"Misery loves company"

For lj user"tokagemusume" who requested a drabble of wrongness between Muraki and Watari.

It fermented for a few days but this is what I came up with.

There were few things in the universe that Oriya hated. The first of these was karaoke.

He ran an inn, a restaurant, a brothel, not a damn karaoke bar, but two young men, one with short hair of dazzling silver in a white trench coat, and the other with a mane of strawberry blonde and a white lab coat were huddled around a make do karaoke machine that they had macguyvered out of a radio and a speaker rewired to become a microphone.

His night hadn't started that badly.

Muraki had been in a bad temper, his latest obsession was playing hard to get and this in itself was not a problem.

The KoKakuRou was filled with beautiful young ladies and a few young men of rather questionable morality that should have been able to cheer him up. As it was they were killing time. The night was slow, it wasn't a worry, it happened.

In fact the two boys were playing mahjongg, one of his premier courtesans had pulled on a pair of sweat pants and was knitting. Another had a western style embroidery hoop and several needles hanging out of her short kimono. But it was Tuesday, the one day of the week where no one expected it to be busy. In fact if any of his honoured customers had come into the back rooms they might have all died of heart attacks, but it was normally like this on a Tuesday.

The blonde had come in, waved off the lovely creatures sent to serve him, proved her was more than capable of paying with a wad of cash as thick as his thigh pulled from a pocket and proceeded to get stone drunk.

That wasn't unusual for a Tuesday either.

Muraki had taken advantage of the axiom that misery loves company and the two men had started drinking rather obscene amounts of sake.

They were whining about the fact that nobody appreciated the work that went into science. "I made my own mechanical eye, you know," Muraki had pointed out, "it can't see for shit, my depth perception is totally off, but I made it." He was waving his hands all over the air, "and does anyone notice, no."

"I know what you mean," said the Blonde, Watari, "nobody appreciates science! I killed myself for the good of Japan and does anyone notice, no!"

This had been going on for some time.

If not for the amounts of hashish in his pipe Oriya would have been pulling his hair out by now.

After an hour, and a wrists amount of the blonde doctor's cash, the KoKakuRou was rather expensive and KakuRouMomo knitting was not paying the bills although it shaped to be a rather nice cardigan, it looked like they might stumble into the street in search of noodles and other amusements, before Muraki had drunkenly remembered that this was a restaurant after all and Oriya's hopes were dashed.

He brought them plain soba noodles in the hope that it might sop up some of the ungodly amount of alcohol that the two of them consumed.

It was then that they mentioned the radio, and well, it was Tuesday, it was quiet, it was late, it didn't look like anyone was going to even make the effort. He didn't see what harm it could do.

He had been wrong.

He had been so wrong.

Now they stood on a small low table, arms around each other for support, a pen that had been co opted as a conductor for the microphone held out in front of them as they squawked along with the radio.

The words that lingered in Oriya's head the next day were "And I did it my waaaaaaaaaay!"