To say that the guy looked surprised to be addressed in this manner would
have been a massive understatement. He didn't just look surprised. He
actually looked over his shoulder, to see if it was really him I was
talking too.
But of course, the only thing behind him was the window, and through it, that incredible view. So then he turned back to look at me, and must have seen my gaze was fastened directly on his face, since he breathed, "oh my gods..."
"It's no use calling on your higher power," I informed him, as I swung the pink-tassled chair to my new dressing table around, and straddled it. "In case you haven't noticed, h isn't paying attention to you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left you here to fester for-"I took in his outfit, which looked a lot like something they'd wear and old traditional Japanese culture movie. "What is it, five-hundred years? Has it really been that long since you've been really alive?"
He stared at me with wide eyes that were as golden as honey. "What is... REALLY being alive?' he asked, in a voice that sounded rusty from disuse.
I rolled my eyes. "Normal," I translated. "Not a demon. Human. Visible." When I saw from his perplexed expression that he still didn't understand, I said, with some exasperation, "Like actually being seen."
"Oh," he said. "I'm a hanyou." But instead of answering my question, he shook his head. "I don't understand," he said in tones of wonder. "I don't understand how it is that you can see me. All these years, no one has ever-"
"Yeah," I said, cutting him off. I hear this kind of thing a lot, you understand. "Well listen, the times, you know, they are a'changin'. So what's your glitch?"
He blinked at me with those big light eyes. His eyelashes were longer than mine. It isn't often I run into a hanyou who also happens to be a hottie, but this guy...boy, he must have been something back when he was alive because here he was dead and I was already trying to catch a peek at what was going on beneath the red hakama he was wearing very much open at the throat, exposing quite a bit of chest, and some of his stomach, too. Do demons-... hanyous have six-packs? This was not something I had ever had occasion- or desire- to explore before.
Not that I was about to let myself get distracted by that kind of thing now. I'm a professional miko, after all.
"Glitch?" he echoed. Even his voice was liquid, his Japanese as flat and unaccented as I fancied my own was. He clearly had some Inu-blood in him, noting at his doglike ears on the top of his head- which I have to say, are just about the most adorable things in the world-, but he was as Japanese as I was- or as Japanese as someone who was born before Tokyo existed could be.
"Yeah." I cleared my throat. He had turned a little and put his bare foot onto the pale blue cushion that covered the window seat, and I had seen definitive proof that yes, hanyou could indeed have six-packs, his abdominal muscles were deeply ridged, and covered with a light dusting of silky black hair.
I swallowed. Hard.
"Glitch," I said. "Problem. Why are you still here?" he looked at me, his expression blank, but interested. I elaborated. "Why haven't you crossed to the other side, or wherever demons go?"
He shook his head. Have I mentioned that his hair was long, silver, and sort of crisp looking, like if you touched it, it would be really, really thick? "I don't know what you mean."
I was getting sort of warm, but I had already taken off my leather jacket, so I didn't know what to do about it. I couldn't very well take off anything else with him sitting there watching me. This realization might have contributed to my suddenly very foul mood.
"What do you mean, you don't know what I mean?" I snapped, pushing some hair away from my eyes. "You're hanyou. You don't belong here. You're supposed to be off doing whatever it is that demons do. Rejoicing in heaven, or burning in hell, or being reincarnated, or ascending another plane of consciousness, or whatever. You're not supposed to be just... well, just hanging around."
He looked at me thoughtfully, balancing his elbow on his uplifted knee, his arm sort of dangling. He gave a wide smirk, which exposed a white sharp fang. "And what if I happen to like just hanging around?" he wanted to know.
I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling he was making fun of me. And I don't like being made fun of. I really don't. People back home used to do it all the time- well; until I learned how effectively a fist connecting with their nose could shut them up.
I wasn't ready to hit the guy- not yet. But I was close. I mean, I'd just traveled a gazillion miles for what seemed like days in order to live with a bunch of stupid boys; I still had to unpack; I had already practically made my mother cry; and then I find a hanyou in my bedroom. Can you blame me for being... well, short with him?
"Look," I said, standing up fast, and swinging my leg around the back of the chair. "You can do all the hanging around you want, hanyou. Slack away. I don't really care. But you can't do it here."
"Inuyasha," he said, not moving.
"What?"
"You called me hanyou. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Inuyasha."
I nodded. "Right. That figures. Well, fine. Inuyasha then. You can't stay here, Inuyasha."
"And you?" Inuyasha was smiling at me now. He had a nice face. A good face. The kind of face that, back in my old high school, would have gotten him elected prom king in no time flat. The kind of face Eri would have cut out of a magazine and taped to her bedroom wall.
Not that he was pretty. Not at all. Dangerous was how he looked. Mighty dangerous.
"And me, what?" I knew I was being rude. I didn't care.
"What is your name?"
I glared at him. "Look just tell me what you want, and get out. I'm hot, and I want to change clothes. I don't have time for-"
He interrupted, as amiably as if he hadn't heard me talking at all. "That women- your mother- called you Kag." His golden eyes were bright on me. "Short for Kagami?"
"Kagome." I said, correcting him automatically.
He grinned. "So this is your room, now is it, Kagome?"
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah this is my room now. SO you're going to have to clear out."
"I'M going to have to clear out?" he raised one black eyebrow. "This has been my home fore centuries. Why do I have to leave it?"
"Because." I was getting really mad. Mostly because I was so hot, and I wanted to open a window, but the windows were behind him, and I didn't want to get that close to him. "This is MY room. I'm not sharing it with some hanyou."
That got to him. He slammed his foot back down on the floor- hard- and stood up. I instantly wished I hadn't said anything. He was tall, way taller than me, and in my ankle boots I'm five- eight.
At the same time, the antique mirror hanging over my new dressing table started to wobble dangerously on the hook that held it to the wall. This was not due, I knew, to a Tokyo earthquake, but to the agitation of a hanyou in front of me, whose abilities were obviously of a kinetic bent.
That's the thing about demons: they're so touchy! The slightest thing can set them off.
"Whoa." I said, holding up both my hands, palms outward. "Down. Sit, boy."
(Author/interruption- no nothing happens, when Kagome says, "sit,")
"Hey," I said. And that's when I made my big mistake. I reached out, not liking the finger he was jabbing at me, and grabbed it, hard, yanking on his hand and pulling him toward me so I could be sure he heard me as I hissed, "stop with the mirror already. And stop shoving you finger in my face. Do it again, and I'll break it."
I flung his hand away, and saw, with satisfaction, that the mirror had stopped shaking. But then I happened to glance at his face.
At that moment, all the color drained from Inuyasha's face, as if every ounce of blood that had once been there, had evaporated just at that moment.
Being a demon, and being invisible to the human eye, meant that my hand should have passed right through him. Right?
Wrong. That's how it works for most people. But not for people like me. Not for the mikos. We can see demons, we can talk to demons, and if necessary, we can kick a demon's butt.
But this isn't something I like to go around advertising. I try to avoid touching them- touching anybody, really- as much as possible. If all attempts at mediation have failed, and I have to use a little physical coercion on a recalcitrant demon, I generally prefer that I am capable of doing so. Sneak attacks are always advisable when dealing with members of the underworld, who are notoriously dirty fighters.
Inuyasha, looking down at his finger as if I'd burned a whole through it, seemed perfectly incapable of saying anything. It was probably the first time he'd been touched by anyone in centuries. That kind of thing can blow a guy's mind. Especially a demon.
I took advantage of his astonishment, and said, in my sternest, most no-nonsense tone, "now look, Inuyasha. This is my room, understand? You can't stay here. You've either got to let me help you get to where you're supposed to go, or you're going to have to find some other house to haunt. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
Inuyasha looked up from his finer, his expression still one of utter disbelief. "Who are you?" he asked, softly. "What kind of...girl are you?"
He hesitated so long before he said the word girl that it was clear he wasn't all certain it was appropriate in my case. This kind of bugged me. I mean, I may not have been the most popular girl in school, but no one ever denied I was an actual girl. Truck drivers honk at me at crosswalks now and then, and not because they want me to get out of the way. Construction workers sometimes holler rude things at me, especially when I wear my leather miniskirt. I am no unattractive, or mannish in any way. Sure, I'd just threatened to break his finger off, but that didn't mean I wasn't a girl, for God's sake!
"I'll tell you what kind of girl I'm not," I said, crankily. "I am not the kind of girl who's looking to share her room with a member of the opposite sex. Understand me? So either you move out, or I force you out. It's entirely up to you. I'll give you some time to think about it. But when I get back here, Inuyasha, I want you gone."
I turned around and left.
I had to. I don't usually lose arguments with demons, but I had a feeling I was losing that one, and badly. I shouldn't have been so short with him, and I shouldn't have been rude. I don't know what came over me, I really don't. I just....
I guess I wasn't expecting to find a cute hanyou in my bedroom, is all.
God, I thought, as I stormed down the hall. What am I going to do if he doesn't leave? I wont be able to change clothes in my own room!
Give him a little time; a voice inside my head went. It was a voice I'd very carefully avoided telling my mom's therapist about.
Give him a little time. He'll come around. They always do.
Well most of the time anyway.
A/N: Right. I told you it would be short.
Oh well. Cya lataz.
But of course, the only thing behind him was the window, and through it, that incredible view. So then he turned back to look at me, and must have seen my gaze was fastened directly on his face, since he breathed, "oh my gods..."
"It's no use calling on your higher power," I informed him, as I swung the pink-tassled chair to my new dressing table around, and straddled it. "In case you haven't noticed, h isn't paying attention to you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left you here to fester for-"I took in his outfit, which looked a lot like something they'd wear and old traditional Japanese culture movie. "What is it, five-hundred years? Has it really been that long since you've been really alive?"
He stared at me with wide eyes that were as golden as honey. "What is... REALLY being alive?' he asked, in a voice that sounded rusty from disuse.
I rolled my eyes. "Normal," I translated. "Not a demon. Human. Visible." When I saw from his perplexed expression that he still didn't understand, I said, with some exasperation, "Like actually being seen."
"Oh," he said. "I'm a hanyou." But instead of answering my question, he shook his head. "I don't understand," he said in tones of wonder. "I don't understand how it is that you can see me. All these years, no one has ever-"
"Yeah," I said, cutting him off. I hear this kind of thing a lot, you understand. "Well listen, the times, you know, they are a'changin'. So what's your glitch?"
He blinked at me with those big light eyes. His eyelashes were longer than mine. It isn't often I run into a hanyou who also happens to be a hottie, but this guy...boy, he must have been something back when he was alive because here he was dead and I was already trying to catch a peek at what was going on beneath the red hakama he was wearing very much open at the throat, exposing quite a bit of chest, and some of his stomach, too. Do demons-... hanyous have six-packs? This was not something I had ever had occasion- or desire- to explore before.
Not that I was about to let myself get distracted by that kind of thing now. I'm a professional miko, after all.
"Glitch?" he echoed. Even his voice was liquid, his Japanese as flat and unaccented as I fancied my own was. He clearly had some Inu-blood in him, noting at his doglike ears on the top of his head- which I have to say, are just about the most adorable things in the world-, but he was as Japanese as I was- or as Japanese as someone who was born before Tokyo existed could be.
"Yeah." I cleared my throat. He had turned a little and put his bare foot onto the pale blue cushion that covered the window seat, and I had seen definitive proof that yes, hanyou could indeed have six-packs, his abdominal muscles were deeply ridged, and covered with a light dusting of silky black hair.
I swallowed. Hard.
"Glitch," I said. "Problem. Why are you still here?" he looked at me, his expression blank, but interested. I elaborated. "Why haven't you crossed to the other side, or wherever demons go?"
He shook his head. Have I mentioned that his hair was long, silver, and sort of crisp looking, like if you touched it, it would be really, really thick? "I don't know what you mean."
I was getting sort of warm, but I had already taken off my leather jacket, so I didn't know what to do about it. I couldn't very well take off anything else with him sitting there watching me. This realization might have contributed to my suddenly very foul mood.
"What do you mean, you don't know what I mean?" I snapped, pushing some hair away from my eyes. "You're hanyou. You don't belong here. You're supposed to be off doing whatever it is that demons do. Rejoicing in heaven, or burning in hell, or being reincarnated, or ascending another plane of consciousness, or whatever. You're not supposed to be just... well, just hanging around."
He looked at me thoughtfully, balancing his elbow on his uplifted knee, his arm sort of dangling. He gave a wide smirk, which exposed a white sharp fang. "And what if I happen to like just hanging around?" he wanted to know.
I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling he was making fun of me. And I don't like being made fun of. I really don't. People back home used to do it all the time- well; until I learned how effectively a fist connecting with their nose could shut them up.
I wasn't ready to hit the guy- not yet. But I was close. I mean, I'd just traveled a gazillion miles for what seemed like days in order to live with a bunch of stupid boys; I still had to unpack; I had already practically made my mother cry; and then I find a hanyou in my bedroom. Can you blame me for being... well, short with him?
"Look," I said, standing up fast, and swinging my leg around the back of the chair. "You can do all the hanging around you want, hanyou. Slack away. I don't really care. But you can't do it here."
"Inuyasha," he said, not moving.
"What?"
"You called me hanyou. I thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Inuyasha."
I nodded. "Right. That figures. Well, fine. Inuyasha then. You can't stay here, Inuyasha."
"And you?" Inuyasha was smiling at me now. He had a nice face. A good face. The kind of face that, back in my old high school, would have gotten him elected prom king in no time flat. The kind of face Eri would have cut out of a magazine and taped to her bedroom wall.
Not that he was pretty. Not at all. Dangerous was how he looked. Mighty dangerous.
"And me, what?" I knew I was being rude. I didn't care.
"What is your name?"
I glared at him. "Look just tell me what you want, and get out. I'm hot, and I want to change clothes. I don't have time for-"
He interrupted, as amiably as if he hadn't heard me talking at all. "That women- your mother- called you Kag." His golden eyes were bright on me. "Short for Kagami?"
"Kagome." I said, correcting him automatically.
He grinned. "So this is your room, now is it, Kagome?"
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah this is my room now. SO you're going to have to clear out."
"I'M going to have to clear out?" he raised one black eyebrow. "This has been my home fore centuries. Why do I have to leave it?"
"Because." I was getting really mad. Mostly because I was so hot, and I wanted to open a window, but the windows were behind him, and I didn't want to get that close to him. "This is MY room. I'm not sharing it with some hanyou."
That got to him. He slammed his foot back down on the floor- hard- and stood up. I instantly wished I hadn't said anything. He was tall, way taller than me, and in my ankle boots I'm five- eight.
At the same time, the antique mirror hanging over my new dressing table started to wobble dangerously on the hook that held it to the wall. This was not due, I knew, to a Tokyo earthquake, but to the agitation of a hanyou in front of me, whose abilities were obviously of a kinetic bent.
That's the thing about demons: they're so touchy! The slightest thing can set them off.
"Whoa." I said, holding up both my hands, palms outward. "Down. Sit, boy."
(Author/interruption- no nothing happens, when Kagome says, "sit,")
"Hey," I said. And that's when I made my big mistake. I reached out, not liking the finger he was jabbing at me, and grabbed it, hard, yanking on his hand and pulling him toward me so I could be sure he heard me as I hissed, "stop with the mirror already. And stop shoving you finger in my face. Do it again, and I'll break it."
I flung his hand away, and saw, with satisfaction, that the mirror had stopped shaking. But then I happened to glance at his face.
At that moment, all the color drained from Inuyasha's face, as if every ounce of blood that had once been there, had evaporated just at that moment.
Being a demon, and being invisible to the human eye, meant that my hand should have passed right through him. Right?
Wrong. That's how it works for most people. But not for people like me. Not for the mikos. We can see demons, we can talk to demons, and if necessary, we can kick a demon's butt.
But this isn't something I like to go around advertising. I try to avoid touching them- touching anybody, really- as much as possible. If all attempts at mediation have failed, and I have to use a little physical coercion on a recalcitrant demon, I generally prefer that I am capable of doing so. Sneak attacks are always advisable when dealing with members of the underworld, who are notoriously dirty fighters.
Inuyasha, looking down at his finger as if I'd burned a whole through it, seemed perfectly incapable of saying anything. It was probably the first time he'd been touched by anyone in centuries. That kind of thing can blow a guy's mind. Especially a demon.
I took advantage of his astonishment, and said, in my sternest, most no-nonsense tone, "now look, Inuyasha. This is my room, understand? You can't stay here. You've either got to let me help you get to where you're supposed to go, or you're going to have to find some other house to haunt. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
Inuyasha looked up from his finer, his expression still one of utter disbelief. "Who are you?" he asked, softly. "What kind of...girl are you?"
He hesitated so long before he said the word girl that it was clear he wasn't all certain it was appropriate in my case. This kind of bugged me. I mean, I may not have been the most popular girl in school, but no one ever denied I was an actual girl. Truck drivers honk at me at crosswalks now and then, and not because they want me to get out of the way. Construction workers sometimes holler rude things at me, especially when I wear my leather miniskirt. I am no unattractive, or mannish in any way. Sure, I'd just threatened to break his finger off, but that didn't mean I wasn't a girl, for God's sake!
"I'll tell you what kind of girl I'm not," I said, crankily. "I am not the kind of girl who's looking to share her room with a member of the opposite sex. Understand me? So either you move out, or I force you out. It's entirely up to you. I'll give you some time to think about it. But when I get back here, Inuyasha, I want you gone."
I turned around and left.
I had to. I don't usually lose arguments with demons, but I had a feeling I was losing that one, and badly. I shouldn't have been so short with him, and I shouldn't have been rude. I don't know what came over me, I really don't. I just....
I guess I wasn't expecting to find a cute hanyou in my bedroom, is all.
God, I thought, as I stormed down the hall. What am I going to do if he doesn't leave? I wont be able to change clothes in my own room!
Give him a little time; a voice inside my head went. It was a voice I'd very carefully avoided telling my mom's therapist about.
Give him a little time. He'll come around. They always do.
Well most of the time anyway.
A/N: Right. I told you it would be short.
Oh well. Cya lataz.