Author's Note: Another one written for Tumblr's MirSan Week.
-x-
"This is entirely not my fault," Miroku announced the moment Sango stepped into the hut.
Bemused, Sango could only stand in the doorway and watch the chaos unfold.
Had she really been gone long enough for something like this to happen, she wondered as she watched an enormous pile of dirty dishes topple over while something exploded into a cloud of brilliantly colored dust that would surely coat everything in the house. Or was it just that her children were exceptionally skilled at getting into trouble - and their father was equally skilled at letting them?
She waited for the dust to clear a bit, ignoring husband and children, who looked at her guiltily - or innocently, in her daughters' case. When it seemed safe enough, or at least less likely to coat her armor in shimmering, multi-colored powder, she went far enough inside to hang Hiraikotsu in its place of honor on the wall.
Something in a pot near the fire popped audibly.
The hut filled with a noxious smell that might annoy humans, but would drive out any rat-like vermin youkai in a matter of moments.
Sango sighed.
"I didn't teach you these things so you could make a mess of my house," she murmured, heading behind the screen to change out of her armor. Training with Inuyasha this morning had left her sweating and exuberant, but perhaps it hadn't been worth... this.
She was mostly back in her kosode when Miroku poked a penitent head around the screen to pout at her.
"Do you have something to say for yourself?" she asked mildly. "Or on behalf of your offspring?"
He grinned. So much for repentance. "Only that they might get into significantly less trouble if they did not have such a good teacher, who was always teaching them ahead," he told her, with a grin that spoke volumes more.
Sango's good-natured retort, that at least their father was getting good at cleaning up their messes, was lost in the report as something else pinged - loudly - in the main room. Great for dealing with youkai that use echolocation. Not so great for calming down an already irritated mother.
When her ears stopped ringing, Sango asked, "What did you let them get into, my entire stash?"
Miroku shrugged. "Would you believe me if I said they tied me up and took it by force?"
She fixed him with a glare - the twins were only eight years old, and Miroku was a flagrant liar. Did he really expect her to believe that their children would do such a thing?
But when she looked in those eyes, she couldn't stay irritated with him or their offspring. Their children, all of their children, were picking up on the Taijiya arts with alarming ease. And though it was sometimes frustrating and often led to unexpected chaos at the worst possible times, Sango couldn't help but be proud of her family.
If only they could find a way to make her proud that wasn't so loud. Or messy.
She sighed and shook her head slightly, a smile on her face. She really wouldn't have them any other way.
