Genre: Mystery/Humor
Pairing: Hehe. Don't think so.
Rating: PG-13. For some gore and stuff, ya know? (Can't pass up the gore.)
Summary: (AU) Kagome hates Kikyo. Kikyo hates Kagome. Both love Inuyasha. And Inuyasha is just in love with the strange head executive. A fiction proving that sometimes it takes more than guts to win someone- it takes a team. And maybe several botched up plans.
A/N: LOL. Yes. This is the 'new' idea that has been turning in my head for, oh... about a day now. ^.~ I'm willing to try something original, and then this popped up! I mean, I need to write 'Blood-Stained', but I don't want you guys to think I'm abandoning all hope or anything. ^^
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. I don't know Miroku. I don't own the series. I don't own the manga production. Heck, I don't think I even own that VCR downstairs.... *nervous laughter*
With all this stuff said, enjoy the chapter!!! ^^
Prologue: Bitter Enemies-
Really!
I can't (Read: won't.) stand her at all! With the whole, pompous 'I'm-Better-Than-You' attitude, you'd think her ego would swallow her. But no. She still has enough modesty to put on a show about how kind and caring she is to people. Or can be, if she tried. The worst part about this fake mask of hers is that she puts it on at certain times when certain people are around at certain parts of the days. And by now, you should know that I'm not one of those people. But yeah, she reserves the stupid charade for the important groups. The ones on top of her to-do list.
Namely, a specific black-haired male named after his father's dog.
Just thinking about this afternoon's little 'accident' makes me want to scream into my pillow again. Even I thought it was going too far. But apparently, she didn't think so, with that irritating smirk of hers plastered across her face. And just when I was almost done, too!
Let me go back and add some fleshy details to the events of the afternoon.
The situation: Me at my desk, stabbing furiously away at the computer.
The enemy: The one and only her.
The daily target: a financial report that took two months to complete.
So, here I am, working on the financial report due some time next Wednesday. I wanted to get it over with because 1) it took me two months to write and edit that thing, and 2) I wanted some time to compose myself before talking to my target. No, no, not the daily target, but the personal intimate life target.
I'll give you one guess to whom it is.
But my bladder was against me and my plan, because just then, at the last paragraph, it started doing flip flops. And I mean crazy flip flops. Work was going to let out in 20 minutes, and it doesn't take me long to type a simple, six sentenced paragraph. And I needed to pee really badly, so I figured, 'Hey, what the heck. Make a dash for the toilet while you still can.'
Bad mistake.
When I came back, all content and happy and full bladder-free, I took one look at the computer screen, and instant panic mode gripped me.
The computer was shut off.
"Shit!" I swore loudly, lunging for the damned, fickle thing. Desperately, I pressed the power button repeatedly, waiting for the computer to reload and reboot. It didn't respond, and I began to fret even more. My unsaved financial report was on the stupid machine, and if I didn't hand it in by Wednesday, I would be doomed by the head executive! "Nooooooooo...." I moaned at the thought of all the rushing and scurrying and late nights I'd have to pull in order to make it by the deadline, slumping to the floor.
And that's when I saw it.
The perfect, little plug that was connected to my hard drive was unplugged to the power surge.
Obviously, the little thing was inside the outlet before I left, so there was only one conclusion: someone deliberately sabotaged me. And the only person who would hate me enough was-
"Whoa, what happened?" a sweet, sugary voice asked innocently to my left.
"Well, someone pulled the plug from my computer. So now I have to restart my report," I explained through gritted teeth.
"Oh. You do know the thing is due by next Wednesday, right?"
"Yeah...."
"Oodles of luck, then!" And she flitted away, back to her own work.
End flashback. I can tell you right now that she meant nothing when she wished me luck. Ha! More like, 'Hope you lose all your data in a raging thunderstorm tonight!' luck. The stupid pig... I still can't believe she had the nerve to do something like that. This is so war.
And so, this explains why I am sitting here at 11:30 at night, scribbling down notes on the fluctuating rise of our company's coffee beans while quietly cursing her.
I hate Kikyo Ashiko.
-
I can't stand her at all.
I know, I know, you're all probably thinking that I am overreacting from a simple emotion, but you don't understand. This isn't some common, irritating ordeal like having split ends. This is much different. She is immature and bratty, wanting this and that and nothing else. She hardly does her own work, and if any slight pressure is laid, she starts to whine. So she had a two-month financial report due. That's hardly anything to gripe about. If you had to do three reports in one week, then it is a different story.
Although her apparent laziness is very annoying and not needed for the company's future, the thing that always gets under my skin is her attitude. All of it. She yells when she feels like it, she swears when she feels like it, she hollers when she feels like it.... It's all based on how she feels. And frankly, that proves she has no respect or manners. The little twit, thinking she can skip her way to the top of the ladder. It just rubs me the wrong way how she can be so carefree about everything. Her laid-back opinion on work, about how easy it is to run five miles, whatever. Or more personally, to my intense dislike, how easy it is to snag a guy.
Or namely, a black-haired vice-executive to Boss.
But still, the greatest fault in that girl is her lack of respect, most definitely.
Just thinking about today's little 'accident' makes my blood boil. And I start to see red all over again.
Not sure why I am sulking internally about my doomed fate to be next to the worst neighbor at work? Let me recount today's happy event.
Here I am, sitting quietly and loyally to my desk, reviewing over some recent accounts to the additional stock papers I have to look over. I am a bit of a workaholic, I'll admit, but there's no such thing as too much work. That is, unless you faint from exhaustion. Then you realize you've gone over the boundaries.
So the scenario: me with my red pen, checking or unchecking some quotas, using a calculator to confirm some numbers and such. I was wearing my new, white blouse, which was only used to catch the eye of my target.
I'll give you one guess to whom that guy is.
This was no ordinary blouse. This was a 50,000 yen shirt that cost me nearly half a year to save. This was brand new, dry-clean only blouse that only the rich and the famous could afford. And I, a humble company worker, could afford it.
Oh yeah, it was big in my book.
You can probably tell where this recap is going. And you're right. The little, clumsy ditz comes barreling down the hallway, rivaling that to a stampede of elephants, with a cup of sloshing coffee in her hands. You see, my work area was being particularly evil, as a bundle of cords had poked out noticeably into the walkway.
So, let's recall the variables we have so far.
Clumsy ditz + jutting bundle of cords = horrible, horrible fate.
The girl tripped over the cord like any gullible fool, causing the cup of coffee to slip out of her hands. But did it fall onto the ground and soak the floor wet like a normal cup of coffee? Nooooooo. She just had to fling it in my direction, causing the cup to land on top of my lap. Even worse, the coffee was fresh from the pot, meaning it was hot coffee.
End recap. I can fully say that she had the decency to apologize, but did she mean it? I think not. She did not hand me her piece of napkin- instead, used it as a mop for the floor. For the floor, while I was sitting there numbly, trying to make sure my thigh wasn't suffering from a first degree burn.
She is insane as well as an unorganized elephant. The stupid girl... I declared war on her right then.
And so, this explains why I am here in my kitchen, half washing my blouse in a vain attempt to rid the ugly brown decor that didn't compliment the white blouse while trying to apply ointment to my singed thigh at 11:30 at night.
I hate Kagome Higurashi.
-End Prologue