Drinking With Punk Butterflies

The Merchant of Dreams (5250)

"No, you don't understand! I didn't mean to sell that dream and I need it back," A fierce pair of eyes regarded the Dream Buyer with something akin to humiliation mixed a little with hysteria, and the shifty creature wondered if it was a very bad thing to mistakenly piss off the newest granter of wishes. Swiping hurriedly at the sweat that had collected on his forehead, he really hoped not. The human-who-was-not-a-human proceeded to rage some more, shaking the Dream Buyer so hard by the lapels of his trim jacket, most of him went snapping back. "I need it returned right now."

The rather stumpy creature shook his head. "Ey, I can't Watanuki-han! You knows how we operate! Once the deals struck, there's no goin' back!"

Watanuki-han looked about ready to combust at the Dream Buyers reasonable explanation. Certainly he was pretty aware of how things went after an exchange - considering everything that Yuko had taught him - but give him a break, after a few months he was still a little rusty on the finer details of the open market. He still needed to flip through the shop manual...

Oh, what the hell was he thinking, anyway?! He needed that damn dream back!

"There has to be something…!" Grimacing, Watanuki let his fingers loosen infinitesimally on the creatures coat, leaving him to stumble back a couple feet before righting himself. The Buyer blinked once, slightly disgruntled, but at the sight of the young human's defeated expression was overcome by pity.

The creature scratched lightly at the back of his neck. "Look, I can at least tell you who I sold it to."

Watanuki looked up at that, pushing a tense hand through unruly strands of hair, a partially hopeful and despairing glint in his eye. The creature felt at once horrible for taking the dream on the premise of a technicality and even more for who he'd bartered it away to.

With a hard grip on the glowing balloons of his carefully raised dreams, the Buyer coughed once into his hand before letting the lightness of them drag him slowly upwards. Just before he reached the topmost point of the street lights, Watanuki-han looking up expectantly, he shouted down with a tinge of regret, "The Tengu! I think they were looking for a gag gift or something'!"

Though the creature felt horrible for the mix up, it was still incredibly amusing to watch the human who'd been chosen to replace one of the most indelible women of dimensions launch into a spastic seizure that left him writhing on the ground, shouting obscenities. The Dream Buyer surely wouldn't forget such an entertaining third meeting for quite a long time. After all, he never claimed really good dreams anymore.

At least until Watanuki-han.

"Why me?!" Self pity and utter embarrassment clogging his voice, Watanuki knocked his fists hard against the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, not even noticing the sudden solitude until a faint tug on his senses reminded him of the time. His doorway would close soon and of course, his day was no where near done. It wouldn't be done until he got that certain dream back.

"I can't even have a thought that's my own?! Argh, curse you Yuko!" Except he felt bad about the last and immediately recanted, noting the unhappy twist of depression curl in his gut as he finally climbed to his feet. He was in no position to be the keeper of anything, let alone a granter of wishes.

He couldn't even grant his own. Rubbing at the line that had formed between his eyebrows, Watanuki shuffled towards a fence with a missing slat, adjusting his button down before moving to wiggle between the tiny space. The end of his shirt had gotten caught - as he'd somehow expected - and of course ripped slightly when he'd squeezed the rest of the way through.

How had Yuko made the job seem so effortless and lazily simple? Most of her wardrobe had been patently ridiculous and yet she'd not caught one ruffled lace edged cuff, the hem of any silken kimono, or a single little butterfly hairclip on anything. What was his malfunction?

Sighing when he breathed in the clear evening air of his proper dimension, Watanuki slipped a finger through the hole in his shirt and scowled. He'd have to stitch it up once he got back to the shop. Then he'd have to decide on the best way to contact the Tengu Karasu and how exactly he was going to get them to trade for the balloon.

Maybe he should stop by the temple first and release a little pent up frustration on stupid Doumeki. It always seemed to make him feel better.

Besides, it was that bastard's damn fault he was in trouble in the first place.

---

---

He's sitting outside Doumeki's house, leaning slightly against the shoji of the other man's room. Little pink cherry blossoms flutter gently from the trees that line the temple grounds, twisting lazy patterns across his legs and the air, the scent tickling his nose. He's waiting, always waiting.

To be loved, to be saved, to be wanted, to be needed - he's not even sure anymore. Has convinced himself otherwise for so long he doesn't even notice the loneliness.

So he says he's fine.

The partition moves behind him and suddenly he's falling, falling onto something soft and a little cool. Doumeki's looking at him from above, face seemingly expressionless, but Watanuki's come to know those eyes, that mouth, nose, cheeks as well as the features he sees every morning in the mirror. The quirk of an eyebrow speaks volumes, the slight curve at the corner of his lips conveys a million things. When dark, thin eyes widen only slightly. Watanuki knows its just a dream, having become intimately acquainted with the quality and caliber of his innerscape over the last few years, but as he so rarely has a simple, un-convoluted dream he rides this one out with no question.

In fact actively involves himself in every aspect.

He likes knowing that a nudge here or there completely changes the tenor, the pacing, the direction. No words are needed, but because Doumeki looks a little confused, he smiles and throws some in anyway. He reaches up, smiling, and gently catches some of the fabric of Doumeki's collar, "I like your (Hakama), is it new?"

Those steady, steady eyes narrow and oddly Watanuki wonders if the heart in his sleeping body is beating as fast the one that lives in dreams. "I don't know. Its your dream." That deep monotone makes his senses react and he blinks, before shifting his hand from the material to Doumeki's chest. Right above his heart.

So powerful and heady and alive. Watanuki smiles again and gently kneads his palm into firm muscle, made strong by archery, an understated life and a good diet. He should know, he practically fed the guy everyday. "Is it?" he asks curiously, wondering if he's wrong and this dream's going to turn into one of those stupid hidden meaning ones.

He doesn't need to know anymore about Shizuka.

Not now anyway - he wants touch and feel, kisses. Dozens of them, because they never offer them to each other in real life. So he wraps his arms up under Doumeki's shoulders, holding tight as he presses his first kiss into a strong neck, swiping his tongue across a patch of skin that moves slightly with a thick swallow. He's needy and horny and after so long with only the companionship of a man who would eliminate any threat to his life, Watanuki feels its perfectly right to have him.

Even if its only in dreams.

"Touch me," he murmurs before his hands are back and slipping between the sides of Doumeki's shirt and his palms are pressed into taunt and naked skin. Burning hot like a furnace. He catches that strong jaw with his mouth, nipping, licking before he's at an expressionless mouth sucking on the man's bottom lip and tongue for all he's worth. Doumeki groans into him and its like someone flicks a switch.

It goes from tepid to boiling hot.

Suddenly Doumeki's touching him, hands streaking up and down his body, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. The break of contact irritates Watanuki but then his lips are back ravaging his mouth, neck. So hot and damp, the rapid puffs of breath make his skin prickle, until he shivers, aching.

Every touch electrifies, infected with an urgency that makes him burn. His fingers dig into the man's shoulder blades when his mouth begins to move down his chest, lapping harshly at his nipples, sucking. Fuck, Watanuki doesn't think something like that should feel as good as it does.

He's not sure exactly when he loses his pants, but Doumeki's palming his cock and he doesn't really care anymore. Calluses that are exactly how he imagines, rough and alternately smooth as he squeezes lightly, brushing the tip with his fingers. Watanuki growls, because its not quite enough and somehow too much when the other man begins to jerk him off slowly.

His chest is heaving and he's clutching himself closer, his hips unable to do anything except follow Doumeki's clever hand. He wants…he wants…

Shit, he doesn't know what he wants. Blinking, belatedly realizing he's not wearing glasses but can somehow see, Watanuki hopes like hell his dream lover knows what do. His body's too tightly wrung to figure it out. He's fucking Doumeki's fist now, breathing hard and too fast between slippery kisses.

His dick's so swollen just the man's abdominals rubbing against the head is making him twitch. Heels digging into the nonexistent floor, Watanuki wants to scream because even being this close isn't enough. He needs Doumeki inside him. Stretching him out, filling him up, until there's nothing left but air between them - and even then not much.

He tries to voice his desire, but all that comes out is a garbled homicide of proper language. Mostly it's just one long slutty moan. Opening dark, diluted eyes, Watanuki almost busts at the look on the other man's face - jaw clenched so tight he's probably chipped a molar, golden eyes glittering fiercely as he watches.

And watches. Its getting too hot and Watanuki feels dangerously on the verge of passing out. Then Doumeki's doing something with his hand, gripping him so tight he feels himself spill a bit too much, the tip of a finger ghosting down around his ass hole.

Then the friction stops and Watanuki wants to scream. "Say my name." A voice rumbles past his ear, making him tremble worse than he already was. He's hardly able to breath, let alone speak.

"Say it." The dark threat mixes intoxicatingly with an audible passion and leaves Watanuki little choice but to answer. Licking swollen lips, he presses his hips forward, moaning slightly when something long and hard brushes against his thigh. He doesn't want it against his thigh though, he wants it over and up, and up until he's able to taste their fucking its so deep.

He lets his eyes close a little and tilts his head back. So their gazes could meet - one gold, one blue, another gold and more, more gold.

Gasping, he pants, "Fuck me, Shizuka."

Watanuki's almost scared at the way Doumeki looks at him, so concentrated he wonders if this is how all those spirits and demons felt when they stared down the shaft of the man's arrow. Then he's not thinking anymore, because the hand is moving again, getting him off with a velocity that's fucking insane. Dragging his palm up and down the underside, sliding easy with all the precum.

It's funny he feels embarrassed actually, from how much was dripping out.

He's so close now, he knows the slightest nudge will send him right over the edge. Apparently Doumeki realizes it too, because his mouth is suddenly next to Watanuki's ear again, growling. "You're only going to get it when you come. So come for me, Kimihiro. I'll fuck you so hard when you do."

Yup, that did it, Watanuki thinks dizzily, before he's shooting his load into Doumeki's hand. Smearing it wetly on their stomachs.

He feels that wide, rough palm dipping into the mess and as he watches, entranced, slicks it up and down his own impressive length. Watanuki's fingers twitch with the desire to touch, maybe taste. Definitely lick, he imagines with a slight stutter to his breath.

Then Doumeki's mouth is smoothing hotly over his neck, thoroughly distracting him for a couple seconds. The sharp nip of teeth makes his dick happy all over again.

Right at that moment, Watanuki decides the best thing about dreams is the fact he only feels Doumeki's fingers slip inside him, just this side of full, curling and stroking until he's hit something that makes him see stars. It's so incredibly good his body just takes up the slack for his half retarded mind and begins pushing into that hand, fucking himself on the man's fingers.

When he starts whimpering enough to have the muscles beneath his palms tense, he's suddenly being shoved into a half folded, very awkward position. That in reality should hurt, but only makes Watanuki moan, throwing his head back when the other man pushes slowly inside him. Inch by delicious inch.

Huffing, Watanuki finds it isn't the length that's killing him - though quite considerable - it's how damn thick he was. Almost to the point of being too much, but so good teetering right on the edge. He takes another little bit and gasping, grips at his own hair as Doumeki finally slips himself all the way in.

Groaning, the man squeezes at the leg thrown over his shoulder, just as he pushes forward and abruptly pulls out, setting a viscous pace. Watanuki realizes, a little nervously, it wasn't just talk and Doumeki really meant to fuck the shit out of him.

Half choking on a pleasured sob, he digs his fingers into the floor as Doumeki slams into him again and again. And again. Folded into that incomprehensible position, Watanuki's completely overloaded by the dual sensation of watching the man's cock slide in, out and feeling it happen at the same time.

He stares, entranced at where they're connected. Watching Doumeki fuck him.

He's hard as a damn rock.

"Watanuki." Looking up, he's suddenly dizzy, all the blood in his body flowing close to the surface. The sound of Doumeki's balls slapping against his ass.

Spit pools in his mouth when he finds the man staring at him, hard glowing eyes studying his every twitch. Every gasp and move.

"Watanuki." He frowns and wraps his hand around the arm planted next to his waist. Doumeki picks up the pace, bouncing him hard against the floor. His stomach ratchets tighter and tighter with every thrust and he's sure if he doesn't get a grip, he's going to bust first. Again.

"Watanuki…!"

Moaning, he closes his eyes, arches his neck somehow. "Don't call me that!"

"Watanuki, get up!"

---

---

The humiliating part had been waking up to that stupid fuzzy Mokona and trying to explain why his sheets were wet. As well as the reason why he'd been moaning Doumeki's name - which wasn't a safe thing to do at any time, even if securely ensconced in his room, in the depths of the shop.

How was he ever going to talk himself out of the tight corner that damn dream balloon had gotten him into?

Marching briskly down the sidewalk, a spring wind plucking listlessly at his hair, Watanuki just wanted to wish the stupid thing out of existence. Doumeki better be awake, because somebody was going to listen to him bitch about it.

He sighed gustily at the sudden and familiar prick to his senses that came from behind, readily picking up his pace. Even though his spirit attracting abilities were dulled now, it was still rather dangerous for him to be out and about after dark, but considering the value of what he was searching for - well, he was willing to be potential demon food.

When what was following him decided to gurgle like a leaking drain and move faster, Watanuki rubbed furiously at his face before diving into a sprint. The blocks sped by in a shadow drenched blur, and oddly enough, it felt almost normal. A return to how it'd been before…everything.

Yuko, Doumeki. Himawari. Rain sprites and spirits, the meaning of names, the power of words. Giving eyes, giving blood. Independence. Co dependence. Dreams.

The list went on. Leaping over an upturned trash can, he felt the irritating quiet that proceeded the gate to Doumeki's temple, and shot his hand out, dragging it along the rough stone.

The presence abruptly faded, dispersing behind him like it never existed in the first place.

Panting a little, he huddled over, resting his hand on his knee, the other still clutching tiredly at the wall. It really had been a while since he'd run for it that fast. To be honest, not since he'd begun hanging around Doumeki - or Doumeki started hanging around him. He wasn't really sure anymore.

Rubbing at a stitch in his side, Watanuki made his way towards the temple, the sakura trees bare boned and sinuously twisted on the edge of the path. Except for one, nearest the main house. He smiled vaguely at the beautiful priestess who floated there, content with running her fingers through the blossoms and passing her endless existence in peace.

He wondered if his afterlife would be quite as uneventful.

Certainly his present wasn't so calm and along with his new duties, trying to hunt down a stupid dream balloon was really grating on his last nerve. Scowling, he shuffled to a stop outside the main house, specifically the partition he knew led inside to Doumeki's room.

'Kimihiro…'

It irritated him when his face burned, recalling the way the other man growled his name, whispering through dreams. His body started to feel a little warm all over.

"Oi. Why are you standing outside my room?"

Jumping slightly, Wantanuki whipped around, a nice, loud diatribe ready on his lips. "Did I need a particular reason, dumbass?! And you shouldn't sneak up on people like that!"

Doumeki just stood there for a moment, slowly lifting an eyebrow. He was clutching a broom in his fist. "Ah. I just figured you finally came around to confess."

Going along with the joke, considering the last few years they'd known each other, Watanuki smirked slyly and planted his hands on his hips. "Please. The great Watanuki-sama would never deign to give his affection to the likes of you."

With a noncommittal grunt, Doumeki moved towards the shoji, sliding it open before he disappeared inside. Watanuki rolled his eyes and took this as his signal to follow, as always despairing over the man's complete lack of etiquette. Practically a social retard.

He stepped into the room behind him, smoothly toeing off his shoes. One of those other patterns that wasn't as familiar or comfortable as running away from ghosts, but ultimately a great deal more enjoyable. Smothering a snicker, he had to wonder what Doumeki would think if he knew he rated better than a 'severe annoyance' in Watanuki's book.

His big dumb jaw would probably drop.

Hmph…Friends. Such a strange sounding word when compared with Doumeki, yet somehow not enough to describe their relationship. Along with inheriting the shop it seemed Watanuki had inherited some sense of Yuko's 'Hitsuzen' and fate's utter inevitability, leaving him unsure of where he stood with the man.

So most of the time they danced around each other, and any possible issue. It was getting pretty annoying, actually.

Bored, he folded himself onto the floor and watched as Doumeki puttered innocuously around the room. It was such a sparse place with only the essentials, and because of that, ridiculously telling about the person who lived there. Watanuki let his eyes settle on a lone photograph that hung on the wall in a simple, silver frame.

He couldn't help smiling.

Redirecting his attention, he waited while Doumeki disappeared to put the broom away, returning a moment later with a suspicious bottle of amber liquid. He gave it a taunting little swish.

It was Watanuki's turn to lift an eyebrow. "Trying to get me drunk already? Really Doumeki, what would your girlfriend say?"

The man scowled slightly, though on anyone else it would've been little more than a mouth twitch. "We aren't seeing each other anymore."

Watanuki tried not to grin with pleasure at the idea of Yoko-chan out on her skinny ass. Score one for him, he mused delightedly, before crawling over onto Doumeki's futon. The sheets were still a bit messed from that morning.

With considerably lightened spirits, Watanuki adjusted his glasses and looked up, waiting impatiently for the other man to get on with it. "Well, then I guess we'll just have to drink to bachelor-hood and poor, poor Yoko-chan."

If Doumeki noticed anything amiss about his comment, he didn't say.

"Mm. She made terrible bento."

Since Watanuki could afford to be charitable, he kept his mouth from twitching too much and snapped his fingers for the other man to sit down. "Well, we can't all be four star chefs, moron. I'm sure she tried her best," Doumeki plopped with little poise on the other end of the futon, opening the bottle, "which you probably gave her zero credit for."

Grunting, the other man smirked. "I'm spoiled."

Watanuki thought it tactful Doumeki ignored the slight reddening of his cheeks at the compliment. The bottle was held out politely. He was a little surprised by that of course, but accepted it nonetheless.

Taking a neat sip, Watanuki swallowed, blinking. He glanced at the label and made an appreciative sound of pleasure. "Now where did you get something like this?"

As inscrutable as ever, Doumeki welcomed the bottle back with a much longer drink. "The usual. Gifts from visitors."

Watanuki hummed in response. Side tracking a little, he had to wonder what Doumeki really thought about his sudden, and strange visits - more often lately at night. You'd think, as a friend, he'd be curious about Watanuki's out of the ordinary behavior, but the man said nothing.

He wasn't sure if he was glad or not.

"Something scare you on the way home?" Watanuki narrowed his eyes, recanting his former thought and admitting yes, he preferred it better when the stupid moron didn't butt his big fat nose in. He hadn't been pursued by spirits in such a long while, it was actually embarrassing to own up to any…fear.

He glared and held out his hand for the bottle. It was passed along without further comment.

He took a bigger swallow this time, enjoying the smooth numbness that settled in his mouth, down his throat. It tasted faintly of cloves.

Glancing vaguely at the bottle, Watanuki wished he'd thought to slip a baggie in his pants of Yuko's personal store of weed, the stuff she'd kept stashed in an old box he found in one of her many, many closets. It'd gotten him to bed on more than a couple occasions. To be honest, he had a feeling Doumeki wouldn't be as averse to trying it as his athletic nature seemed.

As he finally got around to the posed question, Watanuki took another small drink before handing it over. "It's just…been awhile. You're blood's usually a deterrent, if not the feel of my more…supernatural ties. The attraction is diluted so much with other things, most of them wander right on past me. You -" he started a little, realizing he was saying perhaps more than he'd intended, but the rapid pulls of alcohol were starting to kick in and he wasn't feeling particularly worried anymore.

"Me." Doumeki pressed flatly, still nursing his sip.

Watanuki rubbed stupidly at his forehead. "You leave something behind on my body. It's weird. But it's strong, I guess. Better than the wards I usually paint on myself, and less likely to smudge." Chuckling at his admittedly poor humor, Watanuki fiddled with the hole in his shirt some more. He wouldn't mention the one ward he'd had the girls permanently tattoo on the back of his shoulder.

It was between Yuko and him alone.

Doumeki blinked, passed back the bottle. "Ah."

Watanuki found himself slightly frustrated with that one word reply. It wasn't even comprehensible language. "What the hell does that mean anyway?! 'Ah?'"

Blinking, Doumeki shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

Watanuki cursed under his breath as he threw back another sip. "I don't know why I even bother hanging out with you. You're like the worst drinking partner ever."

"Like you have any one else to drink with."

Scowling, Watanuki practically threw the bottle back at his sometimes friend. "You're not the only person I know, you know."

Doumeki easily snatched the liquor before it hit him or spilled across the floor. Staring at it, he scraped some of the label off. "Yeah, but I'm the only person you'll drink with."

Wiggling his toes, Watanuki settled back on his hands planted behind him and pursed his lips. He absolutely hated it when the bastard was right. "Maybe…Okay, probably because you're the only person lately I can stand for long periods of time. Upside, you make everything so blessedly quiet when you're around." He shifted uncomfortably at the over share and rubbed at his face again.

It was good stuff, but it was making him more stupidly honest by the second.

Doumeki said nothing for a moment, only took another long pull, before looking up and catching his gaze as he handed back the bottle. It made Watanuki flush hotly, reminded of his dream - those bright tiger eyes on him, watching, always watching.

Shit, if he wasn't careful he'd get a boner right in the middle of drinking with the jerk.

"-I'm needed."

You most certainly are, Watanuki thought drunkenly, before the lack of words caught up with the man's rapid lip movements. Doumeki certainly had a nice pair, the bottom just a little bit fuller than the top, but maybe it was more important Watanuki come up with an answer, or at least make comment on what was said than wax poetic about his friend's mouth.

"What?" he asked dumbly, recalling much too late he hadn't eaten a lot today and Doumeki's really fine liquor was doing him up the ass right quick. Snorting out a giggle, he nixed the last hyperbole, figuring 'Doumeki' and 'up the ass' shouldn't be together in the same sentence at the current junction.

It would just give him ideas. Shit, he was so damn horny.

"I said it's nice to know I'm needed."

Clearing his throat and quickly averting his eyes, Watanuki only took a small swallow before he clumsily placed the bottle on the floor. There was only about a third of it left and since he knew for a fact Doumeki ate well everyday, he figured the rest could go to his big gut for the night.

Watanuki was already well into seeing double. He suddenly felt a big palm pat his leg companionably and had to do some fast/slow thinking to make sure the twitch in his pants didn't grow into something else. Blinking, he rolled over and tried to crawl off the futon with a groan.

It would probably be a good idea if he started back for the shop now - the girls and Mokona had to be pretty worried.

"Oi. What the hell are you doing?"

At the moment, Watanuki was a little too dizzy to answer and move forward at the same time so he settled for stopping in his crawl and peering over his shoulder. Two Doumeki's stared back at him - damn what could he do with two Doumeki's?

Actually he better not think about it, because any more blood so close to the surface of his skin and he was going to pass out on the futon. Shaking his head ever so slowly, he smiled, even though his face was almost smooshed into the sheets and his ass was practically up in the air.

Thankfully the other man seemed to overlook it. "I'm…going to crawl home. Not that you need to know…really." he fumbled with the words, before trying very slowly to do the opposite and climb to his feet. He would never crawl out of Doumeki's house.

He'd crawl once he reached the street.

A heavy sigh followed his struggle to disentangle himself from the sheets on the futon, before a very clear 'idiot' proceeded his abrupt trip to a standing position. The room spun brightly for a second and when he came too, he felt a hard arm around his waist as he stumbled clumsy out of the temple.

It took him quite a bit longer to figure out Doumeki was walking his drunk ass home.

"I told you," he slurred as they continued down the street, scowling because he couldn't talk the way he wanted to, "I can crawl home on my own! I don't need some dumbass to walk me."

"Ah."

Growling at his most hated non-word and getting stupidly angry, Watanuki hauled back with his other arm that wasn't clinging to his friend/once rival's shoulder and let his fist fly. He missed by four feet and drunkenly trying to overcompensate for the momentum dragged them both onto the pavement.

"Ouch!"

"Shit."

Staring up at the over white stars, Watanuki supposed being drunk had its own advantages - including the fact he hardly felt his head crack against the ground and Doumeki's weight settled so much nicer across his body when it was actually happening. Incredibly nice, really.

"You really are a fucking idiot, Watanuki." the words were rough and slightly annoyed from somewhere above him, because he couldn't get his head together enough to look away from the stars and find the other man's face.

Perhaps, he was an idiot.

The rest of his drunken stumble home was uneventful, aside from the fact he was positive Doumeki had given directions to Mokona and the girls not to let him leave until the next morning - nor to drink anymore, either. Like he was some unruly child. He'd been living alone and caring for himself almost all his life, thank you very much.

He could damn well drink if he felt like it.

Except he didn't want to drink anymore and promptly passed out across his futon, Mokona perched comfortably on his back. Watanuki vaguely heard the girls shuffle around for a light blanket and a glass of water in case he woke up thirsty - which he usually did after a late night.

His dreams, thankfully, were quiet for the most part. The Tengu could be dealt with in the morning.

Love

AN - I know…it's odd. But different from the other series I'm working on, and I like it b/c it's in the original universe. Umm, next chapter, hangovers, trying to contact the Tengu, and dealing with another strange customer. Juliet's Lament. Sorry about the semi lemon there, it was a plot starter. Lolz, reviews make the world go round.

Pretty please with whipped frosting on top?