Four in number by wongkk

Half-breed

The fighting over, Gojyo bent down to free his shakujo, which had snagged somewhere, and hate crackled at him from a youkai face, almost dead: “Fucking, half-breed, fucking traitor!”

Gojyo’s mouth said, “Get yourself some better adjectives,” whilst his foot smashed under the demon’s chin to shut him up. Permanently.

Then Gojyo stood, frowning. Why did “traitor” hurt when, surely, you chose – not inherited – where your loyalty lay?

Hakkai came and nudged his arm. “How are you?”

Gojyo looked at the healer, who smiled to see him unscathed.

So here was the answer! You definitely chose where your loyalty belonged.

One sun

It doesn’t matter when you look or where you stand: there is only ever one sun.

Of course, there are times of cold and dark. How can there be day unless there’s a night to bring to an end?

After so many years, I know this sun needs what he shines on. Sanzo may protest, “unattached,” but his orbit always brings him back over me, checking I’m still hungry, still losing card-games to Hakkai, still fighting the cockroach for a piece of the back seat.

You can use the word “unattached”, but the sun’s still as faithful as a priest.

Two faced

How could he be sincere, when he didn’t know which of his selves he should be?

He had been human, then demon, then dead to one name and born, blameless, to another. He was forgiven but still guilty, a healer but still diseased. His body had youkai strength, but the human emotions that had come with him were still weak.

So much confusion - tension – pulled him to the brink of despair, all rain and self-loathing and tears.

Even the two halves of his face were mis-matched: how could he be sincere, when the tears only ever fell from one eye?

Three baskets

The baskets were supposed to contain scriptures. Wasted on those rejects.

Christmas already. Blow the Buddhist thing – they all needed something to cheer them up.

Hakkai would prefer some aromatherapy – stuff, bits, whatever. As for Gojyo, well – it wouldn’t kill Sanzo to buy Hi-lites for once. As long as he didn’t have to smoke them.

Which just left something for the monkey. So, fans for smacking, or food for snacking?

Sanzo leant over the bar. “Hey, inn-keeper! Where’s the best place around here to buy a meat bun?”

And they needn’t expect him to wrap them.

And definitely no mistletoe.