As his name suggests, Sesshomaru is perfection. He is elegance and majesty manifest. His expression is regal and beautifully angled. His demeanor is calm and of level composure. He is one of sound movement carried with distinction and direction. And though he allows unprovoked conversation out in society, seldom will he solicit it. High praise deserved to be his—not that he sought it. Life had been fairer to him than the ordinary demon, that was all.

Therefore, intelligent speculation was innate. To marvel, a rare event.

But marvel Kagome he did. And it was the strangest feeling for him, a being with the power to demand obedience from most which lived, yet powerless to shrug off the wonder that was Kagome stuffing her face.

In one of the Shiro's grand dining halls, Kagome brandished two scones, making a real mess as she licked fig preserves from her fingers.

Jaken glared at her in disgust. Marmalades imported from mainland China were too rare a treat to be wasted on the likes of her, and the least the glutton could do was chew.

"For manner's sake," said Jaken, "slow down."

"Lay off me, troll. I'm starving."

"Troll? Why you little pork orc—that's offensive, you know! And I'll have you know—"

"Jaken." When Sesshomaru talked all had better pause. Through some miracle, his gaze was on Kagome's face and not the rice on her breasts. "Let me make myself clear."

"Crystal clear!" Hyped Jaken.

"If you think for one second—"

"One second!"

Sesshomaru exhaled. Jaken recoiled. This was his reality now—and the first of many fights between girl and imp. They were to be enemies at this point, meant so, with dispositions fated to clash.

The prince was jealous of himself, of the carefree solitude that he once had. He longed for it. His subjects may do and say as they pleased amongst themselves. It didn't bother him. What did bother him was interruptions. And not for naught had he learned to speak harmfully when a dull tone seemed ignored. His threat was a perilous suggestion of pain and regret, the prospect of looking up from the bottom of one's fine boot silencing Jaken.

And in the sweet, sweet silence, Sesshomaru suddenly realized he had forgotten what he tried to say. He looked to the servant dog standing by the shoji door, still as death and breathing softly lest anger is flung her way.

Kagome concentrated on her meal. She wanted Sesshomaru to believe she couldn't feel the weight of his gaze or notice the subtle way his tongue flicked his fang. Unsettling best described this cast, being looked upon as probable prey. But Kagome knew demons. His look was perturbed, a combination of irritated curiosity.

He's studying me...

If not for Jaken's mouthing off, it was not certain how long they would have warred with their eyes alone.

"M'lord," Kagome said suddenly, as if it were an emergency, "let's make a deal."

Developed in the hardness of life, her address sounded queer to Sesshomaru. Her accent lacked warmth and gave little for flowery expression and lies. It's not to say he deemed her stupid. Quite the contrary. His eyes saw exactly; the right instincts carried by his nerves. Here was something clever. To climb aboard his mother's coach, under demon noses, and to have had the audacity to browse at her leisure proved she thought quickly. So he could not disregard her, set progressions and moralize about her. Not before learning the nature of her.

However, a proper honorific was a good start.

"One does not make deals with the help, but he is willing to hear propositions."

"I propose we send her back. The rats mourn, my lord."

Water down Kagome's bitter back. "One time," she said, dark and tight, "let me swear one time."

To survive his game was to play by his rules. To appeal to his better nature, however snooty it was, was the cheat code.

It could be worse. Myoga had been right about the perks. True, she was burdened by spiritual power and pressured to master it, but swearing allegiance to Inuyoukai was a small price to pay for the moistest, most succulent pork she had ever tasted. Three days since leaving her dark chamber, Kagome had been presented with spreads the sad dream about on hungry days. Kagome had the hunger. If thrown into the dungeon she'd reach out for it in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat.

"That depends," hummed Sesshomaru. "Will you learn a lady's tongue?"

"I'm guessin' I don't have much of a choice." A fine brow, arched and condescending, proved it. "Yeah, sure. Whatever—I mean—requesting to use it now…. m'lord."

She could choke on the hostility growing in her heart, calling lordly to him. Still, Jaken could eat a dick. Kagome's thoughts were wild. Only her body had thus been tamed. Sesshomaru is who she would begrudgingly obey, not his personal bootlicker until told otherwise and not before. Life taught her that power was to be respected. Behind power was the authority to enforce it, authority that hurt, authority that could express itself with dungeons and claws and gods knew what else.

"Granted," said her master.

Kagome wiped her mouth and immediately faced Jaken. "Fuck—and I can't stress this enough—you."

She did not swear a second time. One golden flash was sufficient to silence the entire table.

Fed and watered, it was time to put her to work.

Sesshomaru's long body unfolded until he stood high. "Come," he ordered, "your busywork."

Kagome stood, her footing shaky. "You never told me what kind of work I'd be doing."

She was feeble after spending two weeks surviving on just enough to not starve. To rectify this problem, Sesshomaru will make her lift things, put them down and pick them up until she regained bodily strength.

Be it reiki or youki, both came easier to the healthy.

A/N: Wax on, wax off, Kagome. Make those floors shine.