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》FANTASY AU; wherein karma akabane is a simple fisherman who has no time to care for the appeal of the clothes he wears, nor a wife to rub his tired, dirty feet when he pushes the old door open. he's already out before first light, picking at the shallows for anything slimy enough that he can see it in the dissipating evening.
he does this out of obligation, rather than a hobby to pass the day; when he sees the healthy, maturing orange of a crab digging a crab-sized pit in the wet, clumping sand he does not smile in fascination at the odd-looking creature, he's quick on his feet to pick it up- pincers swinging in alarmed, before it vanishes and the sand falls over it.
he's happy with watching ownerless dogs howl at their equally abandoned friends, chasing each other in the dark with their tails tight between their legs. the most exciting thing that happens in karma's everyday is the money he's paid, and the money he ultimately spends on a meal that keeps his bones from appalling the richer passerby with how visible they are against the skin of his wrist.
[a/n]: i wanted to try something unique, because i can't just rely on highschool and college universes all the time eheh
inspired by this prompt i found on tumblr {the highlighted one}:
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Karma wakes up early enough that the roosters still crow one after another, and some mornings he wakes up unhappier than others though he has no companion to complain to. Sometimes, he forgets to brush his hair or a small chore, but as the gods would have it, as Karma leans back on his chair, he remembers, and with a tired breath he pulls himself back up again. This morning he's sure he hasn't forgotten anything. His unwashed boots thump-thump against the dipping wood of his porch, and he frowns at the beginnings of a sunrise already erupting at the farthest ends his vision takes him.
Karma sees no other person, because nobody but the earnest, hardworking fishermen ever escape into the outside this early. Karma's met fellow fishermen in the markets with low-hanging ceilings and stone assets and the strong stink of fish hung on hooks by the roofs of their mouths that Karma once gagged at, but that seemed like so long ago; the richer half would wrinkle their noses as they paid the vendors, and Karma and the fisherman whose name he did not ask for would exchange knowing smiles, with their worn, calloused hands behind their backs. Karma's alone today, as he is the six other days of the week, and he spends a few moments to ponder on what it would be like to sleep on a bed made of the feathers of hunted fowls.
The next time Karma looks up at the sky, it's brightened enough that Karma hurries past a confused dragonfly.
