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[JoJo] Thus Spake Kishibe Rohan: Prologue (In The Editor's Office)
Ficlets onna card have started arriving - not in order, but this is the earliest written and sent (Puu made the first request IIRC). Inspired by the maintainer of that Rohan shrine, whose theory was that stands have bizarre preconditions due to the circumstances of their discovery, especially if the stand is later able to grow beyond said limitations. When it's introduced Heaven's Door only activates on someone who 1) is the first person to see a new chapter of Rohan's manga, and 2) is "on his wavelength", i.e. groks his manga. From which the essayist derived that Rohan must have discovered his stand by accidentally victimizing his editor, after having been shot by the arrow. XD
If you are like me you just thought, "Rohan's editor... geez, it's true, come to think of it Rohan must have an editor. .............That poor bastard."
The rest is further elaboration on the Pink Dark Boy mythos as seen in the Giorno/Mista epic, i.e. META META META. XD
Thus Spake Kishibe Rohan: Prologue (In The Editor's Office)
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jokersama
"I conceive them as tales," said Kishibe Rohan, "about dark forces: whether mundane, supernatural or altogether spiritual, those forces that circumscribe our being and prescribe our actions, the very same that we foolishly believe to be under conscious control... Here is one story. A boy, perhaps twelve, dreams recurringly of a girl he has never met; it is not an unusual thing at that age. In the dream she is dear to him, a lover or a sister. He sees her hair, her hands, her dress – sometimes the curve of her throat – but her face remains indistinct. He knows she is in danger, but not how. He has a vivid waking imagination, however, and in his fancies he devises a hundred and one perils from which to extricate her: he, the protector and hero, sweeping down...
"As the years pass he learns to distinguish dreams from reality, even as his fictions accrue value with practice. At a very young age he debuts as a professional manga artist, a prodigy. In the work that makes his reputation, a gifted boy begins an investigation that crosses continents and decades, submits to countless dangers and unleashes forces to topple empires and the hearts of men – in order to trace a girl whose face he has never seen.
"Now famous and rich, the young mangaka retires to the small town of his birth, in order to continue his work in the relative peace of the countryside."
"Kishibe, this is—"
He raised a hand to forestall my comment. I didn't press the point. The long fingers drummed restlessly on the edge of my desk – twice, three times.
"People disappear sometimes, in this small town, but not often enough that the inhabitants take notice. One evening, while running errands, the mangaka sees a girl walking down the street, her back to him. Walking away. He turns, at the curb the light changes, he crosses the street. Then recognition hits him like ice water: he knows her, it's the girl, the girl from his dreams.
"He runs to catch up with her. He turns the corner, there is a flash of movement at the end of the street, he runs again... When he stops he's standing at the mouth of an alley he never noticed. She faces the dead end, her back to him, her head lowered. Softly she calls a name – his, from when he was a very small child, barely able to remember.
"'Who are you? Tell me! Show me your face!'
"'Help me,' she says. 'Save me now, as long ago I saved you from this.' She turns—
"And all he sees is blood."
There was a long pause. I inhaled deeply and exhaled again through my teeth, thinking.
"It's clever," I said finally, "but not very conclusive."
Kishibe Rohan raised his eyebrows and looked offended. Much of that was a trick of physiognomy, however; he wasn't truly riled by my opinion. Yet.
"Obfuscation doesn't quite serve – what was the danger? How did she die? A wound... disappearances... a murderer? Was he with her at the time she was attacked? He was only a child, she allowed him to escape... too much guesswork altogether. You may as well lay it out, in this case clarity makes the situation more frightening." I tilted my head back to look at him. "And then what?"
Kishibe stared at me, then – abruptly and altogether unexpectedly – laughed. "I don't know," he said.
This was such an incredible admission coming from his lips I merely blinked at him. Eventually I said, "Well, he will have to do something to save her. Discover the truth? Catch the killer? Or die trying?"
"No doubt," he said. "You're right, as things stand it's not much of an ending."
If you are like me you just thought, "Rohan's editor... geez, it's true, come to think of it Rohan must have an editor. .............That poor bastard."
The rest is further elaboration on the Pink Dark Boy mythos as seen in the Giorno/Mista epic, i.e. META META META. XD
Thus Spake Kishibe Rohan: Prologue (In The Editor's Office)
for
jokersama"I conceive them as tales," said Kishibe Rohan, "about dark forces: whether mundane, supernatural or altogether spiritual, those forces that circumscribe our being and prescribe our actions, the very same that we foolishly believe to be under conscious control... Here is one story. A boy, perhaps twelve, dreams recurringly of a girl he has never met; it is not an unusual thing at that age. In the dream she is dear to him, a lover or a sister. He sees her hair, her hands, her dress – sometimes the curve of her throat – but her face remains indistinct. He knows she is in danger, but not how. He has a vivid waking imagination, however, and in his fancies he devises a hundred and one perils from which to extricate her: he, the protector and hero, sweeping down...
"As the years pass he learns to distinguish dreams from reality, even as his fictions accrue value with practice. At a very young age he debuts as a professional manga artist, a prodigy. In the work that makes his reputation, a gifted boy begins an investigation that crosses continents and decades, submits to countless dangers and unleashes forces to topple empires and the hearts of men – in order to trace a girl whose face he has never seen.
"Now famous and rich, the young mangaka retires to the small town of his birth, in order to continue his work in the relative peace of the countryside."
"Kishibe, this is—"
He raised a hand to forestall my comment. I didn't press the point. The long fingers drummed restlessly on the edge of my desk – twice, three times.
"People disappear sometimes, in this small town, but not often enough that the inhabitants take notice. One evening, while running errands, the mangaka sees a girl walking down the street, her back to him. Walking away. He turns, at the curb the light changes, he crosses the street. Then recognition hits him like ice water: he knows her, it's the girl, the girl from his dreams.
"He runs to catch up with her. He turns the corner, there is a flash of movement at the end of the street, he runs again... When he stops he's standing at the mouth of an alley he never noticed. She faces the dead end, her back to him, her head lowered. Softly she calls a name – his, from when he was a very small child, barely able to remember.
"'Who are you? Tell me! Show me your face!'
"'Help me,' she says. 'Save me now, as long ago I saved you from this.' She turns—
"And all he sees is blood."
There was a long pause. I inhaled deeply and exhaled again through my teeth, thinking.
"It's clever," I said finally, "but not very conclusive."
Kishibe Rohan raised his eyebrows and looked offended. Much of that was a trick of physiognomy, however; he wasn't truly riled by my opinion. Yet.
"Obfuscation doesn't quite serve – what was the danger? How did she die? A wound... disappearances... a murderer? Was he with her at the time she was attacked? He was only a child, she allowed him to escape... too much guesswork altogether. You may as well lay it out, in this case clarity makes the situation more frightening." I tilted my head back to look at him. "And then what?"
Kishibe stared at me, then – abruptly and altogether unexpectedly – laughed. "I don't know," he said.
This was such an incredible admission coming from his lips I merely blinked at him. Eventually I said, "Well, he will have to do something to save her. Discover the truth? Catch the killer? Or die trying?"
"No doubt," he said. "You're right, as things stand it's not much of an ending."
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AND THEN, THEY ALL WENT TO ITALY! :DDDDD
I read the fic, and then clicked the comment button, and your layout went pink. XD
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You're just checking out all the styles now? I kinda grokked the bright pink one, and the grey one with bright pink accents and text. Well, I dunno if there's been more than one of each of those....
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Awesome. Rohan's past and Reimi and the subconscious. Nice.
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Yes, I also feel sorry for Rohan's editor. Horribly so, although at least he gets his work in on time, so that's something.
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Layers and layers and layers, XD. I don't think Rohan would really talk in such an ornate way but I guess it helps the contrast with his editor.
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It's a Borges rip... for some reason I can never rip off Borges when people ask me to, it only happens when no one's looking.
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Oh, hey! So it is. No wonder it sounded so familiar. Perfect fit considering the content *g*.
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