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[personal profile] scubatankfilledwithfarts

It shows how deep in the next job they are that the dishes have been left standing for a couple of days. More than a couple, and it just keeps piling up where there’s no end to it. Was there ever a beginning?

Jigen isn’t sure anymore. What he is sure of is he’s not doing them. He did them last time when their fearless leader was bedridden and their swordsman was who knows where, and the time before that. He’s holding out, he refuses to budge, and for a short time he thinks Goemon will do the right, noble thing, put those rubber gloves on, and do them.

What he hasn’t considered is how much more stubborn the 13th is. Hundreds of years with that kind of discipline, with that drive, its only fueled by that bullheadedness.

Jigen, however, has the stubborn grit of a former mafioso of New York. Of a man who can successfully say he’s only been seduced by Fujiko Mine a handful of times. The only man in this house who can say so.

So he makes a nice meal. Leaves some for Lupin. Goemon and he chat little, have meaningful silence more.

It’s quiet save for whatever construction Lupin’s up to, loudly, in the basement.

They clear their plates, march one by one into the kitchen. He even fills up one side of the sink all sudsy and warm with soap.

He and Goemon share a soulful look before the swordsman pivots on his sandaled foot.

“Aren’t you forgetting the dishes?” Jigen tries, hope not yet lost, still in his grasp and held tight
because the guild, the bushido guilt, it’s still there if only he can tap into Goemon’s—

The swordsman, the 13th air of a proud legacy stops. Looks over his shoulder with that stubborn chin sticking out in acknowledgment.

“I will never forget the dishes for as long as I live. Farewell.”

And with all the skills of his lightfooted-ness he dashes away into the night. Jigen watches the Goemon-shaped dust cloud he leaves behind, comically, and throws in the towel. Literally.

So much for that. Well, he’ll just have Lupin do them when he comes up for air.
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