Saiyuki not mine, etcetera and so on.

This was ridiculous. Unacceptable. Undignified. A number of other adjectives that weren't coming to mind right now. Konzen shouldn't have to stand for this. He shouldn't have to sit for this, either.

Goku had insisted on dragging him outside today. 'It's so pretty!' he'd said, and tugged on Konzen's ponytail (ow).

Of course it was pretty outside. They were in Heaven, what else could he expect?

But Goku was about as smart as a rock and had the attention span of a goldfish, and the god had learned from his mistakes about letting Goku out without supervision. So he'd gathered up his chops and papers and brush and ink and settled himself on a veranda in the shade, where he could make sure Goku wasn't destroying anything and get his work done at the same time.

That had worked with surprising success for all of two hours.

Then a resident god had kicked up a fuss about the damage that was being done to the flowerbed (Better the flowerbed than your kitchen, Konzen thought dourly). Then Goku demanded lunch. Then Konzen almost had a heart-attack when Goku nearly spilled ink all over his only copy of Jimmie Hendrix's acceptance documents into Nirvana (he really needed to invest in some spill-proof containers). Then Kenren made it a point to come and bother them (Kozen tried to pawn his charge off on the general, to no avail). Then Goku wanted food again. They'd moved from veranda to porch to garden bench to another veranda, with hardly any work getting done. Unless you counted screaming and running around after cackling children as 'work'.

Now the sun was setting right in front of him, blinding him, and the annoying little monkey had decided to take a nap right on top of Adolf Hitler's karmic rebirth orders. And he was drooling on them.

Sometimes, Konzen hated his life.

Goku shifted, curling up around the god's knee, his limiter painfully cutting off circulation in one divine thigh. Paper rustled and ink smudged and Konzen put away his brush. Hell, the orders still looked legible to him. He could always rewrite them later.

"Mmm..." the boy moaned. "Yaki soba..."

Konzen sighed and rested a hand on Goku's head. The boy calmed.

He shouldn't have to stand or sit for this. Being drooled on was undignified. But then, Konzen, thought, Goku drooled when he was awake, too, so what did it matter? It was almost kind of nice, for a change, when Goku wasn't tearing into things or screaming, 'feed me!' every 27.3 minutes. He should take advantage of the quiet. Like, you know, maybe get some work done.

Instead he sighed, closed his eyes against the blinding sunset, and went to sleep.