Wow, I won't lie- I never expected to write another YuYu Hakusho piece again. I haven't written for it in years. But the thing about me is that when a fandom gets as near-and-dear to my heart as YYH, it always manages to come around again. Truth is, I've been wanting to write this little thing for ages- I dug out an outline for it and got an urge to finish it. Just a silly idea I had once, spawned by my personal belief that nobody, not even "The Beautiful Suzuki" would voluntarily fight in a tournament full of bloodthirsty demons wearing a clown suit. I was also rather intent on seeing how much snarky humor I could cram into one piece. It occurred to me while I was writing this that I was using the American terminology for nearly everything, which I absolutely never used to do. I think it's because I've been away from anime for so long- I'm not used to all the Japanese, so for me now, the way it came out sounded good. Go figure.

Warnings: Slashy references (how can I not, with these two?) and mild cursing

Disclaimer: YYH not mine, never was.

Enjoy!

On Egos, Ambitions, and Multicolored Fabric

"Oh, now that is absolutely ghastly." Shishiwakamaru remarked as he stared down the imposing monster of shimmery, rainbow-colored fabric. He found himself wishing for the first time in his surprisingly long life that the Makai had more clothing stores. Maybe if it did, they might actually be able to find something wearable by someone with a shred of dignity. The Dark Tournament- the opportunity of a lifetime for him and the rest of Team Uraotogi- was just days away, and Suzuki had dragged him away from his training with the pitiful excuse that he had nothing to wear for the fights that was worthy of his incredible beauty. And Shishiwakamaru had never hated himself more for being unable to refuse the vain idiot anything, and had allowed himself to be coaxed into coming along. It wasn't as though he cared about clothing- his were all traditional warrior garb that had been passed down to him anyways- but really! Why were passable demon duds so damn difficult to find?

Rolling his eyes, he admitted to himself that Suzuki wasn't exactly making this useless outing any easier. Everything was 'it takes away from my gorgeous looks' or 'it makes me look fat' or whatever it was that he was so concerned about. It seemed there was no pleasing him, and Shishi had just about had all he could take for one day. Sighing irritably, he retuned his attention to the multicolored monstrosity that was a flamboyant clown suit with bold checkers on it that he had fished out of the clearance rack. He held it out to the other man, griping, "I don't know where the hell these idiots find their merchandise."

Quirking an eyebrow, Suzuki nonchalantly waved off the colorful mass, replying a little condescendingly, "Oh, Shishiwaka… You are awfully beautiful, but you just don't have a way with clothing like I do." He struck a pose that made Shishi snort with laughter. "I could make even that look good."

Shishi blinked, an idea hurriedly spinning itself together in his mind, and he blurted out, "Well, why don't you?"

"…What?"

He smirked, extracting the tangled, frilly legs of the costume from the rest of the clothing on the rack, and repeated with the air of someone back-talking the school bully, "If you honestly think you could make this ridiculous thing look good, then why don't you prove it?" He balled up the polyester and nylon abomination and tossed it to Suzuki.

The blond man just stood there, confused. The large wad of fabric caught him soundly in the stomach, and he bent to pick it up, shooting his friend a dubious look.

Still smirking, Shishi elaborated with a hint of exasperation, "I dare you to wear that," he indicated the rainbow heap in Suzuki's arms, "to fight in the Dark Tournament." His smile widened at Suzuki's expression of skeptical disbelief, revealing sharp, white fangs, and he went on, "In fact, why don't you go around announcing yourself as 'The Beautiful Suzuki' to the entire goddamn world instead of just those of us you're dead-set on annoying to death? If you're that sure you're so stunning, then it should be no problem."

Suzuki could just feel it- he was letting himself get roped into another ego-trap…but the vain, proud half of his brain was screeching at him to boldly take the other demon up on his challenge, just to prove he could. The woefully tiny logical portion of his brain was informing him that he was absolutely insane, though, and he found himself asking warily, "Aaaaaand, what if I say 'hell no'?"

Shishi's smirk had grown so wide that his mouth seemed to be in danger of stretching its way off his face altogether. "Then you sleep on the couch for the next two hundred years."

"You're a cheeky little bastard, you know that?" he laughed, holding up the multicolored nightmare against his front experimentally and glancing at his reflection in the spotted full-length mirror on the back of the door. "You know what? I'll take you up on that. We'll see if you're laughing when the entire stadium is cheering for 'The Beautiful Suzuki', because I've won the highest honor of the Dark Tournament and still made this look fabulous."

Shishi snorted. "I assure you, I will be, if they're actually yelling that."

Scowling a bit and tucking the suit under his arm, Suzuki stalked over to his indigo-haired friend and brought his face within an inch of the other's. "But if the punishment for wimping out is that severe, Shishiwaka, I'd better get a hell of a reward for actually doing it.

Shishi turned slightly pink, but only murmured, "We will rule the world, you and I…"

"'Course we will," Suzuki chuckled, swaggering over to the dusty counter and digging around in his pockets. After a minute, he swore under his breath and held out a couple of small, tarnished silver coins to the green-skinned, ratty-looking shopkeeper. "This is all I've got on me."

Shaking his bald head, the shopkeeper pushed his hand away, saying in a rasping, gravelly voice, "Gods no, just take the damned thing." He eyed Suzuki in what appeared to be a mixture of admiration and pity for what he obviously perceived to be the other man's insanity. "You got any idea how long I a-been trying to git rid of it? I never met nobody who'd-a buy the thing before."

Suzuki blinked. "…Oh." He handed the refused money off to a bemused Shishi and nodded his head to the shopkeeper. "Well, thank you, then."

"No problem," grunted the grubby-looking demon. "Just don't be a-telling anybody where you got it from."

On his way out the door, the flamboyant blond man turned back, flashing the shopkeeper a cocky grin. "Take a good look at our faces," he said, indicating Shishi and himself, then pointing to the tiny, battered TV set that sat on the counter next to the rusting cash register. "You might be seeing them on there soon."

Laughing uproariously, the two demons shut the door in the scaly-green face of the bewildered shopkeeper and set off down the dusty and crowded street, Shishi supporting himself through his laughing fits by hanging off Suzuki's shoulder and his friend still carrying the bundle of frilly, multicolored fabric under one arm. Staring eyes followed them the whole way, which they would have normally enjoyed immensely, but…

"Shoo! Shoo! Get off, you stupid little creatures!" Shishi shouted, waving his arms wildly in an attempt to stave off the small swarm of baseball-sized, winged eyeballs that flapped annoyingly around his head.

At this point, Suzuki was laughing so hard that hears had begun to leak from the corners of his eyes. "Look, Shishiwaka, you've got yourself some fans!"

"I usually prefer that my fans have limbs, thanks." The indigo-haired demon's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You! It's rude to stare!" he snapped suddenly, snatching one of the fluttering eyeballs out of the air and squeezing it in one clawed hand. The unfortunate creature squeaked and beat its tiny, leathery wings frantically as the fingers tightened and tightened until it finally burst with an awful squelching noise, showering the two friends in foul-smelling slime. Alarmed, the other eyeball creatures cleared off immediately.

Shishi smirked smugly and wiped a splatter of goo from his pale cheek with the back of his hand- as disgusting as that had been, he felt an undeniable satisfaction. "One of the few aspects of Ningenkai I can appreciate," he grumbled, "is that the worst they get is mosquitoes."

"Indeed," Suzuki agreed, looking mildly nauseated.

"A little senseless mutilation once in a while does do wonders for stress, though," the samurai mused. "Shall we be going, then?"

The blond-haired man shrugged his shoulders. "Where do we have to be?"

"Training to be famous and rule the world," Shishi replied without missing a beat.

"Oh, please," Suzuki snorted conceitedly, "I already have everything I need to be king of the world. Incredible power and talent, stunning good looks, a killer wardrobe…" At this, he again unrolled the flamboyant costume and made to show it off by pressing it to his front, careful not to let the frilled cuffs at the bottoms of the legs drag in the mud and filth of the Makai street. He flicked his eyes over to Shishi, who was chuckling and shaking his head, and finished, "…and of course, a beautiful queen. Every king needs one of those." Batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly, he got down on one knee, extending a hand to his friend and inquiring, "Will you be my queen, beautiful?"

"I will do no such thing," Shishi scoffed briskly, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, the nerve of that…that clown! "I may be pretty, but I'm hardly a woman. Now get up, you're getting dirt on your pants." Grasping Suzuki's still-outstretched hand, he pulled with a surprising amount of strength for such skinny arms and hoisted the other to his feet. "How do you get off making me into the woman here, anyways?" he asked irritably, twirling a lock of indigo hair around his finger disdainfully. "I don't wear makeup, I certainly don't cook-"

"You clean."

"Only because you don't," he snapped, which was undeniably true- Suzuki's inventing obsession had long since refused to be contained in any of his tiny, makeshift workshops and always somehow managed to spread all over wherever they happened to be living, but he had never shown much interest in doing anything about the clutter. Shishi shot him a glare that was only half-serious. "I'm getting rather sick of walking into the bedroom and being bombarded with…with…multicolored smoke and half-finished junk!"

Suzuki only smirked infuriatingly. "You know, Shishiwaka, if you're trying to prove you aren't the woman here, mentioning our bedroom probably wasn't the smartest way to go."

"Suzuki!" the long-haired demon exclaimed, his cheeks turning pink. For a fraction of a second, his pupils contracted into tiny black specks and his canine teeth seemed to flash, but no horns appeared, and after a moment he was back to just looking pretty and composed and mildly embarrassed. "What have I told you about talking about that in public?"

Suzuki continued to look obnoxiously smug. "What public?"

Shishi's eyes darted around the filthy stretch of street they had ended up on. It was deserted. He pursed his lips. "Still. It's a matter of principle." Snickering discreetly, he pointed at the mass of poofy, rainbow-colored material still tucked under the other demon's arm. "Besides, I'm not the one who's about to go fight in the Dark Martial Arts Tournament in a clown suit."

"Shut up! Oh, I'll show you, Shishiwakamaru!"

Shishi only laughed harder. This tournament would be interesting indeed.

End

As always, feedback is much appreciated!