A kiss for good luck {shadowpeach}

Part 6: Appearance

"Hey! Macaque, buddy, you finally made it!"

Macaque tensed, breath caught in his throat, and whirled around only to come face to face with an ecstatic looking Wukong sitting on the ceiling.

Wukong! Great. Just the man he was looking for.

...when did he get there?

He was staring at him with stars in his eyes (literally; his eyes were positively glowing in the dim lighting) before he seemed to falter and peer at him with deep contemplation.

"What took you so long?"

Macaque felt a frankly unreasonable amount of rage bubble up inside him at the question. He went through so much. How could he even begin to summarise it all? How could the idiot not simply know?

He used to be able to tell. One look was enough for him to pull Macaque into an impromptu cuddling session or distract the other monkeys so he could get some peace and quiet. He'd always know which it was he needed too.

He knew, reasonably, that Wukong couldn't possibly have even an inkling as to what had happened to Macaque in the last day and was in no way responsible for any of it, but still... He didn't even get a chance to feel properly infuriated before he was smothered by Wukong who abandoned his post on the ceiling in favour of sitting on Macaque's shoulders and carding through his hair.

Macaque's stance broadened instinctively, arms snapping out to maintain balance despite the oversized koala doing his best to topple them both. Said koala shifted as one of his hands found Macaque's ears, and Macaque forced himself not to flinch as he leaned in to get a closer look.

"Ooh, you've got your ears all out! I haven't seen these since forever. What's the special ocassion?" he rambled, seemingly unaware of the way his every breath ghosted along the glowing appendages.

Macaque inhaled, preparing himself to shout at the guy, but he already jumped off and started poking at Macaque's scarf.

"And why are you so shiny?"

...what? Macaque? Shiny?

No way.

Dark and mysterious, yes. And sometimes a bit broody. But noone refered to the Six-eared macaque as shiny. What was this airhead even talking about?

It was only then, once he glanced down with the beginnings of a condescending frown forming on his face, that he caught sight of his shoulder and realised he was coated in a thin layer of glitter.

But it couldn't have been glitter. It made no sense.

At what point in this day did he do anything that would result in him looking like a damn disco ball? He woke up, had a minor breakdown, starred in the shadowplay of the century, argued over a bag of instant noodles, got blasted with a power-nullifying curse...

Ah. Then it hit him.

Magic residue. Clingy old thing. Once it stuck to fabric you could never wash it off. Some demons took it in stride, proudly displaying their sparkling armour as a testament to the many battles they won (or survived, at the very least). Macaque though, wasn't much of a glitter guy. At least not anymore. He'd keep the scarf, but the rest had to go. A real shame, that one. He was beginning to get attached.

A loud gasp brought him back to reality. Wukong who had, judging by the outburst, come to his own conclusion was staring at him with wide, offended eyes.

Hold up. Ofended? What did he ever do to-

"Have you been running around, having fun without me?" The glint in Wukong's eyes shifted to accusatory. "Beating up bad guys, getting beat up by bad guys..." Suddenly, he lit up like Macaque just told him he could have a new-years firework celebration every night. "You should retire!"

"What?" Macaque wondered if it was possible to get brain damage from hanging around bubbly idiots. Did he have enough braincells left to try and find the correlation in that train of thought?

Wukong, uncaring or unaware of his inner turmoil, babbled on: "Yeah! Way less stressful. Plus, then you'd have more time for other stuff. Like me!"

Macaque rolled his eyes, looking pointedly around the shack before settling on Wukong once again. "No thanks," he said, and felt immense glee watching the simian deflate. "See what it's done to you."

"Plus-" He held up a hand before Wukong could protest. "-and this might come as a shock - not everyone owns a giant vault full of priceless artefacts and a private island."

He has to pay the bills somehow. Unlike this lazy bastard who has never worked in the entertainment industry - not that he could, what with his stage fright and all. Then again, all the world's a stage when your main personality trait is being a clown.

Still, retirement shouldn't be an excuse for leaving your home in such horrenduous disarray. Not even Macaque's dojo ever got this bad, and that's saying something.

Another look around and he had to wonder... "What happened here anyway?"

Wukong's eyes darted around the space, as if taking it in for the first time. Then, he made his way over to the wall opposite of Macaque and leaned on it in that casual way teenagers often try to imitate only to fail spectacularly.

He gestured around like they were in a modern-art exhibit before confidently stating: "I've been redecorating. How'd you like it?"

One of the shelves above him creaked before falling and smacking him right on the head. It broke in half from the impact, the pieces clattering to the floor.

Macaque leveled him with a look.

Let's see how you explain that one.

Wukong bristled, cheeks staining with an indignant sort of red. "Don't-" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Look, the bit of controlled chaos really brings out the homely vibe of it all, okay?"

Macaque took one look at that sorry excuse of an olive branch and snorted. "Yeah. And the hobo aesthetic."

"Hey!" Wukong snapped. "Don't call my home a dump."

Macaque looked at his nails. "You said it." Look, he had a bad day. He was allowed to be petty. "But really; broken furniture, half-eaten garbage..." His face scrunched up as he caught a (unfortuately) familiar scent. "Week-old takeout."

His eyes caught a glimmer of dancing light, reminding him why he stepped further into the room in the first place. "And what's this?" He took a step towards it and heard Wukong trip behind him, crashing to the floor with a yelp.

He ignored him however, entranced by the sight of... empty bottles? There was a pile of them on the floor, morphing stray moonlight into a dancing rainbow. One of them was shattered, glass pieces strewn hazardously across the carpet.

He leaned closer to inspect them, when the barest hint of earth and flowers tickled his nose. The smell filled him with an odd sense of nostalgia. Like a childhood memory just barely out of his grasp.

Why was he foucusing on it so much? It was probably nothing anyway, and-

The carpet stains. It smelled the same. That's why it was familiar, no other reason behind it. Whatever it was, Wukong spilt it all over his floor.

Heh. Couldn't be him.

"Give me that!"

A/N: Shadowpeach banter, anybody?