Misery Loves Company

Misery Loves Company

“Ya know, ya’d think I’d be used to the crudeness of these places by now, Gat,” he said as he entered the roadside tavern with a disdainful sniff, “but somehow I can never quite get accustomed to them.”

The strangely dressed Westerner and his exceptionally tall traveling companion headed to the bar and took the two stools the furthest away from anybody already seated. Gato cast his eyes around warily, sizing up the others in the bar and checking for any possible threats to Hazel’s security. Finding nothing worse than some casually-returned stares, he sat stiffly on his stool while Hazel removed his hat and summoned the barkeep to order himself a whiskey, neat.

“It’s gettin’ late in the day, Gat. I’m thinkin’ we might as well be lookin’ for a place to settle in for the night, if there is anything to be had in this town.”
Hazel was tired from a long day on the road, and still feeling unsettled from his most recent encounter with Sanzo and his youkai accomplices. He had so wanted things to go differently than they had. Shaking his head slightly as thoughts of the handsome priest and his hopelessly stubborn and hostile manner ran through his head, he sipped his whiskey and tried to move his mind on to more happy and relaxing subjects. He was pondering the question of whether or not it would be possible for one to obtain a decent beefsteak for dinner in this little town, preferably one that hadn’t been incinerated like it had committed a mortal sin, when he simultaneously heard the wind-chimes on the bar’s door tinkling and felt Gat’s body tense up in his usual “full alert” mode.

Trusting his companion’s ability to handle any eventuality, Hazel simply sighed and raised a gloved finger to signal the bartender for another whiskey. He resisted any small inclination he may have had to turn and gawk at whatever local yokels had come into join with the rest of the small community of riff-raff already drinking themselves into a stupor on cheap beer and rice wine in the bar. His curiosity did get the better of him, however, when a tangible frisson of interest and mumbled chatter rippled through the bar, and he casually turned his head to take a look.

He had to admit the three newcomers collectively did cut quite a figure, and even he raised a pale eyebrow in reaction before he turned back around, discretely watching their progress in the mirror behind the bar. The handsome raven-haired one in front, obviously the leader, clearly didn’t care about how much attention he drew. In fact, it could be said the stranger was deliberately courting it in that flamboyant lavender cape, complete with red flames licking around the bottom. Hazel unconsciously traced his lips delicately with the tip of his tongue as he eyed the man’s well-muscled chest under the cape, so clearly defined by the skintight soft black leather top and so reminiscent of a certain blonde priest’s attire. He swallowed hard, admiring the cut of the leather top and tight chinos on this gentleman; remembering the times he had seen Sanzo without the robes of his heathen station. Some men certainly did know how to wear clothes to their advantage, whether they meant to or not, he thought, sighing softly to himself.

The man’s traveling companions were attention-getters themselves, and Hazel took a moment to peruse their attire. No, it was more than just what they were wearing; it was the entire effect they each projected, as they came forward with their leader and seated themselves at the bar to the right of the man. The shorter of the two, compact and trim, looked like a frightful mercenary from the West, with that spiky orange-ginger hair of his, and that terrible gun slung over his shoulder. His battle-scarred face and that patched eye somehow gave him a rugged beauty that was not lost on the foreign priest, and his para-military clothing, with all the pockets and zippers, almost enticed one to come play with it, before disrobing the man inside. Hazel began to feel like it was a bit warm in the bar, thinking perhaps the extra people in the room now were making the air a bit close, and picked up his broad-brimmed hat to fan himself a few times.

He scanned the last of the three in the mirror, the tall willowy one with the graceful catlike movements, who was now sitting quietly at the bar and looking quite out of place in these rough surroundings. His high cheekbones, perpetually downcast eyes, and austere but elegant manner of dress seemed to Hazel like they would be more at home in some emperor’s seraglio, with this gentleman the reluctant custodian of the females. Hazel’s lip curled slightly at the sensual imagery, and filed it away to contemplate further at another time: perhaps on one of the longer, darker nights alone, with a nice glass of wine.

The leader of the three had seated himself next to Hazel, and of course it was only neighborly to speak to the man, even though the newcomer had, so far, not acknowledged him at all. He was contemplating the best manner of introducing himself when the man summoned the barkeeper, ordering baijiu for himself, beer for the strawberry-blonde, and oolong tea for the tall slender one. Hazel’s blue eyes opened wide when he heard the raven-haired one speak for the first time – the deep melodious tone and cultured sound of his rich voice were almost hypnotic, even when speaking the local tongue, which to Hazel’s ear was choppy and unattractive in nature. Suddenly warm again, the priest fanned himself with his hat again, realizing he now had his perfect opening with the attractive stranger.

“Mercy me, it certainly is a scorcher today, ain’t it?” He turned towards the man and smiled his best butter-melting smile.

The man simply nodded and responded with a noncommittal “hmmm,” seeming pre-occupied, and basically ignoring Hazel.

“I heard tell it’s supposed to stay like this for a goodly while, and then we just might get a little rain,” Hazel ventured, nonplussed by the initial rebuff. Checking again, he confirmed what he thought he had seen the first time- the man had one brilliant blue eye, so deep it was almost violet like Sanzo’s, and one deep golden one, almost the color of those of that monster child traveling with Sanzo. How absolutely fascinating.

“Mmmm hmmm.”

Gat raised an eyebrow at Hazel, knowing exactly what was coming. Hazel Grouse could take almost anything but being ignored.

Turning on his stool to fully face the caped man and thrusting his gloved hand forward, Hazel spoke brightly, “name’s Bishop Hazel Grouse, and this here is Gat.”

The man was inescapably roused from his reverie now, and turned towards Hazel. He looked at the proffered hand in its snug white glove for a stunned moment, then shook it politely.

“Gomen. I am Homura Taishi, and these are my companions, Zenon, and Shien. “ Zenon made a small acknowledging sneer around his cigarette, and Shien nodded his head politely, before returning to his tea and quiet thought.

“Nice to meetcha,” Hazel ventured, pumping Homura’s hand. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you in this neck of the woods before?”

“Uhm, no… “ Homura said carefully, “we’ve been… away…for a while.” He turned back towards the bar and sipped his sake, studying the strange priest in the mirror.

“Ahh, well, travel does broaden one’s horizons, don’t it?” Hazel improvised. “What brings you back here, if ya don’t mind my askin’?”

Homura considered his answer. “Oh, we have some… friends we want to look up. We haven’t seen them… for a while.”

“I see,” Hazel said. “Well, that can be pleasant. I have some friends here I have been trying to get together with, also. I ain’t from around here, ya see. But one of them is being rather… mmm.. difficult.” All of the times Sanzo had so rudely rebuffed his approaches flashed in Hazel’s mind as he said the word “difficult,” and he found himself clenching the muscles of his jaw and grinding his teeth as he realized what a diplomatic understatement the word actually was.

Hazel ordered another whiskey. He didn’t ordinarily drink so much without eating, but he decided he would rather sit and listen to this man’s voice and look at his… well… and look at him. Besides, anything was preferable to spending another tedious evening alone in another tacky boardinghouse room with his taciturn traveling companion. Gat rolled his eyes and shook his head morosely, and got up and shuffled over to the dartboard. Somehow he had a feeling he was going to be here a while.

Homura finished his first cup of baijiu, thoroughly enjoying the burn of the potent rice wine. He admitted to himself that it was possible that it really wasn’t all that good, but it sure tasted good after being stuck in Tenkai for a while with the crap wine up there- it all tasted like sawdust after you had experienced the real thing down here.
Of course, after the spectacular failure of their plot to remake Heaven and Earth, he and his partners in crime had been immediately thrown in jail in Tenkai, and his Uncle the Jade Emperor had been completely livid, especially with him, since he was admittedly the Mastermind of the whole plan. But fortunately for the three of them, Kanzeon Bosatsu had done something that she had never been known to do, intervening on their behalf, begging for clemency from execution for them, and arranging for their release back to the Underworld. However, the only way the Old Fart would even consider it was on the on the conditions that they never try anything like that again (no surprise there) and that from then on they be on probation, under Kanzeon’s direct supervision; reporting to her on a regular basis.

He didn’t know which surprised him more – that the Emperor would suggest such a thing, or that Kanzeon would agree to it. Homura suspected it was kind of a devil’s bargain between the two of them. From the Jade Emperor’s standpoint, it was a way to punish her for daring to intervene. For Kanzeon, her willingness to do it and save the three of them was a clear and unequivocal “fuck you” to the Emperor, and Tenkai in general. His heretic nephew’s mere existence had always been a thorn in his Uncle’s side, but if the Merciful Goddess herself was willing to take personal responsibility for him, it would be bad politics for the Emperor not to allow it, especially with Homura being his own nephew, heretic or not.

Homura also had a suspicion that another part of Kanzeon’s willingness to assist them had something to do with the fact that she had maintained such a laissez-faire attitude when things had started to go wrong for Konzen and his little group on their last go-round, and that by helping him she was attempting to work off a bit of guilt she felt for how badly things had gone then. It was an interesting situation, to say the least, and he was stuck square in the middle of it. But the most important thing was that he was alive, and not in jail, and so were Shien and Zenon. So it wasn’t all bad.

It did, however, have its drawbacks, and they were chafing at Homura more and more with each day he was back in the Underworld. He hated the idea of having to report to Konzen’s Aunt for every little thing, especially when he thought of her as being that privileged priss-pot’s Aunt, that’s when it really fried him. He tried to remind himself over and over that she had really saved their bacon from complete disaster, and for the most part he sucked it up, kissed her manicured hand when she came for her visits, and was trying to be a ‘good boy.’ But at a deeper level it was a general insult to his considerable male pride, it was really beginning to grate on him, like a slow water torture that was making him more and more irritable. And who he really wanted to make suffer for it, even though he knew it wasn’t completely rational, was Sanzo. Besides, if Sanzo had cooperated in the first place, and not fought him every step of the way, his whole plan would have come out very differently. His stomach burned and his fists clenched as he thought about his growing urge to clip Konzen across that smug face of his, to ugly up his pretty for a few days, just once. No swords, no banishing guns or nyoibo’s or whirling sutras, just mano-a-mano, his fist to that smug asshole’s pristine jawline.

He asked the bartender to bring him his own pot of wine, and he quickly threw down a second and then third cup fairly quickly. He turned slightly to more closely survey the young blonde priest next to him. Kind of cute, in a dainty sort of way, his eyes more blue than violet, his hair more white than gold. He was much smilier than Konzen would ever be in a million lifetimes, with all those pearly white teeth, and what was the deal with those gloves, anyway? After the fourth cup of the potent baijiu burned through him, Hazel started looking better and better to Homura. Unfortunately his nice mellow buzz kept evaporating on him, brushed aside by resentful thoughts of all the things he would like to do to the other priest in revenge for his sabotage of his beautiful scheme. His wonderful plan to remake the universe would have come to fruition, if only that sanctimonious rat bastard asshole had gone along with the program.

“You know, you’re much nicer than some priests I know,” he said to Hazel, his voice deepening and taking on a slightly surly, yet sensual edge.

“Oh fuck, here we go again,” sighed Zenon. He grabbed his beer and headed over to join Gat for a competition dart game, not caring to hear Homura’s ‘Sanzo rant’ for the umpteenth time, nor to witness his pick-up routine, either - if that was where this was headed. Shien heaved a long-suffering sigh and signaled the bartender, quietly requesting a bottle of the best plum wine in the house – this evening was obviously going to require more than oolong tea to make it tolerable. He had never been able to drink wine until this incarnation, but for some reason recently he had acquired a taste for it. There were times, and this was one, where he was grateful for the slight muzziness that he could get from a few cups of good wine, when it muted his ennui, and dulled the annoyance he inevitably felt when bumping up too closely against the mundane and commonplace. He poured himself a cup, retrieved a book of Buddhist philosophy from the depths of his robes, and began to read quietly between sips.

Hazel brightened at Homura’s interest, and his voice went up several notes, his eyelids fluttering. “Oh, really? Have you met many priests ‘round these parts?” Anything to get a conversation going with this man.

“Pfffhhtt…” Homura snorted derisively. “Just one. But he’s given me enough trouble to last me a lifetime. And his friends are a royal fucking pain in my ass, too.” He looked up at Hazel, remembering he was also a man of the cloth. “Forgive my language, Bishop!”
Hazel laughed. “Oh no, no, it’s no problem. The priest I know is a right troublesome feller, too. And I get worried about the …companions he has chosen to travel with.” Hazel shook his head. “Ya know, I’m afraid they just might get the best of him one of these days.”

Homura laughed bitterly. “I can’t imagine anyone getting the best of this guy… His buddies are pretty tough, too. The last time I was here, they beat the shi… the sugar out of my friends here.” He waved his arm widely to indicate Shien and Zenon. Shien looked up and gave a small indulgent smile. Zenon and Gat’s game of darts was becoming more and more intense, having already moved the throwing line as far back as it could go against the wall of the bar, and trebled the stakes.

Hazel pressed a gloved hand against his chest in astonishment. “Mercy me! These gentlemen you travel with certainly look like they could take care of themselves against just ‘bout anybody. They must really be something, these fellas.”
Homura knocked back another glass of the baijiu, relishing the hot path it blazed through his middle on the way down, and eying the odd blue-eyed priest as he spoke. “Oh they’re something, alright. One of them… he’s really special. He could have come with us, and I could have taught him everything, I could have made him a fucking god…” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back to the mirror across from him where he saw the glimmer of his own gold eye reflected back at him. He remembered how badly he had wanted Goku to join them in their quest, and how much he would have loved to have been able to bring the Great Sage Equaling Heaven, his fellow heretic, to his full potential.
Hazel looked at Homura in confusion. “Excuse me, sir, did you say ‘make him a god’?”
Homura looked back at Hazel, startled, slightly mortified as he realized what he had said. “Ah… no! No… I said ‘make him awed’ – that was it – I, ah, meant I could make people be awed by him everywhere he went… But noooo, not the great Genjyo Sanzo. Sanzo had to keep him with him, Sanzo wouldn’t share…”

“Wait. Did you say ‘Sanzo’?” Hazel grabbed Homura’s arm and searched his bicolored eyes, now a bit watery for the excessive wine consumption, as he was nearly to the bottom of his second bottle.

“Hmm…? Yeah. Sanzo. Damn smug prissy-ass bastard. An’ he wouldn’t let Goku come with me at all… selfish prick,” Homura mumbled, leaning forward on his elbows on the bar, staring at his own reflection morosely.

As Hazel dissolved in peals of laughter, the dark-haired kami turned abruptly in his seat and looked at him like he had taken leave of his senses. The priest put his gloved hand on Homura’s shoulder comfortingly; there were still traces of laughter in his voice when he finally spoke.

“Well, I’ll be,”Hazel declared with a slight smile bowing his lips,”looks like we’ve both been tarred with the same brush, my friend.” The smile reached the bishop’s dancing azure eyes as he continued. “Lemme guess, them others he travels with – one of em’s got red hair and feelers like a bug, yes? And another one wears a spectacle on only one eye. Am I right?”

Homura’s eyes flew open wide. Processing this information was sobering him up far more than he wanted to. “You know them? And you have had problems with them, as well? Oh, and they say the Gods don’t have a sense of humor…” He didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or pump Hazel for information, or all of the above. It was such an incredibly odd, disorienting feeling to encounter someone else who had had dealings with the infamous Sanzo-party, and similarly unpleasant ones, at that, and yet at the same time it was strangely comforting, like finding a lost relative.

After taking another long drink of baijiu, Homura took a deep breath, and it all started to come spilling out of him in an irate rush. “Are they not they the most singularly exasperating group of people you have ever met in your whole life? They have driven me to the brink of insanity! Especially Sanzo – there just is no reasoning with the man! His ego, his arrogance, his closed mind… it’s completely and totally maddening!!”

Then it was Hazel’s turn to knock back a shot of whiskey, as he remembered all the frustrating conversations he had had with the priest - trying to get him to understand the danger he was in, traveling with those youkai friends; trying to get him to throw his lot in with Hazel and Gat, to see that they had common goals and could accomplish more together than apart. His teeth began to grind as he thought about Sanzo’s implacably smug expression, and how quick he was to curse Hazel and pull that puny little pistol of his when things weren’t going his way. He poured himself another shot of whiskey and downed it before he spoke, slamming the glass on the counter much harder than he meant to.

“Mercy, yes. Sometimes I just wanted to … God forgive me… smash… that smirking face of his, he’s so disagreeable!!”Hazel’s gloved finger idly traced the rim of the shot glass before settling around the base of the vessel. “And it’s a mite troublesome that a body’s gotta get through three others just ta simply have a word with the man! You’d think he was the… the Pope or something, the way they protect him! And it’s not like he’s ever struck me as a man who needed all that fussin’ over; or wanted it, for that matter.” Hazel shook his head, remembering how aggravating his encounters with the arrogant blonde cleric and those damned demons he traveled with had really been. Another shot of whiskey slid quickly down his throat. “And that ‘monkey’ of his… Why we had hogs back home with better table manners than that child, I tell ya!”

Homura snickered at the image. He did remember that Goku liked his victuals, so much so that it was almost his Achilles heel. But then he also knew that the kid was probably Sanzo’s Achilles heel – the one creature on the earth that he had unconditionally let himself care about, in his life as Sanzo, at least since his Master had died. It would have served him right if he had just kept the damn kid, back when he first caught Goku and tried to win him over. But noooooo, he had to be ‘Mister Nice God’, and give him back to Sanzo. Man, was that ever a monumental error in judgement!

They continued to consume whiskey and strong wine, and share stories of their thwarted dealings with the Sanzo party, and their specific personal grudges against each member of the Ikkou, most especially against one particularly rigid and arrogant pissy blonde priest, until well after midnight. Sometime before midnight Shien had become concerned that Homura had not had any food, and had the bartender send out for more than enough vegetarian ramen and steamed dumplings for both parties. It was a far cry from the rare steak Hazel had begun the evening dreaming about, but by that point he could have cared less.

When Shien offered food to his tall quiet counterpart in Hazel’s party and it was refused, he chalked it up to Zenon’s and Gat’s heated target competition. It had now progressed from darts to an all-out marksmanship battle between them with six-guns and banishing rifle in the alley outside the bar. They were shooting beer bottles off of a fence from the full length of the alley, over their shoulders, backwards. Shien had seen Zenon get into these “pissing contests” as he called them, before, usually when he was bored and drunk, but he noted with interest that the tall silent fellow had not had so much as a drop of water for the entire evening.

As the bartender was preparing to close up shop, the two parties were the only ones left in the bar, and Homura and Hazel were draped around each other, their foreheads pressed together. They were giggling like schoolgirls and engrossed in the occupation of making as many dirty limericks as they could ending in the word Sanzo (not many.)

To the good fortune of both parties, Shien had had the foresight earlier in the evening to check out the boarding house over the bar and arrange for sufficient rooms there to cover all eventualities. He had realized as the evening progressed that there was a high likelihood that Homura was either going to be in no shape to travel by the end of the evening, or that the priest and the heretic were going to want to share a room by night’s end, or both. If he were the sort to bet, Shien’s money would have been on both.

Shien settled the tab with the barkeep, along with a generous compensation for the damage Gat and Zenon had done before they had been encouraged to move their competition outside. He shepherded Homura and Hazel upstairs, summoning Zenon and Gat as they passed them on their way to the entrance to the boarding house, and handing each of the expert marksmen their keys. He followed Homura and Hazel dutifully until they were safely upstairs and handed them their keys, then stayed back a discreet distance while the two huddled together for several minutes of hesitant goodnights, whispered negotiations, and tentative touches. When they finally disappeared together into Homura’s room, Shien heaved a relieved sigh that his lord and master was safely ensconced for the night, and retired into his own room.

Thankfully, neither Homura nor Hazel would remember the clumsy, besotted carousing that took place after they first fell into the small room together that night. Some hours later after some fitful sleep, the small room’s inhabitants, somewhat less inebriated, greeted the dawn in a more passionate and less inept manner, afterwards falling back into a sound sleep that remained uninterrupted until many hours later when the noonday sun crept over the dingy café curtains. Homura’s surroundings (clearly not Konran Castle) and a rather stunning pain behind his left eye pointed out rather clearly the ‘where’ of his situation and ‘how’ he had gotten there. As the fog started to slowly clear, the ‘who’ and ‘why’ behind it all it all started to unfold behind his throbbing brow: the foreign priest, now long since quietly slipped away. The only vestiges of him left were a faint trace of the fragrance of sweet bourbon whiskey; lingering images of milky pale skin and sea blue eyes; and a nagging sense that there had been something that had bonded them beyond their lust-tangled limbs and alcohol-hazed brains. Something deeper … something they had both found and escaped with each other, at least for one night…

Sanzo…

The mere word was painful, causing a twisting knife of pain behind his eye. Of course. They had become a fucking victims’ support group, a virtual Sanzoholics Anonymous. He sat up on the edge of the bed, gently shaking his head, wishing he smoked so he could have some sort of bracing rush to clear the cobwebs he felt surrounding him at the moment. He would have welcomed another blazing cup of the baijiu to burn a hole through the clenched knot of anxious tension he felt just below his ribs. His mind churned through it all… turning it over, viewing it from all angles as best he could in his impaired state.

Well… shit. He’d certainly been through worse, and survived. If nothing else, he had learned he wasn’t the only one, right? There were probably lots of others out there like him, victims of the sadistic monk, who wanted to strangle the bastard just as badly as he did. Fuck, there were probably people all over Shangri-la who had similar tales of frustration and defeat at the hands of Sanzo and his nasty little cohorts. The goddamn arrogant bastard, it seemed he left a freaking trail. At any rate, it wasn’t just him- the other priest had proved that.

Grasping at that small straw like a life preserver, he rose and washed up in the cracked wash basin, and re-assembled his somewhat tattered dignity as best he could. At least the sex had been good, from what he could remember. Yeah, he could live with this. He’d had a good time - what the hell. He’d even made a clean getaway from the one-night-stand. The guy was gone, so there was none of that awkward “we’ll keep in touch” morning after stuff. Sure, this wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

Feeling like he might almost survive this latest ordeal, even learning to live with the persistent throbbing behind his left eye, Homura collected Shien and Zenon from their rooms upstairs. Zenon clapped him on the back good-naturedly, and teased his boss about ‘getting a little’ from the cute blonde foreigner. Shien shook his head indulgently and pretended to ignore them both, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

Homura was feeling better and better as they headed downstairs out of the boarding house – this was as close to ‘situation normal’ for the three of them as things had been since they came back from Tenkai. Maybe he was going to be able to make a go of this new arrangement after all. He had an optimistic smile on his face as they stepped out of the door of the boarding house into the street, taking a deep breath of the new day.

There right by the door, leaning on the front of the boarding house in a comfortable slouch, stood Kanzeon Bosatsu, the sun glinting off of her mirrored necklace, and her arms crossed lazily across her ample bosom.

“Morning, boys,” she drawled, grinning like a Cheshire cat with a fresh bowl of sweet cream. “Have a good night, Homura? Tell me, was Hazel gooood?” She drew out the last word, making it sound like one long leer.

Homura stood staring at her, his mouth gaping like a stunned fish, his head suddenly about to explode into a million brilliant little shards all over the sidewalk.

“You know, I just can’t wait to tell Konzen all about this one…” she smirked, raising an eyebrow and breaking into a soft, low laugh as she sauntered off down the street.

~owari~

Author's Note's:

Beta help from Epiphanytiff- many thanks!

This one is for ryukin_blue with love. The idea for it came from a conversation we had, and when I think of Hazel, there is nobody I think of more than Ryu.