Author's Notes: Participating in Inuyasha fanfiction communities really adds to the stockpile. This is the second of my Inuyasha one-shots, though it focuses more on Kohaku's character, as opposed to my usual favorites, Sesshoumaru, Rin, and Kagura (though they certainly have their roles to play).
I took several liberties with my terminology, since the story takes place a few years following the series' "end" (i.e. "post-series"). For example, the term "Father" is very loose in this sense, as it doesn't translate well from Japanese to English (i.e. honorifics). I had the phrase "Sesshoumaru Chichi-ue" or "Sesshoumaru Otou-sama" in mind, though shortened it to "Father" for the sake of time and convenience. "Chichi-ue" is a very archaic—as well as respectful—term for "Father," though it seemed bothersome to type such a drawn out phrase over and over again, as I speak English and am more familiar with the term, "Father." Considering Rin's thirteen when the story takes place, I didn't see the harm in referring to Sesshoumaru as "Father" (i.e. they are more familiar with each other), though it sounds informal because of language constraints.
"Lady" was used simply because I had no other term for it. I really wanted to say "the child of the castle," but I didn't like how that fit into the sentence. And as for them living in the castle, I would assume that Sesshoumaru does have a home, though because he's a secondary character, it's never seen or discussed within the series. And I would assume, once Sesshoumaru has no reason to travel, he would, indeed, return "home" (which I also assumed was a castle, or large establishment of some sort).
The "social calls" are thrown in for added humor, and to progress the story. I like to think of Kohaku as "the boy who got away," as Sesshoumaru failed to kill him (i.e. chose not to) in Volume 23. And because of his friendship with Rin, he continues to visit her, all the while remaining alive because Rin enjoys his company (i.e. Sesshoumaru keeps him alive for her sake). It gives Kohaku an arrogance of sorts, as he visits knowing that he's unwanted by Sesshoumaru, though it's irrelevant due to Rin's feelings.
"Without Pigtails" ranked First Place in the LJ community iyfic_challenge's Week #13 one-shot challenge, "Resolution."
Disclaimer: Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV.
Without Pigtails
By Boggy
The evening sky was sharp and lonely. It was a lonely that came with the sound of calm winds and rustling forage—a sense of solitude that echoes between flashes of conversation and an afterthought. It was a moment of such sublime tranquility that the mind, for but a moment, was unable to distinguish fascination from desperation, contentment from tolerance, and awe from anxiety.
Moments such as these were dangerous, for they opened man's eyes to the beauty and innocence of nature, mocking the reality one "lived," as opposed to the reality one "pursued." Though considering he had "reality" at all was miraculous, and over time, he'd learned to appreciate these subtle moments.
Even still, it was a moment flirting with insanity.
Recognizing beauty, moving towards it, reaching out to grab it with both hands—it was proof that he desired life, appreciated life, and longed for a life that carried dreams outside death, or revenge.
There was a time when he'd wanted nothing, save retribution for his soul, and the forgiveness of his family for ignorance, immaturity, and a mind corrupted by evil. There was a time when he'd dreamt of spiders, worms, and other wretched insects, crawling in and through his slumbers, reminding him of the grasp his past follies held over his repugnant heart. And when he'd open his eyes, the spiders were still there, as though etched into his very pupils.
How tormented his dreams had been.
But things had changed, he had changed, and now he wanted more. He wanted something he once thought inaccessible, unattainable, and out of reach. He wanted something pure, untainted, and sacred by his hands alone. He wanted a piece of life, so to speak. In truth, he wanted something he'd hardly given thought to over the course of his chaotic eighteen years.
He wanted a girl.
But "wanting" a girl and "obtaining" a girl were two separate matters, especially when said girl belonged to the most feared youkai of the Western Lands. It was common knowledge that the "Lady" of the Western territories was off-limits to "all" male-type organisms, including those of both human and demonic descent. Whether the "Lady" had any say in the matter was anyone's guess, though judging by her behavior when they'd last met, he imagined she preferred it that way.
He found it difficult to picture her awestruck by a common village boy, and her interest in demons had always been reserved for her Lord Father, and her Lord Father alone. She didn't seem the type to fancy herself over another, for any reason, though whether it was by nature, or by sheer circumstances, he couldn't tell.
In some respects, her lack of "friendliness" was a comfort, as it meant she was unmarked territory. On the other hand, it made his pursuit all the harder, though he'd heard the chase was "half the fun." But he often wondered if such logic were merely the ramblings of foolish old men with delusional memories, or perhaps, regrets, of their own youth.
He remembered her at ten—willful and sharp, and already showing signs of prestige and beauty under the influence of her Lord Father. She'd filled the empty forests with laughter, albeit a mischievous and secret laughter. It was a laughter used to disguise meaningful gestures or important thoughts, or to lure wayward eyes into intrigue without pressure or forced temptation.
How skillful she'd seemed, and so young, to spark the interests of his impulses. And yet, his cynicism wondered if her innocent seductions weren't the workings of her Lord Father; if her mind weren't trained to tease the very essence of masculinity. How appropriate it would be to make sport the human race with one of their own! It was the ultimate revenge, so to speak, for a demon with twisted musings.
And it worked too, because following that evening, she frequented his thoughts and dreams. It was a welcome change of pace from his usual hauntings; a welcome reprieve from the spiders and worms that were otherwise the center of his unconsciousness. But she was also very young—five years younger than himself—so it seemed wrong and despicable in the wider scope of things.
He'd visited her again at twelve, entranced by her playful smile and youthful beauty. Though at that time, her love of learning had blossomed, and she found herself fascinated with the unknown. For a child of humble beginnings, knowledge is power, and she took advantage of every opportunity. She'd seemed particularly interested in the arts—painting, to be precise—and was surprisingly skilled with the brush.
Her paintings were delicate and promising, though she admitted inexperience, and vowed to refine her skills through study and practice (as well as sheer force of will, though she'd been hard-pressed to admit that). And while he knew nothing of painting himself, he'd given her all the encouragement he could muster to show support.
It had seemed an odd skill for a woman, from his perspective, as the women he knew were either fighters, or they used their knowledge of herbal remedies to cure the sick. When he mentioned the art of medicine, she'd laughed in his direction, as though the very thought itself were beneath her station. Whether she'd actually felt that way, or was simply uninterested in curing illnesses, he couldn't tell. Regardless, painting appeased her appetite, and seemed suited to her whimsical, fantasy-indulged nature.
That was the last he'd seen of her in over a year. She'd be thirteen by now, and as spirited and pleasing as she'd always been. In a way, the very thought of her was enough to keep him going, though he risked his life by even approaching the castle grounds. Of course, death was an inconsequential threat, but what a shame it would be should death prevent him from seeing the girl once more!
He stopped just outside the gates, tapping the tip of his right boot against the ground. His taijiya robes glistened beneath the moon's glare, and he scolded himself for arriving at such a late hour. He contemplated returning the next morning, though he didn't have time to reach a decision.
"How annoying."
He turned at the comment, a chained sickle rattling against the sides of his left leg.
"Sesshoumaru-sama."
Under normal circumstances, he would have never addressed him so formally, though considering his proposition, he felt it best to show as much reverence as possible. That, and he held a strange respect for the youkai Lord. There were few demons arrogant enough to despise humans, then turn around and raise one for seven years. That kind of arrogance took balls he couldn't begin to imagine. Contradicting one's own beliefs was something only Sesshoumaru could pull off; besides, he appreciated the care Sesshoumaru provided an otherwise friendless and homeless child.
"What do you want?"
It was more a statement than a question, and Sesshoumaru's expression suggested his claws were not nearly as composed as his voice.
Silence.
"Kohaku?"
Both men turned at the sound of his name.
"Rin."
She stood silently, for once, a curious finger tracing the edges of the gate. Kohaku noticed a chain of pretty feathers trailing the curves of what was once her infamous pig-tail. She'd replaced it once or twice before using flowers, beads, or whatever tickled her fancy at the time. If he remembered correctly, she'd used cherry blossoms at their last encounter—cherry blossoms he'd picked for her. It was a silly thing to notice, though he prided himself in the subtleties that enhanced her individuality.
"Kohaku? Did Father threaten your life again?" She laughed.
For whatever reason, she found Sesshoumaru's habit of endangering lives rather amusing. Kohaku wasn't sure if her amusement was humorous, or disturbing.
Sesshoumaru stepped forward. "What do you want?"
He didn't like repeating himself, and his irritation was evident.
Silence.
"Kohaku?" Rin was just as impatient as Sesshoumaru. "Out with it!"
He stared at her. She seemed so young and innocent before him. And while the question teased the tips of his tongue, tormented the very fabric of his being, he faltered under her fanciful gaze, and reasoned with himself.
There was always next year.
She raised an eyebrow as he stepped forward, a hopeless smile tugging the corners of his mouth. He glanced at her with sincerity.
"I would like to see one of your paintings."