Leaning dangerously back on the wooden bar chair, his left hand holding his irrepressible grin, InuYasha thought, 'My god is she ever beautiful.' Across from his position at the rowdy bar table, drinks clinking and alcohol swishing, the young 19 year-old gazed unabashedly at the far corner of the bar, letting his cocky side grin take full hold of his face. His eyes traced over one of many laughing, dancing girls, staring as her wild locks of smooth dark hair whipped around her devious face, engrossed in her reckless raving.
Girls hardly dressed were grinding and shouting and sweating against one another, jostling and flailing as they collided and tumbled into more giggling. All were lost to the blaring beats of the headstrong DJ.
As he clicked his chair back down to the ground and took a quick swig of his drink, Inuyasha rested his elbow on the shoulder of the laughing, drinking male beside him.
"Hey Inu man, what's up?" Miroku half-laughed, his sly, curly smile still wrapped around his face. He had beautiful jet black hair that gathered together in a short ponytail at the base of his smooth neck, the thick, shiny strands of hair in front of his face swishing about with every laugh. "Aw man, you're not thinking about that girl again, are you? Listen, if you want her, go and get her! Don't just sit around staring, looking like some kind of stalker." As soon as Miroku finished his sentence, Inuyasha could see him eyeing the moshing girls with an all too familiar mischievous glint in his deep purple eyes.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Inuyasha absently agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. The red t-shirt he was wearing, the one that shaped his toned arm muscles, was beginning to make him feel a little hot. He felt restless, and he ran his hands through his silky, silvery hair, his golden eyes flashing from girl to girl, suddenly unable to see the one he had been spying on. While Inuyasha bounced his foot and licked his lips, he saw Miroku swagger over to the dance floor and casually slip his hand around the waist of one of the girls, moving to slowly massage her butt. The next time Inu glanced over at the crowd, he saw Miroku returning with a triumphant smirk, a throbbing red hand print slapped across his left cheek.
"When will you ever learn, Miroku… the way to a woman's heart is not through her butt."
"Ah yes," replied Miroku. "But it may be located through her brea-"
"-annnnnd that's enough," Inuyasha said, quickly cutting off the rest of his perverted friend's phrase. "I think it's time that we got back to dorm now, anyway. I've still gotta study for that Chem test tomorrow, y'know."
"Eh. You don't need Chem to live, Inu."
"Yeah, I only need it to pass this year," he shot back. The truth was, even if he did fail Chem, he would still end up with an amazing average. A teenage genius, Inuyasha grew up with a keen sense of understanding, learning to take in information and to swiftly analyze it. He was coming up to his last year of University, desperately wanting to be a writer for the New York Times. On the side, he extensively worked out with Miroku and learned martial arts, training with his father's ancient sword. The only reason he came to this boisterous bar was so he could sneak some more peeks at that gorgeous girl who seems to frequent here. Otherwise, he'd be back at the University, sitting in his favourite tree while contemplating new strategies on how to mix the purple liquid with the yellow one to make blue.
"Well, do what you will my man. But I'm going to go dancing, as was my previous goal. If you join me, maybe you can spot that beautilicious babe of yours and snag a shag. Or whatever." With that, Miroku pushed himself off the brown, wooden stool he was diddling on and leapt onto the floor, diving into the nearest female group to shake his thing.
'I suppose I could go and dance, even though I wish I knew where that girl wandered off to. Damn I wish I knew her name at least,' Inuyasha thought. He lifted himself and meandered over to the floor to join his friend, unsuspecting of the luscious brown eyes that curiously fixed on him from the opposite end of the bar.