Sunbuns

Two dolls stand on the burrowgatory beach… and neither of them want to be there. Kuro is setting up a booth, currently, on the edge of the path to the waterway. The table is stacked with bunbles. Beside the table is a cooler filled with ice and bottles of water. Such is the perfect tactic, crafted by Mercy themselves, to lure in buns off the hot sand and to the table dedicated to the religion so their most willing, most eager, most charismatic priest can attempt to lure even more visitors in through the doors. And, of course, to add more carats to the tithe box that Kuro sets up last on the table. Meanwhile, at his side, the purple and black spotted bun that accompanies him as not lifted a single finger to assist him in this process of preparation.

“Kuro, it’s hhhotttttt…”

“Yes. That is what happens during the summer. If you stepped outside once in a while you would know that.”

“The sand is itchy…”

“Correct.”

“And the sun is hurting me!” 

Kuro sighs, dragging a hand down his face. His thumbs press into the corners of his eyes and pull his already sagging skin down, making the bags under them look deeper, lower, and much more dramatic.When his hand is officially over his mouth, his eyes are up toward the sky. Thanks to the crystal illumination, he’s perfectly able to stare directly at the ‘sun’ without experiencing the negative effects of burn on his retinas. He stays like that as he addresses the doll at his side.  “Taro… Did I or did I not make you the offer of bringing an umbrella with us? And did you or did you not not only reject my offer of the umbrella, but also insisted that you needed to wear pants and a cardigan to the beach.”

Taro drops both arms to his sides. He looks up at his boyfriend, a temple of his own highlighted with his annoyance. It’s true. Taro is dressed in pants, a purple tank top, and a heavy and equally purple cardigan. Despite the sweat rolling down his forehead under the bright lights and the heat in the burrow, he grabs either side of his cardigan and pulls it tighter around him. “I TOLD you. I don’t want my limbs exposed… And I don’t want to be carrying around an entire beach umbrella. It’s taller than I am. And heavy. And I need to keep my hands in good condition for work.”“You work. Stirring. Boba pearls,” Kuro spits.

“... Yes. And I need to have good hands for this. Hmph.” Taro sticks his lip out. Kuro feels even more of his sanity slipping through his ears the longer he stands here in the heat. Then, to make it WORSE, Taro reaches his hand out and touches Kuro’s arm. His fingers trace the lines of the many, many tattoos visible on his skin. Kuro doesn’t address it, but does SIGH like he’d rather Taro not be looking at them at all.

“What about YOU?” Taro huffs. “I’ve seen you shirtless, mm… twice? You don’t even take your shirt off when you’re fu-”

“Mercy made me do it,” Kuro interrupts before Taro can finish that sentence.

“Someone can make you do something?”

Kuro glares at him. 

--

An hour earlier, in the belly of the chapel, Mercy holds a folded pile of black cloth in their hands. Their gaze is as even as always, staring up at Kuro with a slight curve to their lips and a sparkle in their eyes that says mischief in ways Mercy would never say with their mouth. They hold the clothes out, pushing them into Kuro’s chest. “Here. Your uniform for the afternoon.”

“I have a small question for you, Clergy Mercy.”

“Yes, Father Kuro?” they hum, tilting their head. “I suppose I have an answer.”

“Are you aware how many times you have given me a uniform this year alone?”

“Five times, Father Kuro.”

Kuro is even more annoyed that they do, in fact, know exactly how many times they have forced him to put on a uniform for some outrageous event. The fact that this CONTINUES to happen to him makes him want to attack them. Just a little. Mercy being under the end of his crop would do them a world of good one of these days… 

“You joined me in donning a costume for Spirit’s Eve,” they continue. Kuro thinks that ‘joined’ implies a voluntary motion that he does NOT agree with. “Then, you wore the official delivery outfit for matentines to assist with the delivery of lovegrams. You changed your attire to be more like mine and the other nuns for duty in the Bunnery this March, and you wore a butler’s attire for the night of the Gala. Are these familiar, Father Kuro?”

“Clergy Mercy please at least do me the dignity of assuming that none of these tragic incidents have left my head since the moment they occurred.” 

“Wonderful. Then you and I can agree that this is uniform number six, can we not?”

“Yes, Mercy. … What does that- You are mind gaming me out of my own questions.” Kuro snatches the swim trunks out of her hand. He looks at them. They are modest, at least. They’ll cover his thighs and don’t squeeze too tight to his behind. If he has it his way, he’ll spend most of the day sitting on it regardless. If he tucks himself far enough under the table he will be setting up, no one will even see the fact that he is wearing shorts to begin with. The only problem at hand, then, is the fact that Mercy has provided him with no swim shirt. Kuro doesn’t wear his arms exposed, as simple as that. Mostly, in fact, because every time he has to answer any questions about where this and that tattoo came from he feels himself teetering even closer to the edge of showing to the demons that succubuns CAN change their vices to wrath at any. Given. Moment. He silently looks at Mercy, letting his eyes do the talking of his displeasure with their particular wardrobe choice.

“The sun will do you good, Kuro,” is all they coo at him.