Title: Artist For Hire (parts 1-3)
Originally Posted: 2006/6/26, 2006/7/8, 2009/9/19
Rating: PG for mention of drawn yaoi.
Words: 300 (x3)

Friendly warning: Artist For Hire started as a one-shot and mutated into a short trio. I considered building it into a full-fledged fic, but I didn't have the time to dedicate to yet another fic. Also? Jen is dressed as Alucard and Ryo as Richter, from Castlevania: Symphony of the Night.

Takato was pretty well off, even if he hadn't gone to college. He had a girlfriend, worked in the bakery, did accounts for other small businesses in the neighborhood, and even raked in a bit of pocket change selling doujinshi with Shaochung at Comiket. Not that he was proud of what Shaochung had him draw, but it was art and he could use the money.

He watched the milling crowd from his table, waving every now and then to one of the artists he had befriended. Sometimes people bought his circle's works, but mostly they were there for the overpriced pastries he offered. Word got around fast about the pastries.

Shaochung bounded to the table with Lopmon on her shoulder. The teenager squirmed behind the table while Lopmon jumped off to play with Guilmon, then plopped onto the empty foldable chair beside him. Takato missed having that energy.

"Rumor's going around that there are a couple of scouts from some major publishing houses here," Shaochung said brightly, and just a little breathlessly. "Maybe we'll luck out this year!"

Takato's gaze turned to the books spread out on the table. The more... sexually explicit was offered up first and sold the most. His writer's scheme: gay porn for the bait, BL for the chaser, and the people who really liked their work were willing to buy the more expensive, serious doujinshi. It was the last he was proud of, but until he could be a serious artist, he had to settle for catering to other people's tastes.

He sighed and opened the chilled can Shaochung set in front of him. It would be nice to be picked up by a publisher, though. At least none of the other Tamers knew what he would draw for money.

That's what he thought, anyway.

.*.

By noon, Shaochung ran off again to connect with other circles. He remained at the table, doodling while the digimon played together. Business was slow for newbies.

"Hey, has anyone seen Richter Belmont? Guy in a blue coat and has a whip," an all-too-familiar voice said over the din of the crowd noise. Takato choked when he saw a blur of olive skin and dark hair out of the corner of his eye and slumped over his work in hopes that Jianliang couldn't see him.

"Takato?" The voice sounded too close. He wanted to sink into the ground.

Best get this over with. As he fought down the burning sensation rising in his face, he looked up. "Yes," he squeaked, and wished again that the ground would open up and swallow him. He hadn't sounded like that since he left puberty!

Jianliang gave him one of those inquisitive looks, but didn't touch on the subject. "I didn't think I'd find you here."

"Funny, I was thinking the same." God, he hoped his embarrassment wasn't as obvious as he thought. In hopes of a quick distraction, Takato looked over the fancy costume Jianliang wore. "I never pegged you for a cosplayer."

The thoughtful look took on a tinge of long-suffering. "I'm not. It's my roommate, he... I keep hoping he'll catch on."

Takato nodded sympathetically; his girlfriend said he was like that. Just when he was preparing to give some platitude or another, his friend snatched one of the more explicit doujinshi out from the pile and flipped through it. Takato's stomach rather felt like it wanted to squeeze into a little ball and roll away.

The only change in Jianliang's contemplative expression was the arching of an eyebrow. "This position's a bit off."

Takato really wanted to disappear.

.*.

Ruki did too much for her friends. They should realize by now that she shouldn't be pushed too hard. Some of them respected her limits, and others...

She sneered as she looked on at the crowd still trying to get into Comiket. She hated these things, he knew it, and still he was acting like a mother and demanding she'd deliver his baby to him unharmed. The cell phone rang for the hundredth time and she ignored it. It was his fault he forgot his baby, so he would just have to deal.

Thirty minutes later, she was quietly fuming in the convention center, lost, and unwilling to ask for directions. He was going to pay for ruining her weekend. He finally turned up fifteen minutes later, looking utterly ridiculous in his costume and more than a little frantic.

"Ruki," he'd called out from a few meters away. She didn't budge until he was at her side. "Do you have it?"

Ruki rolled her eyes, yanked the coil of oiled, woven leather from her backpack, and shoved it against his chest. "You owe me tons for this, Ryo."

Relief swept Ryo's face as he took the whip and almost hugged its coils. If he was more her type, she could almost forgive him just for being too damn cute in his reunion. Men and their phallic symbols...

When he didn't answer immediately, she prepared her usual tirade against this fandom thing he was entirely too invested in. Before she could start, however, Ryo pulled her over to a gap in the crowd and nodded at two people at the dealers' tables.

"Remember those doujinshi we found? The artist is here."

Ruki squinted in the direction indicated, and she smirked. "Takato. Who knew?"

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.