Title: Picnics and Rain
Author: JC Sun
Category: Fluffy one-shot.
Rating: PG-13 for bad words. Implied shonen ai of the Saitou x Sanosuke variety.
Summary: It's a nice spring day, and Saitou has some money, so the ahou decides to throw a picnic. Yet another silly Saitou + Sano conversation piece that ends in incoherent giggling.
*
What a wonderful, wonderful day for a picnic. . . And to think, I was brilliant enough to know that today would be the absolute perfect day for . The sun, the trees, the river, the divine cuisine. . . Perfect.
Yes, you're so brilliant that you supplied not a single one of those things, especially not the food which you so gleefully ate and I paid for.
You have no appreciation for art, Saitou. You're a philistine.
I'm surprised you know the word.
What, did a weasel *say* something? No, see, I regard implementing the perfect picnic to be an art much like, say, flower arranging. Nature or -- in this case -- someone else provides the raw ingredients, but it's up to the artist to bring the seperate elements together to form the harmonious whole.
That, ahou, has to be one of the most stupid things you've ever said. For one thing, flower arranging takes skill, creativity, concentration, and a thorough understanding of the qualities of each component. You, on the other hand, understand only your stomach.
Once again, the policeman proves that he not only has the face, heart, and voice box of a weasel, but the brain of one.
Once again, the ahou proves that his brain most closely resembles that of a roasted fowl -- except that there's some question over whether the ahou, in all truth, posesses a brain or not.
Ha ha. You're so witty. Notice how I'm just holding my sides with laughter you're such an asshole, Saitou. Don't you ever yank that stick out of there?
No. That's what they pay me for.
Well, don't forget, Mr. Stick- Up-Ass, who handed you your last arrest on a silver platter with chopsticks and soy sauce. . . The arrest so big that the fucking chief of police gave you the bonus himself?
A bonus which I was forced to spend on paying your tab at the Akebano and the local gambling dens, replacing the screens you broke at home, and assuring our landlady that no, you would not pass out on her doorstep the next time you came home late from drinking. That's how I spent that bonus, ahou. Fixing your mistakes.
It's not like you wanted to keep it. It's dirty money, and you know it, Saitou. I . . . uh. . . facilitated. . . its dispersion back into the people. I did a favor, man. The way you squirrel away money, I'd be visiting your memorial altar, and you'd still have it under the floorboards or where-ever the hell you hide it, you cheap bastard.
That's to keep you from stealing it and blowing it on tacky furniture. And no, it's not under the floorboards. Our landlady has suffered enough without you tearing up the flooring.