A/N: Disclaimer: Saiyuki isn't mine. Nor is Will and Grace - I stole the idea from it, yeah, I'm sorry. Not really.
I'd like to welcome you to a not-entirely-serious-at-times AU fic. Here, Sanzo is seventeen, Gonou is seventeen, Goku is about sixteen, Kanan is alive, and Gojyo's got an interesting occupation. I can't reveal that just yet. Basically, the story revolves around Sanzo, Gonou, and Gojyo, as a series of events brings them together in an unexpected way. I haven't read a fic like this and I'm surprised nobody else ever thought up the idea.
Warnings: Language, minor violence (to show up in later chapters), episode spoilers (as if that wasn't obvious - Hakkai's Gonou for this, for pete's sake!), underage smoking (oops...), other shades of illegality - but hey, this is Saiyuki!
Pairings: I can't reveal the main one just yet because I love a good surprise; but if you want a clue, think to episode 7. A little anemia never hurt. The others are your standard blink-and-miss 3x9, 5x8, but only if you -really- want to see them. (they may either fade or become more prominent, depending on my mood as this thing progresses)
Enough of that, if you even read this. I'll explain the title later, but if you want to take a guess now go ahead - I'm curious to see who knows their wild west history. Reviews welcomed ^.^ tell me if I suck!
***
"Oi, Sanzo, wait a minute, will you?"
Sanzo blinked lazily and kept walking, refusing to acknowledge the call. She caught up with him anyway; she always did.
Her cheeks were flushed with the frigid air and the pretty rosiness that always made her face glow. Her hair, burnished copper curls fresh like fire against the snow-laden landscape, wrapped itself about her neck, a surrogate scarf. She grinned at him when he refused to look down at her, knowing he could tell.
"You never wait," she said jovially, just another part of the conversation. As that statement faded into silence, she launched into an account of everything she'd seen since she last spoke to him. The stream was steady, high-pitched, and utterly inane. He let her talk because it was too much work to shut her up.
As she droned on about useless things, gossiping happily like any well-adjusted teenage girl, Sanzo thought to himself, wondering what excuse he could make to sneak over to Gonou's instead of heading home. He shuffled his backpack on his shoulder, drew a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket, and lit up.
His companion let out an indignant squeal. "Sanzo, those are going to -kill- you!"
He shrugged, holding the fag at his side so the smoke blew away from her. "Let them." He exhaled so his own clean breath looked like smoke against the air. "Oi, Lirin..."
"Mm?" She stumbled a little, her bare legs uncomfortably exposed in this weather. She put her brightly-mittened hands out for balance, catching at Sanzo's sleeve until her numb legs steadied under her.
He shrugged her off. "Stop off at my place and send word in I'm going to the library." He glanced down sideways at her, one eyebrow quirked. She grinned at him and nodded, her curls bouncing emphatically. She knew his code words well enough.
Breaking away from Lirin at the next corner, Sanzo was left to walk by himself. He knew the way to the Cho household by heart, having gone there more often than anywhere else to wile away empty afternoons and find solace on painful nights.
Cho Gonou was not what society would call Sanzo's "type of people." But they got along well enough. Gonou's parents died shortly after his birth and he was transferred from orphanage to orphanage, scraping out his own education as he went. He got accepted into Sanzo's private school because of his exemplary mind and incredible determination. He befriended Sanzo merely because he never did anything to disturb him. His almost apologetic manner and easy smile made him easy to tread all over. And yet, he mattered enough that Sanzo wouldn't.
When Sanzo made his way down Gonou's block, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a flimsy, school-issued thing, and quickened his pace. Gonou had one neighbor that often stared at Sanzo when he walked by. He hated that man's face, the blatant amusement on his cold features. He didn't even spare a glance to the house, heading instead for Gonou's stoop and the solace it promised.
He knocked, wincing at the pain that shot down his frozen fingers upon impact, and waited for the door to open.
When it did, a sweet-faced young woman smiled at him in weary recognition. "Hello, Sanzo," she greeted, ushering him inside and taking his backpack from him.
He kicked off his wet shoes as she called, "Gonou! Guess who's in?" Distractedly, she grabbed the two pencils that had before been shoved behind her ear at the same time she scooped a rather hyperactive white pug into her arms. The pug, called Hakuryuu, grinned at Sanzo as his tongue lolled out of thick, black lips. His bright, auburn eyes focused on him and his little curled tail wagged. He launched himself out of the arms that held him and Sanzo was forced to catch the little pug before he cracked his skull on the hardwood.
Hakuryuu licked the end of Sanzo's nose, exhaling hot puppy breath into his face. He grimaced and held the dog away, causing it to squirm in its attempts to get back at his face. A pair of hands removed the pug from Sanzo's arms, accompanied with a pleasant laugh.
"I'm here, Kanan." He pecked her on the cheek, adding, "You ought to take a break from studying so hard."
Kanan smiled wearily. "When I'm done with school, you'll do enough studying for the both of us. But I'm getting a better job for you if it kills me."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Setting Hakuryuu back on the ground, Gonou rubbed Kanan's shoulder. "Don't push yourself too hard. I'm not too bad at helping out." He smiled at her and she smiled back, though it was tired. She excused herself and retired to the kitchen and her spread of books over the counter.
Gonou smiled after her. "I'm not worth her, really." He glanced over to Sanzo and said, "What can I do for you?"
Sanzo chewed his bottom lip. He really didn't know. He just didn't want to go back...there. Ever since he'd come to live with his aunt, he'd been unused to the opulence she provided. Without anyone familiar around, the house was too huge, too lavish, too empty. It was an aloneness past loneliness that Sanzo didn't really want to be in.
Gonou saved him. "I think you've got some clothes here, if you're sick of the uniform," he suggested, motioning to the ice crystals slowly melting from the hems of Sanzo's tan slacks.
He nodded mutely and climbed the stairs, slipping into Gonou's room. It was a small place, like the rest of the house, and inside of it he had crammed his essence, so there was no doubt that this was his niche. He shrugged out of his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and pulled on some ratty jeans and one of Gonou's button-up shirts. He never left clothes at Gonou's, but they were there for him all the same.
When Gonou had been accepted to private school, he had no family. He was going to become a ward of the state, when Kanan came to him. Sanzo was fuzzy on the details, but she had taken him in as her own and given him a home. As a result, she was forced to work two jobs to support the two of them. Gonou brought in his own money by tutoring some students, but they were by no means well off.
"Can you believe she's taking early-morning classes now, too?"
Sanzo turned and, running his hand through his hair, found Gonou leaning in the doorframe.
"She wants to get a better job so she's only got to have one. Waitressing and bartending are getting hard on her." He smiled a little and added, "You'll have to hang those up unless you want to walk to the Laundromat."
Sanzo shrugged and went to the bathroom, tossing his pants, shirt, and jacket over the towel rack.
"Maybe I should stop coming here," he said.
Gonou cocked his head. "Afraid of imposing upon us? What brought this on after three years?" He laughed, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt. His clear, green eyes shone under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. "We like you to come. I'd worry if you stopped."
Sanzo nodded. And that was it.
*
When Sanzo left, some hours later, Gonou offered to drive him home.
"If that were the point, I would have hitched a ride with you here in the first place."
Gonou nodded, waved, and said, "I've always got to ask." He shut Sanzo outside with that, returning to the warmth of the kitchen to help Kanan prepare their dinner.
Sanzo glanced over at Gonou's car, a deathtrap he repaired with his own hands after salvaging it from the scrap heap. Even if he had wanted to get home quickly, he would have preferred running to that thing. It really wasn't so far to his own home, and his uniform was warm over him, fresh from the radiator in the bathroom. He didn't know how long he'd been out, didn't care how long, but he knew asking Kanan to feed him as well as Gonou and herself was too much. They were a small solace that he couldn't afford to offend or exploit.
As he passed the house that sent a shiver down his spine, the porch light flicked on. The proprietor stood there, slim and feral, watching him walk by. He grinned when Sanzo made eye contact, but did nothing to step off the stoop. "See you tomorrow," he said softly, just on the edge of Sanzo's hearing, but the phrase sent his gut plummeting to his knees. His fists shook in suppressed rage, but he kept walking, his backpack over his shoulders a heavy reminder of where he was supposed to be. He steadied his pace as he came into the area where the houses were further apart, sprawling over lots that grew continually larger until he came to the gate he was trained to see as his own.
He buzzed himself into the compound, ticking off the code with pale, slim fingers and sliding through the gate as soon as it opened. He knew the security cameras followed him, but was used to the feeling. After four years, they just didn't bother him like they used to.
When the front doors were opened for him, a young servant came to his side. "Sir, I passed Miss Lirin's message on to your aunt. She expects you to dinner now that you're in."
Sanzo frowned down at the boy, a security guard-cum-butler in training by the name of Son Goku, and said, "I'm not hungry." Before the boy could recover from his clipped tone, he got himself to the stairwell that led to his room. The house was dark, but his legs knew the steps and he got into his room with only a minor scrape with the newest marble statue to grace the second landing of the stairs.
Unlike Gonou's room, there were very few hints of Sanzo's personality in this place. Someone else made the bed every day, the laundry was taken out every week, and the floors were vacuumed on alternate days. Having so many people go in and out of his room left him disinclined to reveal more about himself than they should have to endeavor to find out on their own.
A soft, mannered knock came just as he dropped his backpack on the floor. "She insists you come down, sir," Goku said, his voice muffled by the door. Sanzo frowned and tossed his discarded jacket onto his bed. "There's an important matter she wants to discuss."
Sanzo yanked the door open and found his collarbone half in Goku's open mouth. "Fine," he muttered, shoving past the boy and tromping down the stairs. Absently, he loosened his collar and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.
The house itself was one of the largest in the set of lots of the area. Sanzo's personal stairwell led to his room and a bathroom, and four other separate ones led to bedrooms or offices, each with either bathrooms or balconies or both. The downstairs was an open space with each room leading into another and another, from a foyer to a den to a recreational facility equipped with two billiard tables and better hardware than most arcades. From there, a fully stocked bar joined the rec room with the back porch complete with a pool, a spa, and a barbecue pit. If at the foyer one took a right instead of a left turn, a second den greeted them, and that led to a dining room and a kitchen. The kitchen connected to the porch on the far side of the barbecue pit, so the house was an effective circle. The floors were marble or hardwood, never carpet, so Sanzo's socked feet were tense to keep a purchase on the polish. This was a house for entertaining, not for raising a child.
Sanzo had been thirteen when his parents died, victims of a bank robbery gone horribly wrong when the driver of the getaway car decided to get drunk and then wondered what his buddies were taking so long for. The sedan plowed through the front of the building, effectively flattening both of his parents as they emptied their pockets. The gun pointed at his father's head before the crash went off in the holder's hand, blowing his face into fragments. So mauled was Sanzo's father that he had to be identified by his dental records and DNA. His mother died before the paramedics even arrived. Sanzo had been at school at the time, a large public establishment just like everyone else.
When he got home, he was swept into the arms of a woman he hardly recognized that professed to be his aunt. Lawyers whipped the will in and out of his vision; he dimly remembered signing something. This aunt happened to have a grandfather that made an insane amount of money in the Stock Market, pulled it out a few months before Black Tuesday in 1929, and sat on his fortune as if it didn't exist, living middle-class in a time where there were only the extremely poor and the unfathomably rich. As he put it in banks that were increasingly more reliable, avoiding the Stock Market, not wanting to risk his luck running out, the interest collected. And such interest exploded, leaving at least three generations' worth of wealth at the time of his death. Suddenly, this was at Sanzo's fingertips. Within reason.
He padded into the second den, noting the lack of food-smell that should be emanating from the dining room. The space was open, walled on one side by paneled windows with prism edges to create rainbows when the sun shined, and warmed by twin fireplaces. They provided the only light aside from starlight and the quarter moon. He found her on the sofa. She had grown two heads.
"Who's that?" Sanzo asked as he took a seat on the raised hearth of one of the fireplaces. The fire came close enough to make him uncomfortably warm, but he did not move. The light behind him left his face in comparable shadow.
From his position, he could see her perfectly. Her thick, dark hair was pulled into a tail at the back of her head, though the tendrils that framed her widow's peak and hung about her ears were steel gray at the roots. Her bright, cold eyes were derisively wizened, though she did everything in her power to keep the rest of her face looking as youthful as possible. She smiled at him, a familiar quirk on her painted lips. She found her nephew amusing more often than not. Sanzo was used to her looks, but something about her was different. She was acting more affectionate than she had been in nearly four years.
The person on the couch with her was a dark-skinned man. He grinned lazily at Sanzo, scarlet eyes glinting in the firelight as his young, lean fingers tangled with hers. A jeweled ring glinted from his middle finger, shining like liquid in the clarity of the specimens upon it. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than Sanzo himself, who had just recently turned seventeen that November.
"Sanzo, this is Sha Gojyo."
I'd like to welcome you to a not-entirely-serious-at-times AU fic. Here, Sanzo is seventeen, Gonou is seventeen, Goku is about sixteen, Kanan is alive, and Gojyo's got an interesting occupation. I can't reveal that just yet. Basically, the story revolves around Sanzo, Gonou, and Gojyo, as a series of events brings them together in an unexpected way. I haven't read a fic like this and I'm surprised nobody else ever thought up the idea.
Warnings: Language, minor violence (to show up in later chapters), episode spoilers (as if that wasn't obvious - Hakkai's Gonou for this, for pete's sake!), underage smoking (oops...), other shades of illegality - but hey, this is Saiyuki!
Pairings: I can't reveal the main one just yet because I love a good surprise; but if you want a clue, think to episode 7. A little anemia never hurt. The others are your standard blink-and-miss 3x9, 5x8, but only if you -really- want to see them. (they may either fade or become more prominent, depending on my mood as this thing progresses)
Enough of that, if you even read this. I'll explain the title later, but if you want to take a guess now go ahead - I'm curious to see who knows their wild west history. Reviews welcomed ^.^ tell me if I suck!
***
"Oi, Sanzo, wait a minute, will you?"
Sanzo blinked lazily and kept walking, refusing to acknowledge the call. She caught up with him anyway; she always did.
Her cheeks were flushed with the frigid air and the pretty rosiness that always made her face glow. Her hair, burnished copper curls fresh like fire against the snow-laden landscape, wrapped itself about her neck, a surrogate scarf. She grinned at him when he refused to look down at her, knowing he could tell.
"You never wait," she said jovially, just another part of the conversation. As that statement faded into silence, she launched into an account of everything she'd seen since she last spoke to him. The stream was steady, high-pitched, and utterly inane. He let her talk because it was too much work to shut her up.
As she droned on about useless things, gossiping happily like any well-adjusted teenage girl, Sanzo thought to himself, wondering what excuse he could make to sneak over to Gonou's instead of heading home. He shuffled his backpack on his shoulder, drew a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket, and lit up.
His companion let out an indignant squeal. "Sanzo, those are going to -kill- you!"
He shrugged, holding the fag at his side so the smoke blew away from her. "Let them." He exhaled so his own clean breath looked like smoke against the air. "Oi, Lirin..."
"Mm?" She stumbled a little, her bare legs uncomfortably exposed in this weather. She put her brightly-mittened hands out for balance, catching at Sanzo's sleeve until her numb legs steadied under her.
He shrugged her off. "Stop off at my place and send word in I'm going to the library." He glanced down sideways at her, one eyebrow quirked. She grinned at him and nodded, her curls bouncing emphatically. She knew his code words well enough.
Breaking away from Lirin at the next corner, Sanzo was left to walk by himself. He knew the way to the Cho household by heart, having gone there more often than anywhere else to wile away empty afternoons and find solace on painful nights.
Cho Gonou was not what society would call Sanzo's "type of people." But they got along well enough. Gonou's parents died shortly after his birth and he was transferred from orphanage to orphanage, scraping out his own education as he went. He got accepted into Sanzo's private school because of his exemplary mind and incredible determination. He befriended Sanzo merely because he never did anything to disturb him. His almost apologetic manner and easy smile made him easy to tread all over. And yet, he mattered enough that Sanzo wouldn't.
When Sanzo made his way down Gonou's block, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a flimsy, school-issued thing, and quickened his pace. Gonou had one neighbor that often stared at Sanzo when he walked by. He hated that man's face, the blatant amusement on his cold features. He didn't even spare a glance to the house, heading instead for Gonou's stoop and the solace it promised.
He knocked, wincing at the pain that shot down his frozen fingers upon impact, and waited for the door to open.
When it did, a sweet-faced young woman smiled at him in weary recognition. "Hello, Sanzo," she greeted, ushering him inside and taking his backpack from him.
He kicked off his wet shoes as she called, "Gonou! Guess who's in?" Distractedly, she grabbed the two pencils that had before been shoved behind her ear at the same time she scooped a rather hyperactive white pug into her arms. The pug, called Hakuryuu, grinned at Sanzo as his tongue lolled out of thick, black lips. His bright, auburn eyes focused on him and his little curled tail wagged. He launched himself out of the arms that held him and Sanzo was forced to catch the little pug before he cracked his skull on the hardwood.
Hakuryuu licked the end of Sanzo's nose, exhaling hot puppy breath into his face. He grimaced and held the dog away, causing it to squirm in its attempts to get back at his face. A pair of hands removed the pug from Sanzo's arms, accompanied with a pleasant laugh.
"I'm here, Kanan." He pecked her on the cheek, adding, "You ought to take a break from studying so hard."
Kanan smiled wearily. "When I'm done with school, you'll do enough studying for the both of us. But I'm getting a better job for you if it kills me."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Setting Hakuryuu back on the ground, Gonou rubbed Kanan's shoulder. "Don't push yourself too hard. I'm not too bad at helping out." He smiled at her and she smiled back, though it was tired. She excused herself and retired to the kitchen and her spread of books over the counter.
Gonou smiled after her. "I'm not worth her, really." He glanced over to Sanzo and said, "What can I do for you?"
Sanzo chewed his bottom lip. He really didn't know. He just didn't want to go back...there. Ever since he'd come to live with his aunt, he'd been unused to the opulence she provided. Without anyone familiar around, the house was too huge, too lavish, too empty. It was an aloneness past loneliness that Sanzo didn't really want to be in.
Gonou saved him. "I think you've got some clothes here, if you're sick of the uniform," he suggested, motioning to the ice crystals slowly melting from the hems of Sanzo's tan slacks.
He nodded mutely and climbed the stairs, slipping into Gonou's room. It was a small place, like the rest of the house, and inside of it he had crammed his essence, so there was no doubt that this was his niche. He shrugged out of his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and pulled on some ratty jeans and one of Gonou's button-up shirts. He never left clothes at Gonou's, but they were there for him all the same.
When Gonou had been accepted to private school, he had no family. He was going to become a ward of the state, when Kanan came to him. Sanzo was fuzzy on the details, but she had taken him in as her own and given him a home. As a result, she was forced to work two jobs to support the two of them. Gonou brought in his own money by tutoring some students, but they were by no means well off.
"Can you believe she's taking early-morning classes now, too?"
Sanzo turned and, running his hand through his hair, found Gonou leaning in the doorframe.
"She wants to get a better job so she's only got to have one. Waitressing and bartending are getting hard on her." He smiled a little and added, "You'll have to hang those up unless you want to walk to the Laundromat."
Sanzo shrugged and went to the bathroom, tossing his pants, shirt, and jacket over the towel rack.
"Maybe I should stop coming here," he said.
Gonou cocked his head. "Afraid of imposing upon us? What brought this on after three years?" He laughed, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt. His clear, green eyes shone under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. "We like you to come. I'd worry if you stopped."
Sanzo nodded. And that was it.
*
When Sanzo left, some hours later, Gonou offered to drive him home.
"If that were the point, I would have hitched a ride with you here in the first place."
Gonou nodded, waved, and said, "I've always got to ask." He shut Sanzo outside with that, returning to the warmth of the kitchen to help Kanan prepare their dinner.
Sanzo glanced over at Gonou's car, a deathtrap he repaired with his own hands after salvaging it from the scrap heap. Even if he had wanted to get home quickly, he would have preferred running to that thing. It really wasn't so far to his own home, and his uniform was warm over him, fresh from the radiator in the bathroom. He didn't know how long he'd been out, didn't care how long, but he knew asking Kanan to feed him as well as Gonou and herself was too much. They were a small solace that he couldn't afford to offend or exploit.
As he passed the house that sent a shiver down his spine, the porch light flicked on. The proprietor stood there, slim and feral, watching him walk by. He grinned when Sanzo made eye contact, but did nothing to step off the stoop. "See you tomorrow," he said softly, just on the edge of Sanzo's hearing, but the phrase sent his gut plummeting to his knees. His fists shook in suppressed rage, but he kept walking, his backpack over his shoulders a heavy reminder of where he was supposed to be. He steadied his pace as he came into the area where the houses were further apart, sprawling over lots that grew continually larger until he came to the gate he was trained to see as his own.
He buzzed himself into the compound, ticking off the code with pale, slim fingers and sliding through the gate as soon as it opened. He knew the security cameras followed him, but was used to the feeling. After four years, they just didn't bother him like they used to.
When the front doors were opened for him, a young servant came to his side. "Sir, I passed Miss Lirin's message on to your aunt. She expects you to dinner now that you're in."
Sanzo frowned down at the boy, a security guard-cum-butler in training by the name of Son Goku, and said, "I'm not hungry." Before the boy could recover from his clipped tone, he got himself to the stairwell that led to his room. The house was dark, but his legs knew the steps and he got into his room with only a minor scrape with the newest marble statue to grace the second landing of the stairs.
Unlike Gonou's room, there were very few hints of Sanzo's personality in this place. Someone else made the bed every day, the laundry was taken out every week, and the floors were vacuumed on alternate days. Having so many people go in and out of his room left him disinclined to reveal more about himself than they should have to endeavor to find out on their own.
A soft, mannered knock came just as he dropped his backpack on the floor. "She insists you come down, sir," Goku said, his voice muffled by the door. Sanzo frowned and tossed his discarded jacket onto his bed. "There's an important matter she wants to discuss."
Sanzo yanked the door open and found his collarbone half in Goku's open mouth. "Fine," he muttered, shoving past the boy and tromping down the stairs. Absently, he loosened his collar and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows.
The house itself was one of the largest in the set of lots of the area. Sanzo's personal stairwell led to his room and a bathroom, and four other separate ones led to bedrooms or offices, each with either bathrooms or balconies or both. The downstairs was an open space with each room leading into another and another, from a foyer to a den to a recreational facility equipped with two billiard tables and better hardware than most arcades. From there, a fully stocked bar joined the rec room with the back porch complete with a pool, a spa, and a barbecue pit. If at the foyer one took a right instead of a left turn, a second den greeted them, and that led to a dining room and a kitchen. The kitchen connected to the porch on the far side of the barbecue pit, so the house was an effective circle. The floors were marble or hardwood, never carpet, so Sanzo's socked feet were tense to keep a purchase on the polish. This was a house for entertaining, not for raising a child.
Sanzo had been thirteen when his parents died, victims of a bank robbery gone horribly wrong when the driver of the getaway car decided to get drunk and then wondered what his buddies were taking so long for. The sedan plowed through the front of the building, effectively flattening both of his parents as they emptied their pockets. The gun pointed at his father's head before the crash went off in the holder's hand, blowing his face into fragments. So mauled was Sanzo's father that he had to be identified by his dental records and DNA. His mother died before the paramedics even arrived. Sanzo had been at school at the time, a large public establishment just like everyone else.
When he got home, he was swept into the arms of a woman he hardly recognized that professed to be his aunt. Lawyers whipped the will in and out of his vision; he dimly remembered signing something. This aunt happened to have a grandfather that made an insane amount of money in the Stock Market, pulled it out a few months before Black Tuesday in 1929, and sat on his fortune as if it didn't exist, living middle-class in a time where there were only the extremely poor and the unfathomably rich. As he put it in banks that were increasingly more reliable, avoiding the Stock Market, not wanting to risk his luck running out, the interest collected. And such interest exploded, leaving at least three generations' worth of wealth at the time of his death. Suddenly, this was at Sanzo's fingertips. Within reason.
He padded into the second den, noting the lack of food-smell that should be emanating from the dining room. The space was open, walled on one side by paneled windows with prism edges to create rainbows when the sun shined, and warmed by twin fireplaces. They provided the only light aside from starlight and the quarter moon. He found her on the sofa. She had grown two heads.
"Who's that?" Sanzo asked as he took a seat on the raised hearth of one of the fireplaces. The fire came close enough to make him uncomfortably warm, but he did not move. The light behind him left his face in comparable shadow.
From his position, he could see her perfectly. Her thick, dark hair was pulled into a tail at the back of her head, though the tendrils that framed her widow's peak and hung about her ears were steel gray at the roots. Her bright, cold eyes were derisively wizened, though she did everything in her power to keep the rest of her face looking as youthful as possible. She smiled at him, a familiar quirk on her painted lips. She found her nephew amusing more often than not. Sanzo was used to her looks, but something about her was different. She was acting more affectionate than she had been in nearly four years.
The person on the couch with her was a dark-skinned man. He grinned lazily at Sanzo, scarlet eyes glinting in the firelight as his young, lean fingers tangled with hers. A jeweled ring glinted from his middle finger, shining like liquid in the clarity of the specimens upon it. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than Sanzo himself, who had just recently turned seventeen that November.
"Sanzo, this is Sha Gojyo."