Ricki Tarr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-05-12 10:09 pm
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-05-12 10:09 pm
5. voice
[Ricki has been passed over in this week's event- he isn't nearly trustworthy enough for the powers this week to have to begun to reflect his way. So, in the absence of any other mayhem or hysteria, it's been sort of a dragging week for him.
His answer had been to ensconce himself firmly in one of the library back rooms, and to tear his way voraciously through another shelf of the history section. Which leads, quite late one evening, to him activating his feed to explain, in the hushed tones most appropriate for the small hours of the night;]
Some time in the early 1600s in Japan, a young woman had a rather illicit relationship with a Chinese pirate lord. The unlikely pair had a son who they christened Zhèng Chénggōng.
[His accent is so adept as to be potentially noteworthy.]
Our story finds him in the waters between Xiamen and Taiwan. At that time, Xiamen was a young port city, whose traded goods included silver, imported from Spain into China. This trade route was a ripe target for local pirates, in particular, for some reason, the Dutch. They snuck their boats in among the myriad of little islands at the mouth of the Nine Dragons, the Mekong River, or Cửu Long, we called it, where I was growing up. Zhèng Chénggōng, also known as Koxinga, succeeded in fighting about the nastiest kind of warfare you can imagine, for that era. The battles were nasty, but eventually the Dutch fled Taiwan, and the man himself had accomplished this while embroiled in some of the ugliest dynastic struggle imaginable.
A Ming loyalist, he had narrowly survived his own father's terrible betrayal to the Qing family- which I believe, though I haven't been able to ascertain this as being completely true- ended with his father's imprisonment and the then-Emperor being thrown into a well. Zhèng established a small province in the South of Taiwan, where his family held the territory for a little over twenty years, until some business with an illegitimate heir resulted in too much political instability, and the little province was reabsorbed into Taiwan proper.
Oh, here it is- it is rumoured that Koxinga's death was the result of a sudden fit of madness. He had ordered his guards to execute his son. The young man had apparently had an affair with a wet-nurse... of some relative or another, it isn't specific, and when he was disobeyed, Koxinga flew into the sort of rage that could stop a man's heart. He was only thirty seven. That's what one source says; the other just bluntly states malaria.
There was a statue of Koxinga in Xiamen when I was there last, though it may very well be torn down by now. I remember seeing the stonework, but never being aware of the proper story.
[And, now he is, and so is anyone else up late and listening on this drowsy, slow-drifting spacey night.]
It was whispered to me then, somewhat illicitly, that the man had been raised by freed Muslim slaves, and may have practiced that faith in secret, though the books all mention Confucianism.
I do wonder.
[He always feels most imaginative during the very witching hour of night.]
His answer had been to ensconce himself firmly in one of the library back rooms, and to tear his way voraciously through another shelf of the history section. Which leads, quite late one evening, to him activating his feed to explain, in the hushed tones most appropriate for the small hours of the night;]
Some time in the early 1600s in Japan, a young woman had a rather illicit relationship with a Chinese pirate lord. The unlikely pair had a son who they christened Zhèng Chénggōng.
[His accent is so adept as to be potentially noteworthy.]
Our story finds him in the waters between Xiamen and Taiwan. At that time, Xiamen was a young port city, whose traded goods included silver, imported from Spain into China. This trade route was a ripe target for local pirates, in particular, for some reason, the Dutch. They snuck their boats in among the myriad of little islands at the mouth of the Nine Dragons, the Mekong River, or Cửu Long, we called it, where I was growing up. Zhèng Chénggōng, also known as Koxinga, succeeded in fighting about the nastiest kind of warfare you can imagine, for that era. The battles were nasty, but eventually the Dutch fled Taiwan, and the man himself had accomplished this while embroiled in some of the ugliest dynastic struggle imaginable.
A Ming loyalist, he had narrowly survived his own father's terrible betrayal to the Qing family- which I believe, though I haven't been able to ascertain this as being completely true- ended with his father's imprisonment and the then-Emperor being thrown into a well. Zhèng established a small province in the South of Taiwan, where his family held the territory for a little over twenty years, until some business with an illegitimate heir resulted in too much political instability, and the little province was reabsorbed into Taiwan proper.
Oh, here it is- it is rumoured that Koxinga's death was the result of a sudden fit of madness. He had ordered his guards to execute his son. The young man had apparently had an affair with a wet-nurse... of some relative or another, it isn't specific, and when he was disobeyed, Koxinga flew into the sort of rage that could stop a man's heart. He was only thirty seven. That's what one source says; the other just bluntly states malaria.
There was a statue of Koxinga in Xiamen when I was there last, though it may very well be torn down by now. I remember seeing the stonework, but never being aware of the proper story.
[And, now he is, and so is anyone else up late and listening on this drowsy, slow-drifting spacey night.]
It was whispered to me then, somewhat illicitly, that the man had been raised by freed Muslim slaves, and may have practiced that faith in secret, though the books all mention Confucianism.
I do wonder.
[He always feels most imaginative during the very witching hour of night.]
no subject
[And she's there in a few minutes, knocking neatly.]
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Because he's neat, there's nothing in here. His few clothes are folded away. Nothing has accumulated on any surface, there are no shelves. He steps back to let her in, and indicates for her to take the only chair.]
no subject
[She sits, puts the file beside her on the table, rather than between them; they can deal with it now, or not.]
Are you averse to a second chair? Generally, I mean.
no subject
[He'd prefer, he thinks to himself, a nice, thick sweater. The blood never came out of his last one. He settles down on the edge of his bed, and glances at the file, then up at her.]
You've had a chance to go through it by now.
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Yeah.
I imagine you don't need my review of your life, though.
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[He's interested, strangely enough, in whether he's passing. Less with her than with most, he's sure, but he hopes there was a surprise or two in there.]
no subject
I didn't at all expect the kind of imprisonment it turned out to be. Or the livelihood, for that matter.
[A small, rueful twist of a smile.]
All my experience is in isolated terrorist actions and personal vendettas, not...nations at war. Even quietly. And obviously you were the right time for it, but then the Cold War was such ubiquitous background when I was alive. It didn't occur to me at all.
[She recognized him as the type of person who would make a good spy. But she forgets entirely that people can actually get paid for that.]
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[He shifts back to lean against the headboard, to watch her more levelly.]
I'm letting people work that mystery out for themselves in patches. Everyone is more inclined to believe something if they've had to discover it.
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[She perches her chin in her hand.]
Were you happy?
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[No. Not in the end, he wasn't. Of course, it's more complicated than that, but-]
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She's there. Your part in things.
[The consequences, briefly noted.]
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Tell me.
[Anything, he doesn't care what. Just right now, he's acutely aware of a desire to lash out, and it's easier with her admitting things like that. Everything he learns, helps. He's trying hard not to be a prick about this, but feels like he's being slowly strangled to death.]
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It doesn't say how you felt about anything, just what happened. I can guess that you cared, but it's all speculation.
[As much privacy as she can offer him.]
no subject
[He agrees, because she's right.]
But I don't believe that makes much of a difference. Not to her, now, anyways. Dead is dead.
[Unless you end up here, of course.]
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Well, strictly speaking, dead is negotiable. About half the deals wardens make are for resurrections, I'd guess.
[If you end up here, or someone who cares does.]
no subject
Do you have a deal riding on me?
[He knows she's been around, has the vague impression she's graduated someone already.]
no subject
[If she pulls this off, she certainly can think of things she wants. A tardis, for example. But the wish of her heart is taken care of already.]
no subject
Well. I think I'm a little too angry to make it easy on you.
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...sorry. Sorry.
no subject
Out, out, leave me to my last moments of peace, before my sentence truly begins.
no subject
[She pushes up, leaves the file, stops by the door.]
For most of us, I think. It's about getting the tools to make better options than people gave us before. I want to help do that for you. For the record.
no subject
[He agrees, idly.]
But I don't think it should be today.
no subject
I promise I'll listen.