[the bar's awfully crowded]

[but this is practically the only one the three of them (read; Gintoki and Sakamoto) are still allowed in]

[as he sits down on a stool, he takes off his wide brimmed hat]

[of course he's the first one. neither of those idiots had idea about punctuality, or respecting other people's time, or public decency, or the way of the samurai, or -- ]

Ah, a bottle of sake, please?

[they weren't even here yet, and Katsura already suspected it was going to be a long night]

All right, Gumshoes. Thanks to Pretty Pretty Banshee scaring the ever-loving piss out of the guy handing out tissues near the entrance to Kabuki-cho, we're now in possession of two rather large boxes of tissues with "Lovely Flower Fetish Bar" inserts inside of them.

Eh.

Where was I.

Oh, right. In order to deplete the, uh, reserves, I officially strike paper towels and toilet paper from the grocery list.



Carry on.

it was a brisk, yet clear mid morning, the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the classroom.  It had reached that point of the day where the air was beginning to warm, and many of the boys were eager for their spare time between class time and their kendo practice.  Even so, Shouyou lectured on, his eyes flitting from one young boy to another.  He spoke of philosophy, of life and of the many paths men walk, of the battles and choices they have faced and will face before their time is done. 

He watched closely as the young boys followed in their books, or would occasionally look up at him as he spoke.  He kept his eyes peeled for those who would let their gaze wander outside, their minds following suit shortly after.  Needless to say, Shouyou made sure they did not stray for very long. 

Nevertheless he could feel the anxiousness in the room.  Smiling to himself, he closed his book. 

"Before I end today's lesson, are there any questions?"

It was that time of day again.

For Gintoki, he categorized the time of day neatly by the activities that occured. Sleep, schooling before kendo, the free time in between schooling and kendo, kendo (finally), that little break between kendo and dinner, and then finally baths and bed. But what he had a problem with wasn't the schooling, or the free time before kendo, or even bathtime.

No, what Gintoki had a problem with was the down time between kendo and dinner.

In fact, a problem wasn't a broad enough term. Absolute loathing. Yeah, that'd work. Normal kids -- no, not even normal kids, more like boring kids like Zura -- used the time to study, and others used the time to complete chores or help Otomo-san cook. Napping (his default activity during down time) was not permitted before dinner.

After a few minutes of careful thought, he stood up and came back in from the veranda, leaving the room and winding down the halls, dodging the occasional boy doing chores, until he came to the classroom.

It was the rain that had kept them for so long in that small village to the west of Nagoya. No, it wasn't even the rain itself. It was the way the ground had shifted, the way the roads had turned into slick paths of mud that no one could find purchase on. They'd decided to stay after a cart and horse carrying supplies had slid off of the path, falling into the shallow waters of the rice paddies below.

He knew he should feel some sort of frustration that they weren't going anywhere, that they were running low on supplies, that they were stuck in a town they could barely read the name of -- Koikamon? Koizamon? He couldn't even remember. He knew he shouldn't be so relaxed. Not because there was a company that had gotten annihilated near Hashima, uncomfortably close to where they were, but because it was raining and humidity made his hair curl even worse than usual.

He probably would have felt obligated to complain, had the young lady in the village hitting on Zura not pointed out the hot springs. Hot springs, Gintoki decided as he slid further down into the steaming hot water, had a way of making you forget petty stuff like that.

The air that night had been heavy, dark clouds looming and obscuring the boys' view of moon as they'd rolled out their futons, fought over the position of the bedding, nudged their pillows into place and settled in for the night. The rainy season was one of Gintoki's least favorite times of the year. Rain, no sunshine, rain, no getting to go outside to practice, rain, and rain. Sensei often told them that every season and every aspect of the seasons were part of nature, and were to be respected and honored. Gintoki swore he'd start honoring the rainy season and in return it had to stop making his hair curl even more than it already did.

Clearly the rainy season weather wasn't holding up its end of the bargain, as his hair had curled and become almost impossible to run a comb through in today's humidity. No more honoring the rainy season, he swore as drifted off to sleep. Maybe to make up for it, the storm would merely pass them by and they'd be able to go outside for practice tomorrow.

His first thought that came back into his mind after a particularly loud rumble of thunder roused him from his dreams was that the rainy season really, really sucked. He could hear the rain pounding on the roof in the darkness, and a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the room, dousing everything in an almost sinister light for a split second. Gintoki scowled, burying his face deeper into his pillow. How was he supposed to honor something that wouldn't even let him get a peaceful night's sleep?!

The smell of blood and vomit and antiseptic (what little they could get ahold of in these times, in these wars, endless battles blending into one another like a big long nightmare) filling this room was enough to make even a hardened battle-warrior's stomach churn, much less the new recruits hovering about around the other parts of the house (the area was sectioned off for the care of the wounded, but the news was spreading like wildfire, weakening hearts and morals alike). It had been a hard battle tonight.

Takasugi was not in the room; First-Aid and other useless efforts and skills weren't in his necessary interest.

And besides, he had to clean his sword.

Gintoki was exhausted.

It didn't have so much to do with the fact that he was getting over a cold (as much as he'd deny it to Zura or Kojima or anyone who bothered asking) or even that he'd been woken up again and again earlier in the morning by someone's footsteps outside of the room.

No, the main reason he was exhausted was because he'd spent a good portion of the night hunched over Takasugi's face with a small fude brush and thick ink, painting him up to look an oni from those old paintings that Shouyou-sensei had on display. And oh, what a work of art he'd managed. Because as bad as Gintoki was at waking up sometimes, once Takasugi was asleep, he slept like the dead.

Speaking of waking up. He cracked open one bleary eye, poking his head out of the futon cover and looking around. Three futon were empty -- Zura, Kugimiya and Matsuo were up already, although Matsuo was still in the room. He bit back a snort of laughter as he caught sight of Takasugi, sleeping on his side. The ink had held up rather well, if he did say so himself. Gintoki rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up onto his elbows, trying to muster enough energy to actually get out of bed and start the day.

Not before Takasugi woke up, of course. He almost hoped that Shouyou-sensei would come in to rouse the late stragglers today, even if it did mean a smack on the head from his fan.