Feline Fortune
Summary: Oneshot(?). A modern-day Sesshoumaru is set to rid himself of the ever-annoying Tenseiga, when the sword proves its true worth, thanks to . . . a cat? Implied Sess/Kag. Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. Sadly.
A/N: Read and review, please. Oh, and this might also work as a prequel to a story I have planned.
Feline Fortune
Tenseiga pulsed.
Sesshoumaru cursed.
What my father was thinking, I cannot imagine . . .
Muttering under his breath, he pulled over the car to the side of the road, and glared murderously at the sword in the backseat, wrapped in brown paper, ready to be donated to the Tokyo Museum of History.
However, his inanimate companion was not deterred by his golen gaze, and thrummed with intense energy, bringing a small frown to Sesshoumaru's scowling face.
It had been over three-fourths of a century since Tenseiga had last pulsed with such insistence and strength.
Although he wanted to do nothing more than ignore his moody heirloom, Sesshoumaru's curiosity got a hold of him and, still mumbling curses about the stupidity that his bloodline seemed to be cursed with, he pulled the wrapping off Tenseiga in one smooth motion, and exited his black sedan.
Blinking in the noonday sun, Sesshoumaru sighed and looked around the deserted street to see what had attracted Tenseiga's attention.
The sword helpfully sent a strong pulse towards his left, and he turned to walk that way, seeing a small lump on the side of the road that seemed to be the epicenter of Tenseiga's pull.
As he reached that lump, he snarled in frustration and almost smacked himself in the forehead.
It was a dead cat.
A fat dead cat, he mentally corrected. It had obviously been run over in its trivial pursuit of some sort of food.
Sesshoumaru snorted and turned away, ready to resume his drive and, for once and for all, be rid of the annoying and useless sword.
But said sword did not move with him.
He turned back to Tenseiga, which seemed to be fixed immovably above the cat, and pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
He sighed when the sword didn't move, wondering why it was showing such immense attraction to a cat, but since it seemed likely that he would be getting nowhere without obeying Tenseiga for one last time, he gave in and lifted the sword above the cat.
As he cut the air above the animal, Tenseiga thrummed happily and the feline opened its amber eyes, stretching lazily, as though after a nap.
Rolling his eyes, Sesshoumaru put away the sword and picked up the obese cat. It hissed and narrowed its gleaming eyes, reaching out to scratch Sesshoumaru. Fixing it with an intimidating golden glare, he said, "Just for that, this Sesshoumaru should kill you again."
The cat merely yawned.
Sesshoumaru decided to murder the insolent animal, but just when he was extending his claws, a cry reached his ears.
"Buyo!"
He turned, still holding the cat, to see a young girl with black hair in pigtails on either side of her head rushing down the stairs to the shrine behind him, tears running down her face with arms extending towards the cat.
His eyes widened.
He knew this girl.
Unbidden, a voice as sweet as chiming bells, over 500 years since he had last heard it, came to his mind.
"I followed my cat to the well house, see, and . . . heh heh, I fell into the well there . . ."
The cat, Buyo, was snatched away from his hands as the child, barely reaching his elbow, grabbed it and hugged it tight. With a voice that was strangely reminiscent of its former (and future, he thought) self, she cried her joy into the cats fur. "Oh, Buyo! I thought yo-you'd been hurt! Grandpa said you were g-gone!"
Buyo, irritated at being grasped so tightly, struggled for breath and scratched his way out of the girl's grasp.
Having no cat to hold on to, she turned to Sesshoumaru, her rescuer, and leaped into his arms with a glad cry.
"Thank you, mister, for saving my cat! I'll never forget it!"
Sesshoumaru's eyes widened as the scent of vanilla, with an underlying base of clove that hinted at her dormant magic, enveloped him. It really was her.
Swallowing the lump of emotion that rose in his throat, he patted her gently on the back, "That's alright . . ." He frowned as he realized her tears were staining his shirt. comfortingly, he whispered, "Kagome . . . do not cry."
She pulled away, a small frown on her face, her damp eyes rising to his face. "I never told you my name . . . "
Her eyes met his. He lost control. For a second, his human disguise shimmered, fell, and Kagome Higurashi, aged 10, found herself looking at the face that, in eight years, would be for her like the morning sun after a cold and long winter night.
She gasped.
The illusion immediately flickered back up. But she was quick. One hand wrapped around his neck, she traced her spot on his forehead where she had seen a crescent moon.
"Kagome!"
Her mother's voice broke through the girl's reverie. Sesshoumaru gently set her down and she turned to see her mother at the top of the shrine steps, Buyo firmly in her grasp.
"Coming!" She yelled back, turning once again to look at the man who had captured her attention.
"Say, mister . . ."
But he was gone.
Sesshoumaru leaned his forehead against the car window, watching as she looked around curiously, not noticing the black car in the shade of the tree at the end of the street. She frowned, shrugged and made her way back up the steps to her home.
He had found her.
He had found her.
With a smile, he looked down at Tenseiga, cradled in his lap, and shook his head.
What I was thinking, to give it away, I cannot imagine . . .
The sword deserved a place of honour in his living room.