Kanzeon Bosatsu doesn't look up from hir book until Chin Yisou makes a point to give a sharp jab of the strings section.

"Oh," se says blandly, blinking at the cameras. "Are we done?"

An overworked Webmaster in headset and clipboard hisses to hir from the stage left wing.

"Three more?" the Goddess of Mercy cries. "We're gonna be here all night! I have a celestial kingdom to mismanage here!"

Down in the orchestra pit, Yisou gives a pointed slink with the wind section.

"Don't complain," Kanzeon tells the conductor. "You're already dead."

But in any event, se sighs, pressing hir temples. "Fine. Let's move ahead to the Best Multi-Part Fanfiction award, with Son Goku and Genjo Sanzo."

Another platformed stage off to the right lights up, creamy blue stage glare and glittering sequined curtains. Curtains that shuffle and sway, but do not part, even as the scuffle intensifies.

Finally, the Announcer chimes in,

"Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform that Genjo Sanzo cannot presently be located. Instead, please welcome Son Goku and War Prince Homura."

A heretofore undiscovered and strangely vocal quadrant of the balcony explodes into shrieks. Someone starts throwing confetti.

Goku nearly tears out from behind the curtain, tangling in the fabric and twisting around frantically, jabbing a finger at the figure hot, har, on his tail.

"You set this up, didn't you?!" Goku demands.

The war prince smiles placidly. "Why, whatever for, Son Goku?"

The accusing finger still twitches. "You try anything and I'll nyoi-bo you right here. My fanbase is bigger than yours, so don't think anyone'll come help you!"

"Why, dear Goku, we're on television. There's censorship regulations to consider." Homura's voice lowers, almost farther than the mic can pick up. "This is what post-awards parties are for."

"You pull anything, one single thing, and I'll get Gato after you so fast you'll--"

"Pardon me, gentlemen," the Announcer sighs. "The awards, if you please?"

Goku grits his teeth and growls at his partner. Who just smiles and ushers him toward the podium.

"Right... This award looks at..." The youth closes his eyes. "You read it already," he orders Homura.

"With pleasure."

"And get your hand out of there!"

Caught, Homura slinks a few inches off and resettles the note cards. He clears his throat elegantly. "This award looks at the unique dedication and command of the written word involved in lengthy, multichaptered fan work. Not only have these talented nominees exhibited excellence in prose, but they demonstrate the ability to project on a large scale to deliver a longer, more involved piece, taking characters where they were not at the onset of the story and leading the reader through an entire arc of development and intrigue. The multi-part fanfic most accurately reflects the ability and scope of a full-fledged literary piece. Tonight, we recognize those authors that have put in the time and commitment others might only aspire to."

Goku wrestles out of an attempt by the Toushin Taishi to touch his cheek. "What? What?"

"Please, if you will. The nominees."

"Is just asking so way out there to ask?" The boy harrumphs and steals the notecards away. "The nominees for Best Multi-Part Fanfiction are:

"Cho Hakkai: Murderer? by Nuriko."

"If you first told me off, just because I looked at the girl in the inn, and then went out girl-hunting yourself, then I really would get worried." Gojyo smirked, but then tried to hide a frown. "Or was there a girl inside that house?" He pointed behind him.

"Yes, there was... No, on second thought there wasn't." It was Hakkai's turn to frown. "I don't seem to remember. That's strange."

And it felt right because he could not keep running from the unavoidable fact that he was his Master's successor. With responsibilities. With a mission to fulfill because he had failed his Master.

Sanzo unfurled the Infernal Land Sutra and set it about his shoulders. He would not be parted from it. Never again. Like the robes, it would serve as a constant reminder of the cross he bore--as heavy a weight as the diadem he wore on his head.

Soft fingers ghosted against the skin of his neck, underneath his jawbone. Under normal circumstances, the half-breed would have found the touch erotic, perhaps even ticklish, but for some reason he only felt cold and... numb. He could feel the reassuring weight of the shakujou in his palm, but could not feel the blood he knew was smeared beneath his fingers and coating the pole of his weapon.

"You cannot have him," a sweet voice whispered in his ear, airy and feminine. "He will always be mine, even in death."

"I know that Gojyo's brother has gone to fantastic extremes to protect those in his care. Your Jien would do no less; of that I am sure."

"If he's survived to do it."

"Well, yes," he admitted, sitting up. He was doing, she had to concede, a better job of keeping his eyes on her face than Gonou could have managed. "However, the only way I can think of at the moment to send you back is to bleed Sanzo until Kanzeon Bosatsu descends from heaven to give him a blood transfusion, at which point we could ask her."

"Oh, do stop it," Homura sighs. "Konzen bleeds all the time in this shape. It's a hobby of his. Next please?"

"But--"

"Next, dear child, next."

"Fine.

"Imperfection Amalgamated: Slaves of Fate by Optimoose.

"...heee. Optimoose."

"You're terribly easily entertained, boy."

Fear had a very unique fragrance that was hard to ignore. It had stung in Cho Hakkai's nose ever since they had entered the tent in which the new slaves for Gyuumao were catalogued, and not even his magic limiter had dampened his superior demon olfactory sense sufficiently to not register the nauseating stink. There was only one odour that was more loathsome than that of fear for Hakkai, and that was the unmistakable stench of blood.

'No,' he sniffed the air and suppressed a shudder. 'The mixture of fear and blood is the most repugnant smell that exists.'

And then, quite abruptly, the shaking upsided, and through his still violent, lung-shredding coughs, Kougaiji slowly pushed himself back up.

Except it wasn't Kougaiji now.

"You fucking morons," the creature growled, in a voice very not their master's. It was Kougaiji's throat producing the sounds, but the inflection could never be his, the gravel quality suggesting many years of tobacco abuse and callous tones, and not used to a slightly genetically different vocal chord set. "You'd damn well better have a point to all this or I'll..."

Plus, it was speaking Chinese.

"And now," Homura quavers, "it is time to announce the winners.

"In Third Place, for the Bronze Sutra: Cho Hakkai: Murderer? by Nuriko."

Whoops and claps stir up. Goku applauds among them, before a Look by the War Prince quiets him.

"Who wins, in addition to the Bronze Sutra, a Saiyuki Reload mini shitajiki," Homura continues. He pauses and considers. "I'm not in Reload, am I?"

"You died."

"Lies and deceit, child."

"In Second Place," Goku announces into the mic quickly, before Homura can go on another rant, "for the Silver Sutra and a Chibi Sanzo cell phone dangly--"

"Who on earth would want Konzen hanging from their cell phone?"

"--is Hir Wicked Style by Nightfall!"

If Homura had more of an argument drafted, it's drowned out by that point by another rise of applause. The god appears slightly put off. And then, resigning, sighs.

"And finally," he says, "in First Place, winner of the Golden Sutra and a Saiyuki Best Hits Album Audio CD: In My Father’s House by K.A. Rose."

Somewhere in the audience, someone faints.

"Oh dear," Homura murmurs, peering out, "that wasn't her, was it?"

He shrugs, for in any event the applause has escalated with no clear intention of drifting down soon. Even Goku is clapping fiercely, because it seems the right thing to do. Homura concedes and gives a polite golf clap, manacles jangling distractedly.

"Congratulations to all our winners and participants," he says. Adding, "May you go on to write slightly less taxing things that don't wear your readers' eyes out."

"You just get bored easily," Goku accuses.

"Not with you," Homura returns readily. "Shall we go see to getting some chains?"

"Ew, no! GATOOOOO!"

The Announcer breaks in, slightly harried. "And now once again back to our mistress of ceremonies... Who... would appear to be painting hir nails."

Proceed >>