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AN: This took me so long to write. It features EVERYONE EVER.Pairings? Oh gods... SP, DP, AtoTez, Sanada/Yukimura/Fuji, Jackal/Marui, D1, implied Data Pair, Bronze Pair (Bane/Davide), implied Akutsu/Dan, Jiroh's Marui and Fuji worship.
This is for Viya and Argent, who looked over it and caught my stupid mistakes, and to the LJ user kimby77, because I was a tease.
"Let them eat cake, of course," said Atobe, flicked his feather fan open with a well-practiced gesture, and fluttered it towards his powdered face.
The dress was satisfyingly heavy, and he rather liked the feeling of what seemed to be miles of material rustling around his legs. The corset alone had taken an hour to get properly laced, even when he'd dismissed the servants who were supposed to be proficient in these sorts of things and had Shishido and Ohtori each take a string and heave. The pair had arrived several hours early, at Atobe's orders--he'd invisioned something like this happening, and knew that they'd be best suited for such delicate tasks as dressing his great self. Mukahi would have bitched, Oshitari would have propositioned Mukahi the entire time, and Atobe did not have time to deal with such things today, or any day, for that matter.
The head caterer was saying something about how there wasn't enough cake for the hundred or so guests to eat only that, and that they really needed something else to back up the flavor of the delicate dessert. Atobe only paid a fraction of his attention: One of his silk stockings needed to be adjusted when he had a moment's privacy, and he hadn't even put the powdered wig on yet. Atobe snapped his fan shut and waved it dismissively. "You'll figure something out. That's why I'm paying you. After all," he continued, "ore-sama was told you were the best caterers in the city. That is all." Atobe turned, twitching the masses of silk petticoats and lace-trimmed brocade skirts until they settled properly around his legs. "Ore-sama must finish dressing now."The head servant and the caterer took their cue and fled. "Ohtori, come out of ore-sama's closet. Where's Kabaji?"
"Usu."
"I found your shoes," Ohtori said as he stumbled out of the closet, holding up the buckled, heeled, lace-and-silk monstrosities. Atobe pursed his lips and stared balefully at them. For a moment, he considered wearing his tennis shoes--it wasn't like anyone would see them--then he dismissed it. It was all about the image, after all.
"Ore-sama will ponder the reasons that women wear such things while Kabaji powders my neck." Atobe sat in front of his mahogany vanity, tilted his head up, and waited. A thought occured to him and he blinked. "Kabaji?"
"Usu?" Kabaji asked, picking up the jar of powder and the feathery puff.
"Why did you volunteer to do my makeup after ore-sama fired the maid?"
"Time for us to get changed." Shishido brushed a smudge of powder off the royal purple velvet of Atobe's upper sleeve, then met the captain's eyes and sighed. "Six," he said, glaring daggers at his watch. "And I haven't even done my hair yet."
"Go."
They went. Atobe adjusted his stocking.
He tucked his feet beneath the chair and, hidden by his voluminous skirts, slipped the dreadful shoes off. The corset still felt satisfyingly tight, but the lace cascading in snowy tiers from his elbows to his wrists tickled the insides of his arms. The lace sleeves were, unfortunately, not the most irritating things at present. His own team was already giving him a migraine, even though he had drilled the Regulars on the etiquette he would expect, the appropriate costumes to wear, how they were not to get drunk like last time, and how the doubles and couples should look out for each other to ensure that the Great Hostage Incident of Fuji Syuusuke NEVER. HAPPENED. AGAIN.
Doubles, Atobe had decided, were the root of all evil in the world. Evil squared, even. Oshitai and Muhaki had arrived together, of course; thus far they were behaving decorously--neither of them had been kidnapped yet, either. But Atobe was SURE he'd mentioned revealing costumes to his team and the parameters and restrictions thereof: Hyoutei's very own tensai had arrived clad in leather-- leather of such a dark blue that Atobe thought it was black until the light caught on Oshitari's legs. It brought out his eyes and hair, Atobe thought, dazed by frustration and the... the mesh, because what wasn't night-blue leather was glimmering silver fishnet, and not much of that, either. Atobe wondered where he could get pants like that.
And then he'd seen Hyoutei's Very Own Tensai's doubles partner/fiancee/loveslave, and, apparently, tonight's bane of ore-sama's existence, one Mukahi Gakuto. Oshitari WAS wearing leather, yes, but Mukahi wore, well... LESS leather. And a dog collar. And a leash. Atobe congratulated himself for not gaping, spluttering, or otherwise embarrassing himself. Really, he should have been expecting this.
"WHAT," he asked them calmly, "What are you wearing?"
"Not much," Mukahi returned, grinning.
"Ore-sama spoke to you about... this," he hissed, flicking his fan at their outfits. The two of them looked down at themselves and appeared vaguely surprised.
"Oh," said Oshitari, raising one eyebrow and twining Mukahi's silver leash around his fingers, "this is a costume party."
"Yeah, Atobe, we thought it was a 'costume party,'" Mukahi air-quoted and over-acted a wink.
Atobe closed his eyes for a fraction of a second longer than a blink and silently waved them along. "Don't upset the guests. They would go away thinking my parties are less than magnificent. Is that so much for ore-sama to ask?"
"Not at all," Oshitari purred, looking out of the corner of his eye to Mukahi. "Gakuto and I will find a quiet shadowy part of the garden for our uncouth... doings." He tugged on the leash until the other fell into his arms. "Neh, Gakuto?"
"Out of my sight. You're obstructing traffic." They flashed grins at Atobe that were much too similar for comfort as they left--Mukahi made a beeline for the champagne.
Other miscellaneous guests passed Atobe's greeting, most of them wearing the lamest costumes he'd ever seen. Didn't any of them know what a costume party entailed?
Then he saw Seigaku. Or rather, he thought, counting them, Seigaku minus two.
"Why aren't you all here? Your RSVP included ALL of your team-- where are the others?" Atobe tried to cross his arms, but that damn decolletage got in the way again.
"Kaidoh got... held up," said their data-specialist. Atobe ran a critical eye over his costume-- a white lab coat, a fake moustache that looked more like a caterpillar, and a snowy wig that stood straight out from his head in strange, tousled tufts.
"We passed by a box of kittens that someone was giving away," explained Seigaku's inferior Mukahi-clone, whose pink and gold cat ears clashed horribly with his red hair. "And so he pretended like his shoe was untied and said he'd catch up, but then when we were out of sight he picked up the whole box and went home." Atobe narrowed his eyes and inspected the others.
"Where's Tezuka?"
"He disappeared to change into his costume," said Fuji. "He didn't want to wear it on the way over."
"Ore-sama assumes his costume is decent?" Seigaku paused. "What is his costume, anyway?"
They looked at each other blankly.
"A sheet!"
"A white sheet."
"Socky-something, he said."
"He wouldn't tell ME!"
"It was a mutant sheet."
Atobe gestured for them to shut up, which they didn't. He gestered again, more forcefully, then spotted That Freshman. "You. You were supposed to come in costume." His dress seemed to be getting steadily heavier, and the lace around his wrists and on the decollatage was beginning to itch like hell.
Echizen tugged his hat down to hide a smirk. "Che. I am."
"As what, a short brat who didn't read the invitation?"
"No, as a pro tennis player."
Atobe came too-close-for-comfort to losing his cool and strangling Echizen. "Just. Go. Welcome. Enjoy yourselves." He snapped his fingers. "Kabaji! Aspirin!"
"Usu."
The Seigaku regulars moved away into the crowds to reveal Rikkaidai right on their heels. "I see you're missing someone as well," Atobe noted coldly.
"No," Yukimura said sweetly. "Kirihara-kun stepped outside to make a wardrobe adjustment."
Atobe studied the other captain's get-up and relaxed. Well, that was alright, then. "Yukimura-san, your costume is especially fine. I praise your usual good taste."
"Thank you, Atobe-san."
"Going traditional was quite a stroke of genius, as expected. No one's come as a geisha so far..." Atobe said smoothly. Rikkai beamed as if he'd just complimented all of them, and Yukimura smiled (Atobe avoided looking--the last time he'd seen Yukimura smile, he'd felt dizzy for the next half-hour). "Except Seigaku's Fuji Syuusuke, of course. Ore-sama quite approved of his hairstyle."
Rikkai fell silent. The smile slid off Yukimura's face. "I... see," he said, and strode as quickly away as his kimonos would let him.
Atobe glanced over the others. "Sanada-kun?" Atobe began in a patronizing voice, "I recall that samurai didn't wear such hats. Take it off." Sanada glowered and ran his hand along the hilt of his katana. "That is all. Enjoy the party."
"Here I am I fixed my stockings don't leave without me!"
"Akaya, Niou and I told you not to pull at them so--" Yagyuu began.
"Don't do that, Niou-sempai; I know it's you as Yagyuu dressed as a prisoner in hotpants." Kirihara turned to the other, who Atobe had thought was Niou, although he should have known better. "And I can tell it's you too, Yagyuu-sempai, only with police officer hotpants and handcuffs. Oh, hi, Atobe-san! I like your dress!"
"..." said Atobe, staring at Kirihara's...clothes.
"Do you like my costume?" Kirihara asked, vibrating with excitement. "I didn't have anything to wear, so Niou and Yagyuu threw it together for me. They said it would look good on me."
"But--"
"I thought the pink fishnets were a bit much, but Niou told me that I absolutely had to have them for the effect."
"And--"
"I wanted the black miniskirt, though. I don't think red plether looks so good on me."
"--What--"
"I do so love the boots though. I want to keep them, but Yagyuu is strangely attatched to them for some weird reason."
"Ore-sama--"
"I'm a bit cold. This shirt does show quite a bit of skin, doesn't it? Do you think my makup's okay? Niou did it because Yagyuu said he was better at it."
"--Kirihara-kun, you look like a streetwalker!"
"A what? I mean, I did walk on the street part of the way here."
"A prostitute!"
"Oh. Ohhhh. Is THAT why those guys were trying to give me money? That explains it all!"
"Explains all what?"
"Why Sanada turned purple when I met them at his house to come here. I thought his head was going to explode because Niou told me that happened once. But Yukimura-buchou said he liked my clothes. His face looked kind of funny, though, and I think Sanada said something to him, because he was gnawing the inside of his cheek like he does when he's trying not to laugh so hard he suffocates himself."
"It was either this or a world-class gourmet, Jackal, and THEY aren't easily identifiable. Besides, I would have ruined your whole... effect. That costume is PERFECT for you," Marui said enviously. "I think you were right to go with the Tutankhamen instead of Anubis, though. The mask... People wouldn't have gotten it. And the jackal nose would have gotten in the way of eating."
"Still, Marui, a waitress?"
"Hey, I look hot. As usual. It was genius, this, so back off. Ooh, those cream puffs look really good. Pass the Swedish meatballs, while you're over there."
"Seigaku's Fuji-san. Yes, I know. But... Why, have you put on a little weight?" Their mouths were both frozen in upward curves, but they didn't smile.
"If I have, it's because the matches I've been playing lately haven't been at all strenuous." Yukimura's expression didn't change, even though he'd played Fuji in a practice match the week before. "How was your hospital recovery? For the flu, wasn't it?" Fuji sipped delicately at his champagne, then glittered his slitted eyes over the rim.
"I'm fully recovered."
"You shouldn't strain yourself, Seiichi-kun." Fuji's voice was all velvet.
"My vice-captain is around, should I need... assistance."
"How horrible it must be for you to have to rely on someone else so heavily."
"How terrible it must be for you not to have anyone to lean on."
Fuji stopped pretending to smile and opened his eyes. "If I weren't wearing this kimono..."
"If I weren't afraid to be suffocated by your massive hair..." Both trailed off, well aware that they were blocking the champagne table and that they'd attracted an audience. "I'd challenge you to a tennis match, of course." The silence between them thrummed.
"I need more alcohol," Yukimura said suddenly, and though the words meant one thing, what he said seemed to mean something entirely different.
"These shoes are killing me," Fuji said, and when he nodded, it was as if he was agreeing with someting.
"I'll get the hard liquor, you steal a platter of those stuffed mushrooms, and I'll meet you outside, under the terrace."
Fuji closed his eyes and smiled. "I'll take off my shoes and loosen your sash. Sanada-san tied it too tight?"
Rikkai's buchou nodded. "I asked for it"
"Ah. Speaking of your fukubuchou--"
"Yes, I'll bring him."
"Excellent."
"Mph?"
"Jiroh, wake up. The party started hours ago." Ohtori shook the young man gently.
"I know," he mumbled. "'m in costume." Shishido and Ohtori looked at Jiroh's clothes.
"Footie pajamas, Jiroh?" Ohtori asked weakly. "Listen, Seigaku's Fuji Syuusuke and Rikkai's Marui Bunta are"
"Here? Where?" Jiroh gasped, suddenly on his feet, breathless and beaming. "Will Fuji play a match with me? Has Marui-san been wonderful yet? Atobe-san hasn't had Kabaji throw them out yet, right? What are you?" he plucked at Ohtori's brown robe.
"I'm a monk from the European Dark Ages." Ohtori pulled his robe out of Jiroh's fingers and tightened his belt. "And Shishido-san is a Viking."
"And Fuji's a geisha," Shishido added, then smirked. "I'd like to see him play tensai tennis in a costume like that."
Jiroh slumped, then looked solemnly at the two. "Don't underestimate Fuji Syuusuke."
"Words to live by, Shishido-san," Ohtori admitted. "Go find Atobe, Jiroh-sempai." He made to follow Jiroh out of the room, but Shishido caught his wrist, closed the door, pushed Ohtori against it, and pressed himself up against Ohtori.
"Been waiting all day to get you alone," Shishido murmured, tilting his head up and kissing his Choutarou without preamble. The younger man's mouth opened sweetly beneath his, soft and wet and still new-feeling. Choutarou moved, draping one arm around his sempai's waist, running the other hand into Shishido's hair as his tongue did interesting things to Choutarou's mouth. He sighed when Shishido pulled away. "You taste like chocolate."
"There were truffles. Really good ones," Choutarou said, a smidge guilty.
"I can see that," Shishido licked into his mouth again, then nibbled Choutarou's ear. "Going to tease me all night?" He ran one hand slowly down the other youth's chest-- and then his wrist was seized.
"Shishido-san!"
"What?"
"We're in Atobe's room!"
"So? Come on," he wheedled, and bit lightly at Choutarou's neck, grinning triumphantly when the arm around his waist tightened and his boy went limp, gasping. He began moving his hand down again, but then Choutarou wriggled out of his arms, shaking off the haze.
"I am not going to do anything on, to, or with you in buchou's room." Shishido, frustrated, crossed his arms, glared, began to leave-- Choutarou continued, "Let's at least try to find an empty guest room." He turned back and quirked an eyebrow, trying not to smile. Choutarou met his eyes, though his cheeks were possibly pinker than usual. "What?"
"Choutarou, have you been drinking?"
Choutarou thumped him, at which Shishido laughed, caught his lips in another heated kiss, and they proceeded to drag each other off down the hall, giggling all the way when Shishido's horned helmet fell off.
"Well, I invented integral calculus!" answered Yanagi, also fussing with his wig-- instead of ruffled tangles, it was white curls, of the sort worn by judges and political figures at the end of the seventeenth century. Also scientists.
"And I invented the Photoelectric Effect and also I settled the question of why the sky is blue."
"I win because I invented gravity, the three basic laws of physics and a reflecting telescope."
"Iii, good one."
"Why thank you. Yours also. The wig makes you look just like him."
Sanada, however, perched on the edge of a wooden deck chair with the second bottle of liquor clamped in his hand and half empty. Or maybe it was half-full, he pondered, as Fuji declared he was "too warm" and removed his outermost kimono. Yukimura had done the same a few minutes before, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and light dancing in his eyes-- it had to have been just the firelight, though.
"Genichirou," purred Yukumura. Sanada was startled out of his nearly-drunk haze; he glanced at Fuji to see if he'd noticed, but the tensai wasn't moving, just... smiling, and looking nowhere, and playing with Yukimura's hair again. Fuji hiccuped--Yukimura giggled and gave Sanada a come-hither stare. "You're all the way over theeeere, Genichi--hic--ichirou."
Fuji gave another answering hiccup, but Sanada didn't move, only stared at his buchou-- his Seiichi, sprawled over Fuji's lap, with his kimono slipping off his his shoulder and parting over his ankles. Sanada opened his mouth to say something neutral and stoic, but what came out was, "You've got pretty ankles, Seiichi."
Yukimura and Fuji laughed, wriggled with their mirth, which meant the kimonos slipped further down one shoulder on each of them, and parted a little further up their legs. Sanada shifted, took another swig of whatever it was he had in that glass bottle. Yukimura finished laughing and grinned adorably. "You're pretty all over, Genichirou." He flicked his eyes up to Fuji, who was looking down at him, amused as always, and said, tispy and serious, "He's pretty all over, Syuusuke. Trust me, I know." Yukimura broke down and giggled again.
"You're tipsy," Fuji said.
"So're you, 's just no one can tell. 'Cept me." Yukimura grabbed for the bottle he and Fuji were sharing and sipped at it. "Don't y'think Genichirou's pretty all over, Syuusuke?"
"Aa, as much of him as I've seen is pretty," Fuji agreed.
"'s all pretty, Syuusuke. Trust me." Yukimura's eyes unfocused and his affirming finger weaved through the air. He and Fuji hiccuped in unison. "Trust me, I know. Seen it myself."
"Not his entrails."
"They'd be pretty too. Just like his--"
"Seiichi, enough," Sanada said. Damn him, but Fuji didn't seem tipsy at all-- except for hiccups. Somewhere on the terrace above them, Sanada heard the low purr of that Hyoutei tensai, the sound of a half-hearted slap, and a "Yuushi, you pervert, not here!"
"C'mere," Yukimura was demanding of him, reaching out--the sky blue silk rippled and slid down his arm. "Here, Genichirou. Come Here," he said again, when Sanada didn't move. Compelled by the Buchou Voice, Sanada did his best to stand, but the world swayed alarmingly, so he sat with a thump next to Yukimura and tried to blink away the fuzziness.
"He's had enough to drink too, methinks," said Fuji.
"Mhm. Take it away, Syuusuke." Yukimura stretched deliciously and pulled Sanada's wrist until he slouched closer to them as Fuji took the bottle out of his suddenly pliant hands. Fuji hiccuped again, but Sanada didn't notice because Yukimura was sliding his fingers into his hair and pulling him into Yukimura's motuh for a kiss that intoxicated him more than the liquor.
Until he pulled away. "You--" he said, muzzily poking Yukimura's chest with one accusing finger, "Are up t'something. An' I, I..." he paused, trying to remember what he was going to say to those fathomless eyes. "An' he is too," he finished, trying to swipe the bottle back from Fuji; it didn't work, and he lost his balance and tipped forward onto Yukimura. Oh. There was a neck right next to his mouth, and it smelt like his Seiichi--soap and jasmine and sunshine-warmth--so he nibbled it. As long as he was there and all.
Somewhere in his alcohol-and-Yukimura-fogged mind, he was shouting and ordering himself to run laps, but Yukimura was breathing in his ear, and he could smell the sweetness of his breath, and the tang of the alcohol, and the underlying, earthy smell of the stuffed mushrooms they'd devoured. He turned his head, intent on another kiss--who was he to deny that it was a really GREAT idea?-- but Yukimura stopped him with a sharp tug on his hair.
"Syuusuke feels left out," proclaimed Yukimura.
Everything stopped.
Then Fuji said, "I'm fine, Seiichi-kun, really."
"No." Yukimura insisted, "You feel left out. You do. Trust me, I--hic--I knows. So Genichirou is going to kiss you."
Fuji hiccuped. "He is?"
"I am?"
"Aa. Truefact." The buchou's cheeks looked even more flushed than before, noted Sanada's sober fraction of mental powers with some dismay. How much had he drunk? Yukimura used his Buchou Voice again, but Sanada narrowed his eyes, and then Yukimura said please and if there was a man in the world capable of denying Yukimura when he said please, it wasn't Sanada, certainly not, which is how he found himself tangling his fingers in the hair of an open-eyed Fuji Syuusuke and parting the tensai's mouth with his own tongue. He was going to need more alcohol for this.
He was DEFINITELY going to need more alcohol for this, he repeated when he felt Yukimura's fingers dancing slowly up the leg of his loose pants.
"I said I was going to crash this party. You didn't have to come," the ghost answered, shaking the parasite off his arm.
The ninja kicked the ghost's ankle. "I think we should go home right now, desu!" The ghost turned to his diminutive companion and glared.
"I should fucking hit you, kid! If you don't want to help, run home by yourself."
"Akutsu-sempai is too honorable to hit me," the ninja said, all sweet confidence. The ghost grit his teeth. "I'm hungry, desu. And cold."
"It's the middle of summer."
"I want to go home!"
The ghost gave up and kicked the fence, which clanged. "Fine, kid, we'll go home."
"And get ice-cream on the way," the ninja added smoothly. "I have money."
"I'm not stopping to let you buy something that's going to make you whine about the cold again."
"Arigatou, Akutsu-sempai!" the ninja said, delighted. "Next time, I will have more money, so it will be my turn to treat us to ramen, I promise"
Akutsu looked down at the dark mop of hair bobbing along at his elbow and tried to figure out what he'd gotten himself into.
Tezuka, who had been sitting alone in the dark closet until Atobe burst in, started breathing again. "Who are you hiding from?"
"Mostly Jiroh. He wants me to tell him where Fuji is so he can bribe him to kidnap Marui Bunta for him, since that seems to be your tensai's life calling. "
"We've spoken about this."
"Jiroh doesn't know that Fuji is under the terrace with the buchou of Rikkaidai. Why are you hiding in ore-sama's closet?"
"I was reading. Does Sanada know about them?" Tezuka closed his book, ready to rush off if need be.
"He's with them. But really, reading instead of enjoying the party? My greatness feels slighted, Tezuka." He eyed the other buchou's costume again. "That toga really is rather becoming," he said, opening the door a tiny crack and peering out.
"I would have expected King Louis from you, rather than Marie Antoinette." Atobe froze. He closed the door and slowly looked over to Tezuka, now standing against the back wall.
"Did ore-sama hear you right?"
"Marie Antoinette," repeated Tezuka, gesturing at Atobe's costume.
In two strides, he'd invaded Tezuka's personal space and pinned him against the wall. He stared at the other young man, searching for something in his face. "Who told you? Shishido? Ohtori?"
"No one told me," Tezuka wheezed past the arm pressed against his neck.
"You knew?"
"Of course." Tezuka rubbed his throat, but a moment later he was pinned against the wall again while Atobe kissed him fiercely. He blinked when Atobe let him go with a violently satisfied smirk. "Atobe?"
"No one's known ore-sama's costume."
"No one knew mine either," Tezuka pointed out, a little dazed. "My team thought it was some sort of mutant sheet."
"Because everyone on your team is a cretin." Tezuka stared sternly; Atobe rolled his eyes. "You've got a laurel wreath, Tezuka. How could they not know? Other than because they're cretins." Atobe felt Tezuka push him back against the door, and suddenly he was the one being kissed fervently. "See?" he whispered, when Tezuka stopped for breath. "Isn't it nice to have your efforts properly appreciated?"
Tezuka kissed him again, and then there were tongues and nibbling and the sound of soft breaths-- but everything became a blur after that, vague and like a dream, but for the moments of clarity when one of them would fumble with cloth and curse. Atobe's petticoats were mostly slipped off, his leg hooked over Tezuka's hip while the other buchou ran his hand up Atobe's thigh, pushing the heavy velvet up and aside, wrapping his hand around Atobe--but while he was tugging at Tezuka's toga so he could reciprocate, Atobe purred and said between kisses he shouldn't have expected Tezuka to keep his hands soft and moisturized, and Tezuka's eyes narrowed the littlest bit, and he turned his head to bite at Atobe's collarbone, and his hand tightened around Atobe's cock, and then everything became much hotter.
Then the door opened, and three people nearly spilt into the confines of the closet.
"Atobe-san, you live here," Yukimura said, and indeed, he smelt of Atobe's favorite liquor.
"Aa, you don't have to get a room," agreed Sanada, who was flushed and seemed a little giggly. "You've..." he swayed where he stood, but Yukimura and Fuji propped him up, "You've got one. A room. Yes. You do. Lots." He trailed off mumbling, brushing his face into Yukimura's loose curls.
Atobe and Tezuka had both frozen as soon as the doorknob had turned. "Buchou, I see how your mutant sheet costume is conveni-hic-ient now," Fuji pointed out.
"Fuji, you're drunk," Tezuka said, pulling away from Atobe and turning away. "You're hallucinating."
"No, that's drugs. HIC!"
"Fifty laps at next practice. Two hundred if you don't leave NOW."
Atobe sighed and rummaged in the pockets of his skirt. "Here's a key. Go away and find a guest room."
Yukimura smiled at them, and the two captains felt vaguely woozy. "Thank you, Atobe-san."
Sengoku entertained the group with his rendition of "The Scotsman Unbound" while dancing a jig on a table in his kilt.
A small squabble arose when Mukahi, Kamio, Marui, and a very drunk Kikumaru got into a battle over whose hair was naturally red and whose was OBVIOUSLY a dye-job--their respective boyfriends had to drag them to quieter corners to calm down.
Ryoma was nowhere to be seen, but Atobe didn't even need to use his Insight to know he was on the tennis court in the company of Hiyoshi, who had also been supremely bored.
Davide was kicked by not only Bane, but three others, when he wandered into the main party room with a smirk, and mentioned that there was a monk in one of the guest rooms, and he was looting-and-pillaging a Viking, and shouldn't it be the other way around?
Yukimura and Fuji reappeared at some point, flushed and glowing, and tipsily commended Atobe for the Best Party Ever. Atobe nodded. Of course it was the best ever. Then they asked him for more champagne to take back to "poor Genichirou," who was, apparently, unable to move. Jiroh, who had been dozing off in his sheepy pajamas at Atobe's elbow, alerted immediately and began chattering at Fuji.
"Fuji-san, Fuji-san, can you find Marui-sama for me and do that thing you do that's so sugoi? With the rope and the scary eyes and the creepy smile?"
"Of course, Akutagawa-kun. Stay right here with Atobe-san and I'll bring him back to you if you can stay awake the whole time," said Fuji. Atobe rolled his eyes, and the two geisha-boys disappeared with their bottle of champagne. "Keep me awake, Atobe, okay? You have to... keep me... awake..." Jiroh yawned hugely. "For Marui-sama. Stay... awake..." Jiroh's head sank down to his chest and Atobe once again marvled at the boy's ability to fall asleep standing up.
"Kabaji! Carry Jiroh to ore-sama's room."
"Usu."