Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this bit of modern era audacity… especially for the ones who know how to make a woman feel special. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.
A Debt of Gratitude: Fenikkusuken is mine beta, and a good'un at that.
This drabble was originally posted to Live Journal on March 25, 2008.
Wolf Whistles
"Everything seems to be in order," conceded the architect, meticulously re-rolling his blueprints.
The foreman relaxed at the oblique compliment. "Don't you worry, sir. My people are the best."
"Hnn."
Just then, there was a stir among the crew. "I see her! Here she comes!"
"Bet she notices me," boasted one.
"Bet I can make her blush," countered another.
The foreman glanced sheepishly at his superior. "They're on break—just a bit of harmless fun."
Curious, the architect strolled across narrow girders to join the workmen, who made room and helpfully pointed out a strangely-familiar woman. "Why her?" he inquired, trying to place her.
"Are you blind?" scoffed one.
"She likes us," another claimed, and with that, catcalls and wolf whistles filled the air. She slowed, smiling faintly at the crew lining the third story.
"She's got it bad for me."
"Oh no, it's me."
"Idiots," muttered the stranger in their midst. "No wonder she stares."
"Huh?"
"You're the blind ones. She's a miko and sees you for the pack of wolves you are."
"No kidding?"
"Maybe she likes wolves, then… since she keeps coming back for more."
"Hnn… I think not."
"Think you can do better… dog?" came the good-natured challenge.
"Bet she takes one look and turns tail," jibed another.
"Unlikely."
"Prove it!"
Without another word, the architect swept away, tossing his hard-hat to the foreman in passing. Every eye widened as the elevator doors closed upon a confident smirk.
"S-S-Sesshoumaru-sama?" she gasped.
"It's been awhile… Kagome."
End Note: This drabble was written for the Live Journal community ebony(underscore)silks and their prompt for Week 44—Catcall. 250 words.