Daniel's Disclaimer: I was thinking of spoofing Colonel Klink, ("Ah ownz nahthin'!") but I realized 1) that most readers wouldn't get it, 2) those that did get it wouldn't think it was funny, and 3) then I'd have to disclaim Hogan's Heros.
But you know what's even crazier? Colonel Klink, Nazi prison camp comandante, was played by Werner Klemperer, Jewish actor--and refugee from Nazi Germany. Now that's pretty wild, isn't it?
Anyway, I found that, surprisingly enough, the kernal of the one-shot for today was best expressed in less than one hundred words! So I cut it down to fifty and wrote another fifty-worder and figgered two halves make a whole. Or something.
She knew it was inappropriate to laugh.
She knew he wasn't trying to be funny. That made it worse.
She bit back her laughter, snorting in a matter unbecoming a schoolgirl.
She looked to the flying cat on her left and snorted more. Because of his kesa, Miroku rode side-saddle.
Five hundred years was a long time.
Maybe not for his body, or for the youkai circles, but living among humans...
Five hundred years was a really really long time.
He saw Kagome on the train, in her school uniform.
But Inu-Yasha didn't say hello. His heart had forgotten her.
I got the idea for the first one watching the second half of the two-parter about Tsubasi (Tsubaki? Tsubaka? Stewbossy?), when Sango and Miroku were flying around on Kirara and the animation of Miroku's kesa looked a little... funny. I realized it was because he had a leg on either side of everyone's favorite flaming kitten (now THAT sounded like a gay joke) but his kesa was, mysteriously enough, not hiked up to mid-thigh.
The second is my allergic reaction to too (two homonyms in a row! ...three now!) much fluff where Inu-Yasha waits around for Kagome for five centuries. I always wondered why he never seems to change in fifty decades; chances are, he'd have grown into a totally unrecongnizable person, personality-wise. Seems like a great chance for someone to write an "unrequited love" angst-fic, since I'm too lazy to do it myself. Well, not too lazy, I guess, so much a real slow writer. Fast (and messy) typist, but a slow writer. Go figure.
