Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha.
A/N: MUCH ANGST AHEAD! And thank you to the community Diamonds in the Rough and its owner Sassybratt for showing Frame-Up some love, even through its first chapter. You rock. :'3
By the way, due to some confusion, I will clarify two things. First of all, when Rin says "Bullet-Neck Bill", she can refer to the victims (i.e., "This guy is a Bullet-Neck Bill"), the killer (i.e., "Bullet-Neck Bill has struck again"), or the case itself (i.e., "On the Bullet-Neck Bill file…"). Second of all, concerning FBI rankings, special agents are lower than field agents and agents like Kagome and Sesshoumaru; they are assigned to one specific area or expertise whereas agents have more access to their group's files and excel in different areas. (Hojo, for example, excels in research.) Sango, Rin, Ayame, and Hojo all have equal ranks, though Nazuna and Jaken—Kagome and Sesshoumaru's secretaries/assistants—rank below them since their jobs do not revolve around the cases, but appeasing the agents who work on them. Field agents are considered to be the highest ranking; when Kags and Sess were on the field, Sesshoumaru was the best and Kagome was the second best (though she was the best woman). However, Sesshoumaru retired at an early age for an unknown reason, demoting his rank and deciding to work on cases from the office. Kagome was also put into "retirement" around the same time as him, though she had no choice in the matter. The FBI has pretty much demoted her for "doing too good of a job"—or so says Sango. The reasons behind it all are still pretty unclear to anyone besides the higher-ups.
FRAME-UP
Act II: Deceit of the Unexpected
Scene 1: "The Proverbial Shadow"
(October 3rd, 12:30 AM,
at an Unidentified Warehouse)
The agent sipped his sweet, homemade coffee, watching the investigation play out from afar. The chill of the crispy night air bit at his tanned skin as he remained secure, hidden, and concealed within the large mass of trees surrounding the hideaway. At such heights, a being of his birthright may have been afraid, but this agent had a calm, collected, stoic exterior. He would show no weakness; he would remain higher than those below him.
To be quite honest, he didn't need to be here. He could've been at his snug, reserved condo or even FBI headquarters reading the newspaper, doing research, and filing paperwork. He could've had a tedious, same-old evening with no excitement whatsoever—much like his life had been since he retired from the field. But she was here; and for that, he absolutely had no choice to come and act as guard for the many agents inside the building, acting as the opposites of themselves, gaining the trust of un-trusting criminals in a single night.
Crushing the cup silently after he drank the last drop of its liquid, his eyes sharpened, his instincts kicking in. He threw the cup aside before his eyes widened ever-so-slightly in surprise. Perhaps it was the dull thuds from the east side of the supposedly-abandoned building, the loud pops echoing moments before, or the sound of glass breaking nearby that alerted him, but it was undoubtedly the soft, pained yells from familiar FBI agents that didn't settle well with this agent's stomach.
Something…wasn't right.
An ominous cloud hung over the warehouse, twisting the guts of its occupants and increasing heartbeats tenfold. He could hear it: their blood pounding in their ears, suffocating their chests, retching their internal organs, adrenaline pumping through their systems, stabbing them from the inside—all of it emotionally-related. Anxiety, apprehension, trepidation, anticipation, excitement, grief, shock, surprise, and most of all, fear—it all rang within his ears as he sensed their actions, smelt their emotions, felt their thoughts, concerns, and panic within his own cage of a body.
Something was undeniably wrong.
A struggled cry ripped from his left, choked by gurgles and wheezing, fighting for air past some sort of liquid. "TRAITOR!"
The agent turned to the voice, bounding from the trees as if floating on air. This confirmed his suspicions; something went haywire. Maybe their plans failed, or perhaps they succeeded but victory just occurred too late. His senses heightened, searching for anything out of the ordinary, his claws growing an inch, fangs protruding his mouth, eyes flashing red in warning to those unfortunately guilty nearby; and what he received and felt in return was an undoubtedly horrific scent. He smelt…
Blood. There was much blood nearby. Mostly familiar blood. Amongst them, her blood. Hurt. Disbelief. Betrayal. It coated every cell of her as she cried out into the night, crawling on the grass, not giving up, even as the agent came to her side. "Traitor… Traitor… YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!"
Silently, the agent scooped up his fallen—and surprisingly livid while cursing—comrade, staring into the darkness, where her eyes were trained on the retreating figure. A familiar figure of an hourglass-shaped body with a slender waist, wide hips and bust, and slender, fit legs with slim-shaped arms. The agent stared in incredulity alongside his female companion, emotions slipping past him so easily due to his shock. The stench of blood hit him hard once more, but he was too thunderstruck to move, to take action for anything except staring at her retreating form, and having the urge to upchuck the coffee she'd made him just that evening.
For once, he was losing it. Even his arms trembled as he thought over the situation slowly, looking for any conclusion other than the one they came to face as to how the raven-haired beauty had surpassed them so well with her easy grins and friendly nature, winning each of their hearts gradually yet most definitely. His breath caught as her skin reflected in the small amount of moonlight, her hidden scent lost among his nose; no longer had she smelt of cherry blossoms, smiles, and love, but just wholesome plasma. All of her comrades' blood tainted her pure character. The smell of innocence, warmth, and compassion was long gone, replaced by something sinister, darker…
Heartless.
They trusted her—every single agent trusted her right off the bat, taking faith in the woman who'd made them coffee with her own two hands, laughed at the smallest of things, always wore a smile, brought happiness into their work lives, managed to make the naïve forget any remorse they'd felt after missions, and taken a bullet if their back had been turned for just a second… They all trusted their mutual friend, the one who easily put that trust back into them. And now, she betrayed them. Betrayed them like the fools they were to believe for a second she was the good girl—that she wasn't a cold-blooded bitch underneath that warm exterior.
For thinking she was on their side, they were all idiots.
"YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!"
Scene 2: "Repeats of the Past"
(The Previous Day, October 2nd, 1:01 AM,
in Inuyasha's Bedroom at an Unidentified Warehouse)
Was it possible for your own emotions to slowly kill you off? As of the moment, Inuyasha felt it was more than plausible as he questioned it repeatedly, cowering in the strange comfort of his mattress. His stomach clenched as that feminine voice still echoed through his mind, eating away at the remainders of his conscience, crying out for some sort of resolution. His skin turned clammy underneath his dark clothing and his movements turned sluggish as his muscles grew weary and fatigued, the guilt beginning to consume him alive. That girl… His gloved hands fisted, wrinkling against the leather, as he imagined connecting her voice with a body—an exterior he simply couldn't picture. I can't believe… He bit down on his tongue, ignoring the sharp stinging as blood settled onto his teeth and gums, and was slightly relieved that he didn't have his fangs at the moment, or else even his demon toughness couldn't deal with the pain of his self-induced torture.
He would've been able to handle killing that man if the mysterious girl hadn't come along.
For once, he was damn happy he was human. Besides feeling the extreme guilt, there were upsides to the situation: he couldn't smell his blood or her tears. He couldn't smell the sorrow of the girl's soul radiating from her core, or sense the trembling of her body as she cried everlastingly into the night. He couldn't hear her sharp screams of agony and completely comprehend every word of pain she undoubtedly said. He wasn't able to interrupt the last moments she had with her father over that phone call, couldn't listen to every word his target said, couldn't hear their rapid heartbeats as they both pained at the thought of what was to come. But the emotions were intense, and he couldn't push them away this time to act impassively and blankly towards the crime he'd just committed—not the entire act of killing itself, but whom he'd exactly assassinated on this cold, dark, moonless night, never hesitating on pulling that trigger.
I killed a goddamn parent.
He was such a fucking hypocrite.
Inuyasha's teeth ground against his pink appendage, ignoring his own whimpers of fury and hurt as he imagined her voice calling out "daddy" into the night, over and over again until his ears rung and sound turned into a small, static drone. Damn these human emotions, damn this guilt, damn me for taking away something that I'd lost long ago.
Mother…
He remembered all-too-well that night. The fun they both had at the arcade, her maternal, shy chants of encouragement as he smiled and laughed, ignoring the stares he got for being an outsider, a half-breed. Her proud beam as he spent his award tickets on getting her plastic jewelry, and his returning expression of pride. Her convincing him to dance on the sidewalk with her on their walk home, her singing softly to him as he wondered how great their mother-son day had become. Then—
"Hand over your purse!"
Finally, Inuyasha howled into the night; though his dog instincts were long gone until sunrise, any cry to show his emotional suffering, his physical hurt, and his spiritual grief was good enough for him. Maybe this was why he and the other assassins were never allowed to see any personal information about their targets, the soon-to-be dead men, women, and children: to break off whatever bonds could stir the grieving beasts inside them all, avoid the chance of sympathy crawling outside of the caves known as their hearts, to make sure they didn't regret any fault they committed. Perhaps it was this way to avoid useless human emotions such as guilt and shame for one's actions, to make sure they killed the wanted person without any setbacks or something holding their bodies hostage, preventing them from furthering the incident and taking away someone's existence. If the higher-ups allowed such details to be given out, would it increase the chances of them, the enders of lives, feeling remorse for completing their mission, fulfilling their duty, doing as they were told? Goddamn it, he'd lost his mother, his life that day, and what did he do after all these years?
"DADDYYYYYYY!"
He took away the very thing that'd broken him two decades ago from a stranger; whether she was as young as he when he lost his mother, or as old as he was now, he took away something that could never be replaced. This twilight would echo through his thoughts evermore, and now, this night would forever be imprinted into that girl's mind, all because the mafia couldn't let just one man go…
He was a cold-blooded killer. He was aware of this fact ever since his first assassination at the age of seven. He could kill without feeling remorse, could see them beg and cry and writhe with pain without feeling a speckle of sympathy and having any hint of compunction. He could deal with murders despite his past, repeating the same mistake that bastard made years ago unto his life. He could kill people's children, parents, siblings, best friends, lovers, spouses, coworkers, acquaintances, relatives—he could kill any-fucking-one at anytime.
But now he knew: not on the new moon.
His vacant eyes stared at his clawless hands, his midnight hair spread around him on the pillow and his fangless teeth grinding against each other when they weren't trying to rid him of his tongue or gums. With these human hands and the assistance of a gun, he stole someone's life expectancy right out from under them, he caused a girl to shed tears that never should've been formed—he created so much trouble with his human self, the one who was supposed to be kinder, less gruff, more caring than the half-demon within him. But now, even this side of him had been tainted with cruelty.
Never on the new moon.
His own mind was killing him off in a slow suicide of guilt, the sense of right and wrong suddenly clearer than it was as a half-demon. His mind reminded him that another child would go without their parent, just like he did ever since that encounter twenty years ago. He would've been able to handle it if that man hadn't called his daughter. He had been able to handle it until that man called his daughter, and as he left, he heard the few shrieks of the man's title sway into the night, nearly making his eardrums bleed profusely.
Now, Inuyasha lied in bed, knotting his sheets in his fists, gripping and twisting the covers, flipping and shifting his body every minute, mind anywhere but sleep. He wanted to go to sleep, to forget what happened, but besides him needing to stay awake due to the lack of moonlight and having to avoid slumber to protect himself, he desperately desired to shut his eyes and let his mind wander into unconsciousness. He wanted to allow himself to dream happily, though he had the faintest suspicion that his guilt would only bother him further and he'd relive the occurrence all over again, and if not that, have dark, unwanted nightmares that would eternally scar his memory. With a heavy sigh and another toss of his body, Inuyasha laid on his back, now in a comfortable red shirt, staring into the darkness, his mind helplessly wandering, causing more pain and confusion within the crowd of negativity, searching for an answer of some kind, looking for a way to feel less guilty for the incident, only to hurt itself further in the process.
He repeated his boss's mistake of the past, and this time, for the first time, he was looking back.
Scene 3: "Mourner for Mystery"
(October 2nd, 7:06 PM,
at FBI HQ Infirmary)
Little beeps echoed through the room, making her ears ring every so often. The smell of coffee was strong, and all around her, shoes clicked against what must've been a marble floor of some kind. Light stared at her through her eyelids, and she fluttered them open to only see shades of white. She automatically recognized the interior of the room: hospital. But why was she at a hospital?
Groaning slightly, she brought up her hand to rub her face, faintly noticing the IVs in her veins and sensors on her arms, chest, and everywhere else, not paying much mind to her hands themselves. She felt around her eyes, and reveled in how stiff and swollen they felt, how crispy the skin was around them. Had she been crying? Moaning again, she kicked off the white, knitted quilt on top of her, only to gasp when a sore twinge hit her ankle. She glanced down at the bandaging around her foot, and wondered faintly if she'd broken it. Was she running and crying recently, or what?
The door to her left clicked, and she turned to see a familiar, brown-haired boy walking through, white coat, stethoscope, and clipboard intact, and a black-haired man with the same get-up, just a more professional air. She blinked for a few moments, as if processing that this person really was who she thought he was, and asked softly in a feeble voice she did not recognize as her own, "Hojo?"
He managed a grin. "Yes, Agent Higurashi," he answered, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Yep. That was Hojo all right. "I volunteer down here sometimes." Kagome finally acknowledged that they were . As if suddenly realizing he was actually talking to her for once, his face heated up and he informed her shyly, "Heh, um… Dr. Suikoutsu came down here to explain things to, uh, you, and I took care of, err, I mean, treated you while you were—"
"I understand, Special Agent Hojo," she interrupted, offering a bright smile—forced, of course. As he nodded and hurriedly exited, she waved goodbye for support, until her eyes caught sight of her hands' current state—or, more exactly, what they were covered with.
Blood. Dried blood.
Her throat constricted, her eyes watered, and her organs clamped together as everything from last night hit her full-on: their laughs, their smiles, his cryptic hints, his departure, his call, her running so fast she didn't pay any mind to the pain in her ankle, and finally, his defeated body that soon laid in her lap as she screamed—
She shut her eyes tight and willed the memories away. My dad's not dead, my dad's not dead!
"I came to discuss last night's murder with you," Dr. Suikoutsu reminded her softly, sitting on a nearby chair and crossing his legs. Since it was not his case to talk about however, she automatically knew what questions he would ask. "Did you know the man personally?"
This question was in case she needed therapy or time off—neither of which she could afford. "No," she lied through her teeth, the bed sheets tightening in her fists. My dad's not dead. There was another man there, and he was the one I talked to. I only mistook him for my father. Daddy can't die. He told me he wouldn't leave me a long time ago…
Dr. Suikoutsu nodded, his eyes not meeting hers as he scribbled down something on his board. "Why do you think you fainted, then?"
She couldn't exactly tell him it was the overwhelming grief and stress of the situation since it wasn't her father, so she responded, "Shock." For her, it was a good enough answer; no one would expect themselves to be in such a situation, not even a FBI agent.
The doctor nodded, asking a few more questions regarding her emotional and mental stature before regarding her presence with a smile and slight wave of the hand as he exited the hospital room. Kagome sniffed a little, feeling her eyes moisten as she pushed the memories to the back of her mind. My father is alive, she thought stubbornly, her throat tightening for some odd reason as she ignored the puffiness in her eyes from last night's crying. My father's…alive. He has to be. She glimpsed to the hospital phone for the slightest moment, wondering if he would pick up his cell phone or not. But what if he didn't, and a medical coroner did instead…? She paled as she imagined his body on one of the examination tables. But he can't be dead, she reassured herself. My dad's—
Her eyes trailed to the purse next to her bed: her purse. The infirmary workers didn't go through it, did they? She lifted the large bag off the ground around onto the bed, despite her tired muscles' protests. Shuffling through its contents, Kagome breathed a sigh of relief until her fingers met a manila material, indicating she did indeed have the folder.
But the moment her hand made contact, a void opened inside of her, sucking the rest of her doubt and indemnity. Her organs felt weak, drooping, as if they were empty of their fluids, and she would've thrown up if her stomach had anything inside of it. Was her father truly…?
Suddenly, two hourglass figures walked in, one with a bobbing chestnut ponytail and the other with mahogany pigtails, followed by a slender form with a mere bunch of ebony hair pulled into a side-tail. Upon seeing the local phone-line linguist, forensic specialist, and medical examiner, the ex–field agent didn't hold back her sadness any longer.
Kagome shamelessly cried on the spot, right in front of Sango, Ayame, and Rin, all of whom had no idea towards why she was mourning for a man none of them knew.
Scene 4: "A Walking Corpse"
(October 2nd, 11:07 AM,
in the Cafeteria at an Unidentified Warehouse)
Lunch time was to take place in twenty minutes for the members of a certain demon mafia, but as of now, a certain kitsune and half–dog demon were eating early and sitting alone at their usual table in the small, closed-off room known as their current building's dining hall. The area was the size of maybe two classrooms and scattered with beaten, circular tables; it held no windows, and there was only one door which made the inside soundproof, similar to the rest of their hideout. And although they moved around a lot, the gangbangers stayed in their cliques, and once claiming something as theirs, it became theirs from then on. Even when they left a building, if they ever came back, the territory they'd long ago claimed would be theirs once more. The warehouse they resided in at the moment had been a popular one for their entire mafia, and the two best friends took pride in the things that were theirs: their usual lunch table, their always-will-be-theirs bedrooms, the built-in candy dispenser Shippou had grown so fond of, the weight set Inuyasha used during every one of his workouts—all of the things they used often soon became theirs alone.
With no one around, the fox demon had assumed his mentor would be pigging out, ranting on and on about his mission last night and letting the twenty-year-old in the know. But the half-demon remained silent. Even more shockingly…
Inuyasha wasn't eating his ramen.
Shippou was concerned. No, more than concerned—more like disturbed.
Just this morning, the mafia fulfilled their list of needs, and Shippou got his pocky orders whereas Inuyasha received his several ramen cups (and his favorite Japanese-imported shampoo, Feudal Forest). But the half-demon wasn't even really looking at them; he was facing his food all right, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. The kitsune wondered what occurred in the outside world while he slept last night, what could've possibly caused his usually loud, ignorant best friend to be stunned into silence and oblivious to all of his surroundings. Could it have been related to the mission Inuyasha insisted on doing last night, during the new moon? Did he not succeed? Shippou doubted that; Inuyasha may've been an idiot at times, but he would never screw-up something like an assassination. But if not that, then what…?
Tapping his friend's shoulder, the kitsune murmured, "'Yasha, what's going on with you?" When there was no response, he continued teasingly, "You look like someone shot and killed your dog before revealing themselves to be your ex-girlfriend you still have feelings for but then she killed herself over the guilt of killing an animal right before your eyes and letting you know that she hated every part of your entire being." He bit his lip, at the same time, letting it quirk. "And, trust me, you'll probably start to look even worse than that if you don't cheer up soon."
Inuyasha gave no solid reply. Just slowly stirred his ramen absentmindedly, his amber eyes glazed over in thought. It looked as though he hadn't heard a word of what Shippou had just uttered, much less recalled that the boy existed. Even when Inuyasha wasn't looking at him, the younger mobster knew something was amiss in his eyes—they looked dull, echoing memories he couldn't see, emotions he didn't felt, emotions he did feel.
Inuyasha looked dead.
Shippou sighed silently, leaning back in his chair. It was now obvious something was bothering Inuyasha, and the only way he would find out was for Inuyasha to utter it. However, the fox demon was clueless as to how he could stir such a reaction out of Inuyasha. His friend had never been very open about his feelings, only choosing to show them if he thought it was vital—if it was personal, he'd stay balled up like this. Thus, all Shippou knew was that Inuyasha was in a deep muse right now. "Hey, Inuyasha…" Said half-demon didn't retort, which made Shippou sigh. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but you've got to find some way to get past it."
Unexpectedly, Inuyasha's grip on his food utensils tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly yet, unbeknownst to his friend, dangerously. Even though he knew it wasn't the most positive reaction, Shippou was happy for any kind of response at the moment. He continued, "Look, if you want, we can go to the workout area and you can blow off some steam there—"
Without so much as a glance to the oblivious Shippou, Inuyasha stood up, knocking over his chair at the sudden force, and chucked his cardboard ramen cup into the trash without a second thought. His claws dug into the table, further marking his territory, as his jaw tightened. He snapped, speaking for the first time since his mission, "I killed some bitch's father, heard her cry for him with my own god-damned ears, and you just me to fucking 'work it off'?" Scoffing, he sent the kitsune a pained glower, and as abruptly as he left his chair, he exited the room, fists clenched.
Shippou stared after him, disquieted, before throwing away the rest of his lunch and catching up with the half-demon, now understanding what was bothering his friend. After all, he knew what it was like to lose a parent—or two. Shippou, alongside Inuyasha, was also the only demon-blooded being in their mafia with a portion of a conscience; a reason why he preferred guarding rather than killing. Inuyasha was usually able to squelch it down, bury it within himself, and truly be rid of guilt—but last night being the new moon, his emotions' intensity increased tenfold, and most likely, held a much more striking effect than his half-demon form's. These emotions would echo, never fade without proper coping; they'd affect him just like they would an actual human. Emotions had never been a friend to Inuyasha, that much was apparent, but to see him so shaken up and bothered about something was rare, and only Shippou ever saw those sides if he was lucky. He knew with some help, Inuyasha could get past this particular assassination that was haunting him—though he was even more aware that something so similar to his memories, something so guilt-ridden, would never vanish easily. Because not only was he experiencing feelings of now, but then as well.
And even Inuyasha, as tough as he was, couldn't fight off those kinds of demons for long.
No one could.
Scene 5: "Change of Scenery"
(October 2nd, 11:58 PM,
in Sesshoumaru's Office at FBI HQ)
Agent Takahashi stared blankly at his walls, alone in his high-end office, already having shushed away his annoying toad of an assistant Jaken. His coffee was steaming on his desk, the Higurashi woman already having prepared it earlier that morning for their group's staff lounge after she'd dragged herself out of the infirmary. It was a morning routine: everyone came into FBI HQ, field agents checking for missions and stats while others trained and the office workers went to their respectable areas, typing reports and researching for current tasks. Everybody, though they were very diverse in many ways, went to the staff lounge for Agent Higurashi's homemade coffee throughout the workday; it was a must-have for each morning, afternoon, evening, and night, plus a necessity for any person who'd come across its delectableness. Higurashi's desk was right outside the lounge, in fact, because of her coffee; whenever it ran out, she would immediately go inside and remake an entire pot, smiling and waving at everyone, a warm and welcoming quality about her that even this Sesshoumaru could not ignore. Yet, when he'd travelled there after her release from the medical wing shortly after nine, a strange determination yet tiredness surrounded her, almost like she was in an exhausted state but still forcing herself to be there. This was understandable. Sesshoumaru knew of what happened the previous night, of how she was apparently going through the streets until she spotted the latest Bullet-Neck Bill killing, as his Rin addressed it—
Ahh… Rin…
Suddenly, Sesshoumaru frowned to himself, glaring at the coffee mug a little over a foot away. Whenever he first drank it, it would always cause his mind to wander easily, adrift within his own thoughts. Smirking to himself, he assumed that could've been why Rin Hara was so talkative; she probably drank the Higurashi girl's coffee often. Perhaps the liquid had some sort of element or spice inside of it that increased the speed of brainwaves and jumbled its drinker's musings. He sniffed the air, his dog demon senses looking for something abnormal about it, but could find nothing except normal coffee grounds and other casual foods.
He recalled his meeting with Rin the previous day over the string of murders happening within the city lately. Though he wouldn't mind thinking over the charming woman, he focused on the case, remembering every little detail that it seemed only he and Higurashi, the once field agents, could pick up on. He could tell Higurashi drew up the conclusion of it being a demon mafia's work, and did research on the topic himself. Only one mob of the description was frequent with the area, having caused many break-ins, murders, robberies, etc.; their members were known to have patterns in their missions, such as a repeated way of killing, using the same entrance to places, and many other things as well. The FBI couldn't pull up much information, not even a name; obviously, this group had done their homework and made sure to leave no serious trace of their existence behind.
Last night's target had been a detective and private investigator living in the Takekawa District of the city, or the local neighborhood with numerous Japanese folk. Toshiaki Higurashi was born fifty years ago in Tokyo, Japan, on October first, also known as yesterday; his birthday was not only just that, but his death-day as well. His citizen files stated he had no family, so there wasn't anybody to call to inform of his demise. According to Medical Examiner Hara, he passed away at the stroke of midnight, the cause of death being a great loss of blood and brain failure. And Higurashi, apparently, had been taking a late night walk when she heard a gunshot, and hurried to check out the scene. She'd seen the man and comforted him in his last moments of life.
Of course, that's only what she said. This Sesshoumaru could easily tell she'd been lying during the questionnaire; her deceitful scent coated her hospital room, clogging his nostrils and choking his lungs when he'd stood outside her doorway. When Dr. Suikoutsu had asked if she had relations to the man, she lied. From that point and on, she kept up the act until the doctor left and her three friends—one including Rin—came down the hall. The Taijiya and Yamainu turned stiff upon seeing him, but Rin offered a smile and cheerily greeted him, reminding him of their noon meeting he'd set.
When his lips twitched again, he couldn't help noticing the forensic scientist's sudden look of horror and the linguist's repetition of her fellow workers' reactions from yesterday.
He didn't believe she partook in the murder; from her zombie-like behavior, she was obviously shaken up from the event, and from the strong aroma of salt ebbing from her face, he could tell she'd been crying quite a lot. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he did not see the truth behind Higurashi's lies, nor could he ever comprehend the investigation and how come she'd fibbed at all. Luckily, though, this case had not only been different because of the Higurashi woman's participation, but also because of a major detail.
They found evidence.
Strings of midnight black hair, to be exact, but evidence, nonetheless. It was a few strands located on a wall nearby the murder scene, but their group's forensic scientist ran a few tests on the DNA and contents of the hair, looking for used products of sorts. If they could find out the substances used on the hair, they could locate purchases in the area for that particular merchandise and see how much of the product was used in order to determine how much of it was left so they could estimate the time of its purchase. And after Yamainu's results came back, they'd fortunately know who'd killed Detective Toshiaki Higurashi.
Of course, Sesshoumaru's sense of smell already identified the scent: Feudal Forest, a rare shampoo for men imported from Japan. He was pleased to see there was a very small amount used, the aroma not being as strong as it should've been in the black tresses, which meant the purchase had been from a while back. Underneath the shampoo's odor lied the owner's, though Sesshoumaru's nose twitched in annoyance for some reason, which didn't make him press the matter of their identity any further. After all, the lab would be able to tell the correct results. Why waste such awesome ability on such a feeble thing when another could do the work for him?
However, he did take it upon himself to initiate an investigation on the building the most recent supply had been shipped to.
Smirking to himself, he took another sip of Higurashi's homemade coffee, awaiting a certain worker's arrival. As if on cue, a familiar scent suddenly wafted towards his room: a heavenly vanilla and lavender, mixed with a hint of nutmeg and firewood. A matching voice hummed, "Oh, hi! Good afternoon, Mr. Jaken! Or would it be morning, since it's a minute 'til— Oh, never mind, it just turned noon! But if it's noon, then I should be in Sesshy's office, because he told me to be in his room—"
"Just enter already!" croaked the toad demon from the other side of the door, most likely rubbing his temples in total aggravation. Rin, oblivious to his irritation, continued talking as she opened the door to Sesshoumaru's office, her beautiful scent growing stronger. Just like yesterday, she was wearing her lab coat unbuttoned, the outfit complete with pink crocs, pale jean capris, and a baby blue tank top. Memories of their meetings passed through his mind, and he felt his lips twitching as she finally told his assistant farewell before closing the door and skipping to the chair directly in front of him. Fearlessly, she met his eyes and smiled. He returned it, and she didn't seem the least surprised at the gesture like most FBI workers would have. This was what he already respected about Rin, the young newbie of crime-fighting and autopsying:
She wasn't intimidated by him. She wasn't afraid to be herself. She was happy, and the mood was contagious. She didn't analyze or judge him like most had, and instantly thought of him as her equal, a normal person. At that, she even enjoyed his presence. Not even his mother could accomplish that.
The moment his topaz gems clashed with her chocolate pools, he easily let out the information she needed to know: his take on the evidence, his plans for the night, the investigation taking place, which agents would partake in it. Surprisingly, she'd merely listened, oohing and awwing over some parts whereas others she spent wide-eyed, as if she were a child told there was a cheesy pretzel as big as the Empire State Building. When he finished and her doe eyes contained a cute determination, he knew he had her.
And now, there was only one thing left for him to do.
"Rin."
"Hm?"
"Walk with me to the autopsy room."
"Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama!"
"Not you, you silly toad! Me—Rin."
"But Sess—"
"We're leaving, Rin."
"Okey-dokey, Sesshy!"
Scene 6: "An Intermission (Sort of)"
(October 2nd, 12:24 PM,
in Dead Man's Lab at FBI HQ)
Sango was worrying over what the meeting was about, probably forming a permanent rut into the ground from all of her pacing, her ponytail swinging behind her as her magenta pools questioned the walls, hoping to receive an answer of some kind. Ayame was concerned as to whether her friends Rin and Kagome were okay or not as she nibbled on her red pigtails, emerald eyes focused on the suddenly interesting floor as she stood still. Hojo was apprehensive as to where Agent Higurashi had run off to, and if she was well, for she'd seemed shaken all day; he fidgeted in his computer chair, smoothing his boyish, brown hair numerous times as his blue orbs stared straight into the keyboard. And lastly, Rin was—
Returning with Sesshoumaru by her side?
Everyone in Dead Man's Lab came to a halt, blinking and rubbing their eyes as if they couldn't believe the sight before them. But before they could say anything, they choked on their breaths, swallowed on their tongues, and stumbled over their limbs.
Agent Takahashi was smiling.
Hojo gulped, the sound echoing due to his Adam's apple. Apocalypse, here we come. He announced diffidently, "T-the results of the hair follicles came b-back, and it s-said that there were no m-matches." Sesshoumaru inwardly raised an eyebrow at the boy's social awkwardness before deciding it was unimportant, and focused on the fact laid out before them: as far as FBI and birth records went, no one contained such DNA as the one found in the black hairs. It was a rare situation, not finding a match for a DNA item, but at the same time, it opened a few doors. Had the perpetrator perhaps not been in birthing records? Unlikely, but it was still possible; some people went their whole lives without any legality. Also, it was a possibility that this was not a demon mafia at all, since a demon would not have been so careless as to get his hair caught on a roof antenna.
Rin, not minding their reactions or taking note of Sesshoumaru's ruminations (much less paying attention to the important information just given), announced, "We're going on a mission tonight, guys; every one of us!" They all stayed in shock, though Sesshoumaru merely stared into space thoughtfully. "All the girls will be acting, but the guys of the unit will be staying guard—and we need this to be as real as possible, which is why even non-field agents are participating!" They remained unresponsive. "There's a warehouse downtown; it's our lead to Bullet-Neck Bill!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how Rin found out to knock people out of a strange, zombie-like stupor. It was also the first time Sesshoumaru chuckled with an audience, which promptly made Ayame faint, pulling down an unwilling Sango with her, while Hojo looked like he'd just seen the Grim Reaper himself.
Scene 7: "Things to Consider"
(October 2nd, 2:25 PM,
at an Unidentified Warehouse)
Inuyasha tapped his seat impatiently, glaring at the wall across from him as he sat in a cool, bad-boy position on one of the nearby crates; one leg was almost drawn up to his chest while the other lied still, relaxed as one arm was draped over his knee, his head resting against the wall his back was straightened to. Glancing at Shippou, who sat on the smaller crate next to him, he felt remorse for snapping the way he did.
Out of everybody surrounding them, Shippou would be the only one to even slightly understand what he was going through—the boy was just too damn nice and innocent to have a black heart like most demons out there. In a way, Shippou was almost more of a human than a kitsune in his soul: forgiving, empathetic, and patient. Sometimes, it even scared Inuyasha how much of a good person Shippou was, though he hadn't seen enough "things" to be dubbed officially as "mature", despite his parents' deaths many years ago. And recalling Shippou, too, knew what it was like to lose a close relative, Inuyasha felt even more guilty. Once again, out of everyone here, the fox truly would be the one to understand his situation. The half-demon made the mental promise to try to come clean after the gang meeting, though it wouldn't be anywhere near easy.
Menomaru stood before them again, a spark of business in his charcoal eyes. He then bluntly declared, "The boss says you've all done an exceptional job lately, so for tonight, you'll have be getting…gifts." At his smirk, most of the men cheered, whereas Shippou blanched at the epenthesis on "gifts" and Inuyasha's eyes narrowed as he resisted the urge to frown and snarl.
"Gifts"… As in women they'd be bringing, whether they be taken off the streets or traded with prostitution organizations. They were used for many purposes: cleaning, cooking, fucking, assisting in any means they could; it was almost as if they were slaves, though they were treated right—or more like provided for, anyways. Then, the moment they were deemed useless, they were shot and killed in order to prevent any information on their mafia being leaked to the feds. Inuyasha had never gotten a woman sexually—he was, after all, the only one who at least had some values left from his young life as a normal citizen (not to mention the idea of romance was uncomfortable)—but there'd been females who'd brought him water while he worked out, ramen when he was in his room, and sorted out the mess that'd been his room.
Sadly, women had gotten so desperate to be paid and taken care of at each hideout that they'd try to seduce him, though they themselves seemed repulse of the idea of sex with a half-demon. He was used to the lower treatment by now—but he still didn't deal with it. After he killed a dragon demon who'd used the term "half-breed" to his face, people seemed to understand not to get on his bad side—or at least not take any chances and discuss him when he could've been within hearing range. Being the only half-demon there wasn't easy, either; he was one of the best damn mobsters and assassins they'd ever gotten, taken under the wing of their boss at the age of six, which made people respect him regardless of his blood. Yet there was still that heavy air at times that reminded him of just where he came from, who'd conceived him, because people couldn't forget that he was only half a demon.
And, of course, half wasn't ever enough.
Inuyasha sighed as Menomaru went into detail about the women, their arrival, their pasts—but the words flew right past him. He wondered if the glares would ever stop, if the gossip of him would one day die, if he could for once stop living within his own secrets and have more close friends than Shippou—when things could ever change for people of his heritage.
Exhaling again, he ran a hand over his face, now completely oblivious to anyone else's existence. He never knew where he stood with others or what would become of his future, if he would stay here forever or die with the mafia on his tail for trying to escape such a life with Shippou, the only other person who didn't belong here.
Dignity be damned, he didn't know anymore. He wasn't all that knowing, either, he supposed. At this point, even his own thoughts seemed to be like half-lies to himself. All in all, his life was just…too complicated.
And since when did he go all fucking angsty on himself?
Scene 8: "Buddha Bless Him and Help Us All"
(October 2nd, 12:45 PM,
at the 9th Street Buddhist Church)
Kagome had never been christian, nor was she catholic, Jewish, atheist, or even Buddhist or Shinto despite her Japanese background. At that, she was born and raised in the Sunset Shrine of Tokyo, Japan, which was under the ownership of her Jii-chan, a Shinto priest. However, instead of participating in ceremonies as the shrine maiden or helper, she focused on her schoolwork, trying her hardest to get into a great college and get a high-paying job, such as her father's investigative missions with the local police and private favors from wealthy clients. Eventually, she did accomplish her goals, as her life was evidence of the matter now: if she'd not studied hard, she wouldn't have gotten into an Ivy League university in the United States, and would've never been offered a position in the FBI, thus permanently remaining in North America. Really, she wouldn't be who she was today.
Of course, though, she had to add with remorse, But Daddy would still be alive, too…
Willing back tears, the ex–field agent continued down the aisle in the only Buddhist church in the entire county. Back in Japan, services would be held in temples and shrines, but due to their rarity in the states and the oddness of seeing such a structure being cramped in with rundown apartments even if they were in the Takekawa District, the old church held two towers, many stories, and a modern-day christian look. Kagome had never attended its services before and wasn't beginning anytime soon, but she had to speak with someone on the inside. After all, her father wasn't the only one to followed her to America.
Miroku. The monk in-training back at Tokyo was too much of a brother to not also wish to watch over her in the English-speaking country.
They'd met a decade ago, both at the age of sixteen. Miroku was taking spiritual and philosophical classes at the nearby Buddhist temple due to some run-ins with local gangs and illegal activity, and instead of a court date, he was told to get in touch with Buddha in order to "relieve him of his sins". When they'd ran across each other, both were on their way home from either school or said lessons. After he'd hit on her and she slapped him, Miroku quickly apologized and insisted he make it up to her by taking her out for ice cream. Thinking it was his way of sneaking a date with her, Kagome initially declined—that is, until Souta had appeared out of thin air and declared they wouldn't let such a generous offer go to waste. Agent Higurashi never knew Miroku's true intentions for that day, but one thing was for sure: once they went out and talked, they became good friends and would never consider romantic relationships with one another. Miroku had become a part of the family, her non-blood brother, and when she announced her job offer in America, he was quick to drop a possible position as his old temple's priest and traveled to the United States with Detective Higurashi.
For the past four years, both men became Kagome's lifelines, teaching her all there was to know about crime and fighting it. Her father was an expert at catching crooks, helping her endure physical trials outside of her FBI training, and teaching her all there was to know about performing investigations, seeing between the lines and spotting the fine print, and recognizing hidden details such as his concealed message last night. Detective Higurashi also excelled in criminal psychology, so he often gave his eldest lessons on figuring out the bad guy's mind, motives, and intentions.
Miroku, on the other hand, taught her how to do, sadly, more illegal things—but with good reason. He was the one who pulled many strings when they moved to America, erasing important information from Kagome's file in case of "future complications". As far as the FBI and everyone else in the USA knew, Agent Kagome Higurashi was without family, as was Detective Toshiaki Higurashi; both of their files stated information about their relatives dying in Japan, their home nation, and these details were never questioned. Aside from sneaking hidden biographies out from underneath foreign country's noses, Miroku also taught her about the ways of worldwide mafias and how to make illegal documents, identities, etc. if the need ever came. Most importantly, he instructed her on what she should do if she was ever in trouble with the big guys, though the last detail was just for reassurance, since he was sure Kagome could never do anything wrong to get on someone's bad side.
As time passed, Miroku and Kagome depended on each other—her for criminal expertise and a friend who knew of her past, him for dating advice and news on what was happening right now in the country. Miroku and Toshiaki also contacted each other more, assisting each other with their own knowledge and the latter's cases. More or less, Kagome was pleased to have and know such close individuals with her outside of work, even if she didn't see them every week. Before today, the last time Kagome had really talked to Miroku was last month—quite awhile, though she'd been so swamped with her latest paperwork, he'd understood and let it go.
Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the 9th Street Buddhist Church, small chimes coming from the clinks of aluminum children's crafts hanging from shelves as the aging wooden floor creaked, announcing her presence to the cleaned, lemon-scented building. There wasn't a hint of dust on anything, nor any stains on the brown-cushioned, Japanese-styled benches facing a statue of Buddha and numerous jewels representing the seven chakras. Kagome smiled as she recalled Miroku's determination to buy the abandoned church and turn it into his own; it'd certainly exceeded her expectations. And as her father would say, "There's tons of detail to the place, that's for sure."
A door opened from behind the large god's replica, and Kagome smiled as her gaze met that of a rat-tail–haired man's indigo orbs. Upon seeing the woman he hadn't in days, Miroku Houshi broke out into a grin, his black and purple robes only grazing the ground ever so slightly as he ran to greet her. Kagome's forced-on smile nicked away somewhat as she remembered her reason for being here.
After an invitation to his home in the back, Miroku removed his purple coating—"It's looks so suffocating," Toshiaki would say, "Are you sure you wouldn't wanna become an Eskimo after wearing that…?"—and sat down in his black clothing, grinning as he watched his old friend poor herself some tea. Kagome tried to overlook his cheery attitude, guilty with herself for knowing she'd be the downfall to his wonderful mood today. He's smiling so much… But this isn't a smiling subject…
Her hands began trembling, the tea inside swishing around slightly, and Miroku noticed. "If you don't mind me asking, Kagome," he began, already having dropped calling her "miss" and "lady" long ago, "might you have came to visit me for a reason? It was quite unexpected, if I do say so myself, and I hadn't prepared for any company—"
"Miroku," she croaked softly, biting down on her lip.
He blinked, adjusting himself as he realized this was a grave manner. Something twisted in his gut as Kagome acted the role of a fish; mouth opening for a few seconds, but after failing at finding the right words, flopping shut. Her eyes would drop the moment they met his, and her hands were either still in the air or dead on her lap.
Silence embraced the good friends until Kagome's phone rang. She pulled it out of her pencil skirt's pocket, looking confused as she saw who called her. Usually, if the caller was female, it would be Rin, who thought everything was worth having a detailed conversation over, and at that, would call for anything. The only other woman who'd really call was Ayame, who, for some reason, assumed Kagome would love hearing about work at home. But, as of now, she could happily say that it was the first time she saw the name Sango printed underneath her phone's clock. Sango, the linguist who discouraged people using cell phones for personal calls on FBI grounds, was calling her. She quickly answered, taking short deeps before murmuring, "Hello?"
"Higurashi!" Sango bellowed, obviously getting ready to scold the agent. "Where are you? Why aren't you at work, hm? You're missing out on the news of a lifetime, and—"
"What news?" Kagome inquired in a professional manner, avoiding Miroku's curious gaze as he listened in on the conversation, unbeknownst to her. She already felt bad for not being able to tell him, and now it'd only be worse to tell him after a work-related phone call—especially when work now involved her father's death.
"We have a lead on Bullet-Neck Bill," Sango announced, making Kagome almost drop her phone in surprise. Miroku was interested, never having heard of this before, while the agent went pale at the reminder of the case's latest victim. "Agent Takahashi sniffed a lock of hair we found—"
"Hair?" Kagome echoed, never hearing anything about hair being found at the scene. Was it evidence? Did they finally find something they could trace back to Bill?
Sango mm-hmmed, the sound of her nodding apparent to Kagome through the phone. "Black hair, ninety-eight percent straight, and had a small amount of a Japanese shampoo called Feudal Forest—"
"I USE THAT!" Miroku declared excitedly, as if he were a teenage girl who just found out her new friend was born on her birthday. Kagome was horrified; if he went on making declarations such as that, Sango could've suspected him to be the killer since Feudal Forest was rarely found in the country for those who didn't originate from Japan. Kagome quickly cut him off with a heavy glare as Sango questioned her about the voice on the other line. She quickly reassured her it was just her friend going on about what condoms he used—a topic in which Miroku turned smug and announced quite loudly, "I don't use them; they're too small for me."
Ignoring him and Sango's yelling pervert! at the priest, Kagome mused over a previous thought she had. Feudal Forest… Rarely owned by those who never lived in Japan… Something clicked then, but she kept quiet about her sudden epiphany as Sango finished her rant about idiots, insisted he back away from the phone since they were talking about "serious matters", and sighed. "We ran tests, and apparently, there's no DNA like it in the system—none, like, not even close." Before Kagome could question further on that area of interest, Sango continued, "But Agent Takahashi analyzed the hair before we confirmed the results, and it turns out, he's right—"
"This Sesshoumaru says you have no freedom to sound so shocked about his sense of smell's accuracy," a stoic voice interrupted from Sango's line, and an indignant cry escaped the linguist from being interrupted once again. Kagome was at first stunned to hear him speak up and add, in her opinion, an unnecessary comment until she heard Rin's giggling and teasing him from the other line. At the smile in his voice, she wondered if Rin had really managed to bring out the side of him no one could within two days until she realized even if Rin did it, he would maintain his usual behavior when she wasn't around.
Overlooking Sesshoumaru's statement for the most part, Sango continued, "But he's right about it being Feudal Forest, and we've already located the last place a shipment around a month ago took place. It's at a warehouse down south, near the outskirts of the city, and we believe it to be the hideout of a demon mafia that visits town often and has gotten on our case a lot. We don't have much information on them, but tonight, you and every other physically trained worker in our unit is being called onto the field tonight—men will be standing guard in the outer forests surrounding the warehouse whereas women, or us, will be playing the role of money-obsessed, materialistic hookers, whores, and prostitutes."
Kagome dropped the phone and Miroku's smile instantly fell, but only after they heard,
"So, congrats. You're gonna avenge that Toshiaki Higurashi detective's death from last night. I don't know why you were crying for him, but I know that in over ten hours, we'll be partying in Hell."
Scene 9: "Moon Child"
(October 2nd, 11:32 PM,
in the Party/Bar Room at an Unidentified Warehouse)
Inuyasha took an elongated sip of his whiskey, not in the mood for anything alcoholically weak right now. His mind still wandered to the previous night, his guilt slowly dissipating, but the remorse for doing the one thing he hated most haunted him to no end. He was half-demon; eventually, human emotions that weakened him wore off within good time, such as a few hours, and it'd somewhat impressed him that his grief existed for about a day since it usually took less. Slowly, he was turning back into his gruff self—but the scars of his actions would always be a sensitive spot, one he would rather bury deeper than bring out and let it bleed freely.
Inuyasha may've been half a human, but he wasn't a god-damned wimp.
The party and bar room had been built a little bit over five years ago, around the time he returned the legal drinking age. Its small neon lights pulsed every so often, the windows painted black in this particular area as to avoid anyone passing by to mistake it for an illegal rave. Music played, though due to demons' sensitive hearing, was playing only loud enough for them to talk over it. The group of gangbangers didn't use the room all that often, but when they did, it was to celebrate newly obtained "gifts" or the success of an important task—tonight, the reason probably being prior. As of the moment, Inuyasha was at the warehouse's bar counter, Shippou having ran back to his room for some pocky to "get this show on the road", leaving him to fend for himself against the many sluts surrounding them. He sat still in his stool, everyone partying around him with their newly arrived whores, some of whom had their gazes gliding over his body as slickly as oil.
The women had come to the warehouse over an hour ago, received a grand tour of the place, and of course were filled in on the rules—but not being informed of their fates if they wanted to quit, slacked off, or plain, old sucked at their jobs. Every demon had at least two women, except Shippou, Inuyasha, and a few select others, who either weren't in the mood or into that stuff. Some females were at the bar, others standing on the sidelines, and only four were without men, though the small foursome had dispersed some time ago. The four without masters would probably be allowed to stay the night, though quickly killed off in the morning to avoid information leaks, the typical stuff. Oh, well, Inuyasha thought, remembering how they stuck together like glue, holding onto each other as friends and lifelines. Guess they'll die as friends, too.
Inuyasha downed another shot, the alcohol burning his throat slightly, though it wasn't enough to make him even slightly drunk, never mind ditsy. He stared blankly at the shelves before him, the planks and cupboards stocked with beer (a sportsman's preferred drink), wine (a businessman's choice), vodka (a mobster's favorite), and whiskey (a depressed man's pick). The seats were not cushioned, so his butt had deadened after awhile, and the lights and pulsing beats of the music—rap, techno?—gave him a thudding headache, much like a hung-over bitch's mood in the morning.
He really didn't like to share how he exactly knew that.
"Inuyasha!" He rapidly turned to the sound of his best friend's voice, not helping the blank look from appearing in his eyes. Stuffing his candy into his jeans, Shippou frowned upon noticing his state and the twelve empty shot glasses in front of him. "You aren't going to drink any more alcohol, are you?" the kitsune asked, slightly concerned. He probably didn't want Inuyasha depressing himself yet again, after all.
The twenty-six-year-old shrugged casually, managing a smirk that at least lessened his non-blood brother's worry. "Keh, drinking ain't gonna take me down," he insisted, and upon hearing the Inuyasha-like remark, Shippou calmed immediately, plunking himself onto the stool next to him, careful of his few fox tails.
The stench of drugs of all kinds weighed heavily in the air, and Inuyasha couldn't get a clear reading on anyone's scent except Shippou's, whose he'd grown too familiar with to not notice. The "bartender", also known as dumbass Gatenmaru, had ran off with some no-name, leaving the drinks unattended and Inuyasha free to drink as much as he wanted. Even if he was of age, Shippou wouldn't ever think of drinking since his parents had always discouraged it; Inuyasha, on the other hand, liked how the taste at least distracted you enough to drag you out of your problems for a little while and loosen up your nerves. The half-demon jumped over the counter, landing in front of the vodka cabinet and whiskey barrel. Not really caring about his health at the moment, Inuyasha grabbed a large root beer mug and scooped up as much whiskey from the tub as possible, filling it halfway before adding vodka to the mix. Would it taste horrible? Maybe. Would it take his mind off his problems?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
Taking a long swallow of the horrific-tasting combination, he turned back and gave Shippou a wide grin. The fox demon had seemingly leaned forward to watch him, but unexpectedly, wasn't focused on his mentor, but a girl below him on the floor. Inuyasha felt somewhat stupid for not noticing her there before—she may've been hiding behind the counter, but she was nearby, and at that, had either been in front of or behind him despite which side of the counter he was on; he should've caught up on her scent or something. Then, smelling his drink, he realized he may've not been able to smell her over the high sensation of alcohol overtaking his system.
"You really shouldn't be drinking that much," Shippou said to the long, straight, light-haired girl, who just stared at the floor between her knees, three empty beer bottles beside her while one remained in her hand. Inuyasha agreed; that alcohol was made for demons, not humans, so drinking one of those babies was like two beers in one. "You said your name was Katrina, right?" Instead of giving Shippou a solid answer, she remained quiet, lifting her head to take another chug out of her beer, revealing her eyes to be a dull brown. Then her gaze returned to the floor, never once showing any sign of life as she didn't acknowledge Shippou's words or Inuyasha's presence in front of her.
Inuyasha shared a look with Shippou, who shook his head in return. The half-demon sighed before lowering himself to her level, trying to find her aroma over the rest. When he came across it, he recognized the cherry blossom, honey suckles, peaches, and apples—she was one of the four women meant to be killed the following morning. That sucks was all Inuyasha could manage to think. Did Katrina know of her and her friends' fates? Is that why she was drinking as if there was no tomorrow—because, for her, there truly wasn't?
"Oi, wench," he muttered, though she did not stir. Shippou exchanged another look with Inuyasha, who rolled his eyes at her numbness to the world and tapped her knee, making her head snap up and her eyes clash with his own. For a moment, he wondered if he'd seen her somewhere before, until he regained composure and mumbled, "You wanna die of alcohol poisoning or something?"
She seemed confused at first, tilting her head to the side questioningly. It was a purely childlike gesture, and because of it, he wondered how a seemingly innocent Japanese—yes, she was Japanese—girl had somehow managed to get herself involved in this business. But when he glared and his gaze drifted to the little pile she was making, she gasped, as if it'd suddenly hit her she was practically drinking herself to death—
"I'm so sorry for making a mess!"
—or not.
Inuyasha's eyes narrowed dangerously, wondering if she was really concerned about that, and not her freakin' health. "Why the fuck are you drinking?" he groaned, grabbing her empty bottles, each of their noses stuck in-between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't respond instantly, her gaze having already returned to the floor, as if she was ashamed. "Well?" he growled.
Shippou couldn't hide his surprise; Inuyasha had been moping an hour ago, gaining some traces of himself a few minutes earlier, but now when he came across a woman drunk, he suddenly became Inuyasha again? It was interesting, watching the woman Katrina, whom they just met, already snap Inuyasha out of his daze. Shippou looked up, saw Inuyasha's feral look, and decided right then was a good time to take another break from the party and go the restroom. Katrina and Inuyasha barely noticed the kitsune's departure, him focused on making her answer his damned questions and she being too busy trying to vanish into thin air.
Inuyasha remained glaring at her, wondering what the bitch's problem was. Obviously, she hadn't heard from anyone else what happened to the last idiot who drank too much demon beer: threw their guts up before dying of alcohol poisoning. Then again… He glanced at his shots, suddenly remembering how much stronger whiskey was than beer. I might be going down with her. Tossing the bottles aside, he chucked the one beside her, the one she was still drinking, into the recycling bin, catching her attention. She didn't seem to notice her drink's absence; she just stared at the bin blankly, looking truly bewildered about something. That moment, she made Inuyasha laugh for the first time in a long time.
"Mobsters recycle?"
She obviously couldn't wrap her finger around that fact, and it amused him to no end. "Yes," he said slowly, as if she had trouble understanding him. She frowned at that before then realizing he'd rid her of her alcohol. When she sent him a chilling glower, he just smirked in pleasure, much to his own astonishment. Was it just him, or was making fun of her better than moping around about last night?
"My name is Katrina Hamilton," she suddenly said, extending her hand out to shake his. He was a little surprised at the formal gesture—one in her business would often jump him instead of shaking his hand—but shook hers, nonetheless, with a smirk on his face as he answered in response,
"Inuyasha."
After grabbing two waters—one for her, one for him—Inuyasha drank away the taste of whiskey and vodka on his tongue. Katrina tried to, complaining a little to herself about how weird it tasted to mix beer and water, and he teased her by saying she was too much of wimp to handle different flavors. She must've taken that as a challenge, because she quickly made sure to keep her face impassive whenever she took a sip of her now almost empty bottle. They talked of normal things: the night scene, his friend Shippou, her friends Karin, Sandra, and Aimee; they both strayed away from the topics of their families. Inuyasha did find out that she was drinking because she was "just a little sad", though the abyss in her eyes spoke volumes. He repeatedly made fun of her, and she had smart comments back—one of which was her best yet.
"So what if my hair looks fake?" she snapped, giving him a quick glare. "Your ears do, too, dog-boy." Twitching the appendages for her in reassurance, she shook her head and mumbled something among the lines of "technology sure has advanced these days".
He didn't really have a comeback for that one.
"So, how'd you get into this business?" she asked casually, taking another sip of her water, though her nose still twitched from the taste of it and alcohol. Inuyasha had visibly stiffened, but she barely noticed with her slightly drunken haze. Muttering something about his mom dying, her muscles tensed as well, and suddenly, silence consumed the two and their nonchalant conversation. Both somewhat missed the banter they made over the talk of the demons nearby, who were currently having a "drink the tequila off this hottie's body" contest, their heated conversations that seemed important when they were really over trivial things, and even the small arguments they made. So, Inuyasha said something to wipe away the serenity, starting a passionate "tête-à-tête", one of which was occurring at the moment.
"I'm not a whore, you stupid overgrown puppy!"
"Then why the fuck you here, wench?"
"Did you just call me 'wench'?"
Yes. This "heart-to-heart" was very, very passionate indeed.
"Do ya always avoid questions you're asked?"
"Why are you avoiding my question?"
"Why are you avoiding mine?"
Shippou came in around that time, surprised to see them moping less, and finally was formally introduced to Katrina. He would've engaged in conversation with her since she seemed much more friendly, but even Inuyasha was taking a risk for talking to her; the whores given to them, after all, were supposed to be there to do their job, not make friends with the gangbangers. Shippou tugged on Inuyasha's sleeve, whispering something in his ear that made the half-demon stand up and go to a secluded area—or, more specifically, out in the abandoned hallway.
The moment they were outside, Shippou's eyes went wide and he hissed, "What're you, 'Yash? Insane? Suicidal?"
The half-demon knew what he meant: why had he taken the chance of talking to the girl as if she were his equal, why drink his worries away, etc. on the long list of what Shippou worried about. "Fuckin' god, relax," Inuyasha grumbled, leaning against a plastered wall. "I'm leavin' the warehouse for a couple of days, anyway." After his friend screamed an indignant WHAT?, Inuyasha's ears flattened in displeasure as he glowered at the fox demon. He explained, "'Cause of my distance and sudden depression, short-shit; they ain't gonna take that too lightly, and even if they do, I'm not gonna be off the hook. They'll think I'm with the feds or something if I stay, so I'm gonna take one of those 'mandatory vacations'."
Shippou frowned, his usually naïve face downcast. "I don't get it," he admitted bluntly.
"Dammit, Shittou!" Inuyasha ran an angry face over his frustrated expression, as if to wipe away his irritation. "Think of it this way: They're going to wonder why I was all freakin' 'fuck my life' for most of today, and then they're going to assume the worst if I stay and relapse into that shit. If I finally take the fucking vacation that's been on my schedule for two decades and say I want to visit my father or some shit, they won't only be happy to have me gone, but they won't have the chance to figure out I snuck out last night."
From the half-demon's abundant curses, Shippou understood his determination and sincerity in the matter, nodding in agreement. Never mind the strangeness of him finally taking a break after twenty years. Never mind the fact that suspicion could possibly grow. Both just knew that right then, at the moment, this was the best thing to do.
"I'm driving Katrina to wherever she lives, too," Inuyasha announced, making Shippou choke on air. "Yeah, it's pretty stupid, but she's an okay bitch." At Shippou's look of astonishment for accepting the girl, he added, "I also really wouldn't like to feel guilty for imagining what her execution was like while I'm away."
Shippou rolled his eyes. Of course Inuyasha would do this for a bit of a selfish reason. Said mentor glided down the hallway and to his room to pack, leaving Shippou to go retrieve the girl. The kitsune sighed, staring at the space he once stood. Of course I'm left behind to do what he should…
Katrina sat still, her back pressed against the bar counter while her butt began to numb on the planked floor. She wondered when and if Inuyasha and Shippou would get back; they seemed to be the most civilized and humane demons out of the entire mafia. Her eyes strayed to her friends to check their mental status report and see how they were doing. Karin was currently dancing in a bubbly-like manner with a youthful and naïve wolf demon who'd introduced himself as Hakkaku, and Aimee was talking heatedly with Hakkaku's brother Ginta, who seemed astounded by the fact that Aimee, too, was a wolf-demon. Sandra was arm-wrestling with some guy named Byakuya, and thus far, she was winning and men were offering her shots and alcohol, no doubt attempts to get her drunk and within their beds.
The lone girl behind the bar smiled to herself, glad to see they were taking care of themselves and weren't being violated—yet. At the added thought, she frowned slightly, but noticing the nice demons who'd taken in her two weakest friends and remembering how strong Sandra was, she wasn't too worried for them, especially when she recalled their plans for the night and their security on the outside. To be honest, Katrina hadn't expected to befriend anybody; the instant she'd laid eyes on the bar was the moment she decided she'd drink herself to sleep while reveling in the past—before last night. Apparently, the kitsune Shippou had been talking to her, though she hadn't noticed them until Inuyasha had tapped her knee.
Inuyasha… That was a strange name, she'd mused. Then again, he was also a strange person—not really the Red Delicious surrounded by the Granny Smiths, but more of odd in his own way, weird because of different character when compared to mafia members around them. He hadn't tried to jump her, so she assumed he was like Hakkaku and Ginta; he wasn't the type of mobster to use her for what she was needed for, but he didn't look as innocent as the wolf demon brothers.
With some sort of annoyed tenacity she could not recognize, Shippou appeared, walked over, helped her off the ground, and told her Inuyasha was going to drive her home. Home, Katrina thought, her finger tracing the creases in her water bottle as she agreed silently, letting him escort her out of the party room. She couldn't turn him down or insist her friends come along because he'd suspect something, and that was the last thing she needed. I don't really have a home anymore. She let out a monstrous sigh, closing her eyes.
Daddy…
Scene 10: "A Mix-Up Beyond Messed-Up"
(October 3rd, 12:15 AM,
at an Unidentified Warehouse)
Menomaru was a moth demon; most overlooked this fact, thinking it to be a normal type, when in fact, moth demons were one of the most rare kinds out there. He did not wish to let this fact be known to those who weren't aware of it in his boss's gang due to infrequent demons being much more of a threat to the common ones. So, his many spies were surrounding the mobsters at every moment, because of them underestimating his power each second of the day.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Smirking to himself as he stared out into the night, he stood guard over the building, moths fluttering about his air. His feet wavered on the ledge as he reigned the night as his, gaze drifting over the forest when a breeze strolled by. Accompanied by a scent he knew well, Menomaru asked coolly, "Why do you wish to bother me, Gatenmaru?"
The intruder mafia member panted, making Menomaru momentarily confused. Had he ran here to the roof? Like his superior, Gatenmaru was also a moth demon, and due to this fact, served under his lord. Moth demons weren't known for their incredible running skills, however, which was why Menomaru was bewildered as to why his weakling had ran up here.
Gatenmaru wheezed between catching his breath, "Moths—gasp—heard—wheeze—something."
Menomaru offhandedly thanked him for coming to tell him that.
Then Gatenmaru fainted.
Turning to the creatures that'd arrived, Menomaru demanded, "Show me what you saw." On command, the insects went on his skin, releasing poisonous-to-human powder that translated images. Grinning to himself maliciously, the head murmured, "So, Inuyasha was not in his dorm last night? It's a shame he could not reveal more; I'm sure the boss would've loved to do less work. And what's that? Inuyasha is taking his vacation and driving one of our whores home. Ahh…lovely."
As quickly as they came, the bugs scattered, leaving Menomaru baffled once more until another figure jogged into sight. He growled. What was with everyone intruding his territory, his alone time, especially when he was guarding the hideout?
"Menomaru," the boss greeted him calmly, and the mobster's fuming perplexity quickly dissolved. "The party room and bar is currently having a gun fight, caused by one of the prostitutes who just arrived. Blond hair, brown eyes—a face that's Heaven-sent. Katrina, I think her name was." Recalling the girl, the moth demon nodded, making his boss continue. "Strangely enough, she's only killing off the other whores around her—a few have merely been shot while others have escaped, revealing an elite team of FBI agents hiding out in the woods. As we speak, Katrina is leaving with Inuyasha as an escape."
Menomaru, despite his high level of testosterone, gasped squeakily. "You mean—"
"Inuyasha is a traitor," the boss stated simply, taking the news lightly. "He has a bag with him, obviously quitting the gang, and his wench, Katrina, is a FBI agent, along with the other whores in the warehouse. Her real name is Kagome Higurashi; she's the pest-detective's spawn." Menomaru blinked, shocked, while his superior went on. "Inuyasha has been disloyal to the mafia. Katrina has disobeyed orders and killed her fellow agents. All in all, whether it be us or the feds?
"They'll die for their betrayals."
A/N: I wanted to write more on Inuyasha and Kagome's conversation, but this chapter was getting too big. -.-' To be honest, it sucked writing the angst. Really. I was in a really happy and humorous mood, so I had to DEPRESS myself in order to write it. Well, I hope you're happy with your damned chapter… *grumbles, mumbles, mutters complaints and negative comments* Next up shall be, Act III: Unlikely Fugitives.
