Concessions to Hygiene
Disclaimer: Saiyuki belongs to Kazuya Minekura and associates.
++++++++++
This place, of all the places that they have been forced to lodge at, is by far the worst. The rooms are cramped and dusty, the clientele sullen and what passes for bathing facilities are outside. It is certainly not up to Hazel’s usual standards and yet he can not help but fear that there may be worse to come. He might possibly risk waiting to find somewhere else but the chances of that, in this barren wasteland are slim. Besides, he can not remember how many days it has been seen he last washed anyway. His hair sticks together in clumps and is heavy with dirt and he hardly dares to consider the state of the rest of his body. His hands feel clammy inside his gloves and he is sure that if he pays attention to the matter, he will be aware that he reeks of the acrid stench of stale sweat.
So there really is nothing for it but to trudge out to those rickety, filthy stalls and make some attempt at having a wash. Gato follows dutifully behind to stand guard while Hazel bathes and instantly dashes to the rescue at Hazel’s first shriek. The water is freezing and Hazel stands, shivering, arms wrapped around himself looking utterly helpless. Gato stares at him, unable to find any way to help until Hazel flaps his hands to usher Gato back outside.
The water is still freezing once Gato has gone but Hazel is resolved that he will wash, somehow. Because even in this filthy place, he will uphold some standards. The cold water numbs him easily enough so that washing in it becomes bearable for as short a time as he can make of it.
Once they return to their small, cramped room, Hazel sits on the bed, swathed in blankets trying to run a comb through the tangled mass of silver hair that is perhaps, partially clean. He longs, quite futilely, for a nice warm bath, for the palatial glories of the civilized world, for the lovely gilt bathtub that he once spent hours soaking in, in far off Venice. It was a tub large enough for at least two people he surmises and eyes Gato critically. When was the last time his companion took a bath?
But dreams of luxuries long gone, aside, he is shivering again. The freezing water may well have been a reasonable concession to hygiene but it appears to have accomplished little else of benefit.
The nights in Togenkyo are morbidly cold, enough to freeze the blood and yet the days are so hot and wretched that he’s often surprised that he doesn’t collapse from heatstroke. He hates this place with a passion. It is wretched and horrible and for all it’s cruelties, he knows full well that he is the only one to which the land seems unsuited. He would probably die in these lands without Gato by his side or perhaps, if left alone, he might rather simply lie down and die. Penance or not, if this place is only Purgatory, then he has truly come to fear Hell. But he is saved from further dark thoughts by the creaking of the floorboards as Gato crosses the room and proceeds to lie down on the bed. It is as good a signal as any that Hazel should sleep now.
He huddles beneath the covers and layers of blankets and Gato’s arm pulls him close. Hazel rests his head against Gato’s chest and resolves that one morning, eventually, at some point, he will slip free of Gato’s embrace and find himself a nice open space in which to scream at the Heavens. And if God doesn’t answer him, perhaps the Devil will, and if he’s really lucky he can then trade his immortal soul for a nice warm bath, with space for two, of course.
++++++++++
Gato, being a shikigami, wouldn’t really need to bathe.
And Hazel is very obviously biased about Togenkyo.
