Goku and his cranky caretaker were reunited with the two wayward companions of theirs in a little resort town that set itself up on the beach of the lake the river emptied into. Hidan decided it was a perfectly good place to dig out those infernal contraptions called bullets from his body, and to find a good, hearty steak. He didn’t even need to get shot to bugger off. (He did leave them behind with a spectacularly smoky jutsu, just to piss off Sanzo.)

“Ultra-rare,” he firmly told Tobi as he shamelessly stripped in their hotel room. “Here.” He gave Tobi the gold credit card he had swiped off the cranky caretaker – while he had issues killing other members of religion, whether false or otherwise, there were no rules against stealing someone else’s property. And after nearly losing his hand six more times before when it accidentally strayed too close between the non-jinchurriki’s mouth and food, Hidan felt he clearly deserved – nay, he was owed some fucking restitution.

Tobi gasped. “Hidan-sempai, this is not ours!”

“Finders fucking keepers.” Hidan didn’t think it was necessary to mention how he had found it in Sanzo’s pocket. Lifting something from someone’s personal being was just a matter of stealth and skill; shit, he was a ninja! What more could anyone expect?

“Tobi will return it to the Sanzo-party right now!”

“And what? Pay for the room and the grub by selling fucking, poofy Avon?” Hidan openly relished the full-body shudder of horror that wracked Tobi.

“Er.” Tobi seemed to study the credit card for a long moment. “We can always give it back tomorrow.”

“You’re starting to wise up, kid. Stick with me, and you’ll be ready to slaughter the whole fucking world.”

Tobi perked up. “Really, senpai? Just like you?”

Hidan thought he sensed just a touch of sarcasm in Tobi’s voice, but dismissed it as he peeled himself out of his underwear. Damn; what was he thinking when he decided to wear it? Oh yeah, something about hygiene… “Get going. I want some fucking protein when you get back.” He grabbed up his arsenal of supplies and marched into the bathroom.

He settled his arsenal on the sink – tweezers, shampoo, a luffa, moisturizing body wash for extra-sensitive skin, gauze and bandages. He eyed the shampoo, since it looked suspiciously like that flowery shit that Itachi was always using, and then decided he didn’t give a flying fuck at the moment. Between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, Hidan needed to wash the stupid from his body just in case it was contagious.

OOoOoOoOo

Hidan stared at his bed at the shower water dripped from his hair. His cloak and dark trousers that he had carelessly let lie on the floor had not only picked up and folded themselves on his bed, but also mysteriously disguised themselves in loud, garish, blindingly bright colors.

Who knew that his cloak could somehow managed to henge itself into a tropical vacation shirt, complete with bananas, tropical leaves, cancan birds, and big pink blossoms? And good Jashin, what the fuck happened to his pants? The whole plot smelled nefariously like Dr. Nii, he was positive of it.

“This is so gay,” he muttered as he poked the pile of clothes for any hidden death traps. What next – ambush by a sombrero and a large pair of sunglasses that went out of style thirty years ago, along with bell-bottoms and tie-dyes?

A sudden sense of power filled him. Wear them.

Oh no. Oh fuck no.

A man had his breaking points, and this was the camel that broke his straw back. Hidan could grit his teeth and chafe under the no-killing stipulation; he would do the damn yoga poses, but this? But there could be no disrespect to his god – quick, excuses! Excuses! “But think of how it would look, a messenger from the gods dressed up like a fucking cabana boy?”

OOoOoOoOo

“He has a point,” Jashin told Kanzeon Bosatsu as he pointed at the image of Hidan in the water, who was currently looking quite horrified at his brand-new wardrobe.

The Kanzeon Bosatsu arched an elegant eyebrow. “I would join a cult if it was run by a handsome, half-naked cabana boy.”

Jashin hid his shudder by leaning against the handle of his mop.

OOoOoOoOo

“Oh for-!” Hidan gritted his teeth, and then relaxed as Jashin’s dogma unfurled itself in his mind, a new piece of scripture revealing itself to the hungry scholar’s mind that Hidan carefully kept stashed away in a metaphorical trashcan so no one could suspect.

Look on the bright side, the pain of the body pales in comparison to the pain of wounded dignity.

Despite the fact that Hidan knew there were many different ways to inflict excruciating pain upon people and make that pain linger endlessly and unchangingly for days without allowing for the blessed release of death (not that he knew how to employ most of those, other than labeling Tobi as such an infliction) – it was still a startling revelation. So many obstacles were instantly cleared, a new path suddenly illuminated within his life.

He could kill dignity left and right without spilling blood!

Hah, watch out world, here comes the mighty Evangelist Hidan in a gay tropical shirt!

OooOoOoOo

Jashin coughed into his fist. “Now I’m worried.”

Kanzeon Bosatsu smiled in amusement and leaned closer to watch Hidan change, slick back his hair with gel, and then set forth to a copy shop to make pamphlets. “You sure know how to pick them.”