A/N: I’ll type up another post on Pensacon when I’ve had a little more rest. 🙂 But among other neat things I saw there was fanart by Miho. She was kind enough to tell me how to pack the prints to ship, so I may have presents for a few people…. For now, have some spooked Gojyo!
“Get clean, Sanzo says he’s got something to hide you and we might have to bug out of here in a hurry. I keep playing innocent lowlife criminal for the Guard patrols that sweep through here, but I don’t think they’re buying it.” Gojyo grimaced, eyes bloodshot. “From what Sanzo told me… well, I wouldn’t buy it either. This is a nightmare. Or a bad movie on the sci-fi holo channel. Maybe both.”
“What Sanzo-?” Cho cut himself off, and scrambled over the edge of the tub. “Never mind. You can tell me everything after we’re on our way- Wait. Is Hakuryuu-?”
“Upstairs.” Gojyo leaned against the sink, tension easing out of bare shoulders as Cho turned the hot water on. “We tried to explain what was going on, and he’s a damn advanced AI, but we weren’t sure how he’d take you waking up if you weren’t, you know….”
“Sane?” Cho finished, relieved to find out that honest soap did work on this slime. Even on green-and-brown furred tentacles… and why he wasn’t screaming at those, he had no idea. Though the hot water felt very nice. “I’m… not actually sure I am, yet.”
“Huh. Fair.” Gojyo cleared his throat, dark hair damp from the steam. “Um. When Hakuryuu was trying to talk me into helping you, he mentioned his owner was….” His fist hit the wall with surprising force; pale blue paint cracked. “Ah, damn it, I’m no good at this. You need to talk?”
Hakuryuu’s… Kanan. Oh. “No,” Cho whispered, pain slicing his heart like an icy razor. “No, I… can’t. Yet.”
“Okay,” Gojyo breathed out, thumping back against the sink. “Don’t know if it means much, but – I’m sorry. Nobody should… ah, man. We’re in the middle of a horror movie, and our very own holy roller carries a gun instead of prayer beads. This sucks.”
Slime gone, thank goodness. Hair… oh. That was very odd. Cho worked up a lather first, then gingerly rinsed it through the tingly strands. Not black anymore, but a green so dark it’d pass for that shade in most light. Though that didn’t even begin to handle how they’d hide the tentacles. Or the ears. Or the claws.