Under the Weather

Kintora Gajin

UNDER THE WEATHER

Chapter Three: Kintora Gajin

By: A2

Disclaimer: I don’t own Saiyuki. I own the OC’s, except for Kintora, who belongs to NeonPink2011. Author 1 and Colorfulbubble12 are my editors.

I wake up just before the sun rises and sneak into the special bath houses to clean myself up. I finish just as the first rays of sun poke through the darkness and make my way back to my room, right next to Master Sanzo’s. Last night he told me to wake him up early, so I pound the wall in between our rooms before going over and shoving open the doors to his.

I’ve never been allowed in his room until today. Unless I’m ordered to or he’s in there as well, I’m not permitted in his room. The walls are covered with old calendars and priest documents and orange paper airplanes and a small picture- one of the man the monks know as the late Master Sanzo (Koumyo) - pinned up right next to his bed. The walls are crudely painted a dark gray and the only window in the small room is shrouded in puke-gray sheet-curtains. There’s an old, tiny, loudly rattling window-unit air conditioner jammed into the wall, above his muddy brown bed with the terrifyingly bland, threadbare comforter. Along one wall there are multiple crooked shelves housing small books, big books, books inside of books, and books making -what look to me like- towers next to oversized book stops. Below the four grainy, light brown shelves there’s a faded mahogany dresser with one side being supported by a stack of important-looking files, and the two drawers overstuffed with clothes and underwear. Papers and documents and various writing utensils coat the floor like the fine layers of dust that coat everything else. At the end of the whole mess is Master Sanzo, sleeping tensed up and with his back to the stuck door and me, the only shock of color being his golden blond hair barely peeking out from under the sheets.

I fight my way over to the bed, whipping the covers off his body and slapping his cheek ‘softly’. I take a moment to thank the gods that he wears pants to bed, even though he could do with a shirt- but whatever. He grunts and shoves the barrel of his gun in my face. I back up, tripping over a file and landing ungracefully on my butt in a stack of credentials, unsettling the dust in just about every inch of the room. The dust gets in my nose and mouth, so now I’m hacking and sneezing- what a gorgeous sight I must make.

“Bastard,” I cough, glancing up to see Master Sanzo sitting up on his bed and glaring down at me. “Do you-” I hack out some dust. “- sleep in this?” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looked more awake before he went to sleep.

“For one, I don’t move as recklessly as you, so I manage it fine. Get the bath ready, I’m covered in dust,” He says groggily. I nod mockingly.

“You need a bath,” I mutter sarcastically. Unfortunately, Master Sanzo decided to wake up fully at the beginning of my sentence, which is highly unfair. His paper fan materializes out of nowhere and thwacks my head so hard I see stars. His arm recoils fast and I hear dozens of profanities hissed under his breath.

In that moment, I don’t know what possesses me, but I grab his wrist and bend it backwards. We both stare at my hand, surprised. My brain blanks. Under no circumstances, ever, should you mess with somebody who is strong enough to pull you inside out and snap your neck in two. I learned that the hard way.