let it grow

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

He doesn’t look up from the daytrip bag he’s packing, has attuned himself to the patter of little feet to his chagrin, when he says:

“Go take a bath.”

“I already did!” Comes the too cheery reply. A little too quick. A little too quick to not hear the water running for long in this tiny apartment.

The child’s rosy cheeked, standing there in yummy sushi pajamas with wiggling toes and hair as dry as the desert.

“Why isn’t your hair wet, then,” Sanzo states more than asks, one brow cocked. He’s ready for this one, he’s braced himself—

“It can’t swim,” Kachina chirrups like it’s the most natural answer in the world.

Nevermind, he’s not ready. Sanzo hefts a sigh to the heavens but knows no one’s listening to his plight.

Whatever, it’s not his problem. If she wants to stink he won’t deal with it. Or he’ll find the nearest body of water and solve it that way.

Speaking of problems, their benefactor and Sanzo’s biggest problem comes ambling in like he didn’t just chase a 5 year old into the bathroom with one of those clawed hair clips. And he still couldn’t get her to bathe. Pathetic.

“You guys almost ready to go? The city won’t wait for us to paint it red—or green or whatever.”

Kachina turns on her heel to face him, red eyes wide and imploring, and Sanzo has a distinct bad feeling about this.

“Hey, hey Badou—I can’t find my pants.”

Unbeknownst to the two gentlemen, a similar thought passes through their minds: Not a single clean pair of pants? Are my undies clean?

Maybe the second thought wasn’t shared, but the first certainly was.

Badou’s mouth twists into a smirk as he casts a sly eye at Sanzo. “I guess someone forgot to do the laundry, huh.”

Sanzo’s expression does nothing to diminish his displeasure when he replies, “I suppose you did. You’ll have to come up with something.” Because Sanzo is taking a hands off approach here—as in he’s not involved, he’s going to sit here, rearrange his bag and maybe laugh.

Badou’s own expression is comical enough. Like he’s smelled something bad that definitely isn’t Kachina thank-you-very-much and it’s actually been shoved down his nasal cavity.

“Okay, okay..how about…” Eye cast around the room, he takes one of Sanzo’s shirts [“Don’t touch my shit!” “I bought this shit!” “It’s pretty shit!” Followed by one distinct growl and another “Don’t say shit!”] and threads Kachina’s arms and head through it.

They take a step back to admire his sloppy work. The girl wears it like a dress, though she doesn’t mind it obviously. She holds her arms out and spins around and around and—

“No, no no no, let’s do—let’s get a belt, maybe that—” Badou promptly digs in Sanzo’s bag until the preteen can kick the back of one knee out, sending him screaming to the ground in a heap.

“You’re useless and your fashion sense sucks.” Says the boy who wears robes or jeans and tees.

Their guardian actually does procure that belt and looks up with a scowl as he tightens it around Kachina’s tiny waist for the nth time.

“Oh excuse me Sanzo-sama! Please, by all means show me the fruit of your fashionable upbringing. Mr. Robes.”

“Bite me.” The small priest’s mind is already thrumming, searching, stretching out for ideas to come to him as easily as paper airplanes, as easy as the universe at his fingertips.

A sarong [“Where’d you get that? Did you get into Bishop’s crap again? Not as frilly as I’d expect--” “Die. Immediately.”] and a bandana are tied with great care around Kachina’s waist and legs but as beautiful as it looks [it does not but Kachina’s delight is something the two boneheaded boys can agree on] and as happy as she is, it begins to droop as soon as it’s haphazardly fastened.

Two shared sighs.

“Alright I’m just gonna have to give her one of those frilly outfits, I’ve got plenty—”
“Why—”
“That’s okay!” Kachina chirps, all sunshine and reassurance. She props her hands on her hips.

“I can just wear my other pants.”

Badou and Sanzo cannot climb over each other fast enough to chase the tiny, screeching-laughing child into the bathroom.