writing the fic.
In the darkness, Karen smiled.
She brought the fourteen candles back to life first, with a single thought. Then the others, until the chapel was once again a galaxy of flickering flame.
But the candles of the dragons burned the brightest.
Even after two and a half years, I'm still proud of this one. It was the first time I allowed myself to run free with narrative and imagery. A first step, if you will, down a road I'm still walking on. It was also the fic I got the best feedback on - people pointed out the fragments they liked best and how they moved them. I'm really, really glad I wrote it.
Damn, need to write more X fic ^^;
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Date: 2004-02-24 11:27 pm (UTC)