Work Text:
Genjo kept a wary eye on the workmen. None of them, human or youkai, had seemed dangerous so far but looks were deceiving. They shoved at each other good-naturedly, laughing about the road repairs and the girls they'd waste their wages on back in town.
"Hey, the little monk's ears are burning up!" one guy whooped, and threw an arm around Genjo's shoulder. Before Genjo could fling him off he'd done no more than hustle him up to the head of the line, where the camp cook was slopping food into bowls. "Feed 'im up, Shan, he's skin and bones!"
"Huh," the cook said, looking sceptical, and dumped rice into a bowl, followed by a ladle full of something that he pulled a couple of lumps out of with his fingers, tossing them back into the pot. "I shoulda got all the meat there. You can eat it, right?"
Genjo nodded, trying not to stare at the food. He shouldn't eat after noon, even if his master had indulgently had an evening meal simply to share it with him. He wasn't a child any longer. He was a sanzo. An adult. An ordained monk.
"Thank you," he said, and went to sit near the entrance of the large tent. The bland food was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
The men passed bottles around as the evening went on. None came his way; everyone knew that monks didn't drink. Genjo shivered in the breeze that crept through the entrance, thankful he wasn't outside in the rain and thankful he was close enough to the entrance to run into the rain if he needed. He hated rainy nights. It had rained that night. If the clouds hadn't obscured the moon perhaps Master Koumyou would have been able to -
"Hey. Hey, little guy! This'll keep the cold out better than those thin robes of yours."
He looked up at the man holding out the bottle. He wasn't much older than Genjo himself, just the wisp of a hopeful moustache on his lip, his smile revealing a cracked front tooth. He was a rough looking fellow but his smile seemed genuine rather than mean. Genjo opened his mouth to say he didn't partake of intoxicants, that it was unbecoming for a monk to do so. He imagined warm planks under his feet, his own scorn as he faced down the monks who had purloined a jar of wine, how distantly amused Master Koumyou had been. Master the wine, Kouryuu. Don't let it master you. A pool of spreading dark liquid, more precious than any rare vintage -
"Yes," he said, and took the bottle. The first mouthful was revolting, a sharp burning down his throat, so fierce he couldn't tell if there was any taste at all. He coughed, spluttering half of it back up and the young man pounded his back, laughing.
"The second one goes down easier!"
It didn't, but he managed to swallow it all. Another man took the bottle and toasted him, yelling something about little monks becoming men before their very eyes. When another bottle came around Genjo drank from it too, finding it sweeter and more to his taste. He managed two swallows from it before it was passed on.
"Hah! Look, you could light the whole tent with his little shining face!" the man beside him laughed.
The next bottle was one of the nasty ones, but it left Genjo feeling like he was somehow slightly above his own body, observing things just a second or two after they happened. It wasn't a bad feeling.
"When he starts puking, hold him out the door," the cook called.
The men all laughed, louder than ever. For a moment Genjo's light-headedness turned to terror as raucous male laughter echoed in his head and he felt the ghost of a hand tighten in his hair, another seize his clothing. But all that happened was the young man beside him offering him a cup of water.
"C'mon, little guy, drink this. Best to slow down, huh? Maybe eat a spot more of this rice too to soak the booze up."
"Thanks," Genjo said, adding confidentially through a mouthful of rice, "I don't like the rain."
"Don't you worry," the young man said, fiddling with the limiters on his ear. "I won't let them stick you outside." He grinned. "Who wants to get wet, huh?"
Genjo nodded fuzzily. He wanted to explain about rainy nights and Master Koumyou, but for once he couldn't really remember what had happened, not in detail. He could bring Master Koumyou's smile to mind, and the way he'd looked when he was watching birds on the wing. That was so much better. He hoped the light-headedness would never stop, that he would never remember anything else. He smiled genially at them all, allowing the merriment to proceed while he sat there, drifting in the memory of his master's smile.
The young man held up a bottle, the one with the sweeter drink.
"Another?"
"Yeah," Genjo said. "Another."