A/N: Hey guys, another update. If you're holding your breath for Edo II, I'm working on it, but it's far more difficult than Trading. So hold on and I'll get there as soon as I can. In the mean time, I'm sorry for the crappy quality of this fic. It hasn't been edited and I don't have the same concentration ability as before. I'm so busy all the time now…Enjoy, I hope.
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Trading Spaces 10, Half truths
Tsukiono Omi was scared. Not just any sort of scared, mind you. He was properly scared. The kind of fear one feels before he's about to be viciously murdered and then eaten. Perhaps not even in that order. All before becoming a member of the undead legion, no less. His helplessness with Hakkai's trademark fighting style was not helping him to feel any better. Especially every time someone else from his party leapt in front of him haphazardly to prevent him from falling into just such a fate as the one he currently feared. Although upon reflection, Omi supposed that he was only assuming he'd rise as a member of the undead. Countless horror movies seemed to agree. If he lived through this, the youth swore he was never sitting through another horror flick, ever again. It wasn't worth the two hours of having his arm wrapped around some female's shoulders – no matter what Yohji said. And anyways, he usually wound up with a numb arm and an empty bed for his efforts.
A large, drooling, extremely nasty-looking demon shattered his thought pattern, nearly taking his head off before an exhilarated looking Goku came flying by to do the reverse honors. Omi squeaked as the decapitated demon head rolled to a stop at his feet, leering up at him…well...evilly. He side-stepped the bit of flesh with extreme care, trying hard not to step in other unmentionables littering the floor from the battle raging around him. This was terrible. The youth cast his desperate glance about one last time for some sort of weapon. Kritiker had taught him to use hand to hand, but when it came right down to it, these demons were coming too quickly or strongly for Omi to even consider taking them on without a weapon. Not to mention how suspicious that would look to the rest of the Sanzo-ikkou. He had a feeling he would have a hard time explaining his widely-varied fighting skills to anyone else who happened not to know he was an assassin. Wielding a gun was common. He still was having trouble believing that Yohji had slipped enough to use razor wire in broad-daylight. Omi was neither young enough nor jaded enough to claim any previous, seedy life, no offense to Yohji. . And even then, Yohji was only lucky that the Sanzo-ikkou likely didn't know what sorts of things were believable for such a life. Which really, didn't include having an expert and varied knowledge on the uses of razor-wire in battle. Although Omi couldn't help but wonder, given the nature of their counter-parts' lives, if the hiding of Weiss' nightlife wasn't an exercise in futility.
Dodging a flying arm, sans-owner as it sailed over his head, Omi spotted something glinting silver in the light. He hoped fervently that it wasn't a pistol, as he had learned early on that any pistol that didn't pack whatever the hell Sanzo's was packing was just not worth the effort. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that he should have heeded earlier instincts when they'd first come to a rolling stop in this awful town and the jeep they'd been riding in had vanished with a poof, like a magician's side-show act. Instead, he was now in the thick of a battle he'd never envisioned in his worst nightmares.
Certainly, Weiss had taken down their share of demons – demons which bore human flesh and identities. But none of them had been supernatural-- er, for the most part anyways, and certainly none of them had threatened the ingestion of Weiss. Although there was that one weirdo….Omi shook the thought from his head and reached out to wrap his fingers around the hilt of a small dagger. Excellent! He thought, as he scrabbled around, finding it's brothers. Well, now he was in business.
Casually, the youth sat back on his haunches and surveyed his surroundings, scouting-out any possible hiding spots. Finding the veranda of a nearby building overlooking the battlefield to be unoccupied, he scaled the wall with relative ease to the second story and rolled over the railing fluidly. Crouching down, he scooted to peer out between the railing gaps and took careful aim.
There. Something creeping up on Sanzo as the monk fired rapidly in all directions, cursing angrily, cigarette dangling neglected between his lips. Omi aimed and raised his arm. The dagger spun forward gracefully from his fingertips, forming a perfect circle as it arched end over end before coming to an abrupt halt in the throat of the beast. The demon clutched at the dagger with both hands before falling back lifelessly. Sanzo blinked in surprise and followed the line of the weapon back up to Omi's hiding spot. The youth did his best to wave airily beneath the suspicious glower the monk was leveling on him. Then the rush was upon Sanzo once more and Omi turned his mind to the task at hand, taking care to aim for points of deadly vulnerability, in order to ensure the demise of his victims. If you were aiming to kill someone, it was best to be sure they were dead the first time.
It was some time later that the small group found themselves standing in the aftermath of battle. Omi cautiously crept over the veranda railing, but his moment of ninja-like ability was ruined when he lost his fragile purchase on the side of the brick building and tumbled into a cart below with a rather unmanly squeal. He heard Gojyo burst into laughter from somewhere above him. Sanzo, however, was having none of it. He stormed over to the former cart and hauled Omi up from its ruins viciously by the shirt front.
"You", he growled, bringing them nose to nose, "are going to explain this ability you and your companions seem to have with weapons, and combat, against all logical sense." Omi gulped.
"Um, can't this wait until we're someplace…more comfortable?" he mumbled. Snazo snorted, but was prevented from commenting by Goku's loud, lamenting wail for food suddenly. With a grunt, he released the emerald green linen of Omi's shirt-front.
"Fine then. Let's find ourselves a damned inn and have a little discussion. " he growled. Omi swallowed even harder than before as Gojyo snorted and cracked his knuckles in the background.
"Sounds good to me." He agreed. Omi had no choice but to follow, his brain working frantically for a solution to his current predicament. One that didn't include running for the hills.
Tsukiyono Omi was scared.
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It didn't take Hakkai long to realize that something was up with these people. They were walking on eggs around him and he couldn't fathom why. If there was anybody to be cautious around, it was Sanzo, and not himself.
But still, Yohji hadn't left his side all day. And surprisingly enough, Aya hadn't come looking for him, even though the lanky playboy was obviously skipping out on work. Hakkai knew enough about the silent red-head to know that that in and of itself was significant. He also couldn't get into Omi's computer. Not for lack of trying, when he'd had the chance, but the machine was password-locked and Hakkai had no inkling as to what that password might be.
Yohji's presence wasn't helping matters. The playboy seemed to sit a little too close, stand a little too near, and talk a little too huskily to be considered polite. The healer supposed this was likely a part of the dark-haired man's personality, but being the recipient of the slightly uncomfortable contact made thinking clearly on that front a bit difficult for Hakkai. As a result, all of his good-natured plans for investigating had flown out the window. He wondered desperately if Yohji was going to give him five minutes' peace so he could get his head back on straight. That he needed space from Yohji to get his head back on in the first place was telling of a problem that Hakkai was as un-yet willing to tackle. One that frightened him beyond any dirty secrets that Yohji and the others might be concealing.
Yohji sauntered over suddenly, and flopped down beside him on the bed before the TV, handing him a bowl of popcorn casually.
"With extra butter, of course." he grinned, crossing his legs and reaching across Hakkai's lap to dig into the bowl. Hakkai felt a faint blush tint his cheeks.
"Ahh. That sounds most unhealthy Yohji. " he muttered, feeling out-of-sorts. Yohji only shrugged.
"Hey man. You only live once. And sometimes you don't even get a long run, so you might as well do-up what ya got." he replied, digging in again. Hakkai shrugged in helpless response and moved the bowl to the bed between them, gingerly brushing across the top of its contents and pulling a few kernels into his fingers. They tasted heavy and greasy, but somehow the salty, buttery taste soothed his nerves. They sat in an awkward silence for a moment; awkward at least, for Hakkai anyways, when a sudden knock at the door interrupted their…bonding. Yohji's head snapped-up sharply, the good-natured, casual demeanor taking on a slight edge. It reminded Hakkai of a predator's behavior, when threatened.
"Yohji." the door opened to reveal Ken. The brunet looked uncomfortably in his direction for a moment, before fidgeting and proceeding with his purpose. "Manx is here. She wants to see you. She's waiting downstairs." he looked back to Hakkai and bobbed his head a little. "Er…sorry to interrupt and everything, but she can be kind of…umm… demanding." he offered by way of apology before ducking back out. Beside him, Yohji heaved a great sigh and tangled his fingers in his hair, the bottoms of his palms pressing into his eye-sockets.
"Oh man." he breathed. "I did not need this…" Hakkai tried to smile at him reassuringly, but somehow the idea of Yohji catering to a demanding mistress annoyed him more than he wanted to think about.
"An angry lover?" he asked instead, his tone full of dry humor. Beside him, Yohji burst into raucous laughter, rolling over on his side. Hakkai was startled into silence at the unexpected response.
"Hah…sorry, n-no, I'd say more like demanding. " he replied between gasps. He didn't add that Manx was in no way his lover, despite many, many attempts at achieving the like. At some point it had lost its gravity and become a playful game of sorts; a means of lightening the tension usually hovering in the air. "Hopefully I'll be right back. Don't eat all the popcorn!" he called over his shoulder, getting up and tossing Hakkai a merry wave. The healer sat heavily in the silence that followed the door-slamming. It was odd; he always wished for a moment of peace, the silence to just reflect, but now that he had it, the room just seemed empty. At least , he thought, I can maybe do some considerable investigation before he gets back. Rolling to his feet, that was exactly what the brunet set out to do.
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It was sometime into the night when Hakkai awoke to the sound of someone staggering down the hall outside his door. He was leaning over Omi's keyboard, and he stared at the letters blearily, trying to regain his wits. He'd fallen asleep in his quest to unlock some of Omi's memories, apparently.
He had been frustrated after what seemed like hours of poking through and running his hands over everything in the small flat, trying to trigger a memory flood that just wasn't coming. He wondered why it had been so easy for Sanzo and Gojyo, and so difficult for him. Finally, he'd settled himself at the computer, convinced the secrets he was searching for lay within. But he still hadn't gotten past the password block, and he hadn't unearthed anything that had been even close to the possible answers. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack. While blindfolded.
He winced when he touched his cheek gingerly and felt the raised texture that indicated he'd likely been snoozing directly on the keys. The password hadn't been unlocked for his efforts, or the marks on his face.
The thumping started again out in the hall, and Hakkai shoved himself up slowly, unused to the smaller, more compact frame he now bore. He staggered as a result of the over-effort, and righted himself against the wall as he made his way to the door. In the short distance he reached it, he was much more awake. Which turned out to be a good thing, as when he opened the door, Yohji came plummeting through it and into his startled arms
Hakkai blinked for a moment at the man hanging off his arms before his brain kicked in and kindly informed him that he did not currently have the fore-arm strength to bear Yohji's wiry, lanky frame. The muscles in his arms seemed to loosen suddenly, and he was unable to prevent Yohji's body from slumping ungracefully to the floor. Taking a brief moment to glower at the skinny arms still held out before him, and wishing that he had his own body to take care of things, he followed Yohji, kneeling beside the prone man.
"Yohji? Are you alright?" he began tentatively. A groan was his only answer, and Yohji struggled slowly to sit up, holding a hand to his head. Hakkai helped him as best he could, wondering if Yohji had gotten drunk. Given the last experience he'd had with the playboy, this was not an uncommon occurrence. And then Yohji lifted his head, and stared at him with a bleary, uncomprehending expression. Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. His cheek was bruised.
"Nnngh….Chibi?" he mumbled, his forehead dropping into Hakkai's chest. Hakkai's arms wrapped around him without thought.
"Yohji?" he breathed. The playboy didn't bother looking up.
"Hey…well…sorry t'…bug ya…kid…Gotta…a…a injury needs'mmedieate…'tension. 'At's what Aya said. N' you know….Aya…." Hakkai frowned thoughtfully, having the feeling that he was about to trip into the heart of the matter that the Sanzo-ikkou was worried about.
"Er…well…I suppose I do." He replied non-committaly. Yohji grunted, and placed his hands on Hakkai's shoulders, levering himself up clumsily.
"Well yeah. Anyway, kiddo. I think I'm gonna need some help. Sorry t' wake y' up so late…" he drawled clumsily. Hakkai's frown deepened into one of concern. How much blood had Yohji lost? Or was it a concussion? Placing a hand against Yohji's chest to brace him, he peered into hazed emerald eyes gravely. Yohji stared back unflinchingly. "…Hakkai?" he mumbled after a moment. Hakkai nodded slowly.
"Yes. How many fingers do you see Yohji?" he asked softly, fanning three out before the man's eyes. Yohji squinted and then winced beneath a visible headache. He moaned and put a hand to his head, his head falling onto his chest.
"I can't count that high." he muttered. Hakkai frowned once more. This was no good. It looked like a serious concussion.
"Hmmm….let's get you to bed Yohji." he replied gently. Yohji nodded and they rose together with considerable effort. Hakkai stumbled the entire way back to the bed beneath Yohji's weight, but he didn't complain. He found himself wishing again for his own body, complete with his healing skills. He would have been able to immediately detect what was wrong with Yohji, and likely fix it. Or at the very least, accelerate its healing. The fact that Yohji was not in a hospital or at a doctor's was a bit telling. He managed to get the lanky man onto the bed and in a lying position rather ungracefully, but at least he managed it. It was then he became aware that a concussion was the least of his worries.
Yohji had come to him, or Omi rather, apparently needing stitches. Many of them, it looked like. In various areas. It was also at this point Hakkai realized Yohji had exchanged his outfit for a black leather ensemble during the course of the evening. It somehow didn't strike him as a dating outfit either. The expanse of would-be creamy skin exposed by the midriff shirt was covered in blood; most of it Yohji's own Hakkai suspected. These were serious wounds. Not the sort a guy earned from getting into a bar fight. The picture coming together was beginning to make sense. After-all, if the Sanzo-ikkou were warriors, why wouldn't their counter-parts be in a modern sort of way?
Yohji moaned again, shaking Hakkai from his thoughts, and he rose quickly, kicking into action in search of some clean cloths and hot water. Obtaining both in rapid succession, he knelt back at the bedside and gingerly began patting at the mess on the playboy's stomach. Yohji flinched and tried to double up immediately, but it only took Hakkai's hand against his collar bone to keep him from curling away. The healer flinched himself, in sympathy.
It was going to be a long night, and likely morning, it seemed.
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"Wait wait—so let me get this straight; you're trying to tell me that weapons practice goes along with flower arranging in Japan? No way! I ain't buyin' pal." Gojyo crossed his arms decisively over his chest and glowered at Omi suspiciously. Along with everyone else in the room. They were resting at an abandoned inn, eating rations they'd prepared in the empty kitchen. Omi swallowed and sighed. So far, his small half-truth was not working.
"It's the truth." he muttered. "Haven't you ever heard of samurai?" Gojyo looked at him like he was crazy. Goku looked interested in the way he always looked interested about something that could potentially lead to a satisfied stomach.
"Izzat some kinda vegetable?" he asked enthusiastically. Sanzo took a moment to look extremely put-upon before slamming the monkey on the head with his infamous harrisen. The moment ended with Goku rubbing his head in annoyance and glowering up at the irate monk from the floor.
"OW! What the hell was that for?" he growled.
"For asking stupid questions, damn stupid monkey! Keep your mouth shut!" Omi's moment of reprieve ended as Sanzo turned his full, angry attention back to Omi's face.
"What is this samurai?" he grunted, lighting up what had to have been his tenth cigarette within the hour. Omi sighed heavily. At least this was partly the truth. With the exception that Weiss was perhaps more of a mercenary ilk, at odds with everything the Samurai stood for. It was ironic, that they still followed the traditional fighting styles in some way, and the significance of their day jobs as florists was not lost on him. Killing the wicked indeed. Taking a deep breath, he put on a humble face.
"In Japan, Samurai are a class of warriors that follow a specific code, which dictates their lifestyle. It is thought that arranging flowers in harmony with one's natural surroundings is a way to attune oneself with the natural way of things, thus becoming a great warrior. Samurai did many things to bring themselves into focus on the natural way of things, in order to become better, more competent warriors. " Omi finished his ramble with a deep breath and a shrug of his shoulders.
" So wait – you're telling me that you believe you can be good warriors by arranging flowers?" Gojyo started laughing. "That is some of the lamest shit I've ever heard!" he yelled between guffaws.
"And yet, his aim was impeccable this afternoon in battle. And Yohji and Aya both , as I understand it, were no slouches in the fighting department either." The quiet of Sanzo's voice brooked ill for Omi. The youth squirmed nervously for the hundredth time that hour. "Why would you need to be good warriors, unless you had a reason to be fighting? The skills you have displayed are not combat for form; they are combat for battle. They are skills one would only see as a result of actual combat on a regular basis. You showed no cowardice in your attacks, Omi." Omi swallowed, wondering if he shouldn't be contemplating an attempt at escape once again. From his corner, Gojyo sighed heavily and stepped forward.
"Look kid. We aren't holding your skill in battle against you. We aren't trying to judge you for whatever sorts of personal endeavors you may be on. We're just trying to look out for ourselves, and that includes investigating all possible threats." the half-breed muttered. Omi sighed in turn.
"Look. I-We're not a threat." Not yet anyways they weren't. Omi fully intended to go on the defensive if Sanzo's group got out of hand. Although how well that would work-out for Weiss remained to be seen. "We aren't out to hurt anyone here. In fact, I'm not sure that there wouldn't be awful consequences for either of us if our counterparts were harmed. I can't tell you why we've got the skills we have. It's different from what you do, I can tell you that much. We just want to figure out what's going on and fix it without complicating or endangering anyone."
It was Sanzo's turn to sigh heavily. "The kid's got a point. We can't know the consequences of these fucked-up parings until something happens. So far everything's gone as smooth as something like this could possibly go, but we don't know in the long run what would happen under graver circumstances. The question now is how to go from here." the monk inhaled sharply, finishing off the rest of his cigarette. Goku shook his head.
"Wait, why can't you tell us? I hate secrets!" he grumbled. Sanzo glared him into silence. Omi shrugged.
"Because I can't. It's in my own best interest not to." he replied. Sanzo narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. If Omi was right, and he had a feeling the youth was, then they were safe for the time being from any potential attacks from their counter parts. His gut told him that if this had been an attack, the enemy would have already struck when he and Ran, or Aya or whoever the hell that guy was, had switched bodies. Gojyo snorted.
"So what now?"
"The pieces are set. We have no choice but to play out to the end." Sanzo replied.
Unadmitedly, he was loathe to continue. Goku was next. And Saiten Taisei was an unknown quantity he would rather do without.
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Ni Jiyeni smirked and sat back from his computer. "Well Mr. Bunny, it looks like something interesting is happening with our friends in the Sanzo-ikkou. I don't believe I've ever seen an energy flux like this. We'll have to look into the alignment of the planets and the magnetic fields these rips seem to be generating. It could be a way for us to explore entire other worlds. Think of the possibilities…I wonder if we should tell her highness..." The scientist paused thoughtfully. Well, maybe he would keep this bit of information to himself for now. Until he'd managed to play for a little while. Then he'd pass this oyster on to Kokumen Kyushuu.
"…My, what a productive day."
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