The Colour Murasaki

By Generic Miko

Warnings:  Yaoi, Lemon (eventually)

            His first thought was, Itai yo.  He'd taken a good hit to the gut; it had flung him like a rag doll against something very hard, like a stone.  Or a brick wall? 

            This led directly to the second thought, Ittai . . . koko doko da?  Just a minute ago he'd been in the middle of the mountains, in a fight against – what else – youkai.  Now he was surrounded by buildings, taller buildings than he'd ever seen before.  And there was so much glass . . .  

            "Where the hell am I?" Sanzou muttered, dragging himself to his feet.  He'd known that there was a spell coming at him; he wouldn't have thought those dirty hill youkai would know a spell powerful enough to take him down.  Spitting blood, he gazed one way then the other; he was in an alley, by the looks of it.  People could be seen walking past on either end of it, lots of people, most of them in suits.  But he was alone in the alley.

            "Typical," he snorted. "Never around when you need 'em."

            Running footsteps made him stiffen; he pulled out his gun but kept it hidden in his sleeve.  A figure in a dark trenchcoat came flying around the corner but skidded to a stop when he found himself facing the business end of an enchanted revolver.  He turned out to be a man, probably about Sanzou's age, with thick brown hair and a rather slender build.  His startling purple eyes widened, then narrowed as he regarded the gun. 

            "Who the hell are you?" Sanzou demanded.

            "I'm here to ask you the same question."  The stranger spoke in a pleasant, slightly husky tenor.

            "You first."  Sanzou resisted the urge to lean against the wall.

            "Tsuzuki."  The trenchcoated man smiled faintly. "Tsuzuki Asatou."

            "What do you want?"  Sanzou stared hard at this Tsuzuki.  He didn't sense any youki, this wasn't a youkai, but he wasn't a normal human either.  It was like he had too much ki and none at all at the same time . . .

            "It's my job to look into things like this," Tsuzuki said, looking faintly sheepish. "Why don't we try this without the gun?  I'm not here to hurt you."

            Sanzou gave a harsh laugh.

            "Just try it."  It was getting hard to think; he found his knees going weak.  Sternly he centred himself, but no matter how firmly he rooted himself to the earth, the world kept moving around.

            "Ano . . ."

            "What?" Sanzou snapped.

            "You don't look very well."

            "Mind your own business," Sanzou said as the gun tumbled from his limp fingers and he crumpled to the ground.

            "I know, Hisoka, but I couldn't just leave him there.  Make an excuse for me, please?"

            He heard the huff in his young partner's voice. 

            "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

            "He can't hurt me, Hisoka.  C'mon, please?"

            An exaggerated sigh. 

            "Alright."

            "Sankyuu, Hisoka!"  Tsuzuki said, relieved. "Ja na."  He turned off his keitai and looked at the occupant of his bed.  Since Watari had come and healed his wounds, the blond man seemed to be sleeping rather than just unconscious, but even in sleep the lines of discontent on his face didn't ease.  If it weren't for that rather grim expression, it would be quite a pretty face.

            "Purple eyes," Tsuzuki murmured to himself, then laughed softly. "So I'm not the only one after all."

            "The only one what?" The purple eyes in question snapped open; his voice sounded completely awake.

            "Uh, nothing," Tsuzuki said, flushing. "How are you feeling?"
            "Why'd you bring me here?" Sitting up, he glanced down at himself. "And where the hell are my clothes?"

            "Ah, warui," Tsuzuki said, feeling his cheeks heat. "You were obviously hurt, so I had to check you over.  I had a doctor take a look; he said you'll be fine."  He didn't mention that Watari had spent most of the time teasing him about picking up a gorgeous blond, nor that he had entirely different methods of medicine from a real doctor.

            "Not a doctor, a healer," the blond man said, touching his bare abdomen. "The pain's gone."

            "Ano . . . who are you?  You dress kind of like a priest," Tsuzuki said hesitantly.  Sort of . . . the black shirt and gloves he had on underneath were a little strange . . .

            "Genjou Sanzou."  There was a bitter slant to the man's mouth. "I am a priest."

            "Hontou ni?  A priest with real powers in Nagasaki?"  Tsuzuki was impressed.  He hadn't known there were any priests of this level in his district.  But if there were, why was someone like Muraki able to move about so freely . . . ?

            "Where?" Sanzou gave him a wary look.

            "Nagasaki."  Tsuzuki blinked. "You know . . . Nagasaki City, Nagasaki Prefecture . . ."

            "Never heard of it." Sanzou sighed. "Look, give me back my clothes, then I'll explain."

            "H-hai." Tsuzuki hurried to do so.  For some reason thinking of Sanzou's nudity made him blush.

            My blood sugar must be low or something.  I'm acting weird.  He handed Sanzou his clothes and went to stand by the window, his back turned.  He listened to the various rustlings as Sanzou dressed.

            When he judged the time to be right, Tsuzuki turned around.  Sanzou was just tying the sash to his robe.  Tsuzuki sighed quietly.  Then his stomach twinged.

            "Ahhh, hara heta . . ." he said, touching his abdomen.

            Whack!

            Clutching his ringing head, Tsuzuki stared at Sanzou.  The blond priest had a big paper fan in his hand, one of those ones priests used to discipline their apprentices, obviously what Tsuzuki had just been struck with.

            "What the hell was that for?" Tsuzuki demanded, his politeness level slipping badly.  Sanzou's mouth tightened and his slanted purple eyes slid sideways.

            "Suman.  Conditioned reflex."

            "What?"

            "Never mind.  Go on."

            "What I was going to say was that there's a good restaurant downstairs and we could talk over dinner.  You're probably hungry."

            ". . . Aa."

            "Ano . . . you're going to attract a lot of attention like that." Tsuzuki regarded him thoughtfully. "Here, take off your robe."

            "What?" Sanzou's low voice sharped slightly.

            "No one dresses like that here.  I'll lend you my jacket."

            Sanzou eyed him, then shrugged and lifted off his breastplate, untied the sash and opened his wheat-coloured robe.  Tsuzuki's breath caught in his throat.  Something about the way that sleeveless black shirt clung to Sanzou's lean torso . . . belatedly he pulled off his coat and handed it to Sanzou.  With the coat on it just looked like he was wearing a turtleneck and jeans underneath – reasonably normal.

            "Shall we?"

            "Aa."  Sanzou shrugged again.

            "Youkai?" Tsuzuki laughed. "Wait, you're serious."

            "Does it look like I'm joking?"

            "Youkai . . . exist?  In present day Japan?  I remember hearing stories about kappa when I was a kid, but . . ."

            "Present day where?"

            Tsuzuki blinked, for a moment forgetting his meal.

            "Japan.  Nihon.  Nippon.  Island country in the Pacific ocean . . . you have no idea what I'm talking about.  Where are you from?"

            "Chouan." Sanzou was frowning thoughtfully. "What the hell kind of spell was I hit with, anyways?"

            "Chouan?  Sounds almost Chinese, but I've never heard of it."

            "Mattaku," Sanzou muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. "They couldn't kill us, so they sent us to another world . . . slimy bastards."

            "Another world?  Hontou ni?" Tsuzuki propped his chin on his head. "Wow."

            Sanzou looked at him in disgust.  He was rather good at it.

            "I'm glad you're happy about it."

            "Ah – warui!  That's not what I meant," Tsuzuki said hastily.

            "I have to get back there.  This is wasting time.  It's going to take long enough to get to Gyuumaou as it is."

            "Maybe someone in Enma-cho knows a way to send you back.  I'll make some calls," Tsuzuki said.  Sanzou's expression lightened slightly in surprise, those wary eyes widening. "After dessert."

            "Che," Sanzou said.  He muttered something further that sounded like "bakazaru."

            "I beg your pardon?"

            "Nothing."

            They both started at the same time, looking at each other.

            "Do you feel that?" Tsuzuki asked unnecessarily.  Sanzou nodded curtly.

            "A major spell, close by." 

            They both rose to their feet, Tsuzuki gesturing for the bill.  He didn't even have time to lament the lecture he was going to get from Tatsumi – feeding two just didn't fit within the 3000 yen limit – as he hastily handed a wad of bills to the waitress.  Sanzou was already out the door; Tsuzuki hurried after him.  Together they ran down the street, heading unerringly for the source of the magic.

            As they neared a large rather decrepit warehouse, Tsuzuki slowed; this was the place.  Giving him a look, Sanzou raised his pale golden eyebrows.  Tsuzuki noddedto show his readiness.

They burst into the warehouse, Sanzou with his gun at the ready, Tsuzuki with a fuda in hand.  The sight that greeted them was startling.  There was a pentagram drawn on the floor, the glow of magic fading from it, but all around it were prone bodies.  A single man in a long black coat stood over one of the bodies, dripping katana in hand.  He looked sharply at them, something golden glinting by his neck.

            "What's with this guy?" Sanzou muttered.  In a blink the stranger was flying at them, katana leveled at Sanzou's heart; the priest nimbly leapt clear.  Tsuzuki gestured, activating the magic on fuda caught between his fingers; a wall of force blasted across to hit their attacker, flinging him into a stack of boxes.  He hit hard and crumpled to the ground, then was still.

            Exchanging a glance, Sanzou and Tsuzuki cautiously approached the fallen man.  Tsuzuki checked for life signs; he was alive, but he looked hurt. 

            "I can't sense anything unusual.  He's just a normal human," Sanzou said.  Tsuzuki scratched at his neck as he pulled out his keitai, sighing to himself.

            "Moshi moshi.  Watari?  It's Tsuzuki again . . ."

            "If you don't come back to Meifu soon, you'll get in trouble."  Hisoka leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, that I-leave-you-alone-for-five-minutes-and-look-what-happens slant to his mouth.  "This isn't our kind of work."

            "I know, Hisoka, but c'mon," Tsuzuki said. "I can't just leave him stranded here."

            "Se ya," Watari agreed.  "In his own way he's a lost soul."  He straightened, flipping back his long ponytail.  "This one'll be okay too."  Watari's gentle kansai-ben seemed to fill the room with reasonableness.  Sanzou stood near hte window, regarding Watari rather flatly.

            "Watari, do you know how we can get Sanzou home?" Tsuzuki asked hopefully.  Watari settled himself into a chair.

            "That spell you felt – a summoning, wasn't it."

            "Right," Tsuzuki said.

            "I think someone's trying to summon shikigami but reaching the wrong plane.  That's probably how Sanzou was brought here.  The easiest way would be have the summoner banish him."

            "The summoners he just killed, you mean?"  Tsuzuki pointed to the unconscious red-haired man in the bed.

            "Se ya."  Watari's amber eyes twinkled as he pushed his glasses up.

            "Chikushou," Sanzou said.

            Hisoka gasped just before the man leapt from the bed, falling into a fighting stance.  His narrow eyes glinted indigo through a screen of brilliant red hair as he looked at all of them in turn, tense and wary.

            "Temee," Sanzou said, taking a step towards him.  Tsuzuki jumped in between them.

            "Don't, Sanzou-san!"

            "I ain't gonna kill him.  But he's gonna tell me what I need to know."

            "We don't need to do anything like that," Tsuzuki said.

            "He's an assassin," Hisoka said. "Or something like that.  He killed those people because he was paid to.  He prefers to be called Aya."

            Aya backed away from them warily.

            "Schwarz," he said in a low, vibrant voice. 

            "Does he speak Japanese?" Tsuzuki asked in surprise.

            "We're not Schwarz," Hisoka said.  "Calm down.  I don't like anger."

            "Let's try introductions," Tsuzuki suggested.  "I'm Tsuzuki.  I'm sorry that I hit you so hard.  That was a mistake."  He bobbed his head sheepishly.  "This is my partner Hisoka, and my co-worker Watari.  This is Sanzou-san."

            "What do you want?" Aya demanded.

            "What you were doing is tied in to what we're doing," Tsuzuki said. "Ano . . ."

            "You killed somebody you shouldn't have," Sanzou said.

            "There are other ways to get you home," Watari said.  "Let's talk about it."

            Three sets of purple eyes blinked in unison.  Silence fell over the hotel room.  Watari waited patiently, that benevolent grin on his face.  Eventually Tsuzuki raised a hand.

            "Did you just say . . . tantric sex?"

           

- Tsuzuku -

Chikushou – damn it.

Itai – ouch.

Ittai . . . koko doko da?  - Where the hell am I?

Mattaku – for crying out loud, damn it all, etc.

Moshi moshi – hello?

Se ya – Right, that's true. 

Temee – you bastard!

Youkai – monsters.

Youki – the energy given off by youkai.