Summary: There are some things in this world which are passed without fail from one generation to the next, whether we want them to or not. Kamui learns this the hard way.
A Gintama drabble
... ... ... ... ...
Aboard a certain ship, belonging to a certain individual of a certain rank within a certain intergalactic criminal organization, a certain perpetually-smiling redhead was taking a shower.
Kamui hummed a jaunty tune under his breath as he squeezed shampoo into his hand, boiling hot water pouring out from the shower head above him. Rivulets were running down his leanly muscled torso, glistening against the Yato's pale, nearly translucent skin.
Rubbing his hands together to work the shampoo into a lather, Kamui then raised them to his head, where he began scrubbing his fingers through his hair, working the shampoo into his scalp. After a minute or so of this, he then rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Finally, he repeated the process once more before turning off the faucet and stepping out of the shower.
Whistling to himself, Kamui grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, using his tail to secure it in place. He glanced into the modestly fancy mirror hanging in his private bathroom.
Kamui's heart nearly stopped at what he saw.
His eyes opened wide.
His jaw dropped, a horrified wail tearing from his mouth.
"AAAAUUUUUGGHHH! DAMN YOU, OLD MAN!" he screamed, falling to his knees. "YOU AND YOUR WORTHLESS GENES! I'M ONLY EIGHTEEN! HOW CAN I ALREADY BE GOING BAAALD?!"
TTFN and R&R!
Sign up to rate and review this story